#peep the broken glass but i think its obvious

[xiewho]

you've been a bad friend

[blue-pastel-cat]

Xiaobedo Fanfic Recommendation

Welcome to my personal “if you are new to xiaobedo peeps please read these” list. As said before this is my personal list so please feel free to reblog/comment/hit me for not including any gem here. I might miss a lot of them because I am drunk or blind. (mostly have them on my to read and then forgot as I am being assault by real life shit).

I would like to say first that so far there are 150+ Xiaobedo fics on Ao3. I can’t review all of them but I can say that I have read a majority of them. Most of them are just pure love and I would like nothing more than a thousands thank you for all the fic writers who spent their free time writting these gems for us to read for free. But these...these takes the cake as it finds a special landing spot in my heart that I would just thrust them into someone’s hand if they say “I am new to this ship can you recommend me?”

1. Orange dust by bobamilkteas (Wes)

In which Xiao learns to open himself up to the world a little more after the collapse of Rex lapis's contracts but it was not always easy for a soul doomed to eternal damnation. Meanwhile, Albedo liked to tempt fate where the extraordinary are concerned.

If only the traveler's comrades are made of saner bunch.

Comment: Long ago when I like both Albedo and Xiao as a character, I was wondering hmmm....will anyone actually even write about them lmao they never met each other. I am surprise to see this one as the 3rd fic in the whole 3 Xiaobedo fic on Ao3 (yeah back when there’s literally only 3 fic for this couple). I was like I’ll read it for the curiosity, I’ll probably won’t ship them. And that people is how I put my clown make up on my face upon finishing reading it. This ONE fic alone convert me into a devotee of Xiaobedo. Please consider joining me in this circus if you want to know what is Xiaobedo. I would put this as the first of my “Big 3″

Orange Dust also come with its compliation of short stories over the course of the game and a big sequel to it. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

2. Solar Wind by birdpriestess (Sparrow)

For the yaksha, his duty was his life, and his life was his duty. No human could ever hope to understand the eternal war he fought out of sight and in silence.

So why, then, did he feel that Albedo would understand?

---

Finding himself at death's door once more, Xiao is saved by a surprising person, setting off the unlikeliest of adventures.

Comment: Do you like crying? Do you like the feeling of getting your heart ripped into pieces as the author destroy your emotions over the end of each chapter as the story picked up the climax? Yeah, this one is for you masochists. The action, the characterisation, the drama THE EMOTIONS OH WOW. I kid you not that it was so good I read this while workinng when I am not suppose to me. Also, this fic has my favourite characterisation of Gold ever. I love that dramatic queen Mad Alchemist. AND DAIN. I LOVE DAIN IN THIS FIC. Our dearest Sparrow manage to toy with our feelings like how I bully ruin guard for big numbers lmao. This is the secound of “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list.

Again, just like Orange Dust, Solar Wind comes with its own compliation of short stories of what came after that. Please also consider reading ALL OF THEM.

3. Castle of Glass by AlchemicalStardust (Morgie) 

A black shadow rises over Huaguang Stone Forest. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, Albedo flees the shaking ground and the crash of boulders tumbling form the sky. As the dust settles, Albedo finds a young man – an Adeptus – amidst the carnage. Despite the karmic agony ripping his body from the inside, Xiao’s only question is “How?” How did a human survive after witnessing his battle?

Comment: The last of the “Big 3″ of my Xiaobedo list. And it is still on going! Castle of Glass? More like I AM IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTIONS! Have you read a fic about 2 people yearning, longing, reaching out for each other so damn well that you just want to throw your phone in the air as they both had their impending doom coming down upon them? Yeah this is one of them. You will like want to be stuck in the moment they express how much they just yearn for each other’s love and care that you want to shake the author for what comes next. Like...everytime Morgie update I am expressing my gratitude at the end of the chapter by writing on Xiaobedo discord “MORGIE COME HERE AND LET ME BONK YOU WHY ARE YOU ENDING IT THERE”

trust me when you read you will def feel the same. With just Big 3 and their compliation alone that would give you like a LONG list of reading already LMAOOOOOOO

4. Find a place to call it home  by yamajiroo 

Our room, he said. Xiao’s brow twitches. Zhongli never said anything about this. But then again, perhaps he should anticipate this from the beginning...

Xiao looks over at Albedo, who is now tilting his head, his look as innocent as ever.

“Are you not okay with sharing a room?”

Comment: College AU for Xiaobedo! One thing that I love this is the slow burn and what made me LOVE LOVE LOVE this fic more is how cute Klee is in this fic. Their relationship in this one is very simple, but that simplicity highlight why their chemistry work. Xiao is someone who was just very gentle, who was largely misunderstood by his lonesome nature. Albedo was someone who like peace and quite in his introvert bubble. And how they respect that bubble that each other has actually made their relationship work. I love it when fic highlight this and this one captures it.

5. I Can't See Your Face From the Other Side of the Classroom by MissWeaver  

When Albedo and Xiao unexpectedly start eating lunch together, they begin to find that they have more in common than anyone would have realized. They both struggle in their own ways with blossoming feelings, too many assignments, and annoying classmates as they navigate a relationship for the first time.

Comment: I’ll be honest, I usually hate high school au just because its so cliche. I don’t even watch and drama/anime surrounds high school student anymore LMAOOO (unless it’s very good). So if there’s an high school AU that I actually keep come back and read after a couple of chapters, it means that the cliche that I hate wasn’t there or barely was there at all. The pinning in this fic makes me want to bang their head together sometimes LMAOOO The tag wasn’t kidding when they said both Xiao and Albedo are bad at feelings. Also that’s a lot of heart broken caused by these two idiots XD

6. new world, same me, same bullshit  by  bobamilkteas (Wes)

At the belly of Dragonspine, Albedo lost control to the festering corruption that permeated his senses and watched, from the recesses of his mind, as his devoured body turned his allies into enemies. Before his rampage reached its climax, he is sealed in a crystalized confinement by the last hand of Reindottir, where he then reawakens centuries after, in a rebooted Teyvat.

Comment: Yeah I know it was list in Orange Dust but here me out. This sets out in an entirely different universe. And if you like Polyamory, this one has Zhongli joining the duo and I love it because I also love ZhongXiao with my life. Time Travel is my biggest kink. Especially when I am the person who love it when people explore Archon War era/ Alatus!Xiao. So this one hits double of my kink. Of course it is still on going and I will bully Wes whenever I can to see that new chapter. Albedo is a total fucking badass in this story and I completely agree from using him in Abyss so often. Everyone should write badass Albedo.

7. misplaced heart of mine by  inkburn           

“If you are ill, then you should be resting at home. In Mondstadt.” He emphasized Mondstadt with a pointed look in his direction.

“I assure you I won’t be troublesome, Adeptus Xiao,” Albedo said, “You’ll find I’m a rather low-maintenance traveler.”

“Travel,” Xiao scoffed, “without airstep?”

Albedo looked him up and down. “Are your legs just for decoration?”

(albedo is sent to liyue on mandatory vacation. xiao is his unfortunate bodyguard.)

Comment: Most of the time you will see Albedo and Xiao starting their relationship with one of them taking interest in another. But this one took another approach, they starting off by make them hating each other’s guts LMAOOOO and I live for every second of it. There’s only 1 chapter so far but wow it was SOOO GOOD. I am really really excited for next chapter and is waiting patiently ;w;

8.  Blossom of Grace  by birdpriestess  

One day in Liyue Harbor, Albedo watches a street performance by an enigmatic dancer named Xiao. And he becomes completely obsessed.

Comment: Have you ever look at Xiao fight and thinking that he’s one of the most beautiful deadly thing ever? How it was like he was dancing around the battlefield? How about actual dancer Xiao being so absolutely beautiful and perfect and that slow burn of Albedo falling in love with that beauty with a touch of Modern AU and cute Ganyu as the Wing woman. Yes, Sparrow delivers yet again another beautiful slow burn and while it’s still ongoing it is worth the read.

9. i think we could make this work (could get used to this) by outspaced               

“Xiao? What are you doing out here?”

“I—”

“It’s raining,” Albedo says, as if it isn’t obvious. “You could get struck by lightning.”

“What are you doing out here then?” Xiao does the only thing he knows how to do, he challenges Albedo. “It’s raining.”

Albedo just hums. “If I get struck by lightning, it’s for science.”

Comment: A short one-shot where I read the summary and went “This is it... this is their relationship.” I am sold immediately. Oh god Albedo why are you like this.

10. Ephemeral by criedprinz        

“It’s not for your investigation, is it?” Aether asked mildly.

Albedo traced a finger around the sketchbook, considering the question. “No,” he admitted finally. “I... I just want to see them again.”

He opened the sketchbook to reveal the drawing he’d just finished. Aether nodded, clearly recognizing the sharp golden eyes.

“Xiao,” he said. “You were rescued by an adeptus.”

When a visit to Dragonspine goes horribly wrong, Albedo is rescued by an unknown stranger, wielding powers he's never heard of. Led on a search to find out who it is, he finds himself in the middle of an unforgettable encounter..

Comment: A really really well written one-shot that I love. The yearning oh godddd the yearning from Albedo side is just so so much that I have to put it here. (I think you can see the trend here lmao. I am a sucker for yearning). And the moment they get to meet each other again is just chef kiss. MWHAA

11. Idle Yaksha, Brilliant Yaksha by Pit0fTheEarth

Alatus didn’t have a lot of responsibilities to keep. He spent most of his days dancing across the sky and eating away all nightmares that plagued a person’s sleep.

But one fortunate encounter led to too many unfortunate ones, taking his carefree existence and plunging it in darkness. His wings, stripped from him. His gentle touch, replaced by an unforgiving grip of destruction.

There was a lot of blood on his hands. With each passing moment, it became harder for Alatus to recall the last time someone gently held him.

Comment: This is one of the ongoing fic where I am very very much excited on the take of Naberius. And the way the author portray Xiao when he’s still the innocent Alatus is just *clench fist*. Baby ;w; Baby why do you have to lose all that innocence. Also the fic has long LONG flashback to Xiao past and his relationship with Naberius. We are unwielding more what happened to both of them and why perhaps does this have to do with Albedo.

That’s it for now, might add more later! Thank you <3

[glassesandswords]

Summary: 

It was a normal, peaceful day in school until Eren tried to impress him, and now Levi found himself hiding in a cramped dark closet with a girl he barely knew to escape the wrath of a thousand bees ready to unleash their vengeance on them.

Dammit Eren.

Read the fic below: 

It all started when that bitchbrat Eren slammed open the window that was not supposed to be opened.

Just a few minutes ago, Levi was having a nice, normal day at school. He had skipped PE to finish up his homework in his classroom, relishing the silence that came with being alone after spending most of his morning with his draining classmates. The only sounds that filled the empty, echoing classroom was the creak of the dusty old ceiling fan and scratch of his pen on his notebook. Soft sunlight shone in through the two of the five windows that were open and even if Levi was sitting near one of the closed windows, he did not feel like shifting to a seat with better lighting.

But his moment of silence was broken when Eren entered the classroom.

“Ah, Levi! Why are you all alone here?”

Levi suppressed a frustrated sigh. Eren was his junior, three grades younger than him. Levi never attempted to interact with his peers in other divisions, much less in other grades, but unfortunately for him, he and Eren shared the same bus-stop. And for some reason, Eren’s eyes would always sparkle like stars when he saw Levi.

It was annoying.

“Why are you here?” Levi frowned as Eren walked in, looking around curiously at his senior’s classroom.

“Ah, I had taken a washroom break.”

“Then go.”

“I did. I just wanted to kill some time before going back to my classroom. Geography is a boring subject.”

Levi was not surprised. No person, sane or insane, liked geography anyway.

Eren noticed the shoes littering the classroom. “Oh, did your classmates go for PE?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did you not go? I thought you liked PE. You are the fastest sprinter after all.”

“Just because I’m good at something doesn’t mean I have to like it,” He waved his notebook at him. “I’m finishing up my homework.”

“Oh, do you need any help?”

“Sure, solve this for me,” He pushed a complex quadratic equation at Eren. Eren stared at it, eyes blissfully blank and then chuckled in a sheepish way, scratching at his ear.

“I can’t do sums three grades higher than me.”

“Then shut up and go back to your class.”

Much to his ire, Eren shook his head, “Well that doesn’t mean I can’t do other things to help you, you know? I can speed up the fan if you want!”

“No need.”

“Oh, why are you sitting in the dark? That’s right, let me open the window for you at least.”

It took Levi a second before the gravity of his words hit him through the continuous stream of ‘oh god he is annoying’ that looped in his brain. “Wait, no,” he exclaimed, his eyes widening as he whipped his head towards Eren, “Don’t touch that win-”

Too late.

Eren, with his chest puffed up in triumph, pushed open the window with all his strength and in that moment, Levi could see his entire life flashing before his eyes.

Levi was the first one to notice it a few months ago as he stared out of the window during tedious lectures- the little goop on the slab shading the window from outside, and how there seemed to be an influx of bees buzzing around. After a while, it was obvious: a group of honeybees had started to build a hive right outside the window. When he had informed it to his teacher, she asked the students to close the window and not open it till the hive was removed.

But days passed by and no one removed the hive. One day, as Levi was walking past the watchman Hannes, he heard him talking about it with the other staff members.

“The beehive outside the third floor classroom has grown pretty big, y'know. I did ask Principal Zachary about its removal, but he said that it was a pain in the ass to call in men and remove the hive when it was that small, so he’s planning to wait till it grows so that he can harvest the honey while removing it as well.”

“But what if it hurts the children?” one of the other staff asked, leaning on his broom.

“Tis what I asked. But the principal seemed firm in his decision. He told the students and the teachers to not open the window and the two windows next to it. After all, bees don’t bother you if you don’t bother them.”

“I get that, y’know? If the beehive grows to the maximum size, we could probably harvest more than twenty kilograms of honey from it. Honey fetches a good price after all...”

So the beehive remained carefully untouched till then.

And when Eren, in his oblivious glory, slammed open the window, all hell broke loose.

Levi barely had the time to grab a screaming Eren by the back of his collar and run for their lives. The heavy wooden door hit the fat hive and the angry bees swarmed in, poised with their stings to defend their home. Once they were out of the classroom, Levi flung the boy ahead of him. “Run,” he commanded.

“But-”

“RUN!”

And Eren ran. Levi held back, slamming the door and windows on the other side of the classroom shut so that the bees would be contained within the classroom instead of finding their way into the corridor to the rest of the school.

But the bees had other ideas, and other routes. And within seconds, there was an uproar throughout the building.

“Tch,” Levi cursed internally as he ran towards the school office. He had to alert the authorities, to ask them to announce through the speakers to shut all the windows. However, the bees had already entered the school through the other passages and they were now flooding the corridors in a buzzing cloud of fury as students and teachers started rushing outside the classrooms alike, screams filling the air.

“Everyone, lock the doors and windows of your classrooms,” boomed all the speakers in the school at once, “A swarm of bees are spreading out. Take shelter immediately.”

Finally Eren did something useful for once, Levi thought as he turned a corner, looking desperately for somewhere to hide. But the doors and windows of the other classrooms were already locked shut, and Levi knew if he were to bang on the door and wait for them to let him in, he’d risk not just being bitten, but also letting the bees enter into the classrooms.

An overly aggressive bee zoomed straight at him, and in reflex, Levi tried to swat it away. Which was a very bad idea, as he immediately felt a sharp sting on the back of his palm. He hissed, gritting his teeth in pain.

One of the buzzing bastards had got him at last.

With watery vision and panic rising steadily within him, he almost felt his heart jump out of his throat when a random hand grabbed his arm, breaking his run, to yank him inside a storage closet and close the door shut.

Levi crashed into something soft, which in turn crashed into something hard. He felt small objects raining on him- both metal and plastic- as if he had knocked over a shelf lined with things. He was in one of the storage closets after all.

A soft groan from below made Levi push himself up, only for him to freeze as he came face to face with a girl sprawled underneath him. With the help of the small glass peep-window on the door that let in a sliver of light inside the dark room, he saw the startled look in her big brown eyes behind an askew pair of glasses.

A girl. He had a girl pinned underneath him.

She rubbed the back of her head, ruffling her messy brown hair in the process as she cocked her head to the side, like a bird.

“You’re welcome, but you are kinda heavy, you know?”

Levi felt heat rush to his ears as he scrambled away, his back digging into yet another shelf as he tried to put some distance between them. It did not work very well, however, the storage closet was too small and cramped that it was only comfortable for one person standing in it at a time.

“What’s happening out there?” the girl asked, straightening her glasses as she stood up, “Are they removing the hive?”

“No,” Levi said as he glanced at the stinger buried in the back of his hand, “A stupid kid disturbed it.”

“You got stung?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait, show it to me in the light.”

Levi was curious himself, so he obeyed, positioning his hand in the sliver of light that streamed in through the tiny glass window at the top of the door.

His skin had reddened and started to swell where the stinger had embedded itself. It was agonizing and Levi clenched his jaw as the girl hovered close to it. “Wow, that must hurt. Any other place you got stung?”

“No.”

“Okay, let me remove this for you.”

“Huh?” Levi automatically pulled his hand back from her vicinity, “No.”

The girl’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t trust me with that?”

“I don’t even know you.”

“Right,” the girl pointed to herself with a thumb, “I’m Hange, and I think I’ve seen you around before.”

“Where?”

“We are in the same grade, you know. Just different divisions.”

Levi squinted. True, he did not pay much attention to his classmates in other divisions, much less bother to remember them or their names, but why did he not recognize her from her appearance at least?

“Oh, I joined this school this year, by the way.”

Ah. That explained it.

“I have been a very outdoorsy person from childhood and I’ve been stung by bees more than once in my life. So, I know what you must feel right now and I kinda know what to do about it,” she continued, “Anyway, I think that’s enough information for you to trust me with the stinger.”

Without waiting for Levi’s reply she swiped her ID card from its holder and grabbed Levi’s hand.

“What about you?” she asked, “What’s your name?”

Distracted by the question, Levi attempted to answer it. “Le-”

He flinched, grunting in pain as Hange swiped the ID over his hand without hesitation, effectively removing the stinger, with way more force than necessary.

“There we go!” she declared proudly, a wide smile on her face. “Good job, Lee!”

Levi was still smarting from the sting to correct her.

[imagine-always-and-forever]

Forget Me Not

A Klaus Mikaelson Imagine

Pairing: Niklaus Mikaelson x Reader

Summary: A witch has put a spell on you to forget the Mikaelsons.

Warnings: none, I don’t think

Word count: 5,869

Authors note: It’s been absolutely ages since I’ve written a damn thing. I graduated from college a month ago. My senior year drained me, honestly. I haven’t been able to work on my two ongoing imagine, nor write a single scrap of anything actually. So, when the inspiration for this struck me and I actually had time finally, I knew I had to write it. Enjoy and do let me know what you think!

Ever so slowly, you opened your eyes to the horrifically bright room. It was downright offensive that the morning sun shined so brightly when you felt so shitty. The pulsing in your head felt like it was alive. You curled up on your bed and tried to will yourself to back to sleep. Maybe you would be lucky enough to wake up again without a headache from hell.

You felt your body start to relax, but your mind wouldn’t cooperate. Your head really hurt. This was it, wasn’t it? You weren’t going to get any more sleep this morning. Worse yet, you were going to have to go downstairs and take something for it and wait in tired agony until the damn pills kicked in.

Mornings sucked.

A crash from downstairs stopped your pity party in its tracks. You frowned against the light filling your room as you listened. Another crash came along with the distinct sound of something breaking. You froze in bed, suddenly realizing what that meant. Someone was in your house! And breaking things! Which meant they were violent. Which meant they would most likely have no issue hurting you if, or more likely, when, they found you!

You held your breath and listened for more sounds from downstairs. Nothing happened for a few seconds, but then there was another crash. You got out of bed quietly, tiptoeing to your door. Living alone and always scared of being broken into, you always kept a baseball bat behind your bedroom door. Not that you’ve ever used it. Or have ever actually played a single game of baseball in your adult life. But still. Desperate times and all that.

Gripping the baseball bat tightly in your hands while your heartbeat erratically, you were glad the robber, or god forbid robbers, didn’t have super hearing. You’d be utterly screwed.

Walking across the landing was tricky. You carefully tried each step with a little weight, making sure none of them squeaked too badly. Your heart was in your throat as you gently went down the stairs, one step at a time in slow and careful movements.

You couldn’t hear anything anymore. Maybe they had left? Maybe they had never been here and it was all in your head?

“Liar!” a man’s voice seethed. A loud crash followed this declaration and you jumped as you heard the thud of a body against the kitchen wall.

The sound of a good right hook came quickly after that. A struggle broke out. Clearly, the two were locked in a fight, flinging each other around the kitchen. Things fell from the counters, photos fell from the wall, and, at one point, you were pretty sure someone threw a glass.

Well, at least you could definitively say that you were indeed being robbed. And there was two of them. And they were arguing. Violently.

“Stop this!” a female’s voice yelled. She sounded more annoyed than anything.

“Stay out of this, Rebekah!” the same male voice yelled.

Rebekah? So… three of them. You were being robbed by three people. Wonderful. And here you were with a god damn baseball bat.

You glanced at the front door. Maybe you could make a run for it. The front door was positioned just to the left of the hallway that led to the kitchen. There was a good chance that they wouldn’t notice you. But could you make it there without any noise?

“Unless you want to wake her up, Niklaus, I suggest you calm down,” yet another voice said.

Wake her up? As in you? They knew who you were? So, this was a targeted robbery. Why were they here? You didn’t have anything valuable. You didn’t piss anyone off, that you were aware of anyway. Were they here for you then?

“Fighting me solves nothing.”

“But it makes me feel so much better, brother.”

“He’s right,” Rebekah said. This did not please whomever they were talking to from the irritated sigh he gave in response. “All you’re doing is making a mess, which I’m sure won’t go down well when she wakes up. And it’s only a matter of time before she comes downstairs. She’d have to be dead to not be woken up by now from the sound of the two of you at each other’s throat.”

“I’ll go check on her,” the one they called Niklaus said as he started to walk away.

Realizing your time was up and you had to get out now, you threw caution to the wind and ran like hell for the door, bat in hand.

“Y/N?” Niklaus called, but you were too terrified to notice the confusion in his voice as you scrambled to take the lock off the door.

How the hell did they get in without breaking the lock?

“Y/N?” Niklaus called again and started walking towards you.

You glanced behind you and saw he had been joined by the other two in the hall. The girl, Rebekah, was eyeing you up. She was a gorgeous blonde in killer heels. Not the outfit you would choose to rob, and maybe kill someone, in. The other one, whose name you didn’t know, was standing calmly, if not looking a little perplexed, in a suit by Rebekah. Niklaus, now that you looked at him as you plastered yourself against the front door as if it could keep you safe, was rather irritatingly handsome. He also wasn’t exactly dressed for a robbery and, as you had convinced yourself by this point, murder. He was just wearing a simple Henley shirt, jeans, and an expensive looking leather jacket.

He stopped a good six feet before you, hands hanging by his jeans, unsure what to do. You gripped your bat, looking between the three people standing in your hallway. You were well aware that you were breathing like you’ve just ran a marathon, a strong contradiction to the calm intruders staring at you as if you were acting odd.

What did they expect? That you’d just calmly let them rob and kill you?

“Stay back!” you yelled, trying to sound more threatening than you actually were as you brandished your bat like a sword.

Niklaus raised his hands like you were pointing a loaded gun at him. He raised his eyebrows in surprise and looking innocent, stepped forward. You held your ground and raised the bat higher. He stopped walking.

“What the bloody hell is going on with you?” Rebekah asked.

It took you a second to realize she was talking to you. You only took your eyes off of Niklaus for a second. But as if he moved faster than lightning, his arms were suddenly surrounding you and your bat clattered to the floor. A scream ripped out of your throat but his hand was over your mouth before a single peep came out.

You kicked and wiggled, trying to get free but it was like trying to fight a brick wall. He huffed in annoyance and the fact that he didn’t even have to try to keep you locked in his arms made you fight harder. Anger washed over yourself as started walking with you like you were a ragdoll.

“What did you do?” a new male voice asked in shock.

Your eyes snapped to the source of the new sound before widening in fear. Another one? There were four people that were sent to kill you?

At this point, you were sure that was why they were here. They could have easily stolen what they wanted and left. You wondered why they hadn’t just killed you already. Maybe they were waiting to kill you slowly. Oh god. What if they were going to torture you?

Niklaus walked you into the living room.

“Kol, go find some rope,” Rebekah told the new man.

“Rope?” He sounded very amused by this.

Was this all a joke to them?

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” the one in the suit said, not bothering to look at Rebekah or Kol.

“She’s not going to stop squirming.” Rebekah crossed her arms and looked at you. Niklaus still had you locked in his arms. “Until we figure out what the hell is going on, we can’t be sure she won’t try running off again.”

“Making them run from you before they’ve even had their morning coffee now, Nik? That’s low, even for you,” Kol said in an obvious tease.

“Kol,” the one in the suit warned.

“Ropes. Now,” Rebekah said. Kol sighed and stormed off.

How the hell did he know where to get rope? You didn’t have any rope? Did they bring their own rope? Who does that?

“Now, I’m going to let you go, Love,” Niklaus said, very calmly, into your ear. You tried not to squirm as his hot breath hit your ear. Your heart was erratic with fear.

“If she doesn’t calm down she’s going to have a bloody heart attack at this rate,” Rebekah said.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” Niklaus said soothingly. He managed to hold you still effortlessly with one hand as he moved his other to your arm in calming circles. What kind of psychopath tries to calm their victim down before they kill them? And with such an intimate gesture! “You’re okay. We’re not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you,” Niklaus said.

Cautiously, he slid his hand from your mouth and down your neck. You were frozen in place, your breaths coming out in short hard gusts. His hand was slightly calloused, you realized, as he slowly caressed it down your neck before resting it on your shoulder. You stayed like that for a few seconds and you wondered why you hadn’t screamed yet.

When he seemed to believe you wouldn’t run off, he slowly guided you to the couch and sat you down. He knelt in front of you and looked up into your eyes. Although you were terrified, you didn’t run. When his hands rested on your lap, you didn’t even flinch. But god you were terrified.

Staring your killer in the eyes was fucking terrifying.

“You’re okay, Y/N,” Niklaus said and he was so genuine.

“I don’t think she’s buying it,” Kol said, rope in hand.

“We won’t need those,” Niklaus said, his eyes not leaving you.

“I just got them.” There was a petulant whine in Kol’s voice.

“Kol, please. Something is clearly wrong with Y/N,” the one in the suit said.

Your eyes darted between Kol, the one in the suit, Rebekah, and Niklaus. You didn’t understand what was happening. Why were they so calm about everything and concerned for you? Why hadn’t they killed you? How the hell did they know your name?”

“Y/N?” Niklaus said, getting your attention. Your eyes shifted to his and suddenly you were aware of just how scared you really were. These were going to be your last moments. Your breath hitched on a sob trying to escape but you refused to cry in front of them. “Hey, shh,” Niklaus comforted you, pushing himself up and enveloping you in a strong embrace. “It’s okay, love.”

You didn’t know how to react. Was this normal? This didn’t feel normal. This wasn’t how they showed murders in movies. But maybe it was normal after all. This was the first time you’ve ever been murdered so you didn’t have anything to compare it to.

“Can you tell me why you were scared?” Niklaus asked, not moving back as he ran a comforting hand into your hair, holding your head into the crook of his neck.

“Please,” you managed to whisper out.

“What, Love?”

“Please, don’t kill me,” you asked, hating that you were begging. Tears were running down your cheeks and onto Niklaus’s shirt but your head wasn’t buried in his shoulder for long. He pulled away and looked at your face, his eyes roaming your expression. It was obvious that he didn’t understand. And from the upset look that twisted his features, you could tell he was not someone that did well with not understanding what was going on.

“Why would you say that?”

“What do you want from me?”

Niklaus was perplexed by this but you didn’t understand why. Surely anybody would offer their soon to be killer with anything they wanted if it could get them to stay alive. You glanced to the others. They looked just as confused.

“How do you know my name?” You searched Niklaus’s eyes. “Who are you all?”

This seemed to upset the man in front of you most. He stumbled back and away from you, barely catching himself from falling to the floor with the shock of it. You watched as he suddenly stood up and his hands went to his mouth. His eyes were searching the room and he was clearly lost in thought. You didn’t understand what was happening.

“Something is wrong,” Niklaus said, his attention going to the one in the suit. Niklaus’s voice held a tremor in it and he kept looking at you, searching for something you didn’t know how to give.

The one in the suit stepped forward. He was the picture of cool and collected. He nonchalantly squatted in front of you and examined your face. Niklaus was pacing behind him. He paid no attention to him and instead reached a hand towards you. You flinched back in fear. His eyes widened with a realization you weren’t sure that you wanted him to share with you. Behind him, Niklaus looked more worried.

“You have no idea who we are, do you?”

You shook your head.

Niklaus looked at you with wide eyes. The emotion behind them made no sense and was too jumbled even to try to figure out. You were also still unsure if they were still going to kill you or not.

“My name is Elijah,” the one in the suit said, pulling your gaze back to him. “That is my sister Rebekah and the one who was whining earlier with the ropes, our brother Kol.”

They were all related? You looked at Niklaus.

“Niklaus is our brother,” Rebekah said before Elijah could.

“Half-brother, technically,” Kol added.

“Kol,” Elijah and Rebekah warned, Rebekah sending him an angry glare. Elijah’s gaze flicked to Niklaus, who you also looked towards for some reason. You kept looking back at him.

Niklaus didn’t pay any attention to the comment. He was watching you, but his thoughts had him miles away. You shifted uncomfortably under his gaze nonetheless.

“Clearly, you don’t remember us. But you do know your name, which makes me believe your memories of yourself haven’t been tampered with,” Elijah said, almost to himself.

“My memories?”

“I’m afraid you may have been the unfortunate victim of a spell.”

A spell? As in magic? You looked between them all, unsure if they were actually insane or not.

“You don’t remember anything?” Kol asked, seeming intrigued.

“I- I don’t think so?”

“How do we fix it?” Niklaus asked, well, more like bit out.

He was angry. Why was he angry? If anyone got to be angry it was you. If what they were saying was true, then you were the one who had their memories taken! If they weren’t and they were just insane, then you were the one being held hostage by insane people! You got to be angry! Not him!

“I’ll make a call,” Elijah said and stood up. He walked down the corridor to the home office, his hand slipping into his pocket for his phone.

You were left in the living room with Rebekah, Kol, and Niklaus.

Niklaus walked back up to you and kneeled in front of you again. He slowly took your hands in his, as if he was afraid to spook you. You looked into his eyes.

“I promise you, I will find out who did this.”

“Why?”

Rebekah and Kol shared a look. Clearly, they all needed clarification.

“I mean why do you care? How do I know you?”

“It’s complicated,” Niklaus said. “But you’ll remember soon enough.” He reached his hand up towards your face, and you jerked back and away in fear. The action seemed to jolt Niklaus and he froze. Until that very moment, you had never seen a new emotion emerge so clearly in someone’s eyes and a determined plan solidify so quickly in someone’s mind.

Niklaus stood up abruptly and started storming towards the door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Kol asked.

“To keep my promise,” he stated.

“And leave Y/N?” Rebekah asked.

Niklaus stopped.

“I have an acquaintance of mine on their way,” Elijah said as he joined the rest of you. He looked at his brother. “Going somewhere?”

“No.”

Niklaus walked back into the living room and sat down opposite you. He leaned back in the chair, his hand going to his lips as he watched you. He was thinking. Planning, it looked like. Elijah opted to stay standing. Rebekah as well. Kol sighed and took a seat near Niklaus.

You wished someone would tell you what was going on.

Was this person really going to help? How could they help you? Let’s say you really did lose your memory due to a spell. How would you break the spell? Was this person they had coming a witch too? How could you trust them? How could you trust any of them? You could still be killed. Maybe in a worse way if something went wrong with this plan of theirs.

You tried to swallow but your mouth had gone dry from the fear before.

“May I have some water?” you croaked out. It didn’t really sound like English. You tried to gather some saliva in your mouth to swallow so you could talk. “Niklaus,” you tried again. His thoughts cleared and his eyes snapped to you at the sound of his name. “May I have some water?” you asked him meekly. “Please?”

He was frozen in place for some reason, staring at you.

“I’ll get it,” Rebekah said.

Niklaus was still staring at you by the time she returned. You took the glass and whispered your thanks. Just as you took your first sip, the doorbell rang.

That was fast.

“In here,” Elijah called out.

The lock on the door clicked open. Magic? And then you heard footsteps walking through your house. A dark-skinned woman with freckles and a scar over her cheek walked into the room. She was in jeans and a t-shirt, looking unimpressed at the siblings surrounding you.

“Well? What was so urgent?”

“She seems to have trouble with her memory,” Elijah said.

The woman approached you. You saw Niklaus visibly tense. Was this woman dangerous? Who was the most dangerous of them here? Where was your bat?

“What is your name?”

“Y/N,” you replied.

“What do you last remember?”

“Last night, before I went to sleep.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I made myself a drink and watched a movie. I fell asleep during it and when I woke up it was the middle of the night. I went upstairs to bed. I stubbed my toe on my nightstand in the dark. Then I woke up this morning.”

The woman chanted a few words in Latin. You glanced at the siblings, your gaze resting on Niklaus for a second to gauge his reaction. Your words had clearly made him worry more.

“It seems her memory is fine,” the woman said. “Sort of,” she added.

“Sort of isn’t good enough,” Rebekah said.

“It seems that someone has erased all memory of her interactions with any of you.” She looked at Niklaus. “You must have really pissed someone off.”

“How do we fix it,” he bit out.

“I have a spell. But it’ll knock her out.” She looked at Elijah. “And it’ll hurt.”

“Is there another way?” Niklaus asked.

“No.”

“Do it,” Elijah said. Niklaus did not object.

The woman turned to you. “Lay down,” she told you.

You moved on the couch to lay down. Maybe this was all a dream. A really weird dream.

“Close your eyes.”

You did.

The woman started to chant again in Latin, but they were different words.

Feeling magic was weird. It went over your skin before it went under, and it started at your stomach and spread. The spell made you squirm. It was uncomfortable and it felt wrong. The magic reached your head and then it was like it turned into a power drill.

You screamed.

Niklaus was suddenly holding you down along with Elijah. Your body was thrashing about. The spell was burying itself into your mind. You could feel every bit of it. It hurt. Oh god, it hurt. You tried to get away. But you couldn’t move. You begged them to let you go. You begged for it to stop. You begged so hard and so desperately, but nobody listened.

“Hurry up!” Niklaus yelled.

You passed out.

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

Your eyes opened to the sight of your rug. Your head hurt like hell. What a weird dream. You turned yourself over to be on your back. Obviously, you fell asleep on the couch last night and only dreamed of going up to bed and the weird thing you woke up to. Four siblings. Spells. God. The end of that really sucked.

Why couldn’t it have ended nicely? Erotically, maybe? The one could have whisked you off to your room after saving you from whatever had happened to your memories. He could have taken you to bed. That would have been a lovely end to that dream.

What was his name again?

“Niklaus.”

Oh yeah. That was it.

Your eyes snapped open.

“Niklaus, you cannot leave now. She could wake at any moment!”

That was Elijah. The one that wore the suit in your dream. It was a dream, right?

“I can’t just wait here and do nothing while the witch that did this is still out there!” Niklaus yelled. He seemed livid.

You looked around and realized you were alone. Maybe you could make a break for it while they were arguing. Sure, it didn’t work before but that was because you waited too long. But you knew now. You had to run. If they knew you were awake and whatever hell that plan of theirs was didn’t work, they might bring that woman back and do it again. You couldn’t go through that again.

You gingerly got up from the couch. The fabric under you made a quiet noise and you mentally told it to shut up. You wanted to be as stealthy as possible. You carefully stood up and walked towards the back door.

“Y/N, you’re awake,” Niklaus said and you froze in place.

Shit. What should you do? Do you play the part? Pretend to know them and placate any further attempt at recovering your memories? Or do you just try to make it out the door this time?

“Y/N?” Niklaus called again, hope in his voice.

You turned around and smiled at him.

“Hi,” you said, trying for cheery.

A smile broke across his face and he sighed in such relief that you almost felt bad for deceiving him. He really believed this. He really believed you knew him and his siblings. If they were siblings.

“Y/N,” he breathed and then in a flash he was in front of you, holding you close to him.

You froze in shock but forced yourself to relax in his arms. You had to keep up the appearance. They probably slipped you a drug or something that was making you see things. Maybe it made things seem faster or something.

“Love,” Niklaus sighed into your ear. His lips brushed across your lobe before he brushed them down your neck and pressed a kiss onto your neck.

“I see that it worked,” Elijah said, walking in with a smile.

Niklaus leaned back, still smiling. He caressed your cheek and then leant forward to kiss your forehead. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again,” he joked.

“Promise,” you said and you clearly had better acting skills than you thought because he beamed at you.

“Now,” he said, turning with a happy little expression on his face. “I’m going to go find and kill that witch.” He turned to face his brother as Rebekah and Kol walked in. “Who wants to join me?” he asked them.

You had to resist the urge to smile. This was perfect. If they all went you could call the police. This whole thing would be over.

“Why don’t you all go?” you suggested, trying not to seem to overly enthusiastic. “Think of it as a family bonding exercise!”

Elijah side eyed you but Rebekah and Kol seemed to like the idea. Niklaus positively glowed with the thought. You walked over to the living room again.

“I’ll just be here when you come back,” you smiled.

“Sounds like a perfect idea,” Niklaus said and turned to his siblings. “After you,” he smirked.

Rebekah and Kol walked to the door. Elijah glanced at you for a second, but you held his gaze and forced a casual smile. He turned and followed his siblings.

““See you soon, love,” Niklaus called as he started making his way to the door.

“Bye!” you called after them. So close. You were so close. You heard the door open. They were out of eyeshot and you waited to hear the door close behind them. “Have fun, Niklaus!”

The door didn’t close. You listened for them. Nothing.

Your body slammed into the back wall of your living room, your head being stopped from slamming into it by a hand at the back of it. You winced in pain, your eyes automatically closing as your body adjusted to the sudden jolt.

There was a hand around your neck. Your eyes snapped open to see Niklaus in front of you, his eyes wide. He looked like a wild animal. A scared, panicking, wild animal. His eyes searched your face.  Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol were in the room suddenly.

“How did you –“ but you couldn’t finish the question because the hand around you squeezed. You could just about breathe. Your attention went back to Niklaus.

You didn’t understand. What happened? What did you do wrong?

“What did you call me?” Niklaus asked and you knew, in your very bones, that your answer meant everything. You were scared. What did you say? The hand squeezed tighter. “What. Did. You. Call. Me?” Niklaus bit out.

You searched his face as if there would be a clue. But you didn’t know who this man was. You didn’t know who any of them were. Or what this game was. Or what your part was. How could you play your part when you didn’t know what it was?

“Niklaus,” you chocked out when he let up enough for you to speak. “Your name is Niklaus,” you repeated and hoped that was right.

He dropped you as if you burnt.

You fell to the floor, gasping for air. Your lungs burnt and your throat ached horribly. You looked up to see Niklaus pacing again, but it was more frantic now. His hands resting above his head and he looked terrified. You glanced at his siblings, but they were all watching him.

“Brother,” Elijah said, stepping forward.

Niklaus pulled away. He looked like he was falling apart.

“It should have worked!” he yelled and you flinched, which made him yell louder. “IT SHOULD HAVE WORKED!” He paced faster.

“We’ll find another way,” Elijah said.

“THERE IS NO OTHER WAY! THAT’S WHAT YOUR LITTLE WITCH SAID!” He was screaming now.

“I’m sorry,” you said, tears streaming down your face as you stayed on the ground. They all looked at you. “I’m sorry. I – I don’t know what you want. I’m sorry I can’t give it to you. I’m sorry. Please. Just let me go. Please,” you begged.

Your pleas made everything worse. Even his siblings looked upset at this. Niklaus walked over to you and you pushed yourself against the wall in fear. He had tears in his eyes now.

“You’re not supposed to give us anything,” he said. You searched his face, unsure of what to say or do. He bent down to kneel in front of you again. “You’re not supposed to be sorry. You’re not supposed to leave. Or – or to want to leave.”

You glanced at Elijah, unsure if maybe he would be the safer, saner one.

Niklaus’s hands gripped your shoulders and you gasped in surprise and fright. He looked into your eyes, searching.

“You’re scaring her,” Rebekah said.

Niklaus ignored her.

“You’re supposed to remember us,” he explained. “You’re supposed to be like family. You’re supposed to go shopping with Rebekah and practice your terrible chess playing with Elijah. You’re supposed to let Kol flirt with you because the two of you find it funny how much it annoys me but really it’s fine because you love each other like Rebekah and I do. You’re supposed to call me Klaus or Nik or when you want to annoy me, Nikkie. And god I hate that name but you always giggle when you say it and I love hearing you giggle. You’re supposed to sneak into my studio while I paint because you love watching me work. You’re supposed to be the only voice of reason that can keep me from spiralling out of control. You’re supposed to make me watch those god awful old movies you insist everyone needs to see at least once, even though I’ve seen them a hundred times when you know you’re going to fall asleep during them but it’s okay because you fall asleep on me. You’re supposed to ask me to teach you all the dances I know and find excuses for us to dress up in a different era and then ask me if I’d look twice at you if I had met you back then even when you know the answer will always be yes. You’re supposed to be angry at me for not being next to you when you wake up and even angrier when you find out I picked a fight with my brother in your kitchen. You’re supposed to forgive me anyway because you can never stay mad at me. You’re supposed to be annoyed when I say I don’t deserve you and blush when I tell you how wrong you are to think you don’t deserve me because the wonderful truth is that we deserve each other. You’re supposed to love me as much as I love you.”

Niklaus, Klaus, Nik, Nikkie, whatever his name was, stopped talking abruptly. He was crying. He was holding you tightly and you could see clearly now how scared he was. It was so much. You didn’t even know how to process it.

“Y/N, please,” he begged.

“I’m sorry,” you said.

The heartbreak in Niklaus’s face was unbearable to see.

“Please,” he repeated.

“Niklaus,” Elijah said softly, sadly.

“Please,” Niklaus said again. His leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest on yours. You closed your eyes so you wouldn’t have to see the pain on his face. “Please,” he said again. He repeated it over and over like a chant, each word as emotional as the next.

His lips grazed yours in the softest of touches. You didn’t move. He whispered the plea over and over against your lips as he tilted his head. His lips pressed more onto yours, covering your lips even as he kept mumbling the word.

“Please,” he begged, his hot tears falling onto your face.

His lips sealed onto yours in a sweet kiss. You relaxed at the touch. Suddenly, he was kissing you hard. Searing you. It was desperate and needy and so full of emotion it overwhelmed you. He inhaled harshly through his noses as pushed you into the wall with the kiss.

There was so much love.

Your heart felt hot. Your mind felt shaky. You trembled under him.

He leaned back, ending the kiss reluctantly. You were both breathing hard, your breaths mingling as neither pulled away. Your eyes were still closed tightly as you felt his hand shift from where it went to cup your face down to hold your neck tenderly. There was ringing in your ears. It was getting louder and higher in pitch every second. You could barely hear anything, even think, above the noise.

“Please,” he whispered again and you were absolutely amazed that you heard the quiet words that were uttered to you.

The ringing was starting to hurt. In fact, it was agonizing. You opened your eyes as the pain peaked but the second your white vision cleared, it vanished. The world quieted. Your throat still hurt and your lungs burnt a little still. Your lips were red and swollen and your hands and knees hurt from falling to the ground earlier. Your head was spinning.

You closed your eyes again as you tried to stop the dizziness. You leaned forward into the warm embrace to steady yourself.

“Klaus,” you said, feeling him support you easily. “I don’t feel too well,” you said, keeping your eyes shut tightly. “Can I have some blood?”

It wasn’t until you made yourself open your eyes until you saw Klaus staring at you in shock. He was frozen. You glanced past him to see Elijah, Rebekah, and Kol staring at you.

“Klaus?” you frowned.

Then he was kissing you again.

“I’d say that fixed it then,” you heard Kol say.

“How cliché,” Elijah commented, but even with Klaus practically pulling you into his lap as he kissed the breath out of you, you could hear the smile in Elijah’s voice.

You managed to extract yourself from the suddenly very clingy hybrid. His hands were roaming all over you. Not in any sexual way - though you doubted that would take much convincing to start - as if he was just given permission to touch something priceless. You were confused.

“What –“

You frowned as things slotted into place. You glared up at Elijah, confusing him.

“That hurt!” you told him coldly, referring to his witch friend.

“I’ll deal with her later,” Klaus said.

“No, you won’t. She’s useful and she was trying her best.”

“She failed,” Klaus countered, and by the calm tone of voice he had as he brushed your hair back, you and Elijah both knew that there was absolutely no way that the witch was surviving. Klaus was far to calm about it. He had some kind of plan and it was clearly happening whether Elijah wanted it or not.

“So – So, did you –“ you cut yourself off. If the witch didn’t do it, then the only thing that changed was Klaus kissing you. But that was ridiculous. And not to mention cliché like Elijah had said. Terribly cliché. Impossibly cliché. But… it was also what seemed to have happened. You frowned. It sounded stupid in your head. What would it sound like out loud?

“What is it, love?” Klaus asked, one of his hands moving to hold one of yours.

“Did your kiss break the spell?”

Klaus smirked.

“Well, you know what they say about true love.”

[elsb-hrngtons]

I Can Get You High (If You Want To Climb) Chapter 2

Barb/ Carol.. You’re welcome

links to AO3 in notes.

Gym class is arguably Barb’s worst class, straight A student in all other lessons, gym being the only one she’s barely scraping by with a C and it’s not hard to see why. There’s nothing worse than having to run laps around the track, ill fitting sports bar doing absolutely nothing to keep the girls in check, she gets out of breath just looking at the track let alone when she actually has to do laps, barley breaking into a sprint, sweating buckets chest heaving and almost giving herself a concussion with every stride. She’s long passed caring about her grade enough to actually put in 100 percent, only participates so she doesn’t get failed altogether, can’t have a fail, that would screw her plans for college up entirely.

Of course the physical excretion is nothing compared to the mandatory gym kit Hawkins high provides, a pale grey t-shirt that does absolutely nothing to hide the tidal wave of sweat gathering across the entirety of her torso, she’s always soaked through by the time the hours up, and of course those awful little shorts. She always wonders if the uniform was designed by some creepy man, who gets off watching young teenage girls in the shortest shorts possible, barely enough fabric to cover even the smallest girl’s butt cheeks, let alone Barb’s, with her hulking thighs that really test the limits of the shorts seams. Barb has always been slightly self conscious, gym class makes it worse, all she wants to do is get the class over and done with, sit on the bleachers and wait patiently while all the girls filter through and get showered and changed, before she can go in a change herself. Thank god it's the last class of the day, otherwise she'll have to weigh the pros and cons of being late to another class.

Today was dodgeball and god did Barb loathe dodgeball above all other things, firstly she’s easy pickings and all the other girls take advantage of that, even the girls supposedly in her team, secondly her aim is shit especially because it is not worth the risk to wear her glasses, having learnt that lesson the hard way freshman year, with a broken pair or brand new glasses and a rather dramatic trip to the nurses office to make sure she didn’t get glass in her eye. It’s not like Barb couldn’t see anything, more like everything was more hazy, all the girls running about in a blur of green and gray, the balls whizzing past in a flurry of angry orange, it also messed with her depth perception like crazy, which meant unfortunately she tripped over her feat, a lot more than she usually would, causing her classmates to snicker cruelly from all angles, it just wasn’t fair that she was subjected to this, why couldn’t she just scrap this class altogether?

She prepares herself to be pelted by the balls and to be eliminated at her earliest convenience, the less time she spends on the court the better, but today’s different, as the opposite team line up balls in hands ready to take aim, she braces herself for the inevitable sting of rubber slapping against flesh, except this time it never comes. She’s startled by a growl and a blur of auburn locks rushing up in front of her, Its Carol Perkins of all people, an impressive force of tiny fury, catching each ball mid air and launching them back with acute precision at the other team, within minutes she’s already eliminated half of the opposition and is showing no signs of slowing down, Barb is in absolute awe as she stands in astonishment, admiring how flawless Carol looks channeling all that aggression into the game. Unfortunately for Barb she’s dragged out from her stupor by a ball landing squarely in her stomach, knocking the wind right out of her, she doubles over in pain for a second before having to compose herself as quickly as possible and makes her way to the sidelines to watch what’s left of the game, or risk getting hit again. Carol continues her assault, seemingly spurred on even further by Barb being knocked out, unsurprisingly Carol is the last woman standing, expression alternating between angry scowl and smug grin as she gloats in her victory to the rest of the class. Barb thinks she see’s Carol spare a glance at her, offering her a small apologetic smile, but it’s so brief Barb concludes she must be hallucinating.

###

The locker rooms are literal hell for Barb, reluctant to get changed herself in front of the other girls, always paranoid she’ll get ridiculed for her weight, but honestly? That’s not even her biggest problem, no the thing she hates most about being surrounded by a class full of beautiful girls in various states of undress, is that she doesn’t hate it at all. She feels like such a peeping tom, surrounded by all this silky skin, firm breasts and while she tries to avert her eyes as much as she can she always catches herself lost in thought staring a little too intensely and a little too south than she is comfortable with, has to shake herself from her sinful thoughts, shove her head further into her locker a pray that this will all be over soon, or god himself will strike her down and put her out of her misery. She wishes things could be easy for her, that she wasn’t repulsed by the very idea of men, that she didn’t crave the touch of a soft delicate woman instead of being manhandled by the rough calloused hands of a man. Her only saving grace is as all her classmates file out, chattering away about their weekend plans, if none of them seem to notice her, or her longing gaze, she’s safe for now, left in the peaceful silence of an empty locker room.

With a heavy sigh of relief she makes her way to the showers towel in hand and shimmies her way out of her gym kit, ecstatic that she’s free of it for at least another 3 days at least, she turns on the spray lets the water get to temperature as she fights her way out of the constraints of her sweaty sports bra and panties, discards them in a heap on the tile out of reach from the running water. She steps into the spray, lets out a satisfied grown as the warm stream runs now her back soothing aching muscles as she stretches and cracks her stiff joints. She lets that small pleasure wash over her for a while, she’s in no rush to hurry out today, no plans on this ordinary Friday afternoon, or for the entirety of the weekend to be fair, maybe except her regularly scheduled phone call with Nancy on Sunday evening.

She gets lost in the quiet, only the sounds of the spray filling the room, finally free to daydream about creamy thighs and the curve of womanly hips, all alone in her own little bubble, which is why she’s startled by the sudden appearance of Carol, leaning casually against the entrance to the showers, still fully clothed in her gym gear and bright blue orbs starting with a laser focus directly into Barb’s soul. Carol has a dangerous smirk on her lips, the kind that makes Barb squirm with the paranoia that Carol can read minds and knows exactly what Barb was thinking about only seconds ago. Her paranoia is not calming down as Carol begins to stalk towards Barb, never breaking eye contact even as she lifts her gym shirt over her head, and steps out of her tiny shorts. Carol completely skips past her own shower head, instead stepping under Barb’s stream, all hunger and determination pouring out of her as she stalks forward like a predator and Barb’s her prey. Barb has nowhere to go but backwards, cornered into the wall, shivering at the loss of warmth for the shower, and burning all too hot from the press of Carol’s skin on hers. Barb is at least 9 inches taller than Carol, height not giving her any advantage as Carol cages her in, Carol even has to stand on her tiptoes just to place a chaste yet hungry kiss to Barb’s collar bone, ripping a full body shudder from her, completely incapable of controlling the flush creeping across her face and spreading eagerly down to her chest.

“Wha.. what are you doing Carol?” Barb stammers out. She’s a storm of confusion and panic and it really doesn’t help that Carol is currently burying her face in her cleavage, leaving little kisses in her wake, until she rests her chin on the shelf of Barb’s breasts and looks up eyes all faux innocence as she says

“What’s the matter Teddy Bear? Don’t you want me?” Carol actually pouts, feigning hurt and Barb melts, it’s like an instinct, the inexplicable need to comfort a pretty girl. With shaky arms Barb brings her hands to rest on Carol’s shoulders, leans her weight in fear of her legs giving way any minute, she’s overwhelmed with a conflict of emotions, she’s not stupid, she knows exactly what this means, what Carol is trying to do; heard all bout her little romp with Nancy, she just can’t figure out why Carol has any interest in her.

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?” Carol asks. Still pouting and Barb is overcome with the need to kiss that put away.

“Why me?” Barb’s actually curious, why her? When Carol could have absolutely anyone she wants, she’s gorgeous and Barb has been told all her life, with the exception of maybe Nancy and her parents that she isn’t worth a second glance from anyone.

“Isn’t it obvious Teddy Bear?” that pet name does something to Barb, she should be annoyed, instead she finds herself quite fond of it, never wanting Carol to stop calling her it. Barb shakes her head, she really is at a loss. “You’re beautiful baby” Carol purrs and she runs her hands across the expanse of Barb’s sides, brings them round to rest her palms against the small of Barb’s back, uses the new angle as leverage to pull them closer together, as she begins peppering kisses all over Barb’s chest. “So pretty, gorgeous” Barb can’t help but scoff at that, no one has ever called her beautiful before. “It’s true! Let me show you just how beautiful I think you are baby?”

If Barb were not being held up by Carol’s knee bullying its way between Barb’s thighs she would have been a puddle on the floor because of Carol’s words alone, how could she possibly deny a beautiful girl showering her in compliments an affection, it’s not like she doesn’t function like everybody else on this godforsaken planet, she needs the validation just as much as the next person, and surprisingly to her she kinda gets off on it too, and if Carol’s actions are anything to go by, she gets off on giving them too. Carol leans up trying to reach Barb’s lips has to almost climb the length of Barb’s body to get even a little bit close, Barb gets with the picture and bends at the knees to meet her half way, their lips smash together clumsily, teeth clacking together in a desperate bid to brush against each other, its awkward but not awful and soon they find their rhythm, Carol deepening the kiss by licking her way into Barb’s mouth, sucking at her bottom lip and catching it with her teeth, it’s obscene and it lights Barb’s whole body on fire with desire and need, what she needs she doesn’t really know, but Carol seems to know what she’s doing, asserting her dominance with practised finesse as she uses her mouth to explore every inch of Barb’s skin, lips sliding across her across the shoulders and down her chest, until Carol sinks to her knees and gently paws at Barb’s thighs pushing them open to allow access.

Before Barb can even process what’s happening Carol’s nose is nuzzling its way through the course reddish hair that grows unruly atop Barb’s mound, she seems to revel in the sent and she uses her nails to lightly scratch at the backs of Barb’s thighs, inhaling deeply and sighing as if its the sweetest sent she’s ever smelt, maybe it is Barb really wouldn’t know, too ashamed to even touch herself down there.

Just when Barb thinks she can’t take the anticipation any more Carol dives in, goes straight for the gold and swipes her tongue across and around Barb’s clit with what Barb can only assume is  practised  precision. Barb yelps out at the sudden jolts of pleasure that shoot all through her veins, like sparks of electricity about to light a tinder box completely aflame. Carol’s tongue continues its exploration, licking through Barb’s folds, darting out and teasing her hole, she can feel herself gush and it’s embarrassing but Carol moans lewdly as her tongue laps up the evidence of Barb’s excitement. Her tongue peaks its way back up to Barb’s hood, lightly grazing against Barb’s bundle of nerves, causing her to twitch and her hips it involuntarily thrust, Carol’s hands creep their way up to Barb’s hips and press her flush to to the wall as she continues ministrations. Barb has to scramble for purchase to keep herself right, one hand desperately clinging to the top of Carol’s head to keep her balance the other flying to her mouth to muffle frankly pornographic noises she’s making without her consent. She can feel everything building, like a glass of water getting filled bit by bit and she’s so close to spilling over it’s almost painful, all it takes is for a well timed suckle of her clit from Carol and Barb is screaming out, hand doing absolutely nothing to silence the sounds of her pleasure now her orgasm is wreaking havoc on her body, she’s shaking all over, wave after wave of intense feeling crashing over she’s sure she’ll black out, before she can catch herself she sinks to the ground, still reeling from the aftershocks of the most mind blowing thing to ever happen to her. Carol catches Barb on her way down, cradles her as she leans against Carol’s shoulder, almost sobbing from being so overwhelmed. Carol pets through her hair, massaging and scratching lightly at her scalp and cooing quietly in her ear between a spattering of kisses across her cheek.

“You were so good Teddy Bear, so good for me”

Barb feels sleepy, could drift off right here she’s in such a daze, doesn't really register as Carol props her against the wall and reaches up form the soap, only jumps slightly in surprise as glides its across her body to clean her, it’s oddly gentle and far more intimate than what just transpired, Barb has completely lost the use of all her limbs so just sits there quietly as Carol washes her thoroughly and oh so sweetly all the while murmuring pretty little words and praises about how good Barb was. Once Carol is done cleaning the both of them she helps Barb to her feet and leans up to plant one last kiss to Barb’s cheek.

“That was fun Teddy Bear, can’t wait to do that again.” and with that she’s spins around and struts out of the showers grabbing a towel on her way out, leaving Barb completely speechless, her head spinning with all the possibilities of what again really means.

[big-bad-a-detective-story]

CHAPTER 03

It was obvious I wasn’t getting anywhere with the kid nor the creep, so I decided I’d try my luck with the woman at the root of it all; Ms. Fawcett herself. In only moments, I was knocking on her cottage door. I was soon greeted by the smiling face of what appeared to be a kindly old woman. But I knew better than to let my guard down for a second.

“Oh, hello, dear!” The old woman readjusted her spectacles and got a better look at me. If her frown was any indication, she wasn’t pleased with what she saw. “You’re not Little Red ...”

“How astute of you, ma’am. I’m known around these parts as the Big Bad Wolf, and I’ve got a few choice questions I’d like to--”

“Oh my, wolf? Wolf!”

I’m not sure which hurt worse in that moment: my feelings, or my snout when she slammed the door in my face. Alright, fine. It was quickly becoming clear to me that a direct approach wasn’t going to work here. On to plan B.

The B stands for boring, and boy was it. A good stakeout takes patience, vigilance, and dedication to the craft. I just so happen to possess all three in spades, but even I was beginning to nod off in the tree I’d perched myself in by the time I spotted movement along the adjacent treeline. 

It was Larry Lemonade! Just this fact alone was enough to jolt my senses-- as well as nearly caused me to topple from my roost. Grabbing onto the sturdy branch of the tree, I shielded my eyes with a free hand. 

All the better to see him with, you know.

Larry was the perfect vision of a sneaking snike-- mostly because that was what he was doing. He slithered out from behind the trees, tip-toeing through shrubbery as he made it to the door of Fawcett’s cottage. I watched, ever vigilant, as the depraved delinquent turned himself side to side-- no doubt on the lookout for my familiar face.  

Ha! For someone who took such pride in his intelligence, apparently looking UP was above him! 

After a few minutes the wolf seemed satisfied enough, straightening his crooked frame as he knocked on the door. It was only as an afterthought that Larry bent over to pluck a handful of posies from the window box, holding them as a makeshift bouquet.

It was the moment the old woman had opened the door to her home that I had realized my mistake: I was too far away to hear anything! Cursing that my brilliance had been my downfall, I strained my eyes to get a better view. I happen to be an amatuer lip reader, so it was at that moment my skill was put to the test.

Ah, Fawcett was surprised. Larry handed the flowers over, something about ‘for you, my dear’. My head was beginning to ache from the agony of my peepers peeping beyond their limits, but I could see that scoundrel kissing her hand, and Fawcett feigning a demure attitude. My frustration was building, and it was building fast. 

I didn’t need to see Larry getting himself a sugar granny, after all!

Thankfully some higher power was on my side, as the flirting came to an end. Either  Maybelle was suddenly offering an avocado, or she had just asked the wolf to come in.

“The plot thickens!” I cried out triumphantly, troubling my temporary twittering neighbors. But who cared about THEM, anyway. No birds were going to keep me from my case!

The robins apparently disagreed, as their sudden swooping caused me to tumble out of the tree. But no matter! The vines and underbrush I now found myself entangled in provided the perfect cover I needed. I’ve gotten so adept at camouflage, I don’t even need to try anymore.

I heard her long before I saw her. I'd know that chipper humming anywhere. And wouldn’t you know it, a moment later there she was, skipping into the clearing, her basket in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in her other. The final piece of the puzzle had arrived, and I waited, I watched, held in place just as much by my keen sense of intuition, as by the shrubbery.

Red shifted the flowers to her other hand, and she knocked on the door. The door opened, but it wasn’t the old woman standing there.

“Hiya, Granny! Hey wait,,,”

The girl was snatched up so quickly I barely saw it, her optimistic cry of “Whee!” cut off abruptly as she was pulled inside, the door slamming shut behind her. I was beginning to think maybe the girl was in danger, after all.

It wasn’t the time to think of suspects, it was time to save lives! The make it or break it moment where heroes were born!

Thus, quite naturally, my birth of valor was through breaking the cottage window.

Glass shattering was merely a cymbal in the sea of sounds coming from the home-- heavy thuds and muffled screams being the key notes. I might not have known the full story of what was going on, but I knew trouble when I heard it on the soundtrack of life! So, I used this opportunity to stretch my paw inside-- fiddling with the lock on the other side. The noise continued, and I was beginning to grow-- dare I say it-- worried.

With a small metallic click I was allowed entrance.  AHA! It was with a cry of success that I threw up the panel, and climbed inside-- only just missing having the window slam back down on my back. I clambered to my back paws, dusting my coat and gave a look about.

The place was an absolute wreck-- and I didn’t just mean from the taste of tacky furniture! Tables were flipped, picture frames were thrown to the floor. Chairs were… Actually, they were fine--BUT EVERYTHING ELSE! Oooh, this had the markings of a genuine struggle!

My deducing would have to wait, as it was the sound of the little girl screaming that sprung me into action.

“I gotcha Red!”

 I scurried to the foyer, followed by stumbling up the steps. I was huffing and puffing by the time I reached the top floor. Another cry! All that stood between me and saving the child was a simple door.

I charged with everything I had.

I collapsed, along with the wooden door. Boy, they sure don’t build houses like they used to anymore… Where were the Walrus and the Carpenter when you needed them?

Oh, right. Prison.

I shook my head, visions of singing oysters leaving me as I took in the room I had so desperately demanded entrance to. Blinking with heavy eyes, I was shocked by what I saw!

The room was absolutely deserted.

The open window told me everything I needed to know … granny and the girl had been nabbed. But where had Larry taken them, and for what purpose? I asked myself these very questions as I descended the stairs, my deep contemplative concentration broken by a loud clatter that could have only been the front door crashing open.

Even more guests? The last thing I needed. Or perhaps the very thing I needed … perhaps whoever it was had seen something, had some information vital to this new questionable quandary I suddenly found myself with. I continued my way down the stairs, and prepared to confront the guest.

Or the intruder.

What I didn’t expect, however, was to see a modern day Adonis. If you asked a barkeep for a tall glass of water, this guy would be the equivalent of getting the whole barrel. Seemingly kind eyes were tinged with worry, as the large lumbering man stumbled through the door. He picked it up afterwards, leaning it back into its frame in some sort of manner of bashful etiquette. Hand on his ax-- Woodsman, then-- he called into the destroyed home.

“Mrs. Fawcett? Ma’am? You home? I brought you this week’s supply!” Boots crushed a picture frame, the lad stopping in his tracks as he bent over to pluck it from under his heel. “Oh my, bingo must have been intense. Shame I missed it!”

This was said with enough cheer that it caused me to facepalm from my spot on the stairs. Oh no, the kid was a nimrod in every sense of the word! I continued to watch: while I was sure he wasn’t the brains of the operation, I wasn’t yet sure where the Woodsman fell on the morality scale. (For all I knew he was a goon of Larry’s!) After I witnessed a cleanup of the crime scene, the Woodsman stopped himself to frown at the rest of the mess.

I could practically hear the squeaks of unused wheels, as the lad was attempting to make a thought.

“I… am beginning to suspect this wasn’t from bingo.”

“Nooo, you THINK?”

My outburst came as a surprise to us both-- my only weakness being the fact I couldn’t stand the simpleminded. Unfortunately for me, I wouldn’t be standing for long: for the moment the Woodsman spotted my fury complexion… Well, let’s just say profiling caused the oaf to have an ax to grind with little old me. 

I have no shame in admitting I yelped, falling down the stairs as I dodged the swing of the blade.

“H-hey, pal, let’s be reasonable!”

Another swing of the ax told me that logic and reason may not have been this guy’s strong suit. The way said ax sliced through an overturned table, barely missing me as I scrambled out of the way, told me he may have been wearing his strong suit,

“Halt, foul beast!” This man had a voice like a tuba. “What have you done with poor Ms. Fawcett? I don’t see her anywhere!”

“I’ve been trying to tell you! If you’d just put the ax away, and give me a chance to explain myself...”

My wit is quicker than my legs, I’m afraid, and I failed to escape the hand the size of my head. I was snatched up off the ground like an unfortunate rabbit in the talons of a hungry hawk. The brute of a man looked me up and down as I dangled there. 

Not my most prideful moment.

“Hmmm. You didn’t eat her, did you?”

“EAT HER?!”

Now, let me tell you a thing or two about wolves: we get a bad rap. Sometimes it felt like wolves were getting the short end of the stick on everything.  Treating all the world's problems on wolves like me. You know what it’s like to get stink eyes everywhere you go? Can’t even fish for a bargain on salmon without people grabbing their kids and running for the hills!

So let’s just say I am a smiggen sensitive when it comes to the subject.

“I’ll show YOU ‘eat her’!” I growled, rage blinding me as I attempted to do the same to the bigot-- claws swiping at nothing. “I walked IN on this, you loony lout! Now put me DOWN before I-”

If the Woodsman considered my threat, even for a fraction of a second, it didn’t show. Head starting to feel like a cheap stress toy, the barbarian secured his grip as he began stomping towards the kitchen.

At this, I protested.

“Hey! Where are you taking me? You can’t do this! I’m a detective: I have RIGHTS!”

I was starting to think the sore throat I was getting from yelling was all for nothing-- especially as the guy ignored me. In some ways that was WORSE than being accused of sentience cannibalism. However, I quickly deduced what the plan was, as I saw the Woodsman reaching for the phone hanging on the wall. 

My suspicions were confirmed when I heard the seven words every detective loathed to hear:

“I’d like to speak to the police.”

[rosecorcoranwrites]

Thoughts on Twists

Every story ever told can be broken down into three parts. The beginning. The middle. And the twist!

—Goosebumps (2015)

Jordan Peele’s Us and M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village Spoilers ahead, so read with caution!

There's something about a good plot twist: the shock, the awe, the feeling of having your world turned upside down. A good twist might make you see a character in a new light, or rethink everything you thought you knew about the setting. A bad twist, on the other hand, can ruin an otherwise decent story. Bad twists feel cheap and stupid, and make what might have been good, even great stories into muddled and unbelievable messes. So what makes a twist good or bad?

First, some preliminaries: what is a twist? Although we all use the phrase "twists and turns", I submit that a plot twist is a little different than a plot turn. A turn might be defined as the plot taking a completely unexpected direction, like "Wow! Who would have thought that guy would end up becoming the villain!". On the other hand, a twist is when we learn an unexpected fact about the world or a character that had been there, secretly, all along: "Wow! Who would have thought that guy was the villain the whole time!".

Since we're on the subject, it should be noted that twist villains are not the only type of twist there is. Nor are twist endings, the quote from Goosebumps notwithstanding. Though twists tend to occur towards the latter part of narratives, they can be sprinkled throughout. I would love to give some examples of this, but one of the problems with talking about good twists is that you don't want to give them away, and talking about them almost invariably does just that.

Obviously, a twist ought to be unpredictable, but a predictable twist does not make a bad story. Erased, which is one of four perfect stories in existence, has a twist you can see coming from a mile away, and yet it remains perfect. Why? First, because the story doesn't hinge on the twist, for one thing; it's cat and mouse, so it's okay if we know who the cat is. Second, a twist that is predictable isn't really a twist. I mean, it is but it isn't; it's one of those weird gray areas of trying to be the thing, but failing. But that's okay. A failed attempt at being a twist is, in my mind, not the same thing as a properly executed but just plain bad twist. But maybe we're getting into the weeds a bit.

I would say that a bad twist is any twist that is not a good twist, and a good twist follows certain rules: it must be believable; it must make sense in retrospect; and, for double twists, the second one must make the story better as a whole. Basically, good twists are satisfying, and bad twists aren't, usually because they break one of the three rules.

Rule 1: A twist must be believable!

By this, I mean believable in whatever world the writer has set up. If supernatural elements are established, or at least hinted at, a supernatural twist is fine. If, however, there is not one hint or peep of the supernatural throughout the story, but it turns out that the killer is a wizard, or an alien, or a ghost, it's awful. Sure, it's unexpected, but in the dumbest way possible. Good twists should be like slight-of-hand; the audience should delight at being fooled. Unbelievable twists feel more like being lied to by someone who's really bad at lying. They feel like an insult.

And don't think that introducing random supernatural elements into a story is the only way to be unbelievable. Sometimes, making a "real world" twist can feel just as unrealistic. I'll say as little as I can, because it's still less than a year old, but I think that Jordan Peele's Us pulls this. I was really excited for that movie when I saw the trailers, and then I read the synopsis and got even more excited, because I hoped that he would try a certain twist. And he did, and I think it's brilliant! But he went for another twist as well (the one that occurs first in the film, actually), which kind of ruins the whole movie. Why? Because that first twist is logistically, financially, geographically, and hereditarily unbelievable (in particular, (SPOILER, obviously): it's idiotic that the child doppelgängers are the offspring of the cloned parents, and not clones of the normal kids. Even if the clone parents had sex at the exact same time as the normal parents, the sperm and egg that happen to unite would be totally random, even accepting the ridiculous idea that the mother clone would ovulate at the same time as the normal mother. Never mind the rest of the absurdity of a vast government(?) clone experiment that just leaves an unlocked exit in a beachside funhouse). It took what could have been a great movie and made it seem fake and silly. I know I wrote a whole post about not being harsh on the plot holes in horror movies, but this particular twist is based on real things in the real world, not monsters or spirits or what have you (and seriously, a mysterious, ever-changing-yet-always-present carnival funhouse that inexplicable spits out doppelgängers from time to time is way scarier than a poorly run scientific experiment). It strains the suspension of disbelief. It's too much to take. Quite simply, I don't buy it. And a good twist should never make the audience say "I don't buy it."

Rule 2: A twist must make sense in retrospect!

The best twists are those that are staring you in the face the whole time. Once you finally learn the truth, you should be able to look back and say, "I can't believe I didn't see that coming!". As an example of such a twist is M. Night Shyamalan's The Visit. Every time I watch that movie with someone who hasn't seen it, it strikes me just how obvious the twist is, and yet no one ever guesses it.

Bad twists tend to come out of left field, or else don’t mesh with what came before. They feel like the writers are cheating by not giving you anything to go off of, but still want you to cheer for them anyway. Hans being the villain in Frozen is one such twist. His early actions in the film don’t jive with his take-the-throne scheme, specifically in that he stops Weselton’s men from killing Elsa in her palace. Why does he do this? The only reason I can think of, given that he was just going to have her executed later anyway, is so the audience wouldn’t know he’s a villain. It’s not in character and doesn't make sense when you learn what he was eventually planning.

Part of making sense in retrospect is having clues to the twist throughout the rest of the story. These might be seemingly unimportant, mundane details that the audience passes over, or they might be red herrings that seem to indicate one thing but actually mean something quite different. Either way, once the twist is revealed, those clues should become obvious. The Ace Attorney games excel at this. There was a case I was playing, and, after finally eliminating one of the two main suspects, I was stumped. If it wasn’t one of those two, who was it? I pulled up the cast list and went one by one, slowly eliminating the impossible until I was left with one improbable suspect. “No,” I thought, “it can’t be them. But, it can’t be anyone else, so…Wait!” Like puzzle pieces falling into place, everything suddenly fit. That person not only had to be the killer because no one else could, it made sense for them to be the killer given all of their past actions.

A twist that I’m not a fan of is the one in And Then There Were None, by Agatha Christie. Before you grab your pitchforks and torches, let me explain for those people who have never read the book: ten strangers meet on an island and are killed, one-by-one, for their past misdeeds. While the book is entertaining and is the granddaddy of all such whittling-down-the-cast who-dun-its, the twist itself is kind of… meh. Yes, the killer’s motive makes sense, but there weren’t any clues or details one could look back on and say, “Ah! Of course! I was blind not to see it!” The little twist as to how they accomplished some of the killings was clever, but as for their identity, well… I feel like Christie could have chosen any of the ten and done the same thing with them. Nothing pointed to that one person in particular being the killer, and it made the whole twist a lot less satisfying.

Rule 3: Double twists must make the story better as a whole!

Double twists are those where one twist comes after another. The second twist can either build on the first one, or subvert it. As an author, I can tell you that double twists are a nice way of covering your bases, because even if someone sees the first twist coming, they usually won’t see the second one. As a reader, I’m crazy about double twists. And yet, people either misuse them by having them make the story worse or don’t use them to make the story better. Basically, a bad double twist is one of those that breaks rule 1 or 2. Sometimes, though, a really good double twist can salvage a single twist that breaks either of these rules, assuming that the story isn't too far gone at that point (Jordan Peele, I'm looking at you).

Let’s take at movie with a double twist, and see if it works or not: M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village. Shyamalan is quite...something, in that he soars to heights and sink to depths in terms of quality. On a scale of The Happening to The Visit (I don’t acknowledge the existence of The Last Airbender or After Earth; they're not Shyamalanian enough), I would say that The Village is just above Lady in the Water but below Glass. Don’t get me wrong, there are parts of The Village that were quite scary and interesting, but its twists? They're just not doing it for me.

SPOILERS, I guess, but this movie's been out for fifteen years, and the twists are nothing great, so, here we go: it turns out the monsters in the woods are actually villagers in suits who deter people from leaving the community, and—double twist—the movie takes place in the modern day, but the village’s inhabitants experienced loss and crime in regular society and formed their weird community in the woods in order to raise their children peacefully. This second twist was neither believable nor hinted at. For example, why do all the adults—all of whom presumably grew up in normal society—use a stilted, old-timey speech (other than to fool the audience on time period)? Also, though we know the elders have secrets they keep in black boxes, we’re never shown even a hint that these might be things from the modern era until the ending. Why not have a full color photo, or an anachronistic piece of technology? The audience would think these were goofs or sloppy filmmaking, until the reveal that it was all part of a carefully set-up twist.

I’m not a fan of the fake-monster twist either, because I’m always in favor of supernatural elements, but it’s not bad in and of itself. If it were the only twist in the film, it would be an okay movie. But that second one, well…It doesn’t make the film better—I think most people would agree it makes it worse—so it’s not a good double twist. How would I fix it? Add one more twist. The blind girl goes into the woods to get medicine, and is attacked by the murderer in a monster suit, just like in the original movie. Only this time, rather than luring him into a hole, she is saved by another creature. “Who’s that?” the audience wonders, until it rips the murderer apart with its claws and then gallops away on all fours or climbs up a tree or something, because—plot twist—there really are monsters out there in the woods! Like I said, I’m always in favor of the supernatural (Besides, the elders do say that they based the creatures off local legends). At this point, you can keep the modern-day twist or not (if you do, I would move the monster fight to after she’s coming home with the medicine). This new twist wouldn’t make it the best movie ever or anything, but it would make it a little better, a little scarier, a bit more unsettling. If the modern setting stays, this twists hits home the already-present-but-somewhat-undercut message that you can try to make a perfect, planned life, but there are still things out there you can't control. I think it would make for a more satisfying story over all.

And that, right there, is what should be at the heart of any twist (or, dare I say it, any story element): satisfying the audience. No one goes into a book or a movie or a game wanting to be lied to or cheated. We want to be dazzled, amazed, maybe even fooled but in a way that we can appreciate. We want a twist that will knock our socks off and change everything we thought we knew, while being right in front of us the whole time. But, honestly, we'll settle for a not-so-mind-blowing twist that at least satisfies our need for a good story. Heck, we'll even take a predictable twist, as long as the story itself is good. Why? Because surprising your audience is a bonus, but satisfying them is a necessity. And that is what a good twist does.

[slasherparty]

h-hewwo. i was wondering if you could write something pertaining to beetlejuice x a shy reader? i really love the way you write him!!

anything for you anon! BJ is my favorite if you haven’t noticed ;o) thank you for the compliment also!! (this is technically a drabble but putting it in bullet points helps my brain keep it sorted)

🎃beetlejuice x shy reader🎃

shy people, breathing or otherwise, are the most frequent victims of beetlejuice’s pranks. there’s nothing more gratifying than seeing their cheeks go red, their faces fluster, their lips stutter over jumbled words they’re too shaken to sort through in the midst of a practical joke that’s gone a bit too well. 

this dynamic is a little different when it comes to romance, however. sure, BJ likes his share of jokes and japes, but if he’s got his mind on someone you can be sure there’s a whole different deck of cards up his sleeve. at this point in the game, shyness takes on a different quality in beej’s eyes. 

he’s always been a flirt. that much is obvious. even before he was the ghost with the most, beej was just about the randiest breather to ever walk the streets of his hometown. but… he’d be lying if he told you his sweet talk always had the desired effect on its recipient. he’ll go for just about anyone, for sure, no questions asked. if beetlejuice had to pick though, he’d say the shy ones are his favorite. they always have such perfect reactions to his flirtatious personality.

he wouldn’t say he looks for this type specifically, but if he happens upon a particularly interesting one, he’ll take a pause in his interdimensional wandering for a peek and see if anything is worth stirring up. 

he happens upon a specific breather one night while sifting through his favorite string of household mirrors (down the american west coast - there’s some reaallll fun to be had in hollywood when you’re an all-powerful poltergeist). they’re in an old house picking at their face in a chipped bathroom mirror, trying too obviously not to look themself in the eyes. this strikes beej as a little funny, so he sticks around and watches idly, hoping for something interesting to happen. the night has gone by rather dully and he could do with some entertainment.

fortunately, this breather gives him something to work with. they huff and disgruntledly begin talking to themself. BJ stands at attention beyond the glass pane.

“get yourself together. it won’t be that bad. no one’s gonna be looking closely at you.” they were going on about something he had no knowledge of, but impromptu pep talks in mirrors always made for good fun, so he listened. “…oh, who am i kidding. it’s gonna be the same old routine the second i go into that party. i’ll stay for five minutes, get self-conscious, make some lame excuse then leave.”

beetlejuice sat back and quirked an eyebrow. for the first time since he started watching, the breather met their eyes in the mirror. beej felt like they were making eye contact even though he hadn’t revealed himself yet.

“god, look at me. i’m 20 years old and can’t even hang out with friends for half an hour without getting anxious. i know they’re just trying to help by inviting me, but… i can’t deal with that much at once. not like anyone would really notice if i went, anyway, but still…”

ugh. if he had to listen to one more second of this pity parade he’d puke. beetlejuice cracks his knuckles then bangs on the other side of the mirror pane, unceremoniously announcing his presence. 

“AHHH!!” the human nearly keels over until their eyes focus on BJ’s bemused expression in the glass. it surprisingly doesn’t take long for them to adjust to his sudden appearance in their bathroom mirror. “wait, what?! is this a haunting?! i knew this house was old, but-”

“pff! you wish this was a haunting, babes.” the poltergeist chuckled. “nah, i was just passing through and noticed your little self-deprecating display through the mirror. you’ve gotta be more careful about what you say to yourself, dude.”

“well, excuse me for trying to enjoy the privacy of my own home, sir fantôme intrus! i mean, who do you think-” a realization seemed to dawn on their face. “oh god, that means… you heard me? saying ALL of that?”

beetlejuice nods, thoroughly enjoying the red flush growing on the breather’s cheeks. they pull at their hair and sit back on the closed toilet seat behind them to process the last five minutes of their life. “take your time, i got an eternity to wait for ya.”

“ughhh.” they groan, head in their hands. “please tell me there aren’t any other ghosts back there laughing at me, too.”

“nope. just me.” BJ taps at the glass. “but hey, that ain’t the point, sweet cheeks. i don’t bang on the mirrors of just any old mortal, y’know?” that last part was a bit of a lie, but it was true that this person had held his interest longer than most, so they were special. 

“so? am i supposed to thank you for gracing my bathroom with your presence or something?”

“you can thank me later, sure.” he winks. “but right now, you’ve got a problem. and it ain’t the smokin’ hot poltergeist talkin’ at ya through the mirror, either. if i was hearin’ correctly, you’ve got a little trouble meetin’ new people.”

“that’s none of your business.” the breather shot back, trying to avoid beetlejuice’s undead gaze. “but… yeah. you heard right. so what about it?”

“so everything about it, kid! sure, i’ve only known you for ten minutes, five of which you weren’t aware of which sours the pot for you a bit i’m sure, but hey! point is, if you can get the attention of an undead party animal like me, you’ve got spunk enough to get a few lame breathers together and call them new pals. they won’t be as much fun as yours truly, yeah, but my point stands. don’t sell yourself short and all that, y’know?”

beetlejuice’s eyes had wondered during his improv inspirational address, but when they returned to make eye contact with his companion he was a little surprised to see them tearing up. “whoa, hey! don’t go pullin’ out the waterworks on me kid, i’m just tryna help!”

“no, no…” they wiped their eyes and stood again. “that was… oddly sweet. for a peeping tom, anyway. you… you really mean all that?”

beej recovered quickly. “hell, you want me to repeat myself? i’ll lay it on extra thick if ya need me to. you’re cute, babe. bet any mortal would be interested in hangin’ around with ya.” he hovers closer to the mirror pane and grins demurely down at the breather before him, cocking one wicked eyebrow. “maybe even a few ghosts too, huh? maybe one specific ghost who’d really like to get to know you better outside of this broken bathroom mirror.”

that absolutely did the trick. the breather’s shy smile falters into something coy and they look down, tips of their ears going dark. “a-alright. just… don’t try anything spooky. i can’t have the floor shaking and the walls oozing slime, if that’s what’s on your mind.”

“haHA!” beetlejuice cackles. “there’s nothin’ i do that ain’t spooky, babes. but nah… floors aren’t what i’m thinkin’ of shakin’ tonight.”

suffice it to say, this breather was perfectly happy skipping that party. they had more than a new friend to show for it in the end. 

cross-posted on ao3! (this version is fully edited and capitalized, yay!)

[ofallingstar]

First lines from the books I read in 2018

Hawksmoor by Peter Ackroyd: Thus is 1711, the ninth year of the reign of Queen Anne, an Act of Parliament was passed to erect seven new Parish Churches in the Cities of London and Westminster, which commission was delivered to Her Majesty’s Office of Works in Scotland Yard.

Métamorphose en bord de ciel by Mathias Malzieu: Les oiseaux, ça s'enterre en plein ciel.

Sense and Sensibility by Jane Austen: The family of Dashwood had been long settled in Sussex.

Le plus petit baiser jamais recensé by Mathias Malzieu: Le plus petit baiser jamais recensé.

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll: Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice, “without pictures or conversations?”

Through the Looking-Glass, and What Alice Found There by Lewis Carroll: One thing was certain, that the white kitten had had nothing to do with it -it was the black kitten’s fault entirely.

Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson: Ba-room, ba-room, ba-room, baripity, baripity, baripity, baripity-Good.

The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin: Dear James: I had begun this letter five times and torn it up five times.

The Secret in Their Eyes by Eduardo Sacheri: Benjamín Miguel Chaparro stops short and decides he’s not going.

At the Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft: I am forced into speech because men of science have refused to follow my advice without knowing why.

The Minds of Billy Milligan by Daniel Keyes: This books is the factual account of the life, up to now, of William Stanley Milligan, the first person in U.S. history to be found not guilty of major crimes, by reason of unsanity, because he possessed multiple personalities.

The Bad Beginning by Lemony Snicket: If you are interested in stories in happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book.

Puckoon by Spike Milligan: Several and a half metric miles North East of Sligo, split by a cascading stream, her body on earth, her feet in water, dwells the microcephalic community of Puckoon.

Piercing by Ryu Murakami: A small living creature asleep in its crib.

The Reptile Room by Lemony Snicket: The stretch of the road that leads out of this city, past Hazy Harbor and into the town of Tedia, is perhaps the most unpleasant in the world.

And the Mountains Echoed by Khaled Hosseini: So, then.

The Shape of Water by Guillermo Del Toro and Daniel Kraus: Richard Strickland reads the brief from General Hoyt.

Eleanor & Park by Rainbow Rowell: He’d stopped trying to bring her back.

Down and Out in Paris and London by George Orwell: The Rue du Coq d’Or, Paris, seven in the morning.

We Were Liars by E. Lockhart: Welcome to the beautiful Sinclair family.

The Book Thief by Markus Zusack: First the colors. Then the humans. That’s usually how I see things. Or at least, how I try.

The Wide Window by Lemony Snicket: If you didn’t know much about the Baudelaire orphans, and you saw them sitting on their suitcases at Damocles Dock, you might think they were bound for an exciting adventure.

The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson: No live organism can continue for long to exist sanely under conditions of absolute reality; even larks and katydids are supposed, by some, to dream.

Battles in the Desert by José Emilio Pacheco: I remember, I don’t remember.

The Miserable Mill by Lemony Snicket: Sometime during your lifetime -in fact, very soon- you may find yourself reading a book, and you may notice that a book’s first sentence can often tell you what sort of story your book contains.

The Age of American Unreason by Susan Jacoby: The word is everywhere, a plague spread by the President of the United States, television anchors, radio talk show hosts, preachers in megachurches, self-help gurus, and anyone else attempting to demostrate his or her identification with ordinary, presumably wholesome American values.

A Midsummer Night’s Dream by William Shakespeare: Theseus, duke of Athens, is planning the festivities for his upcoming wedding to the newly captured Amazon, Hippolyta.

Madame Bovary by Gustave Flaubert: We were in study hall when the headmaster walked in, followed by a new boy not wearing a school uniform, and by a janitor carrying a large desk.

The Austere Academy by Lemony Snicket: If you were going to give a gold medal to the last delightful person on Earth, you would have to give that medal to a person named Carmelita Spats, and if you didn’t give it to her, Carmelita Spats was the sort of person who would snatch it from your hands anyway.

Lord of the Flies by William Golding: The boy with fair hair lowered himself down the last few feet of rock and began to pick his way toward the lagoon.

The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare: Christopher Sly, a drunken beggar, is driven out of an alehouse by its hostess.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee: When he was nearly thirteen, my brother Jem got his arm badly broken at the elbow.

Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: My name is Katy H.

Hear the Wind Sing by Haruki Murakami: “There’s no such thing as a perfect piece of writing.”

The Ersatz Elevator by Lemony Snicket: The book you are holding in your two hands right now -assuming that you are, in fact, holding this book, and that you have only two hands- is one of two books in the world that will show you the difference between the words “nervous” and the word “anxious.”

Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare: Two households, both alike in dignity, (In fair Verona, where we lay our scene), From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

Adventure Time: The Enchiridion & Marcy’s Super Secret Scrapbook!!!: My Devoted Evil Daighter, Marceline, I admit we’ve had a somewhat volatile father-daughter relantionship ever since the regrettable Fry Incident.

A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin: Ser Waymar Royce glanced at the sky with desinterest.

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley: You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.

Pinball, 1973 by Haruki Murakami: I used to love listening to stories about faraway places.

The Vile Village by Lemony Snicket: No matter who you are, no matter where you live, and no matter how many people are chasing you, what you don’t read is often as important as what you do read.

Dracula by Bram Stoker: 3 May. Bistritz. –Left Munich at 8:35 P.M., on 1st May, arriving at Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:43, but train was an hour late.

The Merchant of Venice by William Shakespeare: I know this hartred mocks all Christian virtue, but They I loathe: their very sight  abhors me.

On the Road by Jack Kerouac: I first met Dean not long after my wife and I split up.

A Wild Sheep Chase by Haruki Murakami: It was a short one-paragraph item in the morning edition.

The Hostile Hospital by Lemony Snicket: There are two reasons why a writer would end a sentence with the word “stop” written in entirely in capital letters STOP.

The Most Beautiful: My Life with Prince by Mayte Garcia: The chain-link fence around Praisley Park is woven with purple ribbons and roses, love notes, tributes, and prayers for peace.

Hamlet by William Shakespeare: Who’s there?

A Clash of Kings by George R. R. Martin: The comet’s tail spread across the dawn, a red slash that bled above the crags of Dragonstone like a wound in the pink and purple sky.

Out of Africa by Isak Dinensen: I had a farm in Africa, at the foot of Ngong Hills.

Carrie by Stephen King: News item from the Westover (Me.) weekly enterprise, August 19, 1966: RAIN OF STONES REPORTED.

The Carnivorous Carnival by Lemony Snicket: When my workday is over, and I have closed my notebook, hidden my pen and sawed holes in my rented canoe so it cannot be found, I often like to spend the evening in conversation with my few surviving friends.

Forgive Me, Leonard Peacock by Matthew Quick: The P-38 WWII Nazi handgun looks comical lying on the breakfast table next to a boal of outmeal.

The Turn of the Screw by Henry James: The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as, on Christmas Eve on an old house, a strange tale should essentially be, I remember no comment uttered till somebody happened to say that it was the only tale he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child.

Carmilla by Sheridan J. Le Fanu: Upon a paper attached to the Narrative which follows, Doctor Hesselius has written a rather elaborated note, which he accompanies with a reference to his Essay on the strange subject which the MS. illuminates.

The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson: No one has ever suffered as I have.

The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka: One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin.

House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski: I still get nightmares.

Othello by William Shakespeare: In the streets of Venice, Iago tells Roderigo of his hatred for Othello, who has given Cassio the lieutenancy that Iago wanted and has made Iago a mere ensign.

Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami: I often dream about the Dolphin Hotel.

The Slippery Slope by Lemony Snicket: A man of my acquaintance once wrote a poem called “The Road Less Traveled,” describing a journey he took through the woods along a path most travelers never used.

I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings by Maya Angelou: “What you looking at me for? I didn’t come to stay…”

A Most Haunted House by G. L. Davies: The house first came to my attention a few  years ago.

Ghost Sex, The Violation by G. L. Davies: I met with Lisa at her home in Pembroke Dock.

Any Man by Amber Tamblyn: Am I in a body?

A Head Full of Ghosts by Paul Tremblay: “This must be so difficult for you, Meredith.”

A Storm of Swords by George R. R. Martin: The day was grey and bitter cold, and the dogs would not take the scent.

Macbeth by William Shakespeare: When shall we three meet again in thunder, lightning, or in rain?

You by Caroline Kepnes: You walk into the bookstore and you keep your hand on the door to make sure it doesn’t slam.

The Grim Grotto by Lemony Snicket: After a great deal of examining oceans, investigating rainstorms and staring very hard at several drinking fountains, the scientists of the worlds developed a theory regarding how water is distributed around our planet, which they have named “the water cycle.”

Wide Sargasso Sea by Jean Rhys: They say when trouble comes close ranks, and so the white people did.

Mansfield Park by Jane Austen: About thirthy years ago, Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven thousand pounds, had the luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of Mansfield Park, in the country of Northampton, and to be thereby raised to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences of a handsome house and a large income.

The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë: My name is Gilbert Markham, and my story begings in October 1827, when I was twenty-four years old.

The Tempest by William Shakespeare: Boatswain!

Lucky by Alice Sebold: In the tunnel where I was raped, a tunnel that was once an underground entry to an amphitheather, a place where actors burst forth from underneath the seats of a crowd, a girl had been murdered and dismembered.

The Penultimate Peril by Lemony Snicket: Certain people had said that the world is like a calm pond, and that anytime a person does even the smallest thing, it is as if a stone has dropped into the pond, spreading circles of ripples further and further out, until the entire world has been changed by one tiny action.

[koinekid]

K18: Not Like All the Others

For ChestnutFest 2018

Prompt: First Fight / Scars 

I’ll be posting some of these stories along with some from last year’s ChestnutFest in my anthology series, Kame Island Romance, on FanFiction.Net.

Note: The following story briefly touches on sensitive subject matter. Read at your discretion.

Rights to Dragonball and related properties are held by their respective owners. No infringement is implied or intended.

Not Like All the Others

By Koinekid

“Not all scars are visible…but with time they might fade...”

—José N. Harris

Krillin should have known better than to leave Eighteen alone with Roshi and Oolong. Their living arrangement was still too new—it wasn’t even clear whether they should classify her as a longterm houseguest or a roommate. And boundaries, which would be obvious to anyone who wasn’t a pervert, had yet to be firmly established.

But Yamcha was only in town for the weekend before starting another monthlong road trip with his baseball team, and Krillin was dying to see his friend. He invited Eighteen to join them for karaoke, but displaying her typical aloofness, she turned away without saying a word.

So, he left, but she never left his thoughts as he reminisced with his old friend. Krillin could barely work up the energy to sing more than a few songs. Yamcha understood.

“Worried about Eighteen?”

Krillin nodded sheepishly.

“It’s okay. If I had a pretty girl waiting for me, I wouldn’t stop thinking about her either.”

He denied it, but Yamcha saw right through him and sent him back home, promising they’d meet up when he returned. “And, Krillin,” he offered as a parting shot, “you’d better have some positive news to report, or I just might make a move on her myself.”

They laughed. Krillin knew his friend was joking. Or hoped he was, at least.

So, his spirits were high as he walked through the front door of Kame House. They plummeted when he heard voices coming from upstairs.

“Move out of the way. Let me see.”

“Quiet down, pig. You had your turn.”

“But I didn’t see anything. There’s too much steam.”

Krillin cringed. They wouldn’t, would they?

He approached the stairs with trepidation, praying he wouldn’t find what he already knew he would: his roommates crouched at the bathroom door, jockeying for position in front of the keyhole. The upstairs bathroom was the only room in the house without a modern lock, and now he knew why.

Master, Oolong, come on.

The pig lifted an ancient-looking hand-cranked drill and positioned it against the wall.

“Shh,” Roshi hissed. “She’ll hear.”

“It’s worth the risk.”

Roshi snatched away the drill. “You should have acted earlier if you wanted your own peephole.”

“Krillin would’ve stopped me. You’d think that spoilsport was still a monk the way he refuses to look at her.”

“Oh, he looks. He’s just better at hiding it than you are.”

“You think he made his own peephole?” the pig asked. “His room shares a wall with the bathroom.”

They looked at one another, then at Krillin’s door. “Nah,” they agreed.

“You’re right about that,” came Krillin’s voice behind them. “I’d never stoop so low.”

Oolong gulped, and Roshi tried to strike an authoritative stance. “Respect your elders, boy.”

“Hand over the drill, Master.”

“No, get your own.” The tool, which he forbade Oolong to use mere moments ago, suddenly became a sticking point, and as the two struggled over it, Oolong inched closer to the keyhole.

“Hey, the shower stopped. The steam is starting to clear. I see leg. Glorious leg. Just another second, and I’ll—” He felt a hand grip his shoulder. “Eep.”

Behind him stood Krillin, holding the bent and broken drill in one hand with Roshi nowhere to be seen.

Oolong chuckled nervously. “Guess I’ll be going now.”

“You guessed right.” Krillin propelled the pig harder than necessary toward the stairs. Sighing, he prepared to follow his roommates to the first floor and have the serious talk they frankly should have had before Eighteen moved in. But he stepped on something, lost his footing, and fell headlong into the door. On his way down, he discovered what had tripped him—the drill’s handle, which must have separated from the rest of the tool during his struggle with Roshi. The drill bit lodged itself into the door with a twang, and before he recovered his wits enough to decide what to do about it, the door opened, and a very wet, very pissed Eighteen appeared, clad only in a towel.

<<>> 

Pissed wasn’t entirely accurate. When the door opened, she looked merely confused. Myriad emotions then passed through those crystal blue eyes that always took his breath away: hurt, betrayal, sadness, and finally anger and hatred unlike any he had ever seen from her. Krillin felt very small in that moment, and guilty. Not for anything he had done but for what he failed to do—protect her. He wasn’t her boyfriend. Probably he never would be—certainly not after what she thought he had done. But she was a guest in his home, and the safety he owed her as such, he failed to deliver.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“You’re sorry.” Her anger twisted the word into a curse. “I guess that makes it all right, doesn’t it?”

“I know how this looks, but I didn’t—I wouldn’t.”

“Bullshit!”

He scrambled backwards as she advanced on him. But the hallway was narrow, and his back hit the wall almost instantly. She grabbed the front of his shirt, lifted him as if he were a child and slammed him into the wall. The Sheetrock crumbled around him.

“Eighteen, please. I can explain.”

“I don’t need your explanation. I know exactly what you were doing—the same thing all you men do. You’re just like those perverted roommates of yours, just like…” Her eyes compressed briefly, fighting back tears. “At least they’re honest about what they are.”

“But I’m not like that. I would never disrespect you—”

“Liar,” she shrieked, drawing back her fist. As she did, her towel began to slip. Rather than raise his arms to defend himself, he slammed his eyes shut and averted his gaze.

Her grip slackened, and she dropped him in her haste to secure the towel. “Why’d you look away?” she spat. “Isn’t this what you wanted to see?”

“No, well, I mean, not like this.”

“Oh, so you’d rather watch a woman who doesn’t know she’s being watched. Is that what gets you off?”

“Eighteen, please. I wasn’t spying on you. It’s all a huge misunderstanding.”

“You already admitted you want to see me naked. Admit the rest so you can die with a clean conscience.”

His mouth went dry. “I—I admit…”

She cracked her knuckles. “Yeah?”

“I do think about seeing you...naked, but never without your consent.”

“And what makes you think an ugly troll like you could ever get that?”

He shook his head.

“No answer?” Her face contorted in fury. “That’s just as well. Whatever little fantasies you have about me, get over them. You’re no knight in shining armor, and I’m sure as hell no pure and innocent damsel. That old pervert who turned me into a cyborg had his eyes and hands all over me—”

“That doesn’t make it right for me to look. Or for anyone else.”

“You’re just like everyone else!”

“I’m not. I can’t answer for what others have done to you. All I can say is how sorry I am, that I never would have hurt you. And you didn’t deserve it.”

Her hands shot up, and he thought it was all over. But they rose to cover her face. Sobs racked her lithe frame as she sank to the floor.

Krillin pushed to his feet and walked cautiously toward her. “Eighteen?” He placed a hand on her bare shoulder.

When she met his gaze, the fury and hate were gone, and she looked so vulnerable that he nearly wept with her. She reached toward him, and for a heartbeat, it appeared she would accept his comfort. Then, she slapped his hand away and fled for the safety of her room.

He stood motionless, torn between the desire to grant her the privacy she wanted and the ache in his heart that demanded he comfort someone he had come to care for deeply.

Knocking on her door, he called her name. She gave no answer, and he was about to give up when he heard the sound of glass shattering. With no time for debate, he shouldered his way into the locked room, tearing the door from its frame in the process.

Shards of broken glass littered her bed and floor. He found her wet towel discarded in the middle of the carpet. Several dresser drawers had been flung open in haste or frustration. The majority of her clothes were still there, so she hadn’t packed. Most likely, she had paused only long enough to dress before exiting through the window.

Why she felt the need to go through the window without opening it first was anybody’s guess. Probably she needed something to take her anger out on. Better it than me, he supposed.  

Still, he couldn’t help but worry and wonder if he’d ever see her again. Eighteen might return for her clothes in the middle of the night without him or his roommates noticing. Worse, she could abandon them altogether and steal what she needed. He’d hate to see that. She’d come so far in such a short amount of time. Returning to a life of crime would be a waste.

“Be safe, Eighteen,” he whispered. “Please come back.”

 <<>> 

 That night Krillin lay in bed pondering the events of the afternoon. He spent the hours following Eighteen’s departure patching the broken window and clearing the glass from her floor and bed. He’d fly to the nearest town tomorrow and buy the materials necessary to replace the window. It wouldn’t be cheap, but he’d pay for it himself. Though he wasn’t entirely to blame for this fiasco, he could’ve handled it better. He’d also pay for the door, which was his fault.

He found time to talk with his roommates as well and made it clear that, if she did return, she was off limits. One peep, one lewd comment, one inappropriate look in her direction, and there would be hell to pay. Threats proved unnecessary, though. The cracked wall in the hallway had shaken them up already.

Sleep was a long time coming, and when it did, he dreamed of her.

Instead of jeans and a long-sleeved tee, dream Eighteen wore a long white dress. Not a wedding gown. This was of a simpler cut. Krillin was there too, an older version of himself with his hair grown out, dressed in shorts and a loose-fitting orange polo. They strolled on the beach. It might have been Kame Island. He couldn’t be sure. And between them, holding onto a hand each, was a little girl with Eighteen’s blonde hair and his dark eyes and noseless face. They were a family—he could tell—and it may have been the happiest dream of his life.

The little girl ran ahead, laughing and calling Papa and Mama to see what she found. As they knelt beside her, she began to happily bang two seashells together. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

Krillin’s eyes jerked open. Disappointment set in as the day’s events came crashing back into his consciousness. He desperately tried to recapture the dream. If he concentrated, he could still hear the sound of his daughter tapping those seashells together.

In fact, the tapping grew more insistent, and it no longer sounded like seashells.

He sat up in bed, and his heart skipped a beat when he spotted Eighteen floating outside his window, tapping on the glass.

He threw open the window, but when he started to speak, she placed a finger over her lips and beckoned him to join her outside. Pausing only long enough to slip on a pair of shorts—he already wore boxers and a tee shirt—he followed her into the night.

They flew silently for several minutes. Some dark, morose part of himself wondered if she meant to draw him away to his doom, but that wasn’t her style. If she intended to kill him, she’d do it in broad daylight in front of his friends. Correction, that’s what the old Eighteen would have done if she decided to kill someone. And she was becoming a more distant memory with each passing day.

With little warning, Eighteen stopped, and he nearly collided with her. She raised a brow, and he smiled sheepishly. Nodding toward the island below them, she began her descent. He followed.

The moon was out in full, reflecting like a spotlight off the water of a lagoon. Eighteen removed her boots and socks and rolled up her jeans before wading out into the water. Looking back at Krillin, she extended a hand. They waded for some time in the shallow water, holding hands and enjoying the sounds of the night, the gentle surf lapping the shore, the crickets chirping, the breeze rustling the palm fronds.

Krillin pictured the little girl from his dream. She’d love this place, and his heart ached at the thought that she would never see it.

At last, Eighteen broke the silence. “This is my favorite place to think. It’s nice during the day, but at night…well, you can see for yourself.”

“Thank you for sharing it with me. It’s beautiful.”

“Krillin, you—you can ask ask me out if you want.”

“Do you want me to?”

She nodded, her attempt to hide a blush unsuccessful in the moonlight. “You think I deserve to be treated like any other woman, right? Then, ask me out.”

“W—would you like to go out with me?”

“What would we do?” she asked.

“Anything you want.”

She harrumphed. “You’re the one asking me out. You should have a plan.”

“All right, um…” He racked his brain for an appropriate scenario. “There’s this café a couple of islands over. We could go there to talk, get to know one another better. Then take a walk in the nearby park.”

She appeared to mull it over before her face broke out in a smile she’d been trying to hide. “I accept.” Then she leaned over and pressed her lips to his cheek. It was the sweetest kiss he’d ever received, full of hope and longing, a far cry from the scornful, almost violent kiss she gave him on the highway all those months ago.

Straightening, she chewed her lip.

“Are you all right?”

“Krillin, we—I need to take things slow, so…so that I get used to the idea of a man touching me out of purity. Okay?”

Throughout all of this, they had never released their hold on one another’s hands. He squeezed hers in reassurance. “Okay.”

Relief flooded her face. Had she really thought he’d say no?

“So, what now?” she asked.

He took a deep breath of ocean air before releasing a contented sigh. “It’s a gorgeous night, nice breeze in the air. Would you walk with me on the beach?”

She smiled. “Maybe we’ll find some seashells.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, “wouldn’t that be something?”

The End.

Thanks for reading; reviews and comments are appreciated.

[thehuggamugcafe]

You Need Proper Punishment I/II

Wisps of steam wafted out from the cup of tea Mod Barista held in her hands, the hot drink soothing her throat as she took a sip. The lone barista surveyed the coffee shop and how... desolate it looked, for lack of a better word. Besides her there was just a lone customer, polishing off the slice of cake she’d been eating. A small smile curled Mod Barista’s lips, quietly pleased; she seemed to enjoy the first slice of her cake. “I should get to work on the next part of her order soon,” Mod Barista murmured to herself, flicking a glance at the front door of her small, quaint establishment, as though she was expecting someone else to enter and place an order. Still smiling, the barista took another sip of her hot tea. “...Business is so slow today,” she whispered to herself, breathing a sigh as she stared down into her cup of tea. It was to be expected; she hadn’t been open that long, after all. Of course a small establishment such as hers would be as empty as a graveyard. Mod Barista wandered back into the prep area, to start working on the next decadent part of her first customer’s order.

OOC: The title says it all, but if I had to summarize it, I’d say this one particular post would take place during one of the two times (or both times.) I mentioned where Incubus!Akira/Ren was disappointed with you, dear reader. He’d feel an appropriate punishment would fit your... misbehaving, shall we say? The usual heads up applies here, my dears. Discipline/spanking kink, dirty talk, mild bondage, some aggressive behaviour (depends on how you’d define aggressive of course, dear reader.) and small hints of possessiveness from Incubus!Akira/Ren. Please enjoy and prepare for your thirst to be quenched, my lovely peeps!

A brief breath of warm air passed between your lips, hanging agape as you panted from where you sat: on Akira’s lap. You took advantage of the precious few seconds you had to breathe in air before, once again, your lips were claimed by the male incubus. He took several breath-taking, potentially bruising kisses from you, peppering your cheeks and jaw with short, affectionate kisses and nips before his lips, teeth, and tongue attacked the sweet spot that he knew was on your neck. You knew there’d be painfully obvious signs of hickies bruising your clavicle and neck; in fact, the skin was already starting to tingle as it swelled up a bit. Aside from your underwear, you were completely naked; a stark, but clear contrast to the male whose lap you sat on. Your shirt was on the floor, torn so badly that it was little more than shredded ribbons of cotton, and the buttons that popped free were scattered around the remnants of what had once been your top. The loose-fitting cotton pyjama leggings you’d been wearing fared little better, reduced to tattered cloth just as your shirt was. Your bra lay atop the shredded night clothes that clearly hinted of an eager mauling, not having suffered the same dismal fate as your outer layer of clothing had. You’d long since lost count of how many times he’d pinned you to your bed, his mouth claiming yours in a greedy and ravenous kiss, but until that particular night, one thing remained the same. The onyx-eyed male was usually careful with how he removed your clothing, slowly peeling whatever you wore away from your warm body as you writhed, panted, and begged for him to continue. On that night, he hadn’t been so merciful with the flimsy threads you called “clothing” on that particular evening. Your mind thoroughly disorientated, your brain clouded in a thick, bewildering fog of lust, your thoughts drifted back to how you managed to get into the situation you were in at the moment... You had barely managed to get the words “Oh, Akira, good evening” out of your mouth before, suddenly, the onyx-eyed male took quick, powerful strides toward you, a hand shooting forward and grasping your wrist, tugging you into a bruising kiss that had you gasping for air once he finally decided to pull away. The buttons to your top popped off as it was gripped and pulled at, the shirt tearing from your upper torso with a sharp rip, holding the tattered remains of what had been your shirt seconds ago in his hand before he tossed it to the floor of your bedroom. Akira breathed a growl into your face, ignoring how surprised you were at his aggressive demeanor as he pressed you up against the closest wall, his mouth quick to find yours once again as a hand was raised, cupping the curve of your jawline so you couldn’t break free until he, you, or both of you required air. Beads of nervous sweat formed on your crown, feeling the tapered edge of his claws lightly grazing the curvature of your jaw. The contact wasn’t enough to draw blood, but it was close enough that you could feel what was ghosting over your skin... Akira wouldn’t hurt you on purpose, and certainly not without your expressed consent; you were positive of that much, at least. However, he was still a denizen of the infernal realm through and through, and his body language, his aggressive kisses spoke silent volumes of just how annoyed he was. You were sure that behind his face of carefully restrained irritation, there was a river of boiling anger. A roaring river of silent ire running its course through his veins, one born out of jealousy. You had a feeling what had birthed the physical incarnation of the green-eyed monster who stood in front of you, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, stealing one hungry lip-lock after another from you. How could you not know the reason behind Akira’s unusual, high-key seduction, after all? It was your fault that he was even feeling jealous to start with... You were broken from your inner musings as the hand that had been lovingly caressing the curve of your jaw was now cradling your head, his free hand—that had been gripping a hold of your clothed hip—trailed down to the waistband of your pyjama leggings. Akira lightly dragged a lone clawed forefinger across your abdomen, tugging on the elastic waistband of the pyjama pants to allow a brief draft to whisper its way down your legs. A chill danced up and down your spine, though not an entirely unpleasant one... That is, if the sudden gush of liquid flowing into the crotch of your underwear was any indication. You felt the smooth wetness of his tongue flicking across your bottom lip, quietly asking for permission—permission which you granted him after a brief moment of hesitation. His tongue quickly delved in past your parted lips, seeking out your own, voicing an almost primal growl upon feeling the wet organ touch his own, soon coaxing you into reciprocating. By that point your lungs were screaming for air and so, you raised a hand, draping a bare arm over Akira’s clothed shoulders, your other hand rising to rest on his chest, tapping his collarbone gently. The way his onyx eyes softened, he understood—and recognized—that signal. The incubus took a few quick licks of your tongue before he finally pulled away, releasing your lips and tongue with a moist pop noise. A string of saliva connected your mouth to his, glistening trails of spit dripping from your mouths and coating your chins, staring into each other’s eyes as you both panted in unison. Akira’s dark eyes stared at you through the glasses perched on his nose, raising a hand to push them back up. There was a flash of pink as his tongue darted out to lick at his lips, lowering his raised hand to catch the saliva that dripped from and clung to his mouth and chin, staring at you all the while. “Who was it...?” he asked at last, watching as you blinked owlishly. “H-Huh?” You mentally winced at the stutter that left your saliva-coated mouth, raising a hand to wipe away your saliva from your lips and chin, as well as Akira’s. “Who taught you how to kiss so erotically? Who was it?” For the second time that night, beads of nervous sweat started to form on your forehead, but it wasn’t due to his claws; they had already returned to resemble human fingernails. No, this time, it was something that you still found to be a bit unsettling. Akira slowly removed his rounded, black-framed glasses, his gaze rivaling that of the intensity of the sun. Flecks of marigold could be seen within the mesmerizing onyx irises, causing you to swallow slowly, thickly. Neither the audible gulp or your silent anxiety went unnoticed by the male incubus, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Answer me, love. Who personally mentored you to kiss like that?” There was still a note of jealousy present in his voice, but he spoke softly to you. His movements were gentle as he raised a hand, cupping your cheek. You swallowed thickly. “...Y-You did, Akira,” you spoke, your voice barely above the octave of a stuttered whisper. However, Akira had no issues with hearing you. “Who claimed all of your firsts before any other man could?” Your mouth popped open, a response at the ready as Akira continued talking. “Who saw you bare as the day you were born first?” “You did.” “Who finger fucked you first?” “You did.” “Whose erect cock did you hold first?” “Yours.” “Who taught you how to give a proper blowjob first?” “You did.” “Who gave you your first orgasm?” “You did.” “Who ate you out and slurped up your pussy juices first?” “You did.” “And most importantly... Who was it that popped your cherry first? Who is the one that holds you and screws your brains out every night?” “You did.” You paused, licking your lips nervously before adding, “You are, Akira.” “Exactly. I did. I took all of your firsts before anyone else could, love. So... Why is it that you feel the need to test me?” “T-Test you? Why would you think...? I didn’t say I was... I’m not trying to...” “Shh.” Akira raised a hand, pressing a finger to your moist lips, silencing your meek protests. For a moment, and only a moment, you felt—no, you sensed—the smallest traces of worry, staring up into his onyx eyes. A bead of sweat trailed down from your perspiring crown, swallowing a thick gulp that wormed its way down your esophagus and to your gut, where it squirmed in unvoiced nervousness. His eyes. You could never break your gaze away from his eyes, not when he removed his glasses. They were too intense, always quietly demanding your attention to be focused only on him, and nobody else, but... Especially when those damned flecks of yellow shone in his onyx eyes, the molten gold specks that gently highlighted Akira’s dark irises similar to a starlit night. They were a beautiful sight to behold. You would have found them to be more attractive, if you could stop feeling so intimidated, so meek, so small when they were focused solely on you. “...Do I have your undivided attention again?” Not trusting your voice, you nodded slowly. “...Good.” Akira waited a few moments before lowering the hand, the finger leaning away from your lips. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t speak. There was a disquieting stillness in the air, a tranquility that bothered you. For a few moments you forgot to breathe before, finally, taking in and releasing air to regulate your pounding heart that raced in your chest. “...Darling?” “Y-Yes, Akira?” Once again you quietly cursed yourself for the tiny, but obvious wavering note in your voice. “I believe that you are in need of proper punishment, my kitten.”

[dw-writes]

Espresso Shot - miloredboy

SO!!! I am so deeply sorry @miloredboy for this taking SO LONG to come out. And because of that, I spent even /more/ time trying to make sure that this turned out as great as it could and I’m sorry it took so long!!!

SO after much waiting, here it is!! My second espresso shot commissioned by the lovely miloredboy for our favorite Edgelord Werewolf Dad: Gabriel Reyes

Gabriel Reyes was the most ridiculous man you knew, besides the obvious fact that, well, he wasn’t human. You had met him at a costume party a few years back, dazzled by the obvious work he had put into his headless horseman costume, and honestly? You were amazed. So much so, you spent most of the night just talking with him. After that, he couldn’t get rid of you. Or, you couldn’t get rid of him? You weren’t really sure. But you grew close. And closer still over the last year, until it reached the point that you weren’t just looking forward to spending time with him, but you were having small day dreams about him kissing you.

“Gabriel?” you asked softly, watching as his back tensed a smidge. He was cooking dinner, something he insisted on doing for you at least once a week. His knife slowed just a bit as he hummed in recognition. “Do you wanna go on a date, maybe?” you asked hesitantly.

This time, his knife stopped. He looked over his shoulder at you, arching an eyebrow. “A date? 

“What? Is that out of the question?” You sank into your chair, pouting. “If you don’t wanna go, fine, we don’t have to go on a date.”

“No, no,” he said as he lowered his knife. He turned to you, wiping his hands clean on a towel. “I’m trying to clarify. You’re asking me on a date? Right?” He sported a teasing grin. You pursed your lips and turned away. “No, you can’t run away!” he declared. He took two large steps across the kitchen and placed a hand on either side of your chair. “Now tell me,” he said, adding your name for emphasis, “Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Not if you’re gonna be a complete smart ass about it,” you mumbled. Gabriel leaned in closed, bumping his forehead against yours. You squeezed your eyes shut to avoid looking at him. “Yes,” you sighed, “Yes, I’m trying to ask you out on a date, Gabe. Are you happy now? Are you happy that you’ve made me admit this to you?”

He chuckled and the sound was right in your ear. You couldn’t help but blush. “I am, actually,” he finally answered. He leaned away from your seat to resume working on dinner. “I was thinking about asking you out myself, actually. But you beat me to the punch.”

You couldn’t have turned fast enough. “Excuse me?”

“I was planning on asking you out,” he repeated. He grinned as he twirled the knife between his fingers. “What? Is that so hard to imagine?”

“Only a little,” you said after a long moment. He returned to cooking, to focusing on something other than you at that moment, and you got a chance to stare at him. It made you think of the little things that had happened between the two of you that stood out.

There was one thing that wasn’t history. You remembered it had occurred almost a year into your friendship with the man. Weird things had started happening around town, things that made you question whether or not you wanted to leave your house after dark any more. But this night, you had an emergency, and you needed to trek down to the corner store for toilet tissue. No, it couldn’t wait until morning.

So you bundled up and set out into the winter night, commenting to yourself how bright it was. As you looked up, you realized why. The moon was high and almost full in the sky, the clouds stretching from one horizon to the other, but just thin enough to let the light of the moon travel down. The way the clouds were spread out? You thought the whole sky was the damn moon.

There was a howl, and you paused. Maybe someone was out walking their dog?

Still, you pulled your coat closer and picked up the pace. It was too late for you to be out by yourself, you knew that. So you tried to jog and cursed as your lungs started to burn. The corner store soon appeared and you ducked inside.

“What are ya doin’ out so late?” the clerk asked. He was a kid, about seventeen, that lived in the apartment below yours. You smiled at him and picked up the closest stock of toilet paper you could find. He shook his head. “Right. Duty calls, huh?” He snickered as his own joke. You rolled your eyes. As you fished some cash from your pocket, a hideous snarl cut through the silence. You both turned to the front door.

There was a dog. No, not a dog. Something much larger, almost past your waist, standing there, just watching the two of you. It paced to one end of the sidewalk, then the other, its eyes constantly flickering between yourself and the store clerk.

Speaking of, he swore, “The fuck is that?”

“Maybe it’s someone’s dog,” you offered. You clutched your toilet paper to your chest. You just wanted to get home now. All those reports started to flash through your mind. Wild animal attacks with no idea what kind of animal could have caused such damage; ripping people limb to limb, leaving little behind. This wasn’t good. This was the complete opposite of good, this was very, very bad.

“Look, I’ll call like…animal control. Or the cops. Or something,” the clerk said. He started to reach for the phone. The dog shot up, huge paws slamming so hard against the glass door that it shook. You jumped and backed up against the counter.

“Maybe you shouldn’t move,” you suggested.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the clerk lift his hands, like he was placating the dog. Well, it worked. The dog lowered its front paws to the ground and resumed its pacing.

“The fuck should we do?” the clerk asked.

You swallowed a lump in your throat. What could you do? Sit in the store until dawn? You had work in the morning, and this poor kid’s dad would be worried if his son wasn’t home after closing hours. Maybe book it? But that was out of the question, that dog was huge, it could probably catch you in about three or four paces. Wouldn’t even break a sweat. You were about to turn to ask the clerk if he had any ideas of his own when the door to the back of the store swung open.

Gabriel stood there, shoving the hood of his thick sweatshirt off his head. “What the ever loving fuck is that?” he asked.

The dog responded like you feared it would. It slammed its head into the door, then its paws, snarling and barking and scratching as if it wanted to tear through to you three. The glass cracked under the pressure.

“Bruh,” the clerk breathed, “I don’t think it likes you.”

“What else is new?” Gabriel asked. He looked up at the kid behind the elevated desk. “Look, easiest way is to get to the back and just kinda wait this out. It didn’t seem to know I was here until it saw me. Maybe it can’t smell us.” He seemed to hesitate. “Or something,” he added.

The clerk stared at him in disbelief. Gabe’s shoulders dropped. “Seriously, why would I lie to you about safety from a nasty fuckin’ dog?” he asked. The dog’s barking grew louder. You watched as it barred its teeth and slammed into the door again. Gabe turned away from the door, showing the dog his back. This just seemed to make the beast angrier. “Look will you just go? I’ll be right behind you, hand to God.” He even raised his hand for good measure. The clerk inched around the counter, watching as the dog lowered itself to the ground, snout now pulled in a permanent snarl.

He placed his raised hand on your hip and turned you towards the door. “Go. Right now,” he whispered in your ear. You were quick to follow the clerk to the door. When you looked back, Gabe was watch the dog, unmoving, as if testing it.

It was weird.

Gabriel set a plate of steaming food in front of you and brought you back to the present. “Where’d you go?” he asked softly. You watched him sink into the chair next to you before you shrugged.

“I dunno, honestly. I was just…do you remember that big dog? The one from the store?”

His shoulders tensed. “Yeah?”

“That’s what I was thinking about,” you said. You picked up your silverware with a shrug, “I dunno why. It just kinda came back to me.”

Gabriel shoveled a large bite in his mouth.

The rest of dinner went smoothly, albeit a bit awkward on your end, as you found yourself stuttering and blushing around the man more than you usually did. He helped you with dishes and, with a chaste kiss on the cheek, agreed to pick you up the following evening for something a little more romantic.

You couldn’t wait.

You spent the following day picking up the house, just in case. “Just in case what?” you kept asking, as if denying the urges you felt for the man, denying the situation you hoped the date would end in. You shook your head as you emptied a load of whites into the washer and pressed on. There was a knock on your apartment door. You frowned. “Just a second!” you called. You made sure to close the top of the washer before leaving it behind, just in case the load started and made a mess of the laundry room. Again. You hated the first time you cleaned it up and you did not want a repeat.

Standing on your toes, you struggled to look through the peep hole of your door. Strange, you thought, you couldn’t see anyone standing there. As you pulled away, the knock came again. You scrunched your mouth up in confusion. Hesitantly, you unlocked the door.

It swung inward. Before you could scream, something hit you hard in the face. You were out.

It was quiet when you came to, and dark. You couldn’t pinpoint exactly where you were but, well, you knew you weren't where you should have been. There was a rot in the humid air that made you gag. You rolled onto your side, regret shooting through you in the form of a few broken ribs. Someone appeared in your peripheral.

"Looks like they're awake." The voice was distant. You thought – hoped – you were slipping back into unconsciousness. It couldn’t possibly be coming from so far away, right? Instead, a boot stomped on the ground in front of your face and made you jump. Someone dragged you to your feet.

"Well it's about time," he drawled. This was a different voice, a man, who spoke through a mangled set of teeth in a crooked jaw. You swallowed the bile that had climbed up your throat from the smell of the building. "So what are you to him, eh? Pack mate?” he asked. “Lover?” he dragged the word out like a tease. It earned some amused chuckles from various dark corners of the room. The word physically rolled over your face with the stench of his breath. The bile threatened to bring what little you had had to eat that day with it.

You swallowed it down and released a gasping breath. "What?" you croaked. What were they talking about? Pack mate? Your head spun with more than confusion and a possible concussion. How hard had you fit the floor? The man holding you leaned down until his nose - could you even call it a nose because, honestly, it looked more like a snout - was right in your face. His breath smelled even worse up close and personal, to the point that you imagined your nose hairs wilting away.

"Pack mate," he growled out, "Or lover?" He was not amused with the silence that followed.

You struggled to think. Who could he be talking about that ‘pack mate’ actually made sense? “What do you mean by pack mate?” you whispered. Your head throbbed, your nose hurt. All of the pain that you hadn’t been aware before was starting to seep into your body. Gods, couldn’t they just knock you out again? At least you weren’t feeling any pain when you were unconscious. Or fielding really weird questions from an equally weird looking man and his band of merry misfits. “What do you mean by pack mate?” you asked again. Your voice was stronger this time, albeit a little hoarse. It felt like someone had stuffed cotton down your throat.

The man that had picked you up dropped you just as quickly. You crumbled to the floor, head spinning as pinpricks of light started to shoot across your vision. Great. Just what you needed. A migraine on top of all this nonsense.

“What do you mean by pack mate?” the man parroted. Someone made a confused sound. “Are they for real?” he asked the room. There was a hint of incredulous laughter to his voice. Someone snorted further in the room and the sound echoed.

Someone else stepped up, someone lighter, whose footsteps you couldn’t hear until they were right behind you. They kneeled down over your body and took a deep, long breath in. “Yeah, I’m not smellin’ him on them,” they said.

“We’re not fuckin’ nose blind, ya moron,” the first man said. He rolled you onto your back with his foot and roughly took your chin between his fingers. “Just means he hasn’t taken them to bed yet. But they could be pack mate.”

“But they don’t smell—”

“Do you smell like me, shit stain?!” the first man snapped. The lighter one clicked his jaw together. Your teeth hurt just from the sound. “That’s what I fuckin’ thought.” He looked away from you and dropped your chin.

Your head bounced against the ground. You squeezed your eyes shut. “Can someone just knock me the fuck out again? Please and thank you?” you muttered. The one who had stood above you snickered.

“Hey, they’re pretty funny boss,” he said, “Can we keep ‘em if Reyes don’t come for them?”

It was like the engine in your mind finally turned over. You opened your eyes, squinting up at the lanky man above you. Reyes? As in Gabriel Reyes? What did these guys have to do with him?

“Reyes is gonna fuckin’ come for them, you taint fuck,” Boss Man swore. He patted his pockets and pulled out a beat up carton of cigarettes, one of which he placed between his lips. He didn’t light it. “I ‘member seein’ them together at that store. Reyes couldn’t do shit witha coupla mundane shit stains there, but he was sure scentin’ up the place real good. Markin’ his territory, so to speak,” He nudged your shoulder again, grinning as you locked eyes with him. “And this nice piecea ass was right by his side. They gotta mean somethin’ to him. ‘Specially if he went all that way to pluck them out a fuckin’ corner store.”

You ran your dry tongue over your lips. “What are you talking about?” you asked. It wasn’t the best you could do, but your voice was sounding more like yourself and less like a desert ghost.

Boss Man crouched in front of you, knees cracking at the adjustment, until he planted his butt on the ground. The other men followed suit. Counting the boss, you heard about three others sit down. “We’re talkin’,” he said, a nasty grin splitting his snout in two. You felt the blood drain from your face. There was one set of human teeth in the front of his mouth, and another set of sharper, more ferocious teeth hanging down from his gums above them. “Bonafide shape shifting werewolves,” he answered, “And that mother fuckin’ Alpha piece of shit Gabriel Reyes, that’s what.”

The incredulous laughter that burst from your lips couldn’t be helped. Boss Man’s grin fell and he glared at you.

“Werewolves?” you asked. The giggles started again. “Are you high? This isn’t Twilight o-o-or fucking True Blood okay? Werewolves don’t exist.”

The flat of his boot slammed into your stomach. You felt bile rise in your throat and turned away from him to spit it up. Well, he didn’t appreciate those comments.

“How about you respect yer betters?” he growled. He stood and motioned for the rest to follow. “It’s been a few hours. Thought you said he’d be here by now.”

Shit, your date with Gabe…

“Well, yeah, that’s what we thought—”

He had to realize you were missing by now.

“Then where the fuck is he?!”

Maybe they really are just out of their minds and he went to get the cops.

“Someone, go check outside. That blood shoulda led ‘im here by now.”

Almost as if on cue, the lights went out. You groaned. You did not want to be in a horror movie right now, honestly, you just wanted to go on a date with your attractive friend, was that too much to ask? Well, yeah, the universe didn’t even want you to be unconscious anymore so having a normal date for today must have been out of the question.

“¡Apagando las luces!” The voice echoed, smug, through the building. Someone else made a noise of disgust.

“Was that necessary? Honestly?” This voice had a bit of a drawl to it, not enough to say Deep South, but enough to say southern.

“What? Did I not just turn the lights off? Literally?” the first voice shot back.

“But a quip?”

“You two got us noticed,” said a third voice. This one had a thicker accent you couldn’t place, but you knew it wasn’t from the New Mexico region. None of the voices were Gabe.

The men stood and looked around, two using flash lights they had pulled from their jackets, the rest using their phones. Across the building was the strangest trio you had ever seen. One was a young Asian man, bright green hair styled back out of his face. Another was a shorter Mexican girl, her two toned hair braided over one shoulder. The third had the gaudiest belt buckle you had ever seen. You’d seen a picture of them together in Gabriel’s living room. His adopted kids. Jesse, Sombra, and Genji.

Holy shit.

Was he here?

“Who the fuck are you?” Boss Man drawled.

Sombra hooked her thumbs into the pockets of her light jacket. “We’re the first wave,” she answered.

Boss Man growled. His grip on the flashlight tightened. “Ta what?” he snapped.

Jesse tipped the brim of his cowboy hat down and motioned to the opposite side of the building. “To him,” he answered.

All of the men whirled. You twisted around to see Gabriel filling the doorway. Someone whistled for your attention. You looked back to the trio. They had crossed the room to kneel by your side. Genji had whistled. “You might want to look away for this,” he said. There was a snarl. You would have looked back to see what it was if Sombra hadn’t hauled you to your feet. Jesse scooped you onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry.

“And we’re outta here,” he cheered. Sombra led the way, weaving between boxes you hadn’t noticed, to a window high up in the wall. There were more snarls and the ripping of flesh. You tried to look, to see what was happening, but the angle that Jesse was carrying you at made it impossible.

Then there was the screaming.

Somba and Genji had climbed through the window first. Jesse set your feet on the ground. You took the chance to turn. Through the dark you were able to make out the faintest of shapes. Or, shape. A vaguely human and terrifyingly large shape. One that was ripping apart other vaguely human and terrifyingly large shapes as easily as one would rip clay apart. Jesse placed a hand on your head to help you through the window, gently telling you to ‘mind your head’ as you ducked under a broken pane. They steadied you as Jesse followed you out.

“Are you okay?!”

You were able to turn this time. Gabriel was rounding the corner of the building, a little worse for wear, but at least in one piece. Sombra clicked her tongue next to you. “You showed them what for, ‘ey, jefe?”

“You still have not explained to me what ‘heh-feh’ is, Sombra,” Genji said quietly. She patted his arm, mumbling about how they’d have to teach him some Spanish.

As they spoke, Gabriel had stalked towards you, hands reaching for you, but he stopped. Hesitated. Then, he rubbed his shoulder. “Let’s get you home,” he said softly.  He held out an arm and you stepped into him.

It was like your energy drained out of you in that one step. Everything that had happened in the last twenty minutes zoomed through your head and formed into the solid, very real word of ‘werewolf’. Your vision tunneled. Gabriel was quick to scoop you into his arms. He smelled like sweat and trash rot. He must have fallen into it.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered in your ear. He nudged his chin against your cheek. You closed your eyes.

You weren’t? Appreciating? How much you time you were spending unconscious today? Of course, you didn’t know how much time you were actually out, only that you had been out of it twice and you couldn’t stand the thought of it? You opened your eyes to find yourself staring at your living room ceiling. Someone was cooking, and there was a conversation happening in your kitchen. It fell silent and, as quietly as they could, some people left your apartment. You sat up. Gabriel was hesitating by the door.

“Gabe?” you asked. He turned to you, a nervous smile on his face.

“Glad to see you’re up,” he stated. He padded over to you. “I’ve got somethin’ cookin’ for you, if you’re hungry.”

You mumbled a thank you and rubbed your face with a heavy sigh. “What time is it?” you asked.

“Just after midnight.”

Gods, at least six hours of your day were gone. What had happened during that time? You looked up at Gabe through your fingers. He had perched on the edge of your coffee table, running his hands through his hair. “There’s some explainin’ I gotta do,” he admitted.

You nodded in agreement. “A lot,” you emphasized.

His shoulders sagged. “Where should I start?” Gabe mumbled, more to himself than to you. He decided the beginning worked, after a sarcastic, mildly scalding comment from you. He told you had been born into a pack, that Jesse, Sombra, and Genji were strays from packs that had pushed them out. That, no, it doesn’t work by bites or scratches like the movies. At least, not that he’s ever seen or heard of. That he can control when he turns most of the time, but during the period of the full moon, it gets a little harder. It at least explained why he would be so scarce during those times. He even took a moment to explain that he was hesitant about asking you to dinner all because of what he was.

You stayed quiet.

He whispered your name. You looked up. “Ya gonna say anything?” he tried. You looked down at your hands. “I’m gonna take that as a no,” he mumbled. Gabriel relaxed back on your couch. You pulled your knees to your chest. “I’m sure you probably don’t want much to do with me at the moment.”

“I don’t really know what to say, actually,” you replied, “But I don’t know what I would do if you just left right now. Especially after all that.” He didn’t have to ask what ‘all that’ entailed. He lifted an arm from his side, motioning for you to come closer. You crawled along the couch to press into his side.

“Look,” he breathed, “I’m not…gonna ask you to take this all in one sitting. It’s a lot if you don’t know what’s going on.”

“That’s an understatement,” you commented. Gabriel looked down at you in amusement, a smile forming when he met your gaze. “But…”

He squeezed you against his side and pressed a soft kiss to your head. “But nothing,” he whispered. “I appreciate you even taking the time to listen to me. And not freak out.”

You slid your arms around his waist as comfortably as you could. “I think it helped that I didn’t see anything that happened,” you said into his chest. He squeezed you again. “Are you okay with staying the night?”

“You would have to kill me and drag my dead ass out to get me to leave this couch right now,” he declared. You laughed. He was being sweet. It was nice. “What, I’m serious,” Gabriel added. He looked down at you, his hand sliding up and down your back. “Are you doing okay?” he asked again.

You weren’t really sure how to answer. What was ‘okay’ at the moment? “I’m not sure,” you said after a long paused, “I’m not really sure I feel anything right now.”

Gabriel relaxed back into the arm of the couch, pulling you with him. “Yeah, I know the feeling,” he sighed. You looked up at him. “Okay, maybe not exactly.”

“Mhmm.”

“But, I know something similar…ish,” he said. He continued to rub your back. He started to tell you about old stories from his pack, one his mom had told him when he was a pup, but you couldn’t say that you heard them all. As his voice started to rumble in his chest, you started to drift off to sleep. You didn’t wake up until the late morning when someone knocked on your door. Both Gabriel and you jumped, but he was quicker to untangle himself from you and get to the door. He didn’t even look through the peep hole, just pulled it open.

“Why am I not surprised you stayed the night?” It was Jesse. He was dressed differently, more casually actually, and both Genji and Sombra stood behind him. Sombra was holding a bag, and Genji had one of those cardboard cup carriers that was filled with drinks. Gabriel rolled his eyes and stepped back.

“How about everyone stops bothering the old man, yeah?” Gabriel grumbled. Jesse led the way inside.

“But that’s not fun,” Sombra pointed out.

Genji held the cup carrier out to you, motioning to one that had your initials scribbled across the top. “Did he ask you to dinner yet?” he asked as you took the drink, “He was supposed to do that a while ago. I have a bet that he isn’t going to, but if he did, that’s okay too.”

You flushed at the statement and smiled around your straw. It was nice to have a conversation that was somewhat normal. It helped to get your mind off of what had happened.

Sombra cut in before you could answer, “They asked him out first. The other day.”

“How do you know?” Genji asked with a pout.

Sombra shrugged. “I’m good with my fingers,” she said as she wiggled them.

Behind you, Jesse groaned, “Reyes can’t keep good news off his twitter. Like some weird teenager or somethin.”

You laughed. Sombra and Genji joined you. Gabriel snagged the bag from Sombra, grumbling, “Didn’t I just say to stop bothering me?”

As they talked, Sombra nudged you. “I’m guessing you took it well enough,” she murmured, crossing her arms. Your smile fell and you stared at the top of your cup. “Maybe,” she added. She watched your face.

“It’s all just a little confusing to me,” you finally answered, “I just can’t believe that all of this was existing right under my nose.”

That got her to snort and look away, as if amused. “You’d be surprised at what all can exist under your nose,” she said. When she looked back at you, however, her expression fell. Those were not the right words to say. “I mean, there’s a lot out there,” she tried, “So you can’t know everything.”

“I know,” you mumbled. You sat back with your drink, sighing to yourself. It was a hard thing to process, the whole werewolf thing. But it made sense, in a way. If you thought back, Gabriel was never really available during the full moon (though, it was hard to really remember when the full moon was), and there were times during the month that you thought he was a little more aggressive and sensitive than normal. You had teased him about it more than a few times, but that never really got the reaction you were hoping for.

The thing you most thought about was that dog at the corner store, the huge one that was trying to force its way into the building. It was fine until Gabriel showed up. As fine as a huge dog trying to headbutt its way into a building can be. It must have had to do with the whole werewolf thing…maybe…

“He was scared, you know,” Sombra interrupted your thoughts, taking the seat next to you. “He showed up here and saw your door open. Called us for help. He was on the brink of tearing this place apart because he was frantic.” She took a long drink from her cup and turned to you. “Even if you’re just his friend? You mean a lot to him.” She gave you a grin that was all teeth and a little intimidating. “Don’t worry if you can’t deal with this. The supernatural? It ain’t for everyone.” She stood then, leaving you without letting you speak.

You watched Gabriel then. He was struggling to get the three of them out of your apartment, or at least towards the door so they could take the hint and leave. Jesse was being stubborn about it, but Genji was already waiting out in the hall with Sombra. When he got close enough, the two grabbed Jesse and hauled him out. Gabriel slammed the door shut behind them.

“That was more of an ordeal that I wanted,” he mumbled. He looked over at you and his shoulders hunched around his ears. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you replied. You patted the seat next to you. “Come on. Tell me more about this whole thing. I wanna make sure I’m not missing any information about it.” He padded over and lowered himself to the couch with a soft ‘are you sure’ in your ear. You smiled up at him. “I’m sure.”

So he started. He carefully showed you the smallest things he could do, once you promised not to cringe. Though, that promise didn’t do much when his jaw popped to accommodate another set of teeth. You had shuddered, looked away, and covered your mouth.

“Ugh, it’s like when double jointed people do that thing with their arms!” you exclaimed. Gabe laughed at the comment. You felt sharper nails creep up and down your back in an attempt at comfort. You peeked over at him. The same old kissable face had returned. “No more doing that thing with your mouth,” you said. His eyebrows shot up and down at the suggestive implications of your words. Moving your cup into your other hand, you gently slugged his shoulder. “And don’t be dirty!” you cried.

Gabe howled with laughter. You couldn’t help the pout that followed. He tried to speak, wheezed, and tried again, “I’ll keep the innuendos to a minimum tonight.” The words sobered you up.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, I mean…if it’s okay if I stay again,” he said. His laughter subsided. “I dunno whose pack those guys belonged to. But, it’d just make me feel better to know you’re okay. For sure.”

You leaned back into your couch, absently thinking about how you were wearing a spot into it, and sighed. “Generally, dinner comes before sleeping over,” you commented.

“Technically, this would be the second night I’ve slept over, so that ship has sailed,” he pointed out. He watched as your face contorted in frustration. Hesitantly, he reached out to brush his fingers over your cheek. “I’ll make an exception, though. Take you out tomorrow.”

“Oh you’ll make the exception, huh?” you teased. Your hands were tense around your cup as Gabriel moved closer to you. “It’s my place you’re staying at. Maybe I should be making the exception?”

He snorted and removed his hand.

You swore to yourself. Moment ruined. Way to go.

“Fine.” Clearing his throat, he placed his hand over his heart and closed his eyes. “Are you in agreement with the terms I have set out before you, my liege?” His voice had taken on an accent you couldn’t place but made you laugh. He lifted his hand to you, palm up, and you couldn’t help but notice that the sharp nails that had been there were now gone. He wanted to be human for you. Normal. All to make you more comfortable.

You placed your hand in his. “I believe I am, good sir,” you replied. He tugged you close.

[lumiereswig]

Dear @lumiereswig, I don't have a tumblr account, so I just quickly want to tell you (through here) that your writing is heaven-sent for me and for this awesome fandom. You write perfectly in character (like, everyone) and are so freaking hilarious I die laughing. I come to your blog every day whenever I need to get feels or smile - and you've never dissappointed me. Also, I feel like I need to request a fic if I send an ask, so what if Plumiere goes to Paris? And maybe a Moulin Rouge x-over?

omg you are best person. hello, best person. you too are heaven sent and have made this small trash heap feel that perhaps all the garbage fics are, in the end, worth it

obviously a moulin rouge crossover would be amazing, but everytime i try to write one i fall over laughing and can’t get up, so here’s a PLUMIERE IN PARIS fic because you are best person and here you go

Paris is different from how Plumette remembers it. When she left, it was clouded by the smoke of burning bodies and the coughs of the dying: plague-filled Paris, a gloomy shadow of its former glory, swallowing itself up in its own smoke. Now, the sun shines on the cobblestones. Old women, bundled up in their knitting and their groceries, amble across the streets with no fear of disease. There are children running around.

Lumiere is relaxed, and easy, and smiling. He tucks her arm into his, and takes in his beloved city with one sweeping arm.

“How long has it been since you were here, Plumette? Do you remember the sweet sound of the café cantinas? Have you danced beneath the stars in le Marais?”

“It has been about eleven years, my love,” she says. “But...I was too young, then, to spend time in those streets. I stayed at home—until I couldn’t, any more.”

He doesn’t pick up on the reluctance in her tone, the slight fear that is still there. The plague left no scars on Plumette that anyone can see—but her heart still holds one, from the sickness that took her family and former life.

“Come, then! You must meet my family. You must see my street!” He is twenty-three, and overflowing with joy; he has his love on one arm, and his city on the other. No curse has crossed his life, as yet. All he has is vivacity, and Paris, and Plumette.

Lumiere’s fine, golden coat lights up the streets as they plunge away from the richer areas of town—les Champs Elysées, les Tuilieries—and into the working districts of the city, where the grand boulevards give way to bread-shops and feral cats. His wig, his best, bobs high; he looks the picture of the royal courtier, and Plumette feels a prick of pride to have him at her side.

The store they stop at is extremely ordinary. Bottles and jars of herbs and powders are stacked up in the paned window; broken barrels crowd the stoop, and the roof is lopsided. A crooked, ordinary apothecary shop, that smells of mothballs and camphor.  Standing in front of the door, resplendent in embroidery and gold buttons, her Lumiere looks supremely out of place.

“Your ancestral home?” laughs Plumette. “Come! Let me meet your family!”

He throws open the shop door without even looking. Her graceful courtier would know his way around this poor apothecary with his eyes shut.

“Papa! Maman! Where are you? Ach, mon dieu—I forgot how much I hate the smell of castor oil—Papa!—”

“Lumiere!”

She would never, ever guess that these people were his family. They are dressed as ordinary as could be: brown vests, black bonnets, hair tied back without adornment, spectacles pinched onto long noses. Though wait, now: the woman hugging her now, she has bright blue eyes in her broad, happy face; and his father’s nose is just the same, and the way his hair flops toward his face is so familiar.

“Oh, you are so good, you are so lovely, oh he didn’t describe you nearly enough—” Lumiere’s mother, small and fussy and Scottish, is almost shaking her with approval. “Oh but how do you put up with him? Take off that coat, there we go, oh my word she is Parisian, I haven’t seen such elegance in years—”

“Maman, you live in Paris!”

“Now you shut up, dear, and take off that wig—let me see the hair I gave you—”

He takes off the wig and lets his russet curls bounce free. When his parents aren’t looking, he ruefully rolls his eyes at Plumette; but she can’t stop laughing, and is dragged into the shop by the rough, glad hands of the shopkeepers. Lumiere’s father is quiet and contained; his mother is wired with energy, and bustles around to get them ordinary tea and a few ramshackle, half-burned cookies.

It smells terrible, in here. The sun hardly enters in. Dust and flour coats the boxes of herbs, and it is too cramped to dance, and too damp to sing. Next door, the neighbors are shouting. A badly tuned accordion is playing out the window. It is all noise, all ordinary dust and must.

And Plumette loves it.

It takes them hours to get away, stuffed on terrible Scotch eggs (merci, maman) and dull anecdotes on the quartier’s political situation (non! papan!). Lumiere breathes easy when they are back in the city’s grand streets, and puts the wig on again.

“I love them, Plumette, you know I do—but oof! They are so...bourgeois. I lived out in their attic by dancing and singing and studying etiquette. We can love our roots, but not abide by them.”

“I know you love them, mon coeur.” Affection was obvious, despite the sighs and secret feeding of the cookies to the dog. “And they are good people! A little...stuffy. But good.”

“But come! You must show me where you grew up! Show me Paris: Plumette’s Paris.”

He has no idea how much her heart’s scar aches, just then. But she leads him on—away from the humdrum streets, with their grannies and their children, and down a boulevard.

“Is this a shortcut, ma chérie?”

“Keep going.”

The streets get quieter and quieter; the gates grow higher, the people better dressed. Soon they have outpaced the sounds of Paris, and walk down grand highways, lined with fine mansions. And still Plumette keeps going.

The grandest house is at the end of the street. Gardens surround it. A fine, arched iron gateway keeps them from going in. Emblazoned on the iron is a feather motif: the insignia of a fine, noble house.

“C'est ici,” says Plumette, and watches Lumiere stare.

“This?!”

“Mon chéri, don’t lose it.”

“Which window was yours?”

She doesn’t expect the question. Gasps about her wealthy childhood, maybe a startled inquiry or two about what her title truly is—but the touch of home, in this question, knocks at her heart with gentle hands.

“That one. On the second floor—do you see? With the jasmine climbing up the windows.”

Lumiere nods and holds her hand. She did not expect this. Words are flowing fast.

“It was a beautiful room; bright and sunny—I had a bed of my own, and a vase with daffodils by the window—”

“Excellent taste.”

“And somebody—my grand-mère, I think—she hung crystals up, little glass stones to show the light. I liked to look at them as I fell asleep.” She remembers her grandmother now, in her white dress, and sees her worn old hands, brown like mahogany, pointing to the portraits on the walls, saying: and he fought with Charlemagne. He courted the Princess of Austria. She stunned the Prussians with her wit and her grace. And I almost became the Queen of England!

“More.”

“My mother had the smallest shoes—but the most of any woman at court. 500 different pairs, I think?”

“Truly excellent taste.”

And Plumette talks, as they walk around her old home, and though its gates are barred and locked she feels something inside her uncurl, like a budding rose. She hasn’t thought of her family like this, as healthy and whole and loving, in eleven years. Lumiere listens, and Plumette’s eyes mist.

“I lost them,” she says at last. Sorrow, sorrow: to end so much happiness on such a bitter note. Plague deprives her of a happily ever after. “And I ran away, and came to Villeneuve. And I love it there, you know I do—but I miss my home.”

“Bien sûr, ma chérie.” His arm is tucked in hers, now. “But, now—if all your family was gone, then who maintains these gardens?”

She stops and starts and stops again. The gardens look magnificent. The windows of the house are sparkling in the light. A face peeps out the window.

“Do you—do you think I still...?”

“Your ancestral home, non?” says Lumiere. “No one can live there except someone of your family. Let us go and meet the family!” And he opens the gate with a sweeping gesture, to take in all of Paris—and Plumette’s heart, as well.

[justicewinged]

In the distance, the Grand City of Demacia looms. It’s bigger and brighter than all the stories say it is, with gleaming gargoyles of petricite lining the battlements and huge statues guarding its gate. Despite the hour is nigh on dusk, people still rush in and out of the city of lights and safe stones. The horse Quinn’s father had gifted her for the journey chomps at the bit between his teeth, oozing the green drool of springtime clover from his jowls. Behind her, the wooden crate holding a small, yet still powerful eagle jostles, and he peeps from within, whistling his worries and fears. At this point in his training, he still wears every provocation on his sleeve, and Quinn knows if she doesn't get into the city soon, the poor bird might hurt himself in his crate. The path leading up to the gate begins to make Quinn feel all the smaller. Valor can sense her doubt; he's screeching and fluttering around in his crate enough to strain the ropes holding down the wooden box, and the horse beneath her responds to the jostling by picking up his head to jig a couple of steps forward, but not fully charge careening towards the city. He is a good horse, Quinn's dad was sure of that, so perhaps should she need another war-trained horse meant for rough terrain like this stocky fellow, she could choose this level-headed gelding.

In through the doors of the city, everything grows louder and more active, with the paths of people hurried further by the darkening light across the sky. She slows her jigging horse to an easy amble, and maintains her skyward gaze. The white stone radiates pink sheen, the clock towers ring to announce the evening hour, but it feels suffocating and terrifyingly cramped despite the path that could hold at least sixteen mounted soldiers abreast. Pinpricks of stars and celestial bodies peek through translucent brushstrokes of clouds. The only thing here still freeing is the sky above her. Even Uwendale wasn't so blockaded.

Quinn dismounts off the main path, and loosens the saddle but not the strappings holding up her belongings, and addresses a soldier on duty.

"Good evening to you, sir," she begins, dipping down her chin out of respect. Her mother's teachings heavy on the mind, she makes a point of formalizing her tongue. "Might there be a place nearby to rest?” The soldier eyes her warily. " Are you a harlot, girl?" Quinn is taken aback by the question. "What?" His laugh barks out like a crow teasing a hound. "You simple, too? I'll have you know tis not accepted amongst men-at-arms to bed ladies like you."

"What!? I never --" Even more taken aback than before, she begins to put distance between herself and the man, one hand lowered close to Caleb's knife embedded in its leather sheath at her hip.

The soldier shakes his head, a slight glance of his eyes rolling through his brows. "If you never, then you obviously aren't from around here, are you?"

Quinn thinks it obvious. Her clothes are nothing like the high fashion adorning the people of the city, and in comparison look more akin to rags than even what this guard wore under his doublet. Her wool shirt has kept her warm thus far, with its cowled neck around her throat enough to hide her nose from the winds of springtime air, and her dark auburn hair (wine-dark, her mother had called it) is not tied in a bonnet but with a strand of twine.

"I've been on the road for three days, sir, I just need a place to sleep."

"A country lass if ever I've met one, then," he mutters in response. "Inn's down the road on the left. If I were you, girl, I wouldn't be so mindful of guard. People might think something of it."

Whether other people thought something of her or not, she definitely has words for this. She leads the horse down the road with a furrow in her brow.

"Are people in cities truly so elitist and rude?" she whispers to her equine companion, who, despite all beneficence, has no ability to understand her.

From a young age, her mother had taught her the importance of manners, especially for the nation's men- and women-at-arms. As such, the crass remarks of the guard on post strike her as odd. It was by no means necessary to treat her so, and yet he had.

Quinn pauses at the inn's front stoop, taking a moment to recollect her composure before entering. She'd not been in the city for long, but already she was exhausted, and the sight of the inn was a welcome one. The sign above the door reads "The Startled Hen," and features a chicken out of wood carving with paint, though it looks far more like a cock than a hen, beak parted and crest a-flayed. Warm firelight spills from the windows onto darkening streets, and already the inn's bar within is bustling with evening noise and activity. She leads her horse to the stable, and a hand makes motion to take over her horse.

"I need the crate, please," she requests, and the groom cast a look her way.

Was everything she did so obviously rural?

"What's in the crate, madame?" he asks casually, beginning to unstrap it. He releases it crooked, and the crate in turn releases a heated squawk.

"Please, let me," she insists, taking the obviously-rattled box of bird off his hand.

"What's in the crate?" he repeats, his expression less confused now and far more frightened. His eyes shine with fear, and she hesitates.

"An eagle," she says slowly, gripping the base of the crate. "An azurite."

The stable-hand blinks, jaw falling slightly slack. "Are you joking?"

She shakes her head.

"A real azurite?"

She nods.

"Are you mad? By the Light, they haven't been seen since the days of King Jarvan the second, and you caught one?"

"I didn't really catch one, I nursed it back to health and --"

"Hey Benoit! This girl caught herself an azurite!"

Quinn blushes, beginning to feel the starts of red-hot embarrassment throb through her chest and prickle at the back of her neck. By the light, she just wanted to get inside and check to see if her bird was alright.

"Prove it," snapped the other. "Those are just birds of myth, my pa used to say if you can't go out and see one, it idn't real."

"Can you?" asked the first.

"I mean --" Quinn steps back slightly, her fingers curling into the soft wood of the crate in a subconscious act of protection for her beloved companion.

"Can't even prove it," spat the second. "I wouldn't be surprised if it were a little frosty hawk in there."

"Making all that noise? Didn't you hear it?"

As the pair continued bickering, Quinn sets Valor's crate to the straw, then untacks her mount. They won't stop anytime soon, she thinks grimly. She had never been privileged enough for a groom as it was -- why would the lap of luxury start immediately upon entering the city? She rubs down the gelding's flanks and legs with her own handkerchief and brushes off each hoof with the palm of her hand, then leaves him in only his rope halter for the stable-hands -- as incompetent as they seem -- to blanket and water.

It occurs to her as she steps from the barn with Valor's crate cocked on her hip that she might be wise to lie about Valor, at least until she acquires a position in the army. People would know of her then. With her pack over one shoulder, she slips into the inn and rest the crate on a bar stool.

"One room, please, just one bed. I just need it for a couple of days, till I can get on my feet."

The innkeeper looks her up and down. "Ten gold a night."

Quinn produces her coin purse and counts out ten gold pieces, which she rests on the counter eagerly.

Much slower than her, the innkeep counts them himself, and pockets them, then produces a key. "In the back on the left. It's room number fifteen."

She slips from the busy bar to the quiet back of the inn, where her room is. Upon unlocking, the door swings open with a squeal on its hinges, revealing a dingy room far drabber than many of the homes she'd visited in Uwendale. There is but a bed, a dusty rug, wood floors, and a dresser against one side. Moonlight pours in through a singular window, and the sole fancy feature of the room is a gas lamp on the bedside table with a container of safety matches beside it. Even her parents, having sold horses to the military for years, could never seem to round up the money for a Piltovan gas lamp or the gas to power it. The room itself is slightly cold, but the quilt on the bed seems heavy enough, and her cloak strung over her shoulders still warms her.

“Alright, Val, you gotta be quiet.”

Quinn unlatches the door to the crate, swings open the door, and gently tugs the bird from his comfortable perch within. As soon as he's free, he spreads his wings to their full span, rouses his feathers, and blinks sleepily at his handler, almost a silent thanks to her freeing him. She allows him to sit upon her lap as she picks at his feathers, just to make sure none had been broken, and examined the pads of his feet, to ensure he hadn't cut himself or rubbed himself raw on the trip there. Overall, he seems in fine health, his vibrant blue plumage glossy in the low light of the room, and his eyes still shining with an eagerness unparalleled by any animal she'd laid eyes on. The soft blue and orange down of his belly seemed to have a couple of new pinfeathers coming in to replace his downy baby feathers. Truly, he is maturing into something like an adolescent, past the stage of ungainly wings and pillowy pinions.

She lets him go as soon as she finishes with him, but quickly calls him back to her glove with a chunk of meat from her blood bag. He gulps down a mouse and some raw rabbit left over from the day before that had just began to ferment in the bag, and sips rivulets of water from Quinn's canteen into her open palm. She could have gone to the bar to get a glass for herself, rather than drinking from her hands, but she would have rather stayed in the silence.

On the morrow, she thinks, she will ride to the castle, and ask the king to make her a scout, but she knows it won't be so simple. She will carry Valor the whole way as she rides astride the Selby-branded mount, and stop outside the doors. He will listen. It's hard not to, with the symbol of your nation perched on the speaker's fist.

A brief smile crosses her face.

Quinn washes up her face with her dripping hands, dresses down to her undershirt and trousers, and slips under the quilt. Tomorrow will be a busy day.