#where instead of resting i listened to the writing muse and opened the notes app

[michyeosseo]

semidoyi backstory;

title taken from lyrics to lifts, c/o my 아두 derangement playlist ♡

[dawninlatin]

Haste

A Feysand Modern AU One Shot

Words: 4433

AO3 Link

Masterlist

Summary: Feyre comes back home after quitting college and breaking up with her boyfriend. During a night out, she starts seeing her friend Rhys in a new light. (Warning: There is some smut by the end)

The title comes from the song “Haste” by RY X, and if you wanna vibe, I suggest you go listen to it:)

A/N: Sorry for how long this note is, guess I had a lot to say, lol. This is actually the first fic I ever wrote, but I wanted to repost it, because I had only posted the AO3 link before, and wasn’t happy with that format. I would like to take this opportunity to thank all my amazing followers and readers!<3 

When reading through this fic, there were so many things I wanted to change, (like, why did I think it was a good idea to have every other word written in italics?? And I’m so sorry for the cheesy dialogue and suuuuper long paragraphs...), but I decided to keep it as it was, because it shows how far I’ve come from that day in February where I sat up half the night writing, thinking that no one would ever read this, because my English wasn’t good enough, and my writing wasn’t good enough. 

Yet I still posted it, and the response I got was more than I ever expected! This, along with all the other response I’ve gotten on all my other fics, has helped me so much with my writing, but more importantly, has helped me become the person I am today. So thank you so much, to everyone who takes the time to read, to everyone who likes, and reblogs, and leaves comments, and keep encouraging me! Thank you to all you wonderful people I have gotten to know on this app, tumblr has become a second home for me! From the bottom of my heart, I love y’all!<3<3<3

This was not how Feyre had pictured her night. Had she been the one to decide, it would consist of greasy pizza, a bottle of tequila and some crappy rom-com. Feyre had gotten as far as scrolling through Netflix in search for one, when her best friend Mor walked in the door of the apartment and declared that Feyre better get her ass of that couch, take a fucking shower and put on some decent clothing, because they were going out.

Feyre hadn’t felt like she was in the right position to protest; it was Mor’s couch she’d been occupying for the past week after all. Had it been a week already? she wondered. A week since Feyre had finally broken up with her asshole boyfriend Tamlin and then jumped on a bus to California, because the only person in the world she wanted to be with then was Mor. She had felt the need to share this victory with the only person that could always make her feel better. Of course, the high had ended as soon as she stood on Mor’s doorstep, where she had taken one look at her best friend and turned into a sobbing mess. That was about how she had spent the following week as well. She didn’t want to cry over the bastard, but he had been part of her life for the past two years, and she had loved him. Once.

So instead of spending the night on Mor's couch, wallowing in self pity, Feyre now found herself standing in the middle of a dance club crowded with drunk, sweaty people, playing way too loud music - the blinking lights making her dizzy. She had borrowed one of Mor’s dresses - and though this was considered modest in Mor’s eyes - she found herself constantly pulling at the black fabric, not comfortable with how much thigh it showed off.

Feyre scanned the room, trying to find her friend, and as she was about to declare the task impossible, she eyed a red dress and a head of blond curls. Mor was elbowing her way through the crowd, drinks in hand, accompanied by two men Feyre recognized. The tall, muscular one with shoulder-length, dark hair and a cocky smirk was Cassian, and the slightly shorter one with a shy smile was Azriel.

As they approached her, Cassian went in for a one-armed hug. «It’s good to see you Feyre!» He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back despite her unhappy mood earlier. She really had missed these people.

«Hi Feyre, you look well!» Feyre looked up to see Azriel smiling at her, accompanied by an awkward wave. He was more of the quiet, observing type of guy, but that was exactly what Feyre liked so much about him. He was quiet, yes, but the silence was never uncomfortable.

«You as well, Azriel.» She smiled back at him, then turned towards Mor, who handed her a drink.

«Don’t look so shy Feyre. You look amazing tonight!» Mor winked at her, then gestured to the rest of the club. «You should have seen all the guys eyeing you when we walked in. Actually…if you hadn’t been my best friend, and straight-» she made a disappointed face at that, which made their whole group laugh, including Feyre, «-I totally would have slept with you.» Feyre laughed even more at that, but Mor was right. She felt good tonight. Sexy, even. She felt something she hadn’t felt in a long way. She was excited for what the night - the future - would bring.

«I might not wanna sleep with you, but I think that brunette at the bar wants to.» Feyre nodded her head towards the young woman ogling her friend.

«Hell yes!» Mor exclaimed. She put her arms around Feyre and Azriel’s shoulders. «Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we’re gonna get laid!»

«Cheers to that!» Cassian laughed, lifting his drink. As Feyre sipped hers, she felt light, almost giddy, with excitement and joy. At the same moment, she noticed someone was missing from their small gathering. Rhys.

She couldn’t fathom how she hadn’t noticed before. Mor’s annoying cousin was difficult to ignore whenever he was present. The prick always teased, always came with innuendos, or witty remarks. He had the biggest ego Feyre had ever encountered. Still, Feyre found herself to be missing Rhysand’s snarky comments and their never-ending banter. Before she had time to stop herself, she spoke the sentence: «Hey guys, where’s Rhys?»

Cassian wiggled his eyebrows at her, but she chose to ignore him. «He’s coming later. Had to work overtime» Mor answered. Feyre nodded, before quickly switching the subject over to their plans for the rest of the summer.

-

As soon as they had some alcohol in their blood, Feyre and her small group of friends moved on to the dance floor. Feyre was jumping around, singing along to whatever song they were blasting, joking and laughing with Mor and Cassian, teasing Azriel for not wanting to join them. They looked like idiots, but they were happy idiots. She could feel the heavy bass in her whole body, along with her beating heart. She was so, so happy . Happier than all of last year combined. Hell, she hadn’t been this happy since high school, when she, Mor, Cassian, Azriel, even Rhys, had been together almost every day. Always laughing, joking. But that had been before Tamlin, and before she had been stupid enough to move halfway across the country for college.

Feyre scolded herself for thinking about Tamlin again. The point of tonight was to forget him. To have fun. And she was having fun, and she was happy. So happy that at any moment she could grow wings and disappear into the night. She had no worries. No worries of the home she had left behind, or college, or her ex-boyfriend, or what tomorrow would bring. She was here, now, and she felt fucking amazing.

Feyre heard Cassian greet someone, and turned just in time to meet a pair of shockingly blue eyes. Rhys. Her breath caught, her heart thundering in her chest, and she found herself not being able to look away. He held her gaze, refusing to be the first to break eye contact. Feyre didn’t know if it was the lights, the music, the alcohol, the warm summer night, still young and full of possibilities, or the feeling of finally being free, but it was as if she was seeing him for the first time.

Had he always been this handsome? she asked herself, taking in his lean, muscular form, his tight-fitting jeans, the white shirt opened just enough to show off the tattoos swirling across his chest. She stared at his sharp jawline, his soft lips, his eyes, so blue they were practically glowing, his dark, messy hair. Oh, how she wanted to run her fingers through his hair.

A cough from Mor made Feyre tear her eyes away at last. I must be drunker than I thought , she mused. This was Rhys she was thinking about. The man who annoyed her to no end. The man who was known for his many hook-ups and one night stands and flirts and just- argh.

«How nice of you to finally show up,» Cassian said as he threw an arm around Rhys’ shoulder and handed him a drink. Rhys made a comment that had Cassian roaring with laughter, but Feyre didn’t hear what it was, because Rhys was looking at her with such an intensity that it made her insides tingle. Stop it, she thought. You had a boyfriend just a week ago.

«Hey Feyre. It’s good to see you again.» Rhys smiled at her, but it wasn’t his usual cocky smirk. It almost looked a little sad. Feyre suddenly found the floor very interesting, not being able to keep herself from blushing or biting her lip. She could feel his eyes on her. Burning. Then Mor shouted «Who wants shots?», and the moment was over.

-

The night went on. They drank, they danced, they talked about college and hook-ups and high school. Feyre almost wanted to cry at the feeling of how familiar it all was. She had been afraid that her moving to Boston would change everything - and it had, for a little while - but she was back now, and everything was normal. Except for Rhys, maybe. Something had definitely changed between the two of them.

Gone was the teasing and never-ending banter. In its place was something brand new. They hadn’t said anything to one another except for pleasantries for the entirety of the evening, but Feyre caught him staring at her constantly, with this sad, longing look in his eyes. And to be honest, she hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off of him either.

Right now, they were all sitting at the bar, watching Cassian stick his tongue down the throat of some random blonde on the dance floor. Mor suddenly stood up, announcing she was gonna go try her luck with the woman she had been flirting with all night.

«Come on, Azriel. You’re gonna be my wingman.» His protest died on his lips as More pulled him after her.

All there was left, was Feyre and Rhys. Not able to meet each others eyes.

But Feyre was feeling brave this night. It might have been the alcohol, or the still-lingering high of having broken up with the asshole that had made her life miserable for the past year. She muttered a quiet «fuck it», downed her drink, stood up, and looked her friend straight in the eyes. «Do you wanna dance?»

Rhys’s face was lit up by a bright smile. «I thought you’d never ask, Feyre darling.» Her insides warmed at the familiar nickname, and she found herself smiling just as brightly. Rhys took her hand, leading her to the dance floor, where some old EDM shit was playing.

Feyre didn’t care about the bad music, or the bright lights, or the sweat coating her body. She was here with Rhys. His body was so close now, and she could smell his all-familiar scent of citrus and sea.

She lost track of how long they danced. None of them were any good at it, but they were laughing and having fun. Feyre felt 17 again, jumping around, sweaty and drunk, but happy. «God, I missed this!» she exclaimed, grinning at Rhys, just as the fast rhythms and heavy bass switched over to a slow ballad.

Hesitantly, Feyre glanced at Rhys, suddenly feeling shy and unsure. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. She understood what he meant immediately, and nodded, biting her lip. Rhys stepped closer, and put his arms around her waist. She placed hers around his neck, swaying along with the music.

She looked at the man in front of her. Really looked at him this time. How had she not noticed before, how strikingly beautiful he was? His sharp angles, kissable lips, silky hair, the blue eyes she could get lost in if she stared for too long. Said eyes were taking in her just as intensely at the moment.

«You are so beautiful tonight, Feyre.» His voice was hoarse, laced with restraint. Feyre felt a longing, deep within herself. She wanted to tell him he was beautiful too, wanted to kiss him, wanted to cry, wanted to just leave, wanted to stay in his arms forever. She wanted to be his.  She did neither, couldn’t find the courage to do so.

Instead, she stepped closer, and pressed her forehead against his, feeling his strained breath against her lips. Everything around them disappeared. The world narrowing down to the two of them, together, forehead against forehead, in the midst of a warm night in June.

Then the song ended, and the moment was over. Feyre stepped back, but she continued to hold his gaze. Rhys looked towards the exit. «Come, I wanna show you something.» He grabbed her hand, and then he was leading her through the crowd. They walked past Mor, who muttered a «fucking finally!» that made them both chuckle.

Outside, they were surrounded by warm, summer air, a chill breeze running over their exposed skin. Rhys looked at Feyre with mischief in his eyes. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

«What exactly was it that you wanted to show me?» she asked, not being able to hide her curiosity.

«You’ll see, just trust me.» Rhys looked giddy with excitement. He was bouncing on his feet now. «Follow me, we don’t wanna miss it.» Then he started walking. Fast.

«Miss what?» Feyre shouted after him, but he didn’t answer. Rhys just kept on walking, and she struggled to keep up with him. «I have shorter legs than you, remember? And I’m currently in heals, which puts me at an unfair disadvantage.» He stopped a few steps ahead, an amused look on his face.

«We have to wait a few minutes now,» he announced, all serious. Feyre looked around where they were standing, a few blocks away from the club. The whole city was sleeping. The sight of the quiet, empty streets bewitching.

Then a bright, yellow bus stopped in front of them. Also empty. She followed Rhys onto it, confusion growing more and more. «The bus? Where exactly are we going?»

The puzzled look on Feyre's face made him chuckle. «I swear, the mystery will be worth it once we get there. Now, we could have walked, but then we would miss it.» He must have seen the question forming on her lips, because he raised a finger. «And no, I still won’t tell you what it is.»

She rolled her eyes and muttered a quiet «prick». The nickname made him laugh, and she laughed with him, because Feyre hadn’t called him that since high school. It had been way too long since they’d been together like this. Still, under all the joking and laughing, there was an unfamiliar tension that hadn’t been there before.

-

After only five minutes, Rhys announced that they had reached their destination. He stepped out onto the street, and led Feyre towards a beach. The sight in front of her was breathtaking. The dark waves crashing against the sand, the sky - the nearing dawn making it a deep pink - birds flying over their heads, and Rhys, who had taken off his shoes and started walking towards the ocean. Feyre followed him, slipping out of her heels. The moment she felt the familiar California sand under her toes again, she laughed with joy. A rich and warm sound she hadn’t made in forever.

Rhys, who was standing in the water now, looked up at her, the same bright smile on his face. He waved at her to hurry up, and she walked the final steps to him. The sea was warm, and the salty smell of it was amazing. It was home. She looked towards the horizon, where the sun barely had begun to rise. Then she looked up at Rhys again.

«The sunrise. That’s what you wanted to show me.»  Rhys only nodded, before looking ahead of them. Feyre took in the sight again, and she felt something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She wanted, no, she needed to paint.

Her thoughts were disturbed by Rhys, who was now sitting in the sand, jeans cuffed up to his knees. «Come sit with me, Feyre.» He patted the spot next to him.

Feyre stepped back and sat down, feeling the waves crash against her legs. She looked to Rhys, and said the only thing that could come to her mind with a playful smirk on her lips. «How did your dad take it when he found out his only son was gonna major in English, and not business?»

Rhys grimaced. «He was pissed at first, even threatened to write me out of his will, but he came around - eventually.» They chuckled at that, both knowing how angry Rhys’ father could get, but also how he always gave in when it came to his children. «How about you? How’s all the art stuff going?» Rhys asked, his eyebrows raised in question.

«Urgh,» Feyre cringed, «I dropped out in March, haven’t touched a paint brush since.» She should have been sad or ashamed when admitting that, but she felt good, knowing she had made the right choice. She had been miserable in Boston.

Rhys looked at her, concern lining his face. «That bad, huh?»

«What can I say? Boston sucked, and I would much rather be here, with you guys.» She grinned at him, and he grinned back.

«So you’re back for good now?» Feyre only nodded, turning back towards the rising sun.

The sight in front of her was hypnotizing. «I didn’t realize how much I’ve really missed home.» The words were out before she managed to think. Rhys only hummed quietly beside her. Seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Feyre turned towards him. His eyes were closed, a small smile on his lips. «What’s on your mind?» she wondered out loud.

Rhys opened his eyes then, and looked at her. «A thought for thought?» he suggested. She smiled at the reminder of the little game they used to play when they were younger. «I can begin,» he continued.

He looked towards the horizon again, taking a deep breath. «I’m thinking that when I walked into the club tonight, I was so happy to see you, because you were so happy. You were dancing and laughing and I thought that finally we had gotten our Feyre back. After you left for Boston, and after you met him, it was as if you disappeared.» Feyre tried to swallow the lump in her throat. He sounded wounded, almost. Did he really care about her that much?

«You visited, of course, but it was like a stranger had replaced you. You were a shell of who you once used to be. You stopped laughing, stopped making inappropriate jokes, and I missed you. God, I missed you so much.» Feyre felt like she might cry at his words, but she didn’t. All she did was stare ahead, and take his hand. She squeezed it, encouraging him to continue. He squeezed back.

«As I said, when I saw you tonight, I was sure we had gotten the old Feyre back. Mor told me what had happened in Boston - why you were back - and I was sure that everything would return to normal between us.» He took a break, clearly anxious of saying what was next.

«But everything isn’t back to normal. Something has changed. I can feel it, and I think you can too.» He looked at her now, that intense longing once again in his eyes. She met his gaze, and suddenly felt brave enough to say:

«I can feel the change too, yes, but I think it’s a good change.» Then she leaned in, and kissed him.

Rhys went completely still at first, and Feyre was afraid that she had misunderstood their conversation. Then he seemed to realize what was happening. He put one arm around her waist, the other tangling in her hair, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

His lips tasted salty, she thought, but sweet at the same time. She could get drunk on him alone. Feyre was breathless, and dizzy, but she decided this was the best feeling in the world.

She was kissing Rhys.

He pressed his tongue against her lips, and she opened up for him, moaning at the sensation. She put her hands in his hair, slightly pulling at it. The silky strands feeling soft in her fingers.

Kissing Rhys was everything, but at the same time it was not enough. She needed more. Needed to be closer, needed to feel more of him. She pulled away slightly, breathless, heart thundering, blood rushing in her ears. Rhys looked at her, just as breathless, a hungry gleam in his eyes. «How far is it to your place?» He only smirked in answer.

Rhys stood up, picking Feyre up with him. She laughed as he almost dropped her, then she wrapped her legs around his waist. He didn’t walk far before they reached a small house. Rhys put her down, pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door.

Feyre marveled at the place as they stepped inside. It was small, but it was stunning. Large glass windows facing the ocean, green plants covering every available surface, and several over-filled bookshelves. She turned to look at Rhys, who had stopped in the doorway, staring at her taking in his place, surprise clearly written on her face. She took a step towards him. Then another. And another, until their mouths crashed together again.

Rhys moved his lips over her jaw, down her throat, her neck. Feyre moaned, struggling to get his shirt off fast enough, both minds clouded with lust and the haste to be as close together as possible. Skin to skin.

She finally managed to open the last button, pulling off the fabric. Feyre took in his muscled, tan chest and the many tattoos covering it. She leaned forward, and pressed her lips to the spot right above his heart. She could feel it hammering beneath his skin. She moved upwards, ghosting them over his collarbone, his neck, his throat, his jawline, then finally his lip.

Rhys grabbed her face, kissing her with such an intensity it made her dizzy. She was about to start fumbling with his belt when Rhys pulled away. «Are you sure you want this?» he asked, all out of breath, voice cracking, and Feyre would have thought his consideration and worry to be cute, had she not been so desperate to press her naked body against his. So she only nodded, and stepped back to pull her dress over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

That seemed to be the end of Rhys' restraint. He took a step towards her, grabbed her under her thighs, and hoisted her up so she was sitting with her legs around his waist. Feyre moaned at the feeling of him pressing against her, hard and ready, and she felt a warm throbbing between her own legs.

Feyre let out a breathy «why the hell do you still have pants on?» that made Rhys chuckle. She felt the sound moving through his whole body. He walked across the room, laid her down on the bed and quickly got rid of his pants. Feyre almost drooled at the sight of his large cock. She reached out a hand and stroked him through the thin fabric of his boxers. Rhys groaned at the feeling, and leaned over her, placing his mouth on one of her nipples.

It felt exquisite. Rhys, his wandering hands, her body tingling with sensation, his hot mouth on her skin. She needed more, more, more. Feyre pulled his cock free, and he kicked of his underwear. One of his hands reached the band of her own panties, a finger dipping into her core, then slowly circling her clit.

It was too much and not enough and she needed more. Rhys slid off her underwear, and all of a sudden there was nothing between them. «Do you have a condom?» Feyre didn’t know how she managed to form words at this point, but he reached behind her and grabbed one. Feyre took it and rolled it on him, while his mouth explored every inch of her breasts, and his hand slowly stroked the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs.

Feyre needed him inside her, now. She lined his cock up with her entrance, then she looked him in the eyes. He took her hint, slowly, oh so slowly, pushing himself in, not breaking eye contact.

Feyre moaned at the feeling of him filling her, widening her. He was thick and warm and it felt amazing. She pulled his mouth to hers, and he pressed his tongue inside her, filling her in two places. He pulled out slightly, then pushed in to the hilt this time. Rhys groaned at the sensation, his hand still drawing circles over her clit.

It felt so good, she was seeing stars. The wave inside her rising and rising with no end as Rhys picked up his pace, slamming to the hilt and hitting that magic spot every. damn. time.

Words like more or faster or deeper filled the warm air around them. Rhys buried his head between her shoulder and neck, moaning her name. Feyre felt her pussy clench around him, nearing that sweet, sweet edge. «Rhys, I need to…»

He seemed to understand what she meant, because he went even faster, fingers pressing down against her clit, and fuck it felt so good! His eyes met her eyes, his forehead pressed against her forehead, and she felt his words as a breath against her lips. «Come, Feyre.»

Those words pushed her over the edge immediately, wave crashing over her like nothing ever had before. It lasted a lifetime. That sweet, unending pleasure. She clenched around him again and again, until he started losing control, losing rhythm, and at last he came with her, groaning.

When it was over, the world around them went quiet. The sun was shining through the curtains, a new day beginning, Rhys collapsed on top of Feyre, stroking her disheveled hair away from her face. «That was…» she didn’t know how to end that sentence. She wanted to stay here with him forever. Just the two of them. Skin to skin.

Rhys looked at her, amusement coloring his face. «Intense?» he suggested. Feyre chuckled, tapping her fingers against his chest. He pulled out, turned on his back, taking her with him, so that she lay on his chest, ear placed right over his heart.

«I was gonna go with best sex of my life, but intense works too I guess.» He laughed at that. A warm, loud laughter that she could feel in her whole body. He kissed the top of her head, and pulled a blanked over them.

As Feyre lay there, feeling Rhys draw slow circles on her back, listening to the waves, letting the steady beat of his heart and the sound of his even breaths lull her to sleep, she knew that nothing would ever be the same after this night. She felt almost electric with excitement over what the rest of the summer would bring. One thing she was sure of, Rhys would be part of it.

[nebulawritings]

Birthday Massage

This is pure, unabashed, indulgent smut, people. Re-write of The Nanny Affair Chapter Four. There is dialect and writing taken directly from the Choices app, which they own the content and characters of. MC is Anna. Enjoy! Written in the Second Person (like the app). First time I’ve written in that style.

Choices Stories You Play: The Nanny Affair

Pairing: F!MC (Anna) x M!Sam

Reading Time: ~ 5 minutes

Warning: Mature content. Buckets of it. If you’re not old enough, behave and don’t read.

__________________________________________________________

“Goodnight, everyone”. Fuming, not looking back, you return to your room and sit heavily on your bed, still unsure of what happened. You’re holding the massage bar you bought for Sam, having not put it down after trying to tidy a little, just before Sofia arrived. Huffing, you pull out your phone to text the one friend you know who’ll understand.

OMG Sofia is here –  Anna 

WAT!!! – Jenny

She dropped in unannounced during Sam’s bday dinner. She’s freaking terrible! You should’ve seen the way she was treating everyone. She LITERALLY called me the help – Anna

Gross. Wat did Sam say – Jenny

Nothing. – Anna

EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME?! – Jenny

He tried. But Sofia kept talking over him. Honestly, I think Sam was too shocked to do more – Anna

I hope so. Cuz otherwise. WTF – Jenny

I don’t know, Jen, there’s no way I can compete with that. She bought the boys Armani watches. ARMANI, JENNY, ARMANI– Anna

Listen, babe, u gotta sho him wat he’s missing out on. Remember the bar boy in Miami? – Jenny

OMG when are you going to stop using Miami guy against me?! – Anna

All I’m sayin is dat you worked harder for that, and he wasn’t a hot stuff multi-gajillionaire! Did Miami guy leave the gala with Lucy Street? Nuh uh, gurl, he left wit you – Jenny

You‘re halfway through responding when a knock on your door pries you away from the phone screen. If it’s Sofia with dry cleaning or something I swear I’m not accountable for my actions you think to yourself, before opening the door to find that Sam is standing in your doorway, shirt unbuttoned and chest bare, looking tired and dishevelled and yet, somehow, still incredibly sexy.

“Anna…”

“Sam, hey…Is everything okay?”. You’re surprised to see him at your door, and you try to push the thoughts of why he’s turned up, looking like that, to see you from your mind.

“Can we talk? Sofia is gone, and the boys are down for the night”.

At the mention of her name you feel anger bubbling up, and your expression hardens. “I was about to go to bed, actually”.

“It won’t take long. I need to apologize for what happened”.

Sam touches his neck tenderly and releases a heavy sigh. Your hands itch to help him relieve some of that tension, to stroke him, to touch him…His gaze meets yours, pleading with you.

“Please. I don’t like how we left things back there”.

Your resolve wavers, and your mind flicks back to the conversation you had with Jenny. To the small, delicate package folded neatly in your bathroom, an impulse buy when you’d been out with the boys earlier that you’d hoped would be an extra surprise for Sam, should the night have gone that way. It hadn’t, not with the entrance of Sofia, but she was gone now. After a lingering look, you step back and give Sam space to enter the room. You close the door behind him and turn, gasping softly when you find him surprisingly close.

“I’m so sorry, Anna. I never should’ve let Sofia talk to you that way. I should’ve been more insistent that she stop immediately, instead of trying to wait for an opening ”.

Sam reaches out and places his hands over your shoulders. You tense, wanting him to touch you and leave you alone all at once. “Sam…Why didn’t you stop her right away?”. You feel a little betrayed, although the goosepimples rising where his warm hands rest on your skin do nothing to hide your other feelings about him.

“I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the boys…But that’s no excuse. Especially since Sofia ended up doing that anyway” he replied, remorseful.

“She made me feel like I wasn’t even there, Sam”.

“I told her that was completely unacceptable as soon as I finished putting the boys to bed”.

Despite everything, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Of course she didn’t put them to bed, wouldn’t want to break a nail. You try not to be too smug, although the thought of her wrestling them into bed makes it hard not to smile more. “Oh?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, “Aunt Sofia didn’t want to do it?”.

Sam hesitates. “She…struggles with them. I decided to save us all an hour or two and take over”.

You meet Sam’s gaze, and feel yourself start to thaw a bit. His hands slip away from your shoulders, causing you to shiver as they go.  

“Sam…I forgive you”. You smile softly. “You make it hard to stay mad at you”.

“Good”.

Your expressions sours. “It’s not the same as an apology from her, though. Also, why isn’t Sofia here, talking to me herself? Is she too good to apologize to ‘the help’”. You make speech marks in the air, and Sam winces a little, clearly uncomfortable at you referring to yourself like that.

“I told her to go home. I just…”. He sighs. “I just wanted to enjoy what was left of my birthday. Everything had been so perfect…until she got here”.

You notice how he looks tense, as he rubs his shoulders with a pained expression. “I just got these knots out, and they’re already back”.

Your mind flicks to the massage bar, to the package wrapped up in your bathroom, and you make an instant decision. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve seen Sam as a thoughtful, kind person who wants to make the world a better place; and someone like Sofia was not going to be anywhere near good enough for him. Or the boys. Aside from that, he was gorgeous; and Jenny was right. You knew how to play the game, and play it you would. “Maybe I can do something about that for you”. You move behind Sam and slip your palms over his shoulders, digging your thumbs into the tense muscles. He groans loudly, and you relish in the sound.

“Ohmygod…That feels…But you’ve already done more than enough, Anna”.

You smile, kneading harder. “Not as far as these knots are concerned”. Sam moans again and you shiver at the noise, resolve hardening with every passing moment. Your lips find his ear, speaking just above a whisper. “Tell me where it hurts”.

“A little higher. Almost – Ohhhh…”.

You dig your thumbs harder into his back, and you feel him melt into your touch. “You should get on the bed” you whisper into his ear boldly. You see Sam swallow, and he looks at you for a long moment before obeying. Your mind wanders, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. You watch Sam stretch out on the bed, facing away from you, and you smile. “I’ll be five minutes” you promise, “could you take your pants off?”. You slip into your ensuite before he could ask questions.

A little more than five minutes later and you emerge, Sam still facing away from you.

“You know” he muses, hearing the ensuite door open, “I think you’re one of the only people who’ve kept me waiting and I’m not…”. His voice trails off as he turns to look at you, and he swallows hard. “Anna…”.

You blush at the way he stares at you, but you stand firm. Slowly you move over to the bed, the white silk dressing gown you’re wearing not doing anything to hide the lacy, red bra and matching thong you’d changed into, nothing else covering you. You’d chosen the deep red to compliment your skin, and you looked killer, if you did say so yourself. Then again, by the look on Sam’s face, you didn’t need to tell yourself that he liked what he saw. “Would you like a massage, Mr Dalton?” you purred, licking your lower lip as you approached the edge of the bed, slipping the silken gown off painfully slowly.

“I…You-“

“Shhh” you whisper, smiling softly. You reach over to the massage bar and straddle his back, a warm wave of pleasure rippling through you as your bare skin touches his, pleasantly surprised that he’d obeyed, and was now only wearing his boxers (the shirt also discarded on the floor). You rub the bar over your hands, making them slick with the sweet-smelling oil, before you splay them on his shoulders. Sam groans immediately, and you bite your lip, mapping every contour of his toned back and shoulders; admiring the tanned skin on show.

“You feel…That feels…” he mutters, shifting and squirming under your touch as you move your hands lower, daring to slip beneath the material of his boxers, toying with his hips and butt. Sam inhales sharply, and you note his toes and fingers curling. “Ohhh…Christ, Anna…What are you doing to me”.

You shiver, the way his voice aches your name making a pool of excitement rise up within you. “Good things, I hope” you replied, bending down. Your breasts press against his back as you whisper in his ear. “Sam, I…” you couldn’t say anything else, as his lips caught your own in a passionate kiss. All thoughts of what you were going to say drifted away and you allow yourself to be pulled down, the room spinning as he flips you over; now looking down at you with hungry eyes. The way you watch them rake over your body makes you giddy, and you shift beneath him. “No fair” you mutter, placing your hands flat against his chest. “I wasn’t done”. You push back and Sam lets you, laughing a little as you settle on-top of him again, facing him this time.

“You look incredible” he muttered, daring to slide his hands over your body. “Is this part of my birthday gift?”. His voice is husky with want, his hands toying with your bra.

“It is” you reply, sliding down his front. “Now, let me show you how else I can work my hands”.

Sam inhales sharply and swears under his breath as you rub the front of his boxers, delighted at his obvious excitement. Slowly you pull them down, your face now next to his hips, and you gasp softly, feeling that desire building up in your core again as you looked upon him. “Why, Mr Dalton” you muttered, gently taking him in your hand, “you kept this quiet, didn’t you?”. You watch gleefully as he opened his mouth to respond, only for his reply to melt into a guttural groan, your hand now pumping his cock, thumb swiping over the head where a bead of pre-cum had appeared.

“Don’t stop” he pleads, “that feels so good…Don’t stop…”.

His voice and his words spur you on, your own anticipation building and building. You bend your head and lick the tip of his cock, a sudden gasp from Sam all the permission you need to take him into your mouth. You bob up and down, moaning around his girth, your mouth full and dripping with saliva and precum, dribbling down your chin. Unable to take it anymore, you slip a free hand underneath the lacy material of your thong, and you run gentle circles over your clit; moaning harder.

“Anna, I-I can’t-!” Sam groans, his hips bucking into your mouth. You moan louder, preparing for his release, when you suddenly find yourself being flipped over. You gasp as his fingers find your soaking core, and he starts to rub, desperately, making you squirm and cry out. “Sam!” you beg, melting under his ministrations. Your cries were smothered by a desperate, passionate kiss and you eagerly returned it, your tongue swiping over his as he positioned himself over you, all the while moving his fingers in just the right way to make you putty in his hands.

His eyes, dark and foggy with lust, found yours and you nod in answer to the silent question. You wrap your arms around his back, clinging onto him desperately as he slips inside you, groaning loudly as he pushes in, slowly, savouring it.

“Ohhhh God….Sam, please” you beg now, bucking your hips in time with his as he thrusts in and out of you, again and again, hitting that sweet spot oh so deep inside. You’ve never felt anything like it, stars already blinding your vision but still riding the high; building over and over. “Please…!”.

“I’m not…I don’t” he says, voice strained, shaking his head.

“It’s okay!” you promise desperately, tugging him close and being forever grateful that Jenny had talked you into getting an IUD. “You can trust me, I swear just – Don’t stop. It’s okay, please. I need you to..! Please, Sam!”.

His resolve wavers and his lips meet yours again in a crashing embrace. “Anna-!” he cries out, finally, pressing himself into you fully as he comes undone, thrusting and groaning as he finishes deep inside of you.

Your own orgasm follows soon after, and you shiver uncontrollably, writhing beneath him as your nails dig into his back, shaking as you desperately cling to eachother, each one of you moving and grinding in sheer bliss

You slowly come down from your high, although you stayed connected for a while, laying together and enjoying the comforting silence and comedown.

“I’m glad these walls are insulated for noise control” Sam mutters, absently mindedly playing with a strand of your hair. “I wouldn’t want you to stay quiet if that’s what’s in store…Your voice is so damn sexy”.

You laugh and slap his chest, before running your hands over the skin. “I take it this means your not mad or…Gunna chuck me out?”.

Sam sits back, stared deeply into your eyes. “I would never” he whispers gently, stroking your cheek. “But what this means I…I don’t know”.

You nod, understanding, and rest your head against him. “Can we just enjoy this?” you ask softly, as you feel his grip tighten around you.

“I would like nothing more” he replied.

You feel a gentle kiss on your head and you sigh, content, slowly drifting off to sleep in his arms.

[green-blooded-computer]

A Guide to RPing on Tumblr

I’ve been getting a lot of questions lately, so here’s my complete walkthrough on how to create a Tumblr RP blog. 

If you’d rather view on a Google Doc, here’s a link.

Enjoy.

Create Blog

Howdy, so the first thing you’ll have to do is click ‘register’ and make yourself a blog. You also have the choice of making a sideblog instead. I’m a person who likes to have this separated, so if you are only thinking of playing a couple characters, this might be the way to go for you. Here’s the difference between main/side blogs (taken from Tumblr’s help center):

Choose any url for now (we’ll talk about that later), and go to the next section.

Please note: When you make a new blog, it won’t show up in the search/people’s notifications for a bit of time (a day or so). Make sure you validate your email address asap. 

Get xKit

If you haven’t installed xKit, I highly suggest it. Go to their blog here, and get it for Chrome, Firefox, Edge, or Opera.

What is it? A little toolkit to make Tumblr easier to use.

When you install it, it’ll pop up on your top bar thing next to the lightning bolt like this:

It’s that thing with the x’s on it.

When you click the x’s this pops up:

Brill.

You can click ‘Get Extensions’ at the bottom and basically choose whatever you want, but may I recommend the following:

1) Editable Reblogs allows you to edit reblogs. Right. This is good because when you are replying to RP threads they tend to get rather long. Some advice that was given to me when I started: when you add your reply, delete everything before your partner’s last reply. So you should have your partner’s post and your post and that’s all. You just click ‘reblog’ and it pops up like normal, except now there’s this little guy:

If you click that, it will make everything in your reblog box editable.

2) One-Click Postage gives you a little box if you hover over the reblog button. It lets you reblog, queue, draft, tag, and add replies right from that page. You can even choose which blog (main/side) you want it to go to.  It looks like this:

The rest I will just say play around with! They are easy to add and take away.

Decide what kind of blog you want.

Multimuse Vs. Single muse: 

Do you want to play one character or a bunch of them? If you choose one character, your blog icon and theme will presumably feature that character or something to do with them. If you choose to focus on one, you should have info about your character available on your blog somewhere. If you choose to have more than one muse, you’ll need a list of the characters you offer and some info about them. 

When choosing a url for a multimuse, choose something that encompasses the spirit of you and your characters.

When choosing a url for a single muse, I go for quotes, nicknames, something about where they are from, what they like, their name, etc. Note: if you have dashes in your url (like mine @strings-have-been-cut) these won’t work with tags. People will have to turn them into separate words or one big word.

I do not have a multimuse, but I have seen them done all sorts of ways. Some people offer characters from all different fandoms, some are just one fandom, one genre, OCs, canons, a mixture...you can do what you like. 

If your blog is not affiliated with any sort of organized game, this is referred to as ‘independent’ often shortened to ‘idie’. 

Your blog description should mention which kind it is. For example: a sci-fi multimuse blog; a Star Trek OC blog; an indie Bill S. Preston Esq. from Bill and Ted RP blog. Details help sometimes. 

Canon Character Vs. Original Character

If you decide to make a canon character, make sure you have it clear somewhere where they are from! Canon characters can be canon divergent (your own version), they can crossover into other fandoms, they can be exactly as they are in your favourite book/show/movie/podcast...each version of a canon is unique and lovely.

If you decide to make an original character, make sure you give plenty of info about them! You want to tell people what fandom they fit into or if they are fandomless. ‘About’ pages are really important for OCs because there is no fanbase for them (yet!).

What should be in your description?

When someone clicks your blog, they will first see a dash preview sort of thing. It shows a description and a small header, along with the posts you’ve made. This description also shows up somewhere on your actual blog and on the top of the page on mobile view. It’s a great spot to give all the info about your blog real quick. I always include the following:

What is it? (Independent Data from Star Trek RP blog)

Age restrictions (21+)

Who you will RP with (mutuals only is called ‘private’ and choosing who you follow back is called ‘selective’.)

Mun’s name (played by [insert your name])

Possibly a link to your about/rules for easy access on desktop and mobile. I’ll talk about this more below. I call this ‘navigation’, but it varies. Note: if you edit your icon/dash header, any html links seem to go away. I’ve needed to go back into the theme customizer and add them back in. To add a link to your description, go into your customizer, go to the description section, and add the html as follows:

<a href=”url goes here”>link text goes here</a>

So mine is: <a href=”https://data-all-in-one.carrd.co”>Indie Data from Star Trek blog.</a>

The description for my Data blog reads: ‘Indie Data from Star Trek RP blog. Click here for navigation. 21+. Private/selective. Played by Fool.

What should be on this blog?

In my experience, you need a couple of pages on your blog to get you started:

About the character - basically a biography

Rules - so people know what you are about

About the mun - so people can know about the person they are writing with

Possibly a link to your ‘ask memes’ tag - see below.

These can be organized however you like, but people tend to look for a few specific things.

About the Character

This should read like a biography. Back in the day, we used to call them ‘character apps’ and they had all your basic info about the character. Sometimes this section contains a subsection called ‘verses’ in which the mun spells out what universes they exist in. Say I had an AU where Data owns an arcade in San Francisco in the 80’s. I’d list that as one of his ‘verses’. This is extremely important for OCs, but very helpful for canons too. 

Data has four: TNG era, TNG movie era, AU where he lives after Nemesis, AU where he’s around during Star Trek: Picard. I gave a little info about both. 

Rules

Rules are usually organized into the things people are looking for before they start playing with you. Some good info to include: 

Mun age

Your policy on adult content

How you deal with tagging triggers

Your policy on following back

Your policy on writing with mutuals vs. anyone

Do you allow personal blogs (non RP blogs) to follow you?

How fast do you reply?

How does your tagging system work?

How do you deal with shipping? 

Here is a link to my usual Rules page for reference. Remember, it’s not wrong if it’s different than mine!

Note: People will look for how old you are. Many people in the RPC are adults, and they want to write with people their own age. If your age is not posted somewhere clearly, they may not follow you back. 

About the Mun 

This is really just a little blurb about you. Some people include their age here. Some people include links to their other blogs. Some people include their Discord info, as that’s really popular right now. It’s just nice to know who you are writing with.

It’s important to note that there are different ways to present all of these blogs. Some people have them as pages on their Tumblr blog itself, some people put all of this (Bio, About, Rules, etc) in a Google Doc and link it, some people use Carrd.co - there are a ton of ways. A friend of mine did this amazing post about some options out there. I personally go for Carrd.co, seeing as I am on mobile a lot and I find it very helpful, but it’s up to you. 

Now I have a blog with all the info. How do I get started?

Well there are a few things you can do to get yourself out there.

Make yourself a promo. It’s basically an advertisement for your blog. If you aren’t good at graphics, you can head to an RP Resource blog and see if they have any you can use with their permission. You can also just post a picture with some info. For me, the info on this promo matches that of my blog description - I want people to know what I’m all about as soon as they look at it. Then you can tag for your appropriate fandom RP. Your mutuals will likely reblog to help spread the word. Yay.

Find a directory for your RPC by searching in the search. This will allow you to a) reblog your info and be listen in a place where people can find you and b) allow you to find others in your RPC in an organized way. Then you can go through, find people you think you’d like to follow, and follow them. 

Make a starter or plotter call. This is, again, just a picture or graphic and some information about it. Here is one I made for Data specifically asking for Picard threads:

I asked for a specific universe and a specific character here. I also put all relative tags in case someone is just searching Tumblr (although I think it’s more for the people who follow me). Here’s a simpler one I made for B-4 that’s a lot more open. 

They don’t have to be super fancy. 

When people see a starter call, they can like your post. This is a quick an easy way to let you know they are interested in a thread. 

4. Ask Memes. Asks are invaluable. There are whole blogs dedicated to ask memes that you can post to your blog, and these can be really easy ways for people to come up with plot ideas or just to read some of your writing. I always keep a link on my blog to everything tagged ‘ask meme’ so if people want to find a meme they have choices!

It seems like there’s a certain aesthetic on these new fangled RP blogs. Do I have to do that?

No! But you can, if you want. If you aren’t good at coding and graphics, there are a lot of RP resource sites that can help you. (Can I recommend this one?) It is nice to have things like a face claim, a nice looking promo, a cool theme, etc. but at the end of the day, we all just want to write and have fun.

Advice?

Look, I’ve only been RPing on Tumblr for a couple of months and I am by NO MEANS an expert. I have gotten all of this knowledge through the help of friends and nice strangers willing to answer questions for me. Here are a few things I have picked up:

Respect people’s rules - We are all shy and all have our own thing going on. If someone says they’re uncomfortable doing one thing, just like...don’t do it.

Talk to other people - Don’t ignore the mun! Unless they really want you to. It’s better to ask questions, compliment writing, talk about your plots and stuff...it’s so much harder than trying to figure out what the other person feels/wants.

Ask questions - I’m a 6th grade teacher, and I get a million and fuckton questions every minute usually. It’s been eye-opening, because now I’m all about asking questions about everything all the time. I think knowledge is amazing. People know all different things, and the most logical way to be a productive society is to share knowledge (that’s one of the main teachings of Surak) so ask some questions! Hell, ask me some questions! Reach out to someone who seems nice!

Okay, that’s all. Good luck!

[kerwritesthings]

California Calling

Summary: It’s just what you do when you love someone

Word Count: 2,340

Warnings: fluff, a teeny tiny blip of heart hurt, but then more fluff

Author Note: Another one of those hitting me out of nowhere pieces. Maybe it’s all the pretty from this past week/weekend? Maybe? I really don’t know. I opened a word doc and next thing I knew I had 500 words, then it somehow made its way up to this 2.3k we’re sitting at now. And in like 2.5 hours? I don’t question the muse anymore. 

All I know is this little world will not let me go. I think I’m ok with that. I’ve already got two additional pieces rough sketched in my head. One that falls between part two (Warmth of the Morning) and this that is definitely a little naughtier, the other happening after this one. First part can be read here, second part here.

After that weekend together, after that afternoon when you spent more time tangled up in each other and the sheets than you expected, you made up your mind to push your flight up. Literally, the moment he was out the door to catch his flight you had your phone in hand looking at options. You want a bit more time with him, the time you had as lovely as it was, just wasn’t enough. You have the PTO at work, and if you need to pull a couple late nights and a Saturday in to do it, so be it. He is worth it.

The two of you talk, and you knew after your time in LA, it wasn’t going to be nearly as bad as the last few months had been. You have a few dates blocked out in both your calendars already that were meant for the two of you, and the two of you only - even with him not knowing exactly what his schedule was looking like.

“Don’t care,” he says, dusting a kiss to your temple as you sit on the couch next to each other, calendar and notes apps open. “I’ll schedule around it. This is important, you’re important.”

The thought of that making you smile as you start to make your plans to pull off a surprise of your own. Knowing you wouldn’t be able to pull this off alone, you think quickly of who the best cohort in your new scheme of plans would be and more so who was out in LA that could be trusted with a secret.  

Thinking about coming in early, wanna help me surprise him C? You’re the one who can make shit happen for him and not give away anything! you shoot off in a quick text before digging back into flights on phone while balancing and cross referencing your massive work planner across your knees. Finding a direct flight was harder than you thought, but if you push up a self-imposed deadline, you’d be able get out first thing Wednesday morning instead of the original late-night flight Friday. Plus, you’d still have the whole week after as originally planned.  

Good weekend then? :) Only if I get to deliver you from the airport and see Shawn fall ass over teakettle in person when you get in early. He’s been good, but you can tell how much he misses home. And you. I’m in, so just tell me what I need to do and when. Nothing’s crazy the week leading into the show just writing and studio time, so we can make things work. Will be good to see you, been too long!

You smile, grateful that his work family has in turn become an extension of yours.

Thanks – looking at flights now and seeing what I can do with the office. Stay tuned and will text you everything shortly. You’re a good man.

After a bit of maneuvering on your side with a promise to your boss, who is a saint and adores your boyfriend, that you’d be available via phone or text and only in the dire case of any blow ups those few extra days all the things began to fall into place. Now, to keep this close to the chest and not give anything away.

The night before you’re due to leave, you almost slip.

“You’re avoiding me,” he whines through the speaker of your phone. “Don’t pick up my FaceTime, ignore my first call, leave my texts on read. I see how it is.”

You know he’s joking, but you also can hear the slight tinge of disappointment backing his voice. It’s been a bit of a chase the last few days. Quick calls, most of which miss each other, texts on the fly and no FaceTime.

“I’m sorry baby. I’m trying to get all this work done before I leave,” you say, throwing some of your last-minute purchases into the open suitcase on your bed, including another little surprise for him. “No distractions while I’m out there. Just you, me and that LA sunshine.”

“I know, and I don’t mean to sound petulant. I’m sorry,” he sighs and takes a breath. “We haven’t had a ships passing in the night beat like this since the thick of the last tour block. I’m feeling stuck on things in the studio though everyone says it’s solid and, shit I just miss you honey.”

You plop on the edge of the bed, running a hand over your face. It hurts your heart hearing him this way, but you know all this is for a reason. You cannot tell him; it’s going to be all worth it tomorrow morning when he walks into the studio to you. “I’m going to finish this last thing and then pull together a playlist for you. Some stuff I’ve been noodling on, some old favorites, couple off that sleepy playlist of mine you swear up and down you don’t like, but I know you listen to. I’ll listen to it too, so it’ll feel like we’re together cuddled down listening to it. We’re almost there. Couple more days and nights, then I’m there.”

“I love you,” he says easily, full of affection. You could hear the vestiges of whatever was eating at him starting to slip away. You say your goodnights and you were both off. The playlist wasn’t something you planned on, but it shouldn’t take you too long to pull together. Plus, you could sleep in the car on the way to the airport and on the plane. Making him feel better, feel loved – the loss of a little sleep was nothing compared to that.

Landing in Los Angeles is always something that brings a special feeling, it’s a strange mix of trepidation and excitement. Luckily there was no issues with the flight, so you land on time and can make it through the gates towards baggage claim fairly unscathed. As you made your way down the escalator, there in sunglasses and a hat to blend in with the other drivers awaiting passengers, with your name on a sign and a Starbucks in hand, is your partner in crime.

“You didn’t need to come in,” you say chuckling before wrapping him in a hug.

“Your boy would box my ears if I did a drive by pick up and you know that,” he quips, kissing your cheek before trading your bag for the Starbucks cup in his hand. “Come on, let’s get your other bag and get up to the studio. He thinks they’re swapping out some equipment so that’s why they have to have a later start.”

“Genius call, and he’d only believe that from you. He’s got no clue, does he?” you ask with a Cheshire cat grin as the carousel starts to spin.

Making your way through the masses and to the garage wasn’t too much of a time suck, you were still on target. It was LA so there was going to be traffic no matter what, but landing as early as you did was a at least a little helpful since you were heading straight across town and then some since the boys made the new place by the beach home base for this go.

“Should I be worried that you’re quiet? Normally you’re talking my ear off by now if we haven’t seen each other in this long,” he asks, the care tinging through his tone as he makes his way up onto the PCH.

You shake your head, “No, no not at all Cez, sorry. Late night last night, late nights all last week to make this happen. All worth it though when I see his face.”

He reaches over,  squeezing the hand resting on the cup between you. “I’m glad you have each other and love each other the way you do. I always worried he’d not find his person, so wrapped up in the work and so focused. I remember the day after he met you the first time. He had a different smile that morning. I knew right away, even when he probably didn’t. You were something special for him, to him. You understand and respect this crazy bullshit we’re in, which takes a whole other level of care and person to get. Helps you’re a bad ass in your own right. I’m just happy he’s happy, and that you’re happy. That you’re happy together like this? Best thing.”

“Damnit don’t make me cry what little makeup I have on all off,” you sniff out. “I love him. It’s just that simple. It’s not easy, god you know that. But I would rather deal with all this than not have him and love him. Why you do the crazy shit like this.”

It’s only a few minutes later that you’re heading off the highway and winding your way through the still quiet streets. Finally, you pull up to a set of dark gates, well hidden with greenery.

“They basically took a pre-development boom location, this old 50’s old beach house with its massive garage and converted it. It’s a pretty solid setup, off the beaten path and not well known, but it’s state of the art. I can see this becoming a regular thing with the ‘shed. Plus, it’s a quick wander down to the water from here,” he explains as the gates pull back and you head through.

Your phone pings as you pull to a stop and open the car door.

Finished at the gym and off to the studio. Nothing cray so just call when you can today, love you xo <3

“Perfect timing, he’s on his way up. Have I said thank you yet Cez? Because…” you start before being wrapped up in another hug.

“You’re family, don’t even,” he says, dropping a kiss on your forehead. “I’ll go stash your bags, just head through to the studio. Door is around that cluster of birch trees. I’m also on good knowledge that big leather couch is good to curl up on for a nap. I’ll make sure to head in with him. I don’t think the rest of the guys are due in until a little after him, he wanted to work a run by himself first.”

You make your way into the studio space and it’s better than described, or from the photos Shawn has sent along. It’s so easy to see why this will fall into a place where he feels comfortable and creative. Warm wood, windows, well-worn rugs and the infamous camel colored couch. It’s easy to sink into the cool leather and down into the cushions, sliding into a dozy twilighty state – not quite sleeping but not quite awake.

You hear voices, which bring you more towards full consciousness, but you stay cozied into the couch.

“I want to get this one track done before everyone decides to come in and have opinions, thought of something last night and I just want to have it down first,” your boyfriend prattles on as you hear him push open the door, dropping what’s probably his backpack and guitar case onto the floor. “Though I think I need to hash the last of the lyrics out first, maybe. I’ve got time though.”

You see his feet first, then his legs, realizing he’s not paying attention to the couch at all or realizing that you’re there. He’s just standing there, chatting. Not a care to what’s actually behind him or a second thought to the couch whatsoever. You look past his legs, seeing the smile creeping up over Cez’s face as he realizes that Shawn still has no clue what’s awaiting him.

“You may want to kiss your girlfriend hello first though before all of that,” you try to say as seriously as possible, but break out into giggles at the end. “Surprise baby!”

He turns on his heels so quickly that he’s tangled up in himself and in a heap on the floor next to the couch, laughter peeling out from all of you in the room.

“Now that. That was totally worth it. Hope you like your gift, Shawn. Gonna leave you two alone for a bit,” Cez says with a nod before backing out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Shawn is just shaking his head, pulling himself to sit upright, before bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“You, you’re, I just. You,” he murmurs, thumbs brushing ever so carefully across your cheekbones.

“It was my turn, so. I figured go big or go home right? I figured we could use a couple extra days together before everything this weekend. It’s going to be a lot. We know that. And I knew I’d be missing you at this point. I changed my flight literally before you boarded yours back here. I still have all next week too. This is added bonus,” you reply. “I was packing when you called last night, it’s why I couldn’t hop on FaceTime. I didn’t want to give anything away. I was so close to telling you, but I knew I’d see you today. Hearing you last night though, I knew I made the right call to come out here early.”

He just looks at you so softly, so intently. Not saying anything, but still keeping his eyes on you he moves his right hand to slide into your hair, cupping your head and bringing you closer to him until you are nose to nose. Nuzzling against you ever so slightly, nose sliding against yours like a whisper, his eyes slip closed and he exhales. “I am so lucky that you love me, that you made the decision that I’m worthy of your love,” he sighs out, lips just a hair from yours. “I don’t know what I did to deserve this and you, but I’m so damn grateful. I love you, so much.”

He presses in, kissing the breath straight out of you.

Yep. It was absolutely worth it.

TAG LIST: @loveat2am, @sinplisticshawn, @hollandraul​, @whenidance​

[thewholeworldatyourfeet]

Crashing The Crease

So this is an original story I’ve been working on (note: it’s not done or even close and I haven’t edited it much at all) but I thought that once upon a time you sunflowers enjoyed my writing so maybe you could enjoy this? It’s a mess I know and if you want to find it’s blog it’s here. I never posted much but I’m thinking with the looming hurricane I might spend some much needed time working on it. Figured might as well share? So here is the little intro chapter if you’re interested.

The sound of the alarm blaring jostled Melody from her slumber and she grumbled as her hand shot out and felt around for the offending hunk of blue plastic. She pushed herself into a sitting position and allowed a yawn to escape her lips as she heaved herself off the bed, unable to keep from stumbling as her feet hit the moss colored carpet. Her hands pressed down over her eyes, blocking her sight from the offending morning sun, which bounced harshly off the too-white walls. The gesture offered her one last moment of peace before she could even begin to think about putting her room back to its normal order. She made a move towards the bathroom, leaving the light lavender sheets crumpled up at the foot of her bed and the matching pillow remained hanging haphazardly off the side of her twin extra-long mattress.

Her fingers deftly pulled her mahogany colored strands through the now familiar routine of her matching Dutch braids. She examined the product in the mirror and shrugged as she gave up on making them perfect; they never were- despite countless attempts they just never quite matched. She debated with her makeup bag before she tossed it aside, forgoing the time it would take to do it, so that she could prepare herself a cup of coffee instead. Her olive toned eyes stood out she mused to herself, as they seemed to be enhanced by the deep purple bags that had taken up resident underneath. She stared at her reflection for another beat before flicking off the light and moving back into her room.

She opened her wardrobe and stared into it, unseeingly. After a hesitation and a moment of debate, she shut the doors and pulled opened a drawer, grabbing a t-shirt from the haphazardly folded stack. She pulled it up to her nose and sniffed, pleased to find it still smelled of her clean meadow laundry detergent. She pushed the drawer closed with her hip as she pulled her pajama top off and tossed it into the almost bursting hamper. She looked at the mirror on her vanity before reaching for her trusty baseball cap, which she pulled down securely over her head. The bright blue stood out amongst the monotone of her outfit and she smiled at her reflection as her fingers brushed over the brim. Satisfied with her appearance, she slung her bag over her arm and made her way out of the bathroom, back past her unmade bed and into the kitchen where she discarded her bag into the first empty chair she came across.

She moved over to the island and after making sure there was a coffee cup and fresh pod of coffee in the machine, she leaned back against the counter with her phone secured in her hand. She scrolled through the app as she half-listened to the sound of the sacred elixir slowly being poured into her favorite mug. Her finger moved quickly over the glass of her phone as she searched for any new information before she gave up and shoved her phone deep down into her pocket. She chose instead to use her time to add cream to her mug and steal an extra moment to breathe in the robust aroma. With her cup in her hand and caffeine beginning to slowly work its way into her system, Melody figured she was as ready as she was ever going to be to face her day.

Her apartment door clicked shut behind her and she unconsciously reached to feel for her keys in the back pocket of her bag. She let out an unnecessary breath of relief at the familiar feeling her small wallet, which had her room key attached. She took another deep pull of her coffee before making her way down the sidewalk and out into the chaos that was college kids scrambling to get to class on time.

Melody made her way further onto campus, stopping momentarily to study the sky that was currently blue but had grey clouds looming in the distance, threatening to douse the young adults milling about the school as soon as it was given the opportunity. She shook her head with a smile, before taking one last deep breath and heading up the three short steps, which lead to Jackson Hall, her home away from home.

The lobby was large, but filled with seats and students standing around chatting, most of them decked out in their school’s midnight blue scrubs. Most of them had a styrofoam coffee cup in their hand and a stricken expression on their faces; she remembered those days. She smiled at them and nodded when she passed the small group, as if the simple gesture would let them know they could do it, that they could make it if they just kept trying. Melody made her way down the hallway, and began to feel the fluttering of nerves in her stomach as she neared the familiar room. She held her hand out and let her knuckles rasp on the dark colored wood. After a grunt of acknowledgement, she shook her head with a small smile and pushed her way into the small, cluttered office space.

His desk was cluttered with various papers, some yellow, some white, and some spilling out of the forgotten manila envelopes. On his walls were posters, some of which were curling in at the edges and some were even barely in one-piece still; their entire fate resting upon a small piece of plain tape that served as their only bond. Melody shook her head again as she moved a random conglomeration of files from the one extra chair in his room so she could sit down.

“You know, you should really think about organizing some of this. It would make life a lot easier,” Melody teased the man with a smile as her fingers ran gently over the leaves of his severely under watered and wilting fern. Her eyes met his kind grey ones and he flashed her a large smile.

“But then how would you start the conversation every time you came to see me?”

His voice was a warm timber, a slight southern twang emphasizing the feeling of comfort to Melody. The smile he still held showed off the various wrinkles that adorned his face, many of which Melody assumed came from just the expression he was giving her now. The man reminded her of her grandfather back home, and she believed that was where the soft spot for the old man truly formed. She couldn’t help but laugh when her eyes drifted downwards, landing on the bowtie proudly on display between the lapels of his brown tweed blazer.

“Stethoscopes? Really Gordon?” The man let out a loud guffaw after the words left her mouth, and his hand reached up to finger the soft fabric. He made an exaggerated motion of straightening it before making a clicking noise with his tongue. His arm straightened as he pointed his bony, and slightly crooked finger in her direction.

“Now listen here young lady, not everyone remembers what I store up here like you do,” he started while tapping his temple with the same finger he had just been pointing in her direction, “I wear this to remind people just why there is a Dr. in front of my name.”

“No, you wear it so that the receptionist has a reason to talk to you,” Melody told him while lifting her eyebrow as if to dare him to challenge her. That once again set him off and he leaned back in his chair and allowed his hands to move and cover his face as it turned a deep crimson shade.

“You don’t fool me for one second old timer. Now why don’t you tell me why you called your favorite student here on a day where she could have slept in? Unless of course it was just so I could admire the new bowtie.”

He huffed as he glanced back at her and flashed her a mock scowl. He flashed her his index finger to signal that he needed a moment as he began to dig through the papers on his desk. Melody leaned back in her seat and took in the room again, and had to resist the urge to laugh when her eyes landed on the pile of dirty coffee mugs leaning precariously against the coffee pot that still had some of the warm brew heating. Her eyes flickered back to him, taking in the way his grey hair seemed to soften his rather sharp features, and how had it not been for a very similar meeting she would have never known that beneath the always pressed to perfection shirts and slacks, was one of the biggest softies she had ever met. She couldn’t figure out why he was making her wait, she knew that whatever he wanted to tell her wasn’t within the confines of the countless papers strewn before him, he was stalling for some reason.

“You’re here about your internship. I’m sure you saw you didn’t make it onto any of the normal rotations and I must confess that I am mostly to blame for that,” he began as he continued to dig through the seemingly unending abyss of papers. He refused to meet her eyes, as he knew he would only find a questioning look in hers.

“You’re the reason I didn’t get any of the internships I applied for?” Melody asked unable to hid the slight crack in her voice as her mind tried to process her favorite professor standing in the way of her goals. At the tone of her question he paused what he was doing and finally looked at her, the air catching in his throat as he fumbled for words trying to explain. He pulled at the bowtie as if that would help the constricted feeling he suddenly felt in his throat. He had come to think of the young woman before him as the daughter he never had and couldn’t help the sickening feeling that came with the betrayed expression that was clearly displayed on her face or the way her arms wrapped around herself.

“Ms. O’Brien, Melody, I kept you out of those internships because an old colleague of mine was hoping to hire someone this year. He wanted someone who was a quick study and wouldn’t be a problem with these particular,” he paused as if deliberating over the last word of his statement before finally deciding- “patients. I told him that I knew someone who was just right for the job. You.”

Melody was thoroughly confused and her mouth opened and closed repeatedly and her eyes clenched shut as she floundered for just what she wanted to ask first.

“What is so special about this internship and these specific patients, Dr. Rhode?” She asked as she placed emphasis on the word patient, as that had seemed to be a qualifier for him before. She leaned on the armrest of the chair and placed her chin in her palm as she regarded the man before her who seemed almost more nervous than he had been before.

“It’s for my old friend, Stavros Mark. He coaches the school hockey team, and he was hoping that I could find him an intern to help with the team’s doctor and the team’s physical therapist.”

“The hockey team? You kept me from the other internships at some of the most prestigious hospitals in our city to patch up busted hockey players?” Melody’s voice rose with every word, her disbelief clear on her face as she stumbled to her feet and managed to knock over a stack of books in her hastiness.

“I’m just asking you to think about it. Give it a chance; I think you could learn more from this experience than you actually believe. Just go home and think about it, if you decide that you aren’t up to the challenge I can still get you into one of the other programs. Plus, it’s not like you don’t have an interest in the sport,” he offered with a small reassuring smile as he watched the storm brewing behind her green irises, and her mouth pull down into a deep frown. He tapped the top of his head too with the last statement as he watched her mimic the movement. His lips pulled into a crooked grin as he watched the realization dawn on her as she fingered the familiar brim of the blue hat, her Falconers hockey team hat.

“I’ll think about it, but I make no promises Gordon.” She breathed out between clenched teeth as she bent over and picked up her backpack and slung it over her shoulder. He knew what he was doing, offering up the internship as a challenge- appealing to her competitive nature; she still needed to do some serious thinking. This was her future after all.

“That is all I ask Melody. I look forward to hearing your answer.”

[elfnerdherder]

Ill Intentions: Chapter 5

You can read Chapter 5 on Ao3 Here

Check out my Patreon Here and become a patron! Early updates, sneak peeks, and insight to future chapters and character arcs! :)

Chapter 5: Investigative Journalism

           He most certainly didn’t tell Jack Crawford or his boss Charlie what he found in his apartment.

           Without a note from the Ripper, the column was normal –as normal as questions of analysis on psychopaths and serial killers could be. He ruminated on the mystery of the unsolved ‘Snake River Killer’ in Lewiston, Idaho, and he discussed the fact that the prime suspect lived comfortably somewhere in North Carolina.

           Just to be congenial, he even called Crawford to let him know that no ‘Avid Fan’ had written.

           Ratings maintained, thankfully. Maybe the Chesapeake Ripper knew that too much was just going to sour the taste in the mouths of readers. Whoever he was, his self-control was one to be marveled at.

           The next week, more letters. He stared at the written ones, sifting through them, grabbing each one crafted from plain copier paper and setting them aside to go through first. Whenever he swallowed, he imagined he could still taste the heady flavor of the Ortolan on the back of his tongue, sordid with its questionable mode of death. He imagined he could taste his own blood, too.

           He was just working his way through another question regarding whether or not the Avid Fan was going to strike again when another letter was set on his desk, plain in manner and unobtrusive in its size. The mailman didn’t stop to talk to him as he trundled by after delivering it; Will saw it out of the corner of his eye, though, and he dropped the one he was currently reading, snatching it up and ripping the letter open with his heart beginning to pound.

Dear Will,

           You’ve become a regular hero, breaking down the aspects of the psychopaths and monsters with ease between breaks to the water cooler and lunch reminders. Does this excite you? Does it make you open your word doc. and stare at the words inside with renewed hope, that if you can gain a small following with nothing more than a few nods towards an understanding of the crazies, perhaps there’s hope for you yet?

           I want to see the sort of words you’d use to describe something outside of the comfort zone of your lumbar-supportive chair. Something where you lose, no matter what you do.

What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?

           You have one day.

                                                                                                           -Avid Fan

           He read it once, twice, three times. Instead of going to Charlie, who would no doubt encourage him to go alone, Will called Jack Crawford, grabbing his lunch as his watch beeped to tell him that it was time to eat.

           “I’m cooperating, like I promised,” he said when Jack answered. “Just…take me along with you when you go. No pictures, but…I need to see.”

           Jack took him along once he confirmed he had no cameras on his person. There were no mountains in DC, but the Blue Ridge Mountains boasted several beautiful, scenic getaways and parks. It was at one such place the next day that Will found himself staring at the beginning of a mountain trail, his blood cold.

           “I’m banking a lot on you not being like Freddie Lounds,” Jack said. On the mountain, they wore somewhat heavier coats to protect against the chill of the early fall, and agents milled about beside forest rangers, trying to establish the boundaries of the crime scene.

           Because it was very much a crime scene.

           They were hikers –if they weren’t, they were dressed like it. One lay across a boulder beside the beginning of the trail, and if the color of their skin and the amount of blood surrounding them was any indication, they had been drained completely dry. Will had never seen ribs so exposed like that; lungs, heart, and intestines completely missing to show the cavity in all its glory.

           The other lay poised over them, strung up by fine wire as they stared out glass-eyed at the nature surrounding them, either oblivious or disregarding the nature of their partner’s woes. They’d have seemed almost the peaceful, unharmed foil to the one laying down, if Agent Price hadn’t removed the beanie on top to reveal a missing brain.

           “I’m not Freddie Lounds,” said Will after what he too late realized was a rather long pause. He sighed, tucking his fingers into his jacket. “I promise you that.”

           “What the hell are you, then?” Jack wondered, and in the early morning light so high up, the wrinkles on his face were all the more prominent. “What are you that this guy’s writing to you?”

           “Hell if I know,” Will replied. He passed the letter with gloved hands back to Jack, his lip curling. “Hell if I even want to know.”

           “Mountains,” Price said, coming back from the blood and gore. “Up, up, it goes, yet never grows.” He wore a whimsical plaid hat with thick flaps on the side, and he peered up under the scruff of the bill to survey Will and Jack critically. “You have yourselves a killer with an affinity to Tolkien?”

           “He knows I’m a writer, so a writer he uses,” Will said out loud. Rebuked himself for it the moment that it was said.

           “Eyes, temperature, stiffening of the rigor mortis place time of death at about seventy-two hours or so ago,” Price continued, looking to Crawford.

           “Three days,” Jack mused. “They were moved here?”

           “Placement of the blood looks intentional, not the product of him removing organs right here,” Price replied. “He did it somewhere else, brought these babies here to set up a stage.”

           Three days. Will frowned, bit the fat of his cheek and shook his head.

           “He only gave us one day to find them,” he said, looking to Jack. “He only gave us one day, but he-”

           “Clearly intended you to never find them alive,” Jack said, smoothing over his curt words in his mellow baritone. “He’s poking you with a stick, Mr. Graham.”

           Will wanted to shout, to argue. His blood was pumping, his breath cut short as he looked back to the bodies. He was only given a day. They were killed three days ago, and he’d only given him a day. How was he supposed to outsmart him when he wasn’t playing fair? How was he supposed to help anyone when he was being hobbled right out of the gate?

           A thought wriggled in the back of his mind that it wasn’t outsmarting him when he was giving him the easiest riddles he could find. This wasn’t a game so much as it was a lesson –Will’s fun only extended as far as the Chesapeake Ripper would allow.

           “What are you thinking, Graham?” Jack prodded. Will blinked, looked back to Price and Crawford. They’d been talking? Yes, it was apparent in Price’s stance that he’d just been speaking, waiting for a response. Will wondered if there was an app that could remind him to listen and think at the same time.

           “He’d know you’re talking to me, working with me,” he said. “It’s in the news, it’s…everywhere. He wants to see what you’ll do next –what I’ll do next.”

           “And what are you going to do next, Mr. Reporter?” Price asked. It was as much sing-song as it was serious.

           “I said I’d cooperate,” Will said at last, looking from Price to Crawford. “How do you think we should handle this? The news will find out no matter what I do. But if you use me, I can control how some of the news takes it, or at the very least how much they get of it.”

           Jack thought on that, and when Will moved closer he wasn’t stopped, although he was jostled by a park ranger that scurried by, mouth pressed to a walkie-talkie. Even if Will kept a lid on things, people would know. The ranger who’d found the bodies would have most likely taken pictures, the one who came to comfort him would have texted a friend, and by the time they’d gotten to the spot, police were struggling to hold back a Channel 5 News Anchor who was dumb enough to bring the cameraman along too.

           He didn’t want to get too close, resenting the foul stench of death blending with the crisp scent of the great outdoors –pine needles and a distinct lack of car exhaust. Looking down at the victim so open, so exposed made him think about college, the students that’d cut open cadavers in lab, their hissed whispers as they left loud enough that even he heard. Take out all the organs and see what’s left inside. Gross, right? How open we are without the pieces that keep us alive?

           Just at the victim’s wrist, a watch beeped in a very familiar tone. A reminder of an unread text.

           Gloved as he was, Will lurched at the sound and grasped her wrist, sliding the jacket up to reveal a smart watch much like his, same model, make, and color. He tapped frantically at the envelope on the screen, and when it opened he let out a shout for Jack, heart racing.

           Mary Mai too kept her life organized through her smartphone and a synced watch, Mr. Graham. No one seemed to notice her attachment to the living was only held through such a small device rather than the connections of the people around her.

           Jack hauled him back, let him fall onto his ass unceremoniously in a small pile of pine needles and dirt. Jack read the message, then read it again, setting her wrist back down where Will had found it in the blood.

           “It was sent from her device,” he barked out, looking around. “I want a search for any nearby devices on this mountain, and I want it done now!”

           The agents and police scattered, leaving forensics to their job. Will sat on his ass, stunned, until Price took pity on him and helped him up, brushing something off of his back.

           “That was for me,” he rasped to Crawford, staring at his back. “That was to me.”

           “What do you have that the Chesapeake Ripper wants, Mr. Graham?” Jack asked, turning around to him.

           Will didn’t want to say it, pulse thumping erratically as it was. If he did, he’d be suspect, he’d be locked away, he’d be under scrutiny for the rest of his god damn life. His watch beeped to tell him he should either take a second cup of coffee or his first glass of water at the office, and he jolted, wheezing out a breath. Thankfully, adrenaline and excitement looked much the same physically as fear and anxiety.

           “I don’t know,” he lied, and he looked from the body to Jack, shaking his head. “I don’t know, I just…that’s her husband, isn’t it? Mr. Mai?”

           “Jack glanced at a report someone handed him, and he nodded. “Rufus Mai, age thirty-seven, married to Mary Mai, aged thirty-nine.”

           “He’s saying I…I don’t connect like others do, and no one can see. He took his brain?” A rhetorical question. He glanced to the missing top half of Rufus Mai’s skull, and he nodded. “He wasn’t smart enough to see. He wasn’t…smart enough to see she was detached from him, from their reality.”

           “And just how attached are you to this reality, Mr. Graham?” Jack asked.

           The watched beeped again, and he distractedly swiped the notification away. “Relatively attached to living and living in reality, Agent Crawford,” he said, glancing down to the body. He didn’t like seeing that it was empty, devoid of the things that made it real and alive.

           If that was the Chesapeake Ripper’s estimation of him, things looked rather grave indeed.

-

           The cell phone was found perched precariously on one of the police cars farther down the trail, unlocked and devoid of any fingerprints save what Price dismally said was more than likely Mary Mai’s. The fact that the Ripper had been there, strolling among any loitering or any about on business made Will’s palms tingle, made his heart leap to his throat.

           It only served to make Jack kick one of the tires on his car with a furious frenzy that was more than a little nerve-wracking.

He rode back with Jack, the silence one of two minds puzzling over the same problem in different ways. Jack wanted a security detail on him, which he adamantly refused. He wanted to try and use the media to make it seem like more than they had, which Will laughed at. The Chesapeake Ripper would find it not only appalling but laughable, and he’d find another news source to put the spotlight on the FBI’s failures.

           He thought about telling Crawford that he ate people, but then he’d have to explain how he’d found out that information. Telling him he’d had a romantic dinner in the dark would only serve to put him under further scrutiny that he was positive he was already under.

           “How much are you going to share?”

           “I’m not sharing the part with the watch beeping a text,” Will said after a moment of thought. “They should know he’s using timelines with no guarantee of safety, shouldn’t they?”

           “You know what I think,” Jack said heavily. “I don’t think you should engage him at all with this. I think he thinks he can get you however he needs, just by dangling a little more recognition and ratings your way, same as any reporter.”

           “If it was any reporter, don’t you think he’d have gone to one more famous?” Will asked. “Like Lounds?”

           That got Jack. He opened his mouth, shut it with an audible click. “It’s not just fame, then,” he said at last. “He knows how to get fame. He knows how to get attention.”

           “Specifically fame through me, specifically my attention,” Will said. He tried really hard to ignore the thought that he was very much succeeding.

           This is the most fun you’ve had in years.

           “With your life in danger, I’m going to at least put a car outside of your apartment,” he said. “Something to keep an eye on you so that if something happens, someone is there to help.”

           Will didn’t disagree, although he thought it funny that for the many years they’d been trying to get the Chesapeake Ripper, a non-descript white van outside of an apartment like his would be the most cliché way of hoping to catch him.

           He wondered if the Chesapeake Ripper would call again to share in the joke.

-

Dear Will,

I want to see the sort of words you’d use to describe something outside of the comfort zone of your lumbar-supportive chair. Something where you lose, no matter what you do.

What has roots as nobody sees, Is taller than trees, Up, up it goes, And yet never grows?

You have one day.

-Avid Fan

 Avid Fan,

The murders of Mary Mai and Rufus Mai are tragic, and I’m bereft in the face of such senseless slaughter. You want to know what words I’d use to describe something where I’ve lost, but truly you want to see a reaction because that is the sort of person you are. You act in order to observe what people do in order to react.

There are no words to comfort grief. There are no words to explain the silence that encompasses those that have lost and will never hold their loved ones again. I assume you sought to see the things I’d say to garner hatred or resentment towards you, but I don’t have to do that. You murdered those innocent people two days before you sent your letter to me; no matter the actions done by the FBI or myself, you wanted to see what it’d be like for me to lose. I didn’t lose, their family did.

I don’t have to say anything for the people to hate you –you did that well enough on your own.

-

           Ratings dropped at their death, although when other newspapers could also confirm that they were dead before Will Graham had ever received any written word, the ratings rose back up, then increased. Will was right; he didn’t have to urge the people to hate the ‘Avid Fan’. At the face of two pillars of the community murdered on the eve of their anniversary, there rose such a backlash that Will found donations being sent in to be given to the family, to the children who’d lost so much.

           Although Freddie Lounds had the cover page story, Will was given, along with his column, a second page space in order to cover the funeral and the ways that the community gave in full.

           The problem, he realized, was that he was waiting for the Chesapeake Ripper to do something. He wasn’t testing the Ripper, he was sitting there and waiting to be tested. What was he doing to find him? Where was he going to look? The FBI was in over their heads –that much he could tell by the way Crawford struggled. It was personal to him, therefore his anger seemed to be his enemy as he looked at the bodies. Will stared down at his desk, at the reports, news clippings and ‘misplaced’ files he’d snagged from Freddie’s desk, considering the Chesapeake Ripper.

           Why was he waiting on the FBI to do something he knew that he could do?

           He’d gone to school for this. He’d trained for this. Not only had he been top of his class, he’d been fast-tracked to the FBI until his psych-eval came back worse for wear. They’d wanted him, realized they could never have him.

           The Chesapeake Ripper was batting at him like a cat with a ball of yarn, but that didn’t mean Will had to be the yarn.

           “I’m thinking of doing something irrational,” he said to Beverly over drinks.

           “Don’t shave your head, you’ll look like you’ve done time,” she warned him.

           “Looking at the files from what Lounds has said about the FBI-”

           “Okay but you know she shouldn’t have those files-”

           “-I’m sure I could do better than they could. There’s no forensic evidence, nothing for them to go on, so it’s not like the lack of a lab-”

           “-and I’m pretty sure she blew the guy that got her copies of one of those, so-”

           “-would hurt me, so it comes down to brains, outside resources, and the fact that-”

           “-it’s not really pitching much in her corner for you to be-”

           “-the Chesapeake Ripper wants to be my friend.”

           “-grabbing shit from her that could get you –wait, what?” Beverly leveled an intense, probing stare at him.

           “The Chesapeake Ripper wants to be my friend,” Will repeated.

           Their shots arrived then, and Beverly took hers, slamming it down with a little too much force.

           “You’re joking,” she said.

           “He called my phone, and he said that he wanted to be my friend.” Will took his as well, licorice-colored liquid smooth along his tongue and down the back of his throat. Beside his normal whiskey coke, Fernet was a luxury, something to celebrate nothing more than a desire to partake in something that tasted far better than the ass-end of a cat the way that well-drinks often did.

           “I’m guessing you haven’t told anyone from the FBI,” Beverly said. Rather than complete disapproval, there was almost a note of intrigue, the only sort of note that a reporter could have in their voice at a time like that. Newspaper curiosity was something far different from the regular, everyday variety. It was nosier. Less worried about why he didn’t tell the FBI and more that he hadn’t told the FBI.

           “Fuck no,” he retorted. “They’d cart me off.”

           “To protect you.”

           “To shove legal papers up my ass.”

           “So you’re, what –going to try and get him yourself? Be his friend?” That was said with disapproval, a pointed stare in his direction.

           “Considering he butchers and kills people, I’m going to go with a ‘no’ on friendship,” Will said slowly. “But the FBI has been trying to catch him for years. They’ve got nothing. Hell, I don’t know if I’d get anything, but it’s better than sitting around and waiting for him to get me, right?”

           “This is coming from the guy that can’t be bothered to walk two blocks farther than normal for a grocery mart with better prices,” Beverly pointed out.

           “I’ve got to do something, Beverly.”

           She nodded, stirred her White Russian around with the little straw stuck in it. She grabbed the glass, took a sip and considered him just across the way, a little harried, a little curious –no, definitely curious. The only kind of curious he needed her to be.

           “I’ll help,” she said. “I don’t know what to look for, but if you’re going to make an ass of yourself, I want to see it when it happens.”

           “He’s killing people,” Will reminded her.

           “And Freddie Lounds reigning on the front page is killing me. You find something out about this guy, maybe you’ll get front page. Hell, maybe you don’t, I get front page, I get you to front page with me.”

           “This isn’t about work politics.”

           “No, that’s just a perk.”

           They smacked the lip of their glasses together, downed their drinks in one go. Will had had enough shitty whiskey to really put this on the low end of that list, but with something in the distance, he figured maybe it’d be the last time he had to drink something so foul.

           His watch beeped to remind him that if it was a work night, he’d better get his ass to bed.

A special thanks to my patrons @hanfangrahamk @matildaparacosm @starlit-catastrophe Duhaunt6 and Superlurk! You’re the best!

[waldowski89-blog]

30-01-19 (Tumblr Return)

Hello,

watching Grumps in the morning. That’s about all I’ve got for now. I’m going to go out and get some shopping later. It’s Wednesday. I’m going to get around to stuff I have to do too. I’m just bullshitting for the padding of this diary entry. Lost the will to live. To LIVE. To do things. Apathy has set in. Before I guess it was all about getting ready for home. I just feel fat.I’m having a fat day. Okay that’s just stupid but I’m going to be doing stuff.

It’s so chilly out. I want to get some shopping and get a book from the library. Oh, actually I wanted 1984 to read first and then see the film but they’re all out on loan at the moment. Except the complete works… hang on, deep breath, which I borrowed but then it got returned while I was away and I don’t want to go to town to get it today. Phew.

I could think of hospital as like a [Edit 01-02-19: personal] war thing. I know it sounds stupid but it’s all over now. With lower military development. Ie: calm now, we just had a war.

Thought of this from the above image. That’s from DomiNations. It’s quite a fun little game for the iPhone. It’s a kind of condensed version of Age of Empires except later on it takes age to train/learn/research things This is for the in app purchases but it’s still fun if you have the patience for that. It upgrades (that was the all encompassing word I was looking for… catch-all is another word I was looking for there. I had to look it up)… where was I? It upgrades over days sometimes… pretty much all the time now but it does it in the background. You’ll’ve (nice) already figured that out but just in case. Jeeze, imagine having to wait days actually in the game or with it open just for upgrades to stuff. Nightmare!

Need a to do list for today… the three T’s Tweet/Tumblr/Twitch. Tumblr will be the trickiest and most time consuming I think. I still don’t know what to write. Eurgh, maybe wait till next week for publish? No, I must try to get it out today. However, I don’t want to write excessively about being in hospital. Not only is it depressing but it’s personal too. Perhaps I’ll mention it in happenstance. Just quickly. I don’t want it to be like I’m trying to get attention. To be honest this could be the Tumblr itself. It’s already four hundred and thirty words. Four hundred and forty just now. I’ll try to write one by hand like I usually do first… so that’s a no to this for now. Although writing these diaries and uploading them each day might be good for me because it would get my thoughts out there each day. Eurgh, I don’t know. I feel I’m drowning is all I mean. At least people, whoever they may be reading this, would get an idea of where my mind is at. Ha, Mesmerised [Edit 01-02-19: Of course it would be on New Retro Wave’s YouTube channel]… I’ll link that song if it’s on YouTube. That’s a good idea too actually (Jeeze, this is half way to a full Tumblr already. That makes me happy) Anyway… In any case (another three words in the bag) The idea was that I could link songs in the body of the text too or instead so they could be listened to alongside the text. I write and the relevant songs I’m listening to could be linked. The reader could get a better view of inside my head. Not perfect. One can’t get a crystal clear view of how someone thinks and feels… some people can’t even get a handle on their own thoughts sometimes. I may post this actually. It’s slowly creeping up to a thousand words. Actually even better I could post this as a placeholder and then do a proper written one for next week.

Gosh, I think my routine of writing in hospital really got me into the habit of writing quickly and freely. A good crash course. Most of my writining (… oh, writning that sounds cool… okay no I’m too old for that… but it’s like lightning writing. Under the Sun) was about being homesick naturally.

I got into the music of Le Cassette again. They released a cover of Time After Time I noticed upon coming home. They only have one album at the moment though. I’m sure you could find their music by searching around on iTunes. Maybe there’s more. Like covers and features on other artists music. Features are hard to find. Like how would anyone find for example that Jack White sang on that song errr the other one not Gay Bar. Kickstarting fires? Just look it up Andrew.

DANGER! DANGER! … HIGH VOLTAGE!

Eight hundred words.

You can certainly hear Jack White’s voice on the track… track. Is that an old fogey thing to say? Well, who gives a shit. Anyway I’m guessing if you search Jack White in iTunes all the songs with him in would appear.

So, it’s about ten minutes later and I have my full Tumblr here practically done. Now I’m listening to Gay Bar. So long ago… OH SHUT THE FUCK UP no it isn’t, what, ten years? That’s hardly any time at all. Yeah it can be called a decade making it sound like a long time but it’s seriously not. I would have been in college perhaps… I can hardly remember what happened yesterday let alone ten years… oh, now it’s a long time. Okay, I’m just arguing with myself like I usually do.

So, to sum up news… nothing much has really happened.

That’s the final word here I guess. If this were a Tumblr. Eurgh. I don’t want to post it. It feels too personal or something I dunno. How frustrating. Gosh it can’t be that bad. Some people post right horrible shit.

There ya go, that’s exactly one thousand words right there.

I’m always writing though now. I like it and want to keep in the habit of it. So, farewell friends. Thank you for reading.

I’ll do a diary separate to this. I like Electric Paradise. “Rest your head on mine we’re nearly at the end now”. I remember listening to that [Edit 01-02-19: Years ago I mean] and thinking about death. I’m clinically depressed. Don’t feel sorry for me.

Oh, by the way my routine with writing is to open a Pages document and just write through the day when I want or need to and then save it as a diary for the day. I find this beneficial for me to get at least some writing done each day. So it flows better… ish. I wonder if I wrote nearly a NaWriMo amount over the past month. Perhaps. It’s only ten in the morning and I’m already done here. I’ll type my notes from there up later. I had to write everything with pen/pencil and paper. [Edit 01-02-19: Only on to my computer, I mean. Not Tumblr. Maybe one day, I dunno. They’re quite scrappy and rubbish anyway.]

[Edit 01-02-19: Finally, I found Jordan F and Le Cassette before I knew about New Retro Wave too which is funny. How gravity seems to have a way of pulling people to certain places. Like Earth, Andrew? That’s kinda how gravity works. Okay, fine, it sounded more poetic in my head, jeeze.]

[Edit 01-02-19: Final edit, I promise. More of a musing really. I wonder if linking to Electric Six’s music is against Tumblr’s new policy thing?]