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jay-and-dean · 4 years

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Firefly Chapter 5 : Eighteen years old

By Roonyxx and Jay-and-dean

Pairings : future Dean x reader ?

Summary : 40 years in Hell, but he didn’t spend all this time all alone, he had her.

Prepare to know what happened during those years Dean never talks about. To immerge yourself in Hell, only lit by the mysterious kid growing here…

And to see some of your favorite villains again : Crowley, Lilith, Lucifer… And also Sammy and Jack…

Serie Warnings : Hurt!Dean, Hell (torture, even if we tried to not give it graphic descriptions, creepy demons, blood, violence), swearing, angst, future fluff and smut.

This story is in both Reader’s POV and Dean’s POV

Wordcount : 6300 (big chapter)

Note : This is our second collaboration. We can’t both edit the same post, so we decided we would post 1 chapter/2 each, like we did for Same.

We both worked as much on this story and it’s the result of both our brains but also both our hearts.

Please, if you want to show love for this story, don’t forget we were together in this.

This story will be around 10 chapters and we intend to edit it every Saturday if nothing delays it. The story will be on a little hiatus because both @jay-and-dean and I are on holidays. Once we come back the story will continue it’s regular weekly edit.

Firefly Chapter 1

Firefly Chapter 2

Firefly Chapter 3

Firefly Chapter 4

Jay’s Masterlist

Roonyxx Masterlist

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5. Eighteen years old.

When she turned sixteen, Crowley had told her the time of being childish was over, not that she ever had time to be a child. And for once, she didn’t fight him or argue. She had understood that she would never win by being an enemy.

They had to trust her, to give her freedom and access to the secrets of Hell…

So she became his apprentice and after two long years of following his rules and pretending to care, she was getting closer and closer everyday to her goal.

Getting out of Hell.

She grew colder with age, serious, harsh, anything they wanted her to be. Some days, she barely remembered it was an act, she was getting used to give orders and look at her surroundings with always the same dark threatening eyes. She was becoming the Queen Crowley wanted her to be.

But when she visited him, the man she fell in love with years ago, she remembered who she was.

And the demons were falling right into her trap, she had to get close to them, especially her father. Crowley knew the way out, he knew everything about Hell, everything she needed to know. So she played him.

She was sitting on a chair as Crowley explained to her the importance of crossroad deals, she wasn’t really listening as she let her pencil float in circles in front of her.

She could feel the shivers on her back as the door opened, the pencil dropped to the table.

Lilith.

“Crowley, we need to talk,” her head snapped towards Y/n. “Alone.”

Crowley sighed deep.

“Y/n go finish up your work in your room” he snapped his fingers and mentioned to a demon to escort her back to her room.

She held her chin high as she walked out of the door towards her room, the demon hot on her heels.

When, she walked right past her door, the demon grasped her arm.

“Where do you think you’re going, missy.”

With the flick of her wrist she had the demon pinned against the wall, she stepped closer to him and tilted her head to the side as she could hear the creature whine under her powers.

“That’s none of your business and when you get back you’ll tell them nothing, understand ?”

She clenched her fist, making the creature crack on the inside.

“Y-yes…” it whined.

“Yes who ?” she clenched her fist harder.

“Yes… y-your majesty.”

She released the demon and watched him scramble off. She turned around and made her way to Dean’s cell.

She no longer had to sneak around, the story of her taking on Alistair had spread like fire, and her growing attitude was convincing enough, all the demons were afraid of her now. They knew she was strong, that she became stronger every day. She could feel it : the power coursing through her veins. It made her more confident, and merciless.

She reached his door and carefully pushed it open, a smile gracing her face when she saw him.

Dean.

She was just in time, he was healed and conscious.

He lifted his head, as she came near.

“Hey Firefly.”

“Hi Dean.”

Every time she was near him she could feel it, the tickling in her stomach, her cheeks heated up. As fierce as she was, she got a little nervous around him, not much but seeing him always gave her a thrill. Over the years she had noticed how handsome he was, and her thoughts wandered more and more towards him when she was alone, what if they weren’t in Hell, what if she was more his age, what if…

He sat up against the wall, letting out a deep breath.

“I could swear I heard the demons talk about you the other day.” he said.

She tilted her head in question.

“The Queen of fire they called you, they seem scared of you. Maybe I dreamed it… I get confused, and...”

She sat down in front of him, she looked down at her hands.

“And you ?” she asked him softly, she was scared of his answer.

“What ?” he frowned.

“Scared of me ?” she looked up at him, she could feel the tears threatening to spill out.

“No, I’m not.” He shook his head.

She nodded in silence, that was good, she was working hard to be scary, but couldn't bear the thought of Dean being afraid of her.

“You’re growing so fast, Firefly. How old are you ?” his voice contained some kind of disbelieve, like he didn’t realize it had already been around 18 years since he first saw her.

“18.” She said, giving him a small smile.

“Time down here, it goes so slow and so fast at the same time” he scoffed.

A silence fell among them, he seemed to be better today, he was more alert and could muster up a little smile now and then. He seemed to think hard, she noticed a frown etched upon his forehead every time he tried to focus on something, the moment he was totally there were rare, maybe even more lately.

“Your powers… what are they ?” he asked.

“I don’t know” she shrugged, she couldn’t tell him she was half demon… then he would be scared of her, hate her at least.

“You seem to be getting stronger.” he said matter of factly.

She nodded, they had to change her chains monthly now, she could break them with a snap of her fingers. Her powers were like a child going through a growth spurt where the parents couldn't keep up with buying new clothes.

Her powers weren’t the only thing changing, her body was too. She grew taller, the childish features were disappearing from her face, and her old dresses no longer fit her more curved body. She was becoming a women. A beautiful one, Crowley said, hopefully beautiful enough for their Lord.

_______________________

It was evening, at least, she had decided it was. In Hell no sunrise and no dawn, but she had found a little watch, it had belonged to her teacher’s vessel she snatched it off him, along with his arm. It was an old watch, with metal gears and little carved hands. On her desk, the ancient watch was in the center, and Y/n used it to rhythm her days.

Nine p.m. it said, so she lit up a candle and turned off the other lights. She liked to feel the time, and darkness didn’t prevent her from reading.

She turned the old pages of the huge book she was reading, a incredible boring work about Hell’s places, how many bones were in the columns of the throne room, how the corridors were never exactly the same, how only demons, reapers or angels could find their way in this maze…

She already knew all that.

But at 9:28, as she lazily turned another page, her breath got stuck in her chest. On the yellowed paper, was a painting of the Sky Room, and a title : The Exit.

She got up, with the book in her hands, reading fast in the dark, walking circle in her room, her purple lace dress flying behind her like the wind had risen.

The Sky Room had been an exit all this time. She had taken Dean so close to the goal this time ! If only she had knew. The book said no demon could use it -that’s why they didn’t really care about the key before Alastair took it from her-, as it worked only for souls that didn’t belong here, or that weren’t perverted yet ? It wasn’t easy to say, because enochian wasn’t easy to understand precisely.

Dean didn’t belong here, and he for sure wasn’t perverted. Her ? That would be a good way to find out…

With the proper spell, and the key, she could at least make sure he will escape.

She sighed. Two years, two years acting like the perfect little princess to win their trust, two years of hiding the consuming hate and smile, to have access to this kind of knowledge that was hidden from her before.

All her previous researches and tries had always lead nowhere, but that sky… It was her way out, in her excitement, she attracted the little flame of the candle that came gravitate round her like a satellite.

Alastair had taken back the key, and there was only two choices : Either he had kept it or given it to Lilith. Her heart ached a little at the idea that she walked with the key in her Teddy bear for years.

But she would find it, even if it was the last thing she did, even if she had to burn Hell down.

She took time to memorize every details of the pages about the Sky Room by heart, in case one of them remembered this one was dangerous and took it back.

Then she calmly closed it and put it on her desk, she adjusted the many muslin layers of her long and heavy dress, and started to walk out of her room, with her tiny fire star still rotating around her.

The door was locked and warded, but it opened when she came near. Outside, a huge demon in his true hideous form was guarding her door.

“You can’t go out” he grunted, drool falling at his feet.

She didn’t answer, but when he lifted his arm to stop her, the little satellite of fire grew instantly, and became a huge and threatening ring circling her, and the demon hissed and growled, watching her sink in the corridors like a raging comet, blood puddles boiling on her tracts.

Dean’s cell was quiet, she stopped before it for a second, at this time of the artificial day, she knew he would be in a bad shape. She took a breath and plunged her hand in the big ring of fire around her, and found the tiny candle flame, she put it out between her thumb and index and the ring died. Darkness falling on her again.

She pushed the door and her bare feet under the dress met blood. Dean was laying on his side in a pool of blood, even bigger than usual, but he seemed to be in one piece... His back was on her, his head limp on the cold floor.

“Dean” she said softly, like she always did, to not frighten him.

She walked to him and kneeled, soaking her majestic dress in blood, and gently took his head in her hand, to put it on her lap.

“Hey…” she said, stroking his hair, but only his eyes moved and his lips were trembling a little. “You’re cold.”

A soft light started irradiating from her and his pupils dilated, heat started filling the room.

“F-firef…” he tried to say, stealing the saddest smile from her.

“Dean” she whispered. “I found it. I found our way out. Do you remember the Sky Room ?”

She felt him tense and hushed him softly, pushing a sticky bloody strand out of his face.

“No Dean, I figured it out” she reassured him. “It’s a way out, that’s why they got that mad when they found out I had the key. There is a spell… I’m so sorry I didn’t know back then.”

He looked up at her, his green eyes highlighted by the red surrounding them, his breathing fastened a little and she gave him a teary smile.

“It will be over in a few days, Dean” she bent to talk close to his ear. “That’s it, we’re going out. I will find the key or burn the door, you will see Sammy soon. In three days, they all leave to Earth, I will take you there and it will be over. Can you hold on three more days ?”

He nodded weakly, and a big tear cleaned a line in the middle of the blood on his temple.

She was watching him, his lips white, his lashes on his cheek since she had closed his eyes to pretend he was sleeping.

The blood had almost disappeared from his face and body, but she was still bathing in it, her dress was two-colored and she was wearing long gloves of his blood. It had been a few hours and her legs were sore, but no place was better.

He would wake up soon now.

She smiled down at him, thinking of him running out of Hell under the stars, of his brother’s face when he would meet him again. Would Sam be old ? Time was weird here… He would walk the streets and bathe in sun, he would eat and dance. And maybe, just maybe, she could be by his side, chose a song in one of those jukebox and turn on herself when alcohol would make her dizzy…

His grunt made the bubble of her dream pop.

“Dean” she smiled softly.

“Firefly” he hummed, grabbing her hand on his chest to give it a squeeze.

He tried to move but she shook her head slightly.

“Give yourself a minute, Dean” she whispered, seeing him struggle.

He closed his eyes again, still holding her hand.

She could see the colors fill his beautiful plumb soft lips again and wondered how it would feel to touch them. To touch them with her own… A kiss was a weird gesture, why put your lips on someone else’s ? Why not hand on hand ? Or nose on nose ?... Yet, she would have given her shitty life to know what it felt like to have his lips on hers.

When she was a little girl, she had started to dream about Life thanks to him, about nature, seeing the ocean, tasting ice cream, wandering in a city, dancing under a storm… But lately, all she could dream of was experimenting this life with him. Seeing the ocean blue reflect in those green eyes, it would make the most perfect color, eating ice cream in a theater with him, walking the streets holding his hand, kissing him under a storm…

“Did I hear correctly ?” he asked, sitting up in a grunt of effort.

“Yes, I found the way out” she nodded, remembering it might not work for her, she felt like she didn’t belong here, but she was also half demon...

“So why do you look sad ?” he frowned.

“I just don’t want them to torture you more for three days” she lied.

She just couldn’t tell him that she might be stuck. If she did, he would hesitate, and she would rather have to be Lucifer’s toy, than know Dean was being tortured forever.

“Three days…” he gave her the most tender smile. “I am damned for eternity, and you’re telling me I could go out in three days. That’s... “

He didn’t finish his sentence, his eyes fell on an invisible point on her dress, he seemed different, even more beautiful, his irises bright, his featured softer, lighter… Hope.

Hope suited him so well that she felt her heart flutter. How handsome would he be in happiness ? A wide smile appeared on her face, catching his attention.

“What will be the first thing you will do ?” she spoke, searching his face.

“I…” he frowned. “I think I will find Sammy and drink a beer.”

She didn’t answer, just looking at him in awe, imagining meeting Sam herself, tasting beer.

“Do you know where the key is ?” he asked.

“I have a few ideas, and I can open any locks lately, I got this.”

His lips turned into a smile, a thousand of expressions in his eyes and on the corner of his lips.

Dean had this way of holding her without reaching out at all, with the warm kindness in the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes, with the moves of his mouth and the worried lines on his forehead. And right now, she was feeling his aura holding her. The learned coldness of her heart melt and the little girl she once was started crying in the pit of her soul.

“And you ?” he whispered. “What do you want to do more than anything ?”

Her eyes dived in the black of his pupils. What she wanted didn’t really depend on her freedom, and there was a big chance she would never be free anyway.

Pushed by an invisible force, or a new courage, she came closer to his face, her thumb coming up to graze the freckles on his cheeks, enjoying the sight of him clean of blood and terror. Very slowly, she bent a little on his face, her lips shyly met his cheek and she barely let them graze his soft skin.

He didn’t say a word, let her move on her knees to gently rub the side of her face on his. For a second, she could hear the nostalgic yet comforting music coming from the jukebox and feel his arms around her. She wondered if that pleasurable dizziness she felt was like the one caused by alcohol that Dean had described ; if it was, she sure understood why people drank all the time.

She felt like she was dancing, at least what she had imagined of dancing, without moving. And the air wasn’t sulfur and blood anymore, it smelled like what she thought a summer night would… She didn’t need more than Dean to feel all of that.

Her face turned slightly, her nose grazing his, and she hesitantly put her lips on the corner of his. She closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of that feathery touch, imagining all that setting around, with humans and warm lights, music, whiskey, wood, windows and wind, and laughs…

But the scenery shattered when Dean cupped her face with two big confident hands -like no one had ever held her- turned her just enough to line his lips with hers, and put a kiss on her lips.

A real kiss.

His lips were pressed against hers and it felt like their bodies were connected. She started shaking a little, moved by the most intense pleasure she had ever felt and waves of emotions.

He moved an inch back, his lips making a little noise on hers when leaving. So that was the famous sound of a kiss... It tickled a little, but before she could open her eyes, his lips met hers again, this time parting just a little, like he wanted, needed, to capture her own for himself. She parted her lips just enough for him to be able to cage her upper lip between his. Then again, and her bottom lip.

Her arms fell limp on his lap, and shivers roamed her entire body.

He bent his head slightly to the side and she gasped a little when she felt something wet graze her mouth. It was his tongue.

She parted her lips more, and when he opened his mouth to hungrily slipped his tongue between them to caress hers, something exploded inside her.

“Deeeaaan” the dreadful voice of Alastair threatened from the corridor with an amused tone, making him break the kiss the gasp in terror.

She wrapped her arms around him, tears immediately falling on her cheeks.

She couldn’t fight the demon, or they would find something to punish her, and he couldn’t find her with Dean, or they would watch them more… All that mattered now was the plan.

To save him, she had to abandon him now. And it was like ripping her own heart…

“Three days” she whispered and got up.

When she felt his hand slightly clinging to her in panic, she let out a silent sob.

“Dean I swear to you, look at me. I swear.”

She wiped her face and walked behind the door at the exact second the demon entered, a brush hook in his hand...

“Hello Dean, I prepared surprises for you, I’m pretty sure today will be the day you accept my offer.”

“Fuck you” Dean muttered through tears, making the demon laugh.

And she left in silence in his back, crushed by the idea that she could stop him now, but that it would ruin the plan.

Dean’s Pov

The chains made it hard to breathe, impossible even, and the pain was screaming in his ears, it was one of those days, when the demon didn’t finish Dean and he was so angry at his body for resisting like that.

Had he really kissed her ?

Snake embrace, Alastair said, and tightened the chains until they broke Dean’s ribs and his back. He just wish he could faint or die.

But tomorrow… Tomorrow his Firefly would take him away. So in his misery, through the panic of suffocation, Dean clung to the only thing he had : the little light in the middle of Hell, his hope, her.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow…

Hope made the dam break and he choked on tears, quickly silenced by the chains magically tightening more. He was going to die finally and when he will exist again… It would be tomorrow.

The door opened and she entered.

She was like a dream in the middle of a nightmare, nothing about her fitted here. Not her kind eyes, not her beauty, her innocence. And neither her wealthy look. Her long blue silky dress had a train that left a trail of the blood it wiped off the floor, the long tight sleeves were lace covered with occasional pearl…

She looked like a mirage. Her elegant silhouette entered the room, she had pomp dress and hair but her face still showed that artless expression, and for a second in his daze, he wondered how she would look in pajamas…

Did they really kiss ?

“Dean… Damn !” She came close but he couldn’t see her anymore, his eyes closing, rolling in his skull.

He felt her hands tug desperately at the chains and her soft voice groaning.

And suddenly, he could breathe. He gasped and coughed and the pain of his broken ribs hit him violently, but under them, nothing. He couldn’t feel his legs or his hips…

He blinked a few times and his eyes widened : the chains were gravitating around him like flying snakes, not touching any part of his body which rested in the air.

“Dean…” her voice came through.

The chains fell and she held him, when he slowly fell on the floor, like he was in water.

“Tomorrow” she whispered.

And he wanted to tell her how beautiful she was, how incredible. He wanted to ask her what she thought of her first kiss. She could defeat them all, and all the evil in the world… But his injuries were bad and he could feel his heart weaken.

“I know where the key is” she murmured, bending on him, her warm lips grazing on his temple.

“Y-you’re a miracle” he managed to state.

“I’m just a girl” she answered. “But you, Dean… You are everything. You are the sunshine and the starry nights, the music and the ocean. You are snow dancing in the air, and my fireplace, you are christmas and... “ he listened, his struggling heart growing even in his last beats. “You’re the moon in a summer night.”

A tear fell on his jaw and her lips pressed to his temple more, her voice broke a little.

“You are love” she almost whined.

He shakily found her hand, and grazed it with his last strength. He could feel what she was saying, her love was irradiating of her and he wondered how that kid could have grown that kind of feelings in here, and for such a wreck…

“I love you” she whispered. “I love you so much…”

His eyes stilled as his last thought, thanks to her, was a hope again : She will get out of here, and see real snow, and she will learn to love…

Reader’s POV

To see his ever so vibrant green turn cold and still, was a sight she would never get used to, no matter the fact she knew he was gonna come back. She carefully closed his eyes, and waited for him to open them again.

She held him for hours, felt how his body turned cold and stiff. She couldn’t imagine the feeling when death is permanent, because that was the only good thing in Hell, death wasn’t the end.

She had hoped to see his eyes open before she had to go back, but they didn’t. She took out her watch and she knew she had to go back to Crowley for her next lesson, she had to leave him again, or the plan would be ruined.

She placed her lips on his forehead and squeezed her eyes tightly as she felt his ice cold skin beneath them.

“I’ll be back, I promise Dean, I won’t leave you. You’ll get to see Sammy again.” She carefully wrapped her arms around his back, her hand holding the back of his head.

“I love you” she told him once more as she laid him carefully back down.

She would give everything not to have to leave now, but she couldn’t. But things would get better, tomorrow, he would feel the sun on his skin again.

Standing up, she looked back one last time from the doorframe, just to see if she could catch her favorite green one last time, but he was still inert. With a sigh she pulled the door closed behind her and went back to her room.

She stopped behind the corner of her room at the sound of Crowley’s voice.

“Why isn’t she in her room !” he snapped.

She was late…

“I swear she was here a second ago, sir” the coward demon answered him, even she could hear he was lying.

“Find her now !” Crowley yelled, she could hear the nails of the demon scraping against the floor as it hurried off.

“You know just as much as me where she is, Crowley” Lilith sighed, surprising Y/n.

She had the key.

“Why is she so interested in that Winchester, he’s no different from the rest. He’s messing her up” Crowley grunted.

They knew ! Since when ? She always had been careful about it, this was bad, but, her plan was still going, they didn’t know about that. They couldn’t.

“Maybe he is, but he also made her go after Alistair, without him she would never have grown so strong so fast” Lilith stated. “She’s becoming too strong and you know it, Crowley. Every one of my demons is scared of her, calling her the ‘Queen of fire’. I’m the Queen Crowley, she’s Lucifer’s WHORE !”

The walls trembled with her voice.

“And yet, what can we do ? I lock her, I punish her…” Crowley snapped at her.

“We’re running out of options here, we need Lucifer and we need him fast” the Queen said.

“I think we can deal with a child without our Lord” her father chuckled darkly. “Unless you too fear the Queen of Fire ?”

She heard a muffled thud followed by Crowley’s grunting.

“You might not be able to hold her back” Lilith groaned. “But she is still a long way from taking me down. So watch your tone with me, you slug.”

Maybe it was the distance or the way Lilith’s voice bounced against the walls of the corridor, but Y/n wasn't mistaking, she could hear fear.

Lilith was afraid, afraid of her.

Y/n couldn’t help the grin that formed on her face. She would get the key, Dean would be free.

She hurried around the corner to the small library to grab some books, she turned back to go to her room.

With the books grasped in her arms she passed the door. Lilith turned to her as she let Crowley drop down from where she had him pinned against the wall.

“Y/n! Where have you been ?” Crowley gasped.

She held her chin high, and looked Lilith in the eyes. The years of being terrified of the Queen of Hell were over.

“In the library.” she said as she mentioned to the books in her hands.

“You stay in your room until I tell you you can leave, that’s the rule Y/n.” Crowley took the books from her to see what she was reading.

“More crossroads lore ?” he questioned.

Y/n shrugged, crossing her arms.

“It’s interesting” she lied, hoping he would buy it.

“Whatever, you will eat dinner with me tonight” he sighed.

She frowned, that rarely happens. The only times Crowley asked her to join him, it was to introduce her to yet another monster.

“Why ?” she asked.

“Because I say so” Lilith told her coldly.

Lilith would eat with them ? Something was up, she could see it in the Queen’s horrible glare, and feel it in the shivers along her spine, but Y/n ignored it. Just a few hours from now, she would be out of here, or at least Dean would be. If anything, this gave her another opportunity to get the key.

“I look forward to it, your majesty” Y/n gave the mother of demons a sinister smile.

___________________________

They all sat down at the big table which was covered in food; a big pig with an apple in its mouth, grapes, red wine, bread and a dozen cakes, about everything you could think of was on this table.

Which was a shame, demons didn’t need to eat. Only she ate but, still, she could survive without it for longer than a normal human, and could never eat more than a fragment of this ridiculous display.

“So Y/n you’re probably wondering what all this is about ?” Lilith said as she watched her for the corner of her eye.

Y/n took her fork in her hand, making sure to keep up her pinky finger up, she had gotten enough beatings for forgetting it.

“Yes, I can’t help but do” she said, her mind was reeling with a way to get the key from Lilith.

The demons she had threatened had told her Lilith had the key, getting it from her would not be easy...

But not impossible.

“Lucifer is coming and you need to be prepared... ready” Crowley piped up.

“Prepared ? For what ?” she knew she was meant to be his slave, his wife in her father’s mind, like it could happen… but she didn’t understand why they said she wasn’t ready, prepared how ?

“Well, first, you’re not ready to talk to him, not with that tone for instance” Lilith sneered.

“Lucifer will need you, your powers to be more precise” Crowley told her.

“For what purpose does he need them ?” she frowned. “He is far more powerful than me, unless...” she looked at both of them “he is not ?”

Lilith laughed out loud, an ominous and mocking laugh that made Y/n want to drag Lilith through the halls of Hell and cast her in the deepest pit she could find.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, girl, no one is stronger than Lucifer. He will use your powers as a weapon… Or your belly” she grinned sardonically.

“A weapon” she repeated, putting her fork in her plate. “What do you mean my belly ?” she dared asking, the idea of the answer making her nauseous.

“To bring Hell upon the Earth” Lilith smiled.

No… not Earth ! That meant when she would get Dean out, it would all be for nothing ! Anger rose in her core, she could suddenly feel her ears burn with that rage she knew so well. When will they stop ? When will he be allowed to be happy ? Why soil everything ! She couldn’t let that happen.

“No” she stated, trying to hold her fury hidden deep inside of her.

Crowley’s had snapped towards Y/n.

“No ? Darling, you don’t really have a say in it” he laughed.

“I control my powers. I won’t do it !” she said, trying to weight her words.

“And why not ? You never even saw Earth, what do you care for it” Lilith got up from her chair.

It was the home of the man she loved.

“There are innocent people there. I just… I won’t do it.”

Lilith stood next to her, her hand grasped the back of her head, her fingers tangled in Y/n’s hair, pushing her down to the table, her face now in her plate. Y/n gasped, the rage inside her once again drowned by humiliation, like it had been so often in her life.

“Like daddy said,” she bent down to whisper in Y/n’s ear. “You don’t have a say in it.”

A necklace slipped out of the demon’s dress and dangled in front of her face.

The key !

Y/n was so close to grasp it… So close to freedom. Her heart started pounding in her chest and flashes of Dean in pieces came in her mind, making her more determined than she had ever been.

She started to vibrate underneath Lilith’s hand, she could almost taste her rage on her own tongue. Her body curled inwards, her breath slow and focused, her hair started to flow, she opened her eyes and could see herself light up in the reflection of the silver gravy boat that was placed on the table.

With a powerful blast of fire everything around her vaporized to dust as Crowley and Lilith flew pinned against the walls.

“I WON’T DO IT” her voice was unrecognizable, it sounded like she was speaking with a thousand voices at the once.

She was floating high in the middle of the room, she spread her arms and could feel two fiery wings erupt from her back, so big they touched each side of the room.

She would get out. She wouldn’t take any of their punches, any of their humiliations. And Dean wouldn’t spend another night in that cell. She was getting out. Now.

Her eyes focussed on the key around Lilith’s neck, with a nod of her head the chain snapped and the key flew into her hand like she was the magnet.

“YOU WON’T STOP ME” she clenched both her fist, the flames around her growing with the rage inside her as she forced the demons out of their vessels.

A force that wasn’t hers made the room colder. Her head snapped towards Lilith who seemed to be whispering something.

“L-Lilith” Crowley yelled.

Y/n felt an invisible cord wrap around her feet, it tugged her down violently to the floor with one hard pull. Her wings disappeared, Lilith ran towards Y/n and threw a small vile in front of her, it caught fire and followed a line all around her.

She felt herself growing weaker and weaker, the more she fought the heavier everything got.

“Stop trying Y/n, you’re trapped, no way you can cross that.” Crowley said as he wiped the dirt of his dress pants.

“You really thought you were gonna get out ?” Lilith sneered at her, a wicked grin on her face.“Oh and you wanted to take the Winchester boy with you ?” she was now laughing out loud.

Y/n crawled to the edge of the fire ring around her, heavy and beaten, but met an invisible wall, icy and crackling, she couldn’t pass. She used all her strength, all her rage, but the anger was just a stomachache now, and her body was a prison. She was trapped.

“Told you the spell would work.” Crowley told Lilith, with that fear hidden in his voice, the voice he had when he felt like he had to protect himself. He wouldn’t help her.

Lilith leaned closer to her, victory on her face.

“I got you now, don’t ever think you are stronger than me. It’s over.”

No… it couldn’t be, she had to get Dean out of here, she promised him… She swore. Dean was waiting for her, she couldn’t let him down…

Her ribs became too tight and a sob of supplication escaped her mouth. She lifted an arm, in a last attempt to resist, but despair was even heavier on her back, than the spell was.

“Bring her to my cage” Lilith said, opening the door to the demons on the other side, intrigued by the noise.

“No no, please no.” Y/n started, she knew by now that Lilith intended to lock her up for good this time.

The thought of Dean waiting for her was unbearable… He would be waiting… forever. In a strangled sob, she clutched the key in her hand so hard it snapped. She looked down at her hand, it was broken…

“It’s a fake” Lilith clenched her fist and Y/n rose up, gasping for air. “You think I would walk around it with around my neck ? I’m not stupid.”

Some demons grasped Y/n by her foot to tug down to the ground so they could put new chains around her. She couldn’t move, crying like she had never cried, not even as a child. She wasn’t crying for herself, she wouldn’t mind dying.

She was crying for Dean. Every single one of his cuts would be on her from now, every one of his lonely nights, of his fears and burns… For eternity.

On her.

Once the chains were secured the demons started dragging her to her new ‘room’.

“Oh and” Lilith started, the demons stopping at the sound of her voice, she looked down at Y/n laying chained on the floor, silent tears rolling down her face.

“I’ll take care of Mr. Winchester.”

Next Chapter in @roonyxx‘s blog

_________________________________

Forever Tags : @parinarain @animegirlgeeky @mogaruke @masterof-agony @rainflowermoon @tftumblin @deans-baby-momma @roonyxx @thefaithfulwriter @vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @holylulusworld @cocklesbelli @sandlee44 @screenchingartisancashbailiff @donnaintx @stormchasingchick32 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @sister-winchesters99 @neii3n @lyss-dw79 @im-a-shrub @sadwaywardkid@hopelesslydevotedtoyou1912 @slyqueenj @i-love-superhero @waywardsisterandpie @sunsetsandbooks @fangirlxwritesx67 @mrspeacem1nusone @stylesismyhubs @deanwanddamons @jawritter @peridottea91 @chelsea072498 @chocolateheart @vicmc624 @teresa-67 @jessie-michael

Firefly Tags: @waywardsistersandpie @jessica-marsh09 @teller258316

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blackpoliglota · 3 years

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Moi assistant une réunion qui aurait été un e-mail...

This is me in that scenario and now after having spent WAY TOO MUCH TIME looking for a GIF for this post... that doesn't even fit the space properly on the desktop version 😭😭😭

Ah well, much ado about nothing, I suppose... anyway, I'M BAAAAAAAAAACK!!! So sorry for the unannounced hiatus... which wasn't really much of a hiatus, as I was still reblogging things BUT STILL. I ended up getting super sidetracked with teaching and dealing with the biggest headache on the planet known as the Spanish Beaurocracy™️🤦🏾‍♀️ Seriously y'all, those people DO NOT know how to do their jobs! If you want to hear about the fun time of trying to get my papers in order so I could remain a legal foreign resident, lemme know! Well, even if you don't I may create a post solely dedicated to that anyway; I could use the opportunity to let out some steam.

Now without further ado, onto my first original post of 2021!!!

As you may have guessed, this is about emails, particularly those written in French. I have 2 recent-ish emails I sent off to a college French professor asking for a recommendation letter for a fellowship. Wanting to keep up my French skills (and not disappoint my former professor), I used that opportunity to practice French by setting aside several lovely hours of my life for each email... yep, you read it right, HOURS. If I wrote those emails in Spanish it would've only taken me a hour tops for each email, but since this is French we're talking about here I had to spend the majority of my email-writing time looking up virtually every other word/phrase, cringe over each eventual sentence(s) I'd create with said word/phrase, and ultimately convince myself to move onto the next sentence to repeat that same process. . . all of this with taking a break after every 3rd sentence due to being lowkey dissuaded from continuing. . . fuuuuuuuun🙃🙃🙃

Anyway, not all language learning sessions are great. BUT, ya gotta push through those annoying/bad times to achieve greatness, amirite? Right, so with that being said, ALLONS-Y!!!

So I mentioned having spent the majority of my time looking up words and phrases for these 2 emails, meaning I now have a lovely list of vocabulary to get through! Check it out below:

Le premier e-mail

La Nouveauté - innovation / novelty / originality / freshness [In the email I mistakenly used it to mean "news", when I really should have used "nouvelles"]

À part - Aside from

La folie - madness / lunacy / insanity / chaos

Supporter - To put up with / to tolerate / to bear

Pour l'instant - For the moment

Falloir (qqch)- To have to do (sth) / must do (sth) [In the email I mistakenly used it to mean "should", when I really should have used "devoir"]

Déménager - To move (house)

L'essai (m.) - Try / attempt

Remettre - To turn in / to hand over [there are many more meanings for this verb, but in the email it's used to mean this]

Le formulaire - (Application) Form

Le faute - Fault / mistake / error

La date limite - Deadline

Faire face à - To deal with / to face

Opérer - To operate / to work / to function

Quoi qu'il en soit - Anyway / either way / be that as it may

Ce que - What [As an antecedent, not a question word]

Se rendre compte de (qqch) - To realize / to become aware of (sth)

La bourse - Scholarship / fellowship / grant / stock market

Requérir - to require / to call for

Le solliciteur / la solliciteuse - Petitioner / solicitor [In the email I mistakenly used it to mean "applicant", when I really should have used "demandeur / demandeuse" according to WordReference]

Le motif - Reason / motive / pattern / motif

Si longtemps - So long [As in "such a long time"]

Le thème - Topic / subject / theme

La déclaration personnelle - Personal statement

La déclaration d'intention - Statement of purpose

Payer le luxe - To have the luxury (to do sth) / to afford (to do sth)

Urger - To be urgent [In the email I mistakenly used it to mean "to oblige", when I really should have used "obliger"]

Amitiés - Best Wishes / All the Best [Letter sign-off]

And for the sake of breaking up these two lists so you won't be too overwhelmed at all the vocab I need to study, here's a picture of the first email below:

Now for the next one!

Le deuxième e-mail

Le tour - Turn

Désolée de. . . - Sorry for. . .

Tel (m.) / telle (f.) - Such (a)

À temps - On time

Lié (m.) / liée (f.) - Related / connected

L'affaire (f.) - Matter / issue / business

Le séjour - Stay / temporary residence / family room / living room

Donc - Therefore [Grammatical position is after the verb, after "pas" if negation is present]

Une fois encore - Once again

L'objet (m.) - (Email) Subject / object / purpose / target

La nouvelle normale - The New Normal [COVID-19 related]

Vécu - Lived [Past participle of the verb "vivre"]

Propre - (One's) Own / clean / tidy / neat

Lorsque - While / when / as soon as

S'étonner - To be surprised / to be astonished / to be amazed

Chacun de nous - Any one of us / each of us

Poursuivre - To continue / to pursue / to keep up

Presque - Almost

L'enseignement de l'anglais langue étrangère - Teaching English as a Foreign Language [abbrv. "TEFL"]

Instituteur (m.) / Institutrice (f.) - (Primary school) Teacher

Le déménagement - Move / moving

Devenu(e) - Became [Past participle of the verb "devenir"]

L'éducateur / l'éducatrice - Educator

Le retour - Return

Bien que - Although / even though

La carrière - Career

La demande - Application

Écrasant (m.) / écrasante (f.) - Overwhelming / crushing / heavy

En réalité - Actually / in fact / in reality

Le résultat - Result

La ronde des finalistes - Finalist round

Alors que - While / even though

Les études (f.) - Studies

Réviser - To review

La communauté - Community

À ce sujet - On that note / speaking of which

À l'avenir - In the future

Postuler à (qqch) - To apply for (sth)

Scolaire - Academic / scholastic

S'améliorer - To improve / to upgrade / to get better

La capacité - Ability / capability

Cela dit - That (being) said

Fou (m.) / folle (f.) - Crazy / insane / mad / wild

Être en bonne santé - To be healthy

Être en sécurité - To be safe

Jurer - To swear / to vow / to curse / to cuss

Le temps de réponse - Response time

Chaleureusement - With Warm Regards / Warmly [Letter sign-off]

And here is the second email itself:

As you can see, I blocked out the name of my professor because Consent Tings™️. Hopefully the email images help with putting the vocab into context! I plan to make quizlets for these vocab words soon and will post the link to it here for y'all if you're interested in studying them! Also, DISCLAIMER: if you didn't know this before, I am by no means an expert in the French language; I'm hardly at the B1 level. Cela dit (that being said. . . see that? heh heh😏), I'm sure there are a plethora of errors in both emails. If you're feeling extra critical when reading them, please please PLEASE point out those errors to me! I want to discuss them with you and learn from them so I can poursuivre m'améliorer (keep on improving. . . once again, hehee😂)!

Alrighty, that covers just about everything! Again, I am so sorry for not having created any original posts in such a long time; life carried me away🤷🏾‍♀️ Now that I finally have my first post of 2021, here's to more frequent content creating!

乾杯(Gān bēi)! 🥂

EDIT: Links to the quizlets below!

Le premier e-mail: https://quizlet.com/_9mktlv?x=1jqt&i=3dk8u9

Le deuxième e-mail: https://quizlet.com/_9ml1s4?x=1jqt&i=3dk8u9

#French #Français #Vocabulary #Vocabulaire #Grammar #Grammaire #Emails #Des E-mails #Black Linguist #NOLA in the house #⚜️⚜️⚜️#Langblr #Studyblr #Original Post

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smoll-tangerine · 3 years

Text

update: january 2022

HELLO WORLD! first of all, happy belated new year!

it’s been a hot while since my last update post (the last “official” one being from april 2021), and believe it or not, this is still a blog where i just so happen to post stories written by yours truly. this is going to be a long (?) update, so bear with me please!

not to toot my own horn, my blog has grown tremendously since that last update so i’ll take this opportunity to say hi to my new followers! hello! thanks so much for following me and for joining me on this crazy journey, i hope you will enjoy your stay ♥

i unexpectedly went into a small hiatus from the end of september until december 2021. long story short, i’ve written so many drabbles for my one-year anniversary event in such a short period of time, that i experienced a burnout and had no motivation whatsoever to write anything. but as you can tell, i am back from the dead and i am slowly posting some very overdue stuff!

i also want to let you all know that there is a jaehyun timestamp posted on tumblr that is very, very similar to the first chapter of my jaehyun just friends timestamp mini-series (which you can find here). i will even be as bold to claim that it is borderline plagiarism given to how similar the stories are (yes, i did read it), especially since an anon thought that the other timestamp was a repost or that it was a new account of mine. i don’t have any other writing blogs (tumblr), smoll-tangerine is the only one on which i post my stories. you can also find me on AFF, but i don’t post any of my NCT stuff there.

no worries for now. the author has contacted me and they will rewrite the fic in a way that it is going to be very different from mine. they claim to be new to tumblr and has never come across my blog, so i gave them the benefit of the doubt. i asked that they send me a link when they’re done revamping the fic, so i’ll keep you guys updated on this. but also just letting everyone know that i do not condone plagiarism and i will not hesitate to call people out publicly and report if i see people copying my stories.

i can’t give an exact date as to when will i post the fics that are on my wips, but i’m making tons of progress. i’m starting school again soon, so hopefully it won’t hinder me too much. you will have to make due with my short drabbles and timestamps♥

currently working on the following stories simultaneously: - tabula rasa (taeyong x reader) - collab fic - pandora’s box (doyoung x reader) - collab fic - a promise of infinity (winwin x reader) - collab fic

with an unexpected turn of events, i will post the latest chapter for you’re my wonderwall soon, whereas the first chapter of wanted for error is still a work in progress.

[!!!] i also have some very new exciting projects that i will be posting about in the following week so keep an eye out! (keep an eye out for my wips too, i’ll update it soon!)

thanks for making it this far & feel free to drop me a message in my ask box!! i love talking about anything and everything hehe (ɔ◔‿◔)ɔ♥

#nini.updates

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wardencommanderrodimiss · 4 years

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Witches, Chapter 29: something of an overdue talk, in a long overdue chapter.

Hey everyone! We’re back at it, hopefully, with a few orders of business.

First things first: I’d like to issue a small warning for a short discussion of past suicidal ideation that pops up during this chapter. Since this series is a retelling, generally most of you do know what’s coming up next and what we’ll run into and to brace ourselves for that. You know about the characters’ past traumas and future choices and know where that pops up, or if it becomes unexpectedly relevant or makes a new parallel, you did at least know in advance that it happened. Phoenix’s occasional oblique allusion to Edgeworth’s “choosing death”, for instance.

As this is not something quite like that and comes up more out of nowhere than usual, I just wanted to make sure that no one is uncomfortably caught off-guard. It felt like something different to me personally as I was writing - whether it’s going to strike any of you as different than other heavier material we’ve had in the past, I can’t say, but I’m erring on the side of caution today. If you’ve got any questions or concerns or anything you want done for content warnings in the future, please do come talk to me and let me know!

On two lighter notes: thank you all for bearing with me through the “oops all Fire Emblem only Fire Emblem” hiatus. It’s been a weird year, obviously. I’m hoping that I can carry on with room in my brain for both.

And finally: Happy UR-1 day! Today is, yes indeed, the exact day that Simon Blackquill is arrested for murder, and in honor of that, have a chapter where I mention him one (1) entire time.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches of Los Angeles Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Golden Saturday-morning sunlight streams in through the blinds, lighting up the dust particles swirling through the air. The office is colder than Apollo expects for the end of October - colder than it was last year this time - and Phoenix is even wearing a sweater, the shining locket that Apollo hasn’t seen in a while hanging around the outside of the tall collar. “Morning,” Phoenix says, without raising his eyes from what appears to be a manila folder full of newspaper clippings he is perusing. “What’s up?”

Straight to business, then. Apollo is fine with that. He grabs the chair from his desk and drags it around, not directly in front of Phoenix’s desk, but near enough that it will be harder for Phoenix to ignore him.

“Is there any way to break a curse?” he asks, shoving his hands deep in the pocket of his hoodie. If it were this cold in a regular office on a Saturday, that would make sense; save money on heating bills when no clients are coming in. This is just - fae bullshit. The beginning of their seasonal tantrums. Winter only properly begins on the solstice, and Apollo really wishes that the fae of Kurain would respect the astronomical seasons. Stave off the snow until the end of December and end it in March. Don’t allow it to span from October to April.

Phoenix sweeps the scraps of paper all back within the folder and ducks down to set it inside a drawer. “If I knew a way,” he says, rising back up with the magatama in hand and setting it down on his desk with a hard clack, “do you think I would go around looking like I do? You don’t think I would’ve gotten this mess cleaned up a long time ago?”

He doesn’t offer Apollo the magatama for a refresher on what that mess looks like. Maybe he was just making a dramatic point with it. “Oh,” Apollo says, scratching the back of his head, faintly embarrassed by how obvious the answer is if he’d given it a modicum of thought from that perspective. “I guess not.”

“Right,” Phoenix says. “As my understanding goes, you can theoretically maybe mitigate a curse, if you layer another opposing blessing on. I am ‘lucky’” - he makes sarcastic quotation marks to ensure that the bitterness dripping from the word doesn’t go unnoticed, as if Apollo could possibly not notice - “to have known enough fae that I’m saddled with both Fortune and Misfortune, and Life and Death. But I’m also not certain that when you drop those on each other they don’t just each take their own separate niches. I’m not dead, but god knows when I try to go somewhere for a vacation or a day off, I still stumble across crime scenes like nothing else. Stunningly lucky in some aspects, and wildly unfortunate in others. You know me. I don’t need to elaborate too much, do I?”

Apollo nods.

“So that’s the theory, but I don’t think that helps anyway for your purposes, which - this is about Prosecutor Gavin?”

Apollo nods again. Phoenix sighs and rubs his eyes. “Shit,” he says, folding his hands together in front of his face and leaning his head against them. “I - believe me, Apollo, I wish I had some - I wish I had any way to help him.”

And Apollo does believe him. Apollo has to believe him, and believe that Phoenix means well, because he’d go crazier if he wasn’t reminding himself that Phoenix’s most frustrating decisions are born out of good intent. That Phoenix thinks he knows what’s best, but there’s still that old saying about good intentions.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Apollo asks. “You knew before this. You knew before he asked you.”

Phoenix raises his head. “And what does telling him get him? Secure in the knowledge that his brother - who is already in jail by the way, don’t need any more proof of his crimes, he’s already never getting out to be able to hurt anyone ever again - hates him enough to have wished him dead?”

Basically the same reasoning that Klavier had, but Apollo has a counterargument now. “Gives him time to come to terms with it before someone dies!”

“You don’t!” Phoenix slams his palms on the desk. Apollo flinches. Of course everyone is volatile and heated over this topic, but that doesn’t make it easier in the moment that it first gets directed at him from people who are usually frustratingly calm and casual. But Phoenix winces, lifting one of his hands and dragging his fingers through his hair, and sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says, and repeats, much quieter, “You - you don’t. Or I never didn’t. I knew from right when it happened that I was cursed; I had three years between then and when Mia died - it - I could’ve had a decade, or two, and it - it wouldn’t have helped. I wouldn’t have felt any differently. Any more come to terms with it. With the thought that I - helped cause—”

His tongue heavy in his mouth, Apollo nods. “But - but wouldn’t it have been worse to find out right after she died?”

“Of course it would have,” Phoenix says blithely. “Of course that - this - is the worst possible alternative. Of course I would’ve said something if I’d known that this was what would happen instead.”

“But you have to have expected that someone would—”

“No, I didn’t,” Phoenix interrupts. “That’s not how this works. You know Klavier. You know how much he doesn’t say, don’t you? How much I don’t - you know what people like us are like. Who’s going to tell him? Sebastian forgets half the time that he even has the Sight. Kay only acts like she knows things. Prosecutor Blackquill spent until two days ago acting like magic isn’t real even when he knew we knew otherwise. Someone who means ill isn going to keep that information to use it, and not to just plainly say something.” He frowns. “Well, usually not. Unless they’re a clumsy interloper stumbling in somewhere they don’t belong and getting themselves fucked over for it too.”

“So other than Means just walking all over everything” - because he wasn’t immersed in this kind of fae etiquette, didn’t grow up in it, learned just enough to spot what he thought were opportunities and ruined himself by it - “you think every other random stranger is just going to respect all these - these weird little rules about what you don’t say?”

“Rules of engagement, basically,” Phoenix says. “Yeah, I do.”

“Prosecutor Gavin told me that you’re cursed,” Apollo says. “Don’t just tell me that’s - that’s the exception that proves the rule, or whatever.”

Phoenix’s expression, smug and trying to dampen that smugness back into something that respects the seriousness of the conversation, tells Apollo that yes, yes that is absolutely what his retort was going to be. Apollo considers screaming. “I’ve been tangled up in this for far too long,” Phoenix says. “I can promise you, I know the patterns. I know the way these things go.”

“And because you’re so much smarter than the rest of us, that makes it okay?” Apollo demands. “To take a gamble and just hope that it won’t go wildly wrong?”

And he wants to, really wants to add, I guess that’s what you do, just gamble with people’s fates, and he doesn’t, and Phoenix’s face still darkens like he knows, like he can read Apollo’s mind. Because every time Apollo ends up arguing with him, that’s always at the core. This playing card that haunts them both, burnt a bridge barely built, and they keep trying to balance on the ashen skeleton of it. “Just because Prosecutor Gavin is too fucked up about everything else to be mad at you for hiding this—”

“I did,” Phoenix says, voice low, eyes narrowed and dark as an evening’s storm clouds, “what I thought would be best, based on my prior experiences of both how curses don’t get talked about, and knowing exactly what it is like to personally live with knowing that I’m cursed. This is not something I want anyone to have to know how it feels.”

“So you think ignorance is bliss,” Apollo says. Klavier said that. Apollo wants to know how Phoenix takes that statement.

“I wouldn’t call it ignorance,” Phoenix says. “It’s not like he, or you, didn’t know what Kristoph was like until you found this out. You know the crime, the verdict, the sentencing - and everything else that Kristoph tried but failed to do. That Kristoph also wanted Klavier dead is only another small piece in the grand scheme of it all.”

Still the same argument that Klavier made; Apollo can’t imagine they discussed it. What brought them to the same conclusion? That they both have lived this strange specific kind of grief? This common ground that they share that is foreign to Apollo.

“Come to terms with - Klavier’s already got to come to terms with the rest of that,” Phoenix continues. “It was obvious during that trial how much Kristoph despised him. He knew that too. He knows that Kristoph ruined more lives than just the people he murdered - that he tried to kill more people than he actually succeeded at - cursed and tried to kill children because he couldn’t have - didn’t want anyone remaining who - who could - could… say…”

If Phoenix hadn’t faltered like that - fumbling and failing to continue, words petering out as he went back over what he just said, his eyes going wide and welling up with horror - then Apollo would have simply assumed that his thoughts were moving too fast for his mouth and he couldn’t keep them straight. It would have been easy to talk right through it, and Apollo wouldn’t think twice. If Phoenix hadn’t showed his own hand, gave the game away. Something too terrible for even seven years of professional poker to hide.

“Mr Wright?” Apollo asks, and Phoenix turns his head, glancing away away, no longer meeting his eyes when less than a minute ago he was staring him down with a cold confident glare. “What - what are you talking about? Vera, and - not someone else? Who else?”

Phoenix makes a tiny shake of his head, and even that little motion is a bright, distinct liar’s red. It lights up his eyes, too, when they dart down to the floor. “Mr Wright?” Apollo repeats. When would this have been? He casts his mind over everything he learned, just a little over a year ago, Phoenix sitting him down to explain seven years of information collected about Kristoph, what he’d done and how he’d tried to cover it up. He tried to kill Drew Misham to tie up that loose end; he cursed and poisoned Vera, two precautions because he wasn’t confident enough in the former, hoping that if she ever left the house she wouldn’t be able to speak to his identity and the forgery he requested. He killed Zak Gramarye seven years later to hide the same. He wanted to eliminate every link in the chain that connected the diary page to him. Its makers Vera and Drew, and Zak who knew he was the first attorney on the case, and then the page got to Phoenix via—

Via—

“Mr Wright,” Apollo says. His voice shakes. “He didn’t—”

“Promise me something, Apollo,” Phoenix says firmly. His mouth is drawn in a tight line but he doesn’t look stern. He looks more like he’s going to cry and is desperately trying to stop himself. “Promise me.”

“Wh - what? I can’t—”

“Promise me, Apollo.”

Not until you tell me what I’m promising, Apollo thinks, Apollo knows is what he should say. He’s been told this enough times; he’s aware of this on his own. Don’t agree to a deal before all the terms are set. Don’t sign the contract before it’s read thoroughly. Rules for lawyers and fae are the same. Just because Phoenix means well doesn’t mean that Apollo agrees with those decisions he makes; certainly not the one they have been discussing, and likely not whatever Phoenix is asking him to agree to.

“Please.”

The air in the office is so cold. Even the sunlight seems cold now. Apollo shivers, hunches himself up further. What does Mia think? Is this secret-keeping so natural to her, easy as breathing once was, because she’s fae and that’s what they are, liars by trick and by trade?

“Just promise me you won’t tell her until I do.”

His mouth dry, Apollo nods and croaks out, “All right. I won’t.”

He almost regrets pushing the issue,regrets ever asking Phoenix why he faltered. Phoenix sits slumped, his hands in his hair, and when he glances back up at Apollo, he looks so exhausted that it reminds him of Klavier last night. Burnt-out and broken, when it’s so rare for either of their masks to break. Rarer for Phoenix not to be positioning himself as the one with all the cards in hand; for him to fall apart, for Apollo to actually see him upset. “Yeah,” he whispers, soft enough that Apollo sits forward to make sure he can hear him. “Everyone involved in getting the diary page from him to me, Kristoph wanted dead, or to make sure he could silence them. Everyone who knew, even if she was - eleven years old, or eight. The girl who made it, and the girl who gave it to me. He fucking hated the Gramaryes. You think he didn’t jump at the opportunity to try and get rid of all of them that he could? That he wouldn’t cast a curse on each one who ever entered his sight?”

“And she” - Apollo’s voice cracks - “she doesn’t know? You didn’t tell her?”

“Shit, no,” Phoenix says. He sounds close to cracking, too, and when he drops his hands to his desk he starts shaking his head, his eyes scrunched closed. “Being a Gramarye has been goddamn enough of a curse for her. She lost all her family and then found out that her grandfather buried her mother’s soul in the woods because he was a monstrous son-of-a-bitch who deserved worse than getting to go out on his own terms by shooting himself in the fucking head—”

Apollo shudders. Phoenix had never before directly stated his opinion on Magnifi, but Apollo could definitely tell he held only disdain for the man. This, though, is more than disdain. This is positively venomous, and more than a bit frightening. Did he always feel like this, and hid it, or is this hatred something that has only come about since last year Trucy came back to the office with her mother’s soul in her hands?

“—so yeah, on top of that, I’m definitely going to tell her that the same man who killed her father cursed her just because of the accident of who her family is.”

“B-but—” Apollo doesn’t quite know what he’s arguing. He also doesn’t know where all of his prior conviction went. Of course Klavier should have been told - because he found out in the worst way possible - and Trucy - to take a gamble with her too - that’s got to be just as wrong— “Nine-Tails Vale,” he says suddenly. “We went there, and then there was a murder - that - that’s - is that like—”

“Like what happens to me?” Phoenix asks. “What happens with a curse? Yes. That’s how it goes.”

“And you - you’re not going to - to tell her? Ever? In case - in case something happens to her like with Klavier, or—” Too many thoughts are playing in his head, and the next one grabs hold of him and pivots him away from the point he was going to make about maybe why Trucy should know. “The concert,” he says. “When we went to the concert, Trucy and I, and Klavier was there too of course but that’s - Romaine LeTousse was murdered. They’re both cursed and they - wait, was Klavier cursed then? That was before…”

Did Klavier know when it happened? Did he tell Apollo? He’d said that Phoenix had seen him twice since the trial last October. Presume then that Kristoph cursed him then. The last time the brothers saw each other, and that doesn’t make one bit of sense.

“How could Kristoph have cursed him?” Apollo asks, and he doesn’t miss a momentary flash of panic that passes over Phoenix, his eyes popping wide for half a second and a loud, sharp intake of breath. “Klavier always has iron on him. He gave me—” He looks down at his hand, and then back up, to Phoenix’s lifted eyebrows. Apollo sticks his hand back in his pocket. “What’s the point in iron if it doesn’t actually save you from being cursed?”

Phoenix is obviously trying not to move. He knows Apollo is watching him, waiting for a twitch, anything to pounce on and draw an answer out of him. Staring steadily back at Apollo, he barely blinks; he rests his folded arms on his desk and his fingers curl just a little tighter into where he’s gripping his arm. Apollo is right to be asking these questions. He’s getting closer to something that Phoenix is hiding.

“Or it does,” Apollo says. The veins on the back of Phoenix’s hand flex from his grip. Apollo thinks about someone else with a tense hand and secrets. “And he couldn’t have been cursed then, at Vera’s trial, if it does. So then Mr Gavin hated him that much before then.” Phoenix blinks placidly, but he doesn’t adopt his lazy-eyed gaze. Too serious even for that. “And you lied,” Apollo adds. “You lied about when.”

Phoenix flinches. It’s just a tiny one, pulling his head back, the muscles in his jaw and neck tightening, but Apollo can’t miss the light show. Can’t miss that the lie is bleeding out of him.

He finds himself on his feet, not stepping any closer to Phoenix’s desk, just needing the height, just needing to move a little to stop the shaking in his hands and in his chest, a trembling that goes right down to his heart. “He knew already that he’s cursed! Why did you keep lying to him!”

“I didn’t lie to him,” Phoenix says evenly, but very quietly, and Apollo wants to go over and slam his fists on the desk and make him stop with these hollow justifications, make him face what he’s done couched in none of his winding words. “I just didn’t correct his assumption.”

“That’s lying!” Apollo shouts. “That’s still lying! That’s what happened in Mayor Tenma’s trial! Do you remember that? Do you care!”

“Don’t accuse me of not caring.” Phoenix’s voice is low, his eyes dark, staring up at Apollo. “I do care. I—”

“You don’t care about lying! But you do care about - what, about us? Doing this because you care, because you always know what’s best for everyone not to know!” Apollo throws his hands in the air. Phoenix’s brow furrows further, his jaw set tightly. “Never mind that Athena had a breakdown during the trial because Means hit her exactly where you were worried she would be! And you didn’t prepare her! Never mind that Klavier’s having a breakdown now because he found out at the worst possible time! When you could have told him! You know—”

“And if what he knows already hurt him this badly, then what do you think would be happening if he knew Kristoph cursed him years ago?” Phoenix slams his hands on his desk like he’s at the defense’s bench, pushing himself up out of the chair and onto his feet. “That his brother’s wanted him dead for that long? You think that’ll help anything, for him to find that out right now on top of all this? You want him to have that to come to terms with right now, too? I didn’t lie to him! He made an assumption that I didn’t correct because I’m not in the business of salting anyone’s wounds!”

He makes - a point. Apollo sees where he’s coming from. Why he’d do that. An additional piece of truth, yesterday the same as a salting of the wound. “But you don’t think he’s ever wondered if - if Mr Gavin resented him for that long? If he - if you would be setting something to rest, if you told him that. You can’t decide for someone else what they’re capable of handling.”

“Fair point,” Phoenix says. He sinks back down into his chair, and then motions to Apollo’s, suggesting he sit back down. “If he’d asked, I’d have told him. If he ever asks, I’ll tell him. I just wasn’t about to drop that on his head with him unprepared. Or if he asks you - I’m not asking you to swear silence to that. Shit, if you ever think that it’ll help him to know, then tell him - tell him you just found out from me, throw me under the bus and lie to make me look worse, that’s fine.”

Apollo returns to his chair, still not feeling any less like he wants to take a swing and see if he’s gotten any better at punching since last April. “You want me to lie now too?” he asks.

“I want you to use your best judgment about what he might want to know or be able to handle,” Phoenix says. “To not pile on more if he didn’t ask, if you don’t think he’s prepared. Like I said, when it comes to being cursed, I didn’t ever not know, and I know what the knowing is like. Yeah, I took a gamble that if I didn’t tell them then no one else ever would. That they’d never know, I hoped.”

He shakes his head and then leans it back against his chair, his eyes closing. “See, it’s not just grief, not at all. The woman who cursed me was someone I thought I knew. Though I’d known for a while. She had actually wanted me dead since we first met.” His eyes pop back open. “Eventually she tried to poison me, and when that didn’t work she tried to frame me for murder, and when that plan fell apart she just tried to kill me with a curse because she was pissed about it. She was a lot stronger than Kristoph, I’ll tell you that much. But Mia stepped in, and now I’m still alive and other people just drop dead all around me instead.”

He sounds almost like he is making a recitation, like he’s rehearsed it, scripted it. Apollo wonders if he’s ever told anyone else all these details, if anyone else lacking the Sight knows that Phoenix is cursed, and if he used this same script then too. He’s speaking about himself, something so personal, in a way so curt and crisp, so much more detached than he’s been speaking about Klavier, or Trucy.

Apollo nods numbly, unable to force his tongue to ask any of the questions he has.

“I could have come to grips with her hating me that long and that much - I could’ve come to terms with it and moved on. I was - well, I eventually became glad to know what she was. I could’ve been okay with all that. Eventually. If I hadn’t known about the curse. But I did and the - the knowing, the - Mia was murdered. Three years after she saved me. That long, thinking I could accept that I was cursed, and as soon as something really happened - I couldn’t.”

He presses his hands together and rests them against his chin. “And I couldn’t ever even just grieve her, because I had this guilt. That her death was my fault - I know, I know, some other man murdered her. He got to rot in jail for the rest of his life for his crimes, and he would’ve hated her whether or not I was cursed. For the things she did and because of what he was, and I had no part in any of that, but I was still - thinking, if maybe if she hadn’t ever taken me under her wing. If I hadn’t been around, maybe it would’ve been different somehow. Maybe she would have survived.”

The lights flicker gently and return dimmer and softer than they were before. Everything that gets talked about in this office, Mia hears; Apollo wonders if Phoenix doesn’t get sick of it sometimes, just want to say something without her offering input. Even if this is presumably well-meant, some attempt at comfort, the most a dead woman who can’t speak can give. Apollo exhales and can see his breath. He shivers again. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally asks.

“I want you to understand.” Phoenix rubs his hands together, a vacant look in his eyes, like he hasn’t quite realized why he’s so suddenly cold. “What it felt like, and what I’m worried about. If I’d told Klavier, or I tell Trucy - once I say something, I can’t take it back. That’s it, and they know, forever, just like I do. So I want to be sure that this won’t - I want—” He drops his hands and reaches over and picks up the magatama, idly spinning it around between his fingers. Apollo can’t remember ever seeing him this uneasy, this fidgety. “Klavier, especially, reminds me of myself when I was his age, and of a prosecutor I knew then, too. And that - recognition” - he gestures with the magatama clutched in his hand - “is not good, because we were not - okay.”

Apollo wishes he could remember with clarity all that Phoenix said to him about this time a year ago, about Klavier, about Phoenix being concerned for him. He does remember that Phoenix said something about some other prosecutor then, too, that Klavier reminded him of. Or that he was worried Klavier was going to end up like.

Phoenix inhales slowly, and says, “Six months after Mia was murdered - which was three, three and a half years after I was cursed, mind you - I lost someone else. I didn’t realize how badly he was doing - he did a good job at hiding it, and I didn’t know how to reach out. I was wrapped up in my own loneliness and depression, and then he was gone.”

He stops turning the magatama between his fingers, staring down at it for a few seconds, and then he resumes fidgeting with it. “I felt like I’d caused both of those. Couldn’t convince myself otherwise. Every other factor I knew there was, every single thing I couldn’t prevent or control, all these other things that other people did - I still thought that if I wasn’t cursed, then it could have been - just different enough that they would still be here.” He reaches up, brushing his fingertips across his temple. “Wouldn’t have been a fatal wound. Or wouldn’t have—”

He falters, staring past Apollo now, over at the window. This is the same thing he said about Mia earlier, about that sense of guilt, even knowing someone else murdered her. That he held some kind of responsibility, for a curse that seems to manifest itself as coincidence. Just coincidence, a little too often.

“They could’ve been okay, somehow, in the end, I thought,” he continues. “And instead, I was - I was there, I was still around, and they weren’t. And all I could think was that if I didn’t do something, then I would just lose the other few friends I still had - they would be around me, and they would die for it.”

“Didn’t you say that there’s no way you know to break a curse?” Apollo asks. From Phoenix’s solemn expression, he’s not going to suddenly say that there is a method, but Apollo has no idea what he is going to say. What that something he thought to do was.

“Right,” Phoenix says. “So I thought - only way to take the curse out of the equation is by taking myself out of the equation. I thought - as long as I’m not around - if I go and die, then anyone else who I love won’t. The curse will be gone, right, if death finally takes me. But the curse only seemed to hit other people, not me, so if dying was what I needed to do, then I…”

Klavier lying on the stage, wondering why it had to be Courte who died instead of himself. Phoenix’s dark, pained eyes, as he speaks again, finishes the thought in a voice barely above a murmur. “It made - made far too much sense to me, then. Was far too appealing a prospect.”

The question of what Phoenix won’t quite spell out catches sideways in Apollo’s throat, and when he tries to force it he just makes a soft croaking sound. Phoenix presses his lips together and glances away. “It’s a pain I wouldn’t wish on anyone,” he adds softly. “Klavier’s - he’s what, twenty-whatever? I was twenty-five when I—”

When Mia died, Apollo thinks, but that Phoenix doesn’t finish the thought, swallows hard and stares at his desk and says something else, makes Apollo think there was something even worse he could have said, with that implication he didn’t say. “And Trucy - she’s my daughter. I’m supposed to protect her. I took her in because I couldn’t live with the thought of anything else happening to her when I could bring her here, hope that Mia could somehow bless and protect her as much as she did me. But I can’t imagine just - I can’t let that happen to her. To suffer the way I did, to - to spend her life wondering if wherever she goes, someone’s going to die - the concert, Nine-Tails Vale, to ever - to think she can blame herself. Or that everyone she loves is better off without her. Or to—”

He blinks, fiercely, his eyes watering, and Apollo hopes he’ll never have to see Phoenix this close to tears again. Phoenix, cursed and trying - and in the case of Klavier, now failing - to shelter others from that same pain. Klavier, and Trucy, and—

“What about Vera?” he asks. “You explained to me, but did you ever tell her that she’s—” Phoenix stares at him, blinks slowly. Apollo squeezes his own eyes shut. “You didn’t tell her.” He’s unable to muster the same indignation he was before. He can’t really even bring himself to feel manipulated. Phoenix told him exactly that he was saying all this to make Apollo understand. Phoenix sought this reaction. But Phoenix’s chessmaster act has never superceded his desire to keep secrets before; there’s no way that Apollo can convince himself that this emotional vulnerability is all entirely a ploy to get Apollo to shut up. How many times has he refused to explain something and just left Apollo to stay angry about being in the dark? He has never been reluctant to do that. To just sit silent and lock Apollo out. To let Apollo hate him for his secrets.

He wanted Apollo to understand, intimately, whatever it took. So that Apollo would agree keep these secrets. So that Apollo would go along with him. And it might be concern that drives him - he cares, of course he does - but it’s still manifesting in the most infuriating ways possible. In well-meant silence.

“Would you want to know?” Phoenix asks, and that question at this time is an answer and confirmation in itself. “I know the truth is important to you, Apollo - I know it is to all of us.”

For once, Apollo believes he means it. He’d know it’s the truth because he can see when Phoenix is lying, but he’s actually convinced, this time.

“But,” Phoenix continues, “if you already know that the person who cast the curse hates you and is in jail for committing murder - already got to come to terms with that, or grieve that, or for someone else dead - you already know that truth. Would you really, honestly want to live with also knowing that you’re cursed?”

To possibly want to die because of it, like Phoenix did? Apollo opens his mouth. He wants to say yes, yes he would like to know, because that’s the truth of it and he wants to always know the truth, all of its facets no matter how ugly.

Doesn’t he?

He thinks about Nahyuta, about Dhurke, about trying to forget they ever were anyone, because that’s easier than facing the fact that Dhurke abandoned him, and they might both be dead by now. Easier than wondering whether they were human or fae or something else. He doesn’t want to know what they were. He wants to deny the dreams, to convince himself they’re nothing but the weird subconscious mash-up of memory and the fae horrors Clay has spent all these years warning him about. He doesn’t want the truth about his childhood. He doesn’t want to remember his childhood at all.

(Is it well-meant silence when he doesn’t tell Clay, or Trucy, or Klavier, about them? To not worry them about his life and his past? Or is it just cowardice on his part? Blissful ignorance.)

He closes his mouth. Thinks about the smile Trucy forced onto her face as she realized that Apollo was about to reveal to the court that her father Zak Gramarye was murdered six months before then. Thinks about how she couldn’t keep that smile forced when she found out that her dead grandfather took her mother’s soul for his own personal gain. Thinks about Klavier lying on the stage wishing that he had been the corpse there, not Courte. All the pains that truth has caused them. Is that better or worse than that alternative? Does it depend on what truth it is being hidden?

(He thinks about how long it’s been since he’s said Nahyuta’s name out loud. What color were his eyes in real life, and not Apollo’s haunted dreams? He doesn’t remember.)

“I - I don’t really know,” he admits.

The smug, victorious expression he expects never arrives on Phoenix’s face. There’s no satisfaction in winning this argument. “I’m sorry,” he says, closing his hand around the magatama. “I told you about Vera because it mattered directly for that case, but the rest of this - I wanted to shoulder it myself. So the rest of you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t want you to have to keep secrets from anyone. But I don’t know what else to do.” He forces a smile onto his face with visible effort that makes Apollo wince. Nothing masks the exhaustion written into the lines on his face. “Maybe we put our heads and together we figure out some better way to talk about it. If I ever figure that I should tell…”

He trails off, touching a finger to his locket. Tell Trucy. If he ever gains reason to think that he should tell Trucy. Would he actually run it by Apollo first, ask for his advice? The possibility of being in Phoenix’s confidence for something that isn’t a case doesn’t make a damn bit of sense.

“I still don’t think you should try and keep it secret forever,” Apollo says, “but I - I guess I see what you mean. And why you don’t just…”

Why he doesn’t just tell her. More reason that just because Phoenix doesn’t “just tell” anyone anything. For once, he’s not being a cryptic bastard.

“Believe me, Apollo,” Phoenix says darkly, “I’m always thinking ahead and trying to plan for the worst. I’m not naive enough to just hope that anything will stay one way ‘forever’. But I have to be sure I don’t make it worse, either.”

It isn’t the lack of a visual cue that makes Apollo believe him. It’s knowing him that makes Apollo believe him. Phoenix always has his eye on something down the line, playing out the plan a few steps ahead to find the complications. Even - especially - while he wasn’t a lawyer. A gambler’s steady hand holding the cards, chancing on an outcome, because the cost of doing nothing at all is even more unthinkable.

Apollo nods, more times than necessary, lacking anything else to say. Phoenix cocks his head. “Apollo, you all right?” he asks.

What the hell is he supposed to say - how the hell is he supposed to be? Fine? In what world is he possibly fine? At the end of this, he’s learned more than he ever dreamed he would from his sole initial question, but in it all, that first answer has never changed.

This is all there is. A rabbit hole of pain so unfathomably deep and winding, and in its darkest depths, the same as the answer given to him on the surface: there’s no way to break a curse. Their lives aren’t the kind of fairy tale where true love’s kiss can wake a sleeping beauty or transform a beast back to a prince - it’s grimmer than that, colder than that, crueler than that. Curses not so concretely visible but more like haunting coincidence, a ghost whispering at the shoulder with reminders of guilt. How could a man who wasn’t even there when the crime happened blame himself for his mentor’s murder? And yet, even after the killer’s confession, how could he not? How can even the curse’s caster be blamed when someone else wielded the murder weapon? And yet, how could they not share in it?

Apollo would rather someone have been turned into a frog, honestly. Wouldn’t that be easier to grapple with, a simple chain of cause and effect, and no ambiguity in who to blame.

“No,” Apollo finally says. “Not really, no.”

“I guess that was a bit of a stupid question, huh.”

Apollo nods. No kidding. What’s a better question at this point, anyway? Not what he says. “How - how can there really not be any way? For a curse to be broken, I mean.”

Phoenix spins his chair around, resting his head back against it, eyes turned up to the ceiling. Once he slows to a stop, facing the windows, he says, “I mean, maybe it’s possible there was, once, but it was forgotten. There’s a lot of magic that’s gone that way.”

He gives Apollo a moment to digest that, and then continues, “The Court’s heyday was thousands of years ago. They’re living ruins of what they used to be, and a fraction of what they used to know. Maya - you haven’t met her, she’s Pearl’s cousin - Maya’s helping me out with some matters by trying to dig up more about some kinds of magic they’ve forgotten the nuance of. But even that’s something we’ve got a hint that they knew, once. Not like—” He shrugs helplessly. “I’m sorry. Don’t hold your breath waiting for a way to break a curse.”

“Oh,” Apollo says, somewhat surprised, but pleasantly so, that Phoenix said that much. It would be typical of him just to reiterate that no, there just isn’t any way he knows, that’s all, and to skip the explanation for fear of giving Apollo false hope. But thinking about the prospect of false hope is still easier than really, truly considering the meaning of what Phoenix just said - that this, that everything they’ve ever had to deal with in regards to the fae, could have be so much worse. They could do so much worse than all this pain they’ve ever wrought - they were once so much more dangerous than this, and now their Court is only ruins. This is what they are when they are weak.

“If I do find anything out, I’ll—”

Phoenix breaks off, rising up slowly from his chair, staring at something past Apollo, over his shoulder. Apollo twists around to look, not sure what he expects to see, but it certainly isn’t Vongole standing in the doorway, her head held high, her body much more solid than it usually appears, and stiller. The wispy fur at the back of her legs and off of her tail does not stir as though she is made of mist and surrounded by a breeze that affects only her; she could almost, in this moment, be a normal dog, but for her glowing eyes and her ears so bright red as though they were dipped straight in paint.

All the color drains from Phoenix’s face. He snatches up the magatama and springs to his feet, hurrying past Vongole to peer into the other half of the office. Apollo rises to his feet; if Klavier was here - if he heard what Phoenix was hiding - how Apollo promised to keep it a secret—

Vongole stares at Apollo. She doesn’t move. Phoenix reappears in the doorway, curling a hand in his hair, but his face has fallen slack with obvious relief. The claws curled into Apollo’s heart unclenches. “So then what are you doing here?” Phoenix asks the hound, whose ears fold back flat against her head, though her snout does not turn to shift her attention to Phoenix. She stares Apollo down like she will pounce. “Does he send you places or did you just wander here yourself?”

“You don’t know?” Apollo asks.

“You think I’ve ever had the chance to ask either Kristoph or Klavier about the logistics of their spectral hellhound?” Phoenix asks. Apollo tries to remember when he first started seeing Vongole. Whose ownership she would have been under. How soon after Kristoph’s arrest did Klavier come back to Los Angeles?

Despite her weirdly lanky proportions, like a regular dog was put on a rack and stretched out, Vongole always moves with grace, a predator’s prowl and elegance. A monster, but a beautiful one. She circles Apollo like she intends to herd him somewhere, like she is a shark smelling blood waiting for the moment to strike. “What—” Apollo spins too, trying always to keep her in his sight. She moves just slowly enough that he can keep up, but just quickly enough that he becomes slightly dizzy in his efforts. “What do you want?”

She stops. Apollo steps forward, trying to escape her circle, but she swings suddenly to the side, throwing her body up against Apollo’s hip. He expects her to fade through him, as she does walls and doors, but when she hits him he staggers with the force of her weight. And the cold - her body is cold and it reaches straight through his clothes, cold enough to burn, ice on bare skin type of burning, and Apollo doesn’t understand. He’s touched Vongole before, without problem, hasn’t he? Surely he has. What’s wrong with her? Or is something wrong with Klavier?

She trots over to the door, standing on the threshold, staring back at Apollo with her head aloft. He can’t bring himself to move, can’t unfreeze his feet from where they are riveted into the ground. Vongole presses her ears back against her head, lowering it so that her neck is level with her shoulders, prowling again, and she makes another circle of Apollo before again stopping in the doorway.

“I think she wants you to go with her,” Phoenix says.

She wags her tail, much faster than the usual low, wide swishing path that it takes. Apollo wrenches his foot from the floor and takes one step forward. Vongole bounds through the front room of the office, weaving between magic props tossed carelessly on the floor as though she couldn’t pass through them. And she stops and waits at the door, glancing expectantly back at Apollo. He fumbles his phone free from his pocket, finding no messages waiting for him; why would Klavier do something as cryptic as sending his faery dog to collect Apollo, rather than just calling or texting him?

Unless it isn’t Klavier instructing Vongole. Unless she’s acting on her own. Or unless Klavier is in trouble.

“You’d better go,” Phoenix says. “I can lend you the—”

“It’s fine,” Apollo says. He’s pretty sure that Klavier hates the magatama, and he found him fine without it last night. And he didn’t have Vongole guiding him then.

“Let me know that everything’s all right,” Phoenix says quietly. Apollo opens his mouth to ask what Phoenix knows, why he’s so sure that this means something is wrong - remembers what Phoenix said about himself and how Klavier reminds him of himself, long ago. Closes his mouth. Knows why Phoenix worries.

Phoenix always worries. He means well. His road is paved in well-intended worry.

“Yeah,” Apollo says. “I’ll - I’ll let you know.”

Vongole waits for him only to reach the door, diving through it as his hand reaches for the doorknob. He next finds her waiting beside the bike rack, her smoky fur drifting independently of the chill breeze, and as soon as he mounts his bicycle she lopes off down the sidewalk. She never looks back at him but is obviously monitoring him in some way, her pace changing depending on obstacles and traffic so that she always remains in his sight. He follows her through the quieter (relatively, anyway) city of weekend mornings, through his usual stomping grounds, to end up on the stoop of an apartment building that is - quite frankly, not as grandiose as Apollo would expect. He presumes this is where Klavier lives.

(If it’s not, then he’s far too deep into something that it’s also far too late to back out of.)

Vongole noses one of the buttons on the buzzer at the entryway and disappears through the door. Only seconds later, too quickly for her to have physically covered the necessary amount of ground, the door clicks to unlock. Apollo enters the lobby and before he has time to take in his surroundings, she appears in front of him. Literally appears - not bounding up to him out of a wall, but materializing out of the air, white fog swirling in circles around her ankles. She directs him to the elevator, pressing her nose into the button for the fourth floor and then several times in quick succession slamming her nose into the close doors button. “So were you always like that, or did you pick up your impatience from him?” Apollo asks.

She sits down and fixes her eyes on him. He doesn’t know what that means. He’s not sure why he bothered talking to her. She can’t respond - can she understand? Does she have some way to communicate information she hears to Klavier? Surely not - hopefully not, depending how long she was in the office.

She does not move until the elevator halts at their destination, and she springs to her feet and slips through the doors before they have opened wide enough for a fully-corporeal dog of her size to pass through. But when he makes it through, she meets him right at the other side, her impatience not taking her any further down the hall until Apollo can follow right at her tail. The walls are not cracked and peeling as in Apollo’s building, but they are certainly plain - again, very much not the kind of place he would imagine Klavier to live.

Vongole throws herself through the door of Apartment 404, and Apollo waits in front of it. A moment passes, and then another. Right. Even a faery dog doesn’t have opposable thumbs to grip a doorknob. He fails to swallow his apprehension but knocks anyway. There has to be a reason Vongole brought him here. He can’t just run away from it.

The seconds crawl past. Apollo reaches up to knock again, but the door swings suddenly open, and he flinches back.

Klavier’s hair is barely held together in a ponytail, strands falling loose around his face, and he looks even more like he hasn’t slept, going by the shadows under his eyes. And Apollo never thought there would come the day that he sees Klavier in sweatpants, but - he’s still alive. He’s still intact in one mobile piece, and he’s lucid enough to look annoyed. Apollo fumbles for words, any at all, but none arrive on his tongue. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. He starts to raise his arm to point at Vongole, to blame her, and before he can, Klavier sighs, shaking his head, his apparent annoyance sliding into exhaustion, and he steps out of the doorway, pulling the door open wider, and gesturing for Apollo to come in.

[notes on the chapter]

#roddy fanfics #fic: the witches of los angeles

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sketchguk · 5 years

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Hi, friends! I can honestly say that I’ve been on Tumblr for about 9 years, but only 7 of those months have been spent on this account. Being a part of this fandom means so much to me, and as cheesy as it may be, I’ve never felt so much love from a community like this. I think that I should spread a little love back to everyone through this festive follow forever post in the spirit of the holidays (there’s also a message for my beautiful followers at the very end, so bear with me). Although I may have not spoken to you all personally, you’ve made my experience here amazing!! Whether it’s seeing you on my dash or in my inbox, you’ve all made me smile one way or another!! I’ll admit right now that I’ve sent so many anonymous messages to you all because I’m really shy, haha. Not to mention, I follow so many amazing content creators, gif/gfx makers and fic writers alike, and I want to make you smile as much as you have made me!! Y’all are so lovely, and I’m not totally sure why anyone chooses to interact with me or to follow me nonetheless. Maybe you’ve read a fic of mine, or none at all, I appreciate you all the same 💕 I know some of you may be in and out of hiatus, but just know that I’m thinking of you!! And if this is the first time you’re coming across my blog, I guess this is a good time to introduce myself. Hi, I’m Teresa. It’s nice to meet you 😄

If you’re reading this, hopefully we can chat a little more. I would love to get to know such lovely people 😊 To my beautiful mutuals, I love you all sooo much 💓 I’m not the best at expressing my feelings, but I hope that this is a start! @190713 @95swifi ✩ @alwayschoosechocolate ✩ @aureumjeon ✩ @beebopboobop ✩ @boobearcupcake ✩ @btsaremyfaves ✩ @btssmutheaven ✩ @bwiq ✩ @engeljimin ✩ @ddaengwrld ✩ @emiyooa ✩ @geniuslab 💌 ✩ @gimmeyoon (@gimmeyoon-main) ✩ @girlwiththespecs ✩ @gukgalore ✩ @gukkheaven ✩ @guktwt ✩ @hobimygs ✩ @hoseoknysus ✩ @idiotscalledfriends ✩ @joonary ✩ @kitsutaes (@geniusguk) 💌 ✩ @littlemisskookie ✩ @llsanjoonie ✩ @lovehrs ✩ @magicshop-myg ✩ @map-of-yoongi ✩ @maptoyoongi ✩ @mercurygguk ✩ @minflix ✩ @minlexia ✩ @minyoongsueit ✩ @mygsii ✩ @outroguks ✩ @pjmskosmos ✩ @sdmnluv ✩ @softaellie ✩ @spookitokki (@spookitokkimain) ✩ @starrytete 💌 ✩ @syugasshi ✩ @taesseok 💌 ✩ @tokyoscript ✩ @ve1vetyoongi ✩ @vminary 💌 ✩ @vtbts ✩ @vxngguk ✩ @wthkook ✩ @yourdelights 💌 If your url is bolded, scroll down for some words of affirmation. ✨ If you have an emoji (💌) next to your url, scroll down for a special message. 😇🌟 And here’s a shoutout to some of my favorite fic writers, because you all allow me escape to my happy place !! Thank you so much for contributing to the writing community !! This online space is pretty hectic, especially as of late, but you all make it worth it. Even if you’re taking a break from writing, I am here cheering you on !! And to let you know that I’ll support you no matter what. I hope you never lose your spark for passion and creativity !! Sometimes life gets the best of us, and other times, things are not in our control, but I want to send my love and appreciation to you nevertheless. Your fics have inspired me to try my own hand at writing, and I’m forever grateful ✨ You’re spectacular, every single one of you, so never forget that! Kpop isn’t that serious, but I’ll probably think about your fics until the day I die. @bymoonchild ✩ @floralseokjin ✩ @foreverpark ✩ @geniuslab ✩ @gimmeyoon ✩ @gukgalore ✩ @gukkheaven ✩ @guktwt ✩ @jamaisjoons ✩ @gukyi ✩ @kookswife ✩ @kinktae ✩ @kpopfanfictrash ✩ @minflix ✩ @mygsii ✩ @personasintro ✩ @prolixitae ✩ @readyplayerhobi ✩ @spookitokki ✩ @ubemango ✩ @ve1vetyoongi (yee, you might see some repeats because my moots are super talented) 💖 A love letter from me to you: 💌 @geniuslab Megan !! This might sound soo sappy, but you’re the very first person I followed when I made this blog !! It’s because I’ve read all of your fics (perhaps more than once on my old account), and you inspired me to start writing as well. You have no idea how happy I was when you said you would get back into writing fics. I guess I’ll expose myself right now, but I’ve sent a few anons to you on the matter haha (yes, I am a 7 Chances enthusiast, one of many). You’re so talented, and I admire you so much 🥺 A gif maker and fic writer ?? Nothing you can’t do !! Among other things, you’re such a kind-hearted individual. I’ve read plenty of your text posts, and there’s just something so warm about the way you carry yourself. You deserve the world, and I wish for nothing but the best for you !! I hope you have an amazing new year and that you have space for peace, love, and healing. Please know that I support you through and through, and that you are well-loved ❣️

💌 @kitsutaes (@geniusguk) Yas !! I know we just started chatting, but I love getting to know you !! It’s hard for me to reach out to people because I’m shy, but I’m really grateful that you hit me up 😊 It’s been so nice getting to know you, and I hope we can get closer 💕 I’m already learning so much about you because our chats just flow from one topic to another !! You said you wanna visit new york one day, so I’ll hold you to that 😉 I’ll be your tour guide, and the only exchange I’ll ever need is your friendship !! Some dried mangoes would be nice too 😚 haha jk … unless 😳 I hope you have an amazing year filled with lots and lots of love. May you receive everything you’re wishing for !!

💌 @starrytete Mirelle !! I’m still getting used to your new url LOL. But how could I ever forget you?? You are quite literally the human embodiment of an angel. You’re always spreading positivity, and I adore you with all my heart. I wish that I could be as radiant as you !! All the emojis that I’m using in this post?? An homage to you 🌼☀️ I don’t think I can ever look at emojis the same way thanks to you haha. Sending you lots of love!! I hope we can speak more in the future!! May the new year bring you happiness and good fortune!! Please take care of yourself, ok?! Message me whenever because my inbox is always open 🥰

💌 @taesseok Mia !! I just love seeing you on my dash. I’ll give you a quick run down: Teresa: :[ Mia: *posts* Teresa: :] It’s like the universe knows. You’re a light in this world, and I hope you never lose your spark !! May you smile as often as I do (all thanks to you) 💗 I wish for nothing but your happiness since you deserve it and more. In fact, it’s the world that doesn’t deserve you and your sparkle !! I hope this year was rewarding for you, but I already know that 2020 will be better and better. I’ll be sending you lots of positive energy for the new year hehe 💞 Hopefully we can talk more soon !! I’d love to be friends !!

💌 @vminary Kiara !! I’m so happy that you reached out to me all those months ago because you’ve become one of my closest online friends !! I can’t tell you how much you mean to me because the limit does not exist. It’s so easy to talk to you, and sometimes our conversations are big sis/lil sis -esque (I’ve always wanted a sister lol 🐣). I feel as if we’ve taught one another so much, especially because of our cultural differences and the tiny age gap that we share. I find myself missing you because of the time zones LOL. In the middle of the day, I’m wondering whether or not you’re sleeping well :’) Why do you have to live across the world?? 😔 I would totally send you a package if I wasn’t broke haha. I’m sending you all my love here though, and I hope that’s enough !! 💛

💌 @yourdelights Destinee !! You are SUCH a sweetheart. The messages that you send me are so kind, and I don’t know what I did to deserve you. Do let me know how you stumbled across my blog because I feel like you’re way too cool for me LOL. Your posts are always so hilarious, and the tags have me dying. Your sense of humor >> !! My love for you is immeasurable, and I hope you know that, ahh. I think it was truly solidified when I found out you’re a fan of day6 and the rose :’) I’m not really a multi-stan, but from that moment on, I was sold. That was the only time my instincts did not let me down 🌹💝 I swear I’m getting introduced to new fandoms because of you haha. And when you went on a lil hiatus, I really missed seeing you on my dash !! I hope that you’ll be with us for a long time though !! I really can’t wait for what’s in store for next year, because no pressure or anything, but I’m sincerely excited for your WIPs hehe. I’m rooting for ya, so make sure you make the new year your b*tch !! Lastly, thank you so much to my followers !! I see y’all in my activity, and I wanna let you know that I love you from the bottom of my heart !! At this point, I’m more of an update blog than a fanfic blog LOL :’) And if you follow me because you’ve stumbled through my fics, I just want to say 🤯 what?! It blows my mind that anyone reads my work, let alone enjoys it. I never would have though that I’d find solace in reading and writing considering I’m a full on STEM nerd. In conjunction with that, I literally started writing fiction 7 months ago to this day. I didn’t even realize that it would lead me to such amazing connections. With so many lovely people, popping in and out of my dashboard, inbox/DMs, and activity page, my heart b u r s t s with love!! Your interactions mean the world to me, even the most minute things like reblogs make my heart flutter. I really do check the reblogs to see if anyone has left a tag. Single words and keyboard smashes mean the world to me too !! Before I was a fic writer, I was just a silent reader. I always admired writers for the worlds they craft, the characters they develop, and the plots they devise, all for it to come together in one cohesive work of literature. Now that I have a vague understanding of what that’s like, I know that it’s nothing short of strenuous. Words are so powerful, and although I’m a really sensitive sap, I’ve read so many things that hit me to the core, and now I’m sure to tell the authors how much I enjoy their fics. If they went through hours (perhaps days/weeks/months) of drafting, writing, editing, and formatting, a quick comment from the reader really doesn’t hurt !! It’s the most rewarding thing a writer could ever ask for. As an amateur author myself, being on the receiving end is the thing that keeps me going !! I promise you, I don’t take any of it for granted. Your words seriously resonate with me, and it’s a huge motivator for me !! I hope that in the new year, I can work on new pieces for you all (as much as I don’t want to make up excuses, juggling life is not easy as a student!!) I always say that I write for myself, and as true as that is, I want to share my stories with you lovely people !! I pour my heart and soul into my work, and the build up of excitement is nothing if it means I can’t share it with someone else. So, old supporters, new supporters, look out for new content in the future. I hope you’re as excited as I am for the new year!! Please take care, y’all, and remember that I love you. My inbox is always open 💌 So let’s be friends 😇

#follow forever #mutual appreciation #this banner is so fugly pls don't stare at it for long LMAO #i spent longer than i should have making this @ 3am #went through way too many drafts #but it's worth it if i get to express my love !!#sincerely sorry if i forgot anyone :(( i'm new to this #i wish i could send you all a love letter !!#i would include love to gif/gfx makers but they're gonna see my banner and clown me LOL #happy new year loves <3 #i was afraid to post this bc i didn't wanna be annoying sksks i'm sorry #mutuals

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evdarcy · 3 years

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An Unusual Hero C6S3

Please remember, this is unedited and unfinished, but will hopefully fill in the holes that were left and answer some questions without leaving too many others. HOWEVER I will answer all and any questions if you want to leave me a comment.

Next update - Tuesday 04/05/2021

An unhappy squeal of surprise jarred Luc awake. He sat up quickly—

‘Fuck!’ he called as he smacked his head on the roof of the too small car. He rubbed his forehead as he looked around, trying to work out where he was and what had woken him.

The driver’s door was open and over the top of it he spied a tree line far in the distance. With the air cold and damp, a gravelly pathway under the car, and the sounds of splashing water and short gasps of breath, Luc was betting they’d stopped by a lake or river and Sarah was trying to use the freezing cold water for a wash or something of the like.

The TV star shook his head as he climbed out the little Hyundai, closing both his and Sarah’s doors. He glanced around, taking in the beautiful sight of the Grand Teton mountain range before honing in on his… captor? He shook his head, that didn’t sound right. He’d ran off with her of his own free will, but then it wasn’t as if he’d had much choice. Between one gun and the other, hers had seemed the less threatening.

God, Luc hoped he hadn’t been wrong about that.

He glanced down the the lake’s edge. He’d been right, Sarah was knelt beside what Luc knew to be icy cold water, splashing it over her face and shivering with each handful as the water dripped down her nose and chin.

He took a deep breath and released it before he called down to her. ‘Keep the doors closed.’

He quickly turned away, finding the nearest tree and unbuttoning his jeans before relieving himself against the bark.

‘Oh God,’ he moaned in satisfaction as his bladder emptied. What an idiot he’d been yesterday refusing to go when Sarah had offered him the chance. He’d partly refused just in case she’d left him behind, that she’d call The Demon and offer him over if he left her alone. The other part of him knew if he’d got out the car yesterday he’d have called the police on Sarah.

‘The car smells,’ she called back to him. ‘It needs airing.’

‘Rather the smell of us than raccoon piss,’ he shouted back. ‘Or a bear getting nosey.’

‘A bear!’

He chuckled as he heard Sarah scrambling around on the shoreline, her footsteps crunching on the gavel as she hurried back up towards the car. He shook himself off and was about to tuck his dick away when a stranger stuck their face in his. He reared back at the intrusion, stumbling slightly, until his back hit the car.

‘What the—’

The woman was the same height as Sarah, but had long, thick, auburn hair, sparkling green-blue eyes and a tiny petite nose and chin that made her cheeks look round and full. Luc knew his mouth was hanging open, but she was beautiful; fresh faced, wide-eyed, and the way her hair tumbled around her round face made her look innocent and vulnerable.

Although the terror in her eyes probably helped with that latter part.

‘What do you mean a bear?’ The voice was definitely Sarah’s. ‘Are there freaking bears around here?’ Luc tried to fathom what had happened as he watched this woman’s head snap left and right as she scanned the line of trees on the other side of the car.

‘We’re in Wyoming,’ he said, slowly. Perhaps she’d been wearing a wig? A false nose and chin could also explain away the changes. But how hadn’t he realised? He could usually spot prosthetics a mile away.

‘Do you know how many parks there are up here?’ he continued, his eyes taking in her new profile; her narrowed eyes were framed by long dark lashes and her nose had a little lift to it at the end. ‘We’re probably not far from Yellowstone.’

‘Where Yogi and Boo-boo live?’

‘Er, they live in Jellystone, and they’re not real.’

‘Oh… Fuck off!’ she snapped as she folded her arms across her chest and glared at him. Definitely still Sarah. The bite in her tone mirrored what he’d heard yesterday, although the flicker of annoyance in her eyes was different.

That was why her eyes had been odd yesterday. There had been no emotions within them. He hadn’t been able to read her eyes, only her facial expressions—which would have been hindered by the prosthetics—and her body language.

She huffed and shook her head when he refused to back down from her hard stare, dropping her eyes down his body to the floor. But her eyes grew large and a flush to her cheeks flamed the apples of them red. A small squeak of surprise came from her lips as they fell open and Luc glanced down to where she was looking, cursing himself when he saw his dick still hanging free and easy from between the flies of his jeans.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ he hissed, quickly turning away from the woman’s eyes and tucking himself back into his jeans. Heat filled his own face and Luc knew he’d be bright red for a few minutes. Once his zip was secured, he stepped to the side and began to walk towards the water’s edge, avoiding facing his partner in crime until he wasn’t the colour of a tomato.

‘So what happened to the hair and eyes—’ He began to call over his shoulder, only to stop when he saw her following him. Luc had been a star for many years, he’d had fans, super fans, and outright stalkers; bodyguards, teams of security, and once a police escort, but never had he been followed the way Sarah was tracking him now. Her back was to him, her was gun out and her head darted left to right as she tried to take in everything.

Where had the steel-balled woman from yesterday gone? Clearly Sarah was a city girl and not a country gal; she might be able to stare down death when it came in the form of a gun-toting terrorist, but he’d bet every nickle and dime he owned that she’d run from a room screaming if a spider scurried from a corner.

He sighed and stopped, putting his hands on her shoulders he turned her around to face him. ‘Sarah,’ he said, pushing her gun down so she didn’t accidentally shoot him. ‘Here’s the deal. If you see a raccoon just run and shout at the furry bastard. If a bear comes charging at you, get to a tree and climb. The cubs can haul up it, but the bigger ones shouldn’t be able to—’

‘Shouldn’t?’ her voice squeaked.

‘Now, if it’s a wolf—’

‘Get in the fucking car, Luc!’ Sarah wrenched herself from his grasp and turned, running up the tiny hill to the little black Hyundai. Luc couldn’t stop the laughter that fell from his lips, a throw your head back guffaw, right from the belly.

‘Now, Luc!’ she screamed as she slammed the door and began to hot-wire the engine again. He chuckled all the way back to the car, shaking his head as he went at the irony. He hadn’t laughed so hard or so freely in what felt like a lifetime.

The car coughed to life in the cold Wyoming air as he settled himself next to Sarah, a smile still playing on his lips as they pulled away.

‘You’re in a better mood,’ she muttered, looking at him from the corner of her eye before fixing her gaze back on the track to the main road. Luc hummed in agreement; he was. Sure he was on the run, sure the life he knew—the fame, fortune, and fans—was over with, hell he might even be murdered tomorrow, but he was free.

His smile grew bigger at the thought, a show your teeth, shit-eating grin, Casey would say. He turned his attention out his window, taking in the landscape to hide his smile from Sarah.

Snow still covered the mountain tops that surrounded them and the chill in the air made him glad he’d never chosen to come camping this far north on hiatus. The boys on set had been hinting at attending one of the Dude Ranches that had been springing up over the last decade or so, but nothing had ever come of it. And the idea of Casey, Nick, Marc, or Robson surviving in a ranch setting was hilarious. He imagined Tony would’ve been fine with it, and BB would’ve probably outshone the lot. Sophie… He shook his head. That girl didn’t go anywhere there wasn’t an electrical socket for her hairdryer.

A twinge in his chest brought him up short as it hit him; he wasn’t going to see any of them for a while. Or, perhaps, ever again…

‘Where we heading?’ he asked, trying to swallow the ball of emotion that suddenly seemed lodged in his throat.

‘We passed a town about an hour or so before we parked up last night,’ Sarah told him as she pulled back onto the 191 and this time headed south. ‘We need to get a few things and figure out where we can lay low for a while.’

‘Why don’t we just go back there?’ Luc asked, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb. ‘There was a cabin in the trees that looks like it’s been locked up for the winter. Its owners probably won’t be up this way until the summer.’

He said cabin, but it had looked little more than a hut when he’s spied it through the forest. It probably had one or two rooms and no running water or electricity.

Sarah frowned at his suggestion, pulling her lower lip between her teeth as she considered it. ‘But it’s May, summer’s nearly here, they could return at any time.’

‘Nah,’ he shook his head. ‘Summer this far north doesn’t start until July. We’d probably be fine. It’s off the highway,’ he added as an incentive. ‘Probably better than a motel with our current situation.’

‘But… bears?’ she said it quietly, her head hunching between her shoulders as she drew them upwards. Luc had to stop himself from grinning again, she was definitely a city girl. ‘Or were you lying about them?’ She narrowed her eyes as she glanced at him. He held his hands up as he shook his head.

‘Absolutely not. But I can get some things to help keep all the nasty wildlife away.’ He watched her as she considered his words, her finger tapping on the steering wheel again.

‘No bears?’

‘None.’ He crossed his heart. ‘Scouts honour.’

‘What about wolves?’

‘I’ll keep them away too.’

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But if I wake up to a bear in bed with me, you’re being its bitch.’

Any questions, please drop them in the comments. Next update on Tuesday!

#AUH #fangirl #Unpublished #unedited

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chemicalpink · 5 years

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Bonding(M)♡ Park Jimin

Pairing: Stripper!Jimin x Dom!Reader

Genre: Smutttt , Steamy(ish), Stripper!AU, College!AU

Summary: in which Jimin is known (and fawned over) for being a stripper, whereas the reader is secretly working as a dominatrix for both money and research on her psych major, until Jimin discovers her and asks her for a favour in return to not spreading her secret.

Word Count: almost 3k

Warnings: honestly… some dom on dom action and a bit of plot if you look closely

A/N: It started with a kinda ehhh plot, got lost in the middle, ended up being smut af, and the end… i just idk I kinda want to make a fluffy part 2 if you like this mess. Also, please bear with me, I just recently got into a fandom again after 5 years on hiatus. K love u. Oh! and requests are always open!

You can read Part II here!

“I heard that just by looking at you once, she has you all hardened” some guy gushed over to his friend in a quiet voice

“But nobody has really seen her face” another voice joined as you rushed by to get to your Behavioural Analysis class. 214...214….This was the third time you were late to class, work has just been too much lately, not that you were complaining, money-wise it was great, the word was getting around pretty fast, and research was just as good but sometimes you wondered if it was really worth the sweat dripping down your back as you ran from the bus station to get to class.

The door made a creaking noise and you flinched a little as you took a seat at the back of the room, next to a platinum-haired boy you, unfortunately, knew too well.

“Miss (Y/N)” the whole room seemed to turn to look at you as the professor acknowledge your presence and you felt your heart skip a beat, anticipating the worst “Its the third time this week that you try to sneak into my lecture” you wouldn’t normally care about some man’s piercing eyes towards you, it was actually a part of your job to step over that type of confidence, but this was just… not your stage, you turned to look down, his gaze somehow becoming overpowering

“I overslept. My apologies” a stifled giggle made its way from your left side and you felt the sudden urge to roll your eyes at who it belonged to… Park Jimin. It’s not that you hated him. You just hated the fact that of all places, you had to coexist with him in the same class, same campus, the same era in time.

You really weren’t sure what evil you had done that the universe just seemed to get you back ten times stronger. Having to share a classroom with Jimin was bad enough already, he seemed to make your inside bubble every time he talked, but when the professor asked for you and him to be involved in a differential, it just had to be a payback for always arriving late. You were 99% sure at any time you would implode. The case was pretty simple tho, Narcissistic Personality Disorder. Which seemed to fit perfectly to your classmate, so you thought about playing your cards in front of everyone, maybe if you were that someone that just shook their little brains, they would finally comprehend they were praising an egocentric little bitch.

You could feel Jimin’s eyes waiting for you expectantly as soon as the teacher called out your name “Well NPD would pretty much sum it all up” and there it was, the same stifled giggle from before

“Childhood trauma would also do it, Y/N” his tone was teasing you, and you knew better than to get involved but it was just not your day, your whole body turned towards him and a teasing smiled crept its way to your face

“I thought you would know better, Jimin” his eyes squinted at you “Exaggerated feelings of self-importance, an excessive need for admiration, and a lack of empathy toward other people… sounds a lot like you” the whole class seemed to quiet down as you said it. No one had ever dared to talk to THE Park Jimin that way… not with his status on campus.

“Should I keep going?” you felt your heart beating faster as you tried to keep up with his eyes-that were glued on you as he clicked his tongue and bowed his head as if asking you to proceed “Self-perception of being unique, superior, and associated with high-status people, Sense of entitlement to special treatment and to obedience from others-”

“And that would be it for today, you are dismissed” your eyes were still locked with Jimin’s as everyone gathered their things, you heart not slowing down and a boiling feeling within you, much to your surprise, Jimin was the first one to break eye contact, getting ready to stand up and leave the classroom, his right hand was already pushing the door open when he turned around to face you, still packing up your things.

“You know, Y/N, it's so brave of you to talk that way taking into account what you do for a living” you felt your heart rate quicken and you began to breathe rapidly. He-no. he couldn’t. Could he? No.

“I don’t know what you are talking about” “Sure you don’t” stop the overthinking Y/N. He doesn’t know. No one knows.

“So tell me… where should I pick you up if ...you know, I want your services” you could swear your heart stopped beating for a second just before the boiling sensation of rage took over and venomously spatted “I’m not like you” he chuckled

“Of course not, kitten. I dance for a living. You make people cum” something took over you as the last word left his mouth.

That side you didn’t use except for work, just happened to overdrive your body and within seconds you had THE Park Jimin pined against a wall. Yes, the same guy that was way too famous for making all the girls swoon over him during Friday nights after class, in a small strip club just outside campus. The Park Jimin was an overly famed dom and took pride in it.

And you- well you had your fair share of fame, but in a legend, almost mystic type of way. No one was supposed to know you were the famous dominatrix that attended every. single. need from the people visiting her small studio-like office, a few blocks away from where the boy danced his life away.

“So I guess its true then” he smiled that teasing smile of his, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make your knees just a little bit weak “you do make any guy harden at your touch” you let your hand fall from his chest and quickly turned away as you tried to steady your breath

“Listen… no one can know about this” he smirked as his eyes somewhat darkened. You knew this look. You would have to pay the price of his silence

“Just tell me already how much its gonna cost, you perv” your tone was kind of desperate as you stole a glimpse of the classroom’s clock and realised that you were already late for work. “a hundred? I’ll get them by the end of the week”

“Actually” he paused as he looked at you as if something seemed funny to him about this whole situation “Social service will do this time. I’ll stop by your dorm tonight” you slowly felt whatever it was that possessed you a while ago. Rage? Indignation? Both? Whatever it meant that he would stop by your dorm, you weren’t having it.

“I have work tonight”

“So do I” so… there really was no way around it

“Listen, money is no problem Jimin”

“I know. But unless you’d like the whole campus to know who our beloved and mysterious dominatrix is… I’ll see you… let’s say, 2 am?” he bit his lip as he exited the room. Not giving you a chance to even consider manipulating him into getting your way, which was indeed, your speciality.

The thing was, between attending evening classes, late-night work, homework and maintaining a somewhat normal social life, Jimin stopping by to whatever he meant by ‘social service’ meant you’d have to cram your studying time.

Work went by pretty quickly. And you couldn’t help but keep on wondering what was waiting for you with Jimin. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of what you did for a living… but it would lose its spark if people knew who you were.

Your head started to ache as you started getting ready to leave. It was already 1:30 am, which meant that it would take you around 20 minutes to get to your dorm and hopefully have enough time to change out of the red kinky thigh-high leather boots your work required that day.

But boy were you one to get the times wrong.

As you entered the hall of the unit, your eyes fell on a very glittery Jimin sitting on the floor outside your studio, unbuttoned black shirt and phone in hand.

You walked up to him, exhaling loudly as an attempt to calm yourself down. You nudged his side with the tip of your boots. He looked up.

“I was about to call you, but then I realised that I didn’t have your number” great. so he was an asshole and also had lame pick up lines. You really wondered how exactly did he have so many girls falling for him

“And you’re not getting it” you opened the door and motioned for him to enter “Come on in, and may I ask, how exactly you got into the girl’s unit?”

“Ah… little Y/N. I can get any girl to do whatever it is that I please” you closed your eyes as another wave of pain hit you

“Yeah… you stay here. I’ll just go grab an aspirin” the dorm wasn’t big, as a matter of fact, your bed was just a few steps from the ‘living room’ where you left Jimin, but it did what it promised, let you crash.

You could have sworn you were gone less than a minute before encountering a semi-naked Jimin propped up on your bed, striking what he might have thought of as a sexy pose, patting the bed by his front side for you to sit “Okay. I’m done. Get out”

He sat up “No, wait. I really need this. And you too, Y/N” he smiled at you, but not that smirk you had been used to seeing, the smile that radiated confidence and ego but one that almost seemed friendly, one that made him look innocent, cute, dare you say it.

“A favour for a favour. As classmates that do kind of the same for a living” You grabbed the chair from your desk and sat in it, crossing your arms. Willing to put on a fight for as long as it benefited you

“Fine. Be quick”

“I’m just asking for a few minutes of your night, once a week. I need help with my show. And who knows? you might end up liking it” and there it was, every ounce of liking towards him that he built with the friendly smile and appealing to the sentiment of belonging to the same team. Gone

“No way”

“Fine. Then just be ready for your little secret to come out” Was it really worth it? He did say, just a few minutes every week. But the thought of having Jimin over, dancing and doing who know what in your dorm, was unbearable. Then again, he did say he needed it.

“Just a few minutes every week?”

“Yeah”

“Fine then stop by tomorrow. Same time” he smiled brightly at you “Now get lost. I need sleep”

What happened the next night though, nothing could have prepared you for it. Your assistant told you you had a new client coming, so as per usual, you were ready to test him out from simple to more complex things. You heard the door closing as some footsteps approached the bed behind you

“Just stay there. I’ll be with you in a second”

“God. those bunny ears really do suit you, Y/N” you could have sworn that your heart skipped a beat as you felt heat building up inside you, from rage. But this was somewhat to your advantage, he had just stepped in the lion’s den and had no idea

“I thought we agreed on meeting in my dorm” you said as you walked up to the bed, taking a seat behind him, with his back between your thighs

“I thought this might be more fun” of course he was more than excited to play this game, but you weren’t going to let him win.

Something flashed in his eyes. Something you have become very familiar with. Lust. And then Jimin pushes you against the wall, his fingers laced with yours, your back against the cold wall that held all of your work tools. And you saw what he was going for. Tying you up. But you were having none of it. In a matter of seconds, it was him pressed against the wall, his eyes reflecting the pink led lights from the room. You held tightly on his crotch as he tried to gain dominance over you, keeping him in his place. He just smirks.

You stay there for a moment, him locked under you, and the two of you stare at each other like you’re waiting for someone to make a move. A stalemate. And then you can’t tell who breaks it first, but somehow your lips collide in a hungry, urgent kiss. He kisses you deep, hungrily, desperately, like he wants to consume you whole. As you let your firm grip go, his touch is rough, his fingers grip so tight against your hip that it hurts, and the pain just spurs on the arousal beginning to pool in your belly.

Jimin bites your lower lip as he pulls away, his eyes scanning over your face. The room felt silent, steamy like the bright lights were invited you two to step it up, taunting you to take it forward. Your breath hisses in involuntarily as you look down at the bulge in his pants, your eyes flitting back up to Jimin’s face. He has a cocky calm look on his face, and it occurs to you that you had never expected Park Jimin the stripper to be like this.

For a moment you consider stopping, standing up and strolling out. This is a bad idea, the rational side of your brain chides. He’s… himself, the single-cell brained asshole that always sits beside you in class, the self-centred stripper Park Jimin, this is so wrong. But when you look into Jimin’s dark eyes and see the way he licks his lip while staring you up and down, the confidence that emanates from him. And all reason flies out of your head. You want him.

“C’mon spread those legs for me” he whispers to your ear and you can feel his hot breath tickling your neck. He knows what he’s doing. He knows what to say. Saying it without cockiness or nastiness but stating it firmly and calmly… sweet God.

But this is a game you are not allowing yourself to lose. The hand you have been keeping on his crotch rapidly makes its way into his pants, stroking him over his underwear. He lets out a suppressed grunt and the sound makes you smile.

Your smile widens when you stop stroking and grab him full in your hand and feel his thighs stiffen. Somehow his lips find their way to your neck, placing you in his previous stand, bot of your bottoms soon discarded, as he held both of your hands behind you, you felt a warmness near your pussy, followed by his voice.

“Tell me how much you want it”

“I don’t beg” everything that had gone thorough between you two in the past few minutes was better than anything you could have imagined. But the way he seemed so bothered by you not sticking to his dominant side’s orders just made you even wetter and weak in the knees.

And then Jimin slides inside of you.

The last thing you see before closing your eyes and succumbing into pure please was Jimin’s jaw clenching, his platinum hair all messed up. He takes it slow, likely on purpose, and you let out a cry at the feeling. His cock is thicker than what you’re used to, and it stretches you out. It’s been such a long time since you’ve had sex, and when you did have time in the past, it was always rushed. You, dominantly riding a guy until you had a quick, mildly satisfying orgasm. But it was never this – dominated, teased, sprawled under a man with plump lips and a silky smooth voice.

When he’s finally all the way inside of you, you release a long breath that you didn’t even know you’d been holding in. You hear Jimin let out a stuttering breath, the two of you are still for a moment, just feeling one another, you exchange silent glances to which you weren’t quite sure the meaning of and then Jimin starts to thrust.

He is fucking into you hard, his pace steady and at just the right speed to have you crying out his name while shutting your eyes and drawing your nails into his back for balance, or maybe just to somehow be able to feel him closer. The blood is rushing to your face and you’re slightly dizzy from the mask you have on but all you can feel is him, the loud slap of skin resonating between the four walls of the small room as he slams into you.

You can hear the vocalizations he makes with every thrust, grunts, growls, and then small soft mewls as he arches upwards and hits you at different angles. Each push of his cock leaves you a writhing mess beneath him. Just as you feel an unavoidable heat forming in the lower part of your belly, he stops. He completely stops. Steals one last glance at you, adding his signature smirk after pulling his pants on and leaves you there. All worked up against the wall, your mouth hanging open as he walks out. If you didn’t hate Park Jimin before, you were sure as hell you did now.

#bts scenarios #bts fic #bts imagines #jimin imagine #jimin smut #jimin fanfic #jimin fic #jimin oneshot #jimin one shot #park jimin smut #park jimin fanfic #park jimin oneshot #jimin fanfiction #jimin fluff #bts smut #bts jimin

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ellastar1980 · 5 years

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Charmed February hiatus thoughts...

Forgive me. My mind is still blown by last nights episode.

Ok, in true stunted form I tend to concentrate too much on the emotional turmoil I’m going through when I watch live. I find myself getting clearer with each rewatch and truly fleshing out the brilliant writing and acting peppered between my heart being ripped out or my ire soaring to boiling point.

Each character is definitely firmly in their own journey, some further ahead than others. It’s clearer than ever that Mel and Maggie are right there with the PO3 but poor Macy, for once, is lagging behind. It’s also clearer than ever that her cerebral approach is clouding her but she couldn’t rule out the demon power getting in the way.

Meanwhile, Harry sat down to a full meal of his favourites (where have I seen this before?? Ah yes Jimmy and Macy - coincidence?) and is definitely sexually harassed after repeatedly denying Abigael’s advances. Imagine it with the sexes reversed... it’s good to see men being victims shown on TV. It happens, it can happen to anyone. Abigael touches his face again... I’m convinced that’s her tell for trying to control him. He’s resisting it incredibly well, much like Macy did with ‘Jimmy’.

Mel has her life sorted by all accounts except in the love life area - welcome Ruby, bartender and new potential love interest that is basically a sure thing. Alas they have promised to focus on getting their PO3... but her taking care of Helen was delightful - her true caring side shining through. Mel is growing so beautifully, her mother is definitely in her soul. Her final thoughts before taking the leap with Ruby is a revelation to all at the table...

Maggie has her own cross to bear with still trying to get over Parker though Jordan is a nice distraction. But she truly shines in her tackling Helens Dark lighter. Reasoning with her, empathising with her, talking to her. I doubt she’s been spoken to like a human being in so long. Hopefully her technique helped Harry see maybe his dark lighter is not to be feared after all. (For the love of GOD Maggie PLEASE do NOT advise your whitelighter to pursue romance with a WITCH KILLING DEMON. Thank you.)

Macy. Your demon power. No. And with Abigael? There was NO ONE ELSE??? Still I understand. Like Maggie attempting to marry Parker for the good of all witches, she had to try something to get her witch side back into play. I just remember her having trouble before when she was overthinking - desperation will do that to you. But the insight - feminism at its finest - you don’t have to copy men’s example when finally you have power. Her negotiation with Parker is truly how to do it - take note Abigael. Her trusting Abigael? Yeah, no. She had no idea Abigael would receive her power but it might have been prudent to ask. So Macy tries to do something, anything precognitive and... nothing. As a Hacy fan, the next part was glorious but I’ll let you find out for yourself if you haven’t already... 😉

So here we are, powerless Macy, no PO3, numerous potential relationships and Harry is now the last of his kind.

Helen, may you rest well finally. Marisol will want to give you a hug for saving her daughter. (Please can we have spirit Marisol and Helen rewarded with time on earth? Pretty please??)

Abigael - what IS she wanting? At this point it changes every five minutes. If it weren’t for her vendetta to prove daddy wrong and her demon nature, she’d prove invaluable to teaching the Charmed Ones how to hone their craft. Harry, tweek her memory please? It would be an act of mercy...

But, for the first time in a while, I feel warm and hopeful. It’s really nice. The overall tone of S2 has been pretty harsh (I’m a wimp) but, while I crave light relief in these trying times, I believe this is a deliberate tonal choice. I believe art should be able to strike its own beat regardless of social events and world conditions. For the audience it’s tougher. We look for escapism and it’s painful if we can’t find it.

I will always defend the rights of those telling the story. I will also complain ferverently if it’s not what I wanted because I am a petulant child desperate for positive, cheesy, happy stories.

Keep going your way Charmed. I trust you. I’m an idiot but I do. ❤️

#charmed #maggie vera #mel vera #macy vaughn #harry greenwood #hacy #charmed reboot #harry x macy #mel x ruby #joggie

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haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles · 5 years

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@kuroosarium asked: Hey J! 😊 How are you doing? I hope you can relax now that your semester is over! I'm happy to see that your requests are open 😍 Could I request a scenario with Kuroo & Bokuto (separately) where they comfort/distract their girlfriend with a date (maybe getting hot chocolate at the Christmas market or just binge watching shows at home), because she's suffering from a mild burnout, because of how stressful university (college au) is? Is that okay? Thank you in advance & have a wonderful day!

haha! i am alive! and i loved writing this so much. Even though it took me a whole semester to complete it. I hope you don’t mind that I tweaked it from being Christmas-y themed (since it’s...ya know...June...oops).

Also, I noticed you are on an indefinite hiatus from the blog you requested this from so I’m going to tag @kuroomantic and @mellearning so hopefully you will see this. (I also tagged you in the actual ask I answered...probably a bit overkill but oh well)

Hope this finds you well and makes you smile.

- J

(also apparently line breaks no longer exist...yay. so now you get this singular tilde 😩)

Kuroo:

It was that time of year again. When the last couple weeks of the semester feel like they’re dragging on for years. It’s been over a month since any of your weekends weren’t spent studying. For exams that professors cruelly gave out during hell week, only to go straight into studying for finals. It’s absolutely brutal to endure, even Kuroo dialing back on the witty remarks that keep the two of you sane during stressful bouts of the semester in favor of silent study sessions.

You and Kuroo were regulars at the library, but in the weeks leading up to the end of the semester you feel like you practically live there. Camping out in a secluded corner for hours, being those people that others gawk at wondering just how the hell anyone can bear it for so long. Afterwards going back to your respective apartments each night and passing out, many nights being too exhausted to part ways and ending up falling asleep in each other’s arms.

Kuroo was lucky, having most of his exams scheduled at the beginning of exam week while you were stuck with exams scheduled at the end of the week. It tore at his heart to watch you continue to stress and study while he’s home free until next semester. He doesn’t try to get you to take a break though, knowing there’s a high possibility it will end up with his head getting bit off, so he lets you keep studying. He can wait to have his girlfriend back until the end of the week.

Though midway through the week, he stops by your apartment, just to check up since he hasn’t heard from you in a while; discovering you passed out on your couch, textbook fallen open on the floor. He rolled his eyes, placing the textbook on the coffee table, gathering you up in his arms—earning him a small grunt and one bleary eye peeking up at him.

Upon seeing it’s only him, your eye closes, and you snuggle a bit further into his arms, falling back asleep almost immediately. He chuckles a bit to himself, resorting to planning something for you once you finish. God knows the both of you need a bit of relaxation after the hellscape of the weeks ending the semester.

On the day of your last exam, he hears you before he sees you. The door to his apartment flinging open, the sound of you plopping your backpack in the entryway before your face appears in the doorway to the living room. He smiles at you, patting the spot beside him, which you all but melt into. Then you snuggle your body against his, tucking yourself beneath his arm and burying your face into his chest; a pleased sigh escaping you.

He rubs the bare skin of your arm comfortingly. “Finished?” Not even a response from you, just a slight nod that he only notices because your head is pressed to his chest. He fights the urge to chuckle at you, weighing the cost of a possible pinch to his side in reply.

“I don’t want to look at another textbook for a least two months,” you mutter, words muted against him.

Now he allows himself to laugh. “So, if I want you to do something all I have to do is threaten you with a textbook?”

He feels you grin next to him. “I’ll run for the hills—don’t test me.”

“Should I hide some around the house for some good jump scares?”

You shove him with your shoulder now. “Then you might get one chucked at your head.”

He laughs, putting his arms around you to pull you even closer. You oblige by lifting your legs and placing them over his own, so you’re practically sitting in his lap now, arms wrapped around his neck and playing absentmindedly with the dark tangles of his hair.

“Then it’s a good thing I have some textbook-free plans for tonight then.”

That earns him a groan and you lift your head to look at him with weary eyes. “Please tell me it involves no effort on my part. My brain is mush at the moment.”

He smiles softly at you, a rare expression saved solely for you. “Of course.” Then puts a hand to his chest feigning offense. “Who do you think I am?” You lift a brow at him questioningly, just what exactly does he have planned? It’s Kuroo, so it could be anything. And while you’re normally all in for his crazy schemes or fun outings, you’re wiped and don’t think you can get up from this couch even if you want to. But he knows you pretty well and you’re sure he knows you’re in no mood to actually do anything at the moment. He inclines his head to the TV. “How does a marathon of your favorite movies sound?”

A smile lifts to your lips before you bury your face once again in his chest, tightening your grip to squeeze him with a hug. “Sounds perfect,” you say, planting a kiss to his cheek. He beams and begins the process of extracting himself from the tangle of your limbs to put the first movie in the stack he procured earlier into the DVD player.

You sink back into the couch, tugging a blanket free to burrow into. Covering your face with the blanket you sigh, “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

He pops the movie in, then returns to you, pulling the blanket away to reveal your blushing face. He smirks. “You could start by sharing this blanket with me.” Your laughter fills the room and it sent his heart thundering against his ribcage; as long as he could keep you laughing, he would consider this night a success.

You make room for him, head resting on his shoulder as he stretches arm behind you on the back of the couch. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, then rests his cheek on it; subconsciously rubbing mindless circles with his fingers splayed across your opposite shoulder. You sigh deeply, your own fingers grasping lightly at his shirt; body relaxing almost melding with his.

“This is exactly what I needed,” you breathe. There is no better place to feel safe and warm than his embrace and it is definitely exactly where you want to be after a long and draining day. You don’t even mean the thoughtful plans he concocted—although you aren’t complaining—but what you really mean is that all you need is him. This comfort and rejuvenation you only find in his arms. He seems to understand, giving you a light squeeze in response.

“Me too,” he murmurs. It was true—in the flurry of stress and studying that consumed your lives the only interaction between the two of you revolved around school. Or consisted of both of you passing out from exhaustion, giving up the luxury of lazy kisses and quiet bids of goodnight, for the desperately needed solace of sleep.

But this was perfect, and he’d go through weeks and weeks of the hell that was school for nights like this.

Bokuto:

When you get back to your shared apartment with Bokuto after your last final of the semester, you unsurprisingly find him waiting for you—a wide grin splitting his face in two. He’s been particularly antsy lately, making you grow suspicious that he has something up his sleeve, and you’ve been suspecting this week to finally reveal whatever he’s been hiding from you for a few weeks now.

But maybe you’re wrong, maybe he’s just excited that the break from school is here and that the two of you will be able to spend more time together now.

That thought is tossed to the wind when he gathers you up his arms before you even get the chance to slip your shoes off and squeezes you hard enough that your breath whooshes out of you. When he sets you down, you peer up at him with narrowed eyes. “Bo~,” you coo, attempting to hit that sing-song voice that tends to break him easier. “What’s up? You look like you’re about to explode.”

Instead of stiffening like he’s been caught red handed, he just throws his head back, hands on his hips and laughs towards the ceiling. “You’ll see!” His head snaps back to look at you as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. You can’t help but smirk at his display.

“What do you have up your sleeve, Bo? Come on, tell me.” You poke his side and sidle up beside him, strategically placing a hand around his bicep.

You hear him suck in a breath, your fist inclination that your tactics might have begun to work. Startling you, he shoves you away and says louder and more insistently, “You’ll see!” You lift a brow in question but retreat on your advances. He seems persistent on keeping whatever he’s got planned a secret. Fine—you’re willing to play along. He’s been able to keep it to himself for this long, which you admit you’re amazed by, and allow him to continue to do so—only so he’ll feel that much more triumphant when he’s finally able to let it out the secret.

Once he sees you disappear down the hallway, Bokuto takes a deep breath—you almost had him. Almost. He knows this last semester really wore you out, especially the last few weeks. Most weekdays you came home practically already asleep, and even when you’d have precious moments together, something as simple and mundane as just relaxing watching TV; you’d be asleep within a few moments.

He didn’t mind. You needed it—plus he would never complain about having you curl up beside him, head resting on his broad chest while yours lifted softly with each breath. In fact, it pained him to wake you up and force you to crawl into bed. Somedays he just lifted you in his arms and carried you there. The majority of the time being the latter.

Leading up to this day, Bokuto has had to resort to gushing to Kuroo and Akaashi at volleyball practice about the whole thing. Enough that they’re past smiling and being excited for him and have been pushed to the brink of entertaining the idea slitting his throat.

And now that they day is here, when he finally gets to put his plan into action, Bokuto is practically bursting at the seams to tell you. Especially since you’re already suspicious of something and attempted to weasel it out of him, knowing exactly how to break him. Setting a small hand on his arm, making it ever more obvious just how much bigger he is than you, using that soft sing-song voice that nearly did him in. Only his dramatic display of laughing and shrugging you off letting him escape from the snare you so easily set for him.

No—he is going to see this through to the end. Only for the joy of seeing your face when he reveals his plans for you. He beams at the thought.

After dinner, he attempts to nonchalantly ask you to go for a walk. It’s not uncommon for the two of you to take a leisurely stroll as the sun sets, but the way he’s shifting in his seat—doing his very best to be normal, makes you eye him suspiciously. He just maintains his uncontrollable grin, despite his best efforts to squash it as not to make you more suspicious than he can tell you already are.

You comply, taking his hand once you’re outside, and you can tell that if you were in an enclosed space, he’d be bouncing off the walls by now. You let him lead you, noticing he’s walking faster and (you don’t know how it’s even possible) but his smile, already at an incredible wattage, is widening with each step.

Up ahead, you squint and can barely make out a faint glow emerging from between some of the buildings. Unable to stop yourself, you crane your head to get a better look. Bokuto notices you trying to sneak a peek and purposefully steps in your line of sight, filling it with his beaming smile.

“No peeking.”

You just narrow your eyes but resolve to keeping your curiosity to yourself. Bokuto seems satisfies and continues on. After a few more blocks, you turn onto a street and your eyes widen at the sight before you.

In the park near your apartment that the two of you frequent, there are various tents set up and citizens milling about, all bathed in a warm glow from the lanterns littering the grass, hanging from above in the trees, and those resting in people’s hands. You gape at it all, while beside you, Bokuto is radiating pure joy.

“I saw a flyer for it on campus!!” He turns to you, grasping both of your hands in his—dwarfing them, that smile you love so much adorning his face. “Do you like it??”

Your lips tremble and without your permission, tears well up in your eyes. These past few weeks have been so unbelievably stressful, and for him to notice—for him to plan this, it was enough to bring joyous loving tears to your eyes.

Immediately, Bokuto frets. “What—what is it? Is it not okay? We can go, I just…”

You grip his hands to silence him. “No. I love it. Thank you, Bo.”

His smile returns and he gently places his hands on your cheeks to wipe away the tears now spilling over onto them.

Behind him, a familiar voice calls, “Oi! Bokuto!”

You peer around him to find your friends, Kuroo and Akaashi, both holding two lanterns each.

Bokuto beams yet again. “I invited them too!

You grin and wipe at your eyes once more, gingerly taking one of the lanterns from Akaashi’s hands. As you do so, he tells you, “Congrats on finishing the semester.”

You laugh softly. “Thanks. We all did it!” You survey the three of them, a peacefulness you didn’t know you were missing settling over your heart. It almost made you start crying again.

“Bo cut it a bit close,” Kuroo jests.

“Hey! What the heck!” Bokuto says, snatching his lantern aggressively from Kuroo.

You smirk. “All the more reason to celebrate.” He sticks his tongue out at you, but you just take his hand and follow the stream of people gathering at the center of the park; all of them carrying lanterns of their own.

You stand at the center, surrounded by your friends and the ethereal light of the lanterns, Bokuto’s warm hand in yours. Both of you look at the other before simultaneously lifting your lanterns into the sky and letting them join the plethora of ones already drifting into the night. With it, you feel all the stress and worry that accompanied these past weeks floating away with it, freeing you and letting you look forward to the days ahead. Days you would spend with Bokuto.

Turning to him, you find him gaping at you, marveling at how impossibly beautiful you look in the warm glow of the lanterns, a soft smile gracing your lips. He feels even more overjoyed that he surprised you with this. Even more so when you throw your arms around his neck and plant a kiss to his lips.

“Thank you,” you murmur against him.

That unbreakable smile splits his face in two, and instead of replying, he just squishes you against him and lets his lips find yours once more.

#haikyuu x reader #Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #kuroo x reader #bokuto x reader #kuroo tetsurou imagine #kuroo tetsurou scenario #bokuto koutarou imagine #bokuto koutarou scenario #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu scenario #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu

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kpopbeatdrop-blog · 4 years

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Losing You - Wonho

When I found out that Wonho had left Monsta X, it broke my heart.

In his leaving statement he talked about having done it for the good of the other members, and for the fans. Our kind hearted and gentle Lee Hoseok didn’t want the controversy surrounding him to reflect badly on anyone, and so had made the decision to leave.

I remember being deeply worried for his mental health and well being. He had often said that his fellow members and Monbebe, as well as songwriting, producing, and his career as a whole, were what kept him going and gave him energy. Yet here he was, feeling that he had no other choice but to walk away from it all.

More so than being upset a member of a group I liked had left, and would no longer be singing with them, I was scared that he himself as a person would be struggling, and would have to go through all of this without the support of his group or fans. I had thought instead that maybe he would go on hiatus, that he’d miss a promotion cycle to wait for it all to die down and hopefully for his name to clear.

So after we’d been hit with him leaving the group, and then with radio silence as to anything going on behind the scenes, I honestly had doubts as to whether Monsta X or I would be able to recover from it. I spent so much of 2019 becoming fully involved and invested in all aspects of k-pop fandom for the first time, voting in music shows, jumping at every album and going to every concert I possibly could, and it all felt like it was crashing down around me.

Baring witness to the performances Monsta X made as 6 immediately after Wonho’s leaving made for physically painful viewing. They were grieving just as I and so many others were. For a long time I couldn’t bear to even listen to their music, which was especially upsetting considering it had always brought me great comfort before.

I had some vague hopes about Wonho returning to the music scene some time, possibly even years, later as a solo artist, but I hadn’t the courage to let myself believe that he would be officially a part of Monsta X again, as so many campaigned for in the following days and weeks. I didn’t want to pin my hopes on everything turning out just fine, only to have them let down.

But I liked the idea that from all the fan organised events - the repeated hashtag trending, the Times Square billboard, the post-its covering the walls of Starship’s building to name but a few - that Wonho and the rest of Monsta X would see these signs that all seven of them were very deeply still loved by Monbebe, and as they had said they would always be by our side, we would always be by there’s too.

Enough time has now passed for me to begin to feel healed, largely thanks to Wonho’s name being cleared. To afterwards also hear that he was signed with a subsidiary of Starship, felt like a miracle after months of worry. Even if he hadn’t returned to music, I would’ve still supported him for his choices, but I was pleased he would be able to see his fans again, and do what he most loved in the world. After all this time of waiting, hoping, and praying, just knowing that he was relatively okay, was more than enough.

And so with a much lighter heart than I had in October of last year, I can now look forward to new releases from himself and from Monsta X. Wonho has recently pre-released a song, ‘Losing You’, that is part of his upcoming debut mini album as a soloist, Love Synonym - (#1) Right For Me.

It’s a gentle ballad and love letter to Monbebe (now also known as Wenee) sung entirely in English, undoubtedly a conscious choice as a nod to his many international fans and the support they’ve given. There is also a Korean version included in the track list, and another song on the mini, titled ‘Open Mind’, appears to have both an English and a Korean version as well.

The music video starts with a striking black and white shot of himself hanging upside down, emblematic of the Hanged Man in tarot, a card often symbolising sacrifice for the greater good.

What follows is an incredibly tender and moving expression of love and loss. The ballad format combined with understated backing allows for his vocals to be put centre stage in a way that feels vulnerable and intimate. The music video itself is similarly simple, with the sole focus being the artist and his emotion.

With lines such as “losing me is better than losing you”, Wonho manages to convey a true sense of self sacrifice and wanting to be there for his fans, as well as how he had felt having to “lose” them. Listening to Losing You feels like closure and catharsis, an outward acknowledgement for all the pain both fan and artist had been through together.

As much as I adore Losing You for it’s sentiment and message, I’m curious now to see what the other tracks on the mini will be like, and more broadly for Wonho’s assuredly bright future as a soloist. While I think a song like this by its own nature had to be the first single he released, I’m very much hoping we get to see him smile in a MV soon too.

The ending shot of the music video for Losing You features Mondoongie-esque lights illuminating the dark surrounding Wonho, like hundreds of stars in the night to help guide him home.

Welcome back Wonho, we missed you.

#wonho #lee hoseok #losing you #music review

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fyrapartnersearch · 5 years

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Calling for dedicated roleplayers with a passion for writing

Hello! My name is Aaliyah or Ally for short, and I will cut right to the chase. I am looking for a mature role-player, preferably 21+ but will also accept 18+ (just to be sure that you are of legal age, otherwise it’ll be very uncomfortable).

  As I am 26 years of age with 12 years of experience, I hope to meet someone who shares my passion in creative writing, as well as formulating interesting plots and characters.   In case you are curious about me as a person, I am a full-time student and a young writer who works at the gym on the side, but also enjoys other creative outlets such as drawing. Usually my schedule is fairly full, including the attendance of friends or family. However I always have ample time for a good roleplay. :)   

I am seeking a literate writer who is committed to a long-term partnership, and by that I truly mean it. Please do not respond if you are uncertain of upholding a stable roleplay. Furthermore, I’ve noticed the “ghosting after the first few messages“ trope is a fairly widespread issue in the roleplaying scene / community. I would like to implore you from refraining it. I’ve grown quite irritated by it lately and rather like to avoid it in the near future. That way we don’t waste anyone’s time. Thank you in advance. If you are hitting a hiatus, that’s completely fine! A simple message of putting things on hold is completely sufficient, but I would like to keep in touch in case the story bears great potential. Now I have a wish, or as other say it, a certain craving for something new and fresh. And that something is quite specific, as my interests are a little unorthodox. Not the typical ‘Marvel, DC, My Hero Academia, etc’ type of stick. (Not to throw shade on them! They are great! Just not my cup of tea at the moment)

 I heavily enjoy video-games, tv-shows, comics, films, books, the list goes on. Hopefully I can attract some kindred spirits.   I do roleplay both Canon and Original!

  So if there’s no luck in finding a fitting Canon based story, we can always switch to original world building. First, I like to list all of my heavy cravings and interests. The ones marked in bold are usually the ones I am very willing to do.

  Books:

Harry Potter Next Gen (original character cast)

True Blood

Vampire Hunter D (or Manga / Anime)

Vampire Chronicles by Anne Rice

Game of Thrones

Videogames:

Dragon Age (from Origins to current instalment)

Castlevania

Devil May Cry

Infamous series

The Darkness

Smite

Star Wars the Old Republic

 Webcomics:

Lore Olympus

Lookism

True Beauty

Comics:

Constantine

Hellboy

Witchblade

The Darkness

X-Men

Films:

Alita Battle Angel

Kingsmen

Vampire Hunter D

TV-Shows live action:

True Blood

The Boys

Vikings

Game of Thrones (Open for discussion. Still haven’t recovered from the season finale however…)

TV-Shows animated:

Hellsing

Castlevania (Netflix adaptation)

Devil May Cry (Anime adaptation)

Demon Slayer (I have only started watching this)

FMA Brotherhood

Jojo’s bizarre adventure

Black lagoon

As for original plots, I am very keen on urban and gothic fantasy, but also mythology as well as horror and crime and action. I have plenty of ideas up my sleeve, some of them quite fleshed out and some of them being concepts in the making. Either way, I would rather have these ideas introduced throughout email or whatever platform we choose to communicate on. Themes for an original story I am most inclined to do are:

Supernatural / Metaphysical (Demons, Angels, Spirits, Monsters, etc.)

Mystery

Crime

Action

Sci-Fi & fantasy (Aliens coming in contact with unsuspecting earthlings during the middle ages / ancient time-periods)

Urban fantasy mixed with high school / college themes (similar to Supernatural with local monsters, creatures, etc)

Now onto the qualities of what my roleplaying partner should have.

What it all entails: What the Partnership should be: I strongly encourage an active roleplayer who is not afraid of sharing 50% of ideas, plotting, length, detail but most important of all, passion. A bird cannot fly with only one wing. Communication: I love making new friends and brainstorming, and communication is the bedrock of it all. It strengthens our compatibility and the story. Should there be anything that might bother you, or if you think you are left out in some type of way (be it a mistake on my part or if we’re both at fault here), simply tell me. It really doesn’t bother me rewriting certain scenes to better fit the narrative. We can always exchange opinions and see what would benefit the story most. The Way of Writing: No one-liners. No text-talk. No half-assed replies. And certainly no ‘quality over quantity’ when you can have both. I don’t expect anyone to write a novel, absolutely not. I don’t either, but if I get the feeling of my partner wavering in their effort and not investing as much as I do, I have to give them the chop, unfortunately. Too often have I encountered partners who showed strong enthusiasm at first, but after a while… they slacked and eventually only put the adequate effort into their side of things whilst completely disregarding my characters. I hope to avoid this in the future. And now to myself and how I write: My writing: Third person perspective usually, although I have made some exceptions in my years of writing. My style is wide-ranging and flexible, which means that frequently, word count will go up 1000+ per reply - though it also depends on the given situation and partner. And yes, I do double, preferably even, most likely in a canon universe. However this again wholly depends on the type of story, partner and cast of characters. I am very open and willing to discuss.

 Rating: So you are writing with some of mature age. I have 12 years of writing under my belt. There will be violence, there will be swearing, gore, intimacy, uncomfortable topics, drama, conflict and other dark themes included when you are writing with me. I have few limits but I will respect the boundaries of my partner. And lastly, I won’t fade to black or skip out on the nitty gritty, unless it doesn’t serve a particular purpose in forwarding the story.

Characters: I write canon as well as OC characters. Faceclaims, GIFs, drawings, mood boards or just a plain physical description is absolutely sufficient. Characters should be written as opulent, flawed, unique, talented, heroic, villainous, spiteful, angry, and everything in-between. In other words, don’t be scared of making them flawed.

Romance: Openly play and accept characters of both genders, preferable m x f pairings, but I am open to m x m and f x f relationships as well. I have more experience with m x f relationships, so I might be more adaptable with this one. If the chemistry of two characters compel me, I’m on board with it! When it comes to sexual scenarios and intimacy (intercourse, foreplay, all that funny business). I encourage eroticism, but always in a tasteful, sensual manner (that goes for romance as well), though it is never the main focus of any of my stories, rather a tool to further the plot. Erotica is welcome but never the focus of any kind of roleplay. Content: Drama, violence, sex, metamorphosis, symbolism, action, romance, pretty much everything is a-okay. I am not explicitly bothered by certain subjects that may be uncomfortable for the general public. Roleplays are fictional stories and we best keep treating them as such. If there are things you are uncomfortable with, name them and I shall respect those boundaries. But don’t be surprised when suddenly one of our characters bites the dust, or gets tortured, etc. It may be difficult to write and read, but it is all part of the story and a tool for furthering the plot. My roleplays imply and involve brutality, mayhem, psychological and physical altercations among other things. But I also endorse beauty, serenity and placid moments for our characters to grow in. I love it when it comes full circle… everyone- and everything has a beautiful and hideous side. Again, this is mature and I am not here to coddle, I am here for a challenge. Should I hit a hiatus myself, I will inform you as soon as possible. :)  

Platforms I usually roleplay on are email and google-docs. I also have Discord in case for plotting and chatting outside of the RP. Though Google Hangouts has proven itself as a sufficient chat-medium for such things, so I rather stay with that one.   

When you message me, please use the given codenames so I know what you like to specify in.

Blue Rose: Canon  

Red Feather: Original  

  I’d be happy to receive a small description of yourself and what your passions are! :) Message me here: EMAIL: [email protected] I am very excited to hear from you! Sincerely yours -Ally

#indie rp #indie roleplay #independent roleplay #oc rp #multiple paragraph #para #long term #email #tumblr #harry potter rp #spn rp #aou rp #submission

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slightlyuncomfortablepastry · 4 years

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unsoundiversary 2020

happy unsoundiversary, @lydia-bell! I tried very hard to write something spooky to go along with the art that hopefully will post with this... anyway, hope you enjoy this little drabble about post-s3-hiatus and hope you are also enjoying the day we were all supposed to die!

... maybe that was too much.

The air was cold, a breeze tickling the hair on his forehead that had fallen from its usual styling. He needed a cut, and a shave. Badly.

His back gave a twinge of pain as he adjusted in the bucket seat, reminding him 'ah yes, schedule a chiropractor appointment as well'.

The hand intertwined with his gave a squeeze, reminding him that all of this was trivial thought. Borderline ignorant.

"Hey. You okay?"

"Fine, Alex."

Richard Strand gave a small nod, fingers twitching in her grip as a response. His eyes never opened, but he could feel her worried gaze on his face, the warmth of her stare burning him up from the inside.

Airplanes were always cold, but the man felt as if his body could combust at any moment, nervous fever turning him into a human bonfire. Not from her, not from Alex Reagan.

Richard was scared.

He couldn't remember the last time he was truly discomforted with an emotion like this. Enough to affect him physically more than mentally. Alex's hand gave another comforting squeeze as the cabin doors were shut and locked, pressure stabilizing and the lights slowly dimming.

Too late to go back now.

The flight to Geneva from SEA-TAC was about 12 hours, the pilot droned from the cockpit as the passengers around them shuffled deeper into their seats. Ready for the long haul. Richard allowed himself a quick glance throughout the large cabin, inspecting those around him behind his spectacles.

Were any of them watching him? Watching them, as Alex and Nick settled beside him for their take off? The man wished he didn't feel so paranoid as he closed his eyes once more, the engine propelling them down the runway.

Richard awoke with a jolt, heart pounding against his rib cage as he tried to get his bearings. The space around him was quiet, dark. His nerves were on high alert.

"Riiiiicharddddd--"

Where were Nick and Alex? Where was everyone? The plane was eerily silent, save for the hum of the engine and that insistent whining that sounded oddly like his name…

"Richie, over here!"

Wayne?

A strange figure, humanoid yet… too tall and too thin to be real, stood in the archway of the front of the plane. Its arms dropped low, circling around the throat of a young boy. Wayne Coates, as he had remembered him all those years ago. His eyes wide and terrified, mouth stretched at the edges of his lips with metal wire. The smile it formed was awkward, forced and painful, and Wayne's eyes swam with tears as he gasped out Richard's name.

The man struggled with his seat belt, stomach flipping with nausea. This wasn't a dream, this wasn't a fantasy brought on by apophena and fast food breakfast.

This wasn't like when he laid in bed at night, eyes wide and body still as he watched the creatures of the darkness loom above him. Sleep paralysis and insomnia be damned, if he was able to move this time, he would save his friend somehow. Where was everyone else? Where was Alex?

Slipping the piece of buckle out of its holder and shoving the belt from his lap, Richard stood on shaky feet to face it.

The lights along the floor pulsed with a red light, illuminating the darkness with a glow that made Richard's gut clench. The floor was sticky, a sickly sweet copper smell filling his nostrils.

"Dr. Strand?"

"Richard…"

Dragging unfocused eyes from the blood seeping through the carpeted floor, filling up the spaces under the empty seats around him, he regretted the movement entirely.

"See, Richard? See how they bleed?"

Its voice was thick with malice, body oily like the personification of bile. Nick and Alex stood, legs stretched in a tip toe as the creature held them taught in its tendril-like arms.

It was all he could do to keep standing, clutching the armrests on either side of the walkway. He couldn't move forward, couldn't force his legs to move through the blood that had reached his knees now, soaking through his cotton suit pants with an unnatural warmth.

That burning sensation coated his senses, making things feel too casual. Like old film, paused and slowly catching fire.

"Please, don't-"

Richard's voice caught in his throat, barely a murmur as the creature laughed, its mouth twisting into a large set of teeth that seemed to take up its entire face.

A face set with two eyes where its nose would be, and gaping jaw where its eyes would be.

"You'll never save us, Ric--"

Alex's words were cut off as the creature plunged, devouring her head with a sick crunch of bone and gore.

"Richard! Wake up, please."

The man's throat felt raw as he opened his eyes, adjusting to the sudden harsh light that entered his vision. His glasses were fogged, aware of someone staring over him from above. It reminded him of some sort of religious painting of the cherub-like angels.

Alex Reagan.

"You were screaming--"

"Sir, are you alright?"

One of the flight attendants rested a well-manicured hand on his left shoulder, her face set in concern as he looked at her. Looked at all the other passengers around them, their own faces set with confusion and distrust.

A screaming man on an airplane.

Of course he was dreaming.

"I'm fine. Just a bad dream. My apologies."

"I'll get you a water, sir. Do you need anything else?"

"Some aspirin, please. Thank you."

Richard turned to his companions, dismissing the woman without another word as they stared at him. Alex's lips pursed in what he knew was her investigative expression, the face he knew to watch for right before she asked her most intrusive questions.

"What was it, Richard?"

Her voice was soft, fingers reaching out to brush the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.

"You're burning up."

"It was nothing. Just a nightmare, probably brought on by those awful hash browns you made me eat before we got to our gate. I feel fine."

But the sounds around him were an echo of what he had seen, what his mind had shown him in his uncomfortable slumber.

And the voice of his demons, calling him home.

"You can't save them, Richard…"

He was certainly going to try.

#unsoundiversary #tbtp #i love this brooding man but please just let him sleep

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worldcakecakecake · 5 years

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The Red Mask

In 18th century Valencia, Spain, thrives the legend of the Red Mask, a character with stories of bravery and heroism that have enchanted Lovino Valenti since he was a young child. On a new business deal, his family moves from Naples and Lovino finds himself wishing for adventure and action away from his duties in this new Spanish city. He is given that chance when he joins a group of masked heroes that fall under the command of the famed Red Mask. He grows a close and fiery relationship with the masked man of his tales and dreams, and without knowing his identity, he lets himself be swayed by his seduction, trust and daringness, to passions surely forbidden when he doesn’t even know his actual name or who he really is.

Wow, what a surprise, posting a new story…and it’s not gerita! (There will be gerita though, of course!) Yes! Hello! This is my true entrance into the spamano world! A pairing that is easily one of my favorites in the fandom. I always write about it to the side of my stories, but now they get the chance to shine in their own. This story in my mind has been quite exciting and I can’t wait to for you to join me in this new adventure as I write and put it up. Part of it was actually writing in Spain and my experience there helped to fuel it. Despite it being set so in the past, let me say that once again, the research I did was little and many things can be very inaccurate. If it offends or annoys you, I am extremely sorry. I am willing to listen and change, so please message if I can fix something to better represent the times.

This story will be slightly different in the aspect that there will be some more darker themes. Hopefully they won’t be too intense. I still like to keep things light and bright. I will give the appropriate warnings in the notes before each chapter.

Speaking of warnings, this story has a draft page where pretty much two or three more chapters are done. I have this rule that once this document reaches 20k words, I start posting. Once it’s all posted, the story will have to go on a hiatus until I fill it up to 20k again. In the past, stories done in this form, I would have an exact schedule as to when I would post, but since I am extremely busy and sometimes just editing might take me several weeks, I cannot assure a specific time to post. I will simply post once I finish editing the next coming chapters. I apologize already for the time it will take. But be assured! I will post! I will write and edit when I can and the chapters will come EVENTUALLY!

As for the length of this story…I’m estimating perhaps 70-80k, but we’ll see as the story goes along. Yes, it will be deliciously long.

As for the beginning, I will be posting prologues that detail the backstory of how ‘The Red Mask’ started, so no, sadly, no delicious spamano interaction…for now ;)

Warning that there is mention of rape in this chapter.

Prolouge I

No games, no toys, no dim candle light, no stories, no warm embrace, no soothing lulling voice taking him to sleep. He couldn’t let himself that old luxury when he had to watch, to see hidden between the dark shadows of the mansion already succumbed into the late night. Not a stirring, not a presence, the only one being the exchange in the room the little boy was currently watching from afar. The door was only slightly ajar, bringing a small streak of light to the hall, reminding of the actions, of business still needed to be done. From this distance, the boy could hear but only small mummers, unclear, lost, a brightening that he dared to reach by taking easy steps forward, down the stairs, down the halls, until it could be easy enough for his small hands to create a disrupting shadow into the singular ray of light. He leaned whatever he could to spot clear the figure of a woman, one with his same dark brown curls, the same shine of his green eyes, even the shape of his nose and mouth. She stood proudly before the male she was talking to, nothing wrong with her servant uniform, the proud red sash wrapped around her neck proudly, bearing her expression of obedience and loyalty to the words of this man.

“-the windows, the doors, watered the flowers of the entrance,” he tested.

“Yes sir,” she nodded.

“The laundry, the chickens, the baths, the pathways, the grass,” he kept on.

“Completed.” Nothing in her figure showed the opposite, her uniform doing well to hide the bruises, the dirt, the labor.

“Very well then, and are you aware of your duties for tomorrow?”

The little boy could feel the strain for his mother.

“The tapestries, reorganize the vases, fix the pillars, care for the flowers of the garden, prepare the letters for the next ball and waiting at dinner for your important visit,” she assured, she knew, she was already preparing herself for the pain, strains and tiring energy that would leave her faint once she reached back to her bed…if she ever did.

“Perfect. You never disappointment me, Ms. Carriedo.” The movement of a chair, steps, closing in, a sign that was enough to bring the little boy to dread, trying hard to hide his groan and the new coming tears.

A hand closing in, on the buttoning of her uniform, a closeness to the red sash on her neck. A harsh grasp, hers, on his wrist, holding anymore touches to the prized fabric.

“Don’t touch it,” she warned harshly, always strength to be disobedient when it came to it, despite the glares, despite the slap, the kick, her fall, her hands coming to protect it in the palm of her hands.

“I’ll touch whatever I wish to. Have you forgotten that I own you, that you’re purpose here is for my pleasing?” He kneeled to her, testing her yet again, trying to grasp that red handkerchief and yet she kept it close, tight, no color to show him, no softness, no walls to the castle this item brought her. She enclosed herself around it how she could, even if she had to look away, if she had to anger him, if it brought her other kicks and even spits.

“Very well, once again I have to remind you.” A throw, a push, a pull, an unbuckling, the little boy couldn’t take it any longer, not caring if his steps and labored breaths could be heard as he hurried up the stairs, down the halls, to their room, crashing into the safeguard of their bed, by the window, showing a beautiful starry night that his mother could have used for the beginning of a new tale. Tonight they didn’t hold that escape, that relief as they always did, their stories of adventure and heroism weren’t loud enough, didn’t extend a hand to dry the tears that fell down his cheek, coating the pillow he wished could sunk him down to the worlds of knights, faithful lovers and adventures away from the pains of this mansion.

Somehow he found rest with such a storm lingering, yet weak, for when he heard her entering, the crash of the door, he startled himself immediately, to meet her as weakened as she usually came into the room, with ripped clothing, new bruises, new blood, new tears and her figure slumping slightly more. When her eyes fell on those of her son, of her same green, she managed to pull a smile as if all that was surrounding her didn’t hold the same potency anymore.

“Antonio,” she wiped what she could in an easy rub of her hands. “What are you doing awake, querido? Come on, let’s go to sleep,” she managed to insist, to prepare their bed as she usually did, patted, warm and with the best fabric that she was given.

As Antonio sat on that spot, waiting for her join, she changed into her night dress, the only item kept being the red handkerchief, still safe, still untouched by the devils who owned this place. She joined her little son, the red handkerchief like another pillow to rest between them, Antonio hugging it, as well as his mother with all the tightness and love they have poured over his life of only five years. She brought him close to her chest, her hands threading through his brown locks, enough to forget, enough to smile and for once find calm for a coming rest.

“Do you still want to hear a story?” She suggested, knowing how eagerly Antonio would nod even in his tiredness, even after what he saw, but nothing could beat the tales, nothing could beat this chance of adventure and difference.

“What would you prefer? The story of the Viking archer? Or of the skilled sword handling Spaniard with the red mask?”

“The red mask one!” How he loved it.

She chuckled, “very well then.”

And there she went, the feat of tonight being how he saved the damsel from her wicked father who had caused calamity in the city, in amazing detailed fights that only his mother could alight in just the right action to bring suspense to the little boy. In the end, he saved the woman he made his lover and settled off into a sunset of promise, just the right touch to end a proper night with proper dreams.

He shouted, he jumped, he slashed his old metal sword all around the fabrics that swayed in the new air, weakened movements that made his mother laugh from the distance as she hanged all the sheets around the wires for their drying.

“Antonio! Remember your stance! Stance!” She reminded and Antonio made sure to keep it to consideration as he went on with his practicing, yet it still failed, he still missed movements and twirls that would make him trip or even let his old trusty sword fall.

She had to step in and help.

“Antonio, come, look at me.” She picked up her own sword from the pile her son had brought along with the basket of sheets. It was much glorious, shinning, with an artistic handle that had Antonio aweing instead of fearing. She skillfully moved the sword around her, for grace and for battle, Antonio spectating with shine and admiration.

She presented the point of the sword before him, inches from his nose, his eyes hypnotized by the reflection of the sun on it, then her proud smile.

“What did I say?” She chuckled.

Antonio laughed as he brought his own sword, taking her very same stance, the old ruin thing he used as his weapon taking the very same levelling forward.

“Very well, again, look at me and repeat.”

She moved and he followed. Her footwork, her spins, her slashes, hearing her advices, her tricks, her teachings until he was ready for a practiced combat. With shouts, with meets that resounded well across the field and hill they fought, the woman saw that her son had bettered in his defense, in the proper holdings, not for a single moment letting his sword fall, slowly growing harsher stabs that actually made her worry that she would lose sight of as she taught. Luckily, she defended well herself and could take whatever forwards, whatever sudden surprises that made her prideful.

Only seven years old and her son was the sword prodigy she had once been herself.

Any smiles, any laughs, any learning was harshly interrupted by shouts, of many men, of coming footsteps that they both knew they had to stop at before it came any closer. They hid the swords at the bottom of the basket, the woman placing a protective cover to keep it more hidden, busying herself instead with the hanging as if it had been her sole duty for the whole day. Antonio sat by the hill and pretended to distract himself with a patch of blooming daisies, his eyes catching the commotion that had interrupted their moment.

It was Mr. Montaje, the owner of the mansion his mother worked for, the hated man that made Antonio grasp harshly to the ground he sat upon, that brought shivers up his mother’s spine, trying to focus on only the sheets swaying before her, on their softness, on their colors, nothing, nothing else.

“The routine was well explained, I have no need to repeat myself,” he shouted to all the men that followed behind him, all appropriately dressed in their white gears, paddings and swords hanging in their gloved hands, as straight, as strained as they pretended on acting like the statues that decorated the gardens.

The only two allowed freedom was Mr. Montaje, who walked through every file, inspecting, while also strutting his own uniform, his power, command, even joy to take control of this group of men. The other was Keron Montaje, his oldest son, the heir, a boy of pale features but with intense dark hair, eyes and even personality, with the very cockiness his father wore. Only ten years old and he was already commanding, shouting and even hitting some of the men as he tested their perseverance to remain still as they were. Mr. Montaje laughed as if it was some childish game, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him close to utter words of pride that only gave more bounce to the boy to continue as he wanted. Antonio glared, with memories of pushes, of laughs, of points and misery. All he could do was accept this field of tyranny that was his household.

How unfair, how underserving.

Keron took a frontal position, before all the men, as he considered himself to be, above whatever importance they might think they have. His father led, raising his own sword, shouting commands and thus every pair was formed, even Keron finding his partner and instantly all began their combat, their training, a show for Antonio to spectate. For their cruelty, him and his mother admitted that they did have impressive knowledge in the sport, to what they could add, to what they could learn from, watching and later in the night finding time to practice these very new techniques.

Even at twelve years old, Antonio would find his time for that hill, for the continuing practices that happened before him, already calculating and omitting attacks on his mind as it went on.

Keron had improved, his slashes harsh, unmerciful, it was common occurrence for him to draw blood out of his opponents, continuing on without a care of their shouts, strains and cries for care. Joaquina was in charge of dealing with their treatment and bandaging, as always, hiding her complains, ignorant to their demands as she tried her best.

The household finding Antonio old enough, by now had forced him into the scheduling and working, but the young boy, no matter what the papers said, always stood by his mother’s side, to lessen whatever new loads Mr. Montaje placed newly on his mother.

Every night, every escapade into their room, still ended with her having the same bruises, the same rip of her clothes, the same destroy in her eyes that Antonio tried to smooth away with his embraces and the kisses he laid on her head.

As the years continued, Antonio feared it wasn’t working its relieve, his mother only continued to arrive worst, a spark dying each day that only Antonio resurrected with stories and with their occasional sword practice.

On his laundry work, Antonio fifteen by this time, he caught the excitement about a swordsmanship tournament, the household calling Keron the sure championship to bring honor to the family, a sureness that he already strutted the halls with, as if he had already gotten his prize. It annoyed Antonio immensely, new furies igniting as he folded the fine pristine shirts of the members of this family, thinking that they were all underserving of this forced treatment he had to give them, all because of a stupid family accord that forced him and his mother there. If only they had-…a pamphlet then fell on the basket, announcing the very tournament the entire household was talking about. It listed the tournaments’ name, how it was one of the region’s most prestige competitions, approved by the very King and Queen of Spain, inviting all to participate, going on with all different kinds of honors, badges and seals that could be given to the winner, including an incredible price of two thousand reales. He took it, he ran over to his mother, exciting her in the prospect.

“No,” she instantly denied, putting the pamphlet away.

“But you’d easily win!”

“Your belief in me is endearing, Antonio, but I cannot possibly risk ourselves by going against Mr. Montaje like this.”

“But it says that everyone can participate. He has to let you!”

“And risk us getting scolded, or worst, killed? He still has that power over us.”

“Exactly, so you have to prove to him that he doesn’t, by showing that you’re better than whatever second hand swordsman he has here.” Antonio was confident, mad of such doubts, that these spoiled brats could get away with such honors ignorant of those who truly deserved it, chained to their shadows and meaning to forget them from whatever freedom and chances they could be granted.

“With this money, we could leave this mansion once and for all!”

“Even if I wanted to, he doesn’t let me out of the gates of the land, much less to participate on a tournament that can set me free from him as well as embarrass his family if I do manage to get far. How do you expect me to do this?” She seemed to challenge and oh was Antonio glad to take it. He grinned as his head went clearly through her tales, especially one of a figure which famously donned a red mask. He could picture the fabric on her face, along with a beautiful red uniform to go along with the moves that would surely prove regal than whatever master would fight there.

“You don’t have to go as yourself,” he began to suggest, easing the idea. Joaquina raised an eye, questioning, following her son’s eyes to their treasured red fabric on their shared desk.

It said enough, it detailed and seemed to tell the tales aloud for both to hear.

“Are you saying…?”

“Yes!” Antonio excited and to his surprise his mother returned the suggestion with a grin, a wink and thus that moment an idea began to take life.

It was more crowded than both had expected, a center ring presented surrounded with groups of all kinds witnessing and spectating the battles. They shouted, they made clear either their distaste or wonder, seeing as many lost or as others came victorious, moving ahead in the chart that the committee had presented for all to see. Antonio, well covered by a darkened cloak his mother gave him, joined along in those jumps and screams, pointing out quite honestly those he liked…other than his mother.

It was the last of the first round matches, many quite excited over a mysterious player that was to join, whispers already arising and Antonio smirking.

Santiago Villalobos was called to fight, entering the arena with the usual cockiness all players took, raising his sword and earning a new roar from all. The noise was much that it did well to dull out the new participant’s entrance, just taking its own welcome into the stage, its interesting robes of black and red, the red mask that covered the top of its face tight, letting green eyes glow and elegant lips shine, enough of a capture for everyone to fall silent. That cocky smile, different, endearing to Antonio, for once one making him go along in these new shouts and screams, convinced in the easy shine this person made their sword rise, seeming to fly high and claim already the brightest star.

Battle started at the moment the competitors’ eyes met, quick to let their swords meet in a loud clang that announced well to all, their dangerous dance starting of evasion, attack, jumps, even swirls, every moment a delight to all their eyes. To the masked contestant, this was simple, it saw victory as soon as their swords met and like that it was given, the other’s sword flying off into the crowd, enough proclaim for the masked swordsman to win.

The crowd erupted so loud Antonio feared they would tumble the arena down.

As the tournament continued, as the masked player kept enamoring them all with their amazing skills, known steps, defenses, fast and graceful movements to seem like a flight, people just jumped and shrilled the more, truly ready to crush the stage with pure excitement.

All her competitors were wiped out from the tournament listing quick and sure, as easy as simply throwing their names away and watching the mysterious competitor rise and rise until she reached a final with only but the strongest of her enemies, Keron Montaje.

When both their names were announced unto the stage, a thread of suspense easily hanged above the crowd, even the stage, especially to Antonio, who feared the teenager could recognize his mother if even just by the little skin she showed, her eyes, her movements, or just her voice. He was surely dramatizing, he and his mother did well to try and hide anything that could make her obvious. Besides, none of the Montaje had ever fought with them, they wouldn’t recognize even the skills that were so obviously Carriedo.

As the judges prepared to announce what would be the last battle of the tournament, Keron and Joaquina settled in sending vengeance through their eyes, angering, pestering, anxious to start. Keron simply wanted the fame, to prove himself better before everyone, especially his family, and he was not going to let someone that wouldn’t even reveal his name or face to the crowds or himself that victory. To Joaquina, this was her chance on getting her name, a position away from the mansion, for honor, the best for her son and against years of being looked down on, abused and being stripped of her person.

As soon as bells announced, along with shouts of the crowd, Joaquina was the first to strike and Keron was vigilant enough to defend against that rather strong blow that made him loose his balance, close from tripping to the sea of people. Quickly he tried a deadly slash to her face but she did well in defending through all the attacks that remained upwards, barely depending on their stance. It was forgotten, and so it was easy for Joaquina to find a moment of distraction to simply trip him by a mere slash of his leg, which had him on the ground, surprised and cringing. Impressive downward slashes continued and from the ground Keron still managed to defend against them, but it was becoming harder, the slashes so intense that he felt he was being buried into the stage. He managed a push and tried to get them back to the focus of upper attacks, but Joaquina moved by a mere inch, pushing him easily down and with an incredible dance of her sword, had Keron’s sword flying to the floor, momentarily trembling before it defeated itself by falling out of the stage. It was the decision that proclaimed the masked stranger the winner of the tournament. The crowd raged their unbelievable excitement, and Antonio couldn’t stop jumping and screaming along. The masked contestant raised her sword in thanks to their admirations and to acclaiming her triumph, with an ultimate pride that even made Antonio shine in the hiding of this mass approval.

Even after her winning, the Red Mask never revealed themselves, which many were expecting. She simply headed to the judges to get her honors, money, looked for a young boy companion and headed off without a hint to where she was going. The event was well talked through the near towns, villages, word had even reached Madrid, much to the embarrassment of Old Montaje. The only bliss Joaquina and Antonio had received in the mansion was the constant scolds he would send his older son, his disappointments, using every sign, every chance to talk about his failure in the tournament and how he showed his disgrace to the family with a loss against someone who wouldn’t even dare show his real face. The Carriedo couldn’t hold their smiles, one time old Montaje noticing and sending them quite an angered shout that had them wary from doing it then on.

They had to continue their usual farce, their preparations to leave silent, along with finding their contacts, their place of run away. His mother spoke of Valencia, her birthplace, her family, a place she was known and was sure could get them a new home easy. She managed the writings of a Patricio Gaspar, a friar who knew her from childhood and already offered her and her son refuge and protection.

“Why didn’t you get us somewhere closer…like…Salamanca?” Antonio suggested one night after his mother had finished explaining well their plan of escape, to take action in a fortnight, their route and their stops, heavy, long, arduous and titanic. Antonio would sometimes remain awake truly wondering if they could make it to Valencia intact.

“I didn’t know anything else but Valencia, hijo. Besides, they could have easily found us if we chose a closer city. I doubt Old Montaje would head to the other side of Spain just to find me.”

“He’s always been really impatient when it comes to you, mamá. What if he still reaches us?” He feared.

“Then this time we’ll fight,” she picked her sword from the cloth she had wrapped it well in for their travel of haste.

This time she will defend well this chance of freedom.

They had worked that day like they always did, yet silent, obedient, barely any words to other servants who they had small acquaintances with. By the last duties of the day, the mansion in dark silence, they got their things, sacks for each to hang over their backs and headed out through the floors and doors they knew wouldn’t cringe under their steps and push. They were out into the lands, through an old abandoned fence that Antonio had made an opening while others thought he was simply cleaning this area. Undetected, not a single guard noticing, they camouflaged with the shadows, avoiding light, other eyes or any of the more main roads. They took a hidden walked route through the forest and hills, one Joaquina was sure of, she knew and read. It would be hard but she was positive of arriving to the next town safe. They kept an arduous track during the night, finding only momentary rest at its darkest, short, to awaken at the early rays of sun and continue their walk.

About half way, they met with a kind farmer who was heading to Astorga as they were and thus they hitched a ride on his carriage. They made a good friend of this man in their ride and were rather sad at wishing their goodbyes once they arrived. Joaquina paid for an inn to keep them for the least of two days, just to rest, regain energy, stock, prepare and try to settle as much as they could in the town as to not arise suspicion. Joaquina had met with the man who had given their ride and sometimes they spoke, admitting to him even of her and her son’s goal to reach Valencia. After an evening of a well spent together dinner, the poor man had been mugged and the thieves had run away with a high percentage of reals that the he had depended on. Antonio couldn’t stand it and was willing to go after them to get it back…just as Joaquina did.

That night, she bore the mask, her capes, tunics, pants and boots and hunted for them in revenge. All the missing reals were returned to the man mysteriously, just as his new friends had fled in the dark early hours, with course to La Bañeza.

When Joaquina and Antonio had arrived, the town was in the midst of a festival. It was active, it was full, it was easier to loose anybody who might come after them, but even crime was alive and no such joys was enough to stop it.

Joaquina and Antonio had seen it all occur by the balcony of their inn, a gang disturbing peace by trying to kidnap a group of children. The wails of the families were too much to bear, so Joaquina took action. It was not a simple entrance, everyone noticed the deep red, how every fabric seemed to fly heightening the figure’s presence and stature, how so elegantly the figure moved, battling, fighting, capturing all the men, tied well for the authorities to imprison and for the children to run to their family’s arms in safety. They couldn’t risk it, they had to continue to run, this time to Benavente. There they saved an infant child from getting kidnapped in her own baptism. Of course, the crowds shrilled and celebrated, stories were told, they had to run, but it didn’t stop the word from spreading.

In Villalpando they freed innocent captives from a soon hanging. When they thought they could have rest in Medina del Campo, they found themselves catching a mystery thief of the night. In Arévalo they stopped an entire gang that was terrorizing the town and had brought what the inhabitants called a time of peace.

Finally, finally, finally, they had arrived to Madrid, for the first time seeing the magnitude of a city, beautiful, with large crowds to loose themselves between, so much going on and they could forget, they could finally have that rest they wanted. Confident they decided on remaining for a week, the action of the city they thought the police could deal with. Ignore it, they had to repeat to themselves as they dealt with a routine wanting to seem as normal and belonging as possible. It was hard, but with the time it had taken them to get there, knowing that surely the Montaje knew they had escaped by now, who knows if they had sent anybody, if they had reached Madrid with better speeds. They were weary, suspicious of every single gaze, any blackened robes or white seals having them running and panicking back in their inn.

“We’re safe, it’s impossible for them to have reached us like this,” Antonio would try to lighten, enough to have his mother breathe and settle for whatever dinner they could manage.

But that peace could not be held for long. Antonio had spotted them, this time the black and white one he knew, sure, unmistakable, he had to run and bring the dreadful news to his mother. She panicked, a crying figure of weakness that they both thought they had forgotten.

“We’ll run,” Antonio had decided for them and so they packed quickly like they had used to in their journey. Joaquina managed to find and pay for a carriage that was heading to Tarancón, she and her son early for the appointment, their nervousness shown in the way they couldn’t stand still, couldn’t keep their eyes from wandering and wouldn’t dare let go of any of their bags.

Yet even in this state they could not ignore a cry for help, could not just stand and let the wrong continue. This time it was a woman who was fighting off kidnappers, the famed Red Mask coming to the usual rescue that caught the big attention of the city, one that not even the scouting Montaje could ignore. Of course they recognized the masked hero that had beaten their young heir and it was a watch they tried to keep, forgetting their original goal of capturing the escaping Fernandez. Joaquina and Antonio had ended up missing their carriage in the saving, settling instead with running despite their fatigue and weakening bodies. They arrived to Tarancón sick, Joaquina especially, who had to be bedded and Antonio had to try his best by himself caring for her and trying to find any kind of medicine to help.

Little did they know that their tracks were now targeted and hunted, little did they know of the Montaje presence in the town, of their plans of attack, of ending a too long a nuisance.

Prolouge II >

#the red mask #spamano #spamano fanfiction #spamano fanfic #spamano fic

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