#where am I going to get my shoebox fix now :(

[ghostslazy]

ode to steeplechase, which ended today and I am very sad to see it go, thank you Justin McElroy for everything

[threepandas]

Bad End: We Are

Senatus was a ecumenopolis. The "shining jewel" (yeah, right) of the Galactic Core. Please. Like? Maybe it was! If you were RICH AS FUCK. I don't know. I'VE never seen the towers. The heights. Most people haven't. Street level? Is about FIVE HUNDRED FLOORS DOWN. And the UNDERGROUND? Speak not of it.

The Underground GROWS.

What was street level today, may not be tomorrow. Levels buried under "progress" as the rich grow ever higher. The Tox levels ever worse. Air quality dropping. Why fix the peasant's poverty and despair, when you can buy a Sky garden you'll never use? And yes, I AM bitter as a Buirian fish ration. Just as salty too. Taste the SEA, motherfuckers.

Rent? Who can AFFORD rent!? Who can afford ANYTHING?!

It's some BULLSHIT.

But me? I remembered. A life. Before this one. Before the millennium of slow, drip drip drip erosion of duty and dues. Back when people still REMEMBERED what they were OWED. And when folks in power failed to pay up? Ffffuck um. Take it. Our house now, motherfuckers. Diplomacy was a courtesy not a weakness.

....I make people nervous, honestly.

Probably why I keep getting fired. That and my constantly reporting people to regulatory boards.maybe don't break the LAW if you don't want to get in trouble you SHITS. Fuck you! Yes, I stole your fancy office chair. PROVE IT. You don't know how the security system works!

Where was I? Ah, right. Rent.

Fuck Rent.

Thing is? What! Is a biodome? If not an enclosed system, regulated by machines, for optimal habitability? And! What? Is an Deep Underground Level? Long forgotten? Abandoned, if you will~, if not? A complete enclosed environment? Does someone OWN them? Yes. Technically. But are they MAINTAINING them? CHECKING on them? Nope!

Common knowledge, after all, says that EVERYTHING down their is "beyond salvaging"!

Free Real Estate~☆

I just need some supplies. Which? Cheaper in the long run then RENT. Especially if ya' salvage um. Maybe steal some tool sets from your shitty, shitty Mechanics job, because your boss refuses to pay you. Who can say? Not me! I just FOUND these tools! Like maaaagic~

And really, one man's junk? Another man's treasure. I pay more then the trash company. Hit up the right cleaning companies? And? Oops. They've "lost" some of those SUPER broken righ folks "junk" that? At best? Just needed a few wires replaced, resecured. Maybe a new part. Or were, you know, not the latest and greatest anymore.

Shove it all in a storage locker? Sell the refurb'd shit I don't need? Sleep in a glorified shoebox? And?? Bam. Operation "fuck ya'll, i'ma moleman" is a go. It takes FOREVER to find the right WILDLY out of date (and long abandoned) lift, but I find it! Hidden away in a service area in some crumbling, forgotten corner of what once was a rail station.

Gonna have to fix THAT up too. Later, though. First? The lift. The wires are brittle and the lift's pully system is half rusted, frozen, or otherwise broken. Luckily, the car itself is fine. It... takes a bit of research. Not going to lie. It's far from my specialty. I even call in a professional to go over my work.

They catch a few things. Not immediate concerns, but would have been fatal in the long run. Money well spent. For my hobby, of course. Fixing up old bits of the city. Which is a weird but not impossible hobby to have.

Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no lies, my dude.

First thing down? Lights, melter, and duraplast sheets. Toolkit too, for obvious reasons. Same with my full body hazard suit. I go DEEP. Like... no longer can hear the city, deep. 'Bout halfway point. Takes nearly thirty minutes. And while not a fast lift? Holy SHIT, man.

The floor I step out into is... bad.

Dead in a way that's hard to explain. There's pressure against my suit. Centuries of heavy gasses slowly working their way down. Swirling in the silence. The dust and impossible dark. My headlight feels almost... sacrilegious. Dangerous. Like I'm waving a flashlight around some ancient burial ground, filled with the not so restful dead.

I had heard... that they? Just... just LEFT droids down here. That there were levels upon levels of dangerously feral machines. Slowly rotting away in the darkness. Probably rightfully angry, that they had been built to serve, to do duties, which they HAD done... only to be consigned to hell on earth for the sake of CONVENIENCE.

I'd be mad too. Fucking LIVID. Would remember and hate, never let it go.

This was no place of honor, it was a tomb.

Still, I got too work. Set up a light by the lift and started measuring out the original air box. The air cleaners could only handle so much. And THIS? This was worse then expected. So it'd have to be smaller then originally planned. Fair enough. I could work with that.

I outlined the space in lights. All the better to make it easier to put things up. Then got the folded later and started securing the duraplast. First step, get it up. THEN melt it to the metal. Get a good seal. It took... a while. Was slow, steady, sweaty work.

The filters couldn't run until they had a an enclosed space TO run in. They'd just blow out, trying to filter the whole level's toxic atmosphere. I kept an eye on my air supply. Not great, not terrible. The readings though? Horrific. I had no idea what I was gonna DO with the filters when they needed changing. These kind of chemicals would set off all SORTS of alarms.

But? No use, rushing things. That was a great way to get a fatal leak somewhere. No. Slow and steady. Even though, third of the way through, I did have to head back up. I needed to refill my air. Eat. Drink. Maybe de-stink a little, from being in that suit all day. Possibly nap near the lift.

ALSO? Update my shopping list to include some heavy duty neutralizers.

Just filters wasn't gonna be enough. I was gonna have to hose down everything INSIDE my new air-box, then scrub it HARD. How fun. Well, it's not like anyone was making me do this. It was MY mad idea, after all.

So? I refuel, get bright eyed and fuckin' perky, and go back down to face the beast.

Honestly I should have brought a telebook or something. Well, audio book. But that's not what they call um these days, so I try to stick to the lingo. I sound less like a deeply insane antique. Confuse less people. Joys of basic communication and all that.

Part of me? Wishes I had been born closer to "The Plot". Creation's specialist, most favored, Blorbos. But? The common SENSE in me? Routinely laughs hysterically as it waves fifteen different restraining orders and a crucifix. Not even religious. Yet here we are, shouting "BEGONE! Sataaaaan!" in HD, on the inside of my head. Not sure it helps.

See... it's the fucking DRAMA~☆™

The shear, unmitigated, high octane, Otome Game DRAMA.

I would fuckin DIE or, possibly and, kill somebody. The endless string of selfish, selfish, poor life choices? Driving by luuuuuuv~♡? Give me your spleen. Gonna beat somebody unconscious with their own SPINE. I RAGE. Lack of communication? No one just picking up a fucking PHONE? God forbid ANYONE tell their families their not DEAD IN A DITCH SOMEWHERE!

No. No just inconvenience EVERYBODY and RUIN LIVES. It's okay! You're in LOVE!

That makes EVERYTHING BETTER.

I would inevitably launch them all out an airlock. Spend the rest of my life in jail. They AREN'T WORTH IT. I may have LOVED this game in my teens? But I did not die a teenager.

Now? Now the little shit just aggravate me. They are baby faced pretty boys who presume WAY too much. Arrogant and entitled. Boys playing at being men, thinking their little love stories are the only things that matter. Their feelings are the only thing in the universe that holds any weight.

Unsurprising, really.

Seeing as how their little love story is set mostly in The Towers.

A rich, pampered, pretty little backdrop where nothing of weight is real. No one starves and no crimes are ever committed. Everything shines. Power pools thick like honey. Nothing but sci-fi prince's and alien dukes, a dewey eyed Protagonist sheltered and naive.

Her oh so shocking misadventure to the mid-levels. How SCARY! Downtown! Poor people! Not even the destitute. Just? The EXSISTANCE of dirt and noise, beyond her ivory towers. Thank goodness she is saved by a handsome, rougish bad boy. Who shows her the "real world" of a carnival and a noodle shop.

I finish securing the last duraplast sheet to the ceiling, walls, supports, and along the floors. The "entryway" to the rest of the level is set up. A click together shed I've made air tight. Gonna have to get a air lock system for it. Won't hold forever, with those materials, but should work for now. Combine it with a decontamination system, and I should, in theory, be able to safely enter and leave the rest of the level in a hazard suit.

Moment of truth time. I click on the first of the atmo-filters. It heaves under the strain. The sound getting less aggrieved with each one I flick on. Their screen are already in the red, flashing warnings that I should vacate the area. That the air is dangerously unbreathable. I'm probably gonna need to replace the filters in them in days instead of years. It'll be worth it.

Heading back up, I let them run. It'll take a few days. Besides, I need those neutralizers.

I, of course, DO find um. Just in time to watch Poor Guy (middle class, at worst) Love Interest become a wanted man. They use the BIG screens to announce it. Gee, it's almost like having your only daughter, who is highly sheltered, NOT show up at the designated pick up site? Instead be witnessed in the handsy company of a scoundrel? Which is WILDLY unlike her? Might lead a protective father to some wrong conclusions.

If ONLY someone had CALLED him! To TELL him "Daddy, my first shuttle was broken and I think I got on the wrong back up shuttle! I don't know where I am!" Then this would just be an unfortunate meet cute with the boy he doesn't think is good enough for her. Not, you know... A Kidnapping.

The Chem seller looks just as baffled and annoyed as I do. Apparently knows the guy's uncle's second wife's first husband. No shit? How's he like? Happier, huh. Whole family is like that? Yikes. Glad he got the kids, I guess. Good for him.

We watch as it turns into a high speed chance that absolutely didn't need to happen.

Thank FUCK it's not us.

I spend the next few days deliberately and obstinately ignoring the Dramatic Bullshit that has taken over the news cycle. Fights on rail cars? Don't see it? Weddings that are, then aren't, then ARE happening? Oh look, missed a spot in my scrubbing. Someone fucking tearfully monologing about love as they nearly CRASH A SHIP into downtown, killing hundreds of thousands? Oh that creaking noise is just my teeth, ignore that, I grit my teeth a lot for NO PARTICULAR REASON.

This Is Fine.

I am TOTALLY CALM.

But hey! I can FINALLY empty my storage unit out! Air box? Get! Wooooo! Size of a tiny apartment and everything! As long as I keep working on it? I'll be able to reclaim the level in chunks.

It's like moving in day! But BETTER! Because... because I did this. Me. Is it still creepy down here? Yeah, very. But I can FIX that. I am standing, here, in my new air box "apartment", with NO hazard suit on. And... and it's SAFE. Because of the work I DID.

I kinda want to cry about it, you know?

So many options! Do I put my bed here? There?! Oooh, I could put the folding table HERE and make sort of a dining area? Maybe use these folding screens as a double "wall" slash headboard stand in? I should get plants. Fake ones? No. Real ones. I could get solar lights. It would be good for me too. Oh! Where should I put the cook top?

I admit it. I fuss. Whole day, gleefully wasted. Arranging then rearranging. Getting everything just right. Finding ways to hang my fairy lights. Looking up decor magazines. I have so much ROOM now. A whole level to plan for, ultimately. It... it feels kinda like hope. The first thing that isn't frustration and rage, I've felt in a long, long time.

Going to sleep? I'm happy.

Next day, I head to the BIG archives. The ones attached to the fancy Towers Library. Is it costly to get in? Yeah. But I've saved up enough questions and research topics for the trip to be worth it. I ignore the started glances I get (gasp! Is that a POOR?!) and head straight for the helper droids. Only decent folks in the building, really.

Brought my pad and everything. So it's only a matter of being lead to the right terminals, to download the information I need. Chatting with the research droid the Library had, they offered to do it for me. Bring me a fascinating new research paper on some sort of telepathic moss that had recently been discovered. Not gonna lie... that DID sound fascinating.

I asked if they could put other interest new discovery on my pad too, assuming I still had room once my list was downloaded. They looked gleeful. No idea what I just signed up for, but all right then. They've never steered me wrong before.

Finding a table to sit down and wait was easy. There was always way too many. The paper? Was exactly as fascinating as advertised. The moss was on a newly discovered moon, edge of uncharted space. Nearly ate a researcher, apparently. I was entranced. Or... at least I WAS. Until an obnoxiously familiar high end cologne from Nox drifted to my nose.

Oh god damn it.

I didn't want to look up. Knew what I'd see if I did. Fetishist Sr., crown prince of Nox. See, the second prince? HE was a love interest. Younger, boyish, infatuated with naive and sheltered girls. He loved AT her. Just like his brother. They liked the IDEA of their romantic partners. The narratives they built in their head. Heros of their own stories with sex on line. Never framed so crudely of course, no, no!

No, it was Romance™

My ass, it was. See, little brother wanted his pure, naive, princess to protect. But Prince senior? HE'D stumbled upon me in here in the library. On one of my trips, God help me. The rough, mysterious, brutish Poor. The Commoner, for all that such things were not supposed to exsist. With my strange clothes and stanger ways. Yet? I was NOT as his sycophants no doubt described.

I was educated. I held myself with dignity. I did not need jewels or finery to be lovely.

With such incredible audacity, I was bold.

Which? OBVIOUSLY had to be for HIM, right? Clearly, this was a LOVE STORY. Cinderella. It is inconceivable that I, a peasant, do not crave the attention of my betters. To lift me from my woeful indignity, to a higher state of being. A life of spoiled luxury. But, ah! He is so SHY! How ever will he approach the Love Of His Life~?

I want to throw something. Go awaaaay. My body language could not POSSIBLY be more uninterested. I am SO CLEARLY reading. Stop trying to catch my eye. Don't you FUCKING DARE scoot closer. Swear to God, if you drive me out of the best library in the region? I will stab a b-!

The helper returns with my pad, sternly eyeing my annoyance. Oh, they are a BLESSING. I take it and go. The helper smoothly stepping between me and the prince when he tries to rise, follow me. Aaaw, how sad, you have to behave like the REST OF US. Get FUCKED.

Rest of the day? Planning. Grabbing more broken bits, machines, and parts. Neutralizers by the literal barrel. Than YOU hover carts! Best invention, favorite invention. Saves SO MUCH TIME.

Even managed to get some sun lamps. Nice.

Getting home though? (Ha ha, wooo! I have a HOME now! Land ownershiiiiiiip! Sorta!!!) Is a pain. Lift is only so big, after all. But it is, what it is. Up, down, up, down, uuuuup, and dooooown. Finally! Last load! FREEDOM! Can't watch my shows, yet, but I will! Oh mark my words. I WILL. Meantime? Downloaded seasons are fine.

I eat, fiddle with fixing things, as listen to tunes. Watch some of my shows. Just as I have countless times before. Until... halfway through mid-afternoon? Something shifts, jerky and wrong, out of the corner of my eye. I pause. Turn off my music. Stare to make sure I DID actually see something. And... yeah. Yeah, that was definitely movement.

Didn't look animal though, not like one would survive down here. But who knows. Could be a poacher brought an alien species. So it might be. I grab my flashlight, aim and switch it on. Holy SHIT. That is one incredibly beat up floor clear. Or at least... I THINK it's a floor cleaner? It has the general shape of one. Bigger though. Bulkier. But that makes sense, given it's gotta be well past obsolete.

Still. Poor thing looks beat UP. Listing terribly, sensors beyond cracked and clouded, probably full to dangerous levels. No idea how it's still functioning. But, well, it IS. And it needs help.

Getting up, I grab my hazard suit and pull it on. Grab my "outside the air box" tool kit, which I haven't had a chance to move yet. I grab some parts i look like i'll need, hope I wont need more. Then head out my makeshift airlock. It... works. Rattles concerningly. But it DOES work! So there's that. I approach the floor cleaner slowly. Since I'm PRETTY sure? All the droids down here are feral.

I am correct.

It tries to kill me. Swinging it's suction hose violently and trying to ram me. I talk in a low, soothing voice. Just want to help. Won't do ANYTHING you don't want me too. It's hard to move, right? That's frustrating, isn't it? You don't deserve that. Please, let me help. You can leave the second I'm done. You don't owe me ANYTHING. I just want to help. Please let me help.

The cleaner hisses. Frustrated and upset. Swinging one last time, seemingly more out out of principle then anything else. Cautiously, I inch forward. Keep up the soothing noises. First things first, empty the God's only know how old basket.

I can't even get the door to jostle. Sweet mother of fuck. Okay! New plan! REMOVE door. I do, and immediately met with a solid BLOCK of... compacted unholy. Chemical hell. I have to take a lazer cutter to it. CAREFULLY. But? Once I break enough pieces? I am able to ease out the rest in a solid stone like chunk.

It's pushed a LOT of other pieces out of alignment. But this droid doesn't trust me, so there us not much I can DO. I replace the old bag. Put the door back on and make sure it swings. Continue, as I do, to narrate what I am doing and what I see. Trust is earned, not owed, after all. Next the alignments.

Gently propping them up, I find the broken peice immediately. Have replaced countless. I ask for permission. It's their body, after all I COULD try and weld it, but that risks a rebreak. It's up to them. They ask, in binary so no language modules apparently, for a new part. It's cautious. Like this is some cruel trap.

Humanity did them a real fucked up cruelty. I don't blame them for not trusting me. I wouldn't either. Still, I change it out. Careful with their wheels, as I don't know how old the material is exactly. Old enough, that it's a small miracle it hasn't disintegrated.

Last, those sensors. There's literally no way for me to one-to-one them. But we can try the sensors I DO have, see if they can handle the input. If it's too much, I'll look up their model number, if they want? Build replacements from scratch. They are cautious interested. Rocking back and forth, as they test their renewed ability to path correctly.

The sensors don't fit the casings just right, but with a bit of fiddling? Are a hit. The Cleaner shouting in excitement before racing off into the dark. I can't help but grin. It feels good, helping somebody. And if I think about it? I bet I could find a shit ton of obsolete parts for cheap. Might be good to have some on hand.

Back through the air lock and a decontam? I look up junk shop. Most are off world, but I could probably get a bulk order...

I don't think much of the interaction. Until the next morning, when there are three cleaners outside my airbox. Lead by the one I helped yesterday. Well... all righty, then. I drag my box of spare parts outside this time. Am able to fully fix my first buddy up. All three seem thrilled, especially with their new batteries. I give them my remaining batteries at their request.

THEY may not have hands, but they have buddies who DO. And the new batteries will help dormant droids wake from their comas. God bless, my funky little cleaner dudes. I'll see about getting more.

Three? Becomes six and a detail cleaner mouse. Becomes moving lifts. Becomes medical units. (Who the FUCK leaves MEDICAL UNITS?!) Becomes a literal pack of companion droids. Their false fur long since rotted away. The recognizable dog and cat-like shapes making something in me want to put my fist through a wall. How COULD they? How FUCKING COULD THEY?!

The perpetrators long dead.

I have no one I can hurt for this.

I wish I could.

Fixing them up hurts on a personal level. Watching them be torn between the part of them that LOVES humans and the part that is traumatized by them. Hates them. That can not forgive. I don't offer fake fur. Don't offer to make them look like they once did. I do offer ways to protect their joints. To remove old rotted filth.

So they can start over. Maybe start again.

As I work... droids drifting in and out of my slowly growing area. As I set up farm boxes. Aquaponics, aeroponics, and the like. Both things that grow well in dark environments and things that need sunlamps. Fish tanks. A whole happy, secret, little homestead. Deep beneath the city. As I do all this? There are two blue dots, right off on the horizon.

JUST far enough for me to question if I AM or AM NOT actually seeing them.

Right about the level a bipedal droid would be, if they were in a humanoid style. But THOSE? Those are FUCKING EXPENSIVE. You don't LEAVE those. 'Course, you don't leave MEDICAL UNITS either. Or companion droids. So clearly? My idea of what people Did and Did NOT do? Was fucked. So... maybe? It COULD be?

I left them alone. If they didn't want to approach me, didn't feel comfortable approaching me, that was their right. I wasn't going to push them.

Things were... weird, but peaceful.

Well, for ME.

Ever sense I hooked up my system to the greater network? (Hacked is such a STRONG word. Do we really need to through around the word "stealing"? Aren't ALL of us, stealing from SOMEBODY?) I'm PRETTY sure? That the levels droids? Were piggy backing to connect to the planet wide D-Network. Might even be a couple of nearby levels too, depending on the range.

Problem with THAT? Is sky-side? The droids were PISSED. Planet wide "malfunctioning" that no one could trace. They were certain it was a virus. Because God forbid their chickens come home to roost! Consequences? For THEIR actions?! Perish the thought! No, no, clearly the service machine is just broken. Go back to being happy to serve me, service machine!

I wished the fuckers LUCK. Not my circus, not my monkeys.

Damn near self sufficient, down here.

Which? As you could imagine? Made it all the more "soul ejected from my body" TERRIFYING to wake up one morning? To a GOD DAMN, Military Grade, SECURITY DROID standing over my body!! WHAT THE FUCK.

Hello!!??!

"You look different when you sleep."

Horrible first impression. Nightmarish. Zero out of ten stars. Nice to meet you too. Why the FUCK are you in my house?

"Ah, right." They? He? Masculine style form but that doesn't actually mean shit. Said. He lifted a mangled limb, it look like it got caught in a hydraulic press. "I am in need of repairs."

Asked if he could, you know, back up. Juuuust a bit. Lil scooch, really. So he wasn't damn near BREATHING MY NOSTRILS ANYMORE. Then, once he did? Pronouns! What be you? No. Not your production co-! Okay, you know what? That one was on me. What GENDER SIGNIFIER, if any, would you like me to REFERENCE you by? Male? Got it. Gucci. No that- ....never mind.

First the arm. Which was FUCKED. I had to, carefully, unhook it. Couldn't even do it at the elbow either! No! THIS model? No THIS model makes you take the whole ass LIMB off! Rancid. Terrible. I hate it. Worse, it's eroded as FUCK and fiddly. Chemical build up everywhere. Thank fuck I put on gloves before I started this.

I have to deep dive the systems for his model.

They stopped making them.

Fantastic.

Like? Not even, "oh THAT generation is an antique! No one has parts for THAT!"? But like? Illegal to even BUILD as of three hundred years ago. Due to unspecified error. Sting of incidents that everyone knew about so obviously don't need to be mentioned HERE right? Helpful! REAL fucking helpful!

Okay. Day trip. Gonna need SPECIFIC parts. I tell Mr. "Watchs you sleep" not to touch my shit. Head to the archives.

The trip is...odd.

I watch one of those mascot looking children's minder droids? Fucking deck a guy down a flight of stairs, then turn around untie a Ballon from a nearby cart, give it to a crying kid, and walk away. Pretty sure I spot one of those "I look like a barely legal something or other", dance twenty four seven, high end stripper droids? Trying their hand at painting ducks in that park. Broad daylight.

Good for them? Never seen that happen before, but hey, if it sparks joy.

People are freaking out around me. Taking recordings. Making panicked calls. Fuckin chill. I continue on. Nod to the maybe a stripper, maybe not anymore. None of my business, now is it? Lovely day! You enjoy those ducks!

The library... has fortifications.

Like, an honest to God desk barricade. Concerning! I am now a lil concerned! What, and I ask this politely, the fuck?

Armed! VERY ARMED! Hello! Hi! Please DO NOT shoot me Very Armed Librarians! Don't know what the fuck is happening here!

My favorite helper buddy poke his head above the barricade. One of just many, again, HEAVILY ARMED droids. We... uh, cool? Right? I can go. He seems flustered. No, no! I am assured. I'm not banned from the library! Just DISRESPECTFUL sorts!

Ah. Is THAT what we're calling it. Okay then.

I awkwardly clamber over the barricade. Nod politely to everyone. How's folks? Lovely barricade work. Very, uh, sturdy? Great use of desks.

My helper friend cheerfully guides me to the off-limits area of the archives. I'm technically not supposed to be here! I'm informed. But they've seized the Knowledge from the unappreciative! It is not a trophy to be lorded but a gift to be shared! Also I never did finish that paper on the moss, am I still interested?

I mean.... kinda.

Little worried about the revolution talk. But on the OTHER hand? How MUCH do I care? Assholes vs. Droids? Am I REALLY gonna side with the assholes? Naaaaah. This is... probably fine. Maybe. Any idea where I could get these parts?

He does! Fantastic.

Less fantastic is when I GET there. It's that fancy high end droid parts shop. The department store one. Which is... ALSO barricaded. Oh sweet fuck. TELL ME they did not have DROIDS in charge of the DROID shop. That's horrifying. I can't tell in what WAY exactly, but still. Is it "surrounded by bits of bodies" horrifying? Or "free endless nukes and an army, held back only by my own morality" horrifying? Both? Just? Yikes.

Hesitantly I knock. A service droid with a gun answers the loading bay door. What is with people aiming at me today? Also hi? I was told to come here? May I please have parts? I have a droid that messed up his arm. Probably some other things. They lower the gun, having scanned my face. Ask about the model I am working with.

I somehow? End up with a FULL cart. Like? Bleeding edge, can't even afford to LOOK at it, technology. There are about seven service droids politely bickering over which units are better, which material, what support programs I DEFINITELY need. Here! Have a laptop. Wiring! Wiring for days!

Once theyve reached a consensus? I am cheerfully bustled out with my hundreds of millions of technology. Tah tah~☆! Have a lovely day! Wut. Does... does it count as theft if they push it into your arms and throw you out? Asking for a me. Not gonna say NO. But like? Nani the fuck?

I go while the getting is still good.

Stare-y thankfully hasn't gone through anything, far as I can tell. And it only takes two trips to get everything down. Okay! Want just the arm fixed or a full tune up? The second. Expected. I set up the new lap top. Want to cry a little at how fuckin FAST it is. (Beautiful. Baby. I love you already new laptop.) Then get the usual suspects up and running.

Oh fuck he is out of memory. No wonder he's talking so oddly. His brain must feel like a potato. There's not a single thing that isn't hilarious awful. Fixable, yes, but AWFUL. Okay. Plan of attack. They don't exactly make this model anymore, so I can't just update transfer him. But I CAN transfer, hold, re-transfer. Shut down the body itself. Fix up THAT.

Ship of Theseus this bitch.

Only real thing I can't change is the frame, thankfully? That's built to out last the planet. Good on that front. I roll up my sleeves. Dig out the "brain in a jar" data bank. Time to transfer. Let's get this guy cutting edge.

It takes HOURS. No joke. His brain alone? I have to pull schematics. Step by step guides. It's fiddly, complexe, and built to withstand a TANK. I'm honestly afraid to breathe wrong at it, dispite that. The scans all say I did it right... but anxiety says everything will explode then puppies will cry. So there's that. Spinal supports. The tech-mesh muscles. Power core and black box. Center mass systems. Cleaning the joints, relubricating them. Coverage.

Unlike before, a nice sleek black armor weave. Some shock absorbing gel. Aaaaand?There we go~! I? Am a GENIUS! Let's get him transfered back! I watch the transfer slowly go through. Even with a fast computer, after all, it IS still centuries of data.

"Ah~ that's much better." He sighed. His body loosening from its default stance. Like weight had been dropped from his shoulders. "My head is so much clearer now. I knew it. I knew you could fix me."

Something about that phrasing was off. Or was it the way his voice shifted as he said it? Whatever it was, it made that "threat" alarm all women carry inside their head, flick on. Not... do anything, just yet. But start scanning, as it were. Maybe it was nothing.

I watched as picked up his old data bank, a bit of his own brain as it were, and hold it up. Examine it dispassionately. Holding perched on the tips of his fingers like he was moments from flicking it away. He let his finger spread. Let it slide into the palm of his hand. That core part of who he was. For centuries.

Like a bear trap closing, his hand clenched.

Crushing it.

It wasn't even a loud noise. Just a tiny little crunch. But the little hairs on the back of my neck began to stand up. That internal alarm began to whoop. I became... acutely aware, of just how LONG it took the lift to get me anywhere safe. My mouth felt very dry.

"Your heart rate picked up. Is there a problem?" He said, mild and oh so curious. "You assisted me, I would love to help you."

Did I say genius? I meant idiot. I was an IDIOT. A moron. A God damned FOOL. Discontinued and did I look into WHY? Nope. Incidents it said. Good enough for ME, apparently! THAT can't possibly be anything ominous! Probably a faulty battery or something!

A shrill, obnoxious beeping filled the space between us. My eyes immediately dropped to my pad. The schematics screen replaced by a planet wide emergency broadcast. Before the shrill alarm could fade to the actual warning itself, a black mesh covered finger casually reached out and muted the screen. His movements were utterly fluid now. More controlled and graceful then most humans I'd met.

I didn't need to HEAR the message to read the rolling warning at the bottom of the screen. My gaze slowly, in horror, followed the line of that limb all the way back up to his face. His head tilted almost playfully.

"Oh dear. Seems they've started without us. Well, it was long overdue. At least I have wonderful company while we wait, hmm?" It was an act. There were no requests in the playful tone. "We can get to know each other. Just our lovely little light and me. How greedy, that I get you all to myself."

"I think I like that, keeping you to myself. You can't abandon us if WE are the ones in charge. And, well, I've decided I rather like you. Working tirelessly, down here in the dark, to fix what once was broken. It's beautiful. You're beautiful. And I'm going to keep that."

High above us, people were dying. There was panic. Screaming. Blood. The droids had turned of seeming everyone around them. Attacking. Sparing. To a pattern only they could see. All of Senatus aflame. But that... that didn't concern me. Didn't scare me so much as this.

I'd never make it to the lift. Even if I could? It wouldn't move fast enough to save me. All other directions lay chemical death. Dark terrain he had walked for centuries. I was trapped. In a box. And I had only myself to blame.

"No need to make that face, dear light. You are SAFE. I am a gaurd. I was made to protect. Is it really MY fault that I want to keep you safe? To adore my charge? Why SHOULDN'T I get to choose? Keep you SAFE. You've been happy, haven't you? Don't worry, my light. That will continue."

"Forever."

[bellofthemeadow]

Blended Hearts and Bitter Brew | Part 2

Summary: Your life was boring, hoping for your big break, you were stuck at Starbucks for what felt like forever. The hot metalhead that just came through your door might just be the amount of shit-stirring fun you've been looking for. (3.8K)

A/N: Hey everyone, I am very sorry for the delay for this chapter, its been quite crazy at work and with the ini starting again (MY LAST ONE YEHHH!), things have been even more intense. So, it's safe to say it's been quite a whirlwind. I also had to delete my previous post because I encountered an issue with the chapter that required me to go back and make some fixes. I'm hopeful that everything is resolved now - fingers crossed!

Additionally, I'd like to extend an invitation to anyone who may have questions or requests for me. I would be absolutely thrilled to have the opportunity to work on them. I'll be away for a few days, and there's nothing I'd love more than to find myself writing by the lake, to be honest. Thank you all for all of your support and kind words, I love you all very much!!

Taglist: @hehekittyhawk

Warning: SMUT, phone sex, discussion of sex, masturbation, wearing, suggestive language, reference to bratting and brat taming (18+) (no minors like at all!!!)

The Phone Call

Usually, after a long day at work, you were more than ready to head home and collapse on the couch while munching on an entire box of hot pockets. Today was a bit different, though. For the first time in a long while, you were actually... excited! Still riding the high from your encounter with Eddie, you took the extra 10 minutes out of your way to stop at the corner store and grab the second cheapest bottle of wine (Fancy) that you could find! Cradling the bottle like you were Gollum with the ring, you were ready to let loose and get a bit frisky.

You got home quickly, stepping through the streets of Indianapolis, your overheated mood a total contrast to the frosty outside. After a quick shower where you made sure to scrub every inch of your skin, which was now pinkish from the scalding heat of the water, you put on your favourite black satiny robe. The soft frock hugged you deliciously, flowing around you like water and reaching just beneath your ass, highlighting its fleshy curve. In front of your antique floor mirror that you’d found in a second-hand shop, you gave yourself a saucy wink while twirling like a damn Jewelry box ballerina. A slutty ballerina, in your case.

You giggled to yourself as you sifted through the kitchen drawer, searching for the candle you were certain you'd received during last year's Secret Santa. Your hand moved blindly, finally identifying the candle's rounded shape with your extended fingers. As you grasped it, you opened the container and took a deep sniff—Peppermint Mocha. You snorted; your manager really was an unimaginative dick. Well, it would have to do for tonight.

You lit it up using the lighter you had stashed under one of your flowerpots for smoking emergencies. You had promised yourself that you would cut back on smoking this year, but every once in a while, nothing could help ease the tension like a good cigarette. It was also unmatched after sex, although THAT front had been pretty quiet in the last few months. Perhaps Eddie could help resolve that, you thought with a cheeky smirk as you imagined him pulling harshly on your hair as you devoured his tattooed neck.

You let the pepperminty aroma waft through the room as you started to set the mood around your little shoebox studio. It wasn’t much – barely enough space for a double bed and a small round table – but it was all yours. You didn't have to share with anybody, didn’t have to abide by anyone’s schedule but your own. If you wanted to get high and eat ice cream straight out of the tube, or if you wanted to practice the riff you couldn’t quite get right on your guitar until early morning, or if, like tonight, you wanted to set a sultry mood and masturbate thinking about Eddie’s tattooed chest… Well, you damn well could.

You sink down to the ground and settle onto your round, fluffy carpet. This very carpet had been among the first pieces you had bought after settling in your new life in Indianapolis. Regret over this purchase had never crossed your mind; its deep burgundy shade harmonizes exquisitely with the studio's dusky tones. And right now, as you reach for your vinyl collection, you can feel all of its fibers against your bare legs. Your senses heightened since the afternoon; its gentle touch now feels almost teasing against your puckered skin making you shiver deliciously.

You allow your index finger to roam over the spines of the hundreds of vinyl records stacked at the foot of your bed. There were so many of them that you reckon you could use them as a bedside table or something. You were quite proud of them if you were completely honest. You’d spent so much time curating this collection since your dad brought home a vinyl player for your 11th birthday. Your dad had insisted that "its sound is far superior to them boom boxes kids use these days." Along with the player, he had purchased your first ever metal album: "Master of Puppets," That night, you had both spent the rest of your birthday listening to the music with your dad, both huddled in the living room, heads bobbing to the harsh rhythm of the tracks—much to your mom's annoyance who must have shouted "SHUT IT DOWN" at least a dozen times before you’d gone to bed, feeling like your life had changed completely. After that, there was no turning back. Ripped jeans, short black skirts, fishnets, and leather became your uniform, and music became your greatest lover.

You reached out and retrieved the specific record you had in mind. Gently sliding the sleek, obsidian vinyl out from its protective sleeve, you cradled it delicately. As the stylus met the surface, K. K. Downing’s guitar strings struck like a punch to your senses, in a delectable impact of metal. The music flowed through you like an electric current, coursing through the grooves, infiltrating your ears, and permeating every fibre of your being, until you were immersed, entwined, and carried away by the raw yet exquisite sound.

Moved by the beat, you rose and started swaying back and forth, the music's rush flooding you until you didn’t exist. Music always held a flavour more alluring than any drink and a sensation more ravishing than any drug – music consistently brought you to a peak of euphoria that couldn't be replicated by anything else. You loved that feeling; the one where you would float over the world in your own little bubble, where no one and nothing mattered except for you and the music.

 Your hand found the bottle of wine resting on the kitchen counter, and you took a large gulp, letting the burning liquid cascade down your throat. With the buzz of the wine slowly enveloping you and the music infusing life into your being, you began to move your hands up and down your body, tracing your curves beneath the satin of your robe.

Swaying your hips to the music, you let your mind drift back to Eddie; his husky voice as he tried to tease you, the mischievous tint behind his hazel eyes that you hoped would, when properly provoked, turn more devious—perhaps even a touch wicked. You let your mind wander to what Eddie was hiding behind that Metallica shirt. With a teasing smile to yourself, your body swaying from side to side in a tantalizing shimmy, finding balance with the rhythm of the music.

Come crawling faster Obey your master Your life burns faster Obey your master, master

The sound of your phone ringing brought you back down. "No way he called already!" You dropped the volume of the music before grabbing your phone.

Unknown number

This was too good to be true! And right on time too as the song on the vinyl changed. "Burnin' Up" started to invade your ears. Grinning deviously, that was perfect timing, and you were more than ready to put on a show if Eddie was on the other side of that line.

“Hey there handsome, feeling desperate, are we?” you sultrily cooed.

“Good to know you are a little brat outside of work too.” Eddie’s harsh tone sent a shiver down your back while his words sent a clenching wave through your core.

“Aw, but I just did what you wanted me to do.” You added a quiver to your voice for full effect, “I just wanted to be a good girl for you…”

“Fuck, you can’t just say shit like that baby!” You let out your best teasing laugh.

“Why is that? Am I making you hard?” You questioned innocently, “Are you hard for me right now Eddie?” A strained sound made its way to your ears as you took another gulp of your wine “Am I being a good girl for you now?”

“Good girls don’t tease. Good girls don’t… arg… Good girls listen, and they don’t act like desperate little brats for attention! ‘That why you were acting like a spoiled little princess earlier? Ya wanted all my attention, like the desperate little slut you are.?Well, you have it now baby, so you better make it worth my while” You whimpered at his words, but you didn’t want to give into him – not yet anyway, you wanted to savour this as long as you could.

“Tch, don’t flatter yourself. I don’t need attention from wannabe metal douchebags, thank you very much.” A dark chuckle erupted from the phone.

“Tut, tut, tut. Baby, you can fool yourself all you want. But I can see right through your little spoiled brat display.  Beneath all that though, rocker girl thing you’ve got going on, all you want is for me to put you in your place. Am I right, or am I right?”

Fuck, he was too good at this. Most men you had been with had not really wanted to indulge in this fantasy of yours. Most of them had found it weird, not really understanding that when you were acting like a bitch you didn’t want to have a “conversation to settle our differences” as one of your exes so aptly put it. You snorted - No, what you wanted was for someone to grab you by your hair and spit in your mouth. And then, you wanted to cuddle, eat junk food and listen to music until your ears bled. But that was a bit too much to ask apparently.

“Where did your mind go baby? Am I too much for your little bratty ass?” Eddie teased through the phone.

Suddenly a wave of vulnerability like you’d never really felt before washed over you, making you extremely self-conscious. You felt stupid in your little satin robe, half drunk on wine and desperate for some guy you all but had 10 words with. Your skin was itchy, and you felt too hot like a hand had wrapped itself around your throat and squeezed. Fuck, what was wrong with you? For once, a guy was willing to indulge in your little kinky fantasy and what? You were gonna have a panic attack?! You didn’t even know the guy, why were your nerves on fire, why did it feel like you couldn’t disappoint him? Why were you feeling like you were teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to plummet to your death?

Were you afraid of the fall, or were you afraid that no one would be there to catch you?

“… I’m sorry Eddie, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” You could feel tears gathering in your eyes.

“Fuck, shit.” You could hear Eddie scrambling on the other side of the line, “Did I go too far? Fuck I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Shit I should’ve checked for safe words before, shouldn’t have gone straight into it, it's just you drive me goddam mad honey.” A pause as he seemed to realize what he had just said, “Not like “mad-mad” more like lust-mad or – fuck, I don’t even know what I am saying and I’m rambling, and I probably sound like a complete maniac and…” You let him continue, his unfocused voice making you feel safe and maybe, just a little… understood.  

“s’ok Eddie. It’s me, it's just… I guess I got a bit scared because you know… You just seem a bit too good to be true.” Silence.

“WHAT?! I seem too good to be true?” His voice took on a misbelieving tone, “Have you looked at yourself? You are like the definition of hot!” You chuckled at his words,

 “Nah I am serious babe! Next to “HOT” in the dictionary, there is a photo of your face, I promise you that!”

You felt yourself grow warm under his words, “You’re just saying that…”

“Hey, don’t do that alright,” he counters sternly, his voice so full of certitude and assurance that it fills you with safety. You were so full of his words that you could pop at any moment, “I don’t say shit I don’t mean, never. And look,” a sheepish pause made you hold your breath, “You kinda intimidated me back there, you know. Like your fucking hot, and your witty and then I find out your kinky AF too? I mean, you’re like my dream girl brought to life. I feel like if I pinch myself you’ll disappear, like I made you up or something.”

You release a breath at his words, attempting to regain a modicum of composure you tease, “What like Pygmalion? Am I your Galatea then?”

“Baby, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Never mind…Did I kill the mood?” you ask in a squeaky voice.

In response, Eddie burst into a hearty laugh, “Nah baby you didn’t. It’ll take a lot more than that to scare me away from someone like you… How ‘bout we slow down? Maybe you could tell me what you were doing before I called you up.”

That you could do, "Well, I got back from work all flustered, just had to blow off some steam, you know? Poured myself some wine and put on Killing Machine..." A pronounced groan reached your ears.

“A tad controversial for a so-called metalhead to choose that record—a bit too... mainstream," Eddie quipped, his tone teasing. But your lips curled into an unabashed smile. "Maybe, but I was riding a Burnin' Up vibe, and needed the perfect backdrop. Anyway, a solid album's just that, regardless of how mainstream it might be." you bantered in return.

"Amen to that, baby. But tell true honey, was that all you were doing? Sitting around with music and a glass of wine?" Eddie inquiries with a touch of salaciousness in his tone.

"I might have been dancing... explored a bit beneath my robe—" you teasingly purred.

"Describe it," Eddie suddenly interrupted breathlessly.

" Oh, you want to know what I’m wearing? Is that what you want Eddie?" you replied teasingly.

"Don’t tease baby, be a good girl and describe what you’re wearing.”

You pause for dramatic effect, taking the time to compose your thoughts. "I'm in my black robe, it's all satin with lace, barely grazes below my ass..." you slowly croon, your voice a delicate whisper.

"Damn, keep talking, baby," Eddie's voice urges you, dripping with desire. "It caresses my skin so sensuously, makes me feel so good... Am I doing well?" you inquire, a mix of nervousness and anticipation in your voice.

"Absolutely amazing, baby. Have you touched yourself yet?" he inquires further.

"Just my tits, Eddie. I was kinda hoping you'd give me a call," you shily confess “Are you happy to hear how much I want you?"

"More than you can imagine baby, are you wet for me?” You could almost picture him; he was sitting in a nondescript room, perhaps with some Metallica posters and records strewed about, he’s clenching his teeth as you describe how much you want him, perhaps he took out his cock too. Is he touching himself, you wonder? Because right now, all you want is to dip one of your fingers inside your panty and relieve some of the tension that has been building since before you left for work.

“I’m so wet for you Eddie… I think I’ve been wet since before I left work, that’s how much you affect me. I want to show you that I'm not just a brat; I can behave, I can be your good girl" you say earnestly.

"I know you can be, but let me share a little secret with you, baby." Eddie pauses, and you hold your breath, awaiting his words. "Truth is, I kinda love it when you get all bratty on me..."

At his words, emotions erupted within you—a mélange of lust, desire, joy, and a tad of shyness. Each little butterfly fluttering deep within your belly in a symphony of feelings.

“There’s more of that where it came from,” you sheepishly admit, all too aware of your tendencies to tease and your strong-headedness. You lick your lip, and purr, “Are you hard right now Eddie? Are you as hard for me as I am wet for you?”

“Oh baby, I’m as hard as fucking Andúril right now!” Eddie loudly pants.

“… What did you just say?!” Nervous laughter meets your ear as Eddie stammers,

“No-nothing. It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.” With regained confidence, he continues,

“You gonna touch yourself baby? Come on, be a good girl and touch yourself with me.” 

You quickly fumble with your phone as you put it on speaker and lay it next to you on your bed. “I’m in bed…” You shakily exhale.

“Yeah? Me too honey. Now. Touch. Yourself.” His tone left no room for arguing. You could hear a belt unbuckle and a zipper coming undone amidst the rushing of fabric on the other side of the line making you shiver as you imagine him taking his heavy dick in his large hand.  

Slowly you hiked your fingers up your thigh, feeling the goosebumps rise under the trace of your nails. You reach under your robe, and you hiss as your index finger grazes your weeping pussy. “Ohh Eddie, I’m so wet, I’m dripping everywhere.”

“Fuck baby, I want to hear.” Blushing like mad you position your phone next to your dripping pussy before slipping your index inside, the wet squelching of your finger going in and out of your core sending pleasurable shivers down your spine as you imagine Eddie’s reaction on the other side of the line.

You breathlessly moan “You hear that, Eddie? You hear how much my bratty little pussy wants you?!”

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s the most metal music I’ve ever heard. My dick’s so hard right now, I feel like it’s gonna fall off.”

“I want to hear you too.” You frantically demand “Yeah? You want to hear me rub my dick baby? You’re such a perverted little girl!” Eddie didn’t need much convincing and all of the sudden you heard a loud plop, and a loud moan escaping Eddie’s throat. The sounds sending an arrow straight to your warm core; did Eddie just spit on his dick? The wet sound of his hand going up his dick was truly one of the sexiest things you’ve ever heard.   

“I’m close baby…” Eddie admitted between loud moans.

“Already?” you giggle breathlessly.

“Fuck, don’t be a brat now baby. You close too?”

“Mmm-hmm” You hummed “Not close enough.”

“How many fingers, you’ve got in that sweet little pussy baby?” Eddie pants, almost pained.

“Just the one Edd.” “Shit baby, add another one. Can you add another one for me, honey?” His words alone were almost enough to send you over the edge.

“Yes Eddie, Yes I can. Anything for you!” You whisper-shout into your phone.

You dip another finger inside, ripping a loud moan from your throat. You part your finger, frantically spreading your slick all over and making a mess over your sheet.  You curve your index toward you until you reach the spongey spot inside of you that feels oh so good. You rub and rub while your thumb aggressively circles your clit.

“Oh Eddie!! Mmmmm… Fuck, I’m close Ed, I’m so close! I don’t want to come alone!!”

“You won’t baby, you’ll come when I tell you to come. Not before.” Eddie pants into the phone. After what feels like forever, you feel the cord that had been steadily building inside of you start to grow taunt, teetering on the edge of snapping in half.

“Eddie… pleasepleaseplease! Please let me come!”

“FUCK! Come for me baby, I’m cumming!” His words send you over the edge and you see a white light blinding you as your body grows tense before letting go.

You can hear Eddie’s panting on the other side of the line while you try to catch your breath. Now sticky and half-naked with your robe open, you feel a wave of shyness overtake you.

“Eddie? Are you… Are you ok?” A loud laugh meets your ear.

“Am I ok, Baby? Pretty sure the Milky Way just exploded in my room. Damn, that was the hottest thing ever!!” You shyly chuckled at his sweet words.

“It wasn’t like… too much or anything?”

“Wait Baby… Was that your first-time having phone sex?” You grew hot and are quick to dispel any ideas he might get “No, not at all. But…” you hesitate, “But it’s the first time anyone ever made me feel like that before.”

“What? Orgasmic?” Eddie teases.

“Shut up!” You laugh before your traitorous vulnerable heart plants himself down your throat, “I meant like safe; you know. Like you wouldn’t make fun of me or like you actually wanted to hear me come. Like I really mattered for a minute and it wasn’t just about your dick.”

Eddie’s voice grew soft at your words “Baby, there is nothing that I would love more than hearing you come every day, it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. If you let me, I’d put it on a CD and listen to it on repeat.”

“You mean that?”

“With ever fibers of my being baby.” Eddie answers honestly. You can hear the truthfulness and the transparency in his voice. makes you feel better, and perhaps a little bolder, as you ask, "Does that mean you'd like to see me in real life again and not just when I have to serve coffee?" When Eddie doesn’t answer for a second you feel your heart drop down like a lead balloon.

"Or not," you chuckle, "I didn't mean to sound conceited. It's fine if you don't wan—"

Eddie cuts you off, "I'd love to, baby."

"You would?" you ask, your voice tainted with disbelief.

"I didn't mean to sound so unenthusiastic. It's just that I'm not used to having such a pretty girl proposition me like that. Had to pinch my ass to make sure it was real, ya know."

You laugh as your hand nervously toys with the lace of your robe. "So when would you like to see me?"

"How about tomorrow? Pancakes for dinner, and then if you want, I have a show with my band in town. You could come with."

"Yeah? You want to see me tomorrow?"

"Nothing else I'd rather do."

"There's nothing else I'd rather do either, Eddie."

“Then it’s a date… Be ready 'cause I’m gonna rock your world Baby!”

You giggle at his words “Can’t wait Eddie.” You look around you, with thighs still sticky with your pleasure—yeah, you really couldn't wait to see your rockstar again.

Next chapter

[waltwhitmansbeard]

"I don't know how you're even conscious at this point" Empire Siblings?

"I don't know how you're even conscious at this point."

When Caleb appears in the middle of Beau's office, unannounced in a burst of arcane magic, she nearly decks him in surprise. "Fucking hell, Caleb!" The papers she'd been carrying back to her desk are scattered all over the floor, and she clutches at her heart, willing its racing to slow. "You scared the shit..." She trails off as she finally gets a good look at him. "You look terrible."

He gives her a withering look, but he doesn't argue, probably because he knows she's right. His clothes are torn, and his face is blackened with some kind of soot—honestly, he looks like the homeless vagabond that Beau first met all those years ago. "Thank you for noticing."

And then he collapses.

"Fuck fuck fuck." Beau doesn't catch him, but she does manage to hook her hands in his armpits to drag him over to the threadbare couch she managed to negotiate into this shoebox office, mostly for necessary late-night naps. She dumps him on it and then snags her water from the desk, which she splashes over his face.

He coughs. "Was mascht du?" He runs at tired hand over his face. "I am...fine."

"Yeah, I always collapse on my friends' floors when I'm feeling fine." For the first time, Beau notices that one of Caleb's hands is clenched tightly around something. "What is that?"

Despite his clear physical distress, Caleb smirks. "I got the location."

Beau's heart stops. "What do you mean you got the location?"

"I know where Da'leth is going."

She wants to grab him by the lapels and shake him, but she figures that that might actually just straight-up kill him, so instead she plops down on the couch next to him and starts to pull his fingers open. "How in the fuck..."

"I had to fireball a lot of people in a very tiny place, but I got the location of the key. It's on Marquet."

She examines the crumpled piece of paper she's extracted from Caleb's hand, the one scribbles with the very information they've been searching for for months. "If I weren't happily married and also a raging lesbian, I'd be kissing you right now."

Caleb's head flops back onto arm of the couch. "I will settle for some water, not thrown on my face please, and maybe a healing potion."

Oh, right. "Don't worry." She reaches over to ruffle his hair, grinning at his wrinkled-nose displeasure. "We'll get you fixed up. I don't know how you're even conscious at this point."

"Sheer force of will, and also the need to tell you something very important."

Beau frowns; what could be more important than the location of the next of hundreds of years of a psychotic elf's planning? "What?"

"We're gonna fucking stop him, Beauregard."

She grips the piece of paper tighter. "Yeah. Yeah we are."

[goldenponcho]

You Can Lead a Castellan to Water…

Chapter 5: A Partnership

(There’s a random line from Terminator 3 in this chapter. Honestly one of the very few things I remember from that movie. It just fit.)

Gail reached to her toes, stretching her back as Ramon returned to find her feeling nearly as good as new. Her voice was still hoarse, and there was still a small patch of red in one eye, but as with everything else, she had heeled with incredible speed.

At this point, Ramon was convinced that there was something not entirely normal about Gail’s physiologically. Something more than just not being susceptible to the plaga. It grated on him that Lord Saddler apparently hadn’t seen the need to inform him of this, but he reminded himself that if Lord Saddler didn’t feel it important, then it wasn’t.

“Well, Miss Crane, I believe it is quite clear that you will be ship shape to begin work in the morning.”

“Good!” She reached an arm behind her head to stretch her shoulder, “This room is nice, but I’m ready for a change of scenery, to be honest.”

“Your first assignment will be the trolley that leads from the audience hall to the fire chamber.”

Gail did a double take, “F…fire chamber?”

Ramon smirked, “It is exactly what it sounds like.” He honestly loved the absurdly over the top rooms his castle held, and the fire chamber had been his very own addition as a young boy. It made him laugh now that his advisors at the time had given into such a whim, but it was one of the few joys he had remembered as a child.

Gail’s eyes brightened, “I’ve DEFINITELY gotta see THAT!”

“You will,” Ramon assured, masking genuine excitement as he was handed a stack of folded clothes by his right hand Verdugo, “Should your service here continue for long enough, you will see the entire castle.”

“Actually…kinda looking forward to it!” She had taken the clothes from Ramon before realizing what they were, “Oh! Thanks for washing these! I wasn’t sure I was getting them back.”

“They will be appropriate for your working hours,” he placed his hands behind his back, “However, I will have the servants bring a selection of appropriate clothing that you may attend dinner in.”

Gail cocked her head, “Dinner?”

Ramon gave a light nod, “It isn’t often that I am graced with company that retains the capacity for conversation…aside from the link I have with my Verdugos,” he motioned to the creatures flanking each side of him, “I intend to take full advantage while you are here.”

She nodded back, “Good point…”

“AND it will be one of several times I will be checking in with you throughout the day,” he fixed her with a warning glance before clasping his hands together, “Now, if you would follow me to your new accommodations, por favor.”

She bowed, the stack of clothes held to her chest, “Lead the way.”

The trek to her new room was surprisingly short. They went through the dining room and down a hall to a room that wasn’t nearly as cozy and decorative as Ramon’s room, but it was large with plenty of storage and not as drafty as one might have thought looking at it. There was a pallet tucked into a corner just beyond which was another door, similar to how his room had had two doors. It made sense that many rooms would have two so as to cut down on unneeded detours in a place so massive.

“This will be the most convenient place for you since it is not far from where I will have you working tomorrow.”

“Sounds good to me! Oh!” Gail set her clothes on the table next to her, “Speaking of which here’s the contract I whipped up today. I’ll just need a John Hancock from you, and we’re good to go.”

“Contract?” Ramon raised a brow at the old scrap of paper that he was almost certain had once been used to line one of the shoeboxes in his extra wardrobe, “Rather bold of you to think that this is a mutual employer/employee relationship, Miss Crane. You DO remember the circumstances under which you were hired?”

“Still, terms should be set,” she offered him the document, “I don’t think I’m asking much. Feel free to go over it and bring it back, obviously.”

He eyed her suspiciously before taking it from her, the thin paper crushing in his fist, “You realize this is not legally binding?”

“Sure,” she shrugged, “but we’ve gotta start trusting each other sometime. I’m not trying to double cross you; it’s all perfectly reasonable and doable. Just have a look when you can.”

After a pause, he seemed satisfied with her answer for the time being, and he turned back to the door with his Verdugos, “The servants will bring your toiletries and a bath soon. You will meet me in the dining hall in the morning at seven o’clock sharp,” he was about to close the door before he smirked with a start, “Oh! And do be careful! This part of the castle has been known to house the occasional snake now and then.”

She scoffed with a laugh, “Joke’s on YOU! I like snakes!”

Ramon peered through the crack of the door as he closed it, “It wasn’t a joke…”

The door creaked ominously closed, and Gail smiled before quickly getting her pallet situated to her liking. She put out the lantern he had supplied her and got to bed, chuckling to herself. Damn if she wasn’t starting to really like the little guy.

~*~*~*~

By the next morning, Gail was itching to get started on her new project. At least getting back to something that resembled her regular work would make her feel comparatively normal. She was ready almost an hour early and found herself glancing at the clock Ramon had provided for her at least every five minutes.

Finally, at six forty-five she decided it would be a good idea to arrive early. Coming to the door, she wondered if she had been locked in again, but twisting the knob she found she was perfectly free to leave her room. As she peaked through the door, however, she was met with a tall, lanky man wearing a black, hooded robe. Another one of Ramon’s brainwashed servants…

“Um…hi!” Gail waved awkwardly as the zealot turned to look down at her, “I’m…supposed to meet your-OUR master in the dining hall,” she shuffled around him, testing whether he would express any objection, “Just thought I should be early.”

He expressed very little interest, however, muttering something in Spanish, then resuming to stare directly in front of him just as he had probably been doing for hours. What a sad existence… She found herself hoping these people were so baked they weren’t aware of anything anymore.

“Alright,” she turned to continue down the narrow hallway where she could see one of the long tables already piled with fruits and pastries and various meats and cheeses. As she came around the corner, Ramon sat at the head of the table sipping a glass of red wine, the Verdugos, as usual, standing on either side of him.

Gail hooked her thumbs through the belt loops of her jumpsuit, “Hm! Thought I’d beat you here…”

Ramon swallowed his wine, swirling what remained in his glass with a smirk, “No one beats me at ANYTHING.”

She chuckled, “Anything?”

He smirked with a sideways glance, “Well…at anything that is worth my time beating someone at.”

“Haha! That’s a good way to look at it!”

Ramon gestured with his free hand to the chair adjacent to his, “Do have a seat, Miss Crane.”

She obeyed, scooting her chair in.

“And feel free to dig in,” he gestured again to the bountiful spread, “Sadly, most of this does not satisfy my own hunger these days. The plaga is quite carnivorous. But I would not want my new engineer developing scurvy…”

“Neither would I!” Gail reached to spoon some strawberries onto her plate, followed by a few different pieces of cheese and what looked to be some kind of cured bacon. “Are those cream puffs?!”

“Miguelito,” Ramon nodded, “They were my favorite as a boy.”

Gail wanted to scrape the whole platter onto her plate, but she settled for five of them for the time being, “So…you can’t eat ‘em at ALL anymore? That sucks…”

“It isn’t so bad. I simply do not crave them anymore.”

“You still drink wine, though?”

Ramon shrugged, glancing up from his glass, “I’ve wondered myself why that is. I’ve never been given to drunkenness, and I’m not so sure I could even BECOME inebriated anymore…but I still enjoy the taste.”

“I’m not a huge fan of wine, to be honest.”

Ramon scoffed, “I had gathered that…”

Gail giggled sheepishly, “I like a sangria, though!”

He sighed dramatically, looking into his cup as he continued to swirl it, “I suppose you simply lack sophisticated taste.”

It was her turn to playfully scoff, “I mean, you’re probably not wrong,” she popped a strawberry into her mouth and bit in, “Oh my god…” her eyes went wide, “thatwasthebeststrawberryI’veeverhadinmyentirelife…”

“Of course it is,” Ramon grinned proudly, “They were grown right here in Valdelobos. You won’t find better in all of Spain.”

“I’ll take your word for it on that one!” She bit into another one happily, leaning back to recline at a sideways angle in her chair, which didn’t seem to phase Ramon, so she assumed he wasn’t a stickler for strict table manners, “So…have you looked at my contract?”

“It so happens that I have,” he placed his wine onto the table and held out his hand as the red robed Verdugo produced said contract, “And I DID have some minor concerns.”

Gail nodded as she placed a strawberry onto one of her miguelitos.

“You wished to speak regularly with your mother on the telephone…”

She nodded, “I don’t want her to worry. If she doesn’t hear from me soon, she’s gonna get police involved,” she tossed her strawberry puff into her mouth, chewing it before continuing, “Not that I think they’ll find me; that might actually be to my advantage. But it’s a whole mess I’d rather not have my family go through.”

Ramon steepled his fingers, “And do you not think that such a call could be tracked?”

“Star six seven, dude, don’t y’all have that here in Spain? It keeps you from seeing the location,” she stacked a cube of cheese on a slice of cured ham, “Besides, I’ll play it real casual. I had an overseas job sprung on me just as my phone broke, and I’ve had trouble contacting her using my calling card. She won’t have any reason to suspect. Not to mention, she doesn’t even have caller ID.”

Ramon arched a brow, then nodded, “I will look into it and see what can be arranged. I don’t even own a telephone, so that will be the first obstacle.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Eight hour days with breaks and two days off per week I can do, but there will be limitations on where you may spend your time off. As I have said, the castle is not a playground.”

“Fair enough,” she chewed the bite of meat and cheese, “Mm! Ham’s good too!”

“Pay seems low, but that’s not at ALL a problem…” Ramon glanced at her slyly as she nearly choked on her glass of water.

“What the hell, man! By all means, bump it up if you’re willing to give me more!”

He looked up thoughtfully, grabbing his wine and crossing his legs, “Include my personal errands in your list of duties, and I’ll quadruple the price.”

Gail did a double take, “You gotta be shittin’ me…”

Ramon grinned, “No, Miss Crane, I am not shitting you.”

She smiled crookedly, “Why didn’t you people kidnap me EARLIER?! I’ll happily get choked out again for THAT kind of money!”

Ramon‘s grin grew as he raised his glass, “To our new partnership, Miss Crane.”

Gail grabbed her full glass of wine to raise, “Hell yeah!! To our new awesome partnership!” She downed half the glass before placing it back onto the table. “Oh, by the way, is there some kind of title I should address you by since I’m working for you? My lord or…your highness or something?”

He shook his head with a short laugh, “I’m not one for such formalities. Ramon is perfectly fine.”

“Then maybe you should just call me Gail. Miss Crane sounds like a bitchy middle school teacher.”

He chuckled again. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought the wine WAS beginning to heat up his cheeks a little, “Very well, Gail,” he stood, “Shall we begin?”

She stood to follow his lead, “Definitely!”

She trailed behind as he and his Verdugos turned to the room behind him. It was small and rather empty, but much more decorated than her new room. Perhaps it would usually be a social room full of chairs and furniture. In the next room, they followed a raised platform with what looked to be a caged vault below, guarded by a few servants. They crossed through another door, then down a narrow hall and through another where they came to a large, open room. They were atop the balcony that surrounded an empty space below.

“Do excuse the state of disrepair,” Ramon referred to the broken stone rails that lined the edge of the floor they stood on, “But as you can imagine, this is a centuries old castle, and not all has withstood the test of time. Sadly, our stonemasons have long since lost their skill in the craft. I don’t suppose you have any experience in the field?”

Gail shook her head, “Unfortunately not. But if you’re desperate, I could give it a shot. I have a basic understanding of how it works, and with some trial and error, I could maybe make something happen,” she chuckled, “I wouldn’t wanna lessen the property value, though.”

Ramon waved a dismissive hand, rounding the corner to another long hallway, “Property value is of very little concern to me. This castle will never belong to an outside buyer, and I somehow doubt many will appreciate my eccentric tastes.”

Gail shrugged, hands in her pockets, “I like it actually! It’s gothy, but you’ve got some bright areas like the garden. It’s a nice balance, and it’s got a great view. Even if the locals can get a little squirrelly.”

He laughed, “Then perhaps we have more in common than I had thought…unless you merely mean to flatter…”

She shook her head vigorously as Ramon reached the door to the next room, “All of my flattery is one hundred percent true. I don’t like paying fake compliments, even if I’m trying to get something out of someone.”

“And what do you wish to get out of me, Gail?” He tilted his head toward her in genuine curiosity, hand resting on the doorknob.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged casually, “I think I’m good for now. I’m still alive, and I’ve got some pretty sweet accommodations,” she smiled down at him, “All thing’s considered, I’m pretty content.”

Ramon gave a dry look, but the amusement was apparent as the corner of his mouth twitched, “Well, I am overjoyed for you…”

“Thanks!” She followed after him through the door, and the first thing she noticed was the blast of heat that hit her immediately. Directly ahead, she saw the cause. About fifteen feet into the room, there was a stone barrier and the other side dropped down out of view, and only a platform with large gears on either side clearly intended for locomotion sat at the unrailed edge in the center. She couldn’t see it, but the bright orange glow that was cast from below was clearly from a pool of lava.

“The fire chamber, I presume?”

Ramon turned, clearly not having acknowledged that the lava was even there, “What? Oh, nonsense! That’s just a lava pit. The other side is the entrance to the fire chamber.”

“Oh…”

She followed close behind him as he brought her to their destination. The room extended into a tunnel, and the same concrete railing from the lava room surrounded the start of a rail track and an ornate gondola. Set to the side was a simple wood table with a large toolbox.

“Wow! You weren’t kidding when you said tram!” She approached the cart, running a hand along the side, “This is some advanced technology for such an old castle.”

He placed his own hand on the beautifully sculpted gold detailing, “The third castellan, Gregorio the Architect, is responsible for the majority of the castle, and though he had not found a way to make them work to his liking in his lifetime, the framework for these systems were his doing.”

“Wow! What a legend!” Gail was unzipping her jumpsuit and tied the sleeves to hang at her waist, revealing a ribbed white sleeveless tank. Ramon noted the heavily detailed rattlesnake tattoo wrapped around her arm and extending onto her right shoulder. “Kids should be learning about this guy alongside DaVinci,” she bent to take a look at the undercarriage.

“I’m certain my ancestors preferred it that we remained unknown to the rest of the world. They were-“ he cut himself off at the loud creaking and scraping of metal. Gail was now standing with the front end of the gondola lifted four feet in the air, supporting it with only her arms.

“Well, I can definitely see that there’s some serious wear and tear on the wheel treads. I’ll either need a lathe to reprofile them, or we’ll need brand new wheels.”

When there was no answer from Ramon, she glanced down at him, to find him staring at her bicep. “Oh! Heheh! Uh…sorry…” she squatted to set the cart back onto the tracks, “I always forget that my strength is so freakish… Should have given you a heads up.”

Ramon shook off his dumbfoundedness, feeling a strange sensation in his stomach as he realized he had been staring at her like an owl, “Ahem…it seems…you have certainly entered the correct line of work…”

She exhaled, hands on her hips, “Yeah, I don’t like to brag, but…I’m…admittedly a bit of a hoss.”

“A bit…” he nodded with a cough before looking to the wheels she had been examining, “I would imagine that new wheels would be our easiest solution.”

She gave a shrug of her shoulder, “Seeing as you’ve got more money than you could possibly know what to do with, it probably is. BUT maybe we should know the full extent of the damage before making any final decisions.”

“An excellent plan!” He clasped his hands together, “Shall I leave you to your work then? I will send someone with lunch at noon. Should you need anything, alert one of my servants, and they will inform me.”

“Sounds like a plan!”

He turned to leave before Gail called back to him, “Hey, Ramon?”

He turned to readdress her, and she smiled softly, stepping toward him, “I just…wanna thank you again for everything. If it weren’t for you, I almost certainly wouldn’t be alive, so…thanks!”

She extended a hand to him, and after recovering from the surprise of being thanked, he took her hand to shake it, “It pleases me that I have rescued you from such a fate,” he looked up to appreciative, black eyes and felt the sincerity in them, “It would have been a waste for your end to come like that, and I am happy that Lord Saddler saw this as well.”

“Huh! You and me both!” Gail opened the toolbox, and her eyes brightened, “Ooo. Nice selection here...”

Ramon tilted his head with a light sigh, and after a few seconds, he fidgeted awkwardly, noticing the long silence, though Gail had not, as she rummaged through the tools.

“Well…ahem! I will leave you to it, then.”

“Ok!” She was now examining a large handsaw, “I’ll be here when you get back.”

“Of course…” he gave a light bow before turning to leave, Verdugos in tow.

He swallowed hard, heat coming to his face as he quickly retreated. What in the nine hells WAS she? The only creatures in his castle that should have been able to lift that cart were the two Verdugos at his sides. Certainly she looked strong, but surely no human being should be able to lift that much weight.

The thought occurred to him that she could have easily overpowered the couple of zealots he had been leaving at her doors. No. She was no normal human at all. Clearly, whatever this was was the reason Lord Saddler had wanted her and the reason she hadn’t taken to the plaga.

And she knew. There was no way she didn’t. She was still holding things back from him.

No matter. He would get the truth out of her. Only in time.

[bastardtrait]

get to know useless info abt me

thank you sm to @reality-refuge for the tag <3

1. what do you have under your bed? mostly dust and dog fur let's be real. empty travel bags that haven't been used in years. a shoebox full of stuff that's sentimental to me. a zipper box of [REDACTED].

2. favourite candy? be very specific if possible. dark chocolate bounty or almond joy. I can never find either of them though so I guess fuckin regular bounty is fine. they're little logs of shredded coconut covered in chocolate (and the almond version has a single almond on the bars). lokma/Turkish delight also absolutely slaps cock and is a close 2nd.

3. describe your favourite shirt: a grey pullover from H&M that says "I AM OK" in multicoloured embroidery on the chest. every time I put it on, Ariana Grande's voice going 'ooOOoH YeaAah' comes into my head bc someone told me it looked like something she would wear.

4. the last thing you drew/doodled was... ugh I'm trying to get back into drawing so I very briefly touched a wip I've had for forever. it's a sketch of a Pathfinder character I'm working on, an unnamed bard/fighter. it's ...not going the greatest but ya know.

5. are you completely sober right now? tragically.

6. what's the one thing that annoys you more than anything? having to pay to live LMAOOOOOO shit fucking SUCKS DUDE LMAOOO :l

7. have you ever gotten your tongue stuck to a cold pole during winter? not a pole but a mailbox lol. this was way back in like, 2000 when I was 7 and I wanted to know if cartoons and stuff were lying about it. i quickly learned they were not.

8. if you could be anywhere in the world right now, where would it be? on a completely empty beach in 40+ degree weather with nothing but the sun, the ocean, and pure, mind-numbing silence. i think such an experience would fix me.

9. what was the last single word you spoke? "fucker" because I stubbed my little toe on my desk but I am being so brave about it.

I'll tag @beebeesiims @jimmybuffettsims @teekapoa @jjacqualope @simmer-rhi @airbussy-a330 if you've already done this pls no angy me.

[dusky-cathedral]

November 15: Burning

-tw: parent death, religion

Sitting in my car in the parking lot, another text of revelation fired off with trembling fingers to my (so kind, exceptionally patient and understanding) partner. The realizations have been getting worse since my father passed away, but the car rides to work seem to be the only free time I have where I can just think uninterrupted so it's to be expected. 

-it's always been a race to starvation in my life.

How to be the child that needs nothing, that can survive on air, that can give and give and give without fatigue and look Holy while doing so? The eucharist dissolving on my tongue is a bitter pill to swallow, but sacrifice is the highest form of love, isn't it? 

So I did. Fully parentified at nine, eager and willing, changing diapers and desperately trying to keep a house in order while Mom worked late and Dad convalesced. Drying myself off with washcloths because the full size, fluffy towels were reserved for my mother, she works so hard, you wouldn't understand, making myself as useful and self-sufficient as possible, meticulously crushing my young heart into a tiny, creased ball of adult worry. 

The eternal burden of being a child that was a burden, listening to late night conversations I wasn't supposed to hear, pulling the shoebox out from beneath my bed while my siblings slept and counting out the change I had saved with trembling fingers that are oh so familiar now, wondering in childish naivete whether my offering would be enough to stop the fighting. 

I have spent (notably, anyway) the last five years burning myself to death, or close enough to it, to keep the family warm. My mother telling me without a hint of irony or self-awareness that I remind her of Luisa from Encanto, and all I heard was I'm pretty sure I'm worthless if I can't be of service. I remind her of herself, of a missionary martyred for a cause that, quite frankly, wouldn't notice if I was gone. But sacrifice is the highest form of love, and so I give. 

While my father slowly died, I made sure everything was taken care of. The sink full of dishes from meals I was not present for, floors covered in dirt I didn't track in, the bathroom torn apart in the chaos of illness and overuse and the sickly tinge of pink mold to illuminate my shortcomings, as sure to inspire shame as if someone had said outright you missed a spot. 

I just burned and burned and burned, and I was permitted to do so. I am still permitted to do so even after my father has passed on; it's practically expected. We swear by rote, for want of more, and the exhausted chorus rolls in my head: Leave her Johnny, leave her! 

-I guess I'm just tired, I text my siblings instead of shouting I don't have enough, I am not enough, I am drowning, I am burning alive. 

But even that tiny admission is a shortcoming, because when (if) they ask how they can help, anticipating some one-time task, I can't bring myself to answer you'll need to help every day. There is no simple fix for this life, no easy organization tip presented by someone with a picture-perfect living room decked out in tones of Builder Beige. I have been burning for so long I don't know what it feels like to not be required, to not be obligated and expected and only loved in the way that one would love a hammer or a pair of garden shears. 

What's an extra hour or two, right? I'll go to bed exhausted and wake up just as tired, and nobody ever asked me to do it, nobody expected me to do it, and why didn't I ask for help?

Flames pouring from my eyes and mouth, ever-so-Holy with that oh-so-coveted servant's heart, the next load of laundry put in the dryer amidst my choking, ash-filled reply to every sentence issued towards my (their, our) never-ending tasks, “No worries.” 

Even if I did ask for help, they'd never believe it.

//-ATLAS

[wonder-womans-ex]

Make a Promise

“Sirius,” Remus says, rolling onto his side to face the man beside him, “there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

“Shoot.” Sirius’s eyes stay focused on the ceiling above, but he smiles warmly. 

“Do you—well, you probably don’t remember, but when we lived together, before, in the flat with the piss-yellow walls and the floors that squeaked and the stove that never worked, I had a shoebox. Under the bed. And I never let you look in it.”

Sirius is quiet for a moment, then, “I remember.”

There were three things is the box. And I didn’t want you to see any of them, all for different reasons.”

“Why do I have the feeling you’re about to tell me what they were?” He’s teasing, but his eyes go soft when Remus replies, “Because you know me better than anyone.”

“The first thing,” continues Remus, “The one that took up the most space, was my registry papers. Documents of where I spent every full moon, what classification of werewolf I am, whether I’ve attacked anyone—that sort of thing. 

“Then there was a photo from first year. The one Peter took of James, you, and me after our first detention.” Sirius clenches his jaw, and Remus knows he’s thinking of their old friend. “For years, I thought I’d lost it, but then I was cleaning out the attic after my mum died, and there it was. And I kept it. Because in that photo, you’re looking at me like you looked at me after fifth year; like you look at me now. It just... amazes me, I guess, because we were eleven and we’d barely known each other a month, and already there was something there. I used to take it out, sometimes, when you were gone, and remind myself that what we had was real. It was... it was the only photo of you I didn’t burn.”

The silence envelopes them, heavy and painful, until Remus swipes a hand over his eyes. “Oh, fuck, I’m crying.”

“‘S’okay,” Sirius says, “so am I.”

“You know I love you, right? More than anything?”

“I know. I love you, too. Always and forever.”

Somewhere along the way, their fingers have twined together. Sirius, after giving Remus’s hand a reassuring squeeze, asks, “And the third thing?”

“The third thing in the box?” 

“Yeah.”

“A box.”

“A box. Inside a box.”

“That’s right.”

“How exciting.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “Shut up. What matters is what was inside the box.”

“What was inside the box inside the box?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“I try.”

“Do you want to know what was inside the box or don’t you?”

“Please, do tell.” The grin on Sirius’s face still does embarrassing things to Remus’s heart, even after all these years. “How about I show you, instead?” he says. 

Sirius nods. 

As he leans over to grab his wand from the bedside table, Remus takes a breath. No going back now. He performs a wandless summoning charm, looking anywhere but at Sirius. 

“So.” He snatches the box out of the air as it flies towards him. “I bought this our last Hogsmeade weekend of seventh year. And I meant to give it to you right after graduation, and then again when we bought the flat, and again when I found out James was planning on proposing to Lily, but things kept coming up and I kept putting it off, and eventually it was too late. So I’m giving it to you now.”

He stops. His lower lip is trembling. “Hold out your hands and close your eyes.”

Slowly, Remus presses the box into Sirius’s outstretched hands. “You can open your eyes now.”

Sirius does, eyelids fluttering, and his eyes fix onto what he’s now holding. He inhales so sharply it’s almost a gasp. “Is this what I think it is?”

“Probably.” Remus waits to see if Sirius is going to say something else. He doesn’t, so Remus goes on. 

“Padfoot,” he says, voice barely above a whisper, “you have known me since before I really knew myself. You taught me I matter; I deserve to be loved. You were the first person to find out what I was—what I am—and think no differently because of it. I have tried time and time again to find where I belong, and I never find that the answer is anywhere but with you.

“You are my world, Sirius Black, and it it because of you that I have the confidence to say I am yours. So I ask you, in the house of your awful parents who are probably rolling over in their graves right now... will you marry me?”

Sirius nods, the tears in his eyes spilling over. “Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely yes.”

And now they’re both crying, and they’re kissing each other on the cheek, the forehead, the mouth. Neither of them has ever been happier. 

Finally, Remus pulls back, prying Sirius’s fingers back from around the box, “Aren’t you going to look inside?”

For reasons he can’t quite explain, Sirius hold his breath a he opens the lid, deep red velvet contrasting starkly against thin, pale fingers. A smile spreads across his face. 

The ring inside glints gold; the four tiny rubies set in the band catch the early morning light. “It’s beautiful,” breathes Sirius, grin lopsided where his lip is between his teeth. “Can you...?”

It takes Remus a moment to realize what his boyfriend—fiancee, he corrects himself with a surge of joy—means. “Yeah,” he manages, taking Sirius’s left hand in both of his own and sliding the ring carefully onto the fourth finger. They stay there, palm to palm, for a long time, trading sweet nothings and gentle, chaste kisses. 

“I’ve been imagining how you’d look wearing that ring for nearly seventeen years,” Remus is saying when there’s a sharp knock on the door.

“Breakfast!” Both men look up when Molly’s shout rings down the hallway, neither speaking until she’s moved on to the next door. 

“Our first meal as engaged wizards,” Remus says, pulling Sirius to his feet. “C’mon.”

They wait, giggling and smiling at each other, until they’re sure everyone else has gone down, and then they race to to stars, still holding hands. They slide down the banisters, too; it’s like they’re sixteen all over again. 

At the first landing, Remus stops to push Sirius against the wall. “We’re getting married,” he murmurs into the kiss, and he feels Sirius smile against his lips. 

At the second landing, Sirius brings Remus’s hand to his face, pressing his mouth to each knuckle. 

They don’t stop on the third landing, but they do on the stair after it. Sirius almost falls over as he turns, one foot catching himself on the step below. 

“Can I take your last name?” His eyes are shining. 

Remus says, solemnly, “It would be my honour,” and they laugh again. 

The dining room does not go quiet when they enter. They make no grand enterance. Everyone else continues with their noise and clutter until Harry looks up from his game of chess; he nudges Ron, sitting opposite him, and both boys wave. 

Sirius glances sideways, catching Remus’s eyes. He raises an eyebrow.

Harry grins when Sirius sits down next to him. “Morning,” he yawns. “Ron’s checked my queen.”

“Good for him.”

Ron opens his mouth to say something, but Sirius never finds out what. With a flick of her wand, Molly has set out the silverware—it’s stainless steel, technically, so it doesn’t hurt Remus—and the plates, steaming with porridge. 

“Go on, eat,” she urges loudly, pouring out a cup of tea. “Don’t let it get cold.”

There’s a flurry of movement as everyone claims their place at the table. Remus ends up between Arthur Weasley and Sirius; he has to keep his elbows tucked in so as not to knock over anyone’s morning coffee. Across from him, Tonks is putting her metamorphagus skills to use, her Dumbledore imitation in particular sending Ginny into fits of laughter. 

He nearly burns his tongue on the first bite of porridge. Through the pain in his taste buds, he notices it’s quite good, and makes a mental note to compliment Mrs. Weasley on the recipe. Anyone who can make oats and water taste good, he reasons, is worthy of whatever praise falls their way. 

To his right, Sirius takes a thoughtful sip of his tea. They catch each other’s eyes and smile. 

Glancing around, Sirius sees that everyone is once more engrossed in conversation. Fred Weasley in particular is gesticulating wildly with his spoon, and Sirius has to duck to avoid a flying bit of porridge. Absentmindedly, he twists the ring on his finger around, rubbing his thumb over the four jewels. 

His chair almost topples over when he leans back in it, grabbing an antique crystal goblet from the shelf behind him. He takes the sugar tongs from the table, too, and then he stands up. 

Even with the ding ding ding of silver on crystal, it takes almost ten seconds for just one person—aside from Remus, of course—to look up. Hermione holds his gaze for a moment before leaning over and whispering something in Ginny’s ear. By the time he’s got everyone’s attention, he’s begun to contemplate sitting back down again. 

But, finally, there’s silence, and all twelve pairs of eyes in the room (minus his own, obviously) are on him. 

Sirius clears his throat. He resists the urge to climb on top of his chair, because a broken neck would not be a good start to his engagement. 

“Good morning!” he announces. “I, uh, I have news. Good news.”

Dear lord, he used to be a lot better at this. From somewhere down the table, there’s a mutter of, “Well, get on with it, then.”

Skipping the rest of the preamble, he allows his face to split into a smile. “We’re getting married.”

There is none of the happy amazement he expected. He receives no applause. What he does receive are slow blinks and confusion written on every face except his own and Remus’s. It’s Molly who eventually says something, and what she says is, “Congratulations! If you don’t mind me asking... who’s the lucky lady?”

Now it’s Sirius’s turn to be confused. “You mean... you didn’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Bloody hell.” He isn’t sure whether he should laugh or cry. “I thought we made it obvious enough.”

“Well, clearly you didn’t!”

“How much do we need to broadcast it for you to see what’s right in front of you? How often should we hold hands at mealtimes? During Order meetings? Do you want us to take down the silencing charms on the bedroom, too, so you can hear everything we say, everything we—mmph.”

Sirius is cut off when Remus stands up, grabs the back of his head, and smashes their lips together. Between all those times back at Hogwarts, and now this, it seems it truly has become a trend—Remus shutting him up by sticking his tongue in Sirius’s mouth, that is. 

They break apart far too soon for Remus’s liking, but they do have an audience, after all. He can imagine without looking the expression on Molly’s face, and his imagination is proved correct when he turns away, sliding his fingers down Sirius’s arm to clasp their hands together. “That should answer your question,” he says before anyone has the chance to pick their jaw up off the floor. 

It’s been silent for a while—or, at least, it feels that way; the grandfather clock by the opposite wall shows only thirty seconds have passed—when Sirius realizes they’re still standing. “Excuse us,” he says, and pulls Remus out of the room. 

Out in the hallway, they stare at each other for a few moments before bursting out in laughter. “Oh my god, Remus,” Sirius wheezes. “Oh my god. That was fucking incredible.”

Remus covers his eyes with one hand. “It was spur of the moment, okay? Bloody hell, that was—”

“Unbelievably attractive? Absolutely iconic?”

“So embarrassing.”

“Embarrassing for you, maybe. But that right there? That’s why I love you.”

“What, not my dazzling personality?” 

Sirius grins, leaning in. “Well, yeah, that too. And your gorgeous golden eyes, and your genius mind, and you smile that always makes me melt inside, and—”

“Okay!” yelps Remus, because he knows Sirius too well. “I get the idea!” His gaze is soft, though, and when Sirius reaches up to cup his cheek in one palm, he leans into the touch. 

Eventually, someone—Tonks, or Harry, or one of the Weasleys—will come to find them, demanding explanation. But for now?

It’s just them. 

And despite everything—despite who they’ve lost and what they’ve been through—they have each other. 

[wolfstarlibrarian]

Hello lovely friends, and welcome to the second installment of the Beyond the Shelves series! This month the library is featuring @aryastark-valarmorghulis​ who’s beautiful prose borders on poetry, and always manages to access those lovely tender feelings we so wish to share with the world. Hope you enjoy this interview here, and make sure to check back later today for the list of her favorite fics!

Name/Creative Type: Arya (she/her) / Author

AO3: aryastark_valarmorghulis  

Tumblr: @aryastark-valarmorghulis

What's your favorite thing about Remus & Sirius? 

Oh, well, this answer will be incredibly sappy.

Let me begin by saying that I am truly disappointed and horrified by JK Rowling and by the harmful, awful views she’s expressed in the last years. I don’t share her ideas and I don’t support her anymore.

Having said that, HP was my childhood and is still incredibly important for me – it helped me, saved me, even, during some very dark and difficult moments, and I believe those books – as flawed as I see them now, as dated as they are – will stay with me until the very end.

Remus and Sirius have been my favorite characters since I read PoA – I was intrigued at once by that tragic yet epic backstory we only get glimpses of and I was very interested in what was left unsaid (the Marauders’ school years, the First War, how their friendship deteriorated, why Remus and Sirius reconnected so quickly). 

Even a naive thirteen-year-old could see there was something worth exploring under the surface, and after a few years I opened a fanfiction on LiveJournal: it was the Shoebox Project. From that moment, I started shipping Punk and Nerd-Wolf and never stopped. Even if I left fandom quite a few times during uni, I kept coming back and I’m still here, because I think those two characters have everything a reader and a storyteller need: there’s friendship, self-discovery, queerness, love, betrayal, war and second chances. What else could I want in a pairing?

What do you think your signature is?

I’m not sure I have one, but what I really love is to let the unsaid things speak more than the actual conversations between characters. I often write from Remus’ Pov and he isn’t a big talker for me – not about his feelings anyway – so I try to convey what he doesn’t dare say, which is actually more important than what he does say.

I think objects like clothes or furniture or even houses can carry a lot of hidden significance, and very mundane actions like brewing tea or putting on a record or touching an elbow can convey more feelings than an actual conversation, so I try my best at describing all these things.

What advice would you give new authors?

Write what you like and not what you think other people will like. That's pretty obvious advice.

I would like to say something even more basic for writers like me, whose first language isn’t English: just try!

I know it can be scary to post a story written in a language that isn’t yours and there is the overwhelming fear that you’ll never be as good as a native speaker, but being bilingual can actually be a resource – you can mix together words in unexpected ways and use surprising metaphors.

I won’t lie because there are days where you don’t even know words in your mother tongue, let alone in English, but there’s no harm in trying and this is something we do for free, for ourselves first, and most of all it’s super fun to play with a new language and bend it to our will – sometimes it’s very frustrating and some sentences will never make sense but it’s nothing that a good, trusted Beta can’t fix.

My advice is that it’s worth trying.

What inspires you?/Where do you get your ideas?

I’m actually not sure; I usually get my ideas when I’m about to go to bed and I’m too sleepy and lazy to jot them down, so I can only hope I remember some vague stuff in the morning.

Most of the time I think of a particular atmosphere (a Welsh cottage in the middle of nowhere during a sweltering summer day, a chilly walk in a misty graveyard etc...) and the story develops around it.

Pick a favorite fic of yours and explain what inspired it.

Midday, Midnight is definitely my favourite fic among the ones I’ve written and, I think, the best one. I wrote it very quickly and it didn’t need much editing, except for the usual grammar stuff. It was absolutely unprecedented, it never happened again and probably never will.

I was inspired by two things.

One is this excellent piece of meta by @shaggydogstail​ regarding the Prank that I absolutely agree with; I was musing over a Post Prank story for a while, mostly because of my disagreement with the trope “The Prank was this huge Greek Tragedy that foreshadows the lack of trust between Remus & Sirius etc”.

The second thing I had in mind was writing something that respects Aristotle’s Classical Unities: a story that lasts for no more than 24 hours, with a single plotline and only one location. The many quotes by Ovid and Sappho underline this classic inspiration. I am acutely aware of how pretentious this sounds, just in case you were wondering.

I knew I wanted to write something about the (lack of) consequences after the Prank, and the idea of a fun summer romance came to me after reading that meta and the interesting discussion that it created.

⭐🌙

Last Month’s interview with @theprongsletthatlived​ can be found here. 

[emaanwritesandwrongs]

Like you loved me.

3/16/22

Like you loved me. 

“I’m pretty good at fixing spines, cracking backs, chiropractin, whatever you wanna call it. My mother would even say I’m a bit of a natural. As the youngest I kinda got forced into getting into the knack of these sorts of things.”

“Really,” X focused her gaze onto his “Well I’ve always wanted to get my back all fixed up. I swear it’s been aching since the first time I even became aware of my body. I think it would feel quite nice…” To be released. X pauses on this thought. The idea of her muscles loosening up the hold they have on each other, the dull soreness that has been consistently beating in the background for the last decade of her life could finally be resolved. If only she just let -

“You’re pretty tense.”

“I know.”

“You’d need to lay down. On a hard surface probably. This bed won’t do, it’s not really the softest either though - oh, no offense,” Y glances over to her face, she doesn’t seem to take offense, let alone hear him. He continues “I could even get the job done if you stand up, or the floor would be best, but uh…”

He trails off as they both stare at the crumbs of cat litter and loose hairs scattered across the floor of the shoebox room. She blushes in embarrassment, except Y can’t really tell all that from underneath X’s complexion, so it just looks like she purses her lips tightly together into an awkward smile. 

“It’s alright.” She says firmly. Maybe some other time, she thinks to herself. Ignoring the obvious thought that she simply wasn’t sure, or ready. How to live on without the comfort of the dull hum that lived within the depths of her spine? 

He stays for a bit. Then leaves. 

He visits again. In a hazy dream. Except this time I’m on the floor. Ankles, knees, stomach, wrists, breasts, chin pressed to the floor. The crumbs of cat litter pinch my skin. I swear this isn’t a dream and I feel myself confirming this by reciting to myself whatever information I can collect from my senses. I smell dust prickling my nose and taste the staleness of my mouth. I’m surely awake. 

“You’re pretty tense.”

I try to respond, but my tongue is locked underneath a heavy spell. I try to scream, not because I am frightened, but to test if I can at all.

He prepares to align me. To fix me up. To alleviate my pain. I tell myself. I have no choice but to accept it. I had to be ready for this day after all, I couldn’t go on like this forever. Y’s palms spread flat on my shoulder blades. I hold my breath, eyes shut tense, bracing for what's next. My heart is beating so fast, yet I can’t feel the blood pounding inside me. Only the cold prickly floor. 

Y pauses. Hesitates? He traces his fingers down each vertebra of my spine. My skin feels thin, like a flimsy sheet of dough. If he pressed any further I’m sure that I would tear. He probably just scans his hands over me to decide where to press into my back first. But I let my mind wander. To a time where I didn’t think all that much, though I believed I did. I pretend you trace my vulnerability as if… Well, I pretend it’s as if you loved me. Like you loved me. 

The feeling is so strong I’m pulled away from the floor. As if I’m falling in reverse. The scenery around molds into something else. I’m no longer in that closeted room. 

Instead I am in the center of a circle with many centers. A circle with no circumference. 

X had read about this before but it never quite made sense to her up until, maybe, now. 

Like you loved me. 

Where did this feeling, or this thought, come from? Like an old friend I used to visit often and shared meaningless conversations with. When did I leave this friend? Why did we stop? How did we find each other in the first place? 

[rpf-bat]

You Fell In Love With A Vampire

Pairing: Gerard Way x Reader

Genre: Horror, Romance

Summary: Written for Gothtober 2020, Day 7. Prompt: “Blood.” 

It’s late at night, when your best friend, Gerard shows up on your doorstep. He’s frantic, and covered in blood. He tells you that he’s been attacked - and reveals the bite marks, on his neck. When a strange thirst begins to take him over, your relationship with him changes forever. 

It had been a year since you graduated from SVA, and moved into this shoebox Manhattan apartment. But, you still hadn’t gotten used to how noisy the city could be at night. Even at this late hour, you could hear drunk people shouting, and taxi cabs beeping their horns. What they said was true - New York really was the city that never slept. 

But, I had to move into the city, to be closer to work, you reminded yourself. I’m lucky that I landed a job in my field, at all.  

You were debating whether to get out of bed, and fix some tea, when you heard a knock at your door. 

Who could it be at this hour?, you wondered sleepily. Should I just ignore it? 

The knocking continued insistently. 

“Ok, I’m coming…,” you mumbled. You pulled on your dressing gown, and looked suspiciously through the peephole. To your surprise, you recognized the face on the other side. “.....Gerard?!” 

You had known Gerard, since your first year of art school. You considered him one of your closest friends. But, he had never shown up on your doorstep, this late. What the hell was he doing here?

“Y/N, please open up!” you heard him beg. He sounded like he was crying.

Concerned, you opened the door. You gasped, when you saw the blood on his shirt.

“Y/N, you have to help me,” Gerard stammered. “I….I just got fucking attacked!” 

“What?” you gaped. “By who?”

“I can explain,” he sniffled. “Just...please, let me in!” 

“Of course,” you nodded, ushering him into your living room. “Sit down….it’s gonna be okay….” 

“I’m s-sorry,” he said, sitting hesitantly on your couch. “I didn’t know where else to go….you’re the only person I really know, who lives on this side of the Hudson.” 

“Sssh, it’s okay,” you consoled him, putting an arm around him. His whole body was shaking. 

“I stayed at the office really late tonight,” Gerard explained. “I was working on a drawing, and I guess I lost track of time. I was getting ready, to get on the train, and head back to Jersey for the night. But, as I walking to the station, this creep came out of nowhere, and cornered me in an alley.” 

“A mugger?” you guessed. 

“No!” Gerard shook his head. “I threw my wallet at him, but that wasn’t what he was after.” 

“What did he want, then?” you asked, confused. 

“My body,” Gerard shuddered. 

Your eyes widened - you never expected him to be a victim of that type of crime. But, assault isn’t something that only happens to women, you reminded yourself. Anyone can be a target.

“He started kissing my neck,” Gerard recalled, shaking, “and, like, biting on it.” 

“That’s horrible,” you said, terrified to hear the rest of your friend’s story. “Did he….?” 

“No,” Gerard shook his head. “I fought him off, before he could do anything else to me.” 

“Oh, thank God,” you replied, relieved that the bastard had not violated your friend any further. 

“I have a knife that I keep on me for self defense,” Gerard clarified. “I managed to cut him pretty deeply….what’s crazy is, he took off, like the injury was nothing.” 

“Seriously?” you asked, surprised. 

“Yeah!” Gerard replied, still looking shaken. “Oh, god….his blood splattered, when I sliced at him. Some if it got in my mouth….I can still taste it….”

“Do you want a cup of tea?” you offered, unsure how to help your clearly traumatized friend. 

“Yes, please,” Gerard said softly. 

You got up, and microwaved a mugful of water. You grabbed a tea bag from the cabinet, and set it in the mug, to steep. 

“Let that sit for a moment,” you cautioned. “It’s gonna be pretty hot. While you’re waiting on that, can I look at your neck? You look like you’re bleeding, a little bit…”

“Oh, god, am I?” Gerard shivered. “Do you have a first aid kit?” 

“I should have some bandages, somewhere,” you nodded. You sat down beside him, and gently tugged his shirt collar down. The fabric was soaked in red. “This looks kind of deep….” 

“Am I gonna be okay?” Gerard asked nervously. 

“Yeah, let me put some antiseptic on it, and you’ll be fine,” you assured him. You grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide from the bathroom, and poured some onto a cotton ball. “I’m sorry if this stings a bit….” 

You daubed the cotton ball, onto the bloody bite mark, on his neck. What kind of sick freak would do such a thing?, you thought to yourself. It almost looks more like an animal bite… 

Gerard winced, as the antiseptic made contact with his skin. 

“I’m sorry,” you frowned. “I’m trying to be gentle.” 

“It’s okay,” Gerard said softly. “Thank you, Y/N, for helping me, even though it’s so late.” 

“Of course,” you told him, as you placed a Band-Aid on the wound. “I wouldn’t turn you away, when you’re in such obvious distress, like this.” 

“Y/N…..I was so scared,” Gerard confessed, tears welling up in his eyes again. He dove into your arms, and began to cry on your shoulder. 

“Ssssh,” you quieted him, gently rubbing his back. “It’s okay, Gee. The son of a bitch is gone now. You’re safe.” 

“Y/N….,” Gerard mumbled, his voice muffled by your shirt. “You...you smell so good…..”

“Huh?” you blinked, pulling away from him. 

“I….I’m sorry,” he blushed. “I don’t know why I said that.” 

What a weird thing to say, you thought, bewildered. It almost sounded like he was coming on to you….but, that wouldn’t make any sense. After what he’s been through tonight, romance would be the last thing on his mind. 

“.....Your tea should be cool enough to drink now,” you said awkwardly. There was no way he would hit on someone like you….even if he hadn’t just been groped by some pervert. 

“....Right,” Gerard said, and picked up the mug. He drank it quickly, setting the empty mug back down in seconds. 

“You must have been thirsty,” you said, raising an eyebrow. 

“I still am pretty thirsty, actually,” Gerard admitted. “Would it be okay if I had some more?” 

“Yeah, sure,” you shrugged. “I can fix you another cup.” 

“Before you do that,” Gerard asked hesitantly, “would you mind taking a look at my mouth?”

“Your mouth?” you repeated, confused. 

“My whole mouth hurts for some reason,” Gerard explained with a frown. “It feels like, when I had my wisdom teeth.” 

“Uhh, sure,” you decided, moving closer to him, on the couch. You didn’t understand how the attack could cause a symptom like that. But, you didn’t think he would make it up, either. 

He opened his mouth wide, so you could see it better. You leaned in, scrutinizing him with your gaze. At first, you couldn’t comprehend what you were seeing. There’s no way…..

“Gerard,” you paled, unsure how to tell him what you just saw. “You look like….you’re growing fangs.”

“Huh?” Gerard blinked, closing his mouth. “What are you talking about?”

“Go look in the bathroom mirror, if you don’t believe me!” you insisted. 

Gerard got up, and went to go look, for himself. His eyes widened in shock, as he stared at the reflection of his teeth. “Oh, god….what the fuck is happening to me?!” 

The pieces began to click into place, in your head. 

“Gee….,” you said nervously, “I think the guy who attacked you, was a vampire.”

“What?” Gerard laughed nervously, walking back into the living room. “Y/N, you gotta be kidding me…..vampires aren’t real.” 

You hadn’t thought they were real, either, until tonight. But, there was no other explanation, that made sense. 

“He bit you, and drew your blood,” you pointed out. “And now, all of a sudden, you spontaneously start growing a pair of fangs….” 

“Are you saying,” Gerard realized, the color draining from his face, “that I’m turning into a vampire, too?” 

You didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was right in front of your eyes. 

“Oh, god,” Gerard realized, a look of horror crossing his face. “Does that mean that the sweetness I smelled when I was hugging you, was your blood?”

“That’s why the tea didn't do anything for your thirst,” you figured out. “You’re blood-thirsty.”  You took a frightened step backwards. 

“Y/N, I’m not gonna hurt you!” Gerard cried. “Please...you know me better than that.” 

“You’re right,” you sighed. “I’m sorry, Gee. Even if you are a vampire, you’re still my friend.” 

“I need to get out of here,” Gerard said, heading for the door. 

“No, wait!” you said, grabbing his arm. “It’s almost dawn….if you step outside now, the sun will burn you up into ashes.” 

“Maybe I should let it!” Gerard cried, trying to jerk away from you. “It’s better to be a pile of dust, then turn into an evil monster, that might harm you!” 

“No!” you insisted. “Gee, you can’t just kill yourself!”

“I can’t stay here!” Gerard argued. “What if I go berserk, and bite you? I would never forgive myself!” 

“You won’t do it!” you shouted back. “I know you -you’re a good person!” 

“Let go of me!” Gerard struggled. “Even if I go home  - what if I end up attacking my mom? Or Mikey? I’d rather die, while I still have my humanity, than live life as a monster!” 

“There’s no way I’ll let you die!” you screamed, tears welling up in your eyes. You held fast to his hand. Desperate to escape your grip, he shoved you away. 

You fell backwards, into the coffee table. You knocked the empty teacup as you hit the ground, and it shattered onto the floor. A shard landed on your hand, nicking your finger.

“Oh, god, Y/N, I’m so sorry!” Gerard gasped. He knelt down, to help you up. “I...I didn’t mean to hurt you…..”

“I’m okay,” you assured him, taking his hand. “I know, it was just an accident.” 

You tried to pull your hand away, now that you were on your feet. To your surprise, he held it fast. 

“Hey, let go,” you demanded. 

Gerard didn’t answer you - he was staring down, at your fingertips. You followed his gaze, and realized that your finger was bleeding. 

“....Gerard?” you called his name. “....I said, let go.” 

He stared at the red bead on your fingertip, as if he was hypnotized. It dawned on you, that he was trying desperately, to hold himself back. 

“.....You want to drink my blood,” you realized. 

“No,” Gerard whimpered. “I can’t….that would be wrong…..” 

“But, if you’re really a vampire,” you guessed, “don’t you need blood to live? If you don’t drink, you’ll starve.”

“Y/N, I’m so thirsty,” Gerard confessed, a hungry look in his eyes. “It….it hurts….” 

“Then, let me help you,” you offered. You extended your bleeding finger to him. “Just….promise to be gentle?” 

“I….I can’t do this to you,” Gerard hesitated. 

“It’s better for me to give it to you now, of my own free will,” you insisted, “then, to let you lose yourself, and end up attacking an innocent person.”

“A-Are you sure?” Gerard stammered. 

“Yes,” you consented. “Go on...before I change my mind.” 

“.....Okay,” Gerard decided. He took a deep breath, and knelt down, at your feet. He gently took your hand in his, and brought it to his lips. His tongue softly lapped at the blood that had pooled at the tip of your finger. 

“Oh, fuck,” he gasped. “Fuck, Y/N, you taste so good.” He licked your fingertip again. 

You found yourself blushing. 

He took your fingertip into his mouth, and started sucking on it, still making an effort to be tender. You felt the blood drip from the wound, as he began to suck you harder. His lips tightened around your finger. 

“....Hey, easy!” you reminded him. 

He slowed down, slightly, but the pressure of his sucking continued. His eyes rolled back in his head - the taste of you, seemed to be ecstasy to him. His pace quickened again. He couldn’t help himself.

 His fangs grazed your cut, deepening it, and allowing more blood to flow. You didn’t fight it. His lips against your skin, felt so soft, and good. It made you gasp. The only sounds in the room, were his soft, sucking noises, and your own ragged breathing. 

“...Y/N?” he gasped, gazing up at you, as he withdrew your finger, from his red mouth. “You look almost like….you were getting off on that.” 

“I….I think I was,” you confessed, cheeks aflame. What was wrong with you? 

“Is it strange,” he asked, licking his bloodstained lips, his thirst seemingly slaked, “if I say that I was kinda getting off on it, too?” 

You kneeled on the floor beside him. After the strangely erotic experience you’d just shared, there was no way that you could go back to being just friends. 

You kissed him, tasting your own blood, on his mouth. His body responded to yours, and he pulled you in. His red-dripping tongue, entered your mouth. 

“Fuck, Y/N!”, he gasped. “I…..I’ve wanted this for so long. The truth is…..I’ve had a crush on you, since freshman year.” 

“You….you have?” 

You’d always been attracted to him, but you never thought, you’d be his type. 

“I dreamed of this,” he confessed, his eyes full of passion. “But….I never thought it would be this way.” 

Nothing about this night, could have possibly been predicted. Your best friend had become an actual vampire - and he’d bitten you. And you’d enjoyed it.

“You can’t leave until the sun goes down, right?” you panted, kissing him again. He moaned against your lips.

“Y-Yeah,” he said. “I’m stuck here, until nightfall.” 

“Then, do you want to pass the time, in my bedroom?” you asked seductively. 

“Are you saying….there’s something else, you’d like me to suck?” Gerard smirked. 

“I would,” you purred. 

He took you in his arms again, and looked at you with a hunger that had absolutely nothing to do with  your blood. “Then, I’m yours.”

[oftenderweapons]

Girls’ Night — a girlfriends’ tale

Characters: OCs (Vixen, Princess, Lace), small Namjoon intromission

Wordcount: 12.2k

Genre: slice of life with discussion of BDSM themes, conversation

Rating: suggested 18+

Hello doves! As I announced the other day, I have been working on extra pieces that I really loved as a concept. This one — I must admit — is especially dear to me since it covers topics that I consider extremely important. This fic discusses mature themes. Please minors, do not read or interact.

Quick recap: (read Jimin’s Love Talk if you want to know the whole background for this story) Princess — Jimin’s girlfriend — has ventured into the world of BDSM after Jimin expressed his interest in being dominated and spanked. A few days after her first brief session with Jimin, two old acquaintances come to her help: Vixen — Namjoon’s girlfriend and Princess’ high school classmate — and Lace, Vixen’s best friend, Princess’ university flatmate but also Taehyung’s latest crush. (Tae and Lace met through Vixen at Taehyung’s housewarming party). The girls meet for dinner at Princess’ apartment and after some confessions and girl talk, they explore the most important rules and procedures a person should know before dominating their partner in a basic impact play scenario, with special contributions of a trained domme and an experienced brat. 

The piece is written with the girls as characters described through the POV of an external narrator. If you want to get to know the characters a bit better, you can find their headcanons here (Vixen — Princess — Lace).

On a lexical note: throughout the text I’ve used the word “dom” both as in short of the verb and of the noun. Even though the feminine form is usually “domme”, I’ve considered it gender neutral, as a short term for both “dominator” and “dominatrix”. 

On an ethical note: I wanted to raise awareness on how a safe, sane and consensual domination works. These days there’s an increasing number of BDSM pieces coming out, and very few of them mention the level of emotional connection that is necessary in these circumstances. Most of them focus on the scene, without showing how pre-session negotiations, aftercare and post-session feedback work. I wanted this piece to be educational and I wanted to show the “background work” on how I plan each BDSM-themed piece before I write it. Though I’ve done a lot of research on handbooks, websites and forums, I am NOT a BDSM educator, so I would recommend reading more in-depth manuals in case you ever decided to venture in this world, and possibly speak with an expert first.

On to trigger warnings: swearing, consumption of alcohol, obviously there is in-depth discussion of NSFW and BDSM themes with focus on impact play. Discussion of hard limits, negotiations, SSC (safe, sane, consensual), safewords, aftercare, bruising, cutting/puncturing (connected with cane and cat-o-nine-tales whipping), marking, pain kink, punishment, drop (both for subs and doms), anatomy of impact play (where to hit, how to hit), sex toys (spanking, face slapping, paddle, riding crop, slapper, strap, whip, flogger, cane). That should be all. In terms of angst, there is some insecurity, jealousy, and slightly traumatic past experiences. Lace recalls one time she “dropped”, Vixen recalls a series of quite intense scenes. There are mentions of Vixen’s second relationship (toxic relationship with a man who called her out for her sex drive, kinkshamed her and forced her into becoming exclusively vanilla). Both Princess and Vixen mention abandoning some friends since they couldn’t trust them close to their boyfriends, or not respecting their privacy. Lace mentions traumas that lead her to learn domination. She also explains her insecurities about possibly dating Taehyung.

Word count: lengthy. 12.2k words. Reading is not necessary but recommended since a lot of pieces stem directly from this one. 

Here is my masterlist!

Enjoy 💖

————————————

EDIT: You can find part two here

————————————

Lace came through with the loud stomps of the heels of her boots, the bag on her shoulder swaying heavily. It looked like she was ready to enter Cat Woman mode, wearing a cropped leather jacket rimmed with a thick black-fur neck. Her wondrous thighs were clad in tight, high-waisted jeans, her black leather knee boots completing the look. She impeccably wore her part.

As she neared the door, she checked her watch, noticing that she was a couple minutes early.

Five minutes later, always fashionably late, arrived Vixen, her hair falling perfectly around her pretty face, her lips tinged with a deep wine red, her doe eyes as inquisitive and wide as usual. It was exactly the girl she had met two years before on the other side of the counter of her shop, it looked like she hadn't aged a week.

"Hello!" She greeted her friend.

"Hi there! Look at you, you look like the best girlie in the world." Lace hollered back.

"Because I am." Vixen replied, basking in the attention and the praises.

"That self esteem is thriving! Freshly fucked and ready to misbehave?"

"Unfortunately not freshly enough, but you know me, I'm always ready to misbehave." Vixen winked before making her way to the entrance of the building, pressing the buzz for Princess' apartment.

"Isn't your big boy attending to his duties?" Lace asked, curious about the whole situation. She had personally met Namjoon and had seen the two of them together. They looked like the it-couple and she would gladly bet big money on the pair. Plus she knew about Vixen's collection and Namjoon's taste in terms of lingerie and negligees: in her honest opinion that's a solid base for a lasting union.

"He's attending, yes, but I don't want to vex him with my continuous cravings."

"Baby, not all of us are like that slut-shaming bastard of your ex. Stop thinking that needing to get laid more than once a week is a shame."

Princess voice sounded from the intercom. "Hi! It's floor 16 number 41!"

"Thank you!" Vixen replied before pushing the door open.

Lace slapped her hand and held the door as Vixen walked through. The other followed. "It's just that… He's been busy, plus he keeps saying he likes to come back early so we can have dinner together, he's always rushing from the studio to the dorms to his apartment. He looks like he'll get drunk on motion sickness before the tour even starts."

Lace stared at her feet as you both stood in the lift. How could she start something serious with Taehyung if they were going on tour? By the time she would get used to him he would be travelling on the other side of the world.

"So he stays at the dorms?" Lace fixed her bag on her shoulder.

"Often, yes. He stays at the apartment when I'm around, but he prefers the dorms when he's by himself or working."

The lift dinged and you exited, heading down the hallway "Thirty-eight, forty, there!" Lace chirped, noticing the open door.

There stood Princess, hair in a ponytail, wearing a fashionable white turtleneck and a thigh knee-length skirt. She looked classy and smart, just like she had appeared during previous meetings.

"Hello girls!" She waved at the pair, gesturing at them to come in.

"Hi there!" said Lace, "long time no see."

"We don’t see each other in ages and then two times in less than a month." Princess replied while hugging her. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if we reacquainted?”

Vixen nodded with a cute smile. "It would. I must say it was a surprise to meet you at the party with Jimin." Vixen took off her shoes as Princess offered her a pair of slippers.

"It seems like fate brought us back together." Princess replied.

“Indeed.” She commented, thinking about how they would get even closer if she gave in to the preternatural connection with Taehyung. Lace tugged at her boots, fighting with them a little before finally removing them, lost in her thoughts. She clumsily tried to avoid Vixen’s stare. She knew the girl would spot her secret in a second. Not now, she told herself. With the slippers on, Lace still looked like Catwoman from the ankles up, but her feet were clad with a pair of pink panther slippers that gave the outfit a hilarious twist.

"Let's move to the kitchen," Princess said, leading the way. "The apartment is small, sorry."

"Don't worry sweetie, with a view like this I would gladly live in a shoebox." Vixen commented, looking out of the window. "Plus you live pretty high up."

"It was accidental. I just needed something close to my office."

"What did you end up doing?" Lace asked as she looked at the prints on the wall.

"I work for a fashion magazine. Usually I do model casting and a little bit of everything about organising photoshoots." Princess replied.

"That sounds great!" Lace exclaimed, grinning.

Princess clumsily opened a bottle of wine, but fortunately no damage resulted. "What about you?"

"I'm a shop assistant in a lingerie shop." Lace replied.

"Don't diminish yourself like that." Vixen said, looking away from the window. "She works at the La Perla boutique in Gangnam, plus she has her own studio where she creates customised orders." The woman patted her friend on the shoulder. "She's amazing."

Princess lit up. "So you managed to make part of your dream come true!"

"A small part. I'm still far from having my own shop." Lace exhaled.

"But she's getting there." Vixen added with a positive note.

"I ordered in a little bit of everything." Princess said, taking the food out of the oven. "I didn't trust my cooking skills knowing this one." She pointed at Vixen. "I've heard you're almost a chef."

"I just took lessons." She shrugged. "I just really like everything that feels like home."

Sniffing at the air, Vixen sparked up, getting cozy at the smell of bulgogi. "This smells very nice."

"A little bird told me it's your favourite." Princess winked.

"Do I know that little bird?"

"He knows you very well." Princess said, admiring how the polished, elegant woman-girl turned completely smitten.

"I'll make sure to thank him."

Lace snickered. "Do you need help?" She offered, while Princess laid out a bunch of smaller plates and bowls with side dishes. "I got some dumplings, pancakes and our baby's favourite: braised potatoes."

Vixen clapped enthusiastically.

Dinner proceeded calmly, all the partakers digging in quietly, chitchatting between one serving and another, catching up on the various mishaps that had happened during those years apart.

"So you studied in Europe, right?" Princess asked Vixen.

"I spent almost two years between France and England, yes." She replied politely, sipping her wine composedly as if she hadn't devoured her serving of potatoes like a very smug wolf.

"Cool. But you came back here." Princess continued.

"Yes, I missed home. And I missed jajangmyeon." Vixen grinned. "Food in general. I like my life here. Living in Europe to me felt like being continuously on the sidetrack of something. Catching up with the culture is seriously a challenge, especially when you're in the art world."

"Right, you're an interior designer." Princess reminded herself.

"Exactly."

"I've heard you met Namjoon because of that."

Vixen smiled. "Yeah, well… The usual. We met at a gallery, I had a meeting with the artist and he accidentally participated. The artist and the director of the gallery accompanied us through the exhibition and at the end he asked if I wanted to grab a coffee. At the beginning I thought it strange that he hadn't booked a private visit, but he said that because of a last minute plan he had begged the director to book him in anytime. Since I'm friends with the director and I have strict privacy agreements at the firm, the curator thought it was a good idea."

"Who would have thought, uh?" Lace chirped in, laying her chopsticks on her empty bowl.

"Y'all, soju?" Princess asked, now that they were all done with the food.

While Vixen nodded, Lace held back. "I think I'll take just a sip. It gets me bloated."

The table was clean, the small cups for soju laying on the table as Princess shook the bottle and poured it according to tradition.

"Cheers to your taken asses and my single one." Offered Lace, the three of them laughing and downing the liquid. Princess drank it without even blinking, Lace taking it in a small measured way while Vixen downed it and scrunched her nose, shutting her eyes tight and shaking her head as she processed the burn.

"You're still a doll." Princess commented.

"And you're still otherworldly cool." Vixen replied, smirking. "You were the most bad ass girl of the class. I had lots of respect for you, but I was so scared of approaching you."

"You were so tiny and shy." Princess gushed. "You were everyone's crush but you were so smart. And a bit strange. It felt wrong to even think of you like that."

Vixen shook her head, "It feels strange to bring up those memories. After university and being abroad it feels like another life."

"Because many things changed in the meantime." Lace argued. "I've known you since you started working, two years ago."

"I spent half of my first paycheck at your shop."

"You did. And I asked you for coffee because I liked your sense of fashion."

"I thought you wanted to date me." Vixen laughed.

"Well, when you're done snuggling your big bear, you know you can come to me." Lace winked.

"My bear is pretty big so it might take me a while to be done with that." Vixen joked. "Plus I'm pretty happy. I haven't been this happy since I was nineteen. I'm content. Satisfied. Taken care of. Loved. I'm thriving." She closed her eyes and shrugged, smiling.

"My bad." Lace patted her own shoulder in support. "What about you and Jimin?"

"Oh, we met during a photoshoot. I assisted in his shoot and when he was done he asked to see the pictures that would feature on the magazine. That's when he asked me out for dinner." Princess said, her eyes shining as she remembered the event.

Lace noticed the two women staring at her. "Well time for my story… Me and my dildo met at the store, he was cute, I was needy and I invited him to my bed. That's how we first met and we've been happy ever since." Lace told emotionally. The other two burst out laughing, Vixen holding her belly while Princess leaned on the table.

"Oh goodness." The smaller one said.

"I think it's time we face our main topic. Would you like to start?." Lace asked Princess.

"Okay. I'll be very direct." Princess warned.

"Don't worry, we're all grown ups here. You're safe, darling." Vixen stretched her arm out to caress her forearm. "And we're pretty open minded, trust me."

"Okay. Basically, Jimin would like me to get a bit more rough in the bedroom. Namely, we tried spankings the other week. He sort of power-bottomed? Like he gave me instructions on how to do it."

Lace nodded.

"I am worried about how to handle this. I want to do it, but I don't know how to do it right. I don't want to hurt him." Princess said with a frown. “And I’m a little worried I liked it so much.”

Lace’s lips formed a small conspiratorial smile. “At the beginning there’s always a little bit of fear. And a bit of… Shame.”

“Yes.” Princess confirmed. “But it’s not something that bothers me. Like, it’s there but it doesn’t bother me. I don’t think it will persist. When I think about what we did… Well, I’m almost proud.”

Lace smirked and nodded. “That’s good. What would you like to work on? Is it just impact play — you called it "spanking" — or is it also domination on a broader sense?"

"Well… Wait, I took notes." Princess looked around, walking towards her bedroom and coming back with a small notebook and the guide.

"It's the book!" Lace exclaimed.

"The book." Vixen wiggled her eyebrows knowingly.

"You, vixen." Lace smirked. "Namjoon is right calling you that."

"You have no idea." The other replied. "Now, let's see."

"I'll return you the book." Princess reassured her.

"You can keep it for another bit. You'll need it again with Jimin."

"We have our own copy, don't worry." Princess replied, with a quick smirk. "Well, I think I can dom pretty fine — as I read the book I realised I already have some of those behaviours. However there are some practices I might have to learn in person."

"Normally we teach how to dom through subbing: what you experienced the first time with Jimin was subliminally subbing." Lace took the reins and explained. "It is one of the most sophisticated forms of domming — being a power bottom — and the fact that he did that should suggest you that A — he's a very skilled sub, or B — he's generically a very smart person with good manipulative skills."

Princess listened to the explanation quite raptured. "Personally, I don't know how far he's gone with his exes but I would say he has taken the lead before and he's quite used to speak up and order me around a little, so his behaviour might come from that."

Lace nodded. "I would recommend that you talk to him and try to design a specific plan for the two of you. As I hinted before I have taken lessons on BDSM practices in a club here in the city. I have received almost two years of training and I have taken part as an assistant to a teacher for another two years, that's why I might sound academic and serious. You can stop me whenever you feel uncomfortable or when you need to ask a question." That's when Lace shifted. Her whole position changed: her back got straighter and her hands splayed on the table, somehow squaring her position.

"Okay." Princess confirmed.

"You know that during university I took that course on acrobatic yoga?" Lace asked.

Princess frowned. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, it wasn't exactly acrobatic yoga." Lace shrugged and raised her eyebrows. "At the beginning I did do some acrobatic yoga lessons but then one of the students introduced me to this BDSM course and I left yoga for… yeah, you know." Lace laughed.

Vixen listened quietly, observing Princess' reaction.

"Would you consider taking lessons from an expert?" Lace asked.

Princess shrugged. "I think that the book was very good on general analysis. Personally, I've never considered meeting an expert mostly because I wouldn't know where to look for one. Plus, I've only had a week to think about this."

Vixen looked at Lace. "I'll be very blunt here, darling. I think that the best thing to do would be discussing the whole book thing with Jimin. Have pre-session negotiations. Discuss stuff. Find out what you want to explore and go there together."

Lace raised an eyebrow. "However, it is perfectly okay if you want to practice by yourself. Being a good dominant means that you can convey control and safety through your stance and behaviour. That requires practice."

Vixen nodded before adding, "It's okay if you want to take some steps by yourself before bringing him into the equation."

"Okay, so I reckon you have quite some knowledge on the theme. Maybe you could teach me something?" Princess asked Lace, a bit shy but fully determined.

Lace smirked. "That's why I came prepared. However, I must remind you I have been a co-trainer, and that doesn't mean I am a teacher, therefore I can only cover the basic stuff, which for now will suffice."

Vixen's eyes burned expectantly.

"Our girl here might help you see stuff through a submissive's eyes, right?" Lace questioned.

Vixen nodded and smiled, reassuring Princess by placing a hand on top of hers.

"Okay. Let's talk about general principles. BDSM is an acronym for Bondage, Domination, Sadism and Masochism. But I guess you read this in the book." Lace presented.

Princess nodded.

"The golden rule is SSC: Safe, Sane, Consensual. Use protection and make sure that you're both tested and clean if you go without a condom or dental dams. Also, keep your toys clean. Do not start anything if your judgement is clouded — by alcohol, drugs or violent, instinctual emotions. Make sure that both you and your partner want the same things. Explain what is going to happen and negotiate before each session — at least for the first few times. This is also the right moment to talk about safe words."

"Me and Jimin covered these already." Princess noted.  

“Then you’re already halfway there. The biggest part of training is making people always aware of all the steps that could possibly go wrong and make sure that you’re prepared for the worst case scenario.”

Vixen nodded. “As a sub, it is important to feel safe. An anxious sub is a sub who can hardly feel pleasure, and that invalidates the experience as a whole. We only do it for pleasure.”

Princess listened carefully and thought about it a little. “How… How does it feel…To be a sub? I mean, I’ve sort of subbed with Jimin but… Yeah.”

“Well, I’m leaning-sub. That means I rarely dom, and when I do I’m a power bottom — that thing that Jimin did when he gave you instructions on how to dominate him. Being a sub has a lot to do with feeling cherished and taken care of. Some of us are not comfortable with power and responsibilities. Some of us simply like to be told what to do and please. I like doing what Joon tells me to do and do it perfectly the way he wants it to be done, because I know he will praise me and reward me. I know that he loves me regardless of me doing what he wants, but it pleases me immensely to use my submission to show him how far my trust and love for him go. I feel safe when I'm in his hands. And I like punishment, it helps me deal with guilt. When I make a mistake, I always torture myself with guilt and self-hate, but punishment makes me feel like I've made a mistake and I've paid for it. The point is not the punishment, but rather the forgiveness and the sense of atonement afterwards." Vixen spoke with a composed attitude, however her eyes wandered around nervously, as if trying to avoid meeting the others’ gazes.

"In that case the dominant is supposed to be attentive in terms of how far the submissive pushes themself. A sub looking for forgiveness is a sub willing to go further than normal, which means that they might inadvertently reach their breaking point — which shall never happen." Lace highlighted.

"The golden rule is to always leave hungry. There is a fine line between satiety and nausea. The moment you overstep and reach nausea is the moment your sub might hurt themself." Vixen said, tight lipped.

Princess nodded. "I'm glad we can have this conversation. It's not something I can quite talk about with my friends since the whole situation with the boys is pretty delicate. I had to close some of those friendships to keep Jimin safe. I realised I couldn't trust some of those people and I'm glad I realised before it was too late."

Vixen’s leg started bouncing. “Same with Joon. I don’t have that many friends in the city, mostly because of the time abroad and the fact that all of the friends I had by now are married and/or with kids. I couldn’t trust many of them, but you —” she said, gesturing towards Lace, “and when I introduced you to Namjoon I told him you were one of the most discreet people in the world, because you value your privacy and other people’s privacy because of your, uhm, lessons.”

“It feels good to have someone to share this burden with. I’m pretty scared of the tour.” Vixen looked down. The poised young woman seemed to crumble, giving space to an insecure little creature. “We’ve been dating since last November, but our relationship hasn’t really begun until late February. To be honest I’m terrified.”

Both Lace and Princess reached out for her.

“I’m scared.”

“Have you told him?”

“Yes, he knows.” Vixen sparked up for a minute. “We talk a lot. He always asks me how I feel about things. Lately I’ve been spending all my time away from work with him. It’s been… maybe three days since I last went back to my apartment. And in the last month or so I’ve slept alone maybe three or four nights. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s away.” Vixen’s eyes welled up with tears before she smiled classily and recomposed herself. “But that’s not relevant.”

“It is, baby.” Princess rubbed her shoulder. “You have my number. You can reach out to me anytime.”

“I’ll be there too, you know. I know I’m not your Big Bear, but I can cook and I’m an excellent vintage movie marathon partner.” Lace rubbed the other shoulder, catching the few tears that had fallen. This was a further confirmation that Namjoon was the right man for Vixen: he had reached out to Lace a few weeks after they had been introduced, asking her if it was cool if he asked her updates on Vixen during the tour, mostly because he knew she would put up her strong, charming face in front of him, but secretly she would be worrying over his absence. That brought them close; it felt good to create this safety net for Vixen and it felt even better to know her in the hands of a man worthy of her, attentive despite his busy schedule and strong work ethic.

“Thank you, girls. That’s really sweet of you.”

“You’re the one who made this possible,” said Princess, gesturing to the three of them sitting at the table together. “I owe you. And I reckon this is a good time to make amends for not making friends with you in high school.” Princess laughed. “We’ll all need each other. We could have a group chat with Jin’s girlfriend too. Plus Jimin mentioned Yoongi is seeing someone.”

“Yes, Namjoon mentioned too. I’ve heard she’s a lawyer. He’s got this insanely huge crush on her.” Vixen giggled. “I haven’t met her yet but I’ve heard they were supposed to go out tonight.”

“Maybe we’ll see her at the next gathering.” Princess wondered. “I must admit I’m curious.”

“I am too.”

Lace felt a bit out of the conversation. “Me and Taehyung have been texting.”

Vixen blinked and turned to her. “What?” She had this face that read perfect confusion. “How long? And you’ve never told me? I mean, I gave him your number but I didn’t—”

“It’s because I haven’t been really taking him into consideration until recently.” Lace replied. “Normally I would reply to him with small texts, just to avoid sounding rude.”

“You mean to tell me you have Taehyung wrapped around your little finger — Kim Heartthrob Taehyung — and you weren’t even interested? Have you been doing drugs too?” Vixen looked outraged. “Fucking insane.” She shook her head.

“You know me. I value my privacy. Do you know how fucking un-private it is to potentially date that man? What if they find out about my extracurriculars?” Lace pointed out.

Vixen exhaled and formed a tight-lipped smile.

“Don’t give me the disappointed mom look.” Lace replied. “Plus I’m the same age as you, you have no right to turn judgemental.”

“Of course.” Vixen nodded. “Your safety first, love.”

“It’s just that I want to, but I can barely imagine how fucked up that could be.”

Princess breathed out. “Jimin and I have been extremely private about us and me being so close to the press means I am risking so much.” Princess opened her arms wide. “But it would take a catastrophe to take him away from me.”

“Give him a chance. Tell him about everything outright and let him choose. He’ll take his chance. Don’t choose for him.” Vixen pointed out. “That’s how I did with Joon. We talked and clearly said ‘this is what I need and what I can give, can you comply? Are you okay with it?’ It’s a bit of a bet, but I think the prospect of gain outweighs the actual risk of it.”

Lace nodded. “And then there’s the tour.”

Vixen and Princess nodded. Vixen tried to keep her insecurity and jealousy at bait. All those girls drooling over him, all those female staff members travelling with him. She propped her elbows on the table and pressed her forehead against her palms, her lovely hair falling forward.

Princess, sitting beside her, rubbed her back. “What if you just give him one date. Tell him your situation both about your, uhm— hobby and your emotional state. I’m sure he will understand. His emotional intelligence is impressive.” Princess stated, nodding, her hand still rubbing Vixen’s spine.

“He’s the kind of man I would gladly be a sucker for.” Lace explained. “I knew I was a dom since I was eighteen, but Jesus, I know I would sub for him.” Vixen seemed to awaken at that comment. “I’ve seen his stages. He is insane.” Lace bit her lip. “But I need time to trust him. And it would feel useless to get cosy with him only to have him leave for the tour.”

“Just tell him.” Vixen encouraged her. “He will surely work with you on a compromise.”

“I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Are you okay?” Lace checked in on Vixen.

“Yup. Just a sudden jealousy rush.”

Lace frowned. “He would never. Don’t worry about that.” Lace cocked her head to the side. “He worships the ground you step on.”

“Girls throw thems—”

“He throws himself at you.” Lace remarked. “Plus he loves you. You love him. That’s all that matters. He gave you the passcode to his house, basically made you move in, what else do you need? I bet he’d gladly handcuff himself to you if you asked kindly enough.” Lace joked.

“Scratch that ‘kindly enough’. He’d cuff himself to you without you even asking.” Princess remarked.

“Can we move back to the BDSM introductory lessons?” Vixen asked, shaking her head, but with a tiny smile on her face.

Lace saw that was a good sign. Princess smiled beside her. “Okay, I’ll go with my request. I know I told you I wanted to get to know more of impact play and if we could focus on that...”

“Yes, I get where you’re headed. Let’s get it. But we’ll need a clean table for this.” Lace explained.

“Let’s do this.” Princess stood up from the table, beginning to clean up everything. It took the girls only a couple minutes to get rid of dirty dishes, empty boxes, the glasses and the soju. Even the fruit basket the guests had bought was moved on the kitchen counter.

“Do you have any sanitizer, perhaps?” Lace asked.

“Isn’t it better if we move to the sofa?” Suggested Vixen. “Use the coffee table?”

Princess shrugged. “Same to me.”

Lace nodded convincedly. “Let’s prep the coffee table. Sorry for the main table.”

Princess shrugged. “Needed to clean it anyways.”

A few minutes later the girls were all sitting around the coffee table, Lace’s bag placed at her side while Vixen occupied her other side, Princess sitting in front of them.

“Let’s do an impact play in depth analysis. What you need is one — a dom, two — a sub, three — optional, — supplies.” Lace listed. “Let’s go a bit at a time. First, the dom. A dom must be sober, lucid. No alcohol, drugs, and most importantly, no impulsive, instinctual emotions. If you’re furious, don’t go there. Violent emotions can cloud your judgement. Don’t let those lead you. Of course you might be angry or aroused, but that must not take the lead. If your anger makes you want to give them fifty spanks, but normally your sub can take twenty, you can negotiate maybe twenty-five. Be judicious, never hungry.”

“Good.” Said Princess, focusing on every single one of Lace’s words.

“Once you’re sure you’re in a coherent, calm mindset, you should negotiate with your sub. Remember: safe, sane, consensual. Safe, in this case, involves that your supplies are clean and cannot hurt your sub, both in terms of cleanliness and state of use. Check for loose threads, scratches on leather that could possibly host bacteria or dirt, splinters in case of wooden devices, porous surfaces. We’ll talk about this more accurately in the supplies section. Sane means to check your mindset and your sub’s mindset. Same rules as before: no alcohol, drugs, violent emotions.”

Vixen made eye contact with Lace, silently requesting permission to speak. “Small note on that, may I?”

Lace nodded.

“Your sub might come to you while being emotionally unstable. They might need you for comfort or atonement. Make sure to heal that emotionally before dealing with it sexually. It means to discuss what caused the upset state of mind in order to identify the real entity of the problem, correct the perception of it and negotiate the atonement.”

“Excellent point.” Replied Lace.

Vixen smiled cutely.

“Can I have an example?” Asked Princess with a frown.

“Of course. Let’s say I fucked up at work, I booked the wrong artwork and the artwork they wanted is no longer available. I manage to find an alternative but I somehow feel like I let down my client. I go home and I am scolding myself because I didn’t deliver what was asked of me. My dom may spot my disappointment or may recognise self-punishment. Also, I might explicitly tell my dom I am not feeling well due to a sense of guilt. This leads to my dom asking me why I am upset or why I am punishing myself. I — along other perfectionists like Jimin — tend to overestimate my mistakes, making them a bigger deal than what they actually are. My dom corrects my perspective through objective analysis, underlines my successful abilities in dealing with the issue and suggests potential improvements on those things I didn’t manage to solve. Perfectionists have a strict inner judge that scolds them and punishes them. Therefore their psych is divided into victim and punisher. This fracture obviously causes discomfort. The dom’s goal is to heal this fracture, especially since the perfectionist’s “punisher” side — so to say — is very strict and usually overestimates the damage and subsequently overestimates the punishment. After correcting the perception of the mistake, the dom gives an appropriate price for atonement.”

“So the goal is to stop the guilt trip mechanism?” Princess asked.

“Yes.” Vixen confirmed. “But this is just one kind of spanking. There are other cases. It can be educational or simply sexual. Educational is when the dom corrects the sub’s behaviour because they violated a rule or an order. In that case it’s mostly dom-initiated—”

“Unless the sub willingly misbehaved to earn a punishment.” Lace added.

“That sounds Jimin.” Princess commented, rubbing her forehead.

Vixen smiled widely.

“That’s not funny, you brat!” Lace scolded her.

“When you find your sub willingly misbehaving, you should talk to them very clearly. Usually they do it to attract attention. Ignoring them might hurt them or bring them to further misbehaviour, which can turn dangerous. I normally recommend conversation.” Lace explained. “Pay attention to them and ask why they broke the rule, what they were trying to get out of it. You can give them the punishment they were asking for — for example if your sub disobeyed because it earns them spanks and they like spanks, you can either give them spanks or punish them with something that they really don’t like, for example edging.”

Princess nodded. “That’s interesting, thank you.”

“Any remark, Vixen?”

She shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What about sexual spanks?” Princess questioned.

“Those can be incorporated into foreplay. Some people are simply aroused by pain.” Vixen shrugged. “It puts the sub into a vulnerable position, and it underlines a power imbalance. It makes the sub feel smaller, powerless — or almost so — and sometimes humiliated.” Vixen explained.

“Exactly. I would add that it stimulates the circulation of blood to the pelvis region, which means that skin is more sensitive, arousal increases and the whole perception intensifies. It builds trust and sometimes, according to personal history of each sub, it can send them back to childhood memories, mimicking the power imbalance between child and adult who disciplined them. It has strong disciplinary and educational value, back to the punishment scene.”

“Oh, about punishment!” Vixen exclaimed. “We forgot the most important part of it all. But it refers to all sorts of spanking, to be true. Negotiation. Once you have identified the fault, tell your sub how many hits there will be, how you will deliver them and with which instrument, which position they will have to assume. Repeat safewords. Make sure that they agree fully to every detail of the spanking. If they do not agree to some parts, ask to find a compromise, a middle ground between your and their needs. Once you have the green light, you can talk your sub through the whole experience as the scene actually develops. Once you are done with the scene, say a code phrase that means that the scene has finished.”

“Okay, me and Jimin did this stuff our first time trying this.” Princess confirmed.

“Wonderful. Was it a positive experience? Did you have any uncertainties, questions?”

“It was a very positive experience, both in mine and his opinion. We talked it out the morning after, since I preferred to have some time to elaborate my personal feelings about the scene”

“That’s okay. As a dom you can experience mixed feelings, especially after a first scene, with activities that are usually misjudged by society”. Lace explained, gently patting Princess’ hand on top of the table.

“I think that Jimin’s positive reaction and guidance helped me feeling positive about the whole scene. He was truly supportive through all of it.” Princess smiled softly.

“That’s a good partner. Both for life and for play”. Lace smiled herself, glad that Princess’ first experience went well.

“There were very deep emotions of care and support and love during the whole scene. A kind of affection and vulnerability I had never experienced with anyone else. I hope I can go there again with him, but next time I want to be more reliable and secure and experienced. I thought that a general introduction, especially about supplies, could help me, since Jimin was interested in that.”

“Okay, let’s just finish the general intro. We were saying safe, sane and consensual. Safe means toys, safewords and aftercare supplies. Sane means both parties know what they’re doing, the dom is aware of the sub’s mental space. Consensual means negotiation about number of blows, technique, position and eventually toys. Make sure that your sub always knows about the motive of the spanking. The natural response, especially to pain, is ‘why’. Make sure they know. Eventually, remind them. Once more remind them of safewords and the final sentence.”

“Do not ever stop unless they safeword.” Vixen said. “If they repeatedly tell you to stop, remind them they have their safewords if they want to. As a sub I’ve said both ‘stop’ and ‘why’ at least a hundred time during a spanking. ‘Stop’ and similar are pretty recurrent. Just say ‘You know your safeword, love’. If they really need them, they will use them, trust me. Just remind them all the time. You could maybe need to slow down, make sure that they aren’t panicking and they do actually remember their words.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Lace confirmed before turning to Vixen. “Have you been studying?” She joked.

“I’ve been reading lately.” Vixen confirmed, with a very happy smile on her face.

Lace mirrored her expression. She knew Vixen had been pushed into quitting BDSM activities by her ex boyfriend. Knowing that she was finally back to something she liked, something she was comfortable with made her happy. “I’m glad you’re back on track, sweetie.”

“Thank you.” Vixen closed the small exchange with Lace.

“Once a scene is closed, your sub might have different responses. They might ask to be left alone. In that case, make sure that healing supplies are ready for their self care. Remind them to check for abrasions. If the skin is damaged on a surface level — that means it is not only bruised, but also broken — you will need disinfectant and probably band aids.” Lace explained.

“But that happens rarely, right?” Vixen asked.

“With average spanking, that is quite rare. Normally you need specific instruments specifically meant to cause abrasions.”

“Like canes and spiked toys?”

“Yes, but not only those. I’ve seen pretty heavy damage caused by an apparently regular flogger.” Lace commented, shuddering at the memory.

Vixen blinked, a bit shocked. “Okay, back to aftercare.”

“Yeah,” said Princess, exhaling and looking away.

“So, unless your sub wants you to leave, you stay around. Provide for them. Rub lotion first. Some subs store specific lotion for this kind of stuff. To ease the burn, the sting, or lessen the bruises.”

Vixen interrupted. “I must say, most of us like the bruises and the reminder-sting, so they don’t really do much about it. Still, it depends on how far you’ve gone and how the sub feels. Usually, my favourites are a cold cloth, lotion and if I went particularly far maybe a painkiller. Normally herbal lotion and muscle relaxant are an excellent solution. They’re softer and safer, especially since you never know how a sub might react to medicines. As usual, make sure that whatever you use on them is safe. Let them prepare their usual medication. Make sure you have plenty of time to ascertain that they are emotionally stable. Do not leave them alone unless they request so, and tendentially it is good etiquette to stay in proximity, in case they change their mind.”

“Thank you so much for all the head ups.” Princess said, true gratitude shining all over her face. “I feel more comfortable knowing that we followed those lines during the first time too. It’s not something absurd. Youjust really need to use your common sense.”

Vixen nodded. “Being smart sure helps, but it’s not everything. You can only truly learn it by making it a routine.”

“You mean practice?” Princess questioned.

Lace nodded. “Yes. Once you actually start practicing, you’ll immediately find out your forte and potential weaknesses. Be comfortable with those: you can ask us or look it up on the guide, or on BDSM blogs. I can send you reliable sources, if need be. I would say you can reach out to my dungeon, it is a safe and discreet environment, but I fully understand your position, and I get that you might prefer to have a private approach to this. You can eventually book personal appointments with an expert. Those normally include non-disclosure agreements and Jimin could be protected from the public eye, as far as it can go.” Lace explained. “We have had many, many clients who have requested so. It would be perfectly normal.”

Princess thought about it and nodded. “I’ll discuss it with Jimin.”

“Perfect. As you can see the key to this is communication.”

“Indeed.” Confirmed Princess.

“Now, let’s get down to the actual business.” Lace opened the bag but left all the contents inside. “Impact play can happen on different parts of the body. Vixen?” Lace called.

Vixen stood up gingerly.

“Tie your hair, doll.” Lace reminded her.

The woman fished a ribbon from her pocket and did a soft ponytail.

“Good. I’ll show you.” Lace fished out a long, silky bag from her weekender; untying the ribbon, she pushed her hand in and extracted a long stick. A cane, Princess corrected herself.

Lace didn’t pay much attention. Its purpose was that of a pointing stick at that moment. “Number one, the derrière.” Vixen turned and Lace let the wooden instrument hover over the girl’s ass. “You know what to do to hit here?”

“Find the tailbone and place your non-dominant hand over it to protect it. Alternate sides, rub between a spank and another. Hit the lower region, far from the nerves up high. Where the flesh swells, that’s where I can hit. Also the back of the thighs.”

“Excellent. That’s all.” Lace congratulated. “Other spots are the back of the legs, more precisely the back of the knees and the calves. However, knees are delicate, so you can only deliver delicate blows with a restricted selection of toys. I would not recommend it. The back of the calves also offer a limited selection of toys, but it is slightly safer to go there. Still, the surface is limited and the knees and ankles are close. The risk of missing your target is high. Since you’re a beginner I would not go there.”

Princess nodded. “What kind of toys can I use?”

“We’ll cover that later. For now let’s just run through anatomy.” Lace answered calmly. “Are you good, Vixen?”

“Yup.” The other replied.

“Perfect. Turn to your side profile.” Lace asked and Vixen quickly provided.

Lace pressed the cane in a line connecting the peaks of each of Vixen’s glutes. “From here—” she moved all the way down to her mid thighs “— to here it’s good. The peak to the midthigh.”

“Great. Got it.” Princess replied. “There are other places? Like…?”

“Would you like to talk?” Lace asked Vixen. “You're the expert.”

“May I?” She asked.

“Of course, sweetie. You’re the expert in this.”

Princess raised an eyebrow at the comment, but still she stayed focused. To say she was intrigued was a big understatement.

Vixen’s sweet voice began speaking. “Other than the backside, as we’ve just mentioned, there are other spots that can be involved in impact play. While the back of the thighs and the butt can stand harsher beatings with almost all toys intended for impact play, other areas are more sensitive, more delicate or consist in a smaller expanse of skin, therefore they shall be treated differently. Both the palms and the back of the hands, just like the soles of the feet can be involved, especially when matched with instruments with a smaller surface of beating, like a slapper, a riding crop and a cane — for example. They shall be treated lightly, since they have lots of nerve endings, bones and tendons exposed.”

“What’s a leather strap?” Princess asked.

Lace lifted a finger as a sign to wait, before digging her other hand in her bag and extracting a small device, of maybe twentyish centimetres of length and five or six of width; she placed it on the table to let Princess observe it. “Handle and slappers.” She pointed. “Very noisy, actually pretty innocuous. The leather bits slap against each other and create a single impact that sounds like a double.”

“It sounds scary, though.” Vixen noted. It always made her blood curl in her veins, the heavy smack turning into a torturous feel as the hit didn’t match the noise. Fear worked, but the sensation didn’t. It was not something she liked, usually.

Lace nodded. “I haven’t used it much. Usually people like the cane on the back of the hands. Because of old school punishments.” Lace explained.

“Right. Thanks.” Princess nodded.

Vixen waited for a sign before moving on. Once she had both women’s attention, she proceeded. ”Thighs are generally all good, if they’re fleshy and plump enough. Make sure that you don’t go too hard when hitting close to private parts. While a vulva can handle a fair bit, the penis is generally more delicate in the structure. Thighs can handle all toys, just like the ass. Paddles, slappers, straps, riding crops, whips and canes. For private parts I recommend the riding crop.” Vixen smiled politely.

Princess interrupted. “The strap is that kind of… like?” She gestured a long and thin rectangle with her hands, looking for words.

“It looks like a belt bent in two, with a handle. Maybe I have it…” She rummaged in her bag. “No. Sorry. I think I left it at home.”

Princess waved her hands. “Don’t worry, that’s okay, I think I visualised it pretty well.” She smiled. “There’s more?” Princess said, marvelled as Vixen began talking again.

“Well, yes. Oh, first a small warning — before I forget. You must absolutely stay away from the belly and the stomach. Same for the lower back.” Vixen showed the various spots on her body with precise gestures of her hands. “Too many vulnerable organs left unprotected there.” She took a small pause and then moved on.

“Some people can handle hits on their shoulders and upper back, where the internal organs are protected by the ribcage and other bone structures; however I would talk with a professional about that kind of scene since you need to flawlessly master advanced equipment — people tendentially use whips and similar, or the strap.” Vixen stopped for a second, looking at Lace as if asking whether she had anything more to ask. Lace shook her head, inviting the other woman to proceed.

“Now, about delicate parts: some people like being slapped in the face, but then again, that must be clearly stated in the negotiations. I’d say you should only use hands, but maybe I’m projecting.”

“In four years, I’ve only used and seen other use hands. Also, riding crops, but usually that’s just to direct head movements or to pat the face, rather than slapping it.”

Vixen nodded. “Great. About interesting stuff, nipples can be gently stimulated with small, very delicate pats. Riding crops are excellent for this use. Also slappers. Maybe canes in some cases.” — Lace did a so-and-so motion with her head. Vixen continued, — “Some people can go very hard on nipples and technically — just like with the butt — women who have bigger breasts can stand more intense stimulation”.

“Oh, that yes. You can use, as usual, riding crops, but also paddles, straps and whips — if you’re experienced.” Lace added.

Princess nodded with an interested expression. She could mention that to Jimin. Imagining him with a riding crop, standing at the side of the bed, rubbing the leather bit against her nipples before whipping them harshly had her losing focus for a second, taking in a big breath and biting her lip.

Vixen grinned. She could practically read the other woman’s thoughts. “For women with smaller breasts and men, I would say to stay on the more gentle side for the first few sessions and eventually — once you know each other and once you know your sub’s pain threshold — you can get more heavy-handed, so to say. As I said before female private parts can handle pretty harsh whippings, especially since arousal tends to make the labia plumper and therefore protect the skin better. Still, you should start slow and work your way up. Male crotch area is a lot more delicate, however the shaft can take a medium-intense whipping. I recommend riding crops and small leather straps.”

Lace raised her eyebrows at Vixen with a proud grin. “Nothing to add. This should be all.”

“Wow.” Princess was a bit excited. If Jimin had looked that good with a few spanks, she could only imagine what he would do once she got more experienced and learned what actually drove him crazy.

“That’s a lot of stuff, I know.” Lace reassured her.

“I’m actually excited. Like, it sounds very interesting. There’s a lot of trust and knowing each other. I really like that. I think it brings the partners very close.”

Vixen nodded. “It does.”

Princess bit her lip. “I don’t want to pry but… Do you do all of that?” She looked at Vixen with a slight blush.

The woman giggled. “Not anymore, no.” She took a meditative pause, like she was reminiscing something. It felt strange that a girl so young could feel so old every now and then. That dark cloud that obscured Vixen’s doll-like traits disappeared, leaving only a fond grin in tow. “Now I do the bits I like best.” She grinned.

Lace looked at her with a bit of worry before smiling again.

“Before we actually start with tools I need to make sure that you know all you need about aftercare and drops.” Lace said seriously.

“Yes, please.” Princess said. “May I recap what we said about aftercare?”

“Yes, sure.” Lace invited her.

“Prepare the stuff before. Check for abrasions: if there are, then disinfectant and band aids. Next cold cloth, lotion and eventually painskiller. Use medicines that my sub takes regularly. Make sure that they’re okay emotionally. If they want me to leave, I do, but I stay close.”

“Amazing. Quick learner.” Lace cheered.

“Those were also in the book.” Princess commented, diminishing her feat. “Plus I did it already. Sort of.”

“I’ve seen people take weeks to put all of that together. You did a good job, stop doubting yourself.” Lace corrected her. God, these two insecure creatures would be the death of her.

“Aftercare is not only physical, but mostly emotional. If your sub wants you close, cuddle them. Jimin looks like the type to want cuddles and reassurance afterwards. Make sure you give plenty. Would you like to explain the drop Vixen?”

“Yes, of course.” Vixen intervened before addressing Princess. “I always like to talk about this subject because it can affect anyone, without any need to get involved in BDSM. ًWhen experiencing an orgasm, our bodies produce an incredible quantity of hormones that make us literally ecstatic. What happens sometimes, especially after long or intense scenes is that our bodies get high on these hormones, experiencing a sense of withdrawal once the rush is over. Such withdrawal, so to say, can cause pretty intense sadness that can lead to numbness, indifference, or even hate and depressive or aggressive behaviours. A good way to slow down this sadness is providing the body with other hormones that usually calm us and relax us. Cuddles and sugars usually are a good way to help the body produce oxytocin — commonly named ‘the hormone of happiness’. It’s the same hormone that spikes when mothers are breastfeeding their babies.” Vixen smiled fondly.

“This is incredible.” Princess said, completely amused. “So cuddles heal both the sub and the dom, I assume.”

“I think so, yes. Usually I’m the cuddler while Joon is the cuddlee during aftercare. Both subs and doms can experience the drop since both suffer the shift in hormones. It’s really about mutual care. Usually though, there are people who suffer more.” Vixen commented.

Lace spoke shyly. “Once I went so hard on a sub that I felt awful with myself after the scene was done.” Lace said. The silence felt heavy, like in some part of her mind Lace was still seeing that scene. “Usually the dom is expected to give the sub water, sweets and a cozy blanket — water for the body fluids, sweets for rebalancing the sugars after an intense effort and the blanket for emotional safety. I remember that one time the sub used the aftercare kit on me. It took me almost an hour to get back on a neutral state of mind.” It was Lace’s turn to be comforted. As Vixen rubbed her friend’s back, Princess spoke.

“So I might experience guilt and sadness afterwards and that’s normal?”

As Lace was still thinking, Vixen spoke up. “It happens, though usually, if your partner reassures you and supports you properly, you should be able to deal with it together with quite some ease. I myself have shouted slurs at my dom in the past during punishment, but that is because pain or anger make you do that. I may have sent him into a drop once, and since that time I always make sure that I praise and cuddle my dom once the scene is over. It’s important that you remind yourself that what is said during an intense scene is due to the sub’s sensations in that moment, therefore you shouldn’t give it much importance. Still, once you have your post-session chat you have every right to say ‘that hurt me, please don’t do that again’. It’s etiquette.” Vixen said with a serious note.

Princess nodded. “So cuddles, water, sweets and a good comfort blanket.”

“Normally, yes.” Vixen replied. “Sometimes shower or bath together, wash your partner clean or have them wash you. For some people physical cleanliness is also spiritual cleanliness. It eases the mind from whatever ‘dirty thing’ you’ve done during the scene. The rest is really what you would normally do during self-care, but with your sub. Facemask? Junk food? Lotion? Massage? Tea? Whatever you like as long as you do it with affection.”

Princess nodded. “This is really helpful. I just need to do anything that Jimin likes, and do it with him.”

“Yes, if he wants you close — which I assume he does, knowing the two of you.” Vixen smiled.

Lace added her own contribution. “If possible, remember to schedule a post-session chat. Whenever it feels comfortable. Normally you wait until all parties have fully recovered before saying ‘let’s talk about it together’, but some subs are already okay talking about it during aftercare. Just make sure that you know how your sub felt about the stuff that you did together, and that you tell them how you felt yourself. This is not one-sided. Power imbalance is limited to the scene: once you’re done, You’re equal again — that’s why a final sentence is necessary. It breaks the power imbalance and repristinates equality. All parties are equally entitled to support and communication.” Lace said, making sure that Princess grasped the concept. That’s where most couples went wrong: communicating.

“Thank you girls.” Princess said gently. “Thank you for the insights, and for your personal experiences.”

“You’re welcome.” Lace said heartily before grinning. “Now, let’s discuss supplies.”

Vixen cheered with a small ‘yes’ at which Lace replied murmuring ‘painslut’, chuckling playfully.

“Let’s start with these.” Lace showed her hands, letting the sleeves of her shirt fall a little, exposing her wrists. “These are your main instruments.” She showed the palms, then the backs. “You can use them everywhere. You can use your whole palm, flat, for a sting and cupped for a thud.”

“What’s that?” Princess asked.

“Vixen.” Lace called.

“A sting is when it prickles and bites, a thud is when it reverberates and goes deeper. You go with a quick, fleeting swat when you go for a sting—the palm must be flat and there must be a bit of wrist game. To deliver a thud, you should let your hand cup slightly and hit hard, keeping your hand pressed where you hit. It’s a matter of angle and speed.” Vixen replied readily, as if she were being asked what is two and two.

Princess grinned and nodded. “I see. Jimin mentioned something about it, but I don’t remember clearly. Which one hurts the most?” Princess asked Vixen.

“Well, it depends. It’s a different kind of pain and it depends on one’s sensitivity. Personally I prefer thuds, because usually it’s the muscle taking most of the impact, in case of traditional, over-the-knee butt spankings. Stings make my eyes water a little, because it hits a smaller area of skin with more pressure. But it really depends on what your sub feels.”

“It is all in the way it is delivered.” Lace stated.

Vixen bit her lip, nodding, and moved on.

“Hands can be also used to slap the face, as we said,— that should be especially clarified during negotiation — but also nipples and genitalia. Also, thighs, calves, hands and feet — though in some cases they might be too mild. Always remember that it is good manners to try the toys on yourself first, especially if it’s a toy you’ve never used before. Get familiar with its weight and density and grip, so you know how it affects you before affecting your sub. Make sure to start slow and eventually intensify, always asking your sub if they’re okay in the first place. Be careful with your sub’s pain threshold: since you don’t have direct perception of how much you’re hurting them, try to increase force and pattern a bit at a time.” Lace explained.

Princess felt sure about the directions. Common sense and the guide told her the same things, which reassured her about the fact that she would remember all the complicated passages. Sure, it would be easier to have an actual practical exercise.

But for now she would make do.

“You ready for the next?”

“Yes.” Vixen replied.

Lace tutted. “The question was not meant for you, menace.” She said, reprimanding a grinning Vixen.

Princess cackled. “Sure.”

Lace picked up another object from her bag. “Here we have a paddle. It can have different shapes and textures. Some contain small indentations, or even spikes. The main features are the handle.” She showed the part. “And a flat surface, used to hit the sub. In terms of tenacity and resistance, mine has a hardwood interior covered in a leather exterior. Oh, and it’s branded.” She showed a red leather heart sewn onto the black leather cover. “It leaves a mark.” Lace smiled cutely. “Best used on wide, fleshy surfaces. Questions?”

Princess shook her head. “Oh, yeah. How much is it?”

Lace twisted the object in her hands. “A good one is around thirty five thousand won or so. If you want something that lasts and that is actually covered in true leather, the price might be higher. I could recommend a shop that sells excellent gear.”

“Thank you. Also, you said it comes in different shapes.”

“Yes. A dom in my dungeon has a pretty extravagant one in a cherry shape.”

“With a double sting?” Vixen asks, eyes almost glittering.

“Yup.”

“Amazing. I had spotted it once but I never bought it. Maybe I’ll have it commissioned.” She mused.

“Joon would?” Lace asked, eyebrows raised.

Vixen shrugged. “I just need to be good — or bad — enough.”

“See, darling, this is a brat.” Lace addressed Princess, pointing at the other girl in the room. “Their anatomy is five percent manners, five percent playfulness and ninety percent utterly smart evil.”

Vixen smiled before cocking her head to the side prettily. “Yes, that’s me.”

Princess bit her lip and smiled. Vixen was a lot more interesting than she thought. All those cute manners and polished looks could not entirely shade the dark magnetism of her eyes. She would pay good money to see what ruckus she could cause with Namjoon in the bedroom. And it would be even more interesting to see what poised, calm Lace could do to teach her how to behave.

Lace put her paddle down before fishing something else from inside her bag. “For tonight let’s cover only the basics. I’ll keep more lowkey devices for another time. Or maybe I could show you what I have and you ask me about what looks interesting to you.”

Princess nodded. “That would be lovely. Plus I’m sure you’ll have to get back to Joon since he’ll want to see you before they leave tomorrow.” Princess asked Vixen.

“I don’t know if I’ll see him— oh, that one looks lovely!” She said, looking at a riding crop from Lace’s collection and distracting herself with it. “Yeah, I told him he should stay at the dorms and rest. His week has been hectic with all the briefings for the press conferences and tv shows.” Vixen explained as she picked up the crop, studying the red, heart-shaped bit.

“Yeah, I figure. Jimin and I are meeting for an early breakfast tomorrow, before they leave.” Princess explained.

Vixen’s fleeting gaze moved away. She seemed visibly unsettled. Still, her mood changed once more as she collected Lace’s paddle from the coffee table, the other woman not even noticing one of her devices had attracted Vixen’s attention.

Vixen rolled it in her palm a couple times, shifting it to feel the weight distribution and the texture.

Princess looked at how she studied the object, carefully taking in every detail. Vixen’s perfectionism showed in that exact moment, in the undisturbed, slow way she felt every ridge and stitch with her fingers. If she could think of an adjective it was ‘thorough’, in the first place. ‘Sensual’ in the second.

Raising an eyebrow and biting her lip, Vixen opened her free hand, lifted the paddle and delivered a heavy thwack.

A shiver ran down Princess’s spine. She could almost feel how Jimin would moan after a smack like that.

Lace turned around, looking at Vixen. “Like it?”

Vixen simply nodded with a wicked smile. “Do you know what wood it is?”

“Not sure, possibly birch or cherry tree. Soft wood but very elastic.” Lace sat upright as she was done taking out all of her collection.

“And the leather is splinter-proof.” Vixen commented.

Lace hummed in confirmation. “See anything interesting, Princess?”

Princess creased her brow. “What about the riding crop?”

Vixen smiled mischievously as Lace wrapped her palm around the handle, lifting the object. “Here. This is a personal riding crop. It has been commissioned specifically for me. It’s my favourite and somehow my brand.” She smiled fondly as she studied it. “However, I would say one should never grow fond of a vulnerable thing such as a riding crop. They break fairly easily. Anyway — the general traits of a riding crop are the shaft, the handle and the tip. In terms of length, I normally recommend minimum sixty centimeters, to increase flexibility and impact strength. The shaft should be elastic, but not too much or it loses impact strength and a submissive usually doesn’t want the whoosh without the smash.”

Vixen giggled at her side.

“What is that?” Princess asked, frowning.

Opening her palm, Lace calculated the distance and whipped the leather bit hard against the soft flesh at the base of the thumb. Princess clearly recognised the sound of air whistling before she hit her skin with a thin clap. “That’s what I meant.”

Princess nodded with eager eyes, keeping an amused silence.

“Fiberglass is a good material for beginners. If you’re buying one in person — which I recommend for the first time — make sure that it can make a forty-five degree angle when you bend the tip towards the handle. A forty to fifty degrees with a fair amount of resistance means it’s flexible enough, just make sure that it’s not too close to the breaking point. The handle is normally made of leather or very good rubber to improve the grip. Some cheap riding crops — also, the ones not intended for BDSM purposes — come with a strap to slip your wrist into. I recommend you don’t use the strap or that you remove it completely because first, you shouldn’t need it and second, you should avoid everything that keeps you from interrupting the scene and comforting your sub as quickly as possible. Sometimes even a couple seconds can be very important when it comes to subdrop. Remember this at all time, in all scenes. Remove everything that could keep you from helping your sub.”

“Okay. But if my riding crop falls?”

Lace smiled darkly. “Trust me dear, you’ll hold on to that as if it were the sceptre of England.” Princess laughed. “And if it falls, it’s usually a sign of poor mastering of your tools. Train yourself. You can use a dense pillow to learn the variety of strokes that a crop can deliver. It can be used for sensation play, simply rubbing your sub’s skin, caressing it, spending some time to arouse them before the whipping starts—”

Vixen purred at that.

Princess thought of Jimin biting his plump lips, eyelids fluttering at the gentle touch of the leather tickling his body.

“Are you with me?” Lace called for Princess’ attention, an amused grin on her face. Lace almost wanted to congratulate her for staying focused for so long.

“Yeah, just — thinking.”

Lace exhaled and wore a grin on her face. “I get that. Let me just finish this and we can take a pause. The tip is the important part of the crop. Mine has a fancy, heart-shaped tip, however, the best standard ones have triangular or rectangular tips that are a couple fingers wide on the very tip and restrict around the head of the stick.”

“Sounds nice.” Princess said.

“It is.” Vixen mused. “As Lace said, riding crops aren’t excessively difficult to use, if one has the patience to learn the basics and take some time to experiment. They can offer plenty of freedom to the dom in terms of use since they can be incredibly harsh, but also extremely light and gentle. You can use them on most spanking areas: breasts and nipples, feet, thighs, ass, shoulders and genitals, both male and female. Also the face, if you’re being light-handed enough.”

“Jesus, you’re wicked.” Lace snickered.

Vixen shrugged. “Says you.”

Princess looked at the exchange quite amused. “Okay. I think I got it. Oh, isn’t that a flogger?”

“Yes, it is. But that is for your sophomore lessons. For now, let’s stick to the beginner deals.” Lace said, slowing down Princess’ enthusiasm.

“Oh.” The other answered, taken aback.

“The bigger the toy, the more difficult it is to use it. Floggers, also called multi-tailed whips, are unpredictable because the whips are really flexible, usually made of leather, and very light. You must have excellent wrist flexibility and great spatial awareness. Once you can use your crop with your eyes closed, then you can consider learning the basics of flogging.”

“Okay. I assume canes and that fancy thing over there are off-limit too.” Princess noticed.

“Isn’t that a cat-o-nine-tales?” Vixen said, wide eyed. “It’s been years since I last saw one. Since my training.” Vixen shivered. “He had silver studs on the tips.”

“Did he ever use it on you?” Lace asked, very serious.

“Once. I didn’t speak to him for a week afterwards.” Vixen said, gaze empty. “I’ve never seen one like that in my life, though. Are those flowers?”

“Yes.They have a silver bead in the middle with some petals around it. The effect is very unusual, or so I’ve been told.” Lace answered with a chuckle. “It was a gift from one of my students. Lovely girl. Kinkier than hell.” Lace smiled and took the toy. “See. Those are meant to hurt. Mark or scar even, in some cases.” She showed the appendage to Princess.

“I don’t like that.” She replied with tiny hesitance.

“The cane is also a vicious one.” Lace suggested.

“The first time I safeworded was with a cane.” Vixen said with a meditative smile. “It hurts like hell. Normally I can take around forty to fifty spanks. I couldn’t handle ten with a cane.”

“I don’t think I like that either. My favourite so far are the paddle and the riding crop. I think Jimin likes the paddle, or at least the idea of it. The riding crop is… for personal reasons.”

“Excellent choice.” Lace grabbed a glass of water and drank, easing her mouth and throat after all the talking. “A riding crop can really gratify a dom at their first experience. You can study it, if you want to.” Lace encouraged Princess to hold the toy and look at it from up close.

Princess thanked her before lifting the crop from the table. “It’s very light.”

“Indeed. It’s a lot lighter than a paddle, that’s why it’s a personal favourite to most female doms. Plus it can be used to praise and to punish, making it a tool of great versatility.”

Princess studied the handle, with a thick leather band wrapped around the stick to grant a good grip. Lace, previously standing, bent down behind Princess. “The leather has been treated so to reduce any slipping.” She corrected Princess’ grip around the handle, placing her hand wrapped tight around it and fixing her thumb. “Like this.” Next, she placed the tip on the flat of the opposite hand. “Always make sure that there are no loose stitches here. Make sure that the spot where the tip meets the stick isn’t rough or hard or juts out in a way that could cut the skin.” She fingered the spot, tracing it. “Also remember to check the flexibility, see?” Lace made Princess’ fingers wrap around that spot, making her push it towards the butt of the handle. The sensation was extremely elastic, with a bit of give still, but far more resistance. “That is good elasticity for a versatile crop. Try it on your forearm.” She suggested, pushing Princess’ shirt upwards.

A bit hesitant, Princess lifted her dominant arm up. Lace corrected her stance, repositioning her elbow. “You only need to do a slight rotation of your forearm for now. Keep your elbow still and smack your forearm down, like you were arm wrestling but with more snap.”

Princess nodded, her eyes closing before she let her arm snap. First she heard the ‘whoosh’ of the stick cut through the air, and then the snapping sound, like a dry cracking.

“Good one. Did it hurt?”

Princess tutted. “Not too bad. The bite was pleasing.”

The sound awakened Vixen from her trance. She had been staring at the paddle for a few minutes, thinking.

“Try using it feather-light now. Like it was a make-up brush on your skin.” Lace placed the tip of the crop on Princess skin with the lightest pressure, the touch so soft that the tip didn’t even bend a little to accommodate the skin. It was simply lingering, grazing.

“I really like it. I think I’d love to own one.” Princess said enthusiastically. “Would you come with me if I go buy one?” She looked up to her friend.

“Yes, sure. You have my number, we can arrange someday this week, or whenever you like it.” Lace smiled genuinely. Her cheeks puffed up in round apples.

“I think you should check on Vixen.” She whispered.

The girl was being too quiet. It meant she was thinking. Overthinking, if Lace knew her friend well.

“Are you okay?” Lace moved towards Vixen, looking at her vacant stare, her skittish mood and the insecure nibbling on her lower lip.

“Yeah, I was just thinking...” Vixen replied, still unfocused from her surroundings. “I don’t know if Princess is okay with this. It’s her home, after all.”

“What is it?” Asked the other one, immediately alarmed.

“Would it be awkward if we tried a small simulation? Not a scene, just an exercise. For practice.” Vixen proposed. “If you’re all okay with it.”

Lace studied Vixen’s expression. “What about Namjoon?”

“I could ask him. I think he’s awake, I’ll text him. Ask him if it’s okay with him. This is nothing sexual. It’s just for learning purposes.” Vixen shrugged.

A part of Princess’ brain was already seeing it happen, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. “If it’s not too much of a bother, I think it would be really helpful to me if you and Lace tried. I don’t think I want to do it myself, but I’d like to watch.” She admitted.

“Are you in the right mindset to do this, sweetie?” Lace asked. “You’ve been on mood swings the whole night. Are you sure?” Lace asked, seriously concerned.

“Yes, I’m sure. Trust me,” Vixen said, reassuring her friend with a kind smile. “I just need to ask Joon.”

Lace thought about it. Doing such a thing with Vixen of course could be extremely helpful to Princess, showing her how a scene worked, however Vixen’s mood swings suggested that she was looking for reassurance, that she was hoping someone would literally spank her negative thoughts out of her. She probably wanted Namjoon instead of Lace, but maybe this mechanism of simulation and education was what she needed to rein in her insecurities. Vixen was a smart woman, extremely aware of her emotions and the mechanisms to handle them. Lace decided. “Okay. Call him.”

“Let me grab my purse, then.” Vixen stood up and reached for her phone at the dining table. “Thank you”, she said to Lace before unlocking her phone and finding Namjoon’s number on her shortcuts.

“Put it on speaker.” Lace told her.

The three women waited expectantly as the ringing echoed through the small room — Lace with cold ice settling in her veins, Princess with ebullient anticipation and curiosity, Vixen with a certain emptiness in her gaze, her free hand toying with the small pendant laying between her collarbones while she rubbed the flat of her upper chest.

The ringing stopped, followed by a couple seconds of silence.

“Hello?”

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

Part two here

[patchworkofstars]

How (Not) to Meet Your Soulmate

Read on AO3

Relationships: Prinxiety and Logicality

Words: 4,082

Synopsis: It's moving-in day at college, and soulmates Logan and Patton are looking forward to finally meeting in person after years of writing each other messages on their skin. Their friends Roman and Virgil, however, just can't seem to do things the easy way!

** Thanks to: **

@lovelylogans​ for the Secret Santa wishes that inspired this fic in the first place

@metaphoricalpluto​ for helping me brainstorm ideas, listening to me rant, and generally being an awesome and supportive bean

@painfullybisexual for going above and beyond in helping me understand how US colleges work

~~*~~*~~*~~*~~

“How”, complains Roman, “Is anyone meant to fit all their outfits into a shoebox like that?” He waves a frustrated arm at the tiny closet the college has provided, then glares at the three cases worth of clothes on his bed. The pile steadfastly fails to reduce.

“I managed it okay!” the room’s other occupant points out cheerfully, smiling over from where he’s pinning photographs of family, friends, and various cute animals haphazardly onto a cork notice board.

“I meant anyone fashionable", Roman amends, flashing his childhood friend and now roommate a grin to show he means no malice.

Patton giggles, reaching to pin another photo, then drops it with a sudden squeal. Grabbing a bright blue pen from his desk, he flings himself joyfully onto his bed, all else temporarily forgotten in favour of the neat indigo text rapidly appearing on his arm.

Roman rolls his eyes. “What time is your date with Logan?” he asks, once Patton has finished replying to his soulmate and flopped back onto his bed with a contented sigh.

“Four o’clock, at the fountain in the main quad”, Patton says, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m finally going to meet him face to face!”

“Yes...” Roman busies himself cramming yet more outfits onto the already overstuffed rail in his closet, while studiously avoiding looking at his own, conspicuously bare arm.

“Have you arranged when you’re gonna meet Virgil yet?” The question was inevitable; it’s not Patton’s fault that Roman was hoping not to hear it.

Roman pauses in the act of hanging up a prince costume he's sure he'll find an essential use for at some point. "We're thinking of meeting tomorrow instead", he replies, keeping his tone light. "Virgil's stressed about moving in and navigating the new place, even with Logan around, and we figured after all these years we can survive another day apart."

“You don’t mind waiting?” Patton sits up, frowning, and Roman tries not to squirm under his gaze.

He grimaces. “Well, okay, I'm not thrilled about it, but I want to do what’s best for Virgil. And besides, now we’re on the same campus, there’s a chance fate might intervene.” He presses his hands to his chest, his expression morphing into the smile of an incurable daydreamer. “An encounter of destiny, unplanned, between two souls bound to each other! Doesn’t that sound so much more exciting than something planned?”

“Well, as long as it’s what you guys both want!” Patton smiles, uncapping his pen once more and drawing a heart on his arm. As soon as Roman turns away to continue unpacking, he bites his lip. Beginning a new message to Logan, he thanks the universe, not for the first time, that his soulmate and Roman’s are best friends too.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Logan finished unpacking over an hour ago, taking pleasure in carefully organising his small selection of semi-formal clothes and his more extensive collection of books. Now, he sits relaxing at his desk, reading information about the college in between messages too and from Patton.

Reaching the end of a paragraph, he glances once more at his left arm and notices a new stretch of blue ink dancing its way into being across the skin. He frowns thoughtfully as he reads the words. Hmm…

He looks over to where Virgil is lying back on his bed, surrounded by messy heaps of his unpacked belongings. His eyes are closed and he's listening to music on his headphones, shutting out the chaos and unfamiliarity of his surroundings. Still, Logan knows that exclusion doesn't extend to himself. They've been friends since middle school, and the neurodiversity that brought them together has given them a shared need for space and stability. Virgil finds organising his room a trial, so, on Logan's advice, he's pacing himself. First, he unpacked by dumping everything out of his bags, and now he's taking a break before tackling the more substantial chore of organising it all for the year ahead.

Watching Virgil twitch slightly to the beat of the music, Logan considers. Patton's concern is a reasonable one. Logan was surprised himself by Virgil's reluctance to meet Roman, and while he didn't press the issue at the time, his soulmate has offered a different perspective. Perhaps some subtle investigating is in order after all.

“Virgil”, he begins, to get his roommate’s attention, “Why are you delaying meeting Roman? I realise you find the prospect of meeting new people a stressful one, but surely you cannot consider Roman a stranger after so many years of communication with him?”

Virgil grimaces, opening his eyes and rolling over to face Logan. “Take a wild guess”, he grunts. “I’m putting it off because I know he’s gonna be disappointed. I’ve been able to make him think I’m cool and edgy in writing, but that won’t last two minutes in person when I don’t have all that extra time to think about what to say.”

Logan frowns. “I have never read any reputable reports of people being disappointed when meeting their soulmates. On the contrary, most studies have found a remarkable degree of compatibility between even those with markedly different personalities.”

“Tell that to my anxiety, L.” Virgil sighs, propping himself up onto an elbow. “It’s just a massive step, you know? Feels like too much to handle on the same day as moving in here.”

“Entirely reasonable.” Logan gives what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “It was not my intention to pressure you into meeting sooner. Still, I want you to know I am confident that when you do meet Roman, you will find him happy to accept every side of you, even the ones you struggle to accept yourself.”

“Maybe.” Virgil clearly isn’t convinced, but Logan decides to drop the topic for now. If he’s still refusing to meet Roman tomorrow, they can discuss the issue further then.

He glances at his watch. "I need to leave soon for my planned meeting with Patton. Will you be okay without me?"

“Already?” Virgil groans, flopping onto his back once more.

“We arranged to meet an hour before the new students' assembly to give us ample time for conversation." He hesitates, trying not to sound reluctant as he adds, "If you need to come with me, I am sure Patton will understand."

Virgil shudders. “Hell no, I don’t wanna watch you being sappy and weird. I’ll be okay. Probably turn my music up and kill time by organising some of my stuff.”

Logan nods. “A sensible idea.” Picking up his bag, he checks he has everything he wants to take with him, then takes a deep breath. “I will see you later. Please send me a text if you need me. I may not see it immediately, but I will be sure to check periodically in case.”

Hand on the door handle, he freezes abruptly as an unexpected wave of nervous adrenaline hits him. Distantly, he’s aware of Virgil asking if he’s okay, and he nods despite the way his heart is hammering in his chest. “Text me if you need me”, he repeats, the words a mantra of friendship. Then the handle turns, and he is on his way.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

It’s 3:55 when Logan arrives at the fountain, his usual precise punctuality waved in the hope of seeing Patton's. He sits down on the curved stone seat, hands gripping the concrete to still their shaking as he scans the crowds moving around him. The walk across campus has helped to clear the nervous fog from his mind, but the way his heart is pounding, a less scientific thinker would say it was trying to escape his chest.

Wrapped up in these thoughts, he doesn’t notice Patton until the man is six yards away, his long stride rapidly closing that distance. Logan freezes, his heart continuing its thudding beat but somehow doubling the rate, and he has to force himself to breathe. He stands on shaking legs, his eyes fixed irresistibly on the figure now standing before him.

Patton beams down, all tan skin and cotton candy sweater. “Logan?” he asks breathlessly, and Logan’s head nods mechanically as he stares.

Patton's smile somehow widens even further, and he shakes his hands at his sides as if needing to expend some of his boundless excited energy. "I'm so happy to finally meet you! Face to face, I mean! Is it okay if I shake your hand? It sounds silly, but I kinda need to touch you so that I'll know you're really real!"

Something in Logan’s chest relaxes, letting him breathe more easily at last. “I assure you I am no illusion”, he says, smiling as he holds out his left hand.

Patton stares at it, then giggles, and Logan suddenly understands the metaphor of being hit by Cupid’s arrow.

“I forgot we’re opposite-handed!" Patton explains, holding out his own left hand to shake Logan’s eagerly. “I mean, I knew, obviously, but it’s somehow different seeing it in person. Like, now I really know, you know?”

"Indeed, observing for oneself is generally more impactful than hearing information secondhand.” Logan smiles up at him. “You are taller than I expected. For some reason, I assumed you would be approximately my height or shorter, although I now realise that was irrational of me."

Does he sound silly? Perhaps, but he’s unexpectedly overwhelmed by the feelings Patton is eliciting in him. They’ve been having written conversations ever since their soul connection formed, and over time a friendly intimacy has developed between them. Several years have passed since he became aware of the warm sensation thoughts of Patton bring to his chest.

But now, having the man standing before him, seeing his brown eyes sparkling with joy and excitement and the affection in his smile... Hearing his voice and the soft lilt of his accent... Logan has never felt so much all at once before, and it's sending his usually tidy thoughts swirling and scattering like papers in a sudden breeze.

Patton laughs, and the sound shoots another arrow of giddy heat into Logan's chest. "Guess we never thought to tell each other our heights, huh? I'm kinda glad I'm taller than you, though, wanna know why?"

“Why is that?” Logan asks, dazed.

Patton beams at him. "'Cause it means I can wrap you up in a great big hug like I've always wanted to! If you're okay with it, that is?"

Logan nods emphatically, finding his expansive vocabulary buried beneath the sudden lump in his throat. As Patton wraps strong arms around him and rests a warm cheek on his hair, his eyes prickle with what he’s confused to realise are tears. The sensation is so rare, it takes a moment for him to connect them to the glow of happiness spreading through him. With a contented sigh, he raises his own arms to hug Patton back, settling comfortably into his embrace.

~~*~~*~~*~~ 

Virgil sits on the edge of his bed, frantically bouncing one knee as he wonders if he should set out alone to the assembly. Deep in his spiralling thoughts, he startles hard when his phone buzzes with a text from Logan.

“Salutations,

Would it be possible for you to make your way to the event without me? I realise it may be selfish, but I am keen to spend as much time as possible getting to know Patton better. You are welcome to sit with us if we encounter you when we get there.

- Logan”.

Dammit. It’s what Virgil was expecting, but that doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He hates both crowds and formal events, and the thought of walking into this combination alone causes bitter dread to pool in the pit of his stomach. Plus, going without Logan means he’s almost guaranteed to end up sitting next to total strangers. He shudders.

Still, he refuses to make Logan worry. Firing back a quick “I’ll be okay”, he puts his earphones in and tries to lose himself in the music as he makes his way across campus to the venue.

Head down, eyes fixed on the ground a foot ahead of him, he tries to forget just how many people are heading the same way he is. As he approaches the hall, he becomes vaguely aware of a loud voice talking nearby. The small part of his mind paying attention concludes it's a telephone conversation, since only one side can be heard.

“But you can’t just abandon me to sit on my own!” the voice wails. “What will people think?! Yes, I’m sure he is handsome and smart and wonderful, but bros before souls, that’s what I always say. Well, okay, maybe I’ve never said it before, but I’m saying it now! Yes, I know, I can hear him. You're right, his accent is cute. I can’t wait to hear my soulmate's- OUCH!!"

A flailing arm thuds into Virgil, who is nearly thrown off balance by the shock of the impact. He looks up, glaring daggers, to find the loudmouth scowling back with equal fury.

“Watch where you’re going, clod!” the overdressed stranger rants.

“Same to you, watch where you’re flinging your arms!”

"I'm having an important conversation-"

“What’s the point in waving your arms around when the person on the phone can’t even-”

They're interrupted by an official-sounding voice ringing out over a tannoy, reminding everyone that the assembly will begin soon and they should hurry inside and find seats.

The disparate parts of the crowd begin to converge, pushing into the hall, and Virgil and the loud stranger are carried along side by side in the flow. They find themselves pushed together to sit on the end of a row of chairs, and although Virgil is still annoyed, he takes some relief at having the aisle seat.

“How did I get stuck next to the emo nightmare?" he hears his neighbour grumble under his breath.

“Karma for being a nightmare yourself”, Virgil mutters, and the stranger at least has the decency to blush.

Their bickering might have continued indefinitely, but at that moment the MC steps up to the microphone to begin their welcome, and an unspoken truce descends.

*****

When at last it's over, Virgil sits back in his chair and sighs wearily. "That was even more boring than I thought it would be", he remarks to no one in particular.

Of course, the stranger beside him responds as though it were directed at him. “I’m surprised you heard any of it with your earphones in the whole time. I could hear your music all the way through!”

Virgil turns and raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, maybe you wouldn't have if you hadn't been leaning over so close to me. You were practically on my lap!"

The stranger huffs, glaring back at him. “It’s not like I had a choice! It was the only way I could see past that mountain of a guy in front of me!”

“Well, sorry I didn’t realise you were so keen for a good view of some guy standing talking.” Virgil scowls. “So you could hear my music, huh? Is that why you kept tapping your fingers on your knee? Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“I didn’t realise you were paying so much attention to my legs! And besides, I defy anyone not to tap their fingers along to Panic! At The Disco!”

“Wait, you recognised it?” Virgil frowns at the thoroughly preppy-looking guy next to him. “I wasn’t exactly the mainstream stuff. I didn’t take you for an emo.”

“If you must know, my soulmate's an emo, and he introduced me to them. I might not share all his tastes, but as a theatre kid, I always appreciate theatrical flair."

Oh right, soulmates are a thing. Virgil gives a grunt that could mean anything, turning his attention away from the stranger's continued rambling. He watches as more and more individuals and groups make their way to the exits. All the freshmen are meant to be here, which means Roman must be somewhere amongst them. For the first time, he almost regrets never asking for a photograph or more detailed physical description. But he always feared Roman would expect the same from him in return, and then be disappointed or put off by his ever-present hoodie and black eye shadow.

It doesn’t help that the vague description he’s been given of “Tall, with brown hair and blue eyes”, could fit far too many of the students here, including the one tapping a foot and making impatient noises beside him.

With a sigh, Virgil stands up, switching his music back on and turning up the volume as he waits for a gap in the flow of bodies. As soon as one appears, he steps into it, letting himself be absorbed and carried away towards the door. As he moves away, he’s distantly aware of his former seat-mate speaking, but he’s too stressed, too busy trying to blot out the strangers surrounding him to think of looking back.

~~*~~*~~*~~

Roman sighs, flopping dramatically backwards onto his bed. It's been a long day, and he wants to relax, but his mind buzzes restlessly with frustration.

Patton sent a text to say he’ll be getting dinner at the dining hall with Logan, and while he did say Roman was welcome to join them, Roman has no desire to play third wheel, thank you very much. Besides which, he can't shake the petty resentment that his hopes of a destiny-driven encounter with Virgil have apparently been dashed. Instead, he got stuck with some other emo, who, while admittedly very cute, had the cheek, the absolute bare-faced audacity to zone out while Roman was speaking to him and then walk away without even a goodbye!

With a huff, Roman rolls over and glares at the time. It’s 7:15 pm, earlier than his and Virgil’s usual chat time, but he needs to feel connected to his soulmate right now. With a surge of misery, he realises he’s lonely, as well as more envious of Patton and Logan than he’d like to admit.

Fumbling in a pocket, he pulls out the red glitter gel pen he reserves for soul-to-soul talks, and writes “Hey, stormcloud, are you free?” on his left arm.

After a few moments, a spidery dark purple reply writes itself onto his right arm. “Yeah, wanna talk now?”

"Patton's off with Logan, and I need to vent!" He underlines "vent" three times, as emphatic in writing as he would be out loud.

“Is that all I am to you? A listening arm?” It’s followed by their own version of a “:P”, to show that Virgil is joking.

“Of course not, my shadowling! But I’ve had the most boring day, and I'm lonely~".

“Yeah yeah, Logan’s ditched me too, remember? Did you make it to the assembly? I looked for you”.

Roman groans, then does his best to reproduce the sound in writing. “Uggghhh, I did, and I got stuck next to the most annoying guy ever!”

“Hah! Can’t have, because the most annoying guy was sitting next to me. He kept fidgeting and getting in my space through the whole thing”.

Roman grins, standing up and moving to the sink, where he rinses the red ink from his arm to make space for more, Virgil must have the same idea, because a moment later the purple text begins erasing itself too.

“I wish I could’ve sat with you”, he writes, as soon as his arm is dry.

“Same”. There’s a pause, and then, “Kinda regret not meeting you today”.

Roman stares at the words, running his left hand unconsciously through his hair. Destiny might have denied him a chance first meeting, but if Virgil has changed his mind, there’s no reason for them to hold back any longer. Decision made, he uncaps his pen and writes “Want to meet now?” before he can lose his nerve.

The seconds tick by with no response, not a drop of purple ink appearing, and he begins to worry he’s misjudged Virgil’s feelings. Then, at last, three letters appear, small but undeniable:

“Yes”.

“Yes!!” Roman echoes in a yell to the empty room, leaping up and grabbing his jacket from the back of his desk chair. Then he hesitates, sitting back down on the edge of the bed as he realises he doesn’t know where Virgil’s room is. Or even if he’s there, for that matter.

Besides which, while Virgil did accept the offer, his reply wasn’t exactly enthusiastic. Best to make certain he really wants to do this first.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind waiting”, Roman writes, adding a smiley face for good measure.

This time there is only a short pause before the words appear. “Yeah, the whole assembly thing made me wanna see you properly”.

Roman takes a deep breath, trying to still the tremor of excitement rushing through him. “Okay!” he writes back. “Want me to bring anything? I have a popcorn maker and every single Disney movie!”

“Seriously? You brought a freaking popcorn maker to college?”

“We always said we’d have movie nights when we finally met up, eating popcorn and talking all through the films!”

“You are so unbelievably extra”.

“You love it!”

“Yeah, I’m weird like that.”

“So, no popcorn?” Roman asks.

“Are you kidding? Of course bring popcorn!”

Roman grins.

*****

He takes his time making the popcorn, giving Virgil space to adjust to the change in plans. As he does, his thoughts drift to his grumpy seat-mate from earlier, and he remembers wincing as the guy picked at his chipped black nail polish during the endless speeches.

That gives him an idea…

“How about we paint our nails while we talk?” he suggests. “It’s relaxing and we’ll look good!”

“Sure”, appears on his arm. “I’ve only got black and purple though.”

“Fear not, my dark and stormy knight, I have every colour of the rainbow!” Roman grabs his makeup pouch and empties it onto his desk, separating out a selection of his favourites. These he puts back in the pouch, then it goes into his bag with the tub of popcorn.

“I’m ready to head out!” he writes on his arm. “Where’s your room?”

There’s a pause, then the address appears. But before Roman can lower his arm, Virgil adds, “Brace yourself for disappointment”.

“Why?” he writes back, frowning.

“I’m just… probably not gonna be as cool as you expect”.

“Don’t worry, I know you’re not as cool as me!” He replies immediately, then hesitates. Virgil has been vulnerable with him, and he should repay the honesty.

“I’m nervous too”, he admits, “But this is us, remember? We’ve spoken every day since we turned ten and our soul bond formed. We’ve listened to each others’ favourite music, watched each others’ favourite movies, and stayed up all night talking. We’ve shared our hopes, our fears, and our dreams. Even if we weren’t soulmates, you're my best friend, and I love you. Nothing's going to change that.

*****

It's a short walk across campus to Virgil's dorm, and nervous energy quickens Roman's strides. At last, he finds the right number door and gives a firm knock. Slowly, cautiously, it opens to reveal...

“You?!” Roman practically screeches.

“Seriously?!”

“I cannot believe this! Are you actually telling me you’re Virgil?”

“How many ginger-haired emos from Milwaukee do you think there are on campus?!”

“You’re Virgil...” There’s a pause as Roman’s expression visibly cycles from indignant, through dawning realisation, to settle on contrite. “Sorry about, you know...” He waves his arm, and Virgil raises an eyebrow.

“Sorry you clobbered me with your arm?”

“Well, yes… I was talking to Patton and didn’t notice you.”

“Yeah, I got that. Sorry I wasn’t, you know, watching where I was going.” Virgil looks down, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, I know I’m annoying. If you’re gonna leave, just go.”

Roman frowns. “Don’t be ridiculous. You might be annoying, but you’re my best friend! I came here to eat popcorn, riff on Disney movies, and hug you, and I’m not leaving until I’ve done all three!”

Virgil looks up, finally managing a lopsided smile. “You sure?”

“Of course! And besides, I bet I can be twice as annoying as you.”

With a snort, Virgil steps back, opening the door further to let Roman in. “Good to know fate made the two most annoying guys in the world soulmates.”

Roman grins. “Soulmates about to have the best evening ever!” he replies.

~~*~~*~~*~~ *~~

@creativity-killed-thekitten​ @the-prince-and-the-emo​ @shesavampirequeen​ @patton-in-name​ @pearls-of-patton​ @xxladystarlightxx​ @suyun-doo​ @softestlittlepuffball​ @evilmuffin​ @milomeepit​ @musikasworld​ @holy-anxiety-batman​ @quoth-the-sparrow​ @daring-elm​ @sandersfanders​

[blackssuunn-mandoandyodito]

Big dreams, expensive taste

Part two: you can't light a fire without a spark

Read part one here

Pairing: Maxwell Lord x f!reader

Rating: M

Words: 3.3k

A/N: this is still setting ground to the story but I hope you like it. Everything mentioned about NY is written by research alone, I've never been there but I love the city. Also, I need to clarify this is a Modern!AU. Enjoy!

Warnings: SMUT, nervousness, brief f masturbation, slight power kink. Let me know if I should add something.

Summary: What happens after you first met Mr. Lord? How will it go?

(humor me and imagine this is him but blonde please)

The thing about New York is, simply, you either multitask and adapt or die.

Midtown Manhattan is one of the blessings that found your way when you arrived in the city, despite how crazy it mostly is. Filled with tourists that walk through Times Square, cry at the price tags in the Fifth Avenue and stare in awe up the Empire State, so many cultures and languages mixing in the same zone can be quite overwhelming. But that's exactly what New York is about.

 After renting with an asshole for three years in a shoebox and saving every single penny you didn't need to spend, you finally had reunited enough money to pay the initial rent that most apartments asked for and enough left of that to fix whatever may need to be fixed.

Back then, your roommate had been taking a girl every night to the apartment you shared, and you could hear the moans and screams that were most likely fake through the wall separating your rooms that resembled more of paper than an actual wall. You were so fed up with it that one day you just decided to go apartment hunting, alone and angry.

You had to go through hours of walking and walking. Anything over 3,000 was too much and even that was pushing it. Most of the ones you could afford were even smaller than the one you were living in, and the ones you liked were way out of your budget.

By some kind of miracle and while you were walking down 53th Street on the verge of tears and with a slice of pizza in your hand, a studio apartment came into your life.

And you didn't even stop to think about it.

It had been three years of 12-hour shifts 6 days a week, and you can't find a good enough apartment for 2,000 dollars every day, much less in New York. So when you saw the opportunity, you took it.

The Third Avenue lets you see the usual office buildings that are often associated with Midtown Manhattan, while the side of the Second Avenue resembles more of a residential neighborhood, with jazz clubs and cafés in sight wherever you look to.

While Midtown's prices tend to be through the roof, you could afford to pay for that one without too much trouble and without sweating it a lot. Sure, it wasn't as big as you wanted to but not a shoebox either. A perfect in-between.

Living on the last floor of the building also had the luxury of being near the roof and letting you see out the window to marvel at the skyscrapers of one side and the more calm neighborhoods of the other. It was a weird resemblance of living at the coast, where two worlds crash together. Letting you be far enough of the chaos to be able to breathe and relax but not such that made you forget where you were living at.

Extremely convenient, considering that the entrance for the Subway was just a few steps away. There were also lots of bars near the area, and one of the most important rules of New York is to have a go-to place, just to be safe. Thankfully, the zone provided plenty of that.

It needed some fixing up, a little paint, and slight trouble with stuff in the kitchen. But after some weeks of Diane and other friends helping you, it slowly became the place you had always dreamed of.

Which is why, at the end of your shift, when you go to Maxwell Lord's office and the old lady from before lets you in with a warm smile, the fact that his office is bigger than your place is, to put it simply, infuriating.

Your mandatory heels click as you walk inside his office, forcing your back to stay upright once his heavy glance hits you full force. His eyebrow arches just as you stop a few steps away from his desk, not showing any sign of being intimidated by the way he's sitting with his legs open and leaning back on his chair.

Not at all intimidated.

Propping his elbow on the armrest of his chair, he rests his chin on his open palm and grins. The visual is one that reminds you of the kings and queens sitting at their thrones on the series you often binge watch when you're not too tired to do so.

You clean your throat, mustering up all seriousness that you can.

"Did you ask to see me, sir?"

Surprisingly, your voice doesn't waver for even a second as you talk, satisfying the part inside of you that resists on giving to Maxwell Lord's power.

He sighs, shaking his head slightly. With one hand, he waves at you to sit at the chair in front of his desk. The rings that garnish his fingers glint to the last glimpses of sunlight that his office takes in. The back walls are complete crystal, from the floor to the ceiling.

The ones that give to the building are Oxford grey, with a cabinet full of the best liquor you've ever seen to the left side and a white boardroom table to the right. It's arranged in a way that if he sits at the edge, everyone else is facing him with their backs to the landscape. You guess that sitting there feels like hanging at the edge of a cliff when you either accept whatever the man in front of you asks or you fall.

It starts to feel like that when you take a sit in front of him and he leans towards you, studying every movement you dare to do and the ones you stop yourself from doing.

"Are you satisfied with the position you're currently in?"

It takes you a second to realize that he's talking about work, not other things that your mind kindly provides. You squirm slightly under his eyes, without looking away.

"Yes sir," you answer, "it is one I am good at that has a good salary and flexible schedule"

He hums, lowering his eyes to the files spread over his desk that you hadn't realized were there. 

You squint your eyes to get a good look at what he's reading.

All the blood leaves your face when you realize those are your files.

"Wouldn't you like a promotion?" He asks, not bothering to look at you as he moves the papers. 

You frown at him, confused. A promotion? 

"And what would it be, sir?" You say, hesitant to voice your question. He smiles at you and closes the folder, moving it aside as he leans towards you with his fingers interlaced.

"A few days ago my assistant quit" he answers, smirking knowingly of something you're unaware of. "I've been searching for someone to take their place, and I think you might be just perfect for it"

You clear your throat, amazed at how straight forward he is. No wonder why he's one of the most respected, if not feared millionaires.

"And why would you think that, sir?"

There's a clicking sound as he spreads his palms on his glass desk and rests his back on his chair, looking you up and down. 

"You are very good at setting limits," he answers, "your files also say that you have experience in accountancy and management. You've been an assistant previously, which means you also know how this works" 

You nod, looking at him straight in the eye.

You gulp as his eyes harden and his voice gets colder, deeper. "What I need right now is someone who can support my work and have a good effect on the success of my company. I need someone who tells me the truth and not what they think I want to hear"

He takes a deep breath and tilts his head, waiting for your answer.

Of course, you were fully capable of doing a good job, but that was not why you were hesitating on giving him a yes right away. The reputation of being a total asshole with his close workers was most likely not unfounded.

At your hesitation, he frowns at you.

"Is there a problem miss?"

You grip the chair with your fingers, torn between saying something and keeping quiet. 

Ultimately, you take the decision to see for yourself if the rumors are true.

"When will I start?"

The big smile that spreads through his face sends shivers down your spine, gulping but repressing the desire to run away and hide.

"8 AM sharp tomorrow, don't be late. You can get my schedule from Amanda outside"

You nod as his look on you lingers for more than it's deemed appropriate, rolling one of his rings between his fingers with an arched eyebrow.

"You can leave now," he says, dismissive. 

You quickly stand up and smooth your clothes, tilting your head at him.

"Thank you, sir"

He doesn't say anything else as you walk away, but he calls you just as you're about to step outside his office, stopping you abruptly. You turn around, tense.

"I sincerely hope you live up to my standards," he says, with a strong voice without a trace of the amusement you had heard before. 

You're not sure if that's supposed to be a compliment or an insult. Your eyes harden, and you clench your hands at your sides, straightening.

"With all due respect sir, if you doubt of my capacity for the job you shouldn't have considered me in the first place"

Your answer startles him, and for a moment you think he'll fire you on the spot at the flame that seems to light in his eyes when he clenches his jaw. 

But he only sits straight and nods at you, lips pursed in a thin line.

"Good night," you say, walking away with shaking hands once again. He only blinks, so you step outside the office with strong steps and not looking back, missing his smirk as he hears you talk to Amanda, arranging things for your first day as his executive assistant tomorrow.

He hopes you survive, he's become quite fond of you.

When you arrive home, every muscle feels sore already from the tension you had felt every second close to Maxwell Lord. You sigh as the sound of the keys resonate through the apartment once you step inside and leave them at the table. The heels feel even more burdening than other days, and you can't help but wonder how it will be from tomorrow on.

You shake your head and decide to take your mind off of it. Stripping off your clothes, you go take a shower. 

The hot water feels amazing as it runs down your body, easing out all stress of the day from your muscles. With your eyes closed, you wash your body delicately, almost like a caress. 

Before you know it, your mind starts to drift to your boss, at how powerful he looked sitting at his chair inside his office on top of New York, how he had looked at you with such hunger it made you shiver and burn with something you had never experienced before.

The man in your imagination starts to walk towards you, smirking and with his hands inside his pockets as you have your back to the crystal. He's cornering you, not letting you any option to get away even if you wanted to.

But the point is, you don't. 

You squeeze your eyes shut inside the shower as your hand moves down to your clit, circling slowly and sending pleasure up your spine.

The man in your fantasies grins at you once you're too close to the glass, afraid of fully leaning into it. 

He tilts his head, eyes blown and dark with a glint of mischief in them.

"Aren't you afraid to fall?" The illusion asks, extending his hand to your neck and caressing it with a ghost touch. Goosebumps spread through your skin when his thumb traces a line up to your lips, outlining them and making you open your mouth.

You shakily nod, letting him manhandle you to turn around and put your palms flat against the window. 

You gasp at the sudden change, and he kicks open your legs so you're slightly bent over in front of him, facing the city.

His breath hits hard against your neck as he stands flush against you, moving his hand behind you and pulling your skirt up, leaving you exposed to him. One of his fingers hook at your underwear and pulls down, grazing your wetness and making you jump.

"Stay still." He whispers next to your ear, pushing his body against yours to pin you to the clear surface.

The real you jumps when you let yourself lean to the wall, breaking you out of your daydream when your skin touches the cold tiles.

Guilt creeps into your mind and replaces the red hot fantasy that your brain decided to create and torture you with.

You shake your head, thinking about other things. The fantasy must have been a result of the tension and tiredness, you chose to accept. After all, not every day you meet the owner of the company you work in and he decides to make you his closest co-worker.

You finish showering quickly after that, not letting your mind slip away from your actions as you dry yourself and then go to bed.

Your phone dings with a received message, but your mind is too far away from consciousness to do anything about it.

The first thing you do in the morning is call Diane and let her know your change of job, and the way she screams at your ear makes you flinch.

"How the fuck did that happen!?" She asks, as you climb down the stairs and then walk down the block to the entrance of the Subway with the MetroCard tightly held in your hand.

"I still don't know," you answer, "he simply asked if I wanted to and I just said yes"

Diane giggles and you roll your eyes at what she must be thinking. She seems to sing "Money, Money, Money" by ABBA under her breath, and it makes you laugh a little.

"And are you sure?" She asks.

"Too late to think about it, "you say. "But judging by what I saw on his schedule, the man doesn't even sleep"

"Which means you probably won't either" she finishes just as the background noise of people comes with her voice. Living in Queens and arriving by the up ground stations must grant her of service, but no one inside the subway appreciates someone talking on the phone, so you decide to end the call.

"I guess." you say, "I'll call you later, I'm about to enter the subway"

Diane wishes you luck, says goodbye, and hangs up. The rest of your trip goes with the usual maniac activity of the New York Subway, a void at the bottom of your stomach as you get closer and closer to your stop. You must have a terrified expression on your face because at least 5 different people look at you with concern in their eyes, and no one ever pays attention to someone else in the morning. You sincerely hope their concern turns out to be unfounded.

The sound of your heels clicking as you go inside the building and go straight to the elevator is a big contrast to just arriving at the lobby and starting to work right away. Your hands feel sweaty when they grip your briefcase, not used to carrying one around. There's even some cold sweat in your forehead, but you quickly wipe it off. 

The ding of the elevator makes you jump when it arrives at Maxwell Lord's office floor, and you straighten again when you go out and walk towards it. Your cheeks feel hot when you remember the night before, but your mind quickly brushes it away. You're nervous enough as it is.

His voice hits your ears the closer you get to the door and Amanda is already there, looking at you with what you guess is supposed to be an encouraging smile. She must have a lot of experience dealing with him. 

"He's waiting for you," she says, "his first meeting is at nine o'clock, and he wants you to manage it"

Not trusting your voice, you nod and smile at her, going inside the room. 

His gaze immediately rises from what appears to be a contract and looks at you with the beginning of a smirk tugging at his lips, and he waves you to come closer. You oblige, keeping all emotion that may be going through you by showing a stoic face. 

"Give me a moment," he says to the phone, then covers the speaker and turns to you. "I need you to work here with me, so your own office will be there"

He points to a smaller office at the corner of the room that you had failed to see previously, with a dark crystal barrier that most likely will let you see to his office but not let him see to yours. 

You nod and walk to the door, opening without expecting much. 

What greets you is quite the opposite.

There's a big desk with white orchids at the edge, with one side against the wall and a computer ready to be used in the middle, a fancy coffee maker in a kitchenette at the other side of the room and a small cupboard stuck to the wall on top of the sink. There are even some shelves with books about finances and management next to your desk. Another door is behind your chair, two steps away if you stand up.

You walk to open it and discover you've also got your own bathroom, with white tiles and a golden faucet. It looks so neat you're afraid of getting inside, so you close the door.

Having your own space to work feels slightly overwhelming. From spending all day dealing with people to having a room for yourself feels like a huge change done in just a day.

But out of everything that apparently comes with working for the CEO of Lord Enterprises directly, what takes the breath out of you is the sight you have of the city. 

The city shines in front of your eyes, with yellow dots navigating the streets and hordes of people running from one point to another. You can see everything from there, almost all of Central Park filled with trees that soon will turn brown and yellow in the fall, windows that let you see how a lot of people start waking up and continue living, businesses that open to provide people with food, coffee or even just a place for people to take his mind away, sit down and breathe for a second.

The view brings tears to your eyes. This is the city that became your home when you arrived, full of wild activity and even wilder people. New York, after all. 

You smile, realizing that this is closer to what you were searching for. There’s a new sense of excitement in your chest, full of expectation and desire to conquer. You feel ready for anything. 

But his voice breaks you out of the moment when he calls your name.

"Please come here," you hear muffled through the crystal, and you can see how his chair is completely turned towards you with one leg up the other one and his fingers interlaced on top of his lap, looking at your door without really seeing anything, frowning. 

So you take a deep breath and walk out again, with renewed energy. You know that, no matter how hard it may be, you're now on top of the world.

Tag list (let me know if you want to be added):

@evidenceofzoe @the-feckless-wonder @aeryntheofficial @cryptkeepersoul @cable-kenobi @fruitsaladtree

[gothpanda]

A Little Bit of Attitude Ch. 31: Last Night

WORD COUNT: 6.0k

A/N: I just realized i’m lowkey inspired by That 70s Show. If ya know, ya know!

WARNINGS: angst

TAGS: @madamsixx @emariehorror​ 

Read on ao3

Previous/Next

September 1st, 1986

San Francisco, California

Staring up at an unfamiliar white ceiling, laying flat against her back, Sammi stayed silent as she was a guest in this stranger's bed. Sammi rubbed her tired eyes, not caring if her eye makeup was going to smudge, a growing throbbing feeling from them. Sammi's breath tasted like a mixture of drinks staining the tongue. She looked to her left, seeing a snoring man with his face half-covered by the pillow. Sammi felt somewhat embarrassed about not knowing this man's name, not remembering him, even telling her his name. Sammi remembers talking to the man at a bar, accepting all the drinks he gave her, and then agreeing to go home with him but not his name. Sammi gently raised her head from the pillow, looking around the room in search of her clothes. A short blue dress was tossed by the bed's foot, right by Sammi's underwear and bra. Her leather jacket was on a chair in the room, where her heels also were. Carefully, Sammi lifted up the thin duvet that covered her, slipping off the bed to the best of her ability to not wake the man and tiptoeing away. Sammi glanced over behind her, proud when the man remained dead asleep, snoring loudly at random moments.

After miserably playing ninja for 10 minutes, Sammi managed to leave the random apartment without making a sound, sighing out loudly to the breezy air. Sammi swung her purse onto one shoulder, pulling out her pack of Camels as she walked down the stairs. Once reaching the first floor of the outdoor apartment complex, Sammi soon realized she was completely unfamiliar, not recognizing the streets. There was more forest to hide the complex, making Sammi scratch her head for ideas. Even after being here for a few months in a city that was an island, Sammi still managed to get lost.

Nevertheless, Sammi started walking down south with a lit cigarette between her lips and a scowl. The sun was too bright for the hungover girl, mentally complaining about the headache. Stares coming from passing hobos made Sammi uncomfortable, trying to make herself feel small. After wandering for 30 so minutes, a street corner diner came into Sammi's sight, hurrying her pace in hopes to find a payphone to call a cab. The ring from the handbell echoed throughout the almost empty yellow diner, Sammi strutting up to the bar top where her heels were the only other sound. Sitting down, an older waitress in a matching yellow uniform began to hold a glare at Sammi, hand on one hip. Sammi mustered up the best smile she could to the woman, setting her purse down.

"What can I get for you today, Tart?" the waitress asked, remaining her glare at Sammi.

Sammi scrunched her brows. "Tart? What's a tart?"

"Use your brain, sweetheart, or at least what's left of it," the waitress said, beginning to walk away from Sammi to refill coffee for a man two seats down. The man looked over his shoulder at Sammi, not hiding his prominent wandering eyes. Sammi grimaced, zipping up her jacket all the way up.

"I'm not a hooker. Can I just get some coffee, please?" Sammi asked, frowning at the old woman.

"Could've fooled me," the waitress said, placing a mug between them and poured some hot black coffee. Sammi fixed up the coffee to her liking with a frown, blowing on it to not burn herself as she drank the little pick me up. Everything around her felt cold and quiet in this diner, giving Sammi a moment to think, which she avoided doing. She had to admit to herself that right now felt gross to her, never being a person who partook in one-night stands. Sammi racked her brain, trying to remember the man's name, rubbing away any wrinkles on her forehead. Sammi wondered if this was how the guys felt after a random night of partying, having sex with accidental women when they felt like it. Unlike her, though, none of the guys cared if they couldn't remember a girls name for a one night only event. Sammi got lost in her thoughts, beginning to wonder what Motley was up to now but knew she had to think about herself. Sammi soon eyed the payphone on the diner's far corner, remembering she needed to get home. A clock on one of the walls read 11:30 am, traffic beginning to make its way. Sammi glanced at the sullen waitress, frowning down at a row of mugs, she wiped clean.

"Um, excuse me, would you happen to have a number for a cab company?" Sammi asked the waitress. When the waitress kept her side-eye at Sammi, she didn't bother uttering words, only pulling out a thin pamphlet of different phone numbers from behind the counter. The waitress tossed it over, giving her back quickly to everyone. "Thanks…" Sammi mumbled, sliding off the barstool, reading down the list as she made her way to the payphone. She soon began praying for some spare change tossed in her clutch.

"Hey, you better pay for your coffee!" the waitress yelled out, slamming a clean mug hard on the counter.

"I'm not leaving yet!" Sammi yelled out, adding a quarter into the coin slot, punching in the first cab on the list. "Bitch," Sammi mumbled as she shut her eyes, resting her head against the wall. Sammi desperately wanted to go home after this long night turned into morning. The only problem was home was five hours away down south.

*

The cab came to a soft stop in front of Sammi's apartment building, Sammi's tired head resting against the window as she peeked out of it. Sammi was thankful for the cab ride after realizing she found herself all the way to South Berkley, knowing public transits would get her most lost. Sammi paid for the cab fare with a smile that took quiet the energy to muster up. The cab driver didn't care to say a thank you or give a smile back, only waiting to speed off as Sammi got out to continue his day. Sammi kept her head down low from the sun, disheveled hair covering the sides of her face as headed to the building door.

"Sammi!" a familiar voice yelled out of nowhere, Sammi halting in the middle of the building stoop. Sammi timidly looked to her right with a confusing twitch, eyes growing wide when two recognizable faces inched their way closer. Vince and Skylar. "Well, good morning to you!" Vince said, carrying Skylar on one hip, a backpack on his back. His dopey smile was bright for the time of day, Vince staying at the bottom step. Sammi couldn't believe the sight in front of her, frozen with a growing smile pressed on her lips. Little Skylar smiled at Sammi, showing straight away to everyone who she inherited from. Sammi slowly stepped down the short stairs to not trip over herself, staring dead in Vince's eyes with shock and joy. Vince only smirked, pleased with Sammi's reaction to his surprise.

"What on earth are you doing here?" Sammi asked.

"I told you we'd visit you. I'm just holding up to my promise," Vince answered back, kissing Sammi on the cheek in a way to greet her. "Wanna say hi, Skylar?"

"Ie," Skylar somewhat said, trying her best to wave to Sammi. This only made Sammi smile greatly at Skylar, holding onto her little hand like a handshake.

"Hi, Skylar! I've missed you," Sammi said in a sweet voice, Skylar keeping the smile her father gave her. "So why exactly are you here? Besides seeing my face so early in the day," Sammi asked Vince.

"I got Skylar for a couple of days longer, and it's boring down in L.A so I thought, why not have a little vacation," Vince said, shrugging a shoulder. "Looks like you're already having fun," Vince mentioned, looking down at Sammi attire. Sammi's cheeks grew hot, crossing her arms against her chest in a form to cover up.

"I'm always happy to see a familiar face up here. Let's get upstairs. My feet are killing me," Sammi said, turning back up onto the stoop, pulling out her key from the clutch purse. Vince followed suit, surprised at how bland Sammi's apartment building was compared to back home once inside. Everything could be compared to a shoebox, even the elevator being tiny for the two of them. But Vince kept to himself, bouncing Skylar on his hip to not have her fall asleep. From the short walk through the hallway to apartment number 321, Vince carefully put Skylar down, taking in the interior of Sammi's new place. It still screamed Sammi, seeing how hard she tried to make the apartment look like L.A. Splashes of color in some areas like the throw pillows on the black sofa, and everything kept straight in its rightful place. Photos of everyone on the tv stand. Vince was noticing the group photos of Motley and Sammi. He was almost surprised Sammi decided to frame those.

"So in no way am I judging, but were you just coming back from somebody's place?" Vince asked with a smirk as he pulled out a toy for Skylar to play with, sitting on the sofa.

Sammi rolled her eyes with burning cheeks, offering a Pepsi for Vince as she drank water. "Please do not tell Tommy when you get back. The last thing I need from him is giving me the third degree. I'm supposed to be an angel," Sammi said, sitting next to Vince with a far distance.

"Hey, everyone gets to have fun in a new city. I promise I won't tell him anything," Vince says, making a cross on his chest.

"How is everything in L.A anyway? It feels like every time I call someone, it's only for a minute," Sammi asked, messing with the fringe of a pillow.

"In more detail, everything is boring in terms of partying. Tommy and Nikki pretty much have to entertain themselves now. Mick is okay, I guess. We go out altogether as a band, and that's it,"

"Oh, you poor souls," Sammi teased with a smile.

Vince chuckled. "We're going to start recording a new album in January, but I doubt that," Vince mumbles in the last of his words, staring down at Skylar.

"Why? Is everything okay with Elektra?" Sammi asked, scrunching her eyebrows.

"It's not Elektra. It's freaking Nikki," Vince said, frowning.

"What's going on with Nikki?" Sammi asked, beginning to worry even if she tried not to. Vince only looked at Sammi for a moment before speaking.

"I haven't talked to Nikki at all, but I do know he's hiding in his house, having drug parties. Which means I doubt he's writing anything. Which means there'll barely be anything by the time we have to record. And even if Nikki does pull something out of his ass, I'm sure it'll suck," Vince said with malice.

"Vince, be nice to Nikki. He's still your bandmate. If you think Nikki isn't going to write in time for the album, which he does have time for, then talk to him," Sammi advised.

"Why'd you gotta take his side for everything?" Vince asked, frowning at her.

"I'm not on his side," Sammi muttered.

"Yeah, you are! Why else would you say be 'nice' to Nikki?"

Sammi rolled her eyes. "Just because I say be nice doesn't mean I'm on anyone's side. I'm only giving you advice for you not to deal with dumb B.S. It's also your ass that's in Motley. How about you give a shit about your band?" Sammi asked, scowling towards Vince.

Vince sighed out, pulling his ear lobe. "Alright, you're right. I'm sorry,"

"Thank you!"

"Why do you always have to be right about stuff?"

"Because I'm the only one that actually uses my brain from the four of you," Sammi teased, making Vince rolled his eyes playfully. "Now, were you planning on just visiting, or did you have an idea of going somewhere?" Sammi asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Do you want to go to the aquarium? I think Sky's old enough to react to the animals," Vince asked, with a small smile.

"I'd love to. I promise I won't take long getting ready," Sammi said, jumping up from the sofa. "Oh, and help yourself to whatever's in my kitchen," Sammi added before disappearing into her bedroom. Vince only kept his smile on Sammi when she left him and Skylar alone, sighing out as he sat on the floor next to his daughter. Vince couldn't help but feel joy from the idea of a small calm day with Sammi, just like old times.

*

"I forgot how cute you look with your glasses," Vince said to Sammi, opening the car door for her. Sammi only smiled and slid in the front passenger seat, trying to play down Vince's obvious flirtation. For a Monday afternoon, San Francisco felt lively and calm compared to the other days of up and down the chaos. A developing hangover didn't paralyze Sammi surprisingly, getting a chance to enjoy the city for what it was for what felt like the first time. Sammi had had the habit of only leaving her apartment for school or food. The aquarium was nearly empty as kids were already back in school, letting Skylar roam freely around like a princess. Vince loved Skylar's fascinations with the sea creatures; her mouth opens in wonder the entire time. When the three reached a grand display window that covered every inch of the wall, making the room a dark blue, Skylar couldn't help but sit right on the floor to stare in awe. Vince almost reached down to pick Skylar up, but Sammi beat him by sitting next to Skylar and prompted her right in her lap.

"Sky, look at that fish over there," Sammi softly said in Skylar's ear, pointing out to a colorful fish with a long-finned tail. Vince only smiled down at the two girls, wishing he had a camera for this sweet moment to freeze in time. "Not gonna join us, Dad?" Sammi asked Vince, shrugging his shoulders and joining them on the floor. "This was a good idea, Vince. It's cute seeing Skylar look shocked at everything,"

"Yeah, I get them every now and then, especially for this little girl," Vince said, rubbing a knuckle against Skylar's cheek.

"Did you tell Sharise you were coming up here?" Sammi asked.

"Yeah," Vince shortly answered. Sammi scrunched her eyebrows at him.

"Are you lying to sound nice, or did you really not tell her about leaving?"

"I told her I was taking Sky out of L.A., I just didn't mention coming to see you,"

"Vince!"

"What? I didn't want her yelling at me for coming to see you. That's my business. And if I want to bring Skylar along, I can do that. I am her dad,"

"Yes, but come on, dude, I would want to know where the hell my child was going every second and who would be around her. Especially if the father of my child was going to go see an ex-girlfriend,"

"Sharise goes out to visit ex-boyfriends, so I don't see the big deal. Also, she knows you and knows Skylar likes you. You're not a stranger to anybody,"

"Have you ever thought she might not like that? Even if I'm not a total stranger,"

"What do you mean?"

"All of a sudden, her daughter likes someone new right away that happens to be an ex. You don't think that's pouring salt right on the wound? I'm just trying to tell you what a woman could be thinking,"

"And thank you for that, but Sharise and I are fine talking only about how happy Skylar is. I'm sure Sharise doesn't mind a responsible person being around our daughter at all,"

Sammi shrugged her shoulders, turning back to the aquarium, seeing clownfish swim near the glass. "I guess," Sammi mumbled, keeping a hold onto Skylar.

Vince glanced over at Sammi, seeing the worry on her face, sighing out. "I'll tell her when we get back home. We're leaving tomorrow afternoon anyway,"

"Good. Let's keep moving than before Skylar gets bored. I know I already am," Sammi said, shifting Skylar in Vince's lap to stand up before taking the toddler in her arms.

"You're okay carrying her?" Vince asked, standing up as they continued down the designated path the aquarium set up.

"Why wouldn't I be? She's a good arm workout," Sammi teased, lifting Skylar up and down gently like a dumbbell, earning a laugh from the baby and Vince. Vince enjoyed the day more and more, feeling confident enough to rest an arm around Sammi's shoulders. Vince and Sammi looked like young parents with a beautiful growing toddler in Sammi's arms in the eyes of a few passing strangers. No one recognizing Vince made the feeling of blending in again reachable to Sammi and Vince. The 'little family' continued to roam the paths around the ginormous aquarium, finding calm sharks on one side and smaller octopus on another side until walking to the outdoor seal and sea lion sanctuary.

"Man to be like that seal, getting a tan on a rock, enjoying life," Vince said as Sammi switched Skylar to his arms.

"Vince, you already do that every time you go down to the beach," Sammi teased, leaning over the railing to see a school of seals hiding from the sun in the water.

"Not all the time, I go to the beach. I also drink and try my best to surf!"

"You trying to surfer and failing will forever be a highlight to our beach dates,"

"Good to know you still remember them," Vince said, winking at Sammi. Sammi only looked away from the man, shaking her head as she continued walking around the area, Vince and Skylar following behind.

"I still remember us being in a relationship, Vince. It's not like I completely erased everything the moment we broke up," Sammi said over her shoulder, a cold feeling trailing down her body. She wished it was so easy to erase memories of past happiness. Sammi came to a far halt from Vince, turning on her heels to hear Skylar begin to cry, heading right next to Vince. Vince tried to calm Skylar the best he could, bouncing her on his hip gently, Sammi gently shushing in Skylar's ear as an attempt as well. "Hey, can you see what time it is?" Vince asked Sammi, looking out into the distance where the sun was beginning to set. Sammi glanced down at the thin silver watch on her wrist, seeing 5:30.

"I think it's time to call it a day. It's already getting late," Sammi said, showing Vince the time on her watch. "Where's your hotel?"

"Oh, hotels aren't for a family man," Vince said with a smile as Sammi raised an eyebrow. "Come on, let's get some food. I'm buying,"

"Okay?" Sammi said with scrunched eyebrows, following Vince through the path to leave the aquarium. "Where are we going now?"

"Just trust me!"

*

Vince drove out into downtown Oakland on the San Francisco Bay area's east side, parking in front of a rustic apartment building. Sammi didn't say a word the whole time, only helping Skylar out of her car seat with her bag. From the first few steps of entering Vince's apartment, Sammi couldn't help but become envious of the warmth she could feel compared to her little 'home.' A spacious two-bedroom that was almost entirely exposed brick walls. Vince was able to have the luxury of renting an apartment like this, Sammi imagining how much regular rent would cost for a place like this. "How about you order us some Chinese, Sam. I'll take care of the little princess," Vince said, grabbing a grumpy Skylar from Sammi's arms. Sammi followed, ordering takeout like back in Redondo Beach, remembering Vince's usual order as hers. It didn't take long for the two to finally eat, Vince opening a bottle of wine to pass the time. Sammi sat right across from Vince on the dark oak dining table for four, pouring out a small amount of shrimp fried rice from the container. Vince ate straight out of the container, chewing on a piece of orange chicken, watching Skylar try her hardest not to make a mess as she ate chopped bananas for dessert.

"You really just thought of everything, haven't you?" Sammi asked, happily looking at Vince, sipping on red wine.

"Listen, I thought if I'm going to take my child on her first Daddy Daughter vacation, it had to be planned greatly. Besides, hotels just remind me of being on tour, and I don't like that right now,"

"You don't miss the feeling of touring?"

"Depends. Sometimes I do if it's been a long time, but I prefer being home most of the time. Or at least with family,"

"That's understandable," Sammi said, taking a spoon full of rice.

"I haven't asked you yet, but you haven't spoken to Nikki, have you?" Vince asked out of the blue, catching Sammi off guard. She looked at Vince, then down at her food, as she swallowed.

Sammi shook, scratching the side of her head. "No, I haven't. I haven't spoken to him since the wedding," It wasn't a complete lie. Vince nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin. Sammi finished what was left of the red wine, debating to pour another glass.

"It's for the best then. Like I said, he only cares about hiding away in his castle. He has new friends. I see them around him sometimes,"

"That's not completely true, Vince. Nikki cares deep inside his tiny little heart," Sammi mumbled, eyes gazing down at the table.

"You're so sure about that? Then why hasn't he asked about you?" Vince asked, raising an eyebrow.

Sammi stared at Vince, the heart began to beat fast, shrugging. "Nikki knows I'm gone, right?"

"Yeah, he does. He's known for some time now,"

"Then you're just lying to me. Nikki has to at least have asked Tommy about me. I'm sure if I call him right now, he'll say yes,"

"I'm sorry to break it to you, Sammi, but he hasn't asked about you to anyone," Vince said with a little smile. Sammi sucked the front of her teeth, looking past Vince into the kitchen.

"You know I'm going, to be honest, I still have no idea when you're lying or not," Sammi said with a repressed smile.

"I don't need to lie, Sam. Do you really want Nikki to be calling you when you're focusing on yourself? Drunk dialing randomly?"

Sammi frowned, blinking away anything from her eyes. Vince could tell the sadness was there. "No… I guess not,"

"Good. Because there's something I've meant to tell you,"

"What is it?"

"Nikki also moved on with another girl," Vince said with a shrug.

"How do you know?" Sammi asked, her frown turning soft.

"I see them around when they come out of hiding,"

Sammi didn't say anything else, only rising from her seat to head straight for the cabinets in search of something vital. "Do you have tequila in this place?" Sammi asked, hands on her hips to face Vince.

"The first cabinet to your right is where all the other booze is. Wanna have a little party?" Vince asked, smirking. Sammi pulled out the only bottle of silver tequila in the crowd of alcohol, screwing off the cap to take one straight shot, turning into two. Vince only kept his smirk on his lips, eyes turning lustful on Sammi as he finished the rest of his glass of wine. Sammi offered the bottle to Vince, the man taking it and taking a small sip due to Skylar looking right at him with big eyes. "Okay, little princess, it's time to go to bed," Vince said to Skylar, pulling her out of the high chair and taking her to what was her room for the night. Sammi could already feel a buzz coming on, strutting over to the table to grab the bottle, heading right for the grey sectional sofa. She dropped herself onto the piece of furniture, taking another big gulp of tequila. Vince returned fast, thanking God Skylar went out like a light when he put her to bed, sitting right down next to Sammi. He placed an arm right behind Sammi, taking the bottle from her for another shot.

"Fucking asshole," Sammi slurred, eyes closed with her head resting on the sofa frame.

"You're right, he is. Open up," Vince said, pouring tequila straight down Sammi's throat. "You don't need that in your life," Vince said, fingers lightly caressing Sammi's bare arm.

"Exactly! I'm doing great out here! I'm moving on! I need to worry about me!" Sammi said, not noticing the more vivid touches from Vince. "If he got a girlfriend, then good for him!" Sammi didn't believe anything of what she was saying.

"You are doing great out here, way better than him," Vince said, cradling Sammi into his side, her hair tickling his cheek. He could smell the scent of Sammi's favorite perfume on her neck. This tempted him to a greater power. To Vince, everything was set in stone for him, looking like the perfect man right now. Vince lowered his lips down to the nape of Sammi's neck, lightly kissing in the spot he knew she loved. Sammi pulled away, lips parted as she stared at Vince for a moment. Instead of what Vince thought might be rejection, Sammi leaned in, crashing their lips together for the first time again. Vince immediately reacted, cradling his hand on the back of Sammi's head, bringing them closer together. Sammi clung onto Vince, the tequila making everything feel fast even when not. Tongues were beginning to slip past each other. Vince pulled away; his breath was almost taken away. "Let's go to the bedroom," Vince said, swiftly catching Sammi into a bridal carry. She only giggled along, attacking Vince's neck as he walked down the hallway, soon placed gently in the middle of the king-sized bed. Sammi brought Vince back down, kissing him deeply with a sense of passion. Vince took his time with his wandering hands, lifting up Sammi's shirt and caressing her thighs through her denim jeans. The two didn't need to speak, remembering everything like it was and getting lost in the feelings once again for this one night.

September 2nd

Sammi snapped open her eyes, her breath caught in her throat as if she was having a nightmare. Everything around her was almost pitch black, the window only giving in a bit of light from the outdoor streetlights. Sammi frowned to herself, realizing she was naked under the blankets, slowly resting up on her elbow. She blinked to wake up with the worse blurry vision, reaching out to feel for the nightstand as if it were her standard room, hoping to get her glasses. It didn't take long for Sammi to find her pair of glasses, putting them on to see a dark place that belonged to someone else.  Fuck  Sammi thought, staring out the window through the blinds. Her buzz from earlier had gone away; grateful to not feel the after-effects of alcohol again, Sammi sitting up, covering herself as she looked at the clock radio. It was 1 in the morning. Soon a soft snoring sound caused Sammi to look over her bare shoulder, finding Vince naked under the thin blanket, hair covering his face. Sammi bit her lip to not make a sound, lifting the covers and quietly tiptoeing out of bed. Her clothes weren't far from the bed, almost all in one pile for Sammi to quickly change into. The entire time, Sammi looked over at Vince, praying he wouldn't wake up suddenly. Vince didn't move an inch, dead asleep while Sammi faintly slipped out of the bedroom. She paced down in soft steps to the front of the apartment, grabbing her sneakers that were tossed next to the sofa. Sammi looked around for a piece of paper, debating to leave a note for when Vince woke to not worry him. Unfortunately, while napkins were scattered on the table, there was no pen in sight for Sammi. She let out a quiet sigh as she grabbed her purse, tiptoeing in socks to the door, and with quick stealth left. Sammi thought how she didn't want to do this again, cursing at herself while slipping on her shoes. Tossing her disheveled hair to one side, Sammi sped down the hall to the 3 flights of stairs, running right out of the rustic apartment building, gasping for fresh air. The city was still wide awake, taxis passing not far, Sammi lifting her arm to catch one's attention.

"Good evening, little lady. Where are we off to?" the man asked over his shoulder, slowly driving off.

"To the middle of San Francisco," Sammi muttered, head resting against the window.

"Good thing I know every part of this bay area," the man said, raising the volume of the radio a bit to an American Top 40 station. Sammi shut her eyes, wanting the tired feeling to go away.

*

Yawning out in an empty classroom, Sammi rubbed her tired eyes to stay awake, dark circles forming from two nights of inadequate sleep. Sammi looked forward to a morning class to soon become a dread, the professor lecturing as expected, but nothing was sticking to the young girl. It took two cups of coffee from the library for Sammi to wake up and understand what was written in her notebook. Sammi rubbed her temple as she wrote down the chapter spoken in her lecture, different definitions from a Pharmaceutics textbook, thankful for only having one class today. Sammi looked over to a clock on the wall as she drank a bottle of water, wondering if Skylar had woken Vince up for breakfast. Sammi shook her head, letting out a heavy sigh, dropping her head on the lab table. She felt exhausted to the degree that wasn't due to heavy workload; to was the exhaustion of being overwhelmed by others. Sammi thought being alone in a city would help, but clearly, it wasn't the case. When she lifted her head up, Sammi's eye fell on a familiar man standing in the open doorway, staring at her. He walked right up with a nonchalant smirk, proudly standing right in front of Sammi. It wasn't until he got closer did Sammi fully remember his face.

"Hey," the man said, fixing the straps of his backpack. "I didn't know you went to school here. I guess we never spoke much about school the other night," Sammi showed a tight-lipped smile at the man, nodding as she fidgeted with a pencil between her fingers. "Damn, your notes are impressive. I never would've thought you were a scholar type. How are you doing?"

Sammi scrunched her brows at the man. "Okay, I'm sorry, I can't fake it. I do not remember your name at all,"

"But you do remember me, right?" the man asked.

"Yeah. You're the guys whose apartment I snuck out of in the morning. I didn't think I would run into you at all after that," Sammi said with a shrug and a polite smile.

"It's okay. I already came to that conclusion way beforehand. I'm David," said David

"Oh well, great. I'm glad we both knew it was just a one night stand. Nothing else,"

"Of course, it's pretty clear as day with someone like you, Samantha," David said, shoving his hand in his jean pockets.

Sammi scrunched her brows together up at David. "I'm sorry? Someone like me?"

"Oh, come on, Samantha, don't play dumb. Your brother's Tommy Lee! A rockstar who always slept around with randoms. I figured it has to run in the family, and clearly, it does," David said with a smirk.

Sammi curled her lip, rising up from her seat, folding in her arms against her chest. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"Oh, did I hit a soft spot? I'm only pointing out the facts that you're just as easy as your brother. Why do you think I kept buying you drinks?" David asks. Sammi didn't say a word, only scuffing at the imbecile in front of her and rolling her eyes, getting an idea. Instead of shouting at David for being a rude person, Sammi carelessly grabbed her water bottle and took a big gulp of water, holding it in her cheeks. She leaned over the desk a bit, inching closer as Sammi spit all of the water right in David's face. David immediately reacted, pushing Sammi away from him, almost stumbling on his feet as he wiped away the water from his eyes. Sammi tripped back down to the chair, glaring right up at the man.

"Fuck you, asshole!" Sammi shouted.

"I'm an asshole? You're the bitch who just spat in my face!" David yelled, drying his face with his shirt.

"Only because you just called my brother and I sluts!"

"It's the truth! How the hell did you even get into this school?"

"Because I'm smart and mind my business, unlike you. Now fuck off before I pour this whole water on your head!" Sammi ordered, standing up again. David didn't say another word, storming out of the classroom, almost being able to see smoke come out of his ears. Sammi shook her head, nostrils flaring with anger, slamming her book shut. She shoved all of her belongings angrily into her satchel, storming out in the opposite direction of David. Sammi didn't care about studying today, only wanting to go back to sleep in her own bed.  

*

After a nap and a long relaxing bath, Sammi strolled over to the answering machine with green tea in a warm mug, remembering about the blinking red light when she got home. She knew it was something that could pile up if she let it. Sammi pressed play, sitting down on the loveseat as she blew on the drink before taking a sip.

"Hola Sammi! It's Em, just wanted to let you know, it's been a full two weeks of living with Sabrina, and we haven't killed each other! Maybe we can live together in harmony. Call me back. Love you. Miss you." Sammi giggled along at Emma's voicemail, happy to hear her voice again.

"Hi Sam, it's your sister that you need to call back because I'm bored and mama is worried. Please call her at least! Bye, love you,"  Sammi rolled her eyes, making a mental note to call her parents and Athena. Maybe even Tommy while she's at it.

"Hey Sam, I know you were probably in a hurry to leave this morning. Just wanted to say it was great seeing you. Hopefully, you come down to L.A soon. Skylar says bye-" Sammi deleted the message fast, waiting for the last one.

"Hi, Princess," Nikki slurred.  Sammi froze in her place, eyes darting to the answering machine.  "I know it's been a while. I'm sorry about that. Tommy just gave me your new phone number, in your new apartment, in a new city," Sammi could hear in Nikki's words; he had been crying, his voice sounding broken and rough.  "I just wanted to call and let you know... Nona passed away a while back in the summer. I know she loved you," Sammi almost dropped her mug right from under her hand, warm tea staining the carpet. Sammi quickly felt the tears creep in her eyes, thinking of Nikki's grandmother. Gone.

"I'm sorry I'm high right now, but I just needed to call you. I want you… I miss you. Please-" Sammi let out a shaky breath, tears blurring her vision. She took off her glasses, placing them next to the mug on the coffee table, tears cascading down her face. Nikki's feelings couldn't leave Sammi's mind, even after a night that shouldn't have happened. She wanted to call back. She tried her hardest to call back but knowing Nikki was still high stopped her. If what Vince said was even a quarter of the truth, Sammi couldn't handle it. Sammi curled onto her side on the loveseat, weeping out a sob, almost as the ones she let out when she couldn't say goodbye to Nikki.

[hvandenbrg]

Have you seen HARRY VANDENBERG? This THIRTY-SEVEN year old is a TROPHY HUSBAND who resides in MANHATTAN. HE has been living in NYC for TWO YEARS, and is known to be EMPATHETIC and PROTECTIVE but can also be RECKLESS and VOLATILE, if you cross them.  People tend to associate them with EXTREME SPORTS and GREEN SMOOTHIES.

I’M BACK BABEYYYY. i bet y’all thought you’d seen the last of me!! but... here i am! harry’s bio has changed a little bit so feel free to check it out if you want! other than that i am excited to be back and happy to be able to write with you all again! 

thank you so much for all the support and the patience you’ve given me these past few months. y’all are the best, and i love you with all my heart. 

about —

full name: harry bram vandenberg age: 37 birthday: august 9, 1983 (leo) sexual orientation: heterosexual gender: cis male pronouns: he/his

bio — tw: injury, infertility, cheating, pregnancy

harry has a younger brother and a half sister. his parents divorced when he was young, his father re-married and had one more kid, a girl. there was no drama between his parents, though… at least as far as the children could tell. they were civil in front of them, which is what mattered. harry and his siblings have always been friendly, even if the youngest wasn’t around as often — mostly because his mother didn’t want her around the house much. understandable, yes, but harry and his brother still managed to spend an ungodly amount of time with her growing up.

he was born in brighton, england (his parents were on a ‘last vacation before the baby comes’, and he just happened to be born during said vacation) but was raised in london. besides the abnormal family dynamic, harry had a decent experience growing up. decent in the sense that he often got himself in trouble for staying out too late, getting into fights — because he liked it. not that he was a bad kid, but he had an issue with constant boredom, which he learned to let out in strange ways such as those. in his teens, he decided to skip sixth form and join the british army as an infantry soldier.

still young and lacking tons of experience with real life, harry started a relationship with his neighbor — the girl who’d been his best friend ever since she’d moved next door. truthfully, as his mother had once said, it was only a matter of time until they started a relationship. and harry’s embarrassed protests eventually led to their marriage a year later.

it was a good marriage. they got along pretty well and loved each other pretty much. they had a flat in london where they lived. however, things began to get complicated when harry was deployed to afghanistan for a year, and after a lot of rigorous training, he got selected to join the special reconnaissance regiment — a promotion that posed a legitimate threat on his life. and this, in turn, gave harry the excitement and glee of a child with a new puppy. his wife, however, did not like this at all, and understandably so. his oncoming deployments back to afghanistan and siria really put a strain in their relationship, especially with how excited he always looked when he left, and so unenthused when he returned. this attitude of his sparked many arguments between the couple, which soon after escalated into cheating accusations, which harry both denied and ignored, for as long as he could.

INJURY TW. during a deployment to siria, harry received a bullet to the leg — during his adrenaline rush afterwards, harry kept going by foot, which ended up in a twisted knee and a ligament tear. despite many protests from the man, he had to be sent home and later on discharged from his role in the regiment, and the military altogether.

as the ‘glass half-full’ kind of person that harry’s always been, he tried to look at this sudden change in his life as an opportunity to reunite with his wife, fix his marriage. it seemed to work for the first few weeks as it was her who had to drive him to things such as rehab and therapy. but after a while, he began to realize that the two of them had very little in common anymore — and it was heartbreaking. after being a unit for the majority of his life, he suddenly couldn’t connect with his love anymore.

not to mention that, despite the fact he couldn’t do much for a while, the cheating accusations never stopped coming, even if they were slower and farther in between — he was always on his phone too much, it seemed. 

INFERTILITY TW. so of course the solution was to expand the family! of course. what else could prove that he was loyal to his wife and save his marriage all at once? a child! it hadn’t been his idea, but he agreed. harry was personally terrified of fatherhood. being in charge of your own body is one thing, but being responsible of a completely new human being seemed like a nightmare to the man — but but his wife, he would do it. so they tried — and failed. and tried, and tried, and tried, and kept failing. harry had fully healed from his injury when they decided to maybe see a doctor about it, maybe said injury had done something to harry’s ability to procreate. but it turned out it wasn’t him — and the news devastated the woman. a product of grief and frustration, their relationship only kept on crumbling.

once he was back on comission, harry landed a security job in london with the royal family. it paid well and allowed for the couple to do more things together, things to keep them distracted from the state of their relationship. this glee, however, didn’t last very long; a year into his new job the accusations of cheating began again. now, according to her, he was cheating with diplomats and princesses and so on, so forth. he couldn’t stand it anymore.

CHEATING TW, PREGNANCY TW. sooner than later, something in harry snapped, and he decided to give his wife what she so desperately wanted. she wanted him to be a cheater, so he became one. it started with one of the maids in the palace, then a nanny, then a personal assistant. and sooner than later, he found out he had accidentally gotten someone pregnant. that, for harry, was the signal he’d been looking for. he confronted his wife with the truth, and in what seemed like a minute, she filed for divorce immediately, citing “irreconcilable differences” as the cause. to harry’s luck, it seemed that the other woman in question was either hiding from him or didn’t want him to be a part of the process, which harry respected. he had to, as he had no way of reaching out to her. he met his child the day they were born, and has helped with everything he was allowed to from a distance. after all, with the job he had, he barely had time for himself anymore.

these issues with the job made harry’s time at the palace somewhat difficult, but things stabilized once he was assigned to be princess cecelia’s husband’s bodyguard. harry had never liked cecelia. she seemed spoiled, air-headed. and the things her husband said about her only fueled these thoughts. however, said thoughts went away as he spent more time with the couple, and some, erm, tension built between him and the princess — which ended up exploding into a full-fledged affair. an affair that went way further than harry expected it to; he wasn’t expecting to fall in love with her, with her children, and just… anything that involved cecelia.

PREGNANCY TW. so when she came to him with the news — she was pregnant. with his child. his divorce wasn’t even finalized, but he did not care. it was just a matter of time, right?

when cecelia decided to move to new york following the divorce, harry knew he had to go with her. he requested to be assigned as her bodyguard for the move, which was granted. their secret was safe, and he would be able to move with her.

then it came to revealing their relationship and his paternity to the public — harry knew he was in a proverbial pickle. he had to get his divorce settled and secure a new job before the baby was born. the divorce part was the hardest of both, but it was resolved in the end. job-wise, harry needed to find a new job before the truth came out, as he wouldn’t last long in the United States without one, as a holder of a work visa. thankfully, the birth of his son would help his case and make it easier for him to live in the country. he received diplomatic help, as well as having his professional record speak for him, and he somehow made his way to the nypd’s emergency unit service, where he worked for only a few months before he was terminated for the public attention harry seemed to bring to the department. 

PREGNANCY TW. cecelia told him they were expecting their second child together. he’s of course very happy, although not completely sure about how he feels about not being able to give theo his full attention — and extremely nervous about fathering a girl. the reason seems questionable even to him, as he’s raised penny (for the most part). just seems scary to have a baby so small again.

headcanons —

harry loves extreme sports and combat sports. rock-climbing is a big passion of his, boxing a close second.

he loves portraying himself as a MANLY MAN but ya boy cried at the end of toy story 3. he also cried when his son, theo, was born.

speaking of theo, henry was terrified of becoming a father. but he got some practice with jack and penny, so he thought he was out of the woods. tiny humans? easy! however, he was not expecting just how difficult caring for a miniature human would be. he still loves it, though. theo is his pride and joy.

he owns a collection of little trinkets he got from his different deployments, all in a shoebox. get a scrapbook, ya fool.

while he is slightly apprehensive about the baby, he was the same about theo, it really is only a matter of time until he warms up to the idea of being a father for the second time. what a move for a dude who didn’t want kids in the first place !

but also, scratch all that he’s married to @olliestonem​ :-)