#and his mouth bled so we thought he bit Charlie

[wolfpants]

my year in fic

I just made this up because I thought it would be fun to take a look back, and because I'm a nosy parker. No-pressure tagging @oknowkiss, @lqtraintracks, @academicdisasterfic, @wrapped-up, @skeptiquewrites, @phoebe-delia, @nv-md, @m0srael, @kbrick, @lettersbyelise @saintgarbanzo @basicallyahedgehog @nv-md and anyone who wants to play along!

Rules: Share 1 line from each fic you wrote this year. In 2022 I wrote: 340k words over 22 fics (wut):

January

⭐️ Led by Light of A Star Sweetly Gleaming | Wolfstar, 53.4k, E

And Sirius fits himself so easily behind Remus, and the lazy drag of his chin along his shoulder gives way to another soft press of lips against the shell of his ear into which he whispers, “You can keep anything of mine you’d like.”

-

💫 In You, I Count Stars | Wolfstar, 1.5k, M

It’s darkening already, the red melting into purple and into navy, and soon enough the entire landscape will be bled black, stars poking through the clouds like the freckles that map the entire fabric of Remus’s scarred skin.

February

⛈ Of Earth and Electric Storms | Wolfstarbucks, 5.6k, E

When James looks back at this later and thinks about all of the ways that it could have gone, Sirius’s heated murmur of “do you want to watch us?” would still come out on top, as the best possible outcome.

-

😈 It Took The Night to Believe | Wolfstar, 7k, M

James’s cider had come bursting out through his nose, and Sirius’s gaze had swung quickly, imploringly to Remus as Remus answered on their behalf without missing a beat, his cheeks an alarming shade of pink, Just because we’re both gay doesn’t mean we fancy each other, for fuck’s sake, and Sirius’s heart had broken, just a tiny bit, trampled as it was by a pair of knackered blue Converse.

-

🌲 Wilderness | Drarry, 2.3k, E

“More… estates and great rolling moorlands of Brontë’s romantic England and less… Shrieking Shack in the middle of the Forbidden Forest,” Draco adds in a thoughtful murmur, to some ears dryly placid, to those more knowing quietly alarmed.

March

💔 The Hollow | Draco/Remus, 12.5k, E

Draco, who is staring at him across the short hallway, the silver of his wide eyes alight under the dull glow of the dusty chandelier above their heads; Draco, who looks terrified; defensive; determined.

-

☀️ A Taste | Drarry+Neville, 1k, M

When they go back to London together, Neville finds out that they do, indeed, burn together more brightly than he could have ever imagined, but like Devon in August, it’s drawn out and slowly scorching.

April

🌻 Wildflower | Charlie/Draco, 1.3k, E

Their first kiss had happened only a few nights into Draco’s arrival on the colony, a wine-tinged thing pressed against the exterior wall of the common hall while the dragons slept miles and miles away but Charlie’s clothes still smelled of fire.

-

📚 Pages of You | Drarry, 102.6k, E

Unfortunately, it means walking back to halls with Malfoy, in all of the weird, cloudy sexy tension they’ve just cooked up together.

-

🌌 Aurora | Drarry, 5.2k, M

"You’re not alone,” Harry repeats a little weakly, already cringing at his own lame words, but pushing them out anyway as he thinks of Malfoy sitting on the edge of his bed, of his half-eaten meals, of his vacant stares into space.

May

📺 Summer Place | Drarry, 14.2k, E

Wonder how long it’ll take us to kill each other, Harry - Potter, back then - had joked, and they’d cheersed to that, clicking their glasses together, their fingers brushing, sending a frisson of heat straight to Draco’s core.

-

🏠 Tiny Home | Dronarry, 30k, E

Ron’s fingers wrap themselves fully around Draco’s, and Draco stares at him in frozen astonishment as he lifts Draco’s hand to his mouth and kisses the back of his knuckles, the metal of his rings; like a knight courting a prince. 

-

🇮🇹 A Bigger Splash | Dralbus, 6.9k, E

Now, at the pool - lying on a lounger sandwiched between Teddy (shirtless, headphones on) and Draco (shirtless, ancient looking paperback in hand), Albus is trying to simultaneously come up with an intelligent response to Draco’s words while formulating a plan for stripping down to his skivvies in a way that will be most aesthetically pleasing to all of those in his general vicinity.

June

🪵 The Left and Leaving | Charlie/Bill, 3.1k, E

They lie there for what could be minutes, for what could be hours, as the reality of what they’ve just done settles down around them not like a cold sluice of lake water, but like a warm settled blanket, a comfort, something to turn to.

-

🔪 The Farther I Fall, I'm Beside You | Drarry, 2.3k, E

He’s kind of a dick, you’ve got to admit, Harry said a few months after that first shag, over morning coffee.

-

🎂 A Little Effort | Dronarry, 1.9k, T

Harry calls Draco sweetheart all the time, although most people might argue Draco isn’t sweet at all, that he’s actually a bit of a crabbit little arsehole, but both Ron and Harry know there’s a side to Draco that’s soft, that’s pliant, that purrs when he’s pet just the right way.

July

🏙 Edges | Drarry, 1.5k, E

But not long after we fell into bed with each other—that wonderful, terrible, frightening last year of school—and not long before we fell in love, we learned our edges don’t match.

August

💘 Romp and Circumstance | Drarry, 35.5k, E

“Good,” Harry murmurs, and he bends forward and kisses Malfoy’s middle knuckle, wrapping dry lips over the bony ridge, his focus on the pale tracery of green and violet veins on the back of Malfoy’s hand before he looks up again to meet Malfoy’s eyes.

September

🌊 Look For Me In The Sun | Drarry, 8.7k, M

Draco had shivered lightly in the circle of Harry’s arms, shifting around until they were facing each other and tangled up so closely that Harry hadn’t been sure where his legs began and where Draco’s ended.

October

⛺️ Like A Brother Would | Ronarry, 5.2k, E

And wouldn’t that be awful, if Harry tapped into that, if Malfoy had been the one to help Harry accept that part of himself before Ron ever could.

November

🗻 Under Giant Mountains | Drarry, 33.7k, E

It was easy to compartmentalise a crush, especially when said crush was on someone he didn’t particularly like.

December

🍃 August | Drarry, 3.8k, M

It’s taken Draco less than a week to come to the conclusion that Potter is summer in boy form. 

#writing #my year in fic #drarry #wolfstar #ronarry #hp rare pair

[the-void-writes]

• You better start running

I thought this would be a good opportunity to explore Maddie and her partners, especially Anthony 💖 I hope you enjoy it!

TW: depictions of blood and self-inflicted violence (via mind control)

Maddie hit the ground head-first, and the world twisted around them. They could feel their partners’ hands clasped around their arms, the metal floor sliding underneath them as they were dragged away from the soldier, who was still aiming at them. This would be their final moment, unable to even look their partners in the eye for one last bit of comfort.

It felt like they were waiting for hours. The soldier wasn’t moving, and neither was the army behind him. The world gradually came back into focus piece-by-piece, starting with the central soldier. Maddie watched as he violently shook in place, tears forming in his eyes, before he took his stun baton and jammed it into his own neck. Sparks flew everywhere as he twitched on the floor in front of his army before finally going limp.

Someone shuffled forward, breathing heavily, with blood trickling from his nose and down his shirt like a faucet. Maddie hadn’t seen the kind of fury swirling in Anthony’s eyes since they were children. He spat more blood from his mouth, speaking to the soldiers through gritted teeth.

“Start running.”

They fled immediately, and when the last frantic footstep faded into the distance, Anthony fell to his knees. Charlie crawled over and pulled him into his shoulder, which became wet with blood instantly.

“Tony, your powers.”

“Doesn’t matter—”

“Yes, it does.” Sammy’s voice cracked. “You almost killed yourself there—”

“I saved your life.”

The heartbreak in Sammy’s eyes made him bite his tongue. Blood and tears dripped onto the floor as he hung his head.

“I’m sorry, Sam— I couldn’t— I can’t lose you.”

Charlie pulled Anthony over so everyone could hug him. They brushed his hair for him, watching him cry for the first time in years.

“Thank you for saving us,” Jon said, kissing his damp cheek.

“No, you don’t owe me that.”

“But we mean it,” Maddie said. “You’re our hero, honey. We love you.”

“I love you.” Anthony sobbed. “I love you guys so much.”

He clung to Sammy as she kissed his forehead.

“We’re here for you,” she whispered. “You won’t lose us, I promise.”

Several ghostly figures bled from the walls and floors, surrounding the group in an unbreakable circle. The flickering glow in Charlie’s eyes meant that this was a temporary protection spell. Anthony tried to stand, to assure them that he could keep moving, but Jon held his shoulder and shook his head. For once, his partners could read his mind, and they were telling him to rest. So he let their warm touch lull him to sleep, if only for a while.

#writeblr #writing community #wip: for all eternity #ask games #writing prompts

[chimpukampu]

He was high as a kite lol

#tooth extraction #his upper right minor tooth went loose when he roughhoused Charlie at 2am #and his mouth bled so we thought he bit Charlie #but Charlie was fine #and Peanut was clawing something in his mouth so I coned him immediately then checked his mouth if Charlie bit him #there were no wounds but the gums around the loose tooth was red #he stopped bleeding after I put the cone collar #Vet had to sedate him coz he was snappy #but now he's fine #he can eat his dry food and drink water without problems #he even had zoomies with Charlie after he became normal #peanut #my dogs #ramblings #dogs of tumblr

[taones]

𝐈 𝐊𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐘𝐨𝐮 // 𝐎𝐬𝐚𝐦𝐮 𝐌𝐢𝐲𝐚

↬ Parings: Osamu x reader

↬ Reader: Gender Neutral but AFAB  

 ↬ A/n: thank you to lovely Dee and Charlie for reading this over and correcting my shitty punctuation, I hope you guys like this cause I was freaking out slightly

↬ Warnings: mentions of food in the first paragraphs. Nickname ‘kitten’ for reader, finger sucking, choking, unprotected sex, teasing, kinda sweet/fluffy aftercare

“Hey”  you called, opening the door to your partners shop.

Osamu, said partner, had given you a key specifically for times like this. The shop was closed but you had come after work, it was nice to spend time with him outside of your home. A change of scenery was good once in a while and you got to spend more time with him than usual. 

His arms were quick to wrap around you the moment you got close enough. He always smelt so nice despite being around food all day. It was a soft, woody scent that you loved to surround yourself in. Soft fingers massaged at your shoulders until you untensed. A sigh escaped you. The days stress and work visibly bled out of your shoulders, sinking into the floor. 

Sighing, you looked up at him.

“How was your day kitten?” he muttered, rubbing your neck.

You hummed, too lost in the feeling of his relaxing touch to form a response. He squeezed your arm softly for a reply. 

“It was fine?” you replied, “just tiring s’all”

He frowned a little at your exhaustion. The obvious question in your tone saying you were fine told him the opposite. Osamu never liked seeing you tired. Hands snuck up to cup your cheeks, tilting your head until you opened your tired eyes. He smiled softly at you, leaning to give you a slow peck. 

“I just have some things to prepare and then we can go home hmm pretty one?”

― ― ―

You were worked up. Osamu and you had been sitting in your kitchen for the past hour. You were watching him make bread and cookies, activities that should’ve been mundane at the least and domestic at the most. However, pretty soon into the task, your eyes had fixated on the hands and forearms of your partner. 

Every stir and knead of the dough caused the veins in his flexing arms to pop a little more. The more they stood out, the more you writhed on your chair. It wasn’t exactly like you were trying to hide it and it was surprising that he hadn’t noticed. The grey-haired man had barely looked at you since he started. You were used to him being engrossed in a mix of baking and humming to the tune that was on the radio but you were getting desperate. 

Whenever he pulled the dough out, sprinkled some flour or punched into the bowl to deflate the dough, his arms brought thoughts to you. Thoughts of countless nights with that strength pinning your legs to the bed to stop you writhing. Thoughts of those arms holding your arms behind your back as he pounded you into the bed covers. Thoughts of his fingers pressing down on your tongue and you desperately sucking on them.

He put the last of the dough away to proof and washed his hands. The sight of him splashing water over his face was the final straw for you. Water droplets dripped down the tan skin of his neck, eyes closed in relief at the cool feeling. You whimpered. 

“Oh?” he smirked, looking over to where you sat.

Your thighs were rubbing together in repetitive motions and it was obvious you were grinding down onto the chair beneath you. The plain cotton panties under your skirt were soaked through, pooling uncomfortably between your thighs. Sweat glistened on your forehead and your bitten lips gave away just how desperate you were.

“Pretty one” he mused, sauntering round the table, “couldn’t help yourself hmm?”

Another roll of your hips had him finally touching you. Nothing much but even the feeling of his cool hands against the searing skin of your neck made you gasp. His hand slid up the side of your neck to cup your jaw, tilting your head until you were looking him in the eyes. 

“What do we say when we need something, kitten?” 

“Please ‘Samu” you whispered

That frustrating smirk slid back onto his face. You would begin to resent it if you weren’t so excited for what you know follows.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me”

Strong fingers slid under the loose fabric of your shorts and the elastic of the, now soaked, cotton fabric. The rough pads of his fingers danced lightly over your folds. It was enough to give you a taste of his touch but nowhere near what you wanted, what you needed. It felt like all the ovens in the room had been turned on, his figure over yours was almost suffocating you in his presence. A nibble to your ear sent your hips canting forwards against his teasing digits, finally pushing them towards where you desperately needed them to be. 

A growl sounded from above you.

Almost instantly, two digits were pushed into you. You choked on your moan at the sudden feeling of fullness, mixed beautifully with relief. They were pumped in and out at a punishing pace, not giving you time to catch your breath. The speed was taking the wind from your lungs and he wasn’t pausing his actions to let you adjust. Why should he? You were the one who was so desperate for his touch.

“Sa-samu, slow down,” you moan loudly.

The only response you got was a low chuckle and a thumb pressed against your clit. The circles Osamu was rubbing against it were gentle enough but, combined with the force of his fingers, you remained overwhelmed. The heat rose to your cheeks again as you found yourself opening your mouth to beg once more. 

“Ah, ple-”

Your request was cut off by your partner's free hand coming up to grip your jaw. Your face was pulled towards his. 

“Why the noise kitty? I thought this was what you wanted, for me to touch you?” he drawled.

Grunting, you clenched around his digits. You were eager to get some sort of stimulation as his fingers had gone from one extreme to the other and were motionless. Once again, you opened your mouth only for it to be filled by the hand that was previously holding your face to his. You now had two of his fingers filling your mouth, sliding over your tongue to the back of your throat. 

With you silent, he was able to start up his previous actions without distraction. He used his forearm to hook around your hip and keep it still. He was in total control. The only person able to bring you the relief you needed was him and you had a feeling he was going to take his sweet time in getting you there. 

“You’re so easy once you’re quiet” he muttered next to your ear, “so fucking desperate for me aren’t you?”

Both sets of fingers were moving at a slow pace.  Every drag against your soft walls was like torture, the friction just bodering on what you needed. The pump of his fingers meant lewd squelching was echoing around your kitchen, the sounds making your face heat up in shame. You whined, grinding your clit down on his palm in an effort to chase some proper friction. To your surprise, he let you. 

You were wrecked. Chasing your high had left your face damp with sweat and you knew how debauched the motions of your hips desperately grinding against Osamu’s palm was. Did you care? No. The only thing on your mind was the fingers pumping in and out of you and reaching your high.

And then he stopped.

The whimper you let out when his fingers stopped moving made his heart ache and his hips burn but he continued to pull his fingers out of you. Your hips still moved above where his hand was as if you could bring his hand back. He chuckled.

“Sorry kitten” he groaned

His voice was strained and you soon figured out why. He moved you upwards on shaky legs and pulled you towards him for a kiss. Your head was fuzzy and movements lazy so your tongues moved together shamelessly. Dragging you closer made you feel exactly why he had stopped. His length was hard under his trousers and pressing painfully against the fabric. You met his eyes, only to find him already staring at you. The tall man was obviously wrecked too. His eyes were sort of unfocused cheeks red and lips bitten red and raw. Yet he stared down at you like you were his prey. 

Hands reached down to undo his trousers and he groaned at the feeling of relieving the pressure on his aching dick. The sight of him straining against his boxers made your knees weak. You watched intently as he pulled off the last piece of fabric, actions too frantic to bother taking them off completely. 

It wasn’t long before his attention was back onto you. His tongue darted out to wet his lips and you whined a bit. Hearing the noise made him smirk, he had always loved the effect he had on you. No time more than now, when he was pushing you against the counter and slipping his tongue in your mouth to keep you quiet. His pretty kitten. 

A hand reached under your shirt. The white fabric was quickly pulled over your head and thrown somewhere in the room, his lips moving from your mouth to encase your nipple. He let his tongue swirl around the bud, holding your back to keep you steady. You slid your fingers through his hair, tugging on the roots to feel his groans vibrate around you. 

“Osamu c’mon, hurry up” you mutter, tugging at the back of his shirt.

He rolled his eyes and looked at you. His silence made your heart race, you know you were pushing a little but he had left you desperate and the dampness of your inner thighs vouched for that.

His hand slid between the valley of your chest and came to rest against your throat. Your breath hitched in excitement. Blue eyes glinted when they met yours, squeezing against the side of your throat just to see your eyes rolled back. He bent down so his mouth was beside your ears. You felt a hot breath against the side of your face. 

“You don’t tell me what to do,” he drawled, “understand?”

He accompanied his question with another squeeze to the sides of your throat. You whimpered. The domineering tone to his voice had your pussy clenching around nothing. You were desperate for him to touch you but you nodded anyway. He knew what was best for you and he was in charge. You were his dumb little kitty, hanging off his every word.

You were brought back down to earth by the feeling of him pulling you off of the table. You stared in confusion for a little but were soon bent across said table. The cool surface pressing against your heated skin sent shivers down your spine. As did the feeling of Osamu’s hard tip pressing against your hole. Tempted to shake your hips, you chose better of it. As much as you loved teasing him, the empty feeling you had made you weak to his wants. 

He pushed in, finally. The stretch wasn’t as much as usually considering the time he had spent opening you up on his fingers. The feeling of his cock stretching and dragging against your walls had you panting against the table, the pressure forcing the air out of your lungs. There wasn’t a chance to catch your breath before your body was shifting up the table with the force of his thrusts.

“Ah- feel s’good” he moans from above you, “fuck kitten”

You couldn’t respond. Still face down on the table, your moans were muffled by the cold plastic. Said plastic felt like ice against your skin. It was quickly heating up from the friction of your body being dragged up and down from the force of your boyfriend's hips. His hands were dragging your hips down to meet his thrusts, leaving you defenceless against his wants. 

The way you liked it. 

Eventually, he grew tired of your muffled moans. He needed to hear you. A hand wrapped around your throat once more, dragging you upwards and away from the table. Immediately, you moaned loudly at the change of angle. The grip on your throat tightened as the male behind you leant down to whisper in your ear. 

“Look at the mess you made” 

On the table were marks from both drool and the evidence from his earlier actions. Your face burned in shame and you tried to turn your head. Osamu had other plans. His hips continued to move while he gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at your mess. 

“So dirty” he groaned, biting at your ear lobe, “what do we say kitten?”

“I’m sorry” you keened, “sorry ‘samu a-ah”

The grunt at your whines left you with a small feeling of victory. It was quickly pushed from your mind as he pushed you against the table once more, hand still on your throat. His grip tightened from a loose grip on the sides and your eyes rolled back. The constriction made your head light and floaty, your choked moans were fuzzy and all you could focus on was the man above you. Your Osamu.

Gripping at the counter, you began to move your hips back in tandem with his thrusts.  The sounds of your skin colliding were echoing around the kitchen. Accompanied by the lewd squelching sounds of your pussy. Usually, they would fill you with embarrassment yet you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about anything else except reaching your high. 

“Osamu- ‘Samu please” you begged

You didn’t really know what you were begging for. Was it more of his touch? For his fingers? To come around his cock? You were too far gone to know. 

He breathed out heavily. Your moans affected him like nothing else. The way you were begging, voice hoarse from the hand wrapped around your throat and a good hour of moaning like a whore for him. This added to the white ring at the base of his dick every time you moved forward was sending him closer to the edge. Every drag of his cock against your walls brought you closer and closer to the edge. It was a wonder you had lasted this long with his pace.

“M’close” you gasped, grabbing at the hand around your neck.

“Go on baby, you did good” he was breathless behind you

His hand moved from your throat, leaning you against the counter. It slipped round your thigh so he could circle and pinch at your clit. Your back arched, clenching harshly around him. Vision going white as you came around his cock, soaking his upper thighs.  Slumping on the table, you tried to catch your breath.

He tried to stay still, he really did. But he was pulsing inside your soaked walls. Osamu’s tip was most likely an angry red and holding out so long. His thrusts started up again which sent you into oversensitivity. Your whines and mewls started up again, aiding him while he chased his high. 

A final thrust had him spilling into you. He leant across you with two arms either side of your head to keep himself up. Gingerly, he pulled out. You both winced as the cool air of the kitchen hit you once again. 

Lifting your torso, he sank down the the floor with you. Neither of you cared about the puddle of hi cum that was left on the counter nor what was now dripping down the inside of your thigh onto the floor. He had his arms wrapped around you, that’s all you needed. 

“You were so good kitten” he muttered, kissing the top of your head

You started to doze, body cooling down. Osamu rested your head on his shoulder to support your sleepy form. It wasn’t comfortable but work combined with being bent over a table had zapped most of your energy. So, despite your state, you felt your eyes droop.

“Get some sleep baby, you deserve it” he whispered, your ‘Samu.

Please ignore any spelling or punctuation errors, I was too nervous to read over it again hehe. I hope you guys enjoyed it, I know I loved writing it!

Taglist: @prettysetterbaby​ @miyaflix @corpse-monsterfucker @gayfanficanonymous

Remember reblogging helps content creators <3

#osamu miya x reader #osamu x reader #osamu smut #osamu miya smut #miya osamu x reader #osamu miya #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #osamu imagine #osamu scenario #osamu drabble #hq osamu #osamu scenarios

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter twenty-seven: lars of the dead

“Okay. Okay, Scott. We'll see you soon.”

Aurora hung up the phone and brushed away a couple of tears. Sam had taken her seat on the far side of the room and she rested her elbows upon her knees. She kept her head bowed away so no one would have to see the tears in her eyes. Marla rested a hand on her back in hopes to comfort her: she sniffled and brushed away a few tears from her eyes.

Sam meanwhile couldn't muster up tears for herself, and it made no sense. She had no idea as to how to feel about any of it.

Aurora doubled back to them as the tears began to fall for herself.

“Zelda and Belinda are on their way, too,” she told them in a broken voice. “The boys should be here later tonight, too. Scott told me they were boarding onto the plane right then.”

“How long's the flight?” Sam asked her.

“Well, they're in Sweden right now. In total, it's about a twelve hour flight from Stockholm to New York—they have a stopover up in Reykjavik first, though. But seeing as it's around three in the afternoon right now, they'll be home real late tonight, though. Like around midnight.”

Sam sighed through her nose and bowed her head towards the floor.

“I'm so sorry, Sam,” Marla wept and she brought her free hand to her mouth.

“I just wonder how his parents feel at the moment,” she confessed.

“Scott told me that Jan just broke down,” Aurora filled them in, and she brushed away another couple of tears from her eyes. “I heard Ray breaking down in the background, too. No idea about Connie, though.”

Her voice bled away as Sam thought about how close she had gotten to Cliff there. She knew that in a few months time, Lars would be out and Cliff planned to move on out. That was the plan, however, and yet it seemed set in stone.

She thought about her parents and what she would say to them. There was the funeral to be planned. There was all of it. There was what to do afterwards. There was all of it. All of it!

So many questions and what to do after it she had found the answers, or maybe there was no answer.

At one point, she stepped outside to the cold autumnal rain to get away from the space. Aurora offered to join her, but she told her she would go out alone.

“She needs to be alone, anyway,” Marla told her before Sam left the building. She adjusted the brim of her hat and the rain stayed out of her dry face. A heavy, full feeling emerged in her chest and her stomach turned at the smell of fresh chocolate from the bakery next door. That cup of Mexican hot chocolate she had made for him.

But she shook her head and she kept on walking. The school stood in the shadows of the rain and she wished to be away from there, to never walk there ever again. Cliff had walked home with her.

Everything reminded her of him, from the rain water in the storm drain next to her, to the buildings all around the block. The water reminded her of the way in which he always seemed to find her and he always soothed things over when he showed up. The yellow of the street lights. The yellow tulips.

The book shop. Siddhartha in that book shop.

Cliff came over from San Francisco and yet that neighborhood made her think of it, and it made her think of him. A waft of cinnamon caught her attention as she rounded the corner. The smell of Christmas. The trip back home to Carson City and California.

When they all ate dinner together.

When they saw Legacy together.

Legacy!

She wondered if they knew about the news. She turned her attention to a shop window to her left: amongst the small rivulets of rain water, she gazed on at herself. Her face had washed out to a sickly white, or perhaps it was the incoming darkness that did that for her. But her dark eyes gazed back at her and she wished she could crawl inside of them. Crawl inside of that darkness and disappear into nothing.

Into the same nothing that Cliff had gone into himself. No tears to cry and the sky did it for her anyway. She lingered in an alleyway with her head bowed and her hands tucked in her coat pockets. She stared down at her waist and she yearned for another touch courtesy of Cliff himself.

He loved her body. She didn't realize it but even in the midst of the setbacks, the omissions, and the heat itself, he still came back to her very flesh. To feel him again. To hold him again.

Even with the rain, she took off the hat by the crown so the inside pointed upwards. She brought the inside closer to her nose for a whiff. Even amongst her own smell, she could still catch a good whiff of the way his hair used to smell. She had no idea as to how long it would last inside of her head given her own smell, but she knew she had to relish every part of it.

She thought back to her dreams of the mysterious man with the stripe in his hair, and she wondered if she would still dream about him even with Cliff gone. She recalled what she had heard from him that one time.

“The clock is your friend.” She realized what he meant by that now. Cliff was only three years older than her and yet three years felt so small and miniscule when she thought about it. In three years, she would be the same age, and yet three years ago, she still lived on the West Coast and Metallica were still rather small in the music world. Three years. Three years time his scent wouldn't be there inside of her hat anymore.

The clock was her friend.

She also thought about another thing he had said to her: “embrace her.” But who was he talking about? The heavy feeling in her chest and the hollow feeling in her stomach only worsened with the feeling of hunger. She needed to call her parents, anyway.

The whole feeling was so much for her that she returned to the space in hopes to call up her parents, but Belinda and Zelda had already showed up there with tears in their eyes as well.

“I'm so sorry, Sam,” Zelda told her as a single tear streaked down her face. “I had no idea you guys were together.”

“It was only official for a little bit,” Sam assured her with a sigh through her nose. “But yeah, we were—we were kind of a thing.”

“If you need anything, tell us,” Belinda said to her as she put her arm around her.

“Thank you, Bel. Other than the fact that I'm kind of hungry and I need to call my parents, I don't really need anything else at the moment.”

“I don't really feel like going out, though,” Marla confessed from the next room. “Given it's raining and whatnot—and I kinda want to be here when Charlie gets here.”

Sam turned her attention to Zelda.

“By the way, does Louie know?”

“The hell he does,” Zelda replied as her eyes glistened and shone bright. “The first thing he did was call up Chuck and Eric, and then Zetro. When I left, he told me he wasn't moving from his spot there on the carpet. Making sure it doesn't turn into a bullshit game of telephone and whatnot.”

The three of them took their seat on the floor outside of the room: the chairs had been tucked away in another side of the building. Zelda, who continued to shed tears herself, turned her attention to the room before them. The rehearsal spot. The place where Anthrax had played that song for Sam on that first day.

“Let me ask you two a question,” she began with a sniffle.

“What's that?” Sam asked her.

“Why haven't the Cherry Suicides gotten a better place for ourselves?”

“Why haven't you?” Marla called from the next room.

“Well, I mean, we have looked around—but we haven't really gotten anywhere with our music, though. People like us and stuff. If Metallica and Anthrax got the same treatment, why haven't we been given a nice space like this or a record deal for that matter? We have a whole batch of songs to boot. We've never been approached by this label here or anything else, really.”

“Good question, actually,” Belinda added. Sam lowered her gaze to the floor before her. Indeed, they were a good band and it only seemed fair to have someone on their end to pick them up.

“There's no girl bands on this label, either,” Marla chimed in from the next room. “At least, that's according to Charlie.”

“Surely you've been recommended,” Sam said. “I think you have—Aurora went out, though, so I can't ask her about it. She's in charge of all that. I'm just her assistant.”

“I think we have, too,” Zelda recalled. “Another thing I want to know is why haven't we gone on tour yet. Ourselves.”

“I always thought you would kill on tour,” Sam told her. “Just the times we got to see you and everything.”

“And why do you ladies get stuck here doing all the work, too? You should be out having fun with all of us!”

“We're art students—we're kinda tied down to it,” Belinda said.

“But you're artists, though! Artists need to kick and scream and doubt themselves and be a part of this great big world! I'm surprised you girls haven't gotten more pissed about all of this. If Cliff dying has done anything to me, it's that I realize we're all being tied down. We need to rock n' roll like the boys.”

Sam and Belinda glanced at another.

“We should tell them about it, too,” Marla suggested. “They're all open minded boys—they'll understand.”

“Yeah, especially Louie,” Zelda continued, “in fact, before I left the apartment, he even said that to me. He said 'you girls need to whip us all into shape. We're gonna get too lazy.'”

Sam thought about Joey and if he kept his promises to her, to not drink too much or indulge too much. It was all a two way street. They needed each other. Of course!

Within a few hours, Aurora emerged from the cold drenched darkness with Scott, Frank, Charlie, Dan, Joey, James, Kirk, and Lars behind her. The first thing Sam did was throw her arms around Joey and he rested his chin upon his shoulder.

“I was just starting to get to know them, too,” he whispered into her ear. She stood back but she kept her arm around him. The grave looks on their faces told her everything she needed to know.

“Honestly, what even happened?” Marla asked Charlie once he planted his lips onto hers.

“We got ahead of them,” he explained in a soft voice and with a gesture back to James, Kirk, and Lars, “like their bus left a day early from ours. We were in Stockholm when someone came to us and told us, 'Metallica's bus rolled over about an hour up the road.' Kirk and Cliff drew cards as to who would slip in the top bunk, and Cliff drew the ace of spades, believe it or not, so he took that. No idea how the bus rolled over, though.”

“The cops said it was black ice,” James joined in that big booming voice, “but Kirk and I both looked and there was none. They also said he was partially ejected from the window, too, so the bus literally came down on him. The dumb idiot bus driver was hammered, I'm sure of it. Guys from Armored Saint went home already so there's no asking them about it, either. God damn it.”

Frank turned his attention to Sam, who had her arms around the silent Joey still, and he brushed away tears himself.

“Last thing I said to Cliff was I would see him tomorrow,” he told her in a low voice.

“Aw, Frankie.” Sam let go of Joey for an embrace on his part. Frank held her so close to his body: if nothing, he would always be her best friend. Her best friend forever.

“Honestly, if you girls were with us, it probably wouldn't have happened,” Kirk confessed. “Aurora could drive the four of us. Cliff would still be here...” His voice trailed off.

“I hate to do this right now but why haven't the Cherry Suicides been signed yet?” Zelda piped up. “Especially since you guys seem to value us so much. We could've actually done something for you!”

“Yeah, I mean, why do you boys get to go out and do stuff but we women stay here and hold down the fort?” Belinda demanded. “We have things to do ourselves, sure. But it only makes sense, though. Losing one of your own ought to change everything, especially with us.”

“We love you girls,” Scott assured her.

“But why do you guys get the big fucking tours,” Zelda joined in, “and bands like mine get relegated to the tiny clubs the size of a pinhead?”

“Wish I knew the answer to that—”

Right behind them, Sam took a step back and pressed her back to the wall. It was too much. They were arguing and yet they seemed to overlook the very fact that it was her boyfriend who had been killed. Not just their friend and brother, but her boyfriend. She turned her head to the right: Joey had disappeared into the drenched darkness himself. For all she knew, he had gone back home.

She turned her head to the left. Lars lingered with his back to the wall himself. He looked as though he had something to add and yet no window opened for him. He stood much shorter than James and she never noticed it before, either.

They were all either arguing or staring off into space and wondering about life from thence forth. But she had already done that on her walk. It was time to do the dirty work and turn over a new leaf for herself. For themselves.

The aroma of fresh coffee caught her attention. They were all bickering but she saw no opportunity to join in with them all.

Cliff was gone. Cliff was gone and all they could do was argue and turn a blind eye to her.

But then Lars turned his attention to her. She looked over at him and his gesture for her to come closer to him. She did and he held onto her shoulder. Lars guided her away from there and into the next room so they could be alone. The only light came from the street outside of the window on the far side of the room.

But the darkness comforted her like a blanket; he brought her over to the corner closest to the side door. Even though the chairs had been taken out of there, Sam still took her seat in the corner. She wanted nothing more than to be under the shadow, away from everyone else. She brought her knees closer to her chest: the new weight on her body kept her from moving them in closer.

In the dim light, she rose her gaze up to Lars' silhouette.

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked her.

“A bit of cream and that's it,” she answered in a broken voice, even though she hadn't shed a single tear up to that point. Frank cursed something out there and Marla started crying again. Sam bowed her head and hunched her shoulders. The two of them sneaked out of there and no one noticed them, either.

“My boyfriend gets killed and they argue like a bunch of hens,” she muttered as she folded her arms across her chest.

“It's understandable, though,” he assured her as he took a pair of mugs out of the drawer. Using the soft light from the street next to them, he poured her a cup of coffee. “On the flight home, James and Kirk argued for the entire twelve hours. I tuned them out when we landed in Iceland. I was starting to get a headache.” He handed her the mug with a soft look on his face.

“Thank you,” she said in a near whisper.

“You know—if it is any comfort to you at all, I had believed I had rekindled my friendship with him all the way through and he was excited for me when we were headed for Scandinavia. I was excited and eager to return home and see my old friends again, and he was happy for me. I thought it was going good between us again. The bunch of us having reaffirmed our friendship to each other and we would start our own thing there in the Bay Area...” His voice trailed off as he poured himself some coffee and he took a seat next to her. She knitted her eyebrows together when she thought about what Cliff had told her.

“Did he ever mention the possibility of coming out this way at some point?” she asked him, and in the soft yellow light from the street, she could make out the frown on his round face.

“No.” He paused. “Never heard anything like that from him. Why?”

“He told me that he wanted to be out here to be closer to me. If James and Kirk got rid of you, then he was going to leave, too. It's like he had it all figured out, it was weird.”

“Why didn't he at the very least get out here instead of relying on something that perhaps wouldn't happen anyways?” he wondered aloud in a single breath.

“I wish I knew.” Her face fell. “I even asked him that.”

“Why not consider coming back out to California? You are from there after all.”

“Yes, but I love New York. This is my home. I have my friends and my life here. And Louie lives out here, too.”

“Right, Louie lives out here! I can envision it with him, come to think of it. But—he was always a home grown guy, though. I can't envision him doing that.”

“And he's gone, too.”

“And he's gone as well.” Lars sighed through his nose and he brought the mug closer to his lips. Sam turned her head and she made sight of the golden yellow light upon the side of his face. Their voices floated into the room right there but neither of them flinched a muscle.

“We were all struggling,” he added. “But at least we had each other.”

At the sound of that, Sam started to wonder if she had anything to do with Cliff's desire to get away from them. She brought her mug to her lips again for another sip and then she turned her head back in Lars' direction.

“Do you think maybe I drove you guys apart?”

“You? What would you have anything to do with it?” He was stunned.

“Because we were together. You said it yourself: you had each other.”

“Yes, but—truth be known, Cliff and I had been drifting apart for a while. And by a while, I mean a full year.”

“So—before we were together.”

“Yeah. I mean, if anything, you helped him ask some questions about himself. You forced him to look at himself. I know this because I went through the same thing before I met James.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yeah. Before my life as a drummer, I was a tennis player. But then, out of curiosity, I put an ad in this music magazine called The Recycler. I kind of did it as a joke. I wasn't expecting anyone to reply to it. And then James called me, and I had to question everything after that. Sometimes you meet someone who forces you to better get in touch with yourself, even if it means potentially putting everything you already had before you on the line. Sometimes you meet someone who helps you figure out yourself better than you ever could by yourself.”

The room outside fell silent and Sam gazed past Lars to the small sliver of a doorway. Even with a mere pocket of view into the next room, they could tell no one in there.

“Did everyone leave?” she asked him, and he followed her gaze. He returned to her so the light shone over his face again.

“Don't know.”

He sighed through his nose.

“They say the flame that burns twice as bright, burns half as long,” he remarked, to which he lifted his mug to the darkness. “To Cliff.”

“To Cliff,” she echoed him in a soft whisper of a voice, and they both took drinks of the hot coffee at the same time. Sam brought the mug closer to her chest and she bowed her head. Lars sighed through his nose and he gazed on at her with a thoughtful look on his face.

“By the way, I had no idea the two of you were together,” he confessed in a low voice. She peered up at his face and the shadow cast over his right side.

“He told me to keep it a secret,” she recalled with a shrug of her shoulders, “I finally told Aurora about it a few months ago and it never slipped out. I guess loss is truly revealing. If there's anyone crying right now, it should be me—” She was cut off by the sound of her own tears. She vowed to turn over a new leaf, and yet her own body disallowed it. Lars put his free arm around her.

“D'you call your parents yet?” he gently asked her, to which she shook her head. “You should while it is still early. Three hour time difference, they're probably still very much awake.”

Tears burned her eyes. She had no idea how to say it other than come right out and tell them.

He fetched up another sigh and he raised his mug yet again.

“And happy birthday, Alex,” Lars continued. Sam lifted her gaze up to him with tears still in her eyes.

“It's Alex's birthday already?”

Lars nodded his head as he held the glass close to his chest.

“Tomorrow is the twenty seventh. He's eighteen on Monday.”

“Aw...” Her chin trembled a bit.

“Little man. Delicate little young boy now officially a young man, and the gray hairs to go along with it.”

The clock was her friend. Gray hairs. She wasn't thinking straight and yet it made sense to her.

Sam's eyes burned with tears. A firm lump emerged from inside of her throat. The news of Cliff's death had kept the tears at bay but those words from Lars did the trick. Her lips trembled and she brought a hand to her face. It all came out of her like a waterfall.

Her boyfriend was gone. Lars set down his mug on the floor and he moved in closer towards her with his arms wide open. He held her close to his body and she buried her face in his shirt. It was as torrential as the rain outside of the window. She could hear their voices on the street and yet all she wanted was to be held by Lars. She didn't want him to let her go.

“Go make art,” he encouraged her as he rocked her. “Call your parents and make art.”

“I can't—” she wept. “I can't—”

“Do it!” he pled. “Do it for the sake of Cliff. Do it for life itself! Life is precious, Sam—make art with the tapestry of life!”

“Cliff did say that he was inspired to play bass because of the death of his brother,” she tearfully recalled.

“Take a page from his book,” he said with a nod of his head. “Make the best art you can possibly think of. Release yourself. Free yourself from the pain. It is painful—but it will free yourself from the pain of living and the dead itself. Do it for Cliff. Do it for life. Do it for yourself. Add to the world. Leave a legacy the way in which he did. Leave a legacy and burn.”

#chapter 27 #fanfic #fanfiction #metallica fanfic #anthrax fanfic #metallica #anthrax #joey belladonna #frank bello #charlie benante #scott ian #james hetfield #kirk hammett #lars ulrich #fever in fever out #fever in fever out fanfic #deadly nightshade #book two #oc tag #dark romance #also on ao3 #writing #text

[vintage-story-time]

Her Mother's Lover

Chapter 2

Surprisingly, she slept quite late the next morning. When she had

finally showered and dressed, she found her parents were practically

through with their breakfast.

"Hello, sleepy-head," her father greeted her as she sat down at the

table. "How does it feel to sleep in your own bed again?"

"Nothing like it," she answered. "That's another reason I don't want to

go back to school, I'm too comfortable here."

"I think you're grownup enough to come to the party tonight," Minna said

looking appraisingly at her daughter. "It's just going to be some of

father's business friends, and mine too, nothing big."

"That's right," her father chimed in, "and if you need a dress you can

use the family charge account at Saks or Altman's as usual."

"Oh mother," Charisse said happily, "that sounds just too groovy, but I

guess I'm going to surprise both of you . . . I mean I'm still so tired

for some reason, I'd just as soon pass up the party and get to bed

early!"

"All right, dear," her mother said with a rather surprised look. "But I

do want you to get out today and get some fresh air, you look a little

pale to me."

"I intend to mother. I'm going to take a long walk in the park, say

hello to my favorite seals in the zoo, and just read on a bench until

it's time for dinner."

"I wish I didn't have that concert to rehearse for - I'd keep you

company darling. It sounds like a lovely, lazy sort of day that I

haven't had for ages." -

Charisse spent the day in Central Park, as she had planned. She departed

from her plans in one respect. She went to the Metropolitan Museum of

Art and viewed again their wonderful sculptures - her favorite still

being the nude Venus Aphrodite, rising from the surf in all her feminine

glory. She wondered why the statues of the naked goddesses held her

interest so much more than the statues of the naked men, which after all

showed every detail of the male sexual organs.

When she came home, she could hear her mother talking to someone on the

phone. Carefully lifting the extension phone in the kitchen, she

listened. Her mother was talking to a man with a deep virile voice,

someone who was a stranger to Charisse.

She heard her say, "There's this damned party of Charlie's tonight . . .

but maybe we'll be able to see each other anyway if I can get out of the

house with some kind of an excuse . . . "

"That would be wonderful, darling. But if you can't make it, we'll see

each other tomorrow night at my place."

"That's a date, dear," Minna laughed in her rich contralto and then hung

up.

Charisse replaced the receiver and thought to herself why Minna should

he making evening dates with the possessor of the virile baritone voice.

Could there possibly have been anything to those monstrous articles in

the scrap-books? Well, it was probably a business appointment, even if

it all did sound very sexy. It was out of the question to Charisse that

her adored mother would seriously play around with, or give her body to

a mere man . . .

She took a shower which had the effect of stimulating and refreshing her

body to the point where she felt ready to take on anything. Going into

the kitchen, she fixed herself a salad and some milk and cake and took

it up to her bedroom, determined to just listen to some good music and

then go to sleep early.

But sleep was out of the question for her as she began to hear the

slamming of doors and the bustling noises of the evening's party guests

arriving. There really weren't more than seven or eight people at the

party, but as the drinks began to take effect they were soon making

enough noise for a regiment. Wondering what was really causing all the

commotion, Charisse opened the door of her bedroom a bit and peeked out.

There was the usual drinking, small talk and boozy laughter going on in

the living-room. Everyone had already had dinner. Her mother was in the

hallway, diagonally across from her bedroom, talking to Jack Lennard, a

mature, rather thickset sort of man. He had been a friend of the

Mantells for years and Charisse remembered him with feelings of

distaste.

For one thing, ever since she had been thirteen, he had always been

feeling her up whenever he visited the house. He would put his hand on

her asscheeks and sensuously slide it up and down, his palms or his

elbows were always sort of moving up and down over her budding titties.

He made it all seem like some kind of accident, but Charisse knew that

he really meant it. If he had the nerve to boldly feel her sex organs

the way he did when her father and mother were in the apartment, she

wondered what would happen if they were out. She was glad that he had

never happened upon her when she was alone in the apartment. She felt he

would have raped her without the slightest hesitation. She really didn't

care much about Jack Lennard.

She felt the same way about his wife Cora Lennard, who was an attractive

brunette of about thirty-five with a voluptuous well- preserved body.

Her face was always faultlessly made up, even if it was a bit too heavy

on the mascara and lipstick. What Charisse disliked about Cora was her

constant air of supercilious sophistication and snobbishness. She

affected a kind of super-cool which she let you know in a subtle way

that nothing could break down.

Her mother and Cora were deep in conversation in the hallway near her

bedroom. As she strained to catch some of their "woman- talk" she was

surprised to see Cora press against her mother's body. One of her hands

descended to Minna's lush asscheek and fondled it, while the other was

actually grasping one of her mother's breasts - and squeezing it! Her

mother surprised her by covering Cora's hand on her breast with her own,

and smilingly removing Cora's hand from her ass, she whispered something

to her. Cora's wide mouth opened wider, her red lips emphasizing her big

white teeth. Amazed, Charisse watched her mother lead Cora into her

bedroom. Her curiosity overcoming her surprise, Charisse tiptoed to the

door of her mother's bedroom. The door was closed, but light was

streaming through the large keyhole of the door. Charisse knew from

secretly watching her mother undress and give herself beauty treatments

before retiring that the keyhole afforded a complete view of the room if

a light was on. There was a moment of guilty hesitation for her, and

then she gasped as she placed her eye to the keyhole. Maybe all those

gossip columns and nasty remarks had something to them! Maybe where

there was so much smoke there was also a little fire!

She tried hard to understand what she was seeing and even hearing

through the door. There was her mother lying back on the bed, her

expensive silk evening dress with its skirt tucked up to her waist. Her

beautiful legs were clad in sheer nylons, but she was wearing no girdle,

the stockings were rolled. And she was wearing no panties either! The

sight of her mother's alabaster white hips, her exposed reddish bush

hair and moist, pink cuntlips shocked her.

Hypnotized by the unusual sight she heard her mother laugh and say,

"You'll have to make this one a quickie, Cora darling. If we stay up

here too long, they'll miss us both in the living room!"

"You know I'm an artist and don't like to be rushed, Minna. Is Mr. Dildo

still in your third dresser drawer, under you slips?"

Apparently it was, because she saw Cora go to the drawer and take out a

peculiar looking harness - it looked just like a garter- belt with a

huge red knockwurst hanging from it. She saw Cora lift up her dress,

remove it and after taking off her slip and panties, she strapped on the

object she had called Mr. Dildo. Now Charisse recognized it for what it

was, a huge imitation red rubber male sex-organ, complete down to the

two testicles dangling from it.

"Take off your bra, Minna," she heard Cora say, breathing heavily. "You

know I like to feel them!"

As her mother removed her bra, she saw her lush white tits and their

huge pinkly erect nipples completely exposed to Cora's questing hands.

Cora began to knead them and she could see her mother's nipples

stiffening and erecting under the kneading and caressing of her titties.

She saw her mother spread her legs, her mouth forming an anguished

invitation. Cora leaned forward between her mother's legs and with a

grunt of triumph she shoved the dildo completely up into Minna's moist

vagina.

As Cora began to slide the huge rubber penis in and out of her mother's

pussy, she could hear her mother's gasps of pleasure. Then Cora's

movements became more violent and she could actually hear the threshing

of the two women's bodies. Her mother began to moan as if she were in

some kind of pain, while Cora's breathing sounded as if she were running

a race.

Suddenly she heard her mother whisper urgently, "Oh, Cora darling, shove

it all the way up my hole . . . ah . . . all the way up . . . I want to

feel those red balls slapping up against my cunt!"

Charisse knew that what she was seeing was a sex act, she had enough

lectures in hygiene at school to know that.

But she had only heard vaguely that women were sometimes lovers and that

it was a very immoral thing called Lesbianism that just didn't happen

among nice people. Yet here was her own mother being sexually entered by

a woman-friend! It was unbelievable and yet it was happening in front of

her very eyes. She had tried to imagine what having a man push his thing

into her cunny would be like, she knew that when you lost your "cherry"

it was supposed to hurt and that you bled from there for awhile. But

this sounded as if her mother were actually enjoying the big red prick

that Cora was shoving in and out of her vagina with savage rhythm.

"It's all the way up now . . . oh . . . keep ramming that prick up my

cunt . . . I just love it, darling . . . oohh . . . "

She was fascinated as she watched Cora fucking her mother. They were

hopelessly enmeshed in the sex act now, moaning and gasping as if

nearing the end of a grueling race. She knew she was watching something

forbidden and terribly immoral - who could ever imagine such a thing

between her adored mother and that loud brassy Cora Lennard!"

"How does Mr. Dildo feel?" she heard Cora ask her mother. "Is he far

enough up your wonderful cunt?"

"Yes, yes Cora, you're tickling my uterus right now - you can't go any

further. I just love the way you fuck me! You beat any man!"

She saw Cora's solid thighs, and the red dildo going in and out, faster

and faster up her mother's cunt. The whole thing was so exciting that

she began to have a funny feeling in her own cunny. She touched her

panties and felt that her crotch was all wet . . .

She still wondered how her mother could let a crude woman like Cora do

such an intimate thing to her. Wasn't her father the only one with the

right to put his prick into her mother's cunt?

Now their two bodies began to thresh up and down even more violently on

the bed. Charisse felt herself getting hotter and wetter in her crotch

as she watched.

"Screw me babe, screw me all the way!" she heard her mother practically

shriek. Charisse was aroused and bursting with curiosity about the

sensation that could produce this abandoned reaction in her mother's

body.

Unconsciously Charisse's hand crept down to her crotch and felt the

cloth saturated with hot seepings from her cunny. She worked her fingers

under the material and began to finger her pussy-lips, like she did when

she was bathing, or late at night when she couldn't sleep. As she

watched Cora's white asscheeks rising and falling, her finger began

working with the same rhythm in her own cunt.

Faster and faster the huge, red dildo, glistening now with her mother's

cunt-juice, rammed in and out of Minna's bushy twat. Charisse worked her

own fingers faster and faster on that specially sensitive spot, high

between her cuntlips.

"I'm coming, Cora, please fuck faster, I'm coming so good, Cora doll . .

. all the way up now!" her mother practically wailed.

"I'm going to shoot right up your hole baby!" Cora gasped. She squeezed

the big red testicles of the dildo and then almost screamed triumphantly

- "I've come, you bitch! I've come and shot a hot load in you! Doesn't

that feel good?"

Amazed, Charisse saw a white milky fluid seep from her mother's pussy as

they both quivered and contorted in the throes of their orgasm

Apparently, squeezing the balls of the dildo had ejaculated the white,

milky fluid into her mother's still twitching pussy.

Still crouching at the keyhole she knew she must leave now that the

immoral frenzy she had just seen was over. It would be terrible if they

discovered her at the door!

"Let's get back to the party, Cora dear," she heard her mother

whispering.

"O.K., just let me feel those darling tits of yours once more - and then

off we go to those damned squares outside!"

As she saw Cora mouth her mother's naked nipples, she turned away from

the door, straightened up and walked tensely into her bedroom. Confused

thoughts were struggling with the scene she had just witnessed. Her

mother, her idol, the strong beautiful woman she worshipped had just

engaged in an act with another woman which most people would deem

obscene. And yet, in spite of the evidence of her own eyes, Charisse

knew that her mother was good - and honest. No matter what a million

gossip sheets might say, she knew that her own mother could never do

anything basically wrong. She still was absent-mindedly fingering her

wet crotch, and as she thought of what she had just seen, she pulled her

panties down her legs. Without the thin material in the way, she began

to work her fingers up and down between her cuntlips. The warm feeling

in her pussy began to spread, and just as she thought of how her mother

and Cora had shrieked their comes, her cunt began to twitch violently.

Even though she had masturbated before, Charisse had never come like

this. Cunt-juice just seemed to ooze from her as she moaned in the

throes of the most intense come of her young life.

"Oh mother, mother, how could you," Charisse whispered to herself as her

come came to an end. Feeling her wet pussy, with cunt-juice actually

dribbling down her legs, she decided to take a shower and then go to

bed.

Tiptoeing to the bathroom, she noticed that her mother's bedroom door

was wide open; apparently Cora and Minna had rejoined the others. The

alcoholic gaiety of the party was still going on, but as she passed the

door to her father's bedroom, she stopped at the sound of his voice.

What was he doing in his bedroom while his guests were partying?

Someone answered her father and it sounded like a woman's voice. Her

curiosity was aroused, and boldly she bent down to the keyhole of her

father's room. Surely her father wasn't cheating on Minna and frigging a

woman guest from the party! Her father was nice, but really such a

weakling - she couldn't see him being aggressive enough to shove his

thing between a strange woman's legs. He probably only did it with

mother because she let him! So what on earth was happening? Who was

really cheating and being cheated on?

The sight that met Charisse's eyes this time astounded her. Her father

was lying back on the bed, his pants and underwear completely off. There

was a completely naked blonde girl on the bed with him, with wide supple

hips, generously curved breasts and a mouth that looked like a painted

red gash.

"You're warming me up Charlie," the girl was saying to her father. "Just

a little more of that . . . huh, sugar . . . "she wheedled.

Charisse was glued to the keyhole. A little more of what, she wondered.

And then she knew. The blonde had been sitting on her father's chest,

legs astride and facing him. Suddenly, she shifted her position forward

and opening her legs wider, she seemed to sit down on her father's

mouth. Her father began to move rhythmically as the girl's cuntlips and

his lips seemed to meet in a sucking, writhing contract

"Oh, you bastard," the girl gasped, you've got your goddamn tongue right

on my clitty and I'm coming, I'm coming!" . . . her wail trailed off as

her torso performed a series of shuddering contortions, her pussy still

being sucked by her father's lips.

As her father worked his face from between the girl's legs, he smirked

and said, "Turn about fair play, honey!"

Shifting her position the girl kneeled over her father's middle and then

she saw her grasp her father's penis.

"My but Daddy's got a bigger prick than I expected," she said to

herself.

She had never seen anything that thick or stiff in her life. The head of

it was deep-pink and throbbed like a living thing. As the blonde's big

wet lips closed over her father's cock, she heard him say, "Now give me

a real good blow job, Sheila. After all, if you want a part in one of my

TV shows, just consider this an audition . . . "

He said nothing more as Sheila's mouth sucked up and down his huge,

stiff shaft. All he could do, apparently, was to moan encouragingly as

the girl's cocksucking pace increased.

Charisse watched his glistening, tremendous cock with a feeling of awe.

She never would have dreamt that a mild-mannered man like her father

could be the possessor of such a virile dick. Maybe there was a good

reason that mother had married him after all. She hadn't seen any cocks

to speak of, except on statues or in text-books, but her father had a

cock you had to respect.

Suddenly, her father pushed the blonde girl's head away from his penis.

"I want to shoot in your twat!" she heard him say coarsely.

Again she gazed at his tremendous penis. It seemed to be at least nine

inches long, with the head looking like a big oval vibrator as it

quivered and glistened with Sheila's saliva on it. Her father's

testicles matched his cock, looking like two huge tomatoes covered with

hair.

Her father turned abruptly, and as the blonde Sheila spread her legs, he

thrust his penis into her pink, golden-bushed pussy. Sheila gasped as

his cock rammed completely up her vagina.

"Give it to me Charlie, shove it all the way up my twat!" Sheila moaned

as he started to fuck her in earnest, his cock ramming in and out of her

wet cunt with a steadily increasing rhythm.

The sight of a real cock, instead of a dildo, seemed to excite Charisse

even more as she watched the frigging, tossing bodies on the bed. She

wasn't wearing her panties, and she could feel the hot wet juice from

her pussy starting to dribble down between her legs, as she watched

Sheila being fucked by her father.

Charles Mantell, TV producer was thoroughly enjoying the frigging

"audition" he was giving the voluptuous young actress. He edged up and

spread her legs wider, so that his dong could plunge more deeply into

her moist, pink cunt.

Charisse felt a twinge of jealousy as she saw that huge stiff prick of

her father's going in and out of the blonde's cunt. If her father's cock

could give such pleasure to another woman, why was her mother allowing

her vagina to be invaded by a rubber dildo? Sheila's hips began to

writhe and twitch under the steady ramming of her father's cock. As

Sheila threshed from side to side, Charisse sensed that her orgasm

wasn't far off.

Unconsciously her hand dropped down to her own drooling pussy, and for

the second time that night Charisse began to keep time to a hump rhythm

with her fingers in her cunt. Her own pussy's excitement mounted as she

watched Sheila's heightening passion under the onslaught of her father's

dick.

She dreaded being caught spying through the keyhole, and masturbating

her own cunny at the same time . . . what was happening to her. And yet,

fascinated by her father's pistoning cock sliding in and out of Sheila's

blonde-bushed twat, she couldn't tear herself away.

"Give me your cock . . . ram it in up to Your balls, Charlie . . fuck me

. . . fuck me . . . fuck me . . . ." Sheila pleaded as she felt her

orgasm welling up within her vagina.

"I'm going to shoot my load . . . shoot my scum into that blonde cunt of

yours . . . " Charles Mantell groaned as he rammed his cock so deeply

into the blonde's cunt, that his balls literally slapped against her

cuntlips.

"Oh God . . . you're making me come, you're making me come Charlie . . .

shoot, shoot your goddamn load all the way up my cunt," the writhing

blonde literally shrieked as her lovely torso contorted into a come of

staggering proportions. Charisse could see the lips of her cunt

practically curling and sucking around her father's jerking cock.

"I feel your hot cum in me," the blonde sobbed, "Oh, shoot all that

sweet ball-juice to me, daddy, I'm gonna milk it to the last drop.

Her father moaned and now he was pumping his penis in and out

erratically - holding it in for many seconds, and then thrusting

convulsively into Sheila's pussy.

"I'm coming, too! I'm coming, too!" her father groaned as his arms

closed around Sheila's convulsing torso. Then, "Milk that cock, baby,

get the last drop out into that sweet pussy . . . "

Charisse kept watching them, her hand still between her cuntlips, her

finger lightly moving on her clitoris. Then she remembered she had been

on the way to the bathroom to wipe her pussy and continued to the

toilet.

She looked in the mirror and noticed that her face was flushed. She just

couldn't take her finger away from her clitty, and as she played with

it, her yearning, indefinable sensation built up more and more within

her. She knew she was on the brink of coming and stopped for a moment to

savor the sensation in her cunt . . to prolong it just as much as she

could.

For some reason, visions of Cora, the dildo ramming in and out of her

mother's pussy seemed to dominate her mind.

"I'll bet that dildo feels better than a man's thing . . . mother must

know best!" she murmured to herself as she began her autoerotic cunt and

clitoris massage once again.

She wondered why her mother was always foremost in her mind. Her mother

was definitely the strong, decisive person in her parents marriage. Dad

was a nice man, in a mild, namby-pamby sort of way. But Minna Mantell,

the singing star, overflowing with life, vitality and a positive

personality, was Charisse's ideal. She could feel much more, was

actually always closer to her mother than her father. In a sense, that

was one of the reasons she had impetuously run away from school.

If her mother would only make Charisse her private secretary- companion,

that would be career enough for her. And, in this fixation on her

mother, she realized that she was different from the other girls in

school who mostly bragged and talked about their fathers.

She had an idea she turned to her mother, because her mother somehow

seemed to be a stronger haven of security.

She put her hand back on her vagina and parting the wet lips with her

forefinger, she let it play on her stiff clitoris once again. The

hygiene teacher had warned all the girls against masturbation, but how

could something that felt this good be bad?

As she kept playing with her clitoris and her finger got wet, she

fancied that it was Cora's dildo that was going into her hot pussy. But

it wasn't Cora who was wearing the dildo, it was her mother Minna,

gently shoving the rubber prick between her cuntlips.

She came so suddenly and so strongly, that for a moment she thought her

body was actually going into convulsions. There was a veritable gush of

cunt-juice on her hand, her inner thighs, drops of it on the floor as

her cunt spasmed in the most shattering come she had ever experienced.

"Oh my God," she said to herself as the waves of the intense orgasm

began to recede . . . " If I can feel this way by just masturbating

after seeing people fucking, what will the real thing be like."

"Probably blow my mind!" she giggled to herself as she carefully washed

her pussy, dried herself off and left for her bedroom.

#Her Mother's Lover #Chapter 2

[sheepsandcattle]

Chapter 27

It only takes a day or two for Jordan to get over what happened. It’s not even a week later, all of them sat around a table on the roof of Hoax, that Jeff tries to get him talking about it. It goes the same as just about every time Curly’s tried to do the same thing:

“You’re weirdly chill about the whole thing,” he’s saying now.

Jordan shrugs. “It’s done.”

“Like… Weirdly chill,” Dean seconds, but he’s shrugged off too.

Jeff huffs, dissatisfied. “It’s been less than a week and you’re back at work, are you dumb?”

Nothing.

“I can see the thing weeping from here.”

“Jeff,” Curly groans, but Jordan doesn’t even react, just begins to stand. “That’s fucking minging.”

“Break’s up,” Jordan grunts and, just like that, he grabs his beer and leaves the scene; back towards the bar where he’s scheduled to keep pouring drinks ‘til two.

It started with him laughing it off. Curls had driven him home, decided to stay a night or two in case he bled out or plotted to kill the bloke who stabbed him or summet equally stupid. Jordan had said “you’re mothering me,” as Curly ran about making coffee and moving pillows and replacing gauze. “I ain’t dying, Curls. Give it a fuckin’ rest,” he’d told him, and laughed as he said it. He’d winced right after, loud enough for Curly to hear it with his back to him (still working on that coffee) even after he tried to cover it with a sniff and a cough. “We’ve got bigger shit to worry about, like if I should cover it with a tattoo of your face, or Joe Strummer’s.”

Curls had snorted, shaking his head. “You aren’t funny,” he’d said. “Sit down, will you? And stop taking before you hurt yourself.”

“Nobody’s ever told me I talk too much before,” Jordan mused.

“I’m serious, Jordan. Stop acting like you’ve scraped your bloody knee and sit down.”

“Stop acting like I’m a fucking bitch,” Jordan has snapped, shutting him up.

“How’s he been?” Dean’s whispering, like Jordan could somehow hear them from all the way over there. He leans over the table, engaged, and it gives Curly a better view of the man in question, working way over Dean’s shoulder. “Normal?”

“Arsey,” Curls tells him in a grunt. “Just wanted to laugh it off at first, then he started playing it down. Now he’s always in a mood and rips my head off every time I mention it. I just feel so fucking guilty, and I know I should. The bloke was trying to buy from me, but. God, I wish he’d make it a bit easier on me.”

Jeff shrugs to Curly’s right and leans over the small circular table in a similar way to Dean. “He’s not mad at you. Probably embarrassed,” he suggests. “You know what he’s like: stubborn as fuck. Probably plotting how to fuck the guy up.”

“That’s not funny,” Dean scolds.

“I’m not kidding.” The man lifts his drink to take a short sip. “He’s as prideful as he is angry, you’ve seen it yourself.”

This has Curly’s attention returning from Jordan at the bar, to Jeff at the table. “What do you mean?”

“Well done,” Dean huffs. “Get him freaked out about one more thing, why don’t you, Jeff?”

Truthfully, he could have guessed that Jordan has a taste for revenge. He remembers how Jordan had told him in a round-about way that some of his past rivals were still in the picture. Curly has never dared ask any more about it. All he knows is that Jordan’s a product of his past and he’s not the type to let shit slide because of it. Just a week ago they spotted Jules in the bottom bar and Curly had to talk J down for forty minutes before they could get on with their night – and that only worked out because Jules had left by then. All that over a slur – go knows how far he’d go to get back at the asshole that sent him to the ER.

“I know he has history,” Curly confirms. “He told me about the gang shit-" Sort of. “-but he left it all in New York. Isn’t that proof that he knows how to leave shit in the past? That was ages ago – before you pair even knew him.” His friends exchange a look. “What?”

“You’ve only seen his best side, buddy,” Dean says.

“I’ve seen him stab a bloke.”

“Protecting you,” Jeff corrects. “He’s done the same thing for less.”

He gets a hard shove from Dean then. “Alright, that’s enough, Jeff,” he says with a glance towards Curly. “Ignore him. J’s not half as pissy as he used to be. He’s probably just trying to move on.”

Curly’s scowling though, looking between the pair as he asks, “what do you mean ‘same for less?’ In Brockton, you mean?” Maybe it was naive to think his boyfriend stabbing a bloke was a one-off.

Just as Dean exclaims, “no!” Jeff insists, “Of course,” before he adds, “stop sheltering him, Dean, he’s not a kid and he’s fuckin’ dating the guy,” with a roll of his eyes before he turns slightly to give Curly his full focus.

Dean seems to back down, slouching back in his chair and Jeff continues; “Listen, I don’t need to tell you that Jord’s a damn fucking good guy. He’s one of my best friends and if I thought there was a secret of his worth keeping, I’d do it – even from you. But it’s no secret that he acts on anger. He was protecting you when he hurt that guy and you know he’d do it again to any motherfucker that laid a bad hand on you.” He doesn’t continue until Curly nods and he’s confident that he’s being understood. “-But he was also settling a score. They didn’t come out of nowhere. There’s this guy--”

“Nick,” Curly recalls. Tell Nick that if I see any of you again, I’ll fuckin’ kill you. He remembers how Jordan’s face had changed into something terrifying when he spat that out. How he wiped the knife clean on his pants like it was nothing. “I knew that already.”

“Did you know he’s dead?”

He forgets to respond. Curly’s stomach suddenly feels heavy; his head light, as the implications in Dean’s question ring clear. He didn’t know that. He attempts to remain passive, leaning back into his seat again and reaching with a shaky hand for his drink. Curly takes a long sip whilst he waits for Jeff to go on, but he doesn’t. He’s glancing at Dean now like he’s only just realising that maybe it wasn’t his place after all.

“Well done,” Dean says again, quieter than he had last time. “I asked him about it, Curly,” he tells him, now that their friend’s gone quiet. Jeff doesn’t look remorseful – he looks satisfied if anything, as he sits back and watches Dean speak. “He damn near ripped my head off. It killed him to hear that we thought even for a second that he could kill somebody. I believe him.”

“Dead since when?” He forgets to sound passive this time.

Dean shrugs. “Since... Brandon was here – that’s when he told us, anyway.”

“Look,” Jeff cuts in. “I’m not saying it was him. I’m just saying that he knew how and when it happened.”

“Fucking hell, Jeff, you’re not very bloody convincing,” Curly points.

“Fucking right he isn’t,” Dean confirms. “Curly, listen. Jordan knows a lot of people. That’s all. He doesn’t know how to let shit go. He gets the wrong people involved with his shit. You think we’d have sat there with him just now, thinking he’d m—” he drops to a hissed whisper. “—Thinking he’d murdered someone? We’re fucking clean. You know we’re not like that. And I know you know he isn’t either.”

“All I was tryna say is that he acts before he thinks,” Dean reason. “He’s got beef with a dead guy in a gang – do you get that? That shit follows you.”

“Bit of feedback mate,” Curly begins, hissing back. “Maybe next time, open with summet like ‘Jordan’s never killed anyone but..’ yeah? Put me at ease a bit.”

By this point, all three of them are leant in, talking snappily – not that any of them notice until Jordan’s voice is pulling them out of the tight triangle.

“Fuck’s up with you guys?”

They all jump back, reaching for their drinks at the same time as they mumble “nothing” and “nowt” like it isn’t too late to act casual. His neck feels hot, worked up from the conversation and anxious from having been caught.

“… Right,” Jordan nods slowly, rounding the table to stand at Curly’s side, where he leans a hand on the back of his chair. “These assholes grillin’ you?”

Curly scoffs, neck arched to look up towards the man. “You’ve got no idea,” he tells him, trying his best to stay loose as he smiles up at the man.

J mustn’t notice, because he gives a small smile in return. “Well you’re in luck; I’m here to save you.” Curly frowns. “Apparently I’ve gotta go home,” he then tells him, rolling his eyes, and Curly’s on his feet so quick that the blood heating his neck shoots right to his brain.

“Why, what happened?” his eyes dart to the bandage on the side of J’s neck, and it’s funny how quickly your mind can just drift from your boyfriend’s possible murderous past when his own welfare is in question. It looks clean though, despite Jeff’s earlier joke.

“Nothing.” Jordan huffs, taking a second to glance between the other two men as he confirms, “I’m fucking fine. We’re quiet. We have four managers in. They don’t need me.”

“Hey, Charlie,” Jeff calls to a woman clearing glasses off the table beside their own. “Is he ‘fine’ or is he talkin’ shit?”

“He’s talking shit,” she responds without a second thought, then points towards Curly. “Get the boy home,” she demands.

Curly gives Jordan a look, raising a brow as the man continues to look irritated. “I’m knackered anyway,” he lies. “And these pair are doing my head in. Let’s go.”

“Asshole,” Dean mutters, but Curly’s already ushering Jordan away from the table.

***

“Are you alright?”

Curly must have been doing a good job of faking sleep because Jordan jolts a little when he speaks, eyes leaving the ceiling. He’s been like that since they got into bed; just lying there on his back, breathing heavily as he stares up at the ceiling. Curly wonders what’s got his breath so erratic and his brows furrowing like he’s having a row in his head.

The man opens his mouth to respond, but Curly cuts him off before he can. “I know you are,” he amends. “I know you don’t need me to take care of you, but. Are you alright?” He reaches out to touch the man’s face, fingers sliding over his cheek when Jordan finally turns his head to look at him.

“You always seem so… Angry,” he explains, his voice dropping to a whisper as he asks, “are you angry?”

Jordan takes a deep breath before he rolls onto his side, a hand landing on Curly’s waist to pull him a little closer. Curly ends up on the edge of his pillow, but he doesn’t mind. Jordan just nods.

“At me?” Curly doesn’t mean to sound so woe. He almost hopes he says yes – better to be angry at Curly than the guy who hurt him, if his conversation with Jeff and Dean is anything to go by. “Because he thought I was dealing?” He’s almost coaxing.

“No,” Jordan mumbles. “Not you.”

He slides in a little closer, from the edge of his pillow to the edge of Jordan’s, who tickles his back with the tips of his fingers beneath the covers. It’s the most tender moment they’ve had in a week. “At that bloke? Rory?”

The man shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know.” His brows furrow like they had been as he stared up at the ceiling. “I keep replaying it in my head. I get so—” He shrugs again, his eyes cast somewhere over Curly’s shoulder, distracted by the thought.

“Tell me,” he whispers – wants to say help me understand, but he’s not sure Jordan even understands it himself.

“It was a cheap shot,” he says. “A dumb fight at a house party. He didn’t have to…” He shakes his head as he trails off.

It feels harsh, but Curly thinks maybe he might put things into perspective by saying, “isn’t it just the same as when you did it? To that guy in the street?” He gets no response. “Do you regret it?”

“No,” Jordan says quickly, the volume of his voice rising just a little with the speed of his reply. “That was different.”

“Because of Nick?” He hadn’t planned to bring him up – really, and when Jordan’s eyes return to him, it’s Curly’s turn to look off into the darkness beyond the bed. “Because of revenge?”

Jordan goes quiet again and rolls back onto his back where his breaths pick up again, just slightly. Curly’s not sure he’d have even noticed if he wasn’t listening out for it.

“I’m not trying to quiz you,” he tells him honestly, his knuckles sliding over the man’s jaw in an attempt to soothe him. “I want to understand.”

“So do I,” Jordan agrees, then goes back to gritting his teeth at the ceiling.

“Don’t try to get back at Rory.” The words tumble right out. “Please. He’s not worth it.”

Slowly, Jordan reaches up and takes Curly’s wrist in his hand. He brings his hand a little further up, to his lips where Curly thinks he will kiss him, but he instead just holds his hand there against his mouth, before he guides it away from him completely. Jordan drags his own palms over his face then, taking two long, deep before he crosses his arms over his stomach and asks point-blank, “when did you find out about Nick?”

He hadn’t realised that his request about Rory would hold such a clear connection to Nick’s death, but the fact that it quite clearly does for Jordan has his chest tightening up and his stomach hollowing right out. 

He’s done the same thing for less.

“Tonight.” There’s no sense in lying to him. In fact, the second he responds, Curly feels lighter. He hadn’t realised how wrong it felt to have made so many assumptions about his own boyfriend behind his back.

“Dean?” Jordan asks, and Curly nods. “I didn’t kill him.”

“I know,” he tells him, taking himself off-guard because, although he means it, Curly’s not sure even he realised it until just then. “I know you didn’t.”

“Th—” Jordan’s breath hitches. It’s a sight Curly’s never seen before – imagined, even – Jordan bringing a hand back up to his face to press his hand to his mouth.

“J.” He feels pathetic as he searches for something to say, because Jordan’s—He’s crying, pulling in jagged breaths beneath his palm. Curly pushes himself up, reaches out to pull the man’s hand from his face. Jordan lets him but is following his lead and sitting up, hanging his head between his shoulders before Curly can try to catch his eye. “It’s alright, whatever it—"

“They weren’t meant to fucking kill him,” he says between heaving breaths. “F-fuck, they—Nobody—” Jordan’s holding his head in his hands, shoulders shaking but he must be holding the sobs back because he barely makes a noise. Curly doesn’t either as he tries to make sense of his words – or rather find an explanation that isn’t Jordan knowing about it all.

The tendons in the man’s neck are straining and Curly dreads to think about the state of the other side, under the bandage, or the pain it must be causing him.

“Okay.” He nods as he slides a hand up to the back of his neck and into his hair. “Do you know who it was?” It’s so fucking stupid to ask – knowing that kind of information is dangerous, Curly knows that, but, as he looks at Jordan like this, doubled over and gasping for breath as he cries into his hands, it’s hard to believe there’s no explanation that excuses his involvement and makes it all make sense. He’s left in suspense though, feeling more and more desperate as he cards his fingers through the man’s hair and waits for him to catch his breath and calm himself.

“Some guys from New York,” Jordan finally says. “I paid them to… Beat him up a little. Get him off my back – the guy’s been on me since I left the city. Seven fucking years, Curly. And if I— Boyd would have killed me that night, I swear he would have. You too.”

Curly can only assume Boyd’s the guy who got stabbed – remembers what Dean had said about how Jordan was protecting him that night, but he was also settling a score. Jordan’s words are suddenly so rushed that Curly’s taking guesses at the gaps he leaves – like exactly who Boyd even is. A connection to Nick, he’d guess.

“Why?” He feels so daft and naive by asking it, but, “what’s worth going after you for that long? What is it that’s so bad but could be fixed by killing you?”

Jordan scoffs. “Nick—” He pauses to straighten up, wiping his hands over his face and glancing briefly at Curly before he looks down at his lap. He doesn’t hide his face now though, just casts his eyes to his lap. “He used to… He and my mom were together for a while, I think.”

Curly had expected drugs or gang crimes or something of the like – not an old stepdad. “You think?” 

“He—” Jordan shakes his head, sniffs. His hysterics are fading, and it’s almost like Jordan’s accepted the rest of the story. Has disconnected himself from all the emotion attached it his past. It’s just the present that he’s having a hard time with. “It’s complicated. Nick was an asshole. I barely even remember him, ‘cause my mom’s next… Guy, Marc – he pretty much chased him off the scene. But we owed him money,” he explains, and that makes a little more sense. Curls wonders what kind of boyfriend would give a mother and her kid so much grief over money. “Nick had a lot of enemies anyway. He was a joke but Marc was the real deal and he took it personally, so we were covered. But then, when things got fucked up with Marc… Well, we didn’t have any protection anymore.”

“So you left New York to get away from Nick,” he tries to follow.

“No,” he finally looks Curly’s way, seemingly forgetting the root of the conversation as he gets lost in the story. “Marc chased us out, he—” He looks genuinely remorseful now. “It was my fault, but that’s… Somethin’ else. Difference is, Marc only wanted us gone, but Nick still wanted his money, so we left, and he didn’t bother us for a while. And then I saw these two guys at the club one night; Boyd and Rick.”

“Was that them? In the street?”

The man nods. “I paid ‘em off as much as a could, but we still owed Nick… Fuck, thousands.”

Curly wants so badly to tell Jordan that there’s no ‘we’ – that he’s got no doubt that it’s Jordan’s mother that owes the money, and that Jordan just got dragged into it all, but then the man adds, “he’d have killed me for the sake of getting my mom’s fucking attention. She don’t even know he was around – I barely know where she is half of the time, never mind them.”

“So, you paid somebody to beat him up, like a warning? Where did you get that kind of money? How much would—”

“Just—” J shakes his head again. “The point is, I didn’t fuckin’ pay to get him killed. I just—fuck.” The realisation must dawn on him again, and something tells Curly that this is the first time Jordan’s really let himself take it all in. “I haven’t heard from them since – any of them. The guys I paid, Boyd or Rick.”

“Okay, so that’s good—”

“No Curly, it’s not fucking good because they killed Nick and I paid them! I—” He stops, snaps his mouth shut and arches into himself again. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I just. This shit can come back to me. So fucking easily. If they figured out who did it, they’d ask questions, it’d come right back—”

“But he has a lot of enemies,” Curls reads back. “You said that. Seven years is a long fucking time, J. I bet he’s got a lot of new enemies in New York by now.” Fuck knows if what he’s saying holds any weight, but Curly just talks and talks and hopes something sticks. “If anyone is questioning anything, I’ll bet they’re running ‘round in bloody circles. If it was them who killed him, it’s on them.” He knows rightly that Jordan has played a large part in it but— “he sounds like a fucking arsehole. He’d have killed you if you didn’t do it first. And me and your mum. You didn’t want him dead; I believe that, but he is and, love, it’s probably bloody good that he is.”

Jordan remains quiet as he lays back down. He lies on his side and Curly spots the orange-red liquid weeping through his bandage but says nothing, for now, instead lowering himself to lay beside him, pulling the sheets over them and hooking an ankle over the man’s leg.

The man nods, no longer looking away but instead directly at Curly as his fingers play with his hair. “I fucking hated him,” he tells him. “When I was a kid, he was...” Jordan huffs. “And now he’s dead, and it’s my fault, and I feel sick. I keep thinking of all the different ways I coulda fixed it instead.”

“Did he hurt you? And your mum?”

Jordan just huffs again, shifting until they’re sharing Curly’s pillow this time. “Stop tryna make me a martyr,” he tells him, hushed. “Don’t look for reasons to hate him. Let me be sorry.” Their noses touch as he closes his eyes, just a little too tight. “I am sorry.”

“I believe you,” Curly tells him.

It’s done. Jordan didn’t mean to do it. It was probably some freak accident where they guys went too hard -- if it was even them at all. J’s got a totally different life in Brockton. No visible ties at all. He pushes himself up again, eyes on the man’s neck again, too unsettled to start lying around doing nothing.

“Please let me change your bandage.”

Jordan hums as he gives a small nod. “Okay, once.”

One bloody problem at a time, he thinks.

#writing #ch #ch27

[halfbreedhawkins]

⏰ 17

The slow drip of blood onto the snow was entrancing, it fell like soft beads before soaking into the ice, the blood spread like ivy tendrils and the blonde watched in fascination as it grew darker until it became a small pool.

“Get up,” the crowing voice above her snarled, “thought you learned magic at your fancy school,” there was a crowd now, but Penny couldn’t bring herself to stand, too far gone staring at the droplets of blood wondering if it was going to pool up, swallow her whole. Drowned in waves of violent red.

“Charli stop--” that was Faron, she could see the flop of his dark hair and worried eyes, voice breaking while Charlie snarled at him.

“Why should I?” Penny knew something was pressing into the back of her neck, it felt hard and heavy, the heel of a boot perhaps. But she couldn’t even push it off, hypnotized by the continued gathering of her blood on the snow. “C’mon Persephone get up. Are you a wolf or not.”

Penny wasn’t blessed, wasn’t she blessed enough to be normal, wasn’t blessed enough to really be worth anything here at the Meets. Voice drowned by howls she couldn’t make. Charli could never stand her, ever since they were kids, Penny had landed under her boot or falling from one of her punches anytime they scraped. She just wasn’t built to fight.  Maybe it was also a bit of jealousy Penny decided, because Charli has had her eyes on Joey since they were kids, and somehow got it into her head that the Hawkins stole her. 

Penny maybe was a bit too smug when she told Charli  that Joey slipped into her bed first.

Joey was the one who followed her around from bonfire to bonfire. Brought her drinks and gave Penny her cloak. She was the one who rubbed her cheek along her jaw, and pressed kisses to her mouth. Joey was the one to bring her flowers and hold her things while Penny joined her cousins in a scrap. Joey sent her letters to school and waited at Kings Cross this winter to pick her up, all sharp smiles and dark hair, making her peers raise their brows cause this was who Penny was dating? And Penny was all smiles and waves as Joey apparated her out, and they landed in a heap in her bed, far away in Ireland to spend the weekend until Jay and Damon came to drag her back to Edale and the pack. 

So really Charli was playing a game Penny already won, and maybe she was used to watching Penny lose, that when Penny won something. Well, maybe she didn’t like that either. 

But really all this was paling to the fact that she was woozy, her eyes blinking slow and vision growing hazy. 

What had she hit her with?

It was a blast right? Some kind of curse.

Penny would have to make a curse-blocker.

The crowd got closer, growing until it was filled with terrified yelps and cries. Charli’s crowing faded into faint wheezing as Penny tilted her head to find Atalanta holding the girl by the throat, the teenager scrambling at the pressure, turning faintly red. Red like the blood, was sticky now under her cheek, freezing to her skin as Faron was leaning over holding up six fingers.

When did he get six fingers? Has it always been that way? Penny felt her body wiggle, her body felt heavy and floppy. She turned onto her back, her chest frozen half through with melted ice and blood, the sky was turning gold and purple, sun sinking below the horizon. The treetops were spinning, ebbing out like the tide, everyone was yelling the dull roar was similar to a seashell. Far and away. Then a face appeared above her, finely made and brows tensed together.

“Jo-ee,” faint fog fell from her mouth.

“Hey sweetling, can you get up for me?” Penny blinked and tried to roll up, but her tummy hurt, and her head flopped back. There was a hand on her chest, big, covered in faint scars. “Hey okay, listen lie back for me.”

“’s cold,” Penny hummed, warmth radiated from Joey’s hand, her hand came up, uncoordinated and heavy, almost separate from her body before it fell heavily onto the miniature sun on her chest, “warm.” The other girl laughed, tight and nervous. 

“Yes I’m warm, stay still for me.” Penny hummed, her stiff fingers tangling with Joey’s but she whined when they were pulled away. Then she was surrounded by warmth, nose buried into her the base of her throat, shivering harder than a nervous pup under the Full Moon. “Good girl, you’re doing a good job, you gotta stay awake for me,” Penny closed her eyes as Joey moved, the dull roar had turned into a cacophony of sound. Dacha’s versus Hawkins, all of them brawling over the freshly fallen snow, several adults presided, dragging the wounded from the melee. It was never a good idea to stop any kind of fight this close to the Full Moon, Penny blinked where she could see Charli unconscious with Atalanta looking particularly smug wiping blood off her cheek. Helle was pouncing on yet another Dacha relation with hellish glee and Jay was duking it out in a full boxing match with some Loughty-Dacha relation. Then she closed her eyes, and tucked close to Joey. The older woman’s concerned whispers lulling her to sleep.

When she woke back up again she was warm, and it was blissfully quiet. Blinking into the soft low light she could hear the rumblings of a bonfire, the cabin was made sturdily, trunk in the far right corner, a table pushed against the far wall with vials of potions and bloodied clothes sitting under the sun. No-- it was dark out already, the near Full Moon high up in the skies as snow flurries hit the ground with soft whispers, the yellow was just the fire outside.

“Welcome back to earth Seph,” Penny turned her head, so that was why she was warm. Joey was coiled around her, as the blur of sleep sharpened she realized she had been pressed against her chest.

“Joey... what happened?”

“Charli got you when you went for a little hike. She said it was a proper challenge, settling the score.”

Penny blinked, “I don’t remember that.”

Joey frowned, “Like at all?”

“I remember the blood, and you, the Dachas were fighting my cousins--”

“A proper scrap. The Elders finally stopped them, everyone got a proper dressing down.”

“Atalanta knocked Charli out?”

“Actually I hit her first, but Attie finished the job.” Joey looked particularly smug as she flexed her arms, Penny hummed appreciably and turned over into her arms, burying her nose back into her chest with a grateful hum. Joey pressed kisses to her hair, washed and cleaned of blood, scented with lavender, her jewelry was on the bedside table, her wand as well. Penny fidgeted and looked down at her clothes and raised an eyebrow.

“Is this your shirt?” It was at least two sizes too big, Joey was tall, all corded muscle and height to Penny’s softer curves and shorter stature.  But Joey liked the rolls on her tummy and how her thighs filled out a skirt, just as much as Penny liked the ripple of her arms or the sharp edge of her jaw.

“Well you bled over all your outfit, and I didn’t wanna leave you to go try and find any. Jay healed you up though.”

“Thank god--”

“Hey I’m a fine healer!”

“If getting someone sicker was a job you’re do amazing at it love,” Penny wiggled up to brush a kiss to the underside of her jaw, nipping gentle, Joey’s hands went to her waist, tightening and pulling her close with a rough growl deep in her chest.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“My hero, don’t you want a reward?” Joey could do little more than moan as Penny tugged up her shirt, letting her fingers drag across the expanse of skin. Joey’s hand stopped her, breathing growing fast and ragged. 

“Hey,” Joey looked down at her, dark eyes flashing, “we don’t have to. Just cause we’re--” fuck buddies? Girlfriends? The lack of a label was nice, but Penny was feeling cagey now; graduation was a semester away and they’d been fucking for a year. A courtship would be a nice summer announcement, make it a long one if they felt they were too young. Joey cleared her throat, looking nervous, a rare form for the usually peerless werewolf. “Today was bad, and I know your boggart-- I mean. I just don’t want you to be doing this because you aren’t feeling in control.”

Penny felt her chest deflate, before leaning forward to bury her head into her chest, her hand now frozen as she let out a sharp wheeze. Was she using Joey? Because she didn’t want to think of what Charli had said? 

Didn’t want to think of how it felt when her head collided with the tree.

Didn’t want to think of the last time she saw blood on the snow, heard muddled shouts above her.

Penny didn’t even realize she was crying until Joey gathered her up, holding her close as Penny sobbed into her chest, clenching into her shoulders, head buried into the hollow of her neck as if it was the last safe place in the world. 

“Hey... no more tears my girl,” Joey pulled her into a soft kiss, salty and sweet, “how about we go back to sleep, we’ll go dance by the bonfire later?”

“Promise?”

Joey hummed and pulled Penny’s head back to her chest where the Ravenclaw snuggled closer, trying not to think of Charli’s pulsing words: “She’s ashamed of you.” blaring into her ear. Everyone knew Penny was Joey’s girl, all the clans, all the elders, all the wolves and their relations. Everyone knew. With the snow falling, and here in this bed, Penny knew Charli was just the jealous liar she’d always been, and Joey with here with her not with that Dacha whelp. 

So Charli fuckin’ Dacha could go suck on it, Penny has what she wants right here, and if that Dacha whelp comes anywhere near her for the rest of the Meet she’ll show her why Penny didn’t need a Shift to kick her ass.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Charlotte ‘Charli’ Dacha:

Josephine ‘Joey’ O’Hmall: 

#Anonymous #on Penny #Penny Hawkins #pack: Atalanta #pack: Jay #pack: Helle #wolf: Josephine #wolf: Charli Dacha #wolf: Faron #tw: violence #starts rough ends kinda could. explains charli-joey-penny lol

[c-hristy]

Echoes (Part 4 of 'Separation') 《Charlastor AU》

    They’re never coming back.

    You

    are

    alone.

   

    Shaky breaths rippled through her mouth as she stared at her hands in front of her. They hadn’t moved in a while; her barely-there mind not quite grasping the reality she was living in. Charlie knew that at one point, she had been chopping some vegetables for dinner. Those same vegetables lay in front of her, forgotten, the knife pressed tightly in her hand as she stared blankly at the red tiles that spanned the wall of her kitchen.

    The moment her stomach gave a nudge toward her hunger, she focused hard on the movement of slicing. The potatoes were slightly pink from being exposed to the air for so long and her hands shuddered as she scooped them up and dropped them into the bowl of water that she had prepared. 

    Charlie then forgot what she was doing again, her mind twisting and whispering things that she couldn’t quite grasp. She felt a million miles away as her chest caved in and she felt as though the room was pressing down onto her. Rapid thoughts swirled around her and she ducked her arms over her head, squeezing down as her breathing increased in pace. Her heart pounded in her head as the tears squeezed out of her eyes and she let out a shaking sob.

    Her legs gave out and she slid down to the floor, leaning back against the counter. Charlie’s head tipped back and she rocked her head back against the cabinet, a soft ‘thud’ occurring each time she made contact with the wood. 

    She felt heat envelope her and replace the bitter cold she had been surrounded with up until that moment. Charlie heaved a breath, her lungs tightening. Her fingers clumsily pulled at her jacket and she tossed it to the floor, feeling goosebumps rise on her skin as she met the cool air of the kitchen.

    Her millionth anxiety attack - she wasn’t really able to keep count at this point. At first, she’d tried her best to keep track of them all but soon, one bled into another so rapidly that she was unsure if it was just one or several in a row. Her throat tightened and Charlie let out a sputter, her hands curling into her hair and pulling on the strands tightly to bring some semblance of grounding. She couldn’t feel her arms at that point and her legs had a prickling feeling; like she had been sitting on them for too long and they’d fallen asleep.

    A cross between a scream and a sob echoed from her throat and in that moment, Charlie felt so /alone/. There was no one there to help her, no one there to soothe her and pull her away from the pain and suffering. Her anxiety seemed to last for hours - it was only a few minutes.

    “I’m not d-dying,” She began to whisper to herself, rocking herself back and forth as she continued to gently tug at her own hair to bring her back from her own mind, “I’m not d-ying, I'm not, I'm not."

    The silence of the house pressed on her and her breathing sharply increased in pace once more, a ringing igniting in her ears. There was no escape as the thoughts of her being alone /forever/ swirled around in her head and stamped themselves into her beliefs. For a moment, Charlie felt as though she was looking at herself from the outside and in that moment, there was nothing that could save her. It left her ruined on the kitchen floor, tears staining her reddened cheeks and the echo of breath rapidly escaping her lungs.

   

    There

    was

    no

    hope.

    "One,” She whispered, exhaling as she counted to four in her mind before holding her breath for four seconds. Her body shook as she pulled in another breath, counting back from four until she reached zero, to which she let go of the breath again. Just as she felt she was drifting back toward Hell, her throat constricted once more and she began to hyperventilate. Charlie coughed, vision spotting with black as her lungs were unable to grab onto the air she needed. 

             Again and again, she fought with herself to lessen the pain. Each time she would snap back into reality and just manage to grasp onto some semblance of control, she spiralled down into the darkness once more. 

             After a while, the shaking slowly came to a stop and she felt the squeezing of her lungs and heart lessen. The pain that came with her anxiety started to diminish and she opened her eyes, the tears making it difficult to pry them open. 

    The light from the kitchen made her pupils constrict and she shut her eyelids again, continuously murmuring to herself that she wasn't dying; she'd be okay. Silence pressed in on her and her body gave one mighty shudder before she let go of her hair and put her hands on the ground. Charlie pushed herself upward and gripped the counter as her mind focused on the task at hand once more.

    Charlie’s hands shook as she picked up the knife again and she blinked back tears as she continued to cut the potatoes. She had to eat. At least to keep herself fueled for the day that they might return. 

    The frying oil was hot when it splashed onto her skin from when she dropped the potatoes in, though she didn’t feel the little blisters form.  Charlie’s eyes glazed over as she stared down at the bubbing yellow liquid, her hand still just a few inches away from it. There occasional splatters that rose up and hit her and at one point, she finally flinched and drew her hand away. 

    A soft chime came from the hallway and she turned slowly, wondering for a moment what it was. It chimed again and she realized it was the doorbell, so Charlie turned the heat down on the stove and left the kitchen, making her way to the front door.

    Everything in her cried out that she didn’t want visitors; she wanted to be left alone in her own home to do whatever she pleased. She had been consistently having people knocking on her door for the past few days and she had just ignored it; remaining locked in her bedroom and curled up within the blankets.

    She assumed that whoever was at the door had seen the lights on in the kitchen and seen her moving around; there was no hiding from that at that point. Charlie’s hand shook as she reached out and turned the deadbolt and then the lock that was on the handle itself, mind racing with crushing thoughts. 

    Standing outside the door stood Vaggie, a soft frown on her face. Charlie felt her heart stutter as she looked at her best friend, blinking away the tears that she knew had started to form.

    “So you’re alive, huh?” Vaggie asked, not moving from where she was standing.

    “Barely.” Charlie whispered, feeling her lips crackle a little bit, “Barely.”

    “It’s been a century, Charlie.” Vaggie shrugged a shoulder, “Can we at least talk about it?”

    Charlie struggled to speak, her throat constricting, “I don’t think so.”

    Vaggie took a step closer and Charlie took a step backward, arm crossing across her body to protect herself. Vaggie looked almost insulted for a moment, shaking her head, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

    Charlie’s eyes widened, “Yeah. I know.” 

    “Do you?”

    Charlie took another step backward and felt her fist tighten, nails digging into her palm, “I know.”

    Vaggie sighed and turned her head over her shoulder, looking at the car that she had driven over, “Angel’s in the car. Niffty, too. We want to help.”

    Charlie’s mind whirled and she felt her insides turn cold at the thought of so many people near her. She knew they were her friends, she consciously was aware that they weren’t going to do anything to her, though her mind still fought against the idea.

    “Okay.” She mouthed before she realized what she was doing and immediately regretted it when Vaggie nodded toward the car. Her jaw clenched when she saw Angel and Niffty step out of the car, the two of them chatting amicably.

    How could they be acting so casually when the entire world was crashing down upon her? 

    Charlie felt her other arm wrap tightly around her stomach and she felt her heart stutter as Angel and Niffty came closer to the house. Vaggie reached out and placed a tentative hand on Charlie’s shoulder; the blonde twitched at the feeling.

    “We just want to help clean up the house.” Vaggie said softly, her eyebrows knitted together, “Well, Niffty does. Angel just wants to be around.”

    Angel’s face was bright as he noticed Charlie, though he very quickly calmed down when he noticed the wide eyes and the tear stains on the blonde’s face, “Heya, dollface.” He stepped into the foyer with Niffty, peering down at her, “Dont’cha look worse for wear.”

    “Thanks.” Charlie found herself saying, blinking furiously to try and focus her vision on the three of her friends. Were they still her friends? Her mind couldn’t think of the last time she talked to them, “Um, how are you guys?”

    “Great!” Niffty grinned from where she was standing by Angel.

    Angel shrugged. He could feel the heaviness in the air; it made his insides recoil just a little, “Alright. We came on over to help you out! After all you’ve done for us!”

    Charlie sniffed, rubbing her cheeks, “I haven’t done much in a long time.”

    “You helped us out for centuries, Charlie.” Vaggie squeezed her shoulder, still holding onto her best friend, “I think it’s our turn to return the favor.”

   

    Charlie felt like she was watching from above herself as her friends and she cleaned up the house. It was still in disarray from the attack so long ago; Charlie couldn’t find it in her to clean anything since the event since it was the last major thing that she had left of them.

    They started in the kitchen. Angel helped her finish up the potatoes that she had been frying and they made enough for everyone to eat before they got down to business. Angel didn’t really help clean too much; he claimed that getting chemicals into his fur just wasn’t something he was too into. He did pick up some of the heavier items and lifted Niffty up to the higher shelves once they came to it so that the cyclops demon would be able to dust them. 

    There were occasions when Charlie had to duck into a bathroom and wheeze to herself for a while before she was able to recompose herself and head back out into the midst.

    Once they reached the children’s wing, her footsteps froze on the stairs and her hand that was gripping the railing turned white.

    “No, I can’t.” She managed out, her heart racing in her ears, “No, don’t, don’t.”

    “We just want to - “ Vaggie started, reaching over toward Charlie.

    The blonde flinched and ducked away from the touch, stepping backward, “No, please don’t touch those rooms. That’s all I have left.” She wheezed out, eyes shutting tightly as she felt the room start to warp around her.

    She had cleaned the blood out of the carpet before it could stain the material; she’d spent weeks scrubbing it so that the carpet in each of the bedrooms were clean. The floorboards in the hallway were a hint more cherry colored than they had been before, but no amount of scrubbing on her part had fixed that. Her daughter’s bedrooms were still torn apart and there wasn’t anything in her that was able to go inside.

    Franklin’s room was where she had spent most of her time. She knew that his computer parts would go bad if they were left alone for too long, so there had been times that she’d forced herself to sit at his desk and make sure everything was running well.

    When it finally broke, after a few years, she didn’t know how to fix it. Alastor and Franklin were the technology focused ones and she couldn’t even tell one cable from another. Charlie had left it since then, knowing that if she tried to bother with it, she’d probably break it more.

    “Please, Charlie. What if they come back? Wouldn’t you want their rooms to be clean?” Vaggie crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

    Charlie felt her chest contract and her mind buzzed over at the thought. What if they did come back? She would be terrible for leaving the mess the way it was. 

    “C’mon then!” Angel was standing behind Charlie and he put a hand on her shoulder, “It’ll be a quick thing. We toss out the bad stuff, get some new stuff. Simple.”

    “Simple.” Charlie repeated, shaking her head slightly to try and clear her head, “Okay.”

    Niffty bobbed past the three of them and opened the first door in the hallway. Charlie felt her breath be stolen at the sight. It was Margret’s room.

    With a sudden surge of energy that she hadn’t felt in half a century, Charlie sped forward and threw herself into cleaning her eldest’s room. Maggie wouldn’t want the room to be a mess. Everything was supposed to be in a certain spot and Charlie knew where it was supposed to go.

    “No, the shirts go on the left,” She spoke up once Angel had started hanging clothes back up, “The long sleeves against the wall, then short sleeves, then skirts, then dresses. Pants go in the dresser.”

    Angel grinned at her, nodding, “Thanks.”

    Charlie felt her lips tug upward slightly and she nodded back. Her heart was thudding along in a relaxed manner and she worked to the sound of it, hearing her friends chatting to each other as they cleaned the room and set it up to Margret’s standards.   

As she stepped back and overlooked how the room looked, she had to say she was somewhat pleased. It looked warm and inviting; Angel had lit one of Maggie’s candles while they worked so that the room smelled of a hint of something fresh. For the first time in a century, she felt more like herself.

It was with vigor that she tackled Bea’s room. Since she had the feeling this was where both of her youngest two were taken, it was hard on her heart. She focused on the fact of if they were to return, Bea would be elated to have her room in order. Angel helped her organize the clothes and he commented on a lot of them.

“She certainly doesn’t dress like you or him.” Angel held up one of Bea’s skimpier dresses and Charlie rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know where she gets it.” Her tone was playful and it surprised her, “Maggie and Frankie dress normally.”

“I bet Smiles isn’t a huge fan.” Angel grinned and hung up the dress, making sure it was in the order that Charlie had dictated.

Charlie shook her head, wiping her brow, “He isn’t.”

Though her responses were short, the blonde felt like her heart was mending just a little more. Her stomach was full and her spirit was up, even if it was just for the moment.

Later that night, when she’d lay in bed, the shivers and nausea would return at full force and she’d wish for more moments like the day she had.

she

just

wished

for

peace.

#charlastor #charleston au #hazbin hotel #hazbin #hazbin charlie #hazbin alastor #hazbin stories #hazbin margret #hazbin beatrice #hazbin franklin #hazbin fanfic #hazbin trashcan

[who-is-this-nerd]

To Belong Somewhere

Chapter 1: The Heir Of Slytherin Ruins Harry’s Holidays

Most people consider the Christmas and New Year holidays to be the best, most joyful time of year. But the Boy-Who-Lived wouldn’t consider himself most people.

His parents had been murdered when he was barely a year old, and ever since he’d been living with his rich, spoiled relatives, The Dursleys-Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and their son, Dudley. They treated him like a servant. Or, worse than a servant-like a house elf, punishments included. If a job wasn’t done according to their idea of perfect, he was beaten senseless. If he got better marks than his cousin at school, he was thrown into his tiny cupboard, and forgotten as he bled half to death. In fact, If weren’t for his accidental magic, he supposed he would have died ages ago.

It was for this reason that Harry James Potter hated the holidays. Spending his entire childhood confined to the Dursley’s abuse-with exception of the hours of the day spent at Primary school, where he was bullied by all of the other kids who were scared of Dudley and his gang-ruined his entire outlook on anything that was supposed to be joyful and fun.

And then things changed for the better on his 11th birthday last year when a giant of a man with wild, curly brown hair and the tangled mess of a beard knocked down the front door. He could not believe it when he learned he was a Wizard, and on top of all that, he got to escape from the Dursleys for ten whole months out of the year!

His first year at the magic school he’d been invited to-Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry-had been the best year of his entire life. He got to eat three full meals a day (at his relatives he was constantly denied meals), he got to learn without having to worry about being punished if he was better than Dudley (since of course, his cousin wasn’t a Wizard), and best of all, he made friends!

Not only that, but he recieved Christmas gifts from said friends at the Holiday the previous year. That Christmas had been the best of his life. He’d even been able to buy presents for those friends, which left him ecstatic beyond measure.

Now it was his second year, and the Holidays were fast approaching. As grim as things had been, with random students and even a ghost being Petrified, and everyone thinking he was the “Heir of Slytherin”, he was sure nothing could cheer him up more than a Christmas at the Hogwarts castle. Everything about it was glorious, from the inch of snow that always dusted the grounds on the first of December, to the beautiful holiday decorations that coated the school inside and out.

For the first time since the moment he’d won the House Cup for Gryffindor last year, he felt excited. Today, the school would be decked out in Christmas trees, holly wreaths, mistletoe, and they even had Menorahs set out for the jewish students who celebrate Hanakkah.

“Morning, Harry!” His best friend Ron Weasley said on that Thursday morning as Harry entered the Gryffindor common room from his dorm.

“Hey Ron! Where’s Hermione?” Harry asked ask they climbed through the Portrait hole and made their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

“You didn’t hear?-Oh, wait,” He spoke quickly, realizing before Harry could answer. “You were in detention with Lockhart when it happened yesterday. Malfoy hexed her and she ended up needing to go to the Hospital wing.”

Harry winced. “He must have done something bad for her to have to stay there overnight.”

“Yeah. Bloody git.”

“I’m glad he’ll be going home for the holidays next week so I won’t have deal with him over Christmas.”

“And his goons will be gone too!” Ron fist pumped in the air.

“So I take it that means you’re not going home this year?”

“Nope. Mum and Dad are visiting Charlie in Romania again.”

Harry was going to respond, but he got distracted by the loud, excited chatter-no doubt about the upcoming holidays-that suddenly came from the Great Hall before them. The two boys made their way to the Gryffindor table and sat down next to Neville, Dean, and Seamus, and across from Fred, George, their best mate, Lee Jordan, and Ginny.

“Ello Harry! Ickle Ronniekins.” George nodded his head once as he spoke to each boy.

“Shut up! You know I don’t like that nickname.”

The twins laughed.

George looked like he was about to speak, but then Professor Dumbledore stood up, and immediatley the Hall fell silent.

“Good morning to all!” He said in a cheerful

voice. “I admire each of you for for your bright spirits and positive attitude during this bleak and trying period! Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are halfway through their growing periods and we will be able to revive those who have been Petrified in a matter of months.”

Many of the subdued faces in the crowd brightend momentarily at his words.

“However,” He began, and it suddenly seemed as if the entire room was holding in one collective breath. “Due to the events that have transpired here at Hogwarts and have only seemed to have gotten worse in recent weeks, we as a staff feel as though it is for the best that all students go back to their homes for Christmas.”

Many different reactions played across the Great Hall at this news, creating utter chaos: some students cried out in voices that spewed utter nonsense, others widened their eyes. The Hufflepuffs (who were religously loyal to the school and always stayed over the Holidays) screamed their refusal to leave. The sports fanatic kids, like Wood, screamed, “First you cancel Quidditch, and now this?!” Harry saw a familliar young first year at the end of the table across from Ginny, repeatedly blinking her eyes open and shut, open and shut, and covered her ears as the noise level in the room grew steadly more deafening with each passing moment. As for Harry himself, he widened his eyes and paled considerably.

“Harry?!” Ron asked in alarm. “You okay? You’re white as a sheet!”

“Yeah...” Harry looked down. “Yeah, I-I’m fine.”

Ron schruntinized Harry as if he wasn’t so sure, but turned back to the old Headmaster as older wizard spoke again.

“We wish to take all caution that is necessary in protecting you, and because no learning is done during the holidays, we feel that this is how we must currently proceed. All parents have been informed of this. The Hogwarts train will be here on Monday morning to take you home.”

With that, he sat down.

It was at that moment, of course, that Hermione Granger flew into the Great Hall. Random heads looked up as the doors opened, but when they saw who it was they looked back down to their food, still protesting against going home for the holidays loudly.

“Madame Pomfrey just released me.” She said breathlessly when she found Harry and Ron. Then, hearing the vile protests and wails, she asked, “What did I miss?”

Harry and Ron took turns explaining, and at the end she immediately took a sheaf of parchment and a quill out of her bag, pushing away the plate in front of her.

“I know Professor Dumbledore said he wrote all the parents, but I want to write my parents with the news just in case he accidentally missed them.” She answered at the boys’ stares, not looking up.

A moment later, food appeared, and hundreds of owls flew into the Great Hall simultaneously. Distracted by letters from home or copies of that day’s Daily Prophet, the witches and wizards around the Great Hall slowly abandoned their cries about the holidays.

“Errol!” Ron cried out disgustedly, pulling four letters amd an old owl out of a bowl of porriage that sat in the center of the table.

“Who’s the letter from?”

“From Mum. She’s sent some for all of us, look...l Ron said, tossing two of the letters to Fred and George and one to Ginny, and held up another that said “Percy Weasley” in elegant cursive. “Where’s Percy?”

“Ickle Percy’s talking to Penelope Clearwater.” Fred snickered, taking the letter and passing it up to Percy, who was two seats away with the witch in question.

“He fancies her.” the other twin added, also sniggering.

Ron turned just a bit red turned to the letter from his mum.

A chime overhead sounded as Ron finished the letter, signalling that it was time for classes.

“Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for Professor Lockhart!” Hermione exclaimed, nearly knocking Ron from his seat as she rose too fast.

Harry and Ron rolled their eyes.

“It’s So obviosu that you fancy him, Hermione.”

She turned red. “Do not!” She criend defensivley.

Ron looked down at the books in her arms. “Then why are there little hearts by his name?”

She and Harry looked down at the books. Indeed, there were tiny hand-drawn pink hearts at the beginnings and ends of his name.

Her face went as pink as the hearts.

“Becasue-because...oh forget it, I’ll see you two in there!”

She ran away, and Harry and Ron laughed.

By the time they set themselves up in the Defense classroom, Hermione had stopped blushing, but still refused to talk to either of them.

“So Harry,” Ron began, “Looks like I’m going to Romania for Christmas. You’re invited too, of course, if you want to come.”

He opened his mouth intending to say yes, but then paused as a dark thought struck him.

“What if Voldemort finds me in Romania? Then Ron and his family-they’d all be in danger!” He thought.

“No, that’s okay.”

“But you hate living with those muggles!” Ron protested.

“Yeah, but Voldemort’s after me, remember? All of you guys would be in danger if he found me there.”

“If. Harry, that’s a BIG if.”

“I’m not willing to risk it, Ron.” He turned to Hermione on his other side, who had been listening quietly to the conversation. “I’m not changing my mind, so don’t try to talk me out of it. Besides, the Blood Wards at the Dursley’s that Dumbledore keeps talking about would keep me safe, remember?

Hermione, who decided they were worth speasking to again, opened her mouth to speak but closed it at Harry’s words as the rest of their class entered the room.

“Fine.” Ron muttered finally, and Lockhart entered the classroom moments later, ending their conversation once and for all.

The next day, the Golden Trio were headed to their last class of that week, and Harry was not looking forward to it. Potions was never fun, but adding the Slytherins and a Professor who loathed him to the mix and instead of being merely bad, it was terrible. He quietly sat down in a seat in the back row in the middle of Ron and Hermione.

“Mate, you okay? You haven’t spoken hardly at all since Dumbledore’s announcement this morning.”

“Yeah, I’m great.” He said tiredly.

Ron gave him a calculating look, but Snape swept into the room before he could say anything.

“WEASLEY! Five points from Gryffindor! Eyes to the front when I am in the classroom.”

Ron complied. “Git.” the redhead muttered

Snape tapped his wand to a chalkboard next to him.

“The instructions are on the board. You may begin.”

Potions went by agonizingly slow.

Still, thought Harry, he’d prefer to be here than the Dursleys. Having to spend a Christmas at the place he had never in his albeit short life considered home upset him. Until this morning, he believed he’d never have to spend a Christmas at the Dursley’s again. Now, all he had to look forward to for Christmas was a possibility of beatings and slaving Christmas day away over the stove.

A loud BOOM filled the room then, causing Harry to be pulled out of his thoughts to look for the source of the noise. His eyes landed on fellow Gryffindor Neville Longbottom’s cauldron, which was now melted, and both the pieces of the cauldron and Neville himself were covered in green goo.

“Idiot child!” Snape exclaimed, striding over. “Do you not know how to do ANYTHING?!” The unfinished green potion and liqified bits of the cauldron dissapeared from before the now trembling Gryffindor. “ZERO! Pack up and get out of my site!”

The young boy didn’t need to be told twice. He was packed up and out of the room faster than you could say quidditch.

Harry watched as the angry Potions Master stormed back to his seat.

Once class had finally ended-the way it usually did, with Snape declaring that Ron’s potion was “abysmal, as always”, informing Harry that he had gotten barely higher than a D (Dreadful) that day, and ignoring Hermione’s as always perfect potion-the three of them were among the first to leave the freezing and depressing classroom.

“What a git.” Ron grumbled. “Never catches his precious Slytherins doing anything wrong, but if anyone outside of his precious Snakes even look in the wrong direction, he’ll take away points!”

“Ron, calm down. The Slytherins didn’t even do anything today.”

“I doubt that’s true, Hermione. I wouldn’t put it past Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle or any of those other b-“

“Language, Ron!” Hermione warned.

-brats to have planted something in Neville’s cauldron!”

Harry laughed. “Even with Neville being as accident prone as he is? Come off it, mate.“

-

For the first time in a long time, he actually slept all night. Unfortunetly, that night was filled with nightmares, which consisted of Malfoy being his usual bully self, Uncle Vernon whipping him with a belt, Aunt Petunia verbally abusing him, and Dudley’s gang chasing him. The next morning, he somehow woke up more tired than he’d been the day before.

That saturday morning was spent doing homework by the Gryffindor fireplace and talking about the upcoming holidays with his friends. He didn’t mention the Dursleys, or why he was scared to go back. As long as Ron didn’t pester him into going with him instead of staying with his muggle relatives, he’d be fine.

“...Dumbledore’s annoucement yesterday at breakfast.” Hermione was saying, drawing Harry from his thoughts. “It will be quite lovely to see my parents again, of course, but I’ll miss you two quite terribly. I can’t believe they’re closing the school for the Holidays. You don’t think they’ll close it permanently because of people being Petrified, do you?”

“I hope not.” Harry muttered, so quiet that his friends only just barely heard him.

He imagined having to tell the Dursleys that the school

was closed permanently, and that he was back to staying there year-round. Yeah, he’d get a real good welcome home if that were to happen, he thought sarcastically, frowning.

“I wonder how we’d be able to continue learning magic, though, if that were to happen?” Ron pondered aloud.

“They might end up sending us to other Wizarding schools around the world, if that were to happen, of course.” Hermione answered absently as she worked on her Potions essay.

Harry scoffed. “Yeah, like my relatives would pay for an out of the country flight there and back every year.”

“Aren’t they, like...rich?” Hermione asked, genuinely confused.

He cursed silently. Of course Hermione would see through his words right away and be nosy about it. He’d have to be careful what he said for now on. “Well...yeah, but Dudley’s-my cousin’s-school tuition is apparentley extremely expensive. And you know how expensive flights are.” He shrugged, hoping it looked nonchalant and praying that his little white lies worked. He didn’t want to tell his friends the truth. It was too dark and he didn’t want to burden them.

Hermione studied him for what seemed like hours before speaking again. “I guess that makes sense.”

A brief silence passed between them before she broke it again only moments later. “I remember you saying that your relatives don’t like you, Harry-“

“The feeling is entirely mutual.” Harry muttered, too low for Hermione to hear.

“-and I know what you said about not wanting to us in danger, but...honestly Harry, I don’t care about that. Anyway, I wanted to offer-you’re welcome to come stay with me and my parents over the holidays.”

Ron smiled at Hermione, while Harry grimanced, and then masked it with a smile.

They were only trying to help, Harry reminded himself.

“Thanks, Hermione. But like I said before, I’m not willing to risk putting any of you in danger. I can’t afford to lose you guys, especially not to Volemort,” At the name, Ron whimpered but Harry ignored it, “and I’m not about to put you in harm’s way with me right there.”

“Okay, mate, but remember that you always have a place with us.” Ron sighed, and then they went back to their work in silence.

#harry potter things #harry potter tumblr #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter #harry ron hermione #hermionie granger #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #molly weasley #second year #chamber of secrets #heir of slytherin #fanfiction #handwritten #chapter one #holidays #defense #defense against the dark arts #severus snape #snape #books #ya books

[cr-scribbles]

Oh no what's this? It's back again? Yup! Welcome back! It's me the judy, back here with another review! This time you think it's gonna be easier, buT NOPE IT JUST HURTS MORE! The second chapter is my favorite so far just because I get so much feels from these heckies! The third chapter was also good, but I will get there once we're finished with this one. Here is the link to the first part along with the second one too! > https://cr-incorrect-quotes.tumblr.com/post/190279246139/cr-incorrect-quotes-hello-welcome-to-my-first

This post will most likely be the same due to there being so many pages that I want to talk about to the point of not being able to fit everything into one so yeah! Expect a part 2 for Chapter 2! If you want to read the comic, here it is > http://children-rekindled.top/?c=1&p=1 Let's start!

Oh no we all know what this means that little heck is finally back and I was already screaming because of course I would be?? I missed him so much y'all- ALSO DANIEL SOUNDS SO CONFUSED AND THAT HURT CAUSE I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IS COMING AND I DON'T WANNA READ IT AGAIN, but surprise! Bon made it worse this time!! I'll get to that later-

EW EW E W EW When I was first reading this and even now, iT'S SO DISGUSTING?? The visual of a soul just having to come out of a mouth of a corpse is gross in all ways omg I wonder if there is a reason behind Freddy having no eyes in the first panel though?? Apart from the fact that it is just creepy, it doesn't show up anymore. Instead, on the same page, it just goes back to the normal eyes. It was probably just a creepy factor put into it to make it look more morbid, but sometimes creators have reasons!

Sometimes I sit here, glad nothing else was shown because I would rather not have to see him climb out of there. aLSO SAMMY HELPS HIM OUT AND THAT MAKES ME UWU! he really needs all the help he can get and I'm glad someone is there for him. Y'all don't know how much I love this blind babey boy

BABEY NOOO IM COMING TO HELP YOUUU This panel is good, bUT SO SAD OMG I WANNA HELP HIM CAUSE HE'S IN A LOT OF PAIN QMQ I don't even wanna know his thoughts right now and how confused he is internally. Does he even consider how he would still be moving around even when suffering this really bad pain? He's probably just in too much shock and denial to wrap his head around it.

SOBBING SOUNDS Daniel freaking out over this hurts me every time omg I just want to hug him?? He just wants to go home and we all know that at this point, he can't even do that anymore.

BIANCAAAAAAAA What was she even doing?? Unlike Daniel, she had somehow already gotten out, but was just staring at the ground?? Was she confused about something and just lost in thought to the point of completely zoning out till Daniel realized she was there? Maybe she wasn't even there for long. She could have been still processing all of this pain(?) ALSO DANIEL'S REALIZATION THAT HIS NAME WAS SAID MAKES ME SOB I LOVE HIM SM

can Bianca hug me like that??? Please???? I want someone to hug me like that one day I'm gonna beg- SHE'S HECKIEING CRYING AND THAT HURTS A LOT IM QWQ I mean of course she would be?? She saw Daniel die right in front of her. Bianca being so worried yet not even questioning how he isn't just dead already due to the severe blood loss makes me really wonder how much denial they are going through at the moment. Although who would wanna think they died and became a ghost? For people who don't even believe in that stuff, it would be hard to even accept. If you're a ghost, that means you're dead. There's no going back. ALSO THE PUPPET STARES INTO MY SOUL AND IS TERRIFYING- everyone thank bon for giving us another terrifying image

AHAHA N E C C the smol good girl is coming very soon and I'm so excited!! I love her sm,,why is she hiding though?? Did she get scared due to all of the screaming and sounds going on around that she just decided to hide behind this big animatronic that could protect her from the dangers out there?

THANKS FOR CALLING HER OUT CAUSE SHE'S SMALL BIANCA- Well Charlie's design is definitely a lot different than the one in the original! She still looks heckieing red and burned up, but doesn't have that weird mouth like last time.

OH NO OH NO NO NO SAMMY WHAT HAVE U DONE- Charlie is already starting to freak out and that hurts. I love the different reactions we get here because Charlie is just in denial, hoping it is a dream while Daniel doesn't even look like he has proceeded it all fully yet till the next page where he is basically having a complete mental breakdown. I really want to know how Bianca feels about this entire thing too.

THERE IS A LOT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT HERE! For one, it might be one of my favorite pages that really hit me hard to the point of being my emotional mess of a self- I feel as though Bon really portrayed them reacting to being dead rather well? Or at least he did with Daniel and it hit in the feels right enough. Being someone who would die for Daniel, it hurt reading this for the first time because I'm sure we all want to do what Bianca does and just give him a tight hug. Did them freaking out happen in the original? I don't remember actually? from what I remember, Bianca was the one reacting the most to all of it- Bianca just crying over how Daniel is having this mental breakdown really hurt because she wants him to be okay and realizing they aren't would just hurt to the point of actually going and comforting him. I REALLY WANT TO KNOW MORE ABOUT HOW SHE FEELS WITH THE SITUATION- Was her breaking down because of Daniel being all sad mixed with her just reacting to the entire thing?? It's also shown in Chapter 3, but Bianca is really caring towards Daniel and most of the time wants to make him feel better in certain situations. If she wasn't able to save or even help him before, this is her chance now.

FRANCIS IS CRYING AGAIN I REPEAT FRANCIS IS CRYING-

Like I said before, the difference in reactions towards all of this is great. It's obvious that he was emotional about it too, but instead of having some sort of mental breakdown, he just "accepted" it and tried to figure out what they can do. It's understandable cause what else are they supposed to do when in front of reality??

OMG POOR BOYO!! HOW IS HE EVEN STANDING AIAUFIAKF for a while, I just thought his side got slashed and he bled out, nOT THAT HIS ENTIRE SIDE JUST GOT RIPPED OUT LIKE WOW OK THAT MUST HURT LIKE HELL- honestly Francis feeling really sorry about not being able to save Charlie just hurts sm?? THESE KIDDOS FEEL BAD CAUSE THEY WEREN'T ABLE TO SAVE ONE ANOTHER AND IT JUST HHH 

OH NO NOT THIS AGAIN DAMMIT- At least this time it's not coming out of a mouth of a corpse, but jeez Sammy pls chill- I love how the black substance just goes along with the mouth so it looks like the inside of the Puppet's mouth is just oil or some black liquid. Speaking of that, I also love how the blood is black!! I forgot the reason for that, but it gives them a cool look!

sammy please chill

they don't even know him yet and he's acting like a complete psychopath. If I was logical, I would think he is! Being there for who knows how long would do something to someone! Especially something would could easily be hinted at here through his insanity even when just getting out. 

I don't trust his cute face, but dammit I love him so much already?? Like he was just acting all crazy a pAGE BEFORE, AND NOW HE LOOKS LIKE A SMOL SQUOFT??? It really shows how much he can switch between personalities. I fear for the future after this experience. 

"Oh, you noticed. Heh." UH YEAH OF COURSE?? IT'S A KNIFE IN YOUR CHEST???

ALSO AHAHAHA FRANCIS'S FACE I CAN'T HANDLE IT

Honestly I feel bad for Daniel because all of this stuff is going on and he can't even see anything?? Like if something really bad just suddenly happened, he would have no idea because all he can get from the situation are the reactions from his friends. I wonder how terrifying it would be when there's so much sound around like during the day?? Big hugs for Daniel y'all 

wow possession! That's really cool, bUT WHAT IS GOING ON NOW OH NO- 

OH HECKIEING BEES THAT'S NOT GOOD- Michael's design was heavily changed from last time, but honestly I adore this design sm?? There is a lot less wires so yay he isn't just a bloody mess like last time!! Okay but I wonder if Michael could still take off his head like last time?? Last time, that was shown through some anger from Francis, but this time it's different and that's not shown!! I wonder if it will ever be though.

MICHAEL NO THAT'S NO WHAT A SANE PERSON SAYS- although I mean?? He does have a point! Even though being dead is a huge hit in general and idk how that would even feel, actually being with friends could have a huge impact on the situation. Imagine if only one died and was stuck there? That would have a completely different impact. I don't think Michael should brush off the fact that they are all dead now, but I do understand why he even mentions that. Trying to stay positive, but maybe try a bit differently babey-

The part I feared the most, but actually turned out really good? Around the beginning at least! In this version, Francis has much more of a reason for actively being really upset at Michael especially due to what he just said. Although maybe he should chill a bit because some things he says are really eh?? Michael never meant it like that and Francis is just freaking out and yelling at him, but like I said, he actually has a reason and I can't stay that mad. I would hate this entire thing too, although I would be a lot more emotional than angry 

OKAY THAT'S REALLY OVER THE LINE FRANCIS HOLY HECK-

Charlie has all the rights to be upset at him because him just saying that iS AWFUL?? LIKE DUDE YOU ALL ARE DEAD AND YOU ARE APOLOGIZING FOR SAVING HIM AND SAYING THAT IF YOU HAD KNOWN, YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST LET THE PERSON KILL HIM?? UH- THAT'S NOT NICE AT ALL PLEASE APOLOGIZE

TELL EM SAMMY!

at least in this version, he gets to the point and it isn't just walls of text aHAIDIAOGKS Sammy please don't blame Daniel though?? He's heCKIEING BLIND WHAT THE HECKIE COULD HE EVEN DO?? wAIT OH NO. IF THIS IS A REBOOT THEN SOME SCENE WITH DANIEL AND SAMMY MIGHT BE REDONE HH IM AFRAID IT'S GONNA EITHER BE MORE FEELS RELATED OR JUST MORE CHILL THAN LAST TIME DUE TO THE PACING?? Sadly it’s time for me to go and make the next part thing to take away from this? This chapter is my favorite so far because of all the feels and there is more so get ready for that!! I'll be back with part 2 eventually! Most of us knows what happens there. Will Sammy find Michael? How will he actually help? Find out next time on aaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf comic #bon's art #Children Rekindled #Daniel #Bianca #Francis #Charlie #Michael #Sammy

[dreamofkpop]

drunken mistakes part 2

Stray Kids 10th member AU

Charlie x Chan

this makes charlie out to be a bit of a bitch....whoops

warnings: not proofread, probably really bad. 

questions?? thoughts?? send me an ask!

this is basically going to turn into a mini-series

11:28 AM

the sunlight bled through the crack in the curtains, right onto charlie’s face which started to stir her awake. she rolled over with a groan, beginning to register the splitting headache pounding through her skull. with a drawn out, tired groan she pushed herself up against the headboard. with a quick glance to the right she noticed the space where suengmin usually slept was empty, meaning he was either awake or hadn’t slept there that night. 

‘what time is it?’ she asked herself, blindly reaching over for her phone, her hand came into contact with a cold glass. on the nightstand was a couple of headache tablets and a glass of water. she quickly reached over and grabbed them, putting the small tablets into her mouth before swallowing them with some water. she placed the glass back on the nightstand and sat back with her eyes closed. 

*knock knock*

charlie looked up at the door as it opened and a person came through it, chan walked in and shut the door behind him, walking over to charlie’s desk and sitting in her chair. he turned to face her and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“i don’t remember saying ‘come in’“ she deadpanned, leaning back against the headboard and closing her eyes. after the whole situation last night, she wasn’t i the mood to deal with anyone.

chan scoffed. “and i don’t remember needing permission, we need to talk” 

with and exaggerated sigh charlie opened her eyes, the look on chan’s face could easily scare anyone...not her though. if anything, it amused charlie to see him this pissed off at one of his own group mates. “about what?”

another scoff left his lips as he sat up slightly. “don’t act stupid charlie, you know exactly what i’m talking about”

“what...last night?” she asked, trying to contain a laugh.

chan sighed and reached up to run his hand through his hair. “yes, last night! how much did you have to drink last night?” his tone raised the slightest.

charlie thought back to the night before, fuzzy memories of her drinking can after can of alcohol. a small laugh erupted from her throat as she crossed her arms over her chest. “a fuck load” she stated, still laughing.

she could tell chan was getting more annoyed, visibly clenching his jaw and balling one hand into a fist trying his hardest to not start screaming. he took a large breath in and closed his eyes before glaring back at charlie “you know this isn’t a laughing matter, this is serious charlie!”

charlie didn’t know what she was doing, something in the back of her mind saying that she should believe chan and listen to him, but obviously...she wasn’t thinking properly.

“what? don’t tell me you actually care?!” 

behind the angry front, chan was in shock, why did she think he didn’t care?

the older boy stood from the chair and began pacing the room. “what the hell charlie?! of course i care! you’re my friend, group mate, little sister.. of course i fucking care about you!”

charlie pulled herself up from her bed, stumbling a little bit before regaining her balance and turning to chan. “it’s my life chan, if i want to go out and get pissed at three in the morning then i should be able to! why do the things i do matter to you so much?”

chan stopped pacing and turned to charlie, raising his voice to match her tone. “because for one it’s not healthy, two it’s illegal and three what would happen if you got seen by fans or someone while you’re drunk? how would that effect you and the group? i’m trying to look out for you here charlie!”

she sighed ran her hands through her messy bed head. “it’s not like i’m running through the streets am i? be real here chris im not that stupid!” chan was shocked for a moment, charlie never calls him chris unless she massively pissed at him.

“so where do you go, huh? ‘cause you obviously go somewhere!” he pushed, taking a step closer to her. 

charlie went silent for a moment, thinking over what she should say for the first time since they started. “that doesn’t matter, i come back every morning do i not? does it really matter?”

chan sighed and stepped back, crossing his arms over his chest. he didn’t realized what he’d said until the words left his lips. “no wonder seungmin thinks you’re cheating on him, you’re so fucking secretive! you disappear all night and come back at god knows what time of the morning!”

silence fell over the room, chan had a moment of realization and gasped. “shit, charlie i-”   

“he thinks i’m cheating on him?” she whispered, all anger disappearing in seconds. her eyes flicked down to the promise ring on her hand then back up to chan, many different emotions running through her in a second. she did the first thing that came to mind, run. taking off out of the dorms in a random direction, the shouts from the boys passing over her head.

#female!straykids #stray kids 10th member #female!kpop #kpop female additions #female kpop #kpop oc #stray kids oc #stray kids #skz #stray kids au #charlotte kim #charlie kim #kim taeshin #bang chan #christopher bang

[carisi-dreams]

next part in this storyline: There’s a rat | trouble with the AB | limbo | demands 

warnings for v mild anxiety attack, after effects of torture and SOA/Mayans MC typical language + violence

“Well, well, well,” Ryan drawled. “The golden boy has arrived.”

The metal door creaked open, protesting loudly with metal on metal making you cringe, and Sonny stepped into the room. You felt your body sag into the chair in momentary relief. You had heard the demands Ryan had made and they’d sounded impossible to achieve in one day, let alone in the one hour he had given Sonny. Judging by the mostly confident posture of Sonny before you, he must have figured something out. You smiled a little behind the gag and pushed back against the ache that was throbbing so insistently in your body that you felt like you may fly into pieces at any moment.

He dropped the black gym bag at his feet while he grudgingly consented to a rough pat down by one of Ryan’s men. Sonny’s eyes roved over you and you tried to convey that you were okay. Mostly. You had little doubt that the after effects of this would linger in your dreams far longer than it would take for your hand to heal, but it did no good to think about that now. The main priority was for the two of you to make it out of this alive. Together.

“You’ll get the other half of the money when she walks out of here safely,” Sonny told Ryan gruffly.

Ryan cocked his head and narrowed his eyes at Sonny as another one of his men picked up the bag and unzipped it. The sound of the zipper was unusually loud in the space and distantly you thought you heard water dripping. Were you imagining it? You fought to remain conscious in present in the moment and warily traced Ryan’s face which was shuffling through a number of micro expressions before landing on a sneer.

“That wasn’t the deal,” he reminded Sonny, pulling his gun out and aiming it at his head. Sonny just blinked calmly and stuffed his hands in his pocket, ever the picture of nonchalance.

“That’s my deal,” he replied in a growl. “She walks out of here and you'll get your money, it’s close by.”

“Maybe I’ll just take this half and shoot you both,” Ryan replied mildly with a smirk. Sonny’s eyes flickered to you, but his face stretched into a mirthless smile.

“You do that and my club will destroy you before you get to spend even a single dollar of the money in that bag. Plus the land agreement about the zoning becomes void if either of us disappear, a little clause I had built into it,” Sonny said with a smirk of his own. He shrugged. “Untie her and she walks out of here and then we can both wash our hands of this.”

Ryan squinted his eyes at Sonny and kept the gun trained on him. You wanted to look away, but you held your breath and kept your gaze pinned forward. After another few moments--and now was that footsteps you heard?--he lowered the gun. Ryan jerked his head towards you and the man closest to you pulled out a knife again. You shrank away from it instinctively and Sonny tensed, but the man used it to begin sawing at the rope around your right ankle. Once both feet were free you rotated your ankle slowly and grimaced at the pins and needle feeling as sensation flooded back in. He did the same with your wrists and you immediately cradled your left hand in your right and hugged it towards your body. They’d wrapped the wound haphazardly in gauze initially, but you had bled through it. Mentally you crossed your fingers that you hadn’t caught an infection and it was Sonny spoke again that drew your attention away from your injuries.

“Chiudi gli occhi,” he said lowly. You frowned and shook your head to try to clear it, trying to figure out if he was actually speaking to you in Italian or if you were imagining things. He repeated himself in an urgent. “Adesso, chiudi gli occhi!”

“Hey!” Ryan barked. “None of that bullshit. Speak English, this is fucking America.” He turned to you and waved with his gun. “You, get up. Go. Go!”

You glanced back at Sonny and for some reason he shook is head minutely and mimed squeezing his eyes shut. You obeyed, not really knowing why, but hoping there was a real reason for it. You’d barely gotten them shut when all of a sudden you heard a clanging sound as if a metal canister had hit the floor. A body tackled you in the chair, hand coming behind your head to cradle it before you could hit, and there was rapid loud popping as if sparklers were going off in the room.

“Keep your eyes shut,” came Sonny’s voice from over top of you. He tugged your face into his chest and continued to shield you from the rest of the room. “Keep them shut. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’re okay.” He kept repeating that and you kept your eyes shut, the last thing you heard before you slid into darkness was Sonny frantically calling your name.

——

*beep*….*beep*…*beep*...

You grimaced against the beeping you could hear and made to turn over and push Sonny until he turned his phone off. The sound persisted and when you struggled to turn over you frowned to yourself as other sounds began to filter in.

“Let me know when it’s done,” you heard Sonny whispering.

‘Done? When what was done?’ You blinked your eyes open and then immediately shut them against the sunlight streaming into the room.

“Doll?” Sonny breathed. You heard the rustle of leather against cotton as he leaned forward and his grip on your right hand tightened. “Are you awake?”

“Mmm,” you moaned and slowly blinked your eyes open again. His relieved face swam across your vision before the picture smoothed out. You saw him reach for something to your right, most likely the call button, before he leaned forward. “Sonny?”

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s me. You’re okay,” Sonny replied breathlessly. He pressed a firm kiss against your knuckles and you tried to smile.

“Am I okay?” you mumbled, grimacing again as you tried to sit up a little in the bed to get a better look at him.

“Dehydrated and vitamin deficient, but otherwise okay,” he confirmed with a little nod and tight smile.

“My finger?” you tried, not wanting to look at your left hand. Sonny’s smile dropped and he shook his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, it was too late. I tried to put it on ice, but they weren’t able to reattach it. I’m so sorry,” Sonny replied. You bit the inside of your cheek hard and nodded before turning your gaze up the ceiling as a nurse came in the room to check on you.

——

Charlie placed the last element and nodded to himself in satisfaction. He gestured at Matt and Chibs to follow him back into the woods and they retraced their steps carefully. They walked on the dry grass to avoid leaving any footsteps behind and reconvened behind a felled tree that gave them a perfect perspective of the house before them.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Chibs asked, not for the first time.

“I’m sure,” Charlie murmured back. “I know what I’m doing.” He glowered at Chibs a little before facing the house once more and smiling. “It’ll work like a charm.”

“And investigators won’t be able to trace it back to the club?” Matty pressed. Charlie sighed and fought the urge to list all of the reasons why he was completely sure his plan would work. Again.

“No, they won’t. There won’t be any traces left behind and Sonny will have an alibi since he’s at the hospital right now. Investigators will just think these dumb racist assholes made a mistake and blew up their own meth lab. Doubt they’ll be much of an investigation. Even if there was, there won’t be anything for anyone to find,” Charlie hissed.

Matty opened his mouth to ask another question, but he was caught off by a loud boom. All three of them turned their gaze back to the house as it went up in flames and another loud explosion erupted as the chemicals inside caught fire. Charlie’s smile widened and he nodded in satisfaction before pulling his gloves out of his back pocket and tugging them on his hands.

“Tell Sonny’s it’s done,” he said to Matt as he turned away and faced the trail that would take them back to their bikes that were nearly half a mile away.

With another glance behind him at the flaming house, and a shared glanced with Chibs, Matty pulled his phone out and tapped a quick message before pocketing it and following the prospect back out of the woods.

——

“How are you feeling right now?” Marie asked. You tried to give her a reassuring smile as she checked your vitals and peered down into your face.

“Head hurts. A little hungry,” you admitted to her. She nodded and gave you a sympathetic smile. “We just want to keep you a couple of more hours to get back the tests and make sure you don’t have an infection. Now that you’re awake we’ll have you try eating a little something that will be easy on your stomach and the drip should help with the dehydration that’s probably giving you some of that achiness.”

You smiled to acknowledge that you understood and she patted your shoulder before heading back out of the room. You turned to Sonny and just barely caught a pleased expression on his face as he looked down at his phone before pocketing it and turning back to you.

“What?” you prompted him.

“Just…some business being taken care of. Don’t worry about that right now. The only thing I want you to think about is healing. I already took a few days off from work, so I’ll only have club business, and can help you,” he reassured you.

“I’ll be fine, Sonny,” you told him with a sigh. “As soon as I’m fully hydrated and fed I’ll be fine. You hovering won’t help me heal any faster.” You shifted in the hospital bed to try to get in a more comfortable position. “At least it wasn’t my thumb.”

Sonny grimaced and leaned towards you again. “Doll, I want to stay with you anyway. Just until we f—”

“Stop pushing!” you exclaimed suddenly. Sonny looked taken aback by your outburst and you felt yourself rapidly spiraling. “Would you just listen to me? I’m okay!”

“You’re not okay,” Sonny replied in a quiet voice. His jaw was clenched and there was an anguished look in his eyes as he held your gaze steadily. The metal legs of the chair scraped obnoxiously as he scooted closer to the bed. “You’re not okay. It’s not okay. This never should have happened and you don’t have to be okay. Alright? Because I’m here and I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

A small sob escaped from between your lips and you pressed the back of your hand shakily to your mouth. It was seeing your hand with only the now four fingers, finally bandaged neatly and cleanly, that pushed you over the edge and you hung your head and began to sob. Sonny pulled himself closer to you and wrapped his arms around your shoulders and held you tightly as you continued to gasp for air between big gulping cries.

——

“Somers, on your feet,” a guard ordered gruffly with a sharp gesture. Ryan pushed to his feet languidly, stretching a little and smiling pleasantly at the guard. The guard remained stony faced and he pushed Ryan to get him to move faster.

“Where are we going?” Ryan asked finally as he was prodded along the hallway.

“Meeting with your lawyer,” the guard replied without expression. They paused in front of a set of doors before they were buzzed through and continued their walk down the corridor. They kept walking towards a meeting room and when the guard opened the door he pushed Ryan through. There was a buzz and heavy click that indicated that the door was locked behind him and Ryan turned to the table in the room with a smile. The smile turned to frown as he regarded the man in front of him. He was older, African-American, which was enough to indicate that he certainly was not his lawyer, and Ryan only vaguely recognized him.

“Take a seat, Mr. Somers,” the man invited with a cold smile. Ryan looked back at the door behind him and remained standing.

“Hey, this isn’t my lawyer,” he said loudly in the direction of the camera in the corner of the room. The man across the room chuckled and Ryan waved at the camera. “This is not my lawyer!”

“Camera isn’t on,” the man pointed out and when Ryan glanced back, he had the same smile. “See, no red light.” He nodded towards the camera and when Ryan looked again he realized that he was telling the truth. The camera wasn’t on. 

“Don’t bother,” the man said as he got to his feet. “There’s no one behind that glass that’s going to listen to you. I was hoping,” the man went on as he stepped closer to Ryan, “to get to extend this. Maybe have a battle of wits or something, for Sonny’s sake…”

Ryan’s heart tripped into double time and he pressed his body against the wall and worked to keep his face impassive.

“…But I can see that you’re in a rush.” The man slid something sharp out of the inside of his suit jacket and removed the glasses from his face. “Fake,” he said with a shrug as he pocketed the glasses. “Not so fake,” he remarked as he hefted the blade.

“You’ll never make it out of here,” Ryan insisted as he eyed the weapon. “The guards will—”

“Who do you think paid the guards to get in here, in the first place?” the man asked curiously with a chuckle. “I’ll get out of here just fine. You on the other hand,” he took two rapid steps forward and sank the blade into Ryan’s side smoothly. “You’re going to bleed out alone.”

“My people will—” Ryan gurgled. Fin pulled the blade out and sank it back in.

“Your people are getting the same treatment right now as we speak,” he whispered into Ryan’s ear. “Go to hell you sick bastard. Sonny and Discord send their regards.”

With that Fin took a step back and Ryan slid against the wall, his hands flying to his side. Fin made gesture at the two way glass and the door buzzed for him to open it again.

“Yippe ki yay, motherfucker,” Fin said with one last disgusted look at Ryan before he pulled the door open and let it shut behind him.

across the jail, in the yard

The man sitting on the top of the table exchanged a look with the man to his left. He nodded and they both stood slowly. Sun gleamed against freshly down cornrows and caught brown skin in a warm caress. They began to make their way across the yard and the basketball game that was going on slowly drifted towards a table of men with the same swastika ink proudly on display on chests and bare arms. With a short whistle the two groups converged and before the group sitting down could do anything, they were surrounded and summarily taken care of in the same manner as their leader before guards were called and rushed in.

——

“I’m going to take care of you,” Sonny vowed as you continued to cry. “I’m going to take care of everything.”

#mc!au #au #my writing #sonny carisi #mc!sonny #reader B #violence tw/ #panic attack tw/ #kinda? #blood tw/ #fin

[queendean]

My Little Badass (Dean x Reader) Chapter 13

"You need a hospital!" Charlie threw her hands up. Earning a few weird looks from the people around them. After the whole almost getting killed by fake Dean, she had to patch herself up using what was left in her car since they left their stuff back at the motel. As far as she could tell she needed to clean up the blood from her head and hand, and maybe a bit stitching on her left arm that the glass was stuck in. But other then that nothing else was broken, which was a good sign.

Even though of that fact Charlie still wanted to drag Y/N to the hospital, but after some convincing, she finally agreed to take her to the nearest bar. Sliding inside the booth in a corner she started wrapping herself up to stop the bleeding. But she was still nagging, saying she needed a real doctor and not do it herself.

"Charlie for the last time, I'm fine!" Taking some needles and some medical tape out she started to really match herself up. "You want to know how to help me, Charlie?" Y/N took out her wallet pulling out another credit card that wasn't hers and slid it across the table. "Take this and tell the bartender that you need a sip of whiskey and two sips of vodka." 

Grabbing the card Charlie looked at her like she was crazy. "What the hell kind of a drink is that? Who orders two sips of vodka and then-" 

"Charlie!" Cutting off her sentence Y/N took a deep breath, feeling more pain as she was still bleeding. "Please. Just trust me." 

Nodding she finally got up and went to talk to the bartender. 

Y/N continued to wrap her arm up, ripping off the tape with her teeth. Sighing she leaned back against the booth taking a glance at the rest of her body. Her favorite jeans were ripped and stained with blood, knowing full well she wasn't going to get it out anytime soon. Glancing over she watch Charlie walk back over her credit card in hand. Taking a seat in the booth she gave her a once over before speaking. 

"He said it will be a minute," Charlie said, sliding her card back to her. 

Nodding she took the card back and closed her eyes feeling a bit light-headed from the blood loss. She could feel the strong gaze the redhead was giving her, knowing she was concerned about her condition.

"Keep staring, maybe you're making me heal faster." Y/N smiled opening one eye to look at her. Charlie kept glaring at her until Y/N leaned forward giving Charlie the same glare. "What." 

Charlie sighed, shaking her head she leaned back continued to ignore Y/N. Before she could open her mouth to explain herself the bartender came by and placed a medical kit and whole bottle of whiskey in front of them. Startling her, Charlie she looked back and forth between the man, the medical kit, and Y/N. 

The man and Y/N simply nodded to each other, then he walked away back to his bar. Opening up the medical kit and bottle of whiskey she took a large swig from the bottle and unwrapped her bandages. Topping open the medkit she disinfectant the wound hissing in pain as it slowly started to bubble up. Cleaning up the rest she wrapped and taped the fresh bandages, starting at her shoulder to her elbow. 

Grabbing the bottle of whiskey she took another long swig, feeling the soothing burn down her throat. Setting it back down she sighed as Charlie looked at her, confusion written all over her face.

"You totally knew that the bartender would help us!" She said looking back to the bar. 

"Of course I did. His names Winston." Y/N took a quick glance at Winston, then turning her attention back to Charlie. "I was on a case of werewolves awhile back, almost bled out on the side of a dumpster. Winston found me and took me back here, patching me up till I could leave on my own. After talking to him for a bit, he told me this was where a lot of hunters came to grab a drink when in town. it's kinda easy to tell the difference between normal citizens and hunters. Look." Taking a look at Y/N pointed to a couple of men who looked beaten up. "They just got back from a hunt. I would say vampires. They both got bloodily machetes hanging on their sides, also the guy with the beard had a whole bottle of whiskey, I bet he ordered the same thing I did." 

"That's why you didn't want to go to a hospital? You knew they would help us." Charlie whispered, but Y/N still heard it. 

"Yeah well, I don't like or trust hospitals." Looking at the clock she saw they had been there for almost half an hour. "We better go, if we don't hurry and find that shifters hide out Sam and Dean are as good as dead." 

"What do you mean good as dead?" She started to ask. But Y/N had already started to make her way out of the bar. Rushing to catch up she speeds walk her way after her. 

"That shifter already took Deans form. And if I were to guess when he saw me it took him a minute to go through his memories. Shifters don't usually keep their victims that long." Y/N explained. 

Getting in the car, she stared the engine making her way back towards the motel. Charlie hopped in the front seat taking out her laptop and started typing rapidly. "You don't think there..." Charlie didn't want to say it but Y/N already knew what she was implying. 

"Dead? No... I don't think so..." Y/N said. Not sounding too sure herself. 

She thought back to the shifter, he spent most of his time looking for something. Whatever it is he didn't find it, which probably meant...

"I think they're still alive." She told her a bit more confidently this time. "That shifter was searching for something the moment he walked into that room. Whatever it was he didn't find it, and if I were to guess he probably went back to wherever he's hiding and keeping Sam and Dean. Maybe interrogating them, perhaps torture." 

Charlie cringed at the last word not wanting to think about if they were still alive being tortured. Instead, she continued to search rapidly for any places they could be that would fit into shifters home. Finally finding something she looked through the list, narrowing it down to 5 different parts of town. 

"I got a few locations but I'm not sure which one to go to first." 

Grumbling to herself she asked her to read off the locations. She read off the first three, and none of them seemed right. The fourth place caught Y/N attention finding it quite familiar. "Wait, go back, that old factory." 

"Uh yeah, it's an old factory on the east side of town. Been abandoned for a few years. Why what's up?" Charlie asked, taking a glance at her. 

Shaking her head she continued to think. "That old factory. When I was last here it was still running, I remember seeing it active when I would drive towards the town." 

"So. Why do you think it's where the shifters are hiding?" 

"I remember seeing a map at the history museum when I was visiting here last, it was a huge layout of the town. Showed everything from monuments, to all the old homes that are probably parking places now." Y/N went on thinking back to when she was here last. Looking both ways she checked to see if she was in the clear. Once she knew she was safe she hit the brakes and made a sharp U-turn causing the car to screech. "That old map, it had a completely different layout next to it. Tunnels underground going in all different directions. So far that it would lead out of the town. All of those places you just named off, the only one that has tunnels under it is that factory, and I'll bet money Sam and Dean figured that out too" 

"You're sounding a bit more confident than before." Charlie took glances back and forth between her laptop and Y/N. She had a very determined face on and was probably going faster then she should have been. Not seeming like she was going to respond Charlie decided it was best to trust her, knowing she was a lot longer hunter than her, plus being so familiar with the town's history. With that thought in mind, she started smiling at the humor in it and thought it might be funny to address. 

"So a history museum huh? For your free time?" Charlie asked, smiling as a small look of irritation made it's way to her face. Taking one glance at her she turned her attention back to the road. 

"Shut up" 

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