#someone body double and hold me accountable i need company and noise

[sunbratz]

need someone to sit across from me in a coffee shop so i can work on writing i think id really like to finish that husbands fic because im actually insanely proud of it

[lifeinahole27]

CS ff: “I Come Close” (Part 3/3) (au)

Summary: They’re not really rivals, but not really friends. What they are, instead, is the best sex they’ve ever had. It’s easy and simple, even with the rules they have in place. So what happens when those rules start falling apart?

Rating: Explicit - This chapter contains dirty talk/phone sex

A/N: It took me until just now to discover I’d never added a summary to the last chapter. Y’all do know you can let me know when I fuck that shit up, yeah? Anyway, here’s part 2! Part 3 is finally finished and in edits so I figured I could get this whole thing posted before I go on vacation next week.

Part 1 | Part 2

Find it on Ao3!

-x-

Part 3

It’s not that Emma hates business trips. In fact, she actually quite likes them. She also perversely likes traveling, even though everyone else in the office complains and whines and drags their feet. Not Emma - she has her packing done three days before she has to leave.

The day before her flight, she double checks everything. Her business travel card is turned on with no balance due. Her carry-on bag is just waiting for the last few essentials which she’ll put in when she wakes up tomorrow. She takes a moment during her lunch break to check in to her flight and double check her seat. She scowls at the one beside her that’s still currently showing as unoccupied and closes out of the app, moving instead to the one that has her hotel reservation.

There’s only one thing that has not gone how she planned, and that’s the empty seat next to her. Not that she should care. She travels alone all the time. She’s more used to traveling alone than she is with others. So why does it piss her off so much that Killian won’t be sitting next to her when they take off tomorrow?

Their arrangement has been the best thing to happen to her in a long time. And that’s purely from a sexual standpoint. He walked in her office that day asking what he could do, and her brain screamed back “Do me!” so loud that she could only follow what her body wanted. 

She took him back to her place, wrung every drop of pleasure out of him that she could, and told him she’d see him in the office bright and early the next day. He’d smirked, cocking his head to one side and considering her for a moment before he walked out the door.

A week later, they did it again. No talk of work, no backstories, no kissing. He bent her over her kitchen table and fucked her so good she almost asked him to carry her to bed before he left. 

And so it began. It was a weekly thing. Once a week only. Always on a weeknight to avoid things like sleeping over and cuddling. 

One day when she got home from work, though, she couldn’t get him out of her head. She figured it was just a rougher than normal day and she just needed a quick fuck to get it out of her system. Instead of changing into something more comfortable or even just keeping her work clothes on, she hatched a better idea to immediately get him onto the same page as her. 

Off went all the other items she wore that day, keeping only her stockings and her shoes. Sliding on her coat again, she buttoned it all the way to her neck and tied it tight and hoped an Uber wouldn’t be too far away. 

It took a lot of careful maneuvering to make sure she didn’t flash the driver or the doormen at either of their residences, but there was a strong sense of accomplishment when she made it into the building without incident.

The look on Killian’s face when she dropped the coat to the floor was worth it. 

Even after they got done having sex, however, there was still a pit of something in Emma’s stomach. Something missing. And that’s when her dumbass brain decided that she should kiss him. 

The frequency that they’ve been seeing each other for the last month is quite possibly a problem. It’s every other day, now. Still no kissing. But he kind of, almost, just a little bit slept over the night she asked him to tie her up. 

Not that she fully blames him for that one. That was a marathon of a night, and by the time he came, he’d made sure she’d had six orgasms. Six. She’s never had a partner try harder for her pleasure than their own, and that’s including Ruby, who gives out orgasms like she’s handing out candy on Halloween. 

Emma knows she wasn’t sleeping long when she felt the shifting on the other side of the bed. Maybe he realized where he was and what was going on, so when the bed dipped, she expected it was him getting ready to take off. Instead, she felt his lips press against her forehead so sweetly, so tenderly, that she’s surprised she held it together until after he left.

Things went back to normal after that night. 

Sometimes they play with the restraints. Sometimes it’s something slow and sensual and just fucking incredible, but they still always part ways when they’re done. She’s been to his place a couple times now, too, and it feels a lot more like something than nothing.

Two nights ago, when she’d been getting ready to leave his place, he’d informed her his travel plans had changed and he wouldn’t be flying out until Monday morning. That left her on the Thursday night plane with no seatmate. She’ll still be with her team, but there was something intriguing about making this one “together” when they’ve always avoided each other on previous work trips. Plus, it’s four whole days she’ll have to go without seeing him, which just feels wrong at this point. 

With a heavy sigh, and knowing that all her travel accommodations are secured, Emma throws herself back into her work. 

When she shuts everything down for the night, she’s surprised to see Killian’s office still lit up across the way. She’s even more surprised to see him pacing and arguing with someone on the phone, his brows furrowed down. He’s usually so put-together at work: hair in place, suit pristine until the moment he leaves, shoes shined every single day.

Right now, his sleeves are rolled up, exposing the brace that holds his prosthetic. His hair is messed up, a product of the argument he still seems to be having. 

“Well call me back when you get it right,” he growls out, and Emma feels her knees go weak just a bit at the tone of his voice. Fuck, she finds him way too attractive. She would give almost anything to be spread across his ostentatious desk right about now. 

He turns as if hearing her thoughts from the doorway. 

“Swan? Anything I can help you with?”

She wanders into his office, her fingertips grazing the dark oak she was just picturing herself draped across. By looks alone, he’s had a shittier day than she could’ve imagined, and yet he’s still the one asking if he can do anything for her. 

“Uh, no. All good. Your place or mine?”

He checks his watch, another slew of curse words falling from his lips as he sees the time. “Bloody hell, I hadn’t even seen the time. Give me an hour and I’ll be at yours? I know you have an early flight so I’ll try to get there sooner if I can. I promise.”

“Take your time. I just plan on sleeping on the flight anyway,” she comments, coming close enough. Why is she so close to him? His tie is loosened and askew. Why is she reaching for it? 

Killian stops moving all together, instead focusing intensely on the way Emma is nimbly pulling the tail of the tie from the knot that looked better this morning. She works the knot out entirely, sliding it free from under his collar and staring carefully at the fabric between her fingers before looking up to meet his gaze. 

“Don’t work too hard,” she tells him, placing the tie on the corner of his desk. 

His hand grips her wrist loosely when she turns to retreat, and Emma does her best to stay steady. He’s looking at her with an unreadable expression, his eyes darting between hers as if he’s studying her files. He glances a few times at her lips and she wants him to kiss her. Wants it so bad that she almost goes for it again. But his phone is ringing and she can see the moment he waves a white flag. 

“One hour,” he tells her, letting his touch fall away from her wrist in order to answer his phone.

He’s there in forty-eight minutes, his mouth hungrily moving across her neck, biting at her earlobe as her hands make their way down to grab at his ass. 

All in all, worth the wait. Again, she almost kisses him, and somehow they both resist. 

But it’s still lonely boarding the plane by herself. It’s not until she’s in her hotel room later at night that the pit in her stomach opens - a chasm of unknown depths. The curtains are all wide open. She got an upgrade - corner room, river view, a little extra space with a couch… 

She turns on the TV for extra noise as she unpacks her suitcase, meticulously hanging her outfits for her meetings next week and the conference this weekend. She’s just finishing up when her dinner is delivered, and she forces herself to relax on the small couch while she eats, the TV long forgotten in favor of texting Killian pictures of the bridges visible. It’s certainly not the skyline she’s used to from their apartments, but from this far up, Pittsburgh doesn’t seem so bad. 

Her phone rings just after 8pm, and Killian’s voice greets her low and sultry. 

“It’s been a long day without you in this building,” he says plainly after she answers. “Your perfume wasn’t lingering around any corners today.”

“Why are you still at work?” she asks, more curious than anything else. 

“In my defense, I’m currently leaving the building.”

“You haven’t answered my question.”

“I was working on the Apollo account,” he says, and while she’s pretty sure that’s not a lie, it doesn’t sound like the full truth. “I’m hopping in a car. Do you want to stick with me or should I call you when I get home?”

She wants to tell him he doesn’t have an obligation to either option but she stops herself. She’s sitting by herself in her hotel room. The company would be nice. 

“I’ll stick with you,” she responds after a moment. 

“Excellent. So why aren’t you out with your team, who I know for a fact are downstairs in the hotel bar getting absolutely pissed on the company’s dime?”

“I got room service,” she says, as if that will cover the whole answer.

“A better choice, in my opinion,” he admits. “Is your room nice? Where are we staying again?”

“The Renaissance. They upgraded me to a corner room. I have this great view from up here.”

“As good as the view from my apartment?”

“It’s lacking something… extra.” 

“Darling, you tease.”

“I could do a lot more than tease, Killian.”

He’s silent for a moment, maybe weighing the pros and cons of having an erection in the backseat of an Uber. She can picture him cradling his phone in his lap, likely scrolling through work emails as they talk, his airpods snugly in his ears, judging how much the driver is even paying attention to him and his conversation.

“You could,” he says after a drawn out silence. “But will you?”

She chuckles, pushing aside the reports she was pretending to look over when he called in favor of sitting back. “I think I will,” she responds airily, taking a second of her own to decide how she wants to approach this. “The only thing missing in this room is you, preferably naked, stretched out on this king size bed.”

“Go on,” he requests, his words a little clipped.

“I packed before you told me you weren’t going to be here until Monday,” she tells him, stretching languidly as she stands from the couch. “Brought this cute new set of underwear. I think I might wear it tomorrow to the cocktail hour.”

“Or you could wait to wear it until Monday.”

“I could,” she sighs out. “But you know how much I love wearing new things as soon as I get them. They’re all black. Quarter cups. Lace.”

“Bloody hell, Swan. Hold that thought. Just -- hang on one moment.” She’s able to track his movements from the car to the entrance of his building.

“Tell Smee I said hello,” she says coyly, turning off the lamps until just the glow of the lights beyond her windows illuminates the room.

“Evening, Smee,” he says a moment later. 

“Are you in the elevator now?”

“I am,” he responds. “Thinking about how much more I’d enjoy this tent in my trousers if you were here with me.”

“Did you just have to walk past Smee with a noticeable hard-on?”

“Aye. And believe me, I’ll get you back for that.”

She hums, listening to the sound of the elevator dinging when it gets to his apartment. She tracks his movement, listening to him set down his computer and keys. Then hears him suck in a breath between his teeth as he obviously reaches for himself. 

“Feel better?” she asks, enjoying being able to do this to him so easily. 

“Tell me what you’re wearing right now,” he says. 

“I showered while waiting for my dinner, so I’m in nothing but a robe.”

He groans. “The things you do to me,” he utters, and the sound of his voice ignites the fire in her belly. 

“Yeah, I can think of several things I’d like to do to you right now.”

“Tell me,” he says, his voice wavering. “Imagine I’m there with you. What am I doing?”

“You’re getting undressed like you’re putting on a show, as you always do.” She closes her eyes to picture it: the way he slides off his tie, the way he slips open each button on his vest. “You’re taking off each layer like you’re exposing a gift to me. Until you’re down to just those gray slacks.”

“How do you know I’m wearing the gray ones?” he asks, his voice quiet and tinged with disbelief.

“You always wear them on Thursday,” she answers simply, missing the sound he makes as she barrels on with her imagination. “You leave those on while you move to the side of the bed, looking at me like you don’t know which part of me to taste first.”

“You know what part I want to taste first,” he says quickly.

“I do, but you always look like it’s some life-changing decision.”

“I’d argue that tasting you was a life-changing decision, love.” His voice when he says it is low and rumbly, pressed right against her ear, and she gasps.”What am I doing now?”

“You’re taking off those fucking pants,” she says, not even bothering to untie her robe but slipping her fingers between her legs. “And you’re climbing onto the bed with me.”

“Damn this case, I should be sinking into you right now,” he groans. 

“Yeah,” she says. “You should be.” 

Her fingers are still moving, dipping inside herself before coming out and swirling around her clit. It’s a pattern she knows for a fact that Killian makes with his tongue all the time, and maybe that’s what she can blame for the next words out of her mouth.

“I miss you,” she breathes out before she can stop herself. The moment she finishes speaking however, she realizes her mistake. 

“Swan?”

Struggling for a second, she has no idea what to say. Her fingers pause their actions as her eyes fly open and she works her jaw a few times but can’t come up with anything. 

“I gotta go. See you Monday,” she rushes out, ending the call. “You fucking idiot,” she says to herself, ignoring the phone as it buzzes in her hand. She lets the call go to voicemail. Next come the text messages, and in a fit of panic, Emma does the only thing she can think of. 

She turns off her phone.

In the morning, she forces herself to believe that it’s all going to be okay. She’ll just distance herself from Killian. She has a couple days before she has to see him and while she knows it’s going to suck - they really had a great thing going - she’ll get over it in time. 

Taking a deep breath, she goes through her morning routine, taking a moment before she starts to order breakfast. After that she focuses on getting ready, brushing her teeth and hair, applying moisturizer and a set of under-eye patches to try to fix the bags that formed from her fitful night of sleep. 

Moving to the closet, she finds her outfit for the first part of the day - some panel that she would rather sleep through if given the choice. She holds up the undergarments she told Killian about last night and sighs, pushing them to the back of the drawer and grabbing something more sensible. 

She’s only managed to slide on the underwear when there’s a knock on the door. That couldn’t possibly be breakfast, right? Last night, she accepted that she would be waiting for at least forty minutes before her food was delivered. She throws on her robe again, unlatching and swinging open the door without even bothering to check the peephole.

It’s not a room attendant with a tray waiting on the other side. 

“Killian,” she whispers, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that he’s here, standing at her door. “How did you…?”

“I may have bribed a member of your team to give me your room number,” he says. He’s forcing his voice to be casual but there’s a tension rolling off of him that she can tell he’s trying to hide. “May I come in?”

She almost declines, but instead she moves aside. As she carefully shuts the door again, he moves to stand behind her, waiting until she’s finished her task to turn her towards him and press her against the door. 

With delicate movements, he glides the patches from beneath her eyes, smiling softly as he does. Only after they’ve dropped to the floor does he brush his fingers across her cheek.

And then he’s kissing her. Not the quick press of lips that she gave that first time she showed up at his place. These are deep, open-mouthed kisses that she reciprocates immediately, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. 

“Did you mean it?” he asks before kissing her again. 

She could pretend to not know what he’s talking about, but her heart lurches. She can’t lie - not about this. 

“Yeah,” she replies, shuddering as his hand moves to the tie on her robe.

“Say it, Emma.”

Working up the nerve to say it in person is different than blurting it out on accident during phone sex, but as he pulls back far enough to wait, she realizes he’s not going to do anything else until she follows through. Opening her eyes is the first challenge, but he’s right there with her - his gaze patient as it meets hers. 

He leans forward, ready to kiss her again, but there’s a knock at the door again. He steps back, pressing his lips together as she pulls her robe closed.

“Breakfast,” she says, giving him time to move further away before she opens the door. 

He’s standing by the windows when she turns back to the room, directing the attendant to place the tray on the desk while she signs the receipt that she’s handed. When they’re alone again, he hesitates before he pivots to look at her. 

“Emma,” he starts, but she cuts him off.

“No, let me,” she says, moving slowly across the room to stand in front of him. “I missed you last night.” Her voice is quiet, and she swallows hard when she’s done speaking, trying to maintain eye contact and not fidget. 

He reaches out, grabbing her hand and urging her forward a few more steps so he can wrap his arms around her waist, his palm splayed across her back.

“I missed you, too. I was finishing the Apollo case so I could submit the proposal and fly out here early. That’s why I was at the office so late last night,” he tells her, and she can see why he kept that card close to his chest now. 

“To surprise me?”

“Aye, though originally it was just so I could fuck you against those windows, but now, I have the stones to tell you that I want something different. Emma, I want more.”

“We work together. Don’t you see how complicated this is?” she asks, pushing against his chest lightly so she can move away and pace around the room. He lets her go but waits until she makes another pass by him to hook his prosthetic around her wrist and guide her back. 

“I do. Believe me, I have thought of this so many times and so many ways, and every time I try to talk myself out of it, I just want it more. I have spent months just wanting to kiss you every time I see you. I’ve spent hours trying to figure out what I wanted out of this beyond a physical release, and I kept coming back to the same answer every time.”

“What was your answer?” She has a feeling she knows what he’s about to say but she wants to hear him say it.

“Don’t you know, Emma? It’s you.” His voice trembles just the tiniest bit as the words come out, and it surprises her when a tear rolls down her cheek. 

All this time, they’ve both been exercising the most restraint they could manage, and now it’s all out in the open. His hand trails up her arm, moving until he’s cupping her cheek and bending slightly to kiss her softly. 

She’s the one that shifts the tone this time, melding against him as one of her hands ends up in his hair and she’s lost to the way he tastes. Does he always taste this way in the morning? What is that hint she’s getting?

“You taste like tomato juice. Bloody Mary?”

“A spike of confidence. Light on the vodka. When does the revenue management panel begin?”

“Who cares? No one will miss us. Spend the day with me, instead?”

“As soon as I retrieve my luggage from the front desk, I’d be happy to.”

“That’s easy enough to take care of,” she responds, reaching for the phone beside her bed. After arranging to have his luggage delivered to her room, she has a thought. Covering the receiver of the phone, she turns to where Killian is helping himself to her coffee and flipping through the notes for the conference. “Hey, do you want to stay with me for the week?”

After a moment of shock, he wanders over, kissing her forehead quickly before taking the phone from her. “Yes, hello? This is Killian Jones. I had a reservation starting on Monday but I won’t be needing it any longer. Can you change the name on that to Will Scarlett? Yes. Thank you.”

At her questioning look, Killian shrugs. “He had to add on late and is stuck sharing a room with Victor. At least now he can move to his own room on Monday.”

“So gentlemanly of you.”

“I’m always a gentleman, Swan. Now, why don’t we split this breakfast and see what’s on Netflix, hmm?”

For the rest of the day, they lounge in the bed, dining on nothing but room service, and it’s not until well past lunch that Killian works apart the knot tying her robe, taking his time to savor every inch of skin he comes across. 

When Emma wakes up in the morning, Killian is still in the bed beside her, and there’s no movement from either of them to escape away. Instead, where they’d rolled apart during the night, she shifts across the distance and tucks herself into his side to snooze for just five more minutes. 

By the time they fly home on Thursday, they’ve set up a time for an actual date to take place during the weekend, and the rules they’d established before go right out the window. And during this flight, she doesn’t glare once at the seat next to her because it’s occupied by the right person this time.

[nekoabiwrites]

Of Princes and Potions 2 - Chapter 6

It’s finally back! This and likely the next chapter will be some cute filler-y chapters, showing Roman and Logan having cute relationship time - and maybe a few more hints towards another relationship ;) ;) ;)

AU: Royal/Fantasy Pairing: Logince Words: 2608 Warnings: Mention of Deceit, mention of injury. Anything else, please let me know!

Summary: Logan is confined to the infirmary as his wounds heal, but Patton approaches him with an offer at the very end of his stay. Then Roman appears and steals Logan’s attention easily.

--

Logan found himself confined to the castle’s infirmary for close to an entire month after the attack, mostly due to the severity of his injury. He was alone in the infirmary for most of the time – bar the nurses that periodically checked in on him and the visitors that did the same. He was, however, far from lonely

The mage found himself missing the company of Demitri once the other had been released after only a few days. In the time they did spend together, the two forged a bond tighter than before. Demitri seemed to find comfort in Logan, admitting many things whilst in the company of the mage that he otherwise would have kept to himself. Logan attempted to do the same, but Demitri shot him down once it was clear he was uncomfortable with sharing such personal details. He was, however, far from lonely once the animal handler had been allowed to go.

Almost daily, Logan would receive a visitor. Usually it would be Roman, who would drop by between his duties to ensure that his love was, in fact, healing alright. Each visit would end with Roman reiterating his promise to take Logan somewhere special as soon as he was able to leave; an earnest statement that had Logan’s cheeks show a light dusting of pink each time. Demitri returned often and was back to his normal, sarcastic self. The two argued playfully in between moments of sincerity and trust. It was comfortable and Logan found himself looking forward to his visits. Both Patton and Virgil were far less frequent at dropping by the infirmary, but no less welcome. They tended to appear together, as they were extremely busy with their obligations and duties. Logan did once attempt to convince them that they need not worry about him, but Patton simply waved it off with a smile. On the opposing side, Virgil responded by reminding Logan that he was worried about most things, so of course Logan would be on that list somewhere, no matter what state he was in. Logan had made no attempt since.

Logan was nearing the end of his time in the infirmary when Patton come by one evening, this time alone.

“Hello Logan. How are you feeling today?” Patton asked casually as he seated himself in one of the chairs that had been left around Logan’s bed as he received visitors so often.

“Good evening, your ma- Um, I mean, Patton. I finally feel as though the wounds have fully healed. The nurses informed me that I should be allowed to leave any day now.” Logan said plainly, shifting his back slightly as he spoke about it.

“That’s fantastic news!” The king beamed, “I actually wanted to speak to you about what we plan to do once you are released.”

That piqued Logan’s interest. Only Roman had mentioned taking him to do something once he was allowed out of the infirmary, but he couldn’t help thinking that Patton’s idea was going to be far more responsible than Roman’s.

“If you would like to, we are planning on taking a trip down to the not-a-dungeon dungeon with yourself and Demitri. We would like to show you what we’ve done for those who live there.” Patton’s usual easy-going demeanour had shifted, and he was instead serious and calm. Logan, for the first time in a while, could see the strength and commitment the king had without having to search for it underneath the bubbly exterior.

“Who would be joining us? If you wouldn’t mind giving specifics.” Logan questioned.

“As mentioned, we have planned to have both yourself and Demitri come along. I decided to ask you first, as I feel your answer will foreshadow Demitri’s own. I am also planning on asking Roman. It would do him well to see what I was talking about, as well as show him what some compromises look like.” The king’s shoulders sagged ever-so-slightly at the mention of compromises. The lines around his face almost seemed to deepen and his age was showing. Patton had been doing so much, whilst holding onto a sunny smile that allowed no one to truly know what was going on in his turmoiled mind. Logan almost reached out for him but thought better of it once Patton regained his composure.

“Virgil will be alongside us as the only guard. I would prefer to keep the secret between only a few select people, for safety purposes. I’m sure you understand that.”

Logan nodded, “Of course. I would be happy to join you. It will be… interesting, I’m sure.”

Patton’s arms twitched, as if he wanted to pull the mage into an embrace but was thinking better of it. “That’s fantastic! Do you know exactly when you will be discharged?”

“They said it will be either this evening or tomorrow morning.”

“Ah…” Patton’s face fell, and he put his weight against the back of the wooden chair as he seemed to get lost in thought. He muttered to himself quietly, his fingers tracing invisible lines. “We may have to postpone for a few days. My schedule, and subsequently Virgil’s, is extremely busy with meetings with visiting diplomats and the like. Sorry Logan.”

“It is quite alright. You have important tasks to handle. That is reasonable and should be accounted for. Relations are essential after all.” Logan said with a casual shrug,

“What is this talk of relations?”

Both men turned to the infirmary doors to see Roman heading towards Logan’s bed, a large bouquet of colourful flowers in hand. Upon reaching them, the prince leant forward and placed a kiss upon Logan’s forehead before busying himself with swapping out the flowers that sat in the vase beside the bed.

“We were just discussing taking a trip down to the not-a-dungeon dungeon.” Patton explained, loving smile growing as he took in the sweet gestures of his son and the reactions they were gaining from the typically stoic mage.

Roman made a questioning noise of acknowledgement, “So, you and Logan are going down there?”

Patton stood to address his son, “Yes, and I woul-”

“Let me come along.”

Roman had turned suddenly, hands still wrapped around the flower vase. His expression was determined, features hard, posture straight. He was clearly attempting to look as though he had power, or something akin to intimidation. The effect was broken once his father grinned wide and clapped a hand on the prince’s shoulder, causing the expression to falter.

“I was just going to ask you to come with us. Though, it will also be with Demitri and Virgil as well.”

“Oh… um, I-I didn’t know that, uh…”

“Anyway, I’m glad you both agreed to come along! It’ll be a wonderful opportunity for you both. I must be getting back to my duties.” Patton began to sweep out of the room with something that could have been described as gleeful grace, “I’ll send someone to find you both once I have the time to take the trip down with you. Goodbye!” Without so much as a pause, the door was shut behind the monarch and the couple were alone.

Roman turned and placed the vase back down onto the side table, “You’re feeling better?” He carefully sat on the edge of the bed, resting a hand atop one of Logan’s lightly, as if he were made of such brittle glass that Roman could break with too hard a touch.

The mage forced his eyes not to roll as he heard the same question that had come from the prince’s lips every single time he had come by for a visit. As each day passed, Logan had gotten steadily more and more frustrated with the question. Was it not obvious he was feeling better? He had agreed to join the king and others in a trip down into the depths of the castle, so of course he was feeling better! Logan realised he had to do something to finally get Roman to understand that he was, most definitely, feeling better.

As he was trying to think of an idea, Logan’s gaze caught on the prince’s lips. It was all downhill from there. Very little thought went into his actions as Logan, without a word, pulled his hand from Roman’s grasp. He gripped Roman’s shoulders in order to stabilize himself as he threw his body forward, crushing his lips against the royal’s own. Roman was far too surprised to stop the momentum of Logan’s body, which led to his back falling upon the mattress and Logan falling on top of him. Thankfully, both of them mentally caught up with what was happening before they landed  and neither seemed as though they were unhappy with the situation they’d found themselves in, instead favouring to continue the passionate embrace.

Eventually, Logan reluctantly pushed himself up and off of Roman. He was slightly breathless as he spoke. “Did it finally get through to you that I am, indeed, feeling better?” Logan attempted to look put together, but his clothing and hair were ruffled from Roman’s wandering touch. Speaking of, said touch was wandering back along Logan’s side as the prince closed in on the mage.

“I believe it may have, but perhaps you should really make sure I’m truly convinced..” Roman muttered, his lips hovering mere inches from Logan’s, tempting the mage even more to return to their previous activities.

Logan was a man who prided himself on being able to avoid the temptation of all manner of vices. He could only list one thing that was able to tempt him before and that was one specific sweet treat. But then he’d gotten involved with this stupid, gorgeous, romantic, sweet brat of a royal. His list of vices promptly doubled immediately after that first kiss, and Logan was officially an addict with Roman being his chosen substance – a decision that the crown prince was more than happy with.

In order to get his next fix, Logan initiated another kiss, almost letting out an embarrassing noise as Roman returned it with enthusiasm. Both lost themselves in each other, forgetting that a world existed outside of themselves. They forgot so much that Logan put up no resistance as Roman slowly began revealing more of the mage’s pale skin.

“Your Highness. Please refrain from such acts with patients in my care.”

The stern voice had the couple splitting apart with sharp movements. Logan’s face quickly bloomed red and he turned his head away from the head nurse, leaving Roman to explain to her that his initial intention was far from inappropriate and that Logan had started it. It seemed as though the head nurse had no patience for the royal’s excuse as she quickly ushered him out of the room under the pretence of needing to evaluate Logan’s healed wounds.

“Honestly, you would think that his father would have raised him better. And you.” She turned her attention to Logan once the heavy doors of the infirmary had shut, “You should know better than to let such a harlot tempt you into such acts.”

Logan mumbled a few apologies, seeing as he had no excuses to rattle off. He followed the old woman’s instructions to the letter, allowing her to examine all she needed without prompting another rant from her. Despite her current nature, Logan knew she was overall a caring woman and had been working for the royals for years - Patton had let slip that she’d been the one to assist in both the princes’ births and so had seen them grow up. The idea that this familiarity was the only thing that allowed her to use such harsh language to talk about the crown prince crossed Logan’s mind before her voice addressed him again.

“Your back seems to have healed wonderfully. The scars are still there, but that is to be expected. I expect you to be careful in the coming days. Do not do anything strenuous for your back, just as a precaution.” She gave him a hard look that implied all sorts of things that Logan really did not want to hear from the old woman. Then a tiny smile grew, and she looked almost motherly, “You are free to go, Sir Pendry. I would like to see you in a week’s time, just to ensure everything is alright.”

The mage nodded and stood, finding his legs to be stiff from such little use. He thanked the head nurse and began gathering up his belongings. It wasn’t long before Logan realised he would have to make multiple trips to take everything back up to his tower. He sighed and stood up to full height, intending on turning to the old woman and informing her of his plan, but he wasn’t able to say a word.

“I heard what you called me! How dare you use such foul language to describe me?! I should have you thrown out for that!” Roman had been let back in by the head nurse, who was simply standing before the seemingly irate prince with an unreadable expression.

“By all means, your highness, do your best to get rid of me. See how long you last without my assistance.” She retorted.

Roman gaped at her before dramatically tossing his head with a sniff, “Fine. I suppose I’ll allow you to stay.” He stalked over to Logan and gathered up the things Logan was unable to fit into his arms, “Come, dear. I’ll escort you away from such a heathen of a woman.”

As the two exited, the head nurse called out, “It was lovely to see you, your highness. Do drop by to visit more often and tell your brother to do the same.”

The prince stopped dead. A beat passed before he turned on his heel and smiled at the old woman, “Of course. I’ll try my best. Goodbye, Felicity.” He then continued on his way, seemingly unaware of the odd nature of the interaction.

Logan had long since given up attempting to make sense of his significant other’s ability to act in any which way he desired. Instead, he focused on making it back to the safety of his tower.

Once there, Logan placed the books in arms upon one of the desks and stretched out his shoulders, “I haven’t had to carry so many at once in a long while. I had forgotten how heavy they are…” A pair of hands resting on his shoulders startled the mage slightly, before he remembered that Roman had accompanied him. Logan quickly relaxed as the prince’s hands massaged at his shoulders, tension he didn’t know he had disappearing in an instant.

“Feel free to reject my idea, but I would like to show you that sight I’ve been promising tonight. If you are willing, meet me at the stables at dusk.” Roman spoke low, still kneading Logan’s shoulders. “I hope to see you there, my love.” A light brush of the royal’s lips against the back of his neck had shivers running down Logan’s spine. Roman’s hands then left him and he left the tower.

For a moment, Logan mourned the loss of the prince’s secretly talented hands, but he soon managed to pull himself back together. He considered Roman’s proposition about meeting at dusk while he picked up the vase that had been brought back with him, the flowers still wonderfully fragrant and fresh. Logan wandered up the spiral stairs and placed the object on his sparse bedside table, his mind already finding his decision made. Of course Logan was going to go to the stables at dusk. What reason did he have not to?

---

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[hollyhomburg]

Wrecked (PJM)

Summary: Months after your break up, just before a performance, Jimin finds out that you’re seeing someone new through Instagram. His group mates pick up the pieces after that.

Pairing: Park Jimin x Reader

Tags: Breakdowns, Angst, Guilt, Sorta Self-hate, Platonic fluff.

W/C: 1.3k 

A/N: I literally wrote this in one sitting don’t be mad at me. Inspired by jimin’s recent performance in Japan where he didn’t (couldn’t?) finish the last lyric in “the truth untold” on stage and this story sort of jumped out at me.

Jimin’s voice hovers on the last line “and I still-” the crowd roaring around him in a sea of lights, faces of his fans only just in shadow, but he falls short, and can’t make his mouth move even if he wanted to. 

Jimin is taking off towards the dressing room before the others have even left the still hot stage. The lights barely having dimmed. He tosses his jacket into some soon to be forgotten corner of backstage not even caring that it was worth over 15k. His skin hot and body sweaty from the hours of performance, his temperature rising as his hands started to shake. He knew the others weren’t far behind, he didn’t want them to see him like this, didn’t want them to see him explode with anger.  

When he retreats to the safety of the dressing room Jimin curls up, placing his elbows on his knees, laces his fingers through his pink hair and pulls as hard as he can. “Jimin-” Yoongi says from the door before Jimin suddenly straightens from his prostrate stance and swipes his hands across the table, sending glasses, makeup, food, and more than a few phones to the floor in a glorious crash, stomping on his own phone for good measure with the heal of a heavy boot. But it does nothing to sate the vindictive and self-directed anger that rages through Jimin’s chest like a storm. 

He’d had to sing that fucking break up song again, The Truth Untold. The one he’d written with Namjoon just after your break up. At first, his emotions had colored the song a gorgeous lilting experience that made it one of the most popular on the album. But today, today his voice had fallen short, closed up against the syllables at the very end the only part that Jimin had written, one of his only edits that stayed the same through every iteration, every draft. 

He couldn’t even say the words ‘I still want you’ anymore. Couldn’t, because it wasn’t even true. Jimin didn’t want you anymore, the wanting had faded. For the first few months, it was just a want, just a thought. But now all that’s left in his chest is a pure need for you. A need for your warm body pressed against his, arms wrapped around his neck, your kiss at the end of the day, your smile and your laugh and your everything that Jimin was absolutely wrecked over. He needed you. and Didn’t want to need you but his traitorous heart did regardless. And that had him absolutely enraged. 

Namjoon gets his arms around Jimin when he sends everything on the other table crashing to the floor, a lamp knocked over in the corner winking out. Namjoon’s superior strength has always been enough to restrain all of them- even Jungkook. And it's no surprise when he literally throws Jimin onto a couch. He gets right back up and Jungkook’s arms go around him from behind.

 “Calm down!” his leader commands but he can’t follow, can’t even see his face through the haze of red. No, not a haze of red, but tears that won’t stop falling. Jimin’s chest heaves an offal jagged noise somewhere between a sob and a gasp. 

“Where the fuck did this come from Jimin- why the fuck-” 

“-I thought I could handle it hyung, I thought I could handle it if I saw her in someone else’s arms but I can’t.” his tone is broken, heartbreaking, words spat through gritted teeth. 

“Jimin- what are you talking about.” Jimin’s gaze drops to his phone, on the floor, its screen cracked. Namjoon picks it up and it opens straight to the picture the last thing he saw right before he walked on stage. The display still works showing your Instagram account, the latest post a picture of you and another man, your face smiling as your cheek is pillowed against another chest, a man who isn’t Jimin’s chest. 

It’s kind of shocking even to Namjoon to see you with someone other than Jimin. You’d been such an item. It’s hard to believe that either of you could move on after your relationship, so full of passion and romance that even the boys had to restrain their jealousy. But obviously, you already have moved on, despite the fact that Jimin obviously hasn’t. No matter how much he’d pretended otherwise up until his breaking point tonight.  

Namjoon swipes through the pictures, the next one the man preses a kiss to your cheek, just missing the corner of your lip. “She used to hate kisses like that, ones that weren’t on the cheek or the lips- and now she’s with this-this asshole who can’t even kiss her right.” Jimin spits.

Namjoon reads the caption, and Jimin watches him, Jungkook’s still holding him, still watching his hyung like he could get violent again. But all the fight is worn out of Jimin, desolation filling the place where before there’d been fire. Jimin watches Namjoon read the caption. Happy one month to my baby. 

“They’ve been dating for a whole month and I didn’t even know.” Jimin sobs. All this time he was sure one day you’d text him, or try to call him or turn up at the company or something. He was sure you’d want him back and now, all this time that he’d been hoping, you’d been falling for someone else. 

It wasn’t your fault; none of Jimin’s anger was directed at you. Only at himself. He's the one who was stupid enough to pick the world tour over you. He’d been inconsiderate enough to consistently push you out of his life until there wasn’t even space for you to breathe. He didn’t blame you at all for needing more than one or two texts a week.

The only one to blame was Jimin- and he’d let you go without fighting for you at all and now months later all he can wonder is, How the fuck did he not fight for you more? 

“I fucking need her- and she’s in someone else’s arms when she should be in mine. I’m such a fuck up hyung, I couldn’t handle the pressure of someone loving me up close and now-“ Jimin breaks off- but he doesn’t need to continue it. All of the boys know what happened. All of the boys know his next words- and now I have no one to blame but myself. 

Jungkook lets him go, sliding to the floor with jimin in his arms. Jimin’s Hands fixing in his knees Fists tightening. No one tells him that he shouldn’t have taken his anger out on his surroundings. Seokjin is still at the door, keeping the staff away, giving them some privacy. But he can hear the murmur of their voices. Their manager pushes through and Seokjin lets him pass. He surveys the devastation Jimin left with an air more similar to curiosity rather than anger. 

Jimin sobs in Jungkook’s arms, Namjoon sinks to their level after a moment before he wraps his dongsaengs in a crushing hug, his hands tightening in the back of Jimin’s shirt. 

Wordlessly, the boys help him clean up, and when one of the makeup noonas finally strong-arms her way in, sees Jimin’s puffy face and all her shattered makeup bottles he apologizes profusely and says he’ll replace them. Yoongi’s already ordering replacements on his phone as Hoseok sweeps up the glass from the broken light bulb. He knows they all have doubles and spares anyway just in case.

Eventually, he sits up at the couch, Jungkook lets him go, leaving him to wipe away the salt from his face with the back of his hand. Taehyung comes and sits by him and Jimin lets him tilt his face up so that he can see his eyes, one of Tae’s large hands pushes back his bangs as he uses a makeup wipe to clean off Jimin’s smudged makeup, the cool aloe Vera jell a balm against his irritated eyes. 

“Need to clean you up,” Taehyung says, voice rough from singing half the night, his expression so concerned, even though Jimin knows he doesn't deserve it, his group has always been good at taking care of one another. Jimin sniffs up at him, not even having to ask why, before Taehyung responds to his unspoken question “Can’t have you looking like that. You’ll never win her back if you look like a wreck.” 

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo​!

I AM NO LONGER ACCEPTING PROMPTS! The single-bone marks on the card indicate which prompts I have received and am going to write, and I finally have prompts that will earn me a bingo once they’ve been written. (But they’re not written yet!)

This fic has also been posted to FFN and AO3, so you can check it out on my Assortment of Broken Bones collection on there if you like!

This one is for @mysteryfilmcatcher ! Uh... if they still exist? Hope you enjoy, if you’re still around! \o/;;

Prompt: Doesn’t Realize They’ve Been Injured Characters: Héctor and Victoria, post-movie, pre-epilogue

---~~~---

"What is this?! You call this a men's size fourteen?!"

"Sí, I do, señor."

"This isn't right! What do I look like, a clown?"

She spoke quickly. "No, señor, you don't have the nose for it."

Though she swore she heard a faint chuckle, in actuality, the joke seemed to have gone over his head. "I thought not! So why would you give me shoes this size?"

"Because when we measured your feet when you came in two weeks ago, that was the size we measured."

"This is not the right—"

"Did you try them on, señor?"

The man sputtered. "What kind of idiot do you take me for?"

"So you have tried them on, and they don't fit?"

"W-well, no, I… um." Grumbling, the man pulled the shoes off the counter, and stooped down to swap his old shoes with the new ones. Victoria could not see him, but she knew what his expression must have been when he very suddenly stopped grumbling. After a moment, the man rose to his feet again. "W-well the point is, it's wrong, but I don't have time to argue."

That said, he spun around and walked away with his new, perfectly-fitted Rivera shoes.

With a huff, Victoria plucked the paperwork off the counter and stepped away to file it. Honestly, she couldn't believe some of these customers—Rivera shoes always fit. They were known for it.

She glanced at the clock; they always closed at noon on Saturdays, and now it was only a few minutes to; it wouldn't hurt to start to close up early. She made a quick tally of the cash drawer, looked over the counter to make sure it was clear (as though anything needed straightening when she manned the counter), and double-checked the boxes for Monday's orders.

As she locked the doors and turned off the lights, she thought about how nice it would be to spend the afternoon by herself—a nice bit of quiet time after a morning of working here and dealing with all these terrible—

 CRASH—BANG!

Automatically snatching a nearby hammer off a workbench, Victoria spun around, searching for the source of the noise. She could hear the sound of faint moaning somewhere, indicating that she wasn't alone. It was harder to see in the darkened workshop with the windows and doors shut, but the light shone through the cracks enough for her to find her way around, and she managed to spot where a sewing machine had been knocked off of the counter… along with several other objects she couldn't identify in the dark. Frowning, but keeping her hammer steady, she leaned down to pick up one of the objects, only to be startled at the feeling of bone.

"AY! Careful!" a familiar voice cried, and Victoria jumped back initially, only to roll her eyes when she recognized whom the voice belonged to. This had hardly been the first time he’d caused trouble since they’d taken him in a month ago.

The bone sprang from her hands as a skeleton assembled himself in front of her before leaning against the counter. He plucked his shabby straw hat off of the ground and set it back on his head. "Uh… hola, Victoria!" Héctor said, waving a hand and probably giving a stupid-looking grin.

"Where did you come from?" Victoria asked, crossing her arms and glaring, though she knew he could barely see it. "I don't think Mamá Imelda would like you sneaking around here."

"Eh, I wasn't sneaking exactly… I was just… hanging out?" In the dim light, she could see him hold up one finger.

It took her a second to realize he was pointing upward, and she stared at him deadpan. "You were sitting up there."

"Sí."

"In the rafters."

"¿Sí…?"

"Why?"

"I just… wanted someplace quiet to write, so I thought I'd, um… take a seat up there, out of the way," he admitted. "I enjoyed your company, by the way. You handled those customers quite well!"

Victoria frowned, walking past him to pick up the heavy sewing machine and set it back on its workbench. "Of course I did. I've been in this business since I was a child. Did you think I handled them poorly before?"

That caught him off guard, and he faltered. "Wait, wait, no, that's not what I was… I mean—I just mean to say that you do your job well?"

She kept her glare fixed on him. His behavior brought to mind the foolish boys of Santa Cecilia who would try to win her affection with shallow praise; even now she still felt the annoyance burning in her chest at the memory. The only difference here was that Héctor sought platonic affection. In either case, it would not work. "I should hope so," she said coldly, and turned around. "I don't plan to spend the rest of my day in a pitch dark workshop, but you're welcome to stay here if you like, so long as you lock the door behind you."

With that, she made her way to the back door—

 Clatter!

Rolling her eyes, Victoria turned around to find that the man had fallen over, again, though this time he clearly hadn't tumbled from the rafters. "Now what is it?"

"Ah, I, uh…" Héctor grunted as he pushed himself up on his hands, turning back toward his left side. "I… think I hit my leg on something when I fell."

Victoria stared at him for a moment before recalling the sewing machine that had been knocked to the floor, and shuddered. "How did you not notice before?"

Managing to get back to his feet, Héctor leaned heavily against the counter again. "Well, that leg usually always hurts, so it's a little hard to tell sometimes when it gets messed up again." He shrugged. "Not the end of the world."

After switching the light back on, Victoria took a few steps closer to Héctor, adjusting her glasses to get a better look at the damage. His leg was bandaged with what appeared to be very old leather, so it was hard to tell if anything was different. But given he was starting to be remembered again in the living world, it must have started healing again, and the fall had disrupted that. "I see," she said, stepping back. "Are you all right?"

She'd asked it without thinking, and mentally smacked herself. Of course she wasn't cold—anyone with half a heart would ask a question like that—but knowing Héctor, he would cling to whatever scrap of affection he could.

To her surprise, he gave a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'll be fine," he said, carefully leaning away from the counter. "This leg's been broken for several decades now—a little crack isn't going to make much of a difference." With that, he began limping toward the door.

Victoria watched him, but it wasn't really him she was looking at.

She saw her abuela as she was in life, marching into the workshop as though her joints weren't stiff and worn down, as though her heart wasn't bad, as though she hadn't just pulled an extra three hour shift the night before to correct an accounting problem.

Not only that… she saw herself sitting at her workbench, suppressing another cough, fighting to hide yet another dizzy spell, pretending her entire body wasn't aching and freezing with illness.

Shaking her head, she strode past Héctor and shut off the light, waiting at the open door. His limp was more pronounced than it had been that morning, and he was moving slower than he usually did. Victoria tapped her foot.

"I haven't got all day," she said, facing him again. Ignoring his apologetic look, she strode up to his left side, lifted his arm around her shoulders, and helped him take some of the weight off of his bad leg. The feeling of having his arm around her made her tense and uncomfortable, but it was better than having to wait for him to drag himself back to the house.

Héctor stared at her in shock before a genuine smile crossed his face. "Gracias."

"Don't thank me," she grunted, helping him out of the workshop and locking the door behind her. "You would've taken an age to get out of there and forgotten to lock the door behind you, and I don't want someone breaking into the workshop."

Héctor was still smiling. "Of course, mija."

A jolt ran through her, and she grit her teeth for a moment. "I've seen you walk with a bad leg before. I know you can pick up the pace, Héctor."

Finally his smile dropped, and he nodded. "Sí, Victoria."

It didn't make her feel much better, and she swallowed down her frustration as they approached the house. "Just… be careful next time."

He nodded, and she helped him inside the house and into the living room. As he eased himself into a chair, she made to leave, but stopped, feeling like she should say something more. She turned back to him. "And Héctor…"

He looked up, hopeful. "¿Sí?"

"Por favor, don't sit in the rafters of the workshop ever again."

"Heh… of course, Victoria."

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 26

You see Xiumin again, and the drama is off to an interesting start.

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 2.4k

Genre: Fluff

|mlist|

<–– Prev   Next ––>

Yoongi freezes. “Wh-what?”

His bewilderment is so adorable that you can’t possibly keep from laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding, oh my god.”

Yoongi exhales loudly, as though he had been holding his breath. “Dumbass, you scared me.”

You pout. “Is the idea of kissing me that terrifying?” You’re joking, of course.

When Yoongi speaks his voice is low, half strangled.

“I mean, we’ll both only be acting, right?”

You blink once, twice. “Right, only acting...” you scratch your head, chuckling weakly. His flat tone is off-putting somehow. “Man, once this drama starts your fans are gonna keep going off–”

“Keep?”

Uh-oh. You instantly realize your mistake, backpedaling clumsily.

“I mean, I just meant, uh... you know, I guess ARMYs can be kind of... harsh? I’m only assuming,” you rush to add.

“Y/n... have you been getting hate from our fans?”

You gulp. Yoongi doesn’t follow you on Twitter, since he’s only online with the BTS account. If he hears the type of comments you’ve been receiving, he’ll worry, and his dorky ass might actually try to do something about it.

“Are you kidding? Of course not. I’d tell you if anything was bothering me,” you laugh, booping his nose playfully. The falsehood tugs at you, wrestling with your conscience, but you refuse to let it get to you. Of every lie you’ve told, this one isn’t bad.

“Anyways, I have hella homework and now that I have, you know, my own bed again...” you shift your weight from side to side. “Thanks again for letting me stay with you by the way.” I was in a bad place, the worst place, and you gave me everything. “I really appreciate it.”

Yoongi reaches out and rubs his thumb against the Starry Night bead resting at the hollow of your throat. “Of course, y/n, what are friends for?”

“Nerd.” You smile widely before shoving your hands in your coat pockets. “I’ll see you later then?”

“Yeah.”

Too jittery to ask for a ride, you turn and begin walking the familiar road back home.

“Y/n, wait!” You feel Yoongi grip your elbow and when you turn around, you very suddenly find your face an inch from his, his eyes devouring you, and his lips so, so, close...

Yoongi smirks. “Kidding. Catch you later, y/n.”

You swallow. “Right. Later.”

You spin on your heel and hightail it back to your apartment. What was that? Did he try to kiss you? Was he getting you back for teasing him earlier? And why, oh why did some very small part of you really want to kiss him, want to press your lips against his and–

Idiot. No. No no no no. If anyone in the whole wide world is off limits, then it’s him. Yoongi. The man with the big “DO NOT TOUCH” on his heart, so to speak. You can’t like him, never ever, and certainly not now, at the peak of his career.

Besides, you only felt that way because he was an idol, right? Right? Up until you met the guy, all you wanted was to marry him. And, of course, after acting out that scene for the audition– it’s only natural.

You shake your head, remembering the shiver that ran down your spine when his lips neared yours. What was happening to you? As you lie in bed, half asleep, your thoughts drift to what your life has become.

“Bitch.”

“Slut.”

“Whore.”

“Talentless, worthless, pathetic.”

The voices swirl around you, the insults flying like gusts of wind, and they tear at your frame, shoving you, forcing you to your knees and when you try to speak it feels like your words are sucked straight out of your lungs.

“Stop it!” You try to scream, but no noise leaves your mouth. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Stop it!”

“You touched him.”

“You talked to him.”

“You kissed him.”

“He’s ours!”

“Ours, ours, ours, ours, o-”

“Fame, flashlight– gi-give it to me!”

“Aah!” You bolt upwards, chest heaving, your forehead damp with sweat. You reach for your phone to shut off the alarm– your neighbors probably hate you by now.

Ugh, you’re sleepy, but you’ve got things to do. What else is new? It’s been... what, the third day in a row that you’ve gotten four hours of sleep? As you stand up, you feel a sudden dizziness. A few seconds later it passes, and you can go about your day.

And by day, you mean coffee. After you quit working at the cafe, your daily dose of caffeine had become more expensive– to the point where you finally gave in and bought a cheap coffee machine. Which, of course, has suddenly decided to stop working.

You watch the machine sputter and gasp, resulting in two drops of coffee and one headache. Great. You start filming for Moon Over the Sea today and you really can’t afford any mishaps. Especially if you’re filming with Yoongi. 

No mishaps means caffeine. Caffeine means cafe. Cafe means...

Xiumin.

You shake your head and breathe deeply– you’re going to have to see your ex eventually, and your old cafe is on the way to the studio. It’s the only place you can stop if you want to get there on time.

The familiar bell jingles and you’re once more drawn into your old life– a life before you met Min Yoongi; a life when your love of BTS stemmed from music videos and interviews, not games and banter; a life when you were only an overworked acting student and not despised by thousands of ARMYs. A life when Xiumin was nothing more than a friendly coworker.

You walk to the counter, where a painfully familiar head of hair is making a drink.

“Hi, can I help y- oh.” His voice makes your heart stutter, because it’s Xiumin, he made you breakfast and visited you in the hospital and cheated on you with a girl he called beautiful...

In your head you’re punching him. Out loud, you merely steel yourself– “Hi, can I get a double espresso?” No please. He doesn’t deserve a please.

“Uh...” Xiumin swallows nervously, and you feel a small rush of satisfaction. “Yeah. It’s been a while, huh?”

Your smile remains frozen on your face. “My double espresso?”

Xiumin doesn’t move. “Y/n, come on, talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. My espresso would be nice though.”

“I miss you.”

At his words you expect pain, you expect longing– you expect to want him back. And yet...

Your mind wanders to Yoongi. When you told him what happened with Xiumin, you saw his face: pure rage was reflected in those dark eyes.

“You deserve better,” he’d said during one of your long winded, alcohol-fueled rants.

He was right; you did deserve better. Is that why, now, you don’t feel a twinge in your heart on seeing your ex?

“Y/n, please, come back to me. Things can be just like how they were.”

His voice shakes you from your stupor, and your careful grip on your emotions loosens.

“How they were? Tell me, Xiumin, how exactly were things? Because I seem to recall a supposedly monogamous relationship in which we told each other everything, and I’m guessing you only recall how desperate you were to get your dick wet.”

Xiumin opens his mouth and you raise your eyebrows in response. “Answer me, I dare you.”

“You know, I could sue you for my birds,” he growls finally. “And my car. That’s property damage. I could sue you for every penny you’ve made from those ads, and that music video.”

You pause. What is he talking about? “Property damage?”

He scoffs. “Don’t act like you don’t know. You ruined my car!”

Delusional. “Whatever you say, Xiumin. Can you actually do your job and give me my coffee now?”

With an icy glare, he thrusts your espresso into your hands. As you saunter out, you turn and call to him: “Enjoy losing the one person in your life who could actually remember your name!”

He flips you off in response and, with that weight off your shoulders, your gait turns sprightly as you make your way to the studio. You arrive at 8am on the dot, and spy a familiar figure among the many milling around and awaiting direction.

You approach and tap him on the shoulder. “Yoongles~”

“Huh?” He turns around and it’s not him, it’s a face that’s very much not your Yoongi, it’s someone else, and you called him Yoongles–

“Oh! I’m, uh, sorry!” You turn and scuttle, cheeks flaming; you just bothered what must have been Yoongi’s body double, you’re such an idiot.

“You too, hm?” You hear a low chuckle and notice the real Yoongi leaning against a wall. “You’re the fifth person who thought he was me. Shit, I was confused when I saw the guy!”

You laugh with embarrassment. “Some friend I am.”

“Hey,” Yoongi leans forward and boops your nose. “You’re a good friend. Really.”

You blush. A world famous idol thinks you’re a good friend, even when all you’ve done is lie and pretend. How did you get so lucky? “Shut your face hole, nerd,” you reply, poking him before you get too sappy.

Yoongi opens his mouth to reply when you hear two loud claps echoing through the loud studio.

“Okay! Hello, cast and crew of Moon Over the Sea! I’m your director, Avery.” An elegant women with a curious accent speaks over the general chatter.

“You may notice I have an accent– that’s because I was raised in America. Now, we’re on a tight schedule so I expect all of you to work hard and productively for the next for months to make this drama the best it can be!”

The present company claps politely. “She seems nice,” you whisper.

“Here’s to hoping,” Yoongi murmurs in reply.

Avery consults a clipboard. “Now, for the scenes today I will need the following actors.” She reads aloud a list of names and you only tune in at “...Min Yoongi, and l/n y/n. The rest of the cast may go home– we’ll need everyone tomorrow, so be here bright and early.”

The studio empties out and the hair and makeup crews retreat to their respective areas. There are several extras and about a dozen named actors left after the movement ceases. Some of them you even recognize. You feel more than a little starstruck– you’re definitely the least attractive person here.

“As you know, this drama is inspired by the time-honored classic of Pride and Prejudice,” Avery continues. “Our leads will be played by Park Bo-young and Park Hyung-sik–” she nods at the familiar-looking actors and you blink hard, half blinded by the physical perfection. “– but the rest of you still have important stories to tell.”

You nod along, enraptured, and you see Yoongi smirk at you. He’s probably used to all the glitz and glam, but you’re savoring it– who knows how long it’ll last?

“For that reason, we’re filming Kim Ji-woo and Moon Sung-min first.” You jump at the summons of your character. “The scene is set for their first meeting, at the Sung family ball. I expect all actors and extras to be in costume and in character in the next half-hour. Go!”

Half an hour later you find yourself well dressed and slightly out of breath in a very realistic studio ballroom. Yoongi, infinitely more well dressed and not at all out of breath, nudges you.

“You look pretty,” he whispers.

“Not in comparison to literally everyone else,” you reply.

Yoongi looks like he’s about to say something  when Avery approaches, barking orders at extras. “You and you, there. You, go there. Bo-young, you play Hyeon, and you’re y/n’s younger sister, so stand a bit behind her. You know your lines, yes? Good. Let’s start with Bo-young’s line. Ready, and... action!”

There’s a clap and the cameras begin rolling. In the grandly decorated ballroom, the extras talk quietly amongst themselves. You and Bo-young stand tall in your dresses.

“I do believe Moon Sung-min is looking at you, sister,” Bo-young says teasingly.

You glance up momentarily and catch Yoongi’s eye. He’s gazing at you intensely, eyes alight with interest. 

You quickly blush and look away. “You’re mistaken. He’s far above us–”

“Which is why you should talk to him. Imagine the look on Mother’s face when she sees you with one of the wealthiest men here.”

“Hyeon!” you laugh. “Please, I could never!”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re going to have a choice, Ji-woo. He’s coming over~” Bo-young sings. “I’m going to go dance with the others. Have fun!”

“Sister–”

It’s too late, the fake crowd has swallowed her whole, and suddenly Yoongi is right in front of you and every cell in your body feels tense, nervous, as if it really is your first time meeting him.

“Hello. Miss Kim, yes?”

You feel your cheeks heat up at his voice.

“Y-yes,” you reply, sweeping your skirts in a deep curtsy. “And you must be Mr. Moon Sung-min. Are you enjoying the ball?”

Yoongi’s voice dips low, laced with longing. “Much more now, I think.”

“Cut! Great, guys.” Avery’s voice draws you back to reality, back to a world where the man in front of you isn’t meant for you. “Let’s take it from the top– that chemistry was crackling. I’m sure we’ll get it perfect in the next few takes.”

Suddenly an assistant holding a buzzing phone scurries up to Avery and hands it to her. With a nod of apology to the cast, she answers.

“Hello? Yes, this is she... What? Hang on, we have that area scheduled for filming on those dates. Who–” Avery’s voice turns icy. “I understand. What other times are available...? Oh, you’re kidding. Okay. Okay. Yes, crystal clear. Thank you, goodbye.”

As she hangs up she sighs deeply. “This is gonna mean a lot of emails.”

“What happened?” You ask.

“We have a number of outdoor scenes scheduled in a few weeks and we reserved an area for filming, but someone bought out the space. They can move our time, but... it’s a pain. We’ll have to redraw the filming schedule and move those scenes forward.”

“How forward?”

Avery grimaces. “Starting tomorrow. Congrats, Yoongi, y/n– we’re filming your first kiss tomorrow. Alright everyone, let’s get back to work!”

[mnemememory]

blown out glass

Calianna has trouble sleeping.

Calianna closes her eyes and lets her hand fall limp to her side, spent.

Around her, everywhere, is a cacophony of noise; screams and shouts and crying, so much crying. Calianna tries so hard to block it out, but she can’t. There’s blood seeping into the fabric of her cloak, into the ends of her hair, into the corners of her eyes. There are no wounds on her body, but she’s bleeding all the same.

And there’s fire. So, so much fire.

“I won’t,” Calianna says, trying to keep her voice steady. It echoes around the room, warping with every repeat: “I won’t, I won’t, I won’t –” until it doubles back around on itself (“I will, I will, I will”). The twice voices battle against themselves, mingling and disappearing underneath the roar of the fire. There is so much fire.

Calianna’s blood thickens, and boils, and bursts from her veins in a fountain of black sludge. She can’t breathe. Seris is here, somewhere, just a little ways off. Calianna can hear her, can smell her, can almost taste the way Seris’ would bleed under her teeth.

“You will,” Seris whispers, and Calianna can’t breathe. She’s so tired. There’s nothing left in her body. Everything is gone, wasted away from her bones until she’s nothing left but blood and scales. They consume her, locking across her throat and severing her vocal chords. I won’t, Calianna thinks, and there’s a desperate kind of admission to it.

There’s another scream, this time – younger, smaller, and –

And –

And –

And –

Calianna opens her eyes.

There is no burning field. There is no blood. There is no Seris.

Someone is standing next to her fire, poking at the burning embers hard enough to set the fresh wood ablaze. The night is as still as Calianna has ever seen it, the world holding its breath.

“Hi,” the figure says, shifting forward.

Calianna blinks slowly.

Yasha stands with her back to the fire, at once intimidating and striking. Her form is backlit, eyes glowing hot, skin reflectively pale. She looks less real and most ghostly, insubstantial, transparent. Calianna wants to reach out and make sure she isn’t an illusion.

Then Yasha glances back to the fire, shoulders hunching all the way up to her ears. Her sword keeps her spine straight, but only just.

“You were sleeping,” Yasha says, and a brief look of frustration flickers across her face. “I didn’t want to wake you up, but. It’s dangerous. Camping alone.”

“Thank you,” Calianna says. She looks around, but there’s too much middle-hanging plant-growth around, obscuring her vision more than ten feet out of her chosen camping ground. (Easy to burn, Seris whispers). “Is the rest of…?”

Calianna trails away, and Yasha shakes her head. They stare at each other for a long minute, and then Calianna whacks herself on the head and jumps to her feet, grabbing for her bag.

“it’s so lovely to see you!” she says. “Here, take a seat, let me get something to eat. It’s been so long. How have you been? Sit down, sit down!”

Yasha pulls back a little at the sudden burst of enthusiasm, and then gingerly gets onto the ground. There isn’t much by way of seating prospects – the trees around here are a little low on comfortable root systems and a little high on mulchy loan – which makes sitting (even in her clearing) a game of low-stakes roulette. Calianna can already feel some of the moisture seeping into her clothing, the texture reminiscent of cold –

Calianna pulls open her bag with a wide smile, shaking out what little food she’s managed to prepare. There isn’t a lot – less, now that there are two people instead of one – but she wants to share this with Yasha. Even now, she’s a little at a loss with how to repay the barbarian for the destroyed Bowl.

“It is very, uh, nice. Seeing you again. I wasn’t expecting it,” Yasha says. She takes the good that Calianna offers her, but doesn’t start eating it straight away. Her clothing is partially torn in places, and there’s a long wound running along the side of her shoulders and dipping below her collarbone. Calianna wants to ask, but that would be very rude. (No questions, Seris whispers).

“Neither was I!” Calianna says. “It’s such a pleasant surprise. What brings you this way? How are the rest of the Mighty Nein?”

“They are well, I think. I haven’t seen them for. A while.”

“Are you heading back their way?”

Yasha smiles, briefly. It lights up her whole face into something less terrifying and more transient, the distinction softened by the dim light of the fire.

“I’m trying to,” Yasha says. “They’re a little hard to, uh, follow.”

“Yes, I keep hearing things,” Calianna says. “I keep an ear out for your exploits, you know. The Mighty Nein!”

Yasha rolls her eyes, a gratifyingly human gesture. “Making a name for themselves.”

“And you,” Calianna says. “Making a name for all of you.”

Yasha shrugs.

They drift into a kind of awkward, but comfortable, silence. The fire pops as a deposit of sap catches alight, but Calianna only jumps a little, and Yasha doesn’t move at all. It’s strangely liberating, not having anything to say.

And simultaneously deeply unsettling.

(Be still, be sweet, be good, Seris whispers).

Dear Jester [Calianna’s letter reads]

I am doing very well! Thank you so much for writing back to me. I’ve been waiting to hear about your exploits all month. It’s unfortunate that our positions keep changing, because the mail system here isn’t very good. Thankfully, there were enough stamps on that last envelope on yours to catch up with me, but I’m not sure if this will get to you in any sort of timely fashion!

I’ve certainly missed your company, through perhaps not that of the troll. You mentioned in your last letter that it had been killed – that’s so incredible! I’m really impressed with you all, you know. Your pictures were equal parts amusing and instructional. Kiri looked very intimidating, though I’m afraid she’s just too cute for me to be scared by her. I can’t believe she was the one who made the final blow!

Speaking of unbelievable things, you’ll never guess who I stumbled on just last week –

“I can, uh, travel with you. To the next city. If you want. I don’t know where the rest of them have gone, at the moment. so I’m just. Trying to gather information. At the moment.”

It’s the longest string of sentences (if they can be called that) that Calianna has ever heard Yasha say. She’s very impressed. Yasha seems less so, if the constant catches and awkward pauses are anything to go by.

“I would love that!” Calianna says. (I love you, Seris whispers). “I’m trying to track down another of my artefacts, but there aren’t many leads I can follow at the moment. Company would be very nice!”

Yasha starts to smile, but doesn’t really seem to know what to do with the rest of her face. It hangs awkwardly there for a few seconds, and then drops back to neutral. Calianna beams.

“Jester would never forgive me if, uh, something happened to you,” Yasha says. “While I’m here. She gets very. Excited. Whenever one of your letters catches us.”

“I’m very glad that she gets them,” Calianna says, falling into step. “Sometimes it’s hard to know if they’re going through. I have to plaster the envelope with stamps – the first time I saw her letter, why, I could barely read her name! But it’s very useful. I try to send as many as I can, just in case.”

“It really makes her day,” Yasha says.

Dear Calianna [Jester’s letter reads]

It is so wonderful to hear from you. Thank you very much for the book you sent along with your last letter – it is very useful when it comes to keeping track of money. I’ve learned a lot about “accounting” from it. Fjord and Caleb are both really impressed, which they should be, because “accounting” is hard. I have been working at keeping better track of my money. I think I’m getting better at it.

Ooh, Yasha! I’m so glad you ran into her! Things have been, like, crazy hectic these last few weeks, and we haven’t had much of a chance to stay in one place. I think we keep missing her, which is making Molly really antsy. If she’s still with you, tell her that we’re heading back to Zadash, and that she needs to buy Beau some more throwing stars (but Beau doesn’t know I’m asking her to), and that she needs to keep an eye out for any more diamonds –

I love you, Seris whispers, dragging her fingers through Calianna’s hair.

Calianna makes a small noise of contentment, stretching out so that her small head is positioned better on Seris’ lap. The sun is warm along her bared scales, flooding across the sky and shading everything pale. A small rumble builds in her chest as Seris continues the slow, rhythmic stroking.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Something hot drips onto Calianna’s cheek, like wax. The purr breaks, deep and satisfied. Another drip, this time along Calianna’s right eye. Along her chin. Her lips. Her forehead.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Calianna opens her mouth, and she tasted blood. It’s everywhere, coating her tongue and her teeth and the inside of her throat. She’s choking in blood, drowning in it. Seris continues to pull at Calianna’s hair, only she’s not being gentle, she’s digging it out by the roots. Calianna tries to cry out, but she can’t, because she’s dying.

I love you. I love you. I love –

Something gentle presses onto Calianna’s wrist, just below her pulse. Calianna bolts upright with a sickening lurch, trembling.

Yasha is crouching next to her, expression eerily neutral as her eyes skitter over Calianna’s face.

“You were being loud,” she says, when Calianna gets her breathing under control. It’s not a complaint, but Calianna’s face burns.

“Oh!” Calianna says, modulating her voice so it comes out high. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe – I mean, I’m so sorry for waking you up!”

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Yasha says, mismatched eyes piercing as she begins to back away. Calianna wants to reach out and grab onto her wrist, but she can’t, because she knows exactly what happens to the people she draws close. It’s bad enough that Yasha has already destroyed the Bowl – anything more, and Seris will – Seris will do something extremely unpleasant. Calianna has seen enough of Seris’ unpleasantness for the rest of her life. If she had her way, Calianna will never have to see it firsthand ever again.

(That’s what worries her, what leaves her sick to the stomach, because second-hand is almost as bad. Cleaning up the mess, dragging things back to their proper places, staring into the creatures that had remained afterwards – it’s almost worse than seeing it done.

The first time, Calianna hadn’t known any better. She hadn’t. She had looked at the pitiful, broken remains and then tied up as best she could. Seris had patted her on the head and said, I love you, I love you, I love you, and that had almost been enough to stop Calianna from thinking, I feel sick.

Almost).

“You weren’t? You should be! Yasha, sleep is one of the most important parts of the day – after breakfast, of course –”

“Someone needed to keep watch,” Yasha says.

“I could have done that,” Calianna says, trying to keep from sounding stung. She doesn’t quite manage it, but considering how tired she feels, Calianna feels it’s a good effort all around. (You work so hard, Seris whispers, I’m so proud of you).

“I know,” Yasha says.

They stare at the fire in silence, Calianna dragging herself back together, Yasha silently watching. When it doesn’t hurt to breathe, Calianna settles her lungs into place with a long sigh, glancing up to meet Yasha’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Calianna says.

Yasha doesn’t reply, but she doesn’t really need to.

Dear Jester [Calianna’s letter reads]

Don’t worry, if I see Yasha again, I’ll tell her where you’re heading. Of course, that’s assuming she hasn’t already caught up with you! She left quite a while ago in search of your ground, but I wouldn’t worry about her. I get the feeling she’ll stumble onto the Mighty Nein’s trail sooner than later – you’re very good at being conspicuous, you know! I just went through Hupperdook, and let me tell you –

[vigilante-rpg]

Welcome 1anc3a10t! We’re pleased to announce your audition for Dimetre Evans Darc / The Peacock has been accepted! Please send your account into the main within the next 24 hours. We can’t wait to have you join us!

{ PLAYER INFORMATION }}

NAME: 1anc3a10t

AGE: 19

TIMEZONE: PST

PRONOUNS: She/Her

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Fairly active, my most active times will be after 5:30 PST. I am on Tumblr quite often, I check the app at least twice a day. ((Now that it’s summer my schedule will be much more open, I’ll be available starting after noon.))

PREVIOUS ROLEPLAY EXPERIENCE:  I’ve been roleplaying on a more active level for about 5 years. While I have participated in a few Tumblr rps the bulk of my writing has been done over discord type apps, Amino, and google docs.

PERSONAL TUMBLR CONTACT: removed for privacy

TRIGGERS: Nope! :)

{{ CHARACTER INFORMATION }}

CHARACTER NAME: Dimetre Evans Darc.

((He prefers to be called Evans, but will answer to Dimetre if called by someone he knows.))

PRONOUNS: He/Him

AGE: 28

ORIGIN: The Peacock

FACE CLAIM: (First Choice) Godfrey Gao  

(Second Choice) Harry Shum Jr

QUOTE: “I prance and preen for them, but not everyone knows that yet.”

OCCUPATION: Newhaven’s most famous vigilante! ;)

((When he was younger he used to be a rather famous singer, but stopped when his agent pointed him towards a more…heroic life.))

PERSONALITY:

Caring: Growing up in such a large family and having a job that created connections with many different people in their walks of life had taught Dimetre to understand that not everyone has gone through the same relatively good life he has. He always keeps his arms stretched out and door wide open if he runs into someone that’s down on their luck, perhaps the pick-me-up from him is what could help get their life on the track they envisioned it to be? He’s rather perceptive of others feelings and will act accordingly on them. If someone wants to rant he’ll sit there and listen, and if someone needs a shoulder to cry on he’ll be that stable rock.

Sarcastic: Dimetre has a sharp tongue. Don’t expect him to fight back with his fists when he’s been wronged, but rather by throwing out nasty sarcastic comments that cut through a person’s self esteem. Sarcasm is his way of getting his angry point across without needing to yell or knock someone’s lights out. A sadistic side of him likes to watch how criminals huff and puff when they can’t think of a comeback to his witty remark.

Petty: This applies more to his non-heroic life, since there is no time to be petty in a life or death situation. Dimetre loves people and he’ll remember any extraordinary meeting that happens with them, though not all talks go the same, and he does hold petty grudges over the people that assume he’s a bad person just because he likes attention. (This may also be applied to other vigilantes if he meets them outside of battle.) While he won’t outrightly talk bad about them, since he understands the power of the media and paparazzi, he’ll just reply with an ugly look on his face. It’s a bit difficult to repair a relationship with Dimetre since the pettiness runs deep.

Persistent: Dimetre is not one to give up, this is mostly because he hates losing, and a little because he doesn’t like to disappoint people. He is the epitome of ‘try, try again’! Fighting a villain doesn’t go well the first time? Dust yourself off and try again. Buzznews writes a bad gossip article on you? Refute the points and show the city your the vigilante they deserve. Puppy pees on the carpet? Just restart the potty training regimine.

Excellent Public Speaker: Dimetre has always had the ability to captivate a crowd with his words. Whether that’s through singing or just simply by telling a story. As popular as he is amongst the city of Newhaven he finds himself addressing large crowds about some matter or another quite often, so this skill of his is continuously exercised. Some may address him as a smooth talker, and he doesn’t deny that, though through the perfect balance of opinion and facts Dimetre is able to convince anyone of anything without needing to schmooze them over.

Clumsy: Dimetre could trip on thin air or a grain of rice, and he has tripped over the later before. Its something he is always constantly worrying about since it makes him look incapable of doing a proper job as a vigilante, and it really hurts. Though it does make for interesting conversation starters if he happens to fall into a stranger. This isn’t something that was caused by an injury or infection, he’s just naturally a klutz.

BIOGRAPHY:

Water is everywhere. In the sky, in the earth, running through the pipes beneath the cities cement, coursing through the human body, and Dimetre had always been aware of all of it. The presence of water has an odd feeling, almost like a wave but deeper and deadly. Sometimes his body would move along with the invisible flow of the current, taking him places and making him lead lives he never thought he would. Water is impulsive and reckless. It slams against the shore to get the world’s attention and erodes the rocky path that was paved for him by the heroes he admired. While water provides for countless people they only notice its beauty and loud noise. Despite that, water never ceases to flow, a steady stream that the city of Newhaven can rely on.

In an affluent neighborhood tucked cosley somewhere in Downtown Newhaven lives the Darc family. With five boys and one girl the family is always bustling. Through some form of odd luck the father had created a rather successful business and the mother became a brilliant brain surgeon, allowing their family to live a lavish lifestyle. Having been born into a large family that all exhibited some sort of miraculous power, it wasn’t odd when Dimetre’s control over water manifested at a rather young age. At first his ability only appeared during strong bouts of emotion, generally temper tantrums or fits of uncontrollable giggles- even now his ability is at its strongest when he is in an emotional state- wanting their child to feel in control of his power and not fear what it could become, his parents slowly began training. It had always been simple exercises that became more tedious and time consuming as the years passed by. Dimetre learned rather quickly that water is used for everything. Fill the tub Dimetre, water the garden Dimetre, wash the car Dimetre…on and on. They were incredibly boring tasks which he thought were a lot like the movie Karate Kid, but you don’t actually get karate skills by washing a car, so there was no way he’d be able to harness his ability by doing chores- Well damn, he was wrong. It actually worked! When he turned double digits the ‘training’ stopped, he was able to manipulate water to his will and his parents were content enough with his progress that they stopped asking favors. They had other children to ensure a life of control and safety for. Although he understood that his parents had other siblings and jobs to attend to, he had gotten used to the constant attention, and being apart of such a large family would mean he’d have to put up a good fight to receive it once again. He learned rather quickly that acting out wasn’t the solution. Perhaps, he could receive positive attention from those other than his family?

At the age of fifteen he had a new ability, although not heroic still useful in his quest, his voice was something to be envied. Though the road to angelic singing was not something easy to accomplish, he would lock himself in his room and sing for hours till his throat was raw. He was absolutely thrilled when he won his first local singing competition during the winter of his fifteenth year. Riding on that high he tried out for a talent company, and perhaps it was the luck of his family that he was chosen. Recording companies and a rather terrifying manager scooped up Dimetre in a 10 year long whirlwind of showbiz. While he missed his slow but comfortable life with his parents and endless amounts of siblings in Downtown Newhaven, he blossomed under the constant adoring cheers of thousands. Hydrokinesis was useful as interesting stage effects that made him stand out from other young pop stars. If fans would ask to see his ability he would oblige, slowly he made it seem as though powers were something unique but not terrifying or supernatural. He enjoyed making that difference but knew the life of a singer had its expiration date.

He was around twenty-five when his singing career came to an end. It wasn’t abrupt or surprising, he understood there were other younger, more talented individuals who would easily slip into his place. It was a bit disappointing realizing that he wouldn’t be able to face adoring fans on the stage, but he was slowly coming to terms with the change and was ready to pursue a much more modest career in law. His manager had different future plans envisioned for him and pointed Dimetre towards a life as a vigilante. At first he wanted nothing to do with fighting criminals, it was a dangerous and thankless job and he had no plans to die anytime soon. He thought he could be more help to the city alive. Though, all his manager had to do was mention ‘becoming like Spectrum’ and Dimetre hopped onto the vigilante train faster than lightning. While his control over water worked well to quell villains, his charisma and smooth talking nature turned his hero persona into something more akin to a pop culture icon. But he doesn’t complain, the money and attention is really nice.

{{ VIGILANTE INFORMATION }}

VIGILANTE NAME: Caspian

PRONOUNS: He/Him

APPEARANCE: Dimetre debated for a long time on what Caspian should wear. He knew it had to be practical in battle and have a sort of appeal, but also simple enough to be made into Halloween costumes for kids. He jumped back and forth between a bodysuit with a cape or a bodysuit with no cape, but ultimately decided on a biker theme a bit like x-men’s Quicksilver. (I have a thing for motorcycles.) He adorns an off-white leather jacket with baby blue cuffs, and his sigil beautifully hand painted on the back. He wears a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and hightop sneakers that match the color of his jacket. To pull the outfit together he wears light blue fingerless gloves and a wavy eye mask to match. It doesn’t do much to hide his identity, but that doesn’t quite matter when everyone already knows who you are. He rides a white and blue bike into battle mostly because it alerts the press and citizens to where he is, but also slightly because he thinks motorcycles are cool.

Dimetre paid to have most of his vigilante costume tailored and engineered to boost his performance in battle. While they couldn’t make his suit as flashy or powerful as Spectrums, like he requested multiple times, the fabric is thick enough to sustain quite a few blows. With ample space for arm and leg movement, it is perfect to wear during hand to hand combat if Dimetre were to ever find himself in such a situation. While the jacket, gloves, mask, and shoes are waterproof the jeans are not so Dimetre keeps a large stash of them at his apartment just in case.

SIGIL: A simple blue wave pattern in a circular shape, making it easy to put on merchandise and to create backpack patches of.

COLOUR SCHEME:

-#0C3D51 (Dark Blue)

-#53A5C6 (Light Blue)

-#EDFAFF (White Blue)

FIGHTING STYLE: He’s a long range fighter, preferring to let others get up close and personal.

CLASS TYPE: Defensive

MORAL ALIGNMENT:  Neutral Good

POWER:

Caspian has the ability to control and manipulate some forms of water. While he is able to control liquid and gas, he does not have mastery over ice, that is beyond his capabilities. He can draw water from the atmosphere, large lakes or oceans, and pipes. While he can attempt to handle the water in an individual’s body, it is much more difficult for him than say moving a visible puddle. He cannot control any liquid he pleases, only water, though he is able to separate the water from say a soft drink, only leaving the coloring and sugar left in the can.

Other than the normal applications of Hydrokinesis such as manipulating the properties of water, water attacks, and hydrokinetic surfing, Caspian is able to generate or increase the water pressure of the liquid he has control of. He generally uses this by creating a sphere around an enemy and using the pressure to crush them while inside the water, or create air embolism inside their veins, though that’s a matter of chance not skill. Other uses of manipulating water pressure would be Caspian’s ability to make pillars or objects made of water that other vigilantes and civilians can stand upon without sinking through.

He is naturally weak against Electrokinesis since he’s an excellent conductor of electricity, and gravity manipulation since that can reverse the effects of his water pressure. Large fires would render his ability useless but he isn’t naturally weak against flames.

{{ STATS }}

OBSCURITY: 1/5

CONTROL: 4/5

LUCK:  3/5

STRENGTH: 3/5

SPEED: 4/5

CHARISMA: 5/5

INTUITION: 4/5

AGILITY: 2/5

STAMINA: 3/5

INTELLIGENCE: 4/5

DURABILITY: 4/5

{{ EXTRAS }}

HEADCANONS:

-Being raised in such a large family he has a soft spot for children and he tends to win their favor rather quickly.

-He has always had a backup plan just incase this whole ‘famous’ thing didn’t work out. He has a degree in law and takes the bar exam each time it expires.

-He is such a nerd. Other than loving anime and cartoons, he probably has every piece of Spectrum merchandise known to man.

-He loves people and is upset that his lifestyle makes him almost unapproachable. Though, he understands that not everyone wants to be apart of next week’s news story.

-He has a giant Alaskan Malamute puppy named Harrison and an Akita named Oscor.

-He has a guest bedroom that is always kept prepped and tighty just incase he meets someone that needs a place to stay. Which tends to be the people the media calls his “one night stands”.

-He had his heart broken when he was rather young and has yet to recover from it. Despite that, he is still accepting of love to a degree.

-He has such a sad sense of humor, he’ll laugh at like anything.

-He doesn’t get mad, he gets sassy.

ADDITIONAL INFORMATION:

Songs:

On my own- Les Mis: https://youtu.be/aQnJ4mIfT0c

Starlight- Muse: https://youtu.be/3J1YBu0gpJY

High Hopes- Panic! At the Disco: https://youtu.be/UKserM-i0_A

Blossom- Kerli: https://youtu.be/Fhu2G-207Ko

Cry me a River- Michael Buble: https://youtu.be/nh_pYXnj248

Master of Tides- Lindsey Stirling: https://youtu.be/GX9o9yqYcaM

Popular- Wicked: https://youtu.be/IXzFOHrycHg

One Knight- Wonderland: https://youtu.be/byJBNtJgiVE

This is the Best Burrito I’ve Ever Eaten- Parry Gripp: https://youtu.be/–bqFOdb6_g (I’m sorry.)

Desired Plots:

-Dimetre would like to find someone that immediately looks past the whole ‘famous’ thing, and wants to be his friend not because of his money or fame, but rather because of his personality.

-((This would entirely depend on if someone wants to play such a roll.)) A protégée perhaps? Another vigilante who wouldn’t mind sharing the limelight with Caspian and become some sort of pseudo-partner. Since everything looks better in pairs

[raymondspyer7-blog]

czech pornn - 9 Signs You Made A Great Impact On Czhec Casting

"Sleeping pills," you say, "I just want to be asleep for the ride, and then wake up when it ends. We're on a an early morning train in Rome, about to head to Paris. Usually there's more story when I write something but this just sort of jumps right into the lust, enjoy! "

I nod and watch you take the pills. First we have this 8 hour train ride. Then we stop at a station and get off at a small town where the train company has provided us with a hotel to stay in for the day. The town is supposed to be nice anyway. " I ask you as you drop a couple tablets into your hand. Then take the night train to Paris, which is another 6 hour ride. I double check the seat next to me to make sure my backpack is still there. This was a good weekend. The two of us, along with a bunch of others, came down to Rome , but we are the only two who opted for this longer, cheaper way up to Paris since we have a whole week off before the program starts up again back in Rome. The second train is also apparently supposed to be really luxurious. Two seats next to each other facing two other seats next to each other, and a table in between. It's usually a straight 12 hours but we got cheaper tickets by taking a longer trip. This train, though, is more normal. This will give me 8 solid hours. At one point you try to get more comfortable. I look back at you and you're already asleep, dozed off against the window. I look at you like that for a moment. Can't be doing study abroad without my stuff after all. You really are a sight, but we've been friends for a few years now. You use your jacket and press it against the window as a pillow, and pick your legs up onto the seat next you you, inadvertently kicking your backpack into the aisle. Your hands are together and under your head, making your arms squeeze your chest together, pushing your cleavage up in your shirt, rising and falling with your breathing. Since you're asleep, though, I may as well look. I use my foot to slide your backpack under our table. Every set of four seats next to us, to the side, up and down, and diagonally, are all empty. Only one middle-aged woman is off at the end of the train car, while we're in the center. You sat on wide side, by the window, and I sat on the other side, by the aisle, both of us putting our backpacks on the seats next to us. I'm not going to jeopardize that. As we ride there are sections of the track that are a little bumpy, but you still don't wake up. You're one of the easiest people to talk to that I know. Nothing's really uncomfortable not even silence, and we're really open with each other. And yet your body screams sexy. I get a little sad you're asleep. I sit back and try to close my eyes a little, but the occasional bump wakes me up. But like I said, we're just good friends. You're absolutely adorable when you sleep, so at peace. Especially since it's such and empty train. It's bad to look, right? I mean I can see your thighs up to right before your underwear starts I imagine. Without waking up you pull them back up and even closer to your chest. But I just wait around, passing time various ways (books, music, movie) until 6 and half hours pass). This makes your skirt ride up. And then I make the mistake of looking up. Being under the table I look up to see right under your skirt. From the view I have I can see it all. A few minutes later your bag slides out from under the table and slides down the aisle a little. I shake my head, trying not to look. I get up to get it and crouch under our table to push it to the edge. But then, when I'm looking at your beautiful face, I guess you're having a dream, because you smile slightly. At one point a bump moves your legs off the seat. My eyes raise on you from bottom to top, resisting. I sit under the table and reach up. I resist, resist, resist, moving up you. My body is tense, ready to dart away with an excuse if need arises. Then I get a little more bold. I move my face forward and kiss where I've been stroking. Suddenly, I can't resist. Your ass (with underwear on of course), your legs, your body, even most of your face. I start to softly trace the outline of your sex through your panties. I continue, just stroking your immaculate skin, up and down your thigh, getting hard just from touching you. I touch the underside of your thigh first, softly, with my fingertips, watching your face, but your eyes stay closed. I now take two fingers and press them against your pussy with very little pressure, and rub. I look up at you, nervous, but you've simply made the noise in your throat, your brow furrowing a bit. Still nothing from you, just a peaceful face of rest. I vary the pressure and pattern that I rub until I'm eliciting the most positive reaction from your face, that smile. You just start breathing much more deliberately. If I didn't know what was actually happening to you, I'd say you were distressed. I keep rubbing you, watching your face. I continue kissing and trailing my tongue softly on your flesh, but it's time to up the ante. I retract my hand thinking you've surely woken up. Then we hit a very big bump. At first contact you exhale, but don't wake up. A wide mouthed smile as you keep breathing hard, just a step behind a real moan. I think your body almost comes off the seat, and my head hits the bottom of the table. I get out from under the table and move you around. I decide you're definitely not going to wake up so it's time to stop being conservative. I seat you up normally in your seat as best I can and spread your legs open, flipping your skirt up. Whatever's in those pills is doing its job. Then I lean in and kiss your cheek a few times. In order to ward off suspicion, I pretend to have a conversation with you. I want to kiss your lips but I decide not too. I'd want us to share that. If I ever kiss your lips, I'd want you to be awake. I crawl back under the table now and remove your underwear. I'm amazed to see that you haven't. The woman in the back of the car looks at me, but can't see what I'm doing as your seat's back is facing what she can see. I'm sorry but, judging by the reaction in my jeans, it is gorgeous. I don't want to put it on the floor so I reach over and put it up on our table. Just before I go back under the table I make sure your body is comfy. I look up and watch you this whole time, your sounds and smile keeping me going. Then I spread your legs and see your gorgeous pussy for the first time. I give your pussy lips a small kiss, like a substitute for your actual ones. And then my tongue joins the party and it's like I'm lightly making out with your nether lips. Then I give it another. I lick and suck and stick my tongue inside, just taking your deliciousness in. For a while, I play with your pussy for me, even though you seem to be enjoying it too. When I find it, I run with it. Your breathing subsides to real moans, your eyes staying shut. Is it weird to call that gorgeous? But soon I focus my efforts, testing about to see what you like best. It's like you're having the best dream I've ever watched someone have, your head moving slowly back and forth in rhythm with my oral loving. Your moans crescendo and your legs shake around me totally involuntarily as you start to come all over my face. I don't stop until I can tell you are done, keeping my mouth going even with your thighs clamping down on my ears and my breathing all but cut off. Then something I don't see expect to happen, happens. Once I get there, though, I repeat the process with your right thigh. I get out from under the table and stand up to stretch. I start by kissing, nibbling, and licking your inner left thigh gently, making my way in towards your sex. Once you finally come down from your high I slow down and eventually detach my mouth from you, gasping for air. I unzip my jeans and let my member come out, sighing at the freedom. You lay your head down on the table, your arms crossed as a cushion. I look over to the woman and she seems to not have noticed on account of being asleep. I lift you up from the table, back to as seated position. Your mouth looks pretty inviting for my cock, but for some reason I think that's crossing a line. I know after what I did that sounds strange, but at this point a blowjob while you're in this state sounds kind of. I look at you again and realize just how hard I am. When I start to pick you up from the seat and lay you out on the table there's a big bump and I realize I made the right call. I bunch your skirt up at the waist and position cock at your entrance. I pick up your legs and put them over my shoulders so my hands are free. One of those bumps could have been a disaster mid-blowjob. I look at you laid out on the table, your head by the window and your legs hanging off the edge of it into the aisle, and realize how much I want to see your breasts, but I figure it would be too difficult to get your bra off and back on if the woman down the car woke up, so I let that go. I push ever so slowly to about 3/4 the length of me, and then start to pull out almost all the way, only to push back in a little more. I slowly push inside and your pussy is tight and wet and amazing, but still very inviting to my entrance. My cock is ready to go anyway, I'm dying for you. Part of me wishes you were awake, but another doesn't. I repeat this process, managing to stay hard by looking at your face make sexy reactions and listening to your seductive sounds. " I ask without thinking, then shake my head at my stupidity. I continue to move in and out of you, picking up the pace slightly to your positive reaction. I'm not trying to brag about Czech St Porn size or anything, initial entrance can just be awkward sometimes. This is sort of perfect, it doesn't put our friendship at risk. I spread your pussy lips wide to make sure I don't hurt you. I hold your waist and let my hands travel up and down your body. I'm not done though, and I'm determined to get you to cz street porn a third. Your legs quiver on my shoulders and I wrap my arms around them to keep them up, your pussy tightening czech casting tube czech casting tube couch pictures and immobilizing my cock for a few seconds as you come again. I start to pump you again, at about a medium pace. Even with your shirt still on feeling your breasts through them is a dream come true. All of a sudden, though, the intercom turns on and we start slowing down. I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I may have had time to position you off the table, but I don't. It's a small station, but a group of couples stand there, all around their late 20s. It doesn't take them long to notice me, but I don't stop. They all start to look. Your moans only grow as the station shows up in the window by your head. At first they look at me, but only for a second. Earlier than I was expecting, I feel a tightening and have to stop. A French voice tells us we're going to need to stop at a station just for one minute to change conductors. I'm just realizing to the full extent now. Especially when you come which, as we leave the station, is exactly what you start to do one more time. Man, woman, it doesn't matter, everyone can see it. You're absolutely stunning. They all start to look at you. As you come down I feel like I'm about to burst, and I can't remember if you take birth control or not. I panic and act quickly, pulling your shirt up and grabbing your panties from the table. I raise it up to high, but you seem to react negatively to it, so I slow back down to medium. I put your panties on your bare stomach and pull out of you, just as I start to czceh porn come, landing most of it onto your stomach and panties. I stand there panting for a moment before doing damage control. I take your panties across the train and throw them under a seat. The trains horn sounds and masks the volume of your orgasm, your whole body twitching, your face getting red and shining a bit with a layer of sweat as the orgasm rips up every limb of your body. I figure you do though, and keep going. But, at the last second, I remember I was wrong, You don't. Luckily, the woman at the end of the train slept through it all. I even put your bag back next to you to make it looking like nothing's changed. I kiss your cheek and then get back in my seat. Your face initially looks concerned. " You wonder out loud, "I'm just trying to remember if I was wearing underwear porn in czech today. I position you back into your original sleeping position, and I sit down. You sit up straight and seem to not be able to get comfortable. " I laugh, "Okay weirdo, too much information. " "I guess," you continue, looking down at the table like you're trying to remember something, "I just feel like I just. " You say, "I could've sworn I was, I never go commando. About thirty minutes later you wake up. Or at least pretended to. "Not sure what's going on with you," I say, "but looks like you need a hug. " You shake your head, "Nothing. I just had some, um, weird dreams. " We pull up to our stop and stand to leave. " I nod, "Okay, well, you okay besides that? You don't answer for a little while, then say, "Good. " May add some later, but czech st porn for now this is all I have, thanks for reading submitted by letstalk77 [link] [comment] " I stand up and come over to your side, switching seats with your backpack, and give you a hug. "Good weird or bad weird? " You hug back and laugh and let go, "No it's not a big deal sorry.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Christmas Without You

Written by: UnholyHelbig 

Banks always smelled weird to me. It didn't' matter which branch, or what company ran the office like buildings- they always smelled the same. Like old paper and glue, when the two distinct odors mixed together it created something salty and distinct. It made my stomach churn and my skin crawl. I didn't know if it was from the prospect of checking my bank account, or if it had everything to do with the smell that hit me instead.

It was lemon, strong and overwhelming. The scent burned and played with my throat the minute I stepped through the glass doors of the little bank at the corner, if you even considered this a bank. It held an ATM, and a small counter that kept a line of checks. There were no tellers, just a rotating Christmas tree in the corner and chipped paint lining the windows to look like snow.

I felt the door hit the back of my head, my skin cold as it got used to the sudden burst of heat that was in the bank. She stood there, a tight black pea coat outlining her sides and a bright red scarf tired around her neck. It stood out against her pale skin. It looked more fair then I remembered- fair and delicate like she was.

The cold New York air must have hit her from when I opened the door. I knew that I was quiet enough to not be noticed, but the chill was a different story. It swept through the room and got her to glance up from the words written on the screen.

Her golden eyes struck a primal fear in me. I wanted to back away, I wanted to run- but I couldn't. She wasn't going to get to me anymore. This past year had been spent trying to rid her from my thoughts. I was done being damaged. If I needed to be here, I was going to stay.

She seemed to do a double take, glancing back at the ATM before moving that brown gaze back up to me. I clenched my jaw, averting my own focus to the stained tile floor in front of me. I'm sure at one point it was some pristine white, but just like everything else in New York, it wasn't anymore.

Grace seemed to force a smile that was contradictory to her name. She seemed to tremble now, her hands shaking as she continued to do what she set out to do. I stayed near the door, but eventually took a steadied step forward, closing my eyes for a split second at the loud noise.

"It's all yours." Her voice dripped like poison against my ears. It was smooth, but burned in the pit of my stomach. I couldn't bring myself to nod at her. I couldn't bring myself to move. Her gaze just swept across me as she nodded slightly, knowing I wasn't up for any type of conversation with her.

The lemon scent was stronger, but that didn't matter. All I had to do was get money from my account and leave, nothing more, nothing less. I stepped up the machine, trying not to think about how she was the last one to touch it.

The screen flickered and the lights wavered as soon as my hand hit the keypad. The sound of the whirring ATM ceased for only a moment until it sprung back to life. God, just my luck. It would take a while for it to warm up again. I let out a small sigh as the sound of the door trying to be pushed open caught my attention.

"Bad news, Red." Grace mumbled, making me tense "power just went out."

My breath was shaky as I spoke "That's not my problem."

"Mm, I suppose it isn't." she responded, her jacket making an odd noise as she shifted her stance. "The doors do automatically lock though."

"What's your point?" I turned around my gaze hard enough for her to raise an eyebrow. Her arms were crossed over her chest, jaw clenched and back rigid.

"Doors are electronic. I can't get out. Which means neither can you."

A pang of fear moved past me. I was okay in tight spaces. If I was calm enough than I could sit in an elevator for hours. But with her? That was a different story. Grace almost looked smug, just standing there with her lips painted a bright crimson and her hands shoved into her pockets. It made me angry. Angry at her for being here in the first place and angry at me for not just walking out the door when I had the chance.

"There must be someone to call." I grumbled, walking towards the doors, I didn't want to be that close to her, but it seemed like I could make the sacrifice long enough to get to read the store hours printed on the glass.

"Oh there is." She said, stepping aside, seeming as if she didn't want to make contact with me either. "But it's Christmas Eve, Red."

"Don't." I snarled, holding my finger up at her, she raised her hands in surrender, leaning against the wall closest to the Christmas tree. The white LED lights that were strung over it created an intricate pattern on her cheeks.

"Okay, fine." She let out a sigh "you can have a panic attack about calling people who aren't even open and I'll-"

"Grace, stop." I cut her off, glancing at the white print written on the door. She was right. Closed holidays. I was pretty sure that Christmas was a damn big holiday. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass, closing my eyes as the chill cleared my thoughts if only for a moment.

"I don't understand how you're so okay with all of this." My voice was tender and soft all at once. It was tired. I was tired.

"We'll get out in the morning." Grace responded, sliding down the wall to a sitting position, her elbows resting easily on her knees.

"I know, I-"I cut myself short, lowering myself down to the ground too, pressing my back against the door. I didn't mind the cold so much anymore. It kept me calm, kept me able to talk to this woman. The woman that I used to lay next to every night, but now I couldn't even bring myself to look her in the eyes.

"You don't mean waiting in the bank." She whispered eventually, playing with the frayed string at the end of the scarf "You mean me being here." Grace glanced up at me, her eyes a bit glassy. They reflected the light like the full moon on a crystal lake. "Does it really hurt you so bad to be in the same room as me."

I stared at her for a few seconds. She wouldn't move her gaze away, wouldn't budge. Her knees were pressed, her knuckles white as she held them close. I finally got out a whisper "yes."

She let out a small sound that was a mix between a laugh and a scoff. I continued to stare at her. She was quick to wipe away a tear the slid down her cheek. "I don't blame you, Red."

My throat was dry, my whole body screaming out against the urge to comfort her. I wanted to hold her in my arms and make everything okay, but I couldn't. Not this time. "Grace, I worked so hard to get over you. To make sure that I wouldn't feel anything if I ever bumped into you on the street."

"Is it working?"

I let out a small laugh "No. It isn't.... It's been worse lately. You know, because of the holidays and all."

"It has, hasn't it." She lifted her chin slightly "I was all ready for the headache of spending Christmas without you, Mamrie."

"Looks like you don't have to Gracie." I mumbled "Not this year."

[infinityknight25]

Lucha Underground: An Extreme Uprising part 1 (fiction)

Scene: Night time outside the Temple. A group of fancy, black generic rental cars pull up out front. The right rear door opens on the first car but you don’t see who gets out.

Scene: Dario Cueto’s office. Dario is sitting at his desk going over paperwork. He hears a throat clearing come from the other side of the desk. He looks up to see Paul Heyman accompanied by Samoa Joe, Rob Van Dam, Sabu, Raven, Bubba Ray Dudley, D'Von Dudley, Spike Dudley, and CM Punk.

Heyman: If you’ll excuse me but I think you are sitting in my chair.

Dario: You have some nerve coming in my building and….(Heyman cuts him off)

Heyman: See that’s where your wrong. Apparently your accounting department hasn’t kept up with the bills and the bank put it up for sale. I have REALLY good lawyers and they helped me pickup this….. warehouse

Dario: Well I will move out immediately.

Heyman: Oh no you will do no such thing. You see the temple is mine Dario. The temple is about to get an extreme makeover.

Matanza walks in the room. Heyman looks back at him. Cueto smiles.

Dario: Are you sure this is the road you want to go down? Catrina: Lest you forget Cueto. The temple belongs to US. Catrina and Mil Muertes walk into the room. Heyman: Hmm seems only my monster is missing. Brock Lesnar walks in the door way and leans up against the frame with a cocky smile. Heyman: My monster. My beast needs no introduction. So since you both think your monster’s can hold their own against mine. Well how about the second match on the card is a three way dance to face Pentagon Dark for the Lucha Underground championship. And under MY rule of the temple. All matches are no disqualification. Now if you excuse me I have to go see my loyal subjects.

Scene: Ringside in the temple. Fans are cheering and making lots of noise. Vampiro and Mat Striker are at the commentary table. Striker: Welcome back everyone to Lucha Undergound. It’s going to be a night of surprises. Just a few moments ago we were all notified the previous plans for this evening’s event were scratched and we would be notified at the top of the show as to what is going on. Vamp you have any ideas? Vampiro: Man I’ve been in the business along time and changes can mean many things. They all come down to one thing though and its good for some and bad for others. Hopefully it’s good for us. Heyman’s music hits and he starts coming out on the top floor behind the crowd much like the wrestlers do. He is followed by Brock Lesnar , Samoa Joe, CM Punk and Rob Van Dam. Vampiro: What the heck is he doing here? Striker: Can this be? THE Paul Heyman is in the temple? Vampiro: It sure looks that way and he is NOT alone. That’s some pretty good company that is coming down the stairs with him bro. Heyman get in the ring and is handed a mic. Heyman: (typical snotty tone) Ladies and Gentlemen…… I don’t need an introduction, you already know who I am and what I’m all about. (Points at the wrestlers) You know who they are and what THEY are ALL about. What you do need to know is that one Dario Cueto is no longer in charge here at Lucha Underground but yours truly most definitely is. I have big things set ahead for Lucha Underground. Things that are going to shake it up. More titles to come in the future? Perhaps. You will definitely see many many new faces. You will see luchadors square off with submission skilled athletes, hardcore brawlers, (Points at Lesnar and increases volume ) monstrous powerhouses! You will see many ethnicities here! Legends that made you gush in yesteryear and superstars of tomorrow that will have you talking at your water cooler of your pointless nine to five the next morning. Ladies and Gentlemen I AM Paul Heyman and this is MY Lucha Underground. Tonight you will see two of your prized monster’s take on my beast. THE Brrrrock Lllllesnar in a three way dance. Winner will then face Pentagon Dark for the Lucha Underground championship. But first your trios champions will face the Dudley boys in a tables match for the titles. You do not lose being put through a table. Pinfalls and submissions do count. The trios champions (Dante Fox, Killshot, and Mack) start coming out to the ring looking very flustered and are voicing their opinion and showing distaste as they approach the ring. The Dudleys music comes on and Bubba comes out in front of D'Von and Spike. Bubba is hyping the crowd up while the other two are carrying two tables. Vampiro: I don’t believe it. Tag Team royalty has just stepped into the temple. These guys have made so much wrestling history and I’m sure tonight won’t be any different. Striker: I wouldn’t doubt it bro. These Dudleys know two things very well. That’s tag team wrestling and tables. The three Dudleys get in the ring and line up across from the trios champions. Bubba across from Mack. Spike and killshot in the middle of the lineup. D'Von and Dante on the other side. Inaudible smack talk begins between the six. Vampiro: There’s another thing these guys are very good at and that is talking smack. They can get under even a seasoned veteran’s skin. Bubba spits chew on Mack’s boot. Mack stops talking and looks down at his boot. Everyone else stops and looks down at his boot. Bubba smiles. Mack throws a punch at the same time Bubba does as well. Striker: Oh man! Bubba Ray trying to get things started off on the wrong foot! Vampiro: That’s Bubba for you. These Dudleys can get away with things like that cause they’ve been around so long. They can be cocky. It doesn’t help that they are all buddy buddy with Paul Heyman. The group gets split up Bubba and Mack fight in one corner while Spike is being beaten by Killshot in the middle of the ring. D'Von and Dante trade punches back and forth outside. Dante tries to Irish whip D'Von into a barricade but D'Von counters. Spike gets tossed from the ring onto D'Von by Killshot. Vampiro: Man this is a great way to start things off in the temple. There is no doubt that Heyman can provide great violence….Almost as good as his lies and treachery. Striker: What’s your problem with him huh? He’s done so much good for the industry. He helped make… Vampiro: Blah blah blah. Look you can say whatever you want. I don’t like how he does things. I see it only spelling disaster for the Temple. The Dudleys turn the match around to their favor they are all inside the ring and Bubba smacks D'Von on the chest. Bubba: D'Von!!! D'Von looks at the crowd to hype them up. Bubba: Get the tables!! Vampiro: Matt, pain and anguish are about to beset the trios champions right here in the temple. Striker: When the Dudleys go for the tables it is certain that something EXTREME is about to happen. Vampiro: Would you quit with the stupid plugs for these lame punks man? I’m getting sick of it. They haven’t even been here a whole day and I can’t stand them. D'Von is grabbing a table from ringside while Bubba Ray punches on killshot while Spike rolls Dante outside the ring. D'Von comes back inside the ring with a table. He sets it up in the middle of the ring. Bubba whips Killshot to the ropes setting him up for the 3d. Mack baseball slides the table out of the way and Killshot lands on top of Mack. Striker: An incredible save by Mack to keep Killshot from the first to be put through a table. Vampiro: That was a heck of a sacrifice brother. Bubba Ray gets pulled out of the ring by Dante who begins punching Bubba. Bubba finally blocks a punch and tries to counter but Dante blocks it and catches Bubba with a punch who is now stunned. Dante jumped up and hurracanranaed Bubba Ray through a table on the outside. Vampiro: Boom! Dante putting one of the Dudleys through a table first. Score one for an LU original. Striker: I see what you did there. Killshot has Spike in an arm bar on the mat. D'Von comes over and breaks it up with a stomp. As he turns around Mack tries to tackle D'Von through a table that had now been setup in a corner. D'Von rolls out of the ring to avoid Mack. Mack goes through the table. D'Von and Dante start trading punches. Killshot comes flying from the ring. D'Von moves out of the way of the attack. Killshot ends up cross bodying Dante through a table. Striker: Oh man! The action never stops here in the temple! Spike tries to sneak a pin in the ring. Referee gets to two before Mack kicks out. Vampiro: Props to lil Spike for trying to bring the match to a quick close. What’s this?! Brother check it out! Mack picks Spike up off his chest from the pin into a over head press and throws into Spike into a table on the out outside. Striker: And yet again someone has fallen victim to a table! Vampiro: These guys are leaving it all in the ring….. well and outside the ring too. D'Von and Bubba begin double teaming Mack while the other three lay in broken tables. D'Von and Bubba do a double clothes line. Bubba inaudibly tells D'Von to get a table setup in the ring. Bubba goes back to work punching Mack while he lays on the ground. Vampiro: Here we go again man. The champs may be in trouble. Striker: They may be indeed as Bubba rolls Mack in the ring. Who is now being stomped by D'Von. Bubba throws Mack to the ropes and sets up the 3D. Striker: Here it comes! The 3D!!!! Mack welcome to extreme tag team wrestling. Vampiro: I hate to say it but at it’s finest my brother. These Dudleys man, they are hard to beat in a tag team match we may be seeing the end right here. Bubba goes for the pin. At one D'Von starts brawling with Killshot who was trying to break the pin. Dante breaks the count. Bubba and Dante begin exchanging blows. Bubba knocks Dante over the top rope. Striker: Again taking the fight to the outside. Vampiro: You can’t win this thing from the outside but if you have confidence in your partners. Isolating an opponent could prove to be a great strategy. Spike makes his way in the ring and begins fighting with Killshot again. Mack and D'Von are fighting in a corner on the other side of the . Striker: There’s so much action in this trios match it’s hard to keep your eye on everything. Vampiro: It may be important to note that Dante and Bubba Ray are fighting in the crowd now. Striker: They appear to be heading for the top of the office area. Spike and Killshot are fighting on the apron. Oh my gosh! Dudley dog through a table on the outside. An excellent use of the apron and the ropes leading to a big move on the outside. Vampiro: Man this is great. All these guys keep pushing themselves and each other. Hey look look. Dante is on the edge of the office. A table below. Bubba punching away. Dante is dazed.This could be it Matt. Dante suddenly appears to have his senses back and shoves Bubba’s arms to side and hurrcanranas Bubba off the roof through the table down below. Vampiro: Wow! That there Matt will be a move for the ages. Striker: No doubt a move that could turn the tide but Dante appears to be so tired that he has fallen down on the roof of the office. Back in the ring ANOTHER table has been setup in the ring. Mack on the shoulders of D'Von. Spike on the top rope. Boom! Dudleyville Device!!!! Vampiro: Through a table too man. This match has been gold from the start. Striker: And it would appear we are at the end as the brothers Spike and D'Von do a double team pin locking each others arms over Mack. One! Two! Three! New champs! Vampiro: I gotta say they earned it brother. What a match. I may have my issues with some of the new talent but dude this match was off the hook. Announcer: Your new Trios champions the Dudley Boyz! Scene: A dark anonymous locker room. Mil Muertes sits on a stool, looking at his fist. Catrina standing in the center of the room facing Muertes. Smelling a black rose. Catrina: (sounds pleased)mmmmm. Two more souls are laid at your Mil. And tonight. Heyman clears his throat and appears in the door way of the locker room. He proceeds in uninvited. Heyman: Now this is something I know all to well. I’ve spent alot and I mean ALOT of time in the company of the devil….. well in your case a cheap knock of the devil. Maybe a demon at best. You see my beast has been proven time after time after time. You see my monster. MY demon WILL lay waste to yours and when he’s done. He will rule over the temple in a way that over shadow Mil Muertes. He will be forgotten. He will be run out of this temple for being a fraud. Catrina stands tall. Almost defiant. There’s another in the room now behind Heyman. Pentagon: (in spanish)You have so much faith in Lesnar but does he have zero fear? Yes I will be out sized in the main event tonight but who ever steps in the ring with me will see me Pentagon Dark as a man who is pure zero fear. I’m not losing my belt tonight. (Brandishes belt) Heyman: Its noted Mister Pentagon and its good to be confident in yourself but remember there is such a thing as over confidence.