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wavesoutbeingtossed · 1 month

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The whole discourse about the privacy/secrecy/support thing has been sitting with me for a few days (I mean other than it always does to a certain degree) thanks to all the excellent discussion happening and I know I'm not saying anything that hasn't been said a million times before, but I think what we're seeing and what we're going to learn (e.g. from TTPD) is that it wasn't just the support issue, but how it was shown/handled.

We've all gone out of our way to show that introversion =/= lack of support. Someone can be shy, reserved, etc. and still show up for their partner, whether in public or at home. To chalk any of the differences up to the clash between introversion and extroversion is unfair to folks who count themselves among either tbh.

@thisisctrying said something the other day that hit the nail on the head about how if that support had been offered in private, there very well may not have been a Joever to begin with, or at least not at this point in time. (Sorry for loosely paraphrasing, and for namedropping you! Long time listener, first time poster.)

If this were a case where the "shy" partner said, "I am really uncomfortable with the spotlight personally and do not want to court it, but I will support you in your ambitions and offer you whatever you need to make them happen and make the glare bearable," I suspect that would have gone a long way to making Taylor feel seen and comfortable in pursuing her goals in the way that she now has. Again, that might have been more akin to the balance that seemed to have been struck around 2019 from what we can see, but even speaking in a general sense, there are lots of couples out there, celebrity or not, that have similar approaches where there are highly driven people and busy careers involved.

(A famous example being Dolly Parton's marriage. Tbh I know next to nothing about her and Carl, but she's always heralded as an example in this regard, because her husband is famously uncomfortable with the spotlight and hasn't accompanied her to public events in decades, but she's said that she never minded that because that was always work to her, and what was important was that he supported her in pursuing all her career goals and basically ensured she had a place to call home to return to at the end of the day.)

We're kind of in a brave new world with her current relationship because it felt like, at least at the start, we were maybe watching her figure out her boundaries in real time as to what she was comfortable with or not and adjust accordingly. Like so many have said, I fully believe the extreme privacy thing was initially driven by herself and her experiences in 2016, and she needed that quiet time to recover from all of the things and figure out how to exist in the world again.

Stating the obvious, it seemed like eventually privacy was equated with secrecy, turning the relationship and the celebrity into the elephant in the room and something to never be spoken of to the outside world. People are free to choose whatever works best for themselves and their relationships, and for some the separate public lives might work, but the “kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath” theme is all over her work and it’s clear that it’s a sore spot for her, because she’s been made to feel shame just for the life she leads so many times in the past.

What I’m trying to say is that it’s pretty obvious something Not Great was happening behind the scenes, which didn’t just amount to “she wanted to be a public celebrity and he wanted to be a private hermit.” (Also, in case anyone forgot, this is a person who also chose a public-facing career who also has to engage in press for it, but I digress.) As her career reached new heights post-folklore, if she had the support at home to do all the things without judgment and with encouragement, and in turn offer the same support to her partner, she may have very well lived just fine with that, not unlike Dolly Parton’s case.

By reading between the lines in all the press since, as well as comments on tour and general ~vibes~ with TTPD teasers, it seems like one of the issues was that that was likely not the case. There was all the stuff that we saw — the reticence to acknowledge each other in the media (particularly on one side), the lack of public support even at events at which they were both in attendance for their respective jobs, the great lengths they went to not to be photographed together at events they attended yet no problem taking pictures with other friends and coworkers, the jobs that separated them, the withdrawing from the public even for work accomplishments, etc. Which could all be manageable if a couple chooses to do so together and are not inherently a sign of trouble in themselves.

But what we’re seeing now I think is a reflection of the things we weren’t seeing then, and it seems to indicate some very deep hurt. (I know, call me Captain Obvious.) And like so many have been saying, it feels likely that that part of that hurt is rooted in that very lack of private support where a person would expect it from their partner. Obviously as a Taylor fan blog I’m going to be more inclined to understand her side of a story, but tbh, it’s also because… this is sooooooo common, and something I’ve experienced in my friend group. (@taylortruther is right when she says most breakups are the same one way or another lol.)

One partner is resentful of the other’s success, or resentful that the other’s priorities begin to evolve as new experiences unlock new goals, or feels the other’s ambitions are not worthy of pursuit, and coupled with perhaps their own struggles in the same domain, it’s easy to see where that can chip away at the other partner’s morale and faith in the relationship. I know I’m just speculating here, but I also don’t think it’s totally unfounded. (Again, because a) I’m picking up what she’s putting down and b) it happens to sooooooo many women even among us dull normals.)

With all the pointed mentions about how much Taylor feels supported in her current relationship and how she in turn loves to offer the same show of support to not only her partner but other loved ones, how she’s stepped out more in the last year to a whole host of events, how she’s mentioned feeling like she locked herself away for years and she’s just proud of her partner and happy she can show up for him even if the chaos around it is unsettling, it paints a picture of what perhaps was happening before last year.

To feel like you’re all alone in carrying the weight of the relationship (or burden of it), of twisting yourself into knots to accommodate the other person’s boundaries (or insecurities) but not feeling reciprocity for your own has to be so painful. (The idea that it may have been even darker and to have a partner not only be unreceptive to your own needs but even perhaps resentful/dismissive/belittling of them is even more painful to think of. I guess we’ll find out when TTPD comes out if that was the case, too.)

At a certain point, that lack of acknowledgement will force your hand to be able to reclaim yourself. And it feels like the further removed Taylor in particular is from it, the more she moves from being sad about the life she felt she gave up by leaving, to angry at the life she felt she was giving up by staying. Especially being in a relationship now where it seems like everything comes much easier, where she can be open about the person she’s with and show up for them, all the stuff that seemed as challenging as climbing Mount Everest in her past is nothing more than a molehill at best in her current life.

TL;DR: I don’t think it’s privacy that inherently spells doom for a celebrity relationship like this; it’s the mutual support and respect that does. If Taylor had felt that in the later years of her previous relationship, I think we could be seeing a different, though not necessarily unfulfilled, person right now in 2024, who’d be happy on tour but whose personal life would look a little different. But it seems like by losing that support she lost parts of herself, and we’ve seen her reclaim that in spades in the last year, and perhaps to degrees she didn’t even realize she could from before all the Bad Stuff started happening in her young adulthood.

I know this was extremely long-winded and unnecessary, especially about total strangers we only know through scraps fed through the media, but I just always bristle at this idea that issues like these boil down to “personality differences,” as though one person wants to live in a city and the other on a remote island, or some shit like that. The whole support (and gender tbh) issue is one that’s just very close to my heart because again, I have seen it play out with so many of my friends in long term relationships and marriages and I just think people in relationships (and women in particular in some circles) deserve better than to feel like they’re being, well, tolerated.

#thisisctrying and taylortruther sorry for tagging you two!#can remove if needed!#but you guys made me think a lot #this was inspired by a conversation i had with a friend the other day #where she relayed an argument she had with her partner #who basically felt slighted that he wasn’t getting acknowledgement for all the housework he does — which is. just. the dishes #and she was like ‘wow congrats you’ve done the dishes — i do every other fucking thing to keep this household afloat in ways you see #and don’t see and i never ask for praise because it’s just stuff that needs to get done because that’s how you support your family’#and it just reminded me that some partners (and a certain kind of man in particular) just… think their struggles take precedence #when their partners drown in them everyday but keep things afloat out of necessity and are never recognized or supported for it #(my friends have shitty husbands/boyfriends can you tell lol)#long post #again the way i just feel like i know the vibes of ttpd in my bones are 😵‍💫#i feel like i have a lot more thoughts but I’m trying to be more gracious and less parasocial so #also just want to again defend the introverts of the world by reiterating that being introverted does not mean unsupportive #being a shitty partner does though!#writing letters addressed to the fire #it’s also just like… i feel like if Taylor had had even a modicum of the support in private and even public she needed #she’d probably still be with you know who and wouldn’t have considered leaving let alone doing it #because it would have felt like enough and like it was what was needed for both of them #whereas we’re seeing a completely new side of her open up now because this is the first time she’s ever had that support from a partner #in her adult life at least #and it’s like it’s opening up things she didn’t know she needed or wanted

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vbsvartalf · 1 year

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Audio Drama Sunday, 12/4/22

Yesterday was a long, big, busy Sunday, filled with some amazing audio dramas that I must share with all of you.

Dead Air, by Realm Media (created by Gwenda Bond) - If you like the true crime genre of podcasts, then a fictional version might just be up your alley. It's suspenseful, emotional, and filled with dark, dry humor. I've been devouring it recently, stopping just short of binging the entire thing in a single setting. I'm not a true crime fan, but I'm still hooked. If you liked Arden, I think you'll like this show.

Greater Boston, by Alexander Danner and Jeff Van Dreason - Humor, surrealism, quiet drama are all at the heart of Greater Boston. I know it's been around for a while and has a huge fandom but I'm excited that I get to experience this show for the first time six years after it started. Once I finish, I have a feeling I'll start the series over again without missing a beat.

A Ninth World Journal, by David S. Dear - The ultimate actual play turned audio drama, A Ninth World Journal episodes might be short but they are packed to the gills with content and keep you guessing as to what is going to happen next. David S. Dear is a fantastic narrator I've heard on several other shows at this point and it's wonderful to see him shine as the star.

Exoplanetary, by C. Christopher Heart - Managing to weave half a dozen sci-fi stories together in a nonlinear fashion without getting things too confusing is no easy task, but Exoplanetary as not only done just that, but thrived at it and keeps me coming back for new stories and new angles. It's filled with heart and emotion that stay with you long after the episodes is finished. From robotic love to colonialism to time travel, this show has it all.

Among the Stars and Bones, by Ungodly Hour Productions - Technically this will be my third listen but each time I get something more out of it, I feel more for the characters and understand their motivations. Telling a story from 8 or 9 limited viewpoints is a great way to employ the unreliable narrator, or as it happens, 8 or 9 unreliable narrators. I've seen recently that they are casting for season 2 and I cannot contain my excitement!

Old Gods of Appalachia, by DeepNerd Media - Folk horror, when done right, is better than any subgenre of any genre of literature, bar none. I will live and die on this hill. Old Gods does folk horror the right way. There's mood and atmosphere, a sense of place and a sense of dread. The show will have you jumping at shadows and creepy noises down by the creek at the witching hour.

The Town Whispers, by Cole Weavers - While similar to Old Gods of Appalachia, The Town Whispers takes cosmic horror and turns it up to 11 alongside all the folk horror that creeps around the edges of the Fort. The story telling is sharp and a sense of doom and dread purvey every word Mr. Weavers speaks. It's beautiful and chilling and leaves me needing more.

Malevolent, by Harlan Guthrie - It's a simple premise, guy wakes up unable to see with a creepy voice in his head that is not his own. Oh also there's a dead body, also there are monsters running around, oh also lots of creepy books, oh also it's set in the heart of Lovecraft Country. What could go wrong? I'm late to the party on the fandom for this show but as I work through the episodes I see why the fandom has exploded Hannibal style all over Tumblr.

Hi Nay, by Motzi Dapul - What if the Magnus Archives were less focused on Eurocentric monsters and fears and entities? What if there was a less organized group of people going after them? What if all of it was recorded lo-fi and given a health dose of Filipino folklore? Well, you'd have Hi Nay and you'd sweep the internets with a new, obsession worthy podcast that teaches as much as it entertains. Also they are working on getting 1000 subs on Youtube so get on that people!

The Kingmaker Histories, by Meg Molloy Tuten - Made by the same geniuses that brought us Less is Morgue, this audio drama gives us a glimpse at a steampunk world filled with magic. I enjoyed the first episode immensely. The acting, the script, the sound design are all top notch. Have to say I love this Ariadne character, she seems nice.

Moonbase Theta, Out, by D.J. Sylvis - Dystopian futures, corrupt governments, sinister warnings about the moon. Sounds like a typical day in 2022, right? Moonbase Theta, Out was and is ahead of its time in terms of storytelling, narratives, and characters. It's really a who's who in the world of audio drama with "famous" voices popping in and out to voice characters that will make you do the Leo pointing meme at least twice and episode.

WOE.BEGONE, by Dylan Griggs - Part surrealist sci-fi, part existential horror, WOE.BEGONE is a show that makes me want to run away screaming whilst at the same time binging more and more episodes. How deep does this creepy, deadly game go? What is the point of it all? Will Mike just be able to relax and have a nice time? I need to know!!!

And 195, by Guendalina Cilli - I just found out about this audio drama yesterday and I'm already a fan. I'm a runner with a bad sense of direction myself so the basis of the show is very, very familiar to me (aside from getting lost in other dimensions, that's not familiar but you never know in these days).

We Fix Space Junk, by Battle Bird Productions - Dystopian space dramas are a trope for a reason, but We Fix Space Junk manages to avoid the pitfalls and enjoy all the benefits of said trope. It's fresh, fun, and exciting. I've decided it was time for a re-listen to see what things I missed out on in the beginning that are integral parts of the show by the end. I'm already having a blast!

Care & Feeding of Werewolves, by Brenna Anderson-Dowd - What if True Blood were a sitcom, but far better than the sum of those two parts? What if it were funny and informative, silly and meaningful? You'd have Care & Feeding of Werewolves and you'd enjoy every single episode of this weird little show, and I do mean that endearingly. If it weren't weird, it wouldn't be nearly as fun.

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greatestwizardofthisage · 3 months

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assigning each of the bad kids a taylor swift era because i am feeling deprived of tswift content now that she's on break from the eras tour

Kristen: Fearless. I can't even explain why, but to me that album is just so sunny and in my mind it fits Kristen perfectly. I think maybe it's because Fearless was one of the first album I ever really loved, then when I was older the rerecording is what got me back into tswift and I can totally see Kristen going through a similar journey with it where maybe she loves it as a kid but then stops listening to it as she distances herself from her childhood/family, only to fall in love with it again later on. Also I feel like the country vibes fit her well. (She would also LOVE betty but she would pretend it's a lesbian anthem)

Gorgug: Ok this feels controversial but he's a Lover stan. I just fully belive that to his core Gorgug is a lover not a hater and he would un ironically love Lover. Like to me that album is all about having gone through some bad shit and choosing to only carry forward the best of it? And that fits with my perception of Gorgug. ALSO the end of afterglow 'I want to be defined by the things that I love, not the things that I hate, or the things that haunt me in the middle of the night' just feels very Gorgug coded to me dont ask me why. However if you've seen any of my other posts about music and the bad kids you know that I wholeheartedly believe Gorgug loves all music so I think he'd be hard pressed to choose a favourite album.

Riz: Midnights. And not just because this kid never sleeps. Bassically I really couldn't decide which album he would listen to because none of them really fit, but then I started thinking about specific lyrics and I think Midnights has the most that he could relate to. I mean 'no one wanted to play with me as a little kid so I've been scheming like a criminal ever since' is about him. You can't change my mind. I do think though that Riz is definitely more invested in all the easter eggs and firguring out which album is coming next over actually listening to her music. Like he would for sure be among the first to figure out all her clues.

Fabian: 1989 and Folklore. I fully to the bottom of my heart belive that until his sophmore year Fabian would exclusivly be listening to pop music, sea shanties, and weird elven music. So obviously he would love the greatest pop album ever made. He wouldn't listen to Folklore until post sophmore character development. Also he would For Sure learn the choreography for the dance in the background of Dress on the Rep tour and recreat it perfectly using his sheet.

Fig: Speak Now. I mean do I even need to explain this? It's the perfect album for Fig. It's the kind of thing she would have loved when she was in her Preppy Cheerleader phase, but it has just enough of that pop punk influence that I feel like she could still appreciate it when she's older. I feel like she would definitly take issue with some of the misogynistic lyrics used in some of the songs, and would be all for the lyric change in Better Than Revenge. Also as I've mentioned many times before, Fig would love Paramore, and would LOVE Castles Crumbling. Like you're going to sit here and tell me that lines like 'They used to cheer when they saw my face, Now I fear I have fallen from grace' + 'Their faith was strong, but I pushed it too far, I held that grudge 'til it tore me apart' + 'Ones I loved tried to help, so I ran them off, And here I sit alone, behind walls of regret' + 'People look at me like I'm a monster, Now they're screaming at the palace front gates, used to chant my name, Now they're screaming that they hate me, Never wanted you to hate me' weren't written by Figueroth Faeth? I also just think songs like Never Grow Up and Long Live would perfectly fit with her not so secret sentimental streak.

Adaine: Evermore and Folklore. I think theres just a sort of elegence to these albums that really reminds me of Adaine. I also think theres so much vulnerability in them and a lot of the songs touch on feelings of not being good enough for others (mirrorball, tolerate it, this is me trying, right where you left me) that I think she could relate to not from a romantic relationship standpoint but from all the expectations placed on her by her parents. I also think that although these are probably the most low key of tswifts albums, they have some good angry songs (no body no crime, illicit affairs, mad woman) that she would definitly love. But yeah this is mostly based on aesthetics. Evermore and Folklore were albums written with a quill and Adaine is the kind of girl to appreciate this.

#ok thats all my thoughts on tswift and the bad kids #thank you for reading #if youre reading all this and thinking 'my blorbo wouldnt listen to that album youre wrong' then PLEASE tell me #i want to hear other peoples oppinions on this please please please #talk to me about my two special interests #dimension 20 #fantasy high #fig feath #adaine abernant #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #kristen applebees #riz gukgak #ps i know a lot of tumblr people dont like tswift and thats totally valid she is morally a very questionable person #long post

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gsasustainability · 4 months

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MLitt Fine Art Practice Moving Images and Photography Pathway Chuan Du Finalist, GSA Sustainability Degree Show Prize

If it was Here

Please relax, bump over into a daydream about natural beings and for natural beings

The Kelpies, expelled by a saint long ago, have lived underwater in a loch in the highlands. For years they were too discreet to show themselves out of the water. Something heavy and poisonous has accumulated forcing the Kelpies to change their skin colour to adapt. Even so, there are some tiny naughty Kelpies curious about the life of human beings. At dawn, they disguise themselves as a gust of wind covered with wobbly bubble skins and sneak into human society. They spend minutes, hours and days playing the strange metallic cold things in the middle of the greenery. They can disappear in a flash before you notice any trace. However, there are always some incident. Some tiny Kelpies jumped into an artificial pool. The pool is shallow enough for human beings to observe these little creatures. These creatures’ skins glow out glamorous colours when they dance. They are green and blue at the start, then with a hint of pink, later with reddish-purple like rotten grapes. ‘ do I look like a meal?’ asked the smallest quirky one.

The project was initially triggered by encounters with local folktales. I got inspired by the whole process of research and practice, and the fact that we had such an intimate relationship with nature before. We must believe we can reconcile with nature and other beings again among growing crises – environmental, climate, and human.

Rooting the local culture and re-creating tales helps construct a collective culture where we can integrate into nature. Collective culture in my artwork incorporates the possible origins of folklore, various accounts, and the reimagining of the stories from an outsider’s perspective. I am concerned with the future of humans, nature and the other. The new tale symbolizes the interdependency between beings. The leading characters in my scripts – mythical creatures – derive from the worship of water, which is explained in several accounts.

The experimental practice emphasised on the process of finding culture in nature and finding nature in culture. Who breathed, listened, touched, walked and rolled over in fields. Who swam in the sea and strolled around lochs. Who made the stories where natural elements are revered. Who carved hybrids in standing stones for what?

The forms of the graduation exhibition are an audiovisual installation and performative sculptures. The pool resembles lochs in the Highlands. Real straw are scattered sparsely. The films stage the changes in habitats. The audio echoes the gathering of an audio programming language, animal and human noises. The sculptures are Kelpies ready to morph. It represents a coracle Saint Columba rode to arrive in the Highlands and spread Christianity. The saint cursed away the Kelpies, which might be seen as a pagan symbol then. Here in history, it shows exclusion and war.

The entire project has been trying to create a collective imagination to explore approaches to building healthy, sustainable relationships with each other and other beings on this planet. In this degree show, the fictioning lets the viewers get in touch with the symbol of water – the mythical creature. The long-lasting tension and conflict between beings outside the show may never cease. The only hope is to encourage a pause before judging or concluding, avoiding or ignoring. We need to reground our post-human conditions in a relational understanding of our subjectivity, as Rosi Braidotti advocated. After all, we share a fundamental love for this universe.

more forensic science topics

crime scene investigation/forensics articles

serial murder

havocscope for black market/underground stuff, and more pages on corruption and organized crime

general overview of political corruption

homicide investigation procedures

psychology of famous criminals

faqs about human trafficking

fingerprints and black powder

pathology guides

understanding injuries

analyzing bodies

crime scene response and procedures

the fbi can actually help you write your story as well, here.

more resources!

if you’re esl or struggle with grammar, this might help.

fight scene advice (i see a lot of writers struggle with this, including me, but this helped a ton.)

more help on fight scenes

info on first drafts

editing vs. revising

10 things that might be stopping you from writing

language vs. dialect

a bunch of generators for cities and names

mithrilandmages name generators and lists (fantasy + modern generators)

over 100+ generators for a ton of fandoms

medieval bestiary

greek mythology bestiary

norse gods and creatures

more norse mythology

scandinavian folklore

more scandinavian folklore

mythical creatures masterlist (not as in-depth as the bestiaries, but if you need ideas/a general overview, this is really good)

different types of povs

more pov stuff

more povs with definitions and lots of examples

how to choose your pov

gestures + body language masterlist

facial expressions masterlist

voice library with sounds according to different emotions (warning: they automatically play when you hover your mouse over them so lower your damn volume when you do, because some of them are really. uh. moany.)

printable storyboards

online storyboard making

writing, roleplaying + worldbuilding (advice on pretty much anything you could name)

some cool french phrases

essaytyper

harvard’s essay writing resources

tips on writing grief

a ton of different essays on writing topics

638 character traits

color shades + names 1, 2, 3, 4

alphabetical list of colors

date calculator

every literary device

animal tracking

compound bows, draw length + weight

famous last words

bite force of different animals

tips on writing accents

unique fracture patterns in glass/glassy polymers

a-z of careers

types of swords

general advice!

jot down ideas when you get them!

don’t force yourself to write, or else you’ll burn out. and that’s never good.

have snacks and drinks handy if you’re going to be writing for an extended amount of time. even if you’re not, your brain needs fuel to run.

so, drinks like tea and water. snacks that aren’t oily/greasy or crumbly (i mean, do you really want that on your paper or keyboard?),

and on that note, for god’s sake use the bathroom frequently.

if you have difficulty concentrating, get something like a fidget cube or something to help. or take a nap.

if you don’t think your writing is good at first, just keep. writing. it’s a skill, and the more you write, the better you’ll get.

beta readers and outside opinions are very helpful. and please, never antagonize them first.

first drafts are messy! and done > perfect the first time around.

probably more stuff but it’s been 11+ hours and i want to play skyrim already so take it.

#writing #resources #my brain did this instead of write #what do i tag here #crime #forensic science #writeblr

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simultaneously-sick-and-calm · 3 years

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»pairing: Man from the Railroad!Atsuhiro x fem!reader

»word count: 3.2k

»Part 1 | IS IT A GOD INSIDE YOU, GIRL? (1st OGoA AU piece by @get-shiggy-with-it )

»summary: A deal is struck and a desire indulged.

»a/n: part two!! Thanks to my beloved @get-shiggy-with-it for beta reading for me. I hope you enjoy!

»warnings: Appalachian folklore, piv sex, fingering (f receiving), monsterfucking (if you squint), implied tragedy (mine disasters, death of workers/children), some reader backstory, historical AU 1800's mining town, Old Gods of Appalachia podcast AU, 18+ MDNI

The Man from the Railroad was no less intriguing when he returned one evening weeks later to meet with your brother. Just as you'd suspected, he’d practically leaped at the opportunity to cut a potentially lucrative deal without the ever-present gaze of your father looking over his shoulder. For years he had been trying, and failing to make dear old dad believe that he was ready to take over the company. Much to his chagrin however, it was clear that while your father didn’t really trust anyone with the specific ins and outs of the business; the man had seemed in recent years to bristle just a little less when approached by your soft questioning voice, over the harsh cut of his son’s.

This time upon entering the parlor room Atsuhiro took your hand in his own immediately, bringing it once again to the soft plush of his lips in greeting. The heat under your collar seared up the length of your neck, settling once again on your cheeks. “My darling lady! How lovely it is to see your enchanting face. A sight for sore eyes, indeed.”

“Why thank you, Sir. Once again you’re proving to be far too kind.” You brother failed to stifle a huff, clearly irritated that you were distracting his mysterious benefactor. The noise of it shook you back from the daydreams threatening to pull you under.

Pushing from your mind the thoughts of hands at your waist...or how his lips might brush over more of your skin in that same gentle way they caressed your fingers; you guided Atsuhiro’s attention to your brother, finally introducing them. “Henry, this is the Man from the Railroad who asked to see you the other night.”

“Yes, of course!” came your brother’s too jovial attempt at making himself appear likeable. Guiding your guest away without so much as acknowledging your presence. “I was so pleased to hear that you’re interested in our little family affair, kind Sir. Please follow me and we can speak more privately in the office.”

“That sounds just delightful. Lead the way, my friend.” Casting one last glance over the shoulder of his perfectly pressed suit, Atsuhiro winked and followed your brother through the office door.

And just like that, you were once again left standing alone at the desk, consumed by the lingering heat of his lips against your skin. And oh lord above you were hungry for it. It wasn’t an overly familiar feeling, admittedly, but you were no stranger to this kind of desire...to this yearning that threatened to burn you up from the inside whenever you caught wind of him. Which had been often over the last several days.

Since his appearance it seemed as though he was everywhere. Word spread of groups gathering in the large fields just outside town, all to listen to him speak. He promised them purpose, good and honest work that would better not only their own lives but those of all who surrounded them.

Fathers and sons.

Wanderers and vagrants.

All were welcome to join him in working for the Railroad. There was a place for every good, hard-working man among his ranks, and every voice who whispered about this black-suited man with the green bolo tie seemed almost as smitten as you.

Even as all the rumors and the chatter flowed like the streams at the base of the mountain. As the other young women in town flushed and swooned at the sight of the hat sitting proudly above the group of men that surrounded him; you held on to one small thing. The way that his given name tasted on your tongue. It was bitter and sweet, rolling over the plush of your lips with an uncertain kind of hope. For all the tongues that wagged about his sudden and overwhelming appearance in your small hometown, none of them referred to him by any name at all.

Only you had been bestowed the privilege--no, the honor, of having a name to breathe out into the darkest moments of night when every beautiful slope of his face occupied your mind. Those fleeting seconds when all you could hear was the gentle tone of his whispering in your ear, imagining the way that it might deepen and rasp under your kiss. The way it would feel to have your fingers intertwined with his own, or trace them delicately over the sharp line of his jaw and the gentle turn of his grin. All of a sudden the ornate handle behind you turned, startling you once again from your daydreams.

Henry’s voice, followed immediately by the soft floating drone of Atsuhiro’s were just on the other side. You caught just the tail end of their conversation as the door swung open. “Well, Henry my friend, I am simply delighted at the prospect of our future endeavors together. I think that with your manpower, and my connections we can truly turn the tide in this battle. Industry is the path to the future, and we must move along with it. Ever onward and ever forward, as they say, hmm?”

“You’re absolutely right, Sir. I think this is the start of a great partnership.” Henry hadn’t sounded so enthusiastic about anything, aside from maybe a free round of drinks at his favorite watering hole, in years. “We have many who would love to be a part of the kind of thing that you’re offering, and I think that my father especially will be looking forward to seeing all your plans come to fruition.”

Fruition. That was quite the word choice for Henry, and you did your best to stifle a chuckle. Usually by this time he was long inebriated past the point where words with a second syllable became a struggle for him. The attempt was admittedly half-hearted, and the smallest of sounds slipped out before it could be reigned back into the confines of your chest.

Thankfully, Henry was already in the midst of pulling a coat from the rack, and making his way out after a hearty handshake with his new partner. “Wonderful to meet you, and I’m sorry that I have to run out so quickly...I, uh have another meeting to get to.'' He tipped his hat in Atsuhiro’s direction and added a muffled “Sister. I’ll see you in the morning. Please make sure that the good gentleman has all of the information that he needs before you go.”

The both of you murmured farewells in return as he hurried out--no doubt late to boast about his success to the usual crowd of drunkards and fools with whom he spent most evenings. And with his hurried exit, you felt the heat under your skin creep back into its former home. Warming your face in what must have been a world record time. Absently you lifted a hand to brush a stray hair from your eyes, hoping in vain that the action might shake you out whatever state these daydreams had thrust you into. A beat passed in silence, and then another before you felt Atsuhiro’s eyes find you across the small space. He was so much closer just an hour before and still you felt like you’re burning up from the inside out at his attention.

Steeling yourself against your own hesitation, you turned to face him and tried to find your voice among the rabble of butterflies that currently occupied all of the space that used to cradle your lungs. “Henry, seemed to be rather taken with you, Sir--”

“As much as I enjoy hearing you refer to me so formally, my darling girl. You are well aware of my name.”

His hungry stare could have consumed you. In fact, the longer you stood there, with just a few steps holding the rigid distance between you, the more of you became quite certain that it would do just that. Every quip that you might have hoped to throw back sizzled away on the molten heat of your usually sharp tongue. “Y-yes, I am aware of it.”

“Then why,” three smooth strides closed the distance between you, bringing him impossibly close, “my dear, do you seem so insistent on forgetting it just when I want to hear it the most?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I know a great many things. Things that others do not, and could not know. Like the way that your lips curl so lovely around my name in the stillness of night. It's a tantalizing sound my dear, and I am eager to hear more of it."

He was so close as he spoke, the way his breath danced over your lips was astounding. Being so close to him felt similar to the way you had imagined in the several days since he last filled the space around you, but there was also something altogether unexpected about it. Everything about him seemed to surround you, compressing into a space far too small for any physical being to occupy.

The heady smell of him had you intoxicated, clinging to every inch of skin that lay exposed in the cool autumn air that rolled through the open door. His very presence was heavy, like the blankets of fog that clung for far too long at the mouths of caves, or the last sticky days of summer heat that always lingered on the mountain air.

As a child you could recall the way it felt to taste air like tonight’s on your tongue. The way that it invaded your senses, and bit back as if it had teeth all its own sharp and jagged, in their futile attempts to keep the turning seasons at bay. If it weren’t for the way Atsuhiro’s fingertips burned a path along your cheek as they moved smoothly from temple to jaw, you might have been lost to its chill.

He knew.

He knew everything.

More than just the way you spoke his given name. More than the flicker of hope that melted away at the wax seal surrounding your heart. More than the way you melted into his embrace in the same way now.

The glint in his earthen eyes gave way to something more than human, a sum of parts greater than just the man himself who now pressed his body so close to your own. And in that moment, every story your grandmother shared, every warning weaved intricately into the design of the tales came back to you. Along with one other...

Your grandfather didn’t often indulge in storytelling, but he made sure to tell you one. The one about the man from the company with a green bolo tie and sharp silver tongue, that he had met as a younger man. The man who never shared his name, but worked beside him for years to open the mine. To set your family's legacy on its path, one which would eventually lead to this great reaping of the effort he had sown generations ago. You hadn’t ever figured out if the tale was laced with warning like all the others. Honestly, you couldn’t remember any other details, but now you were quite sure that it would make no difference.

You were certain of just one thing. What he needed, and what you wanted were one and the same.

What he sought from you was an opportunity for indulgence. The shred of his humanity that remained among whatever else made up the mass of him was wavering. Flickering like the prayer candles adorning every window in every home as they mourned the things he and his revolution stole from them. He knew that you understood what he was -- what he wasn't, really, and that you weren’t afraid. The weight of your acceptance seemed to settle on his shoulders, and he crumbled into you.

“Atsuhiro...” You whispered into the lips that ghosted over your own.

He tasted like the first crisp breeze of the season. Sharp, and tinged with inevitability, but heavy with understanding that the death of all things familiar lay in wait at its heels.

Desperation overtook him, painting a new color on his usually monochrome pallet. Teeth and tongue fought hard to remain in control, and he won. Licking into your mouth and sighing beautifully when finally you relented the battle of wills and allowed him to consume you completely.

The hands that moments ago were caging you in, now began to roam. Kneading, sliding, savoring every pliable part of you. Hooking a hand beneath one of your knees, Astuhiro lifted your leg, guiding you so shift backward until you found yourself seated on the desk. You used the leverage to lock your legs around his waist and pull him into you, the action bunching your skirts around your waist. Mewling when your hips were finally pressed fully together, you felt the smirk return to his face. Finally you felt him, hard and hot, even through the few remaining layers of clothing that kept you apart.

He pulled away then, tilting your face to look up at him and relishing in the way you groaned at the loss of his heat. Not to say that he was faring much better, it had been so long since he allowed himself this small pleasure, and you were so willing. He was surprised at himself, really, for managing to hold it together this long already. “This is not the first time you have been touched like this, is it, my pet?” He purred into your ear as fingers traced a soft line up the length of your leg, halting to knead the soft flesh just inches away from where you both wanted him to be.

“No, it’s not--hmmm, please…”

He could practically feel the pulsing, the soft wet heat of your waiting cunt. The pretty sounds you made going straight to his cock, and he wanted more. He needed to hear you cry out his name in strangled ecstasy. “Please what, my darling girl? You’re doing so well for me already. Tell me what it is that you need?” he crooned, relishing in the way you preened at even the smallest bit of praise.

“I think,” you began, once again finding the bravery within yourself that his presence seemed to pull out of you, “that it is you who needs me, Atsuhiro.”

He was, for a split second, shocked at the way you took his face in both hands, pulled him to your level and kissed him hard. It was beautiful, this growing fire in you, and as it overtook his senses, he thought for a moment about how he could have loved it--could have loved you--in another life. Or even in his own, back when he was truly just a man. When his name was his own to give freely and did not come with so steep a price.

But now was not the time to linger on such fantasies.

The hand trapped between your bodies made quick work of your underwear, baring your needy cunt to him at last. And Atsuhiro groaned, an altogether animal sound at the slick he found waiting for him there, and he used its abundance to ease first one long finger, then a second, in time into the heat of you. Stroking gently, he explored the soft velvet of your walls until he found it, the spot that made you keen against him. The dark whimper of his given name that fell from your lips when he began to circle the bundle of nerves in sync, was almost more than he could bear. Never in all his time spent on this wretched earth, had he heard something so beautiful.

Now, you were no sweet spring blossom, innocence was something you left behind long ago. But the delicious way he played your body like a violin was foreign indeed. None of the clumsy hands that rushed to lift your skirts had ever made you feel so good.

"Astu--Ah!" You gasped against his shoulder, feeling for all intents like a spring wound too tightly. One hand wound itself tightly in his silky hair and the other blindly searching for the smooth buckle at his waist. Panting, struggling for words between ragged breaths. "Wait! Wait, I--fuck--I want to feel you."

"Yes, of course my dear."

Sliding from your seat on the desk, you beckoned him to follow and settled back into the plush of the sofa. You barely caught the way that his breath hitched as you finally loosed him from the confinement of his clothes. Taking a moment to admire him, you allowed your fingers to trace the lines. Strong smooth stomach giving way to slender hips and and cock that you might even say was pretty. Impressive, certainly, but not in any way that made you fear pain. Rather he looked as though he was made to fit together with you just right.

And oh, how perfect it was.

Atsuhiro trembled as he sank to the hilt into your warmth, and the both of you sighed as he began to move.

Slowly.

Gently.

The moment stretched and was reverent in a way, as though the both of you understood its gravity. He angled and nudged that heavenly spot again, and the way you clenched around him forced a low groan into the air between you.

He looked up with wide eyes, struck again by the reality of you.

Never in any of the handful of times that he'd chosen to indulge in his baser instincts had the object of his fixation been anything more than a pretty face and a warm body, in the end. And he had the small handful of marbles in his breast pocket to prove it. Each one a reminder that he was no longer Sako Atsuhiro. He couldn't risk leaving a loose pair of loose lips with something so powerful as his own name.

But you…

You were something altogether different than the rest. Unexpected. Secure.

He could lose himself in you.

And as you came undone around him with a whimper of his given name, he did just that. Vaulting with you over the precipice. He worked you both through the high, and in return you kissed him deeply.

A while later, still entwined on the old velvet sofa, your name, whispered softly in the surrounding stillness pulled you back from the edge of sleep.

"Hmm?" You asked gently, afraid to disturb the peace. You knew that this was borrowed time.

"You know that I cannot--"

You silenced him with lips against his own. "I know."

"Thank you, my dear."

You awoke the next morning to a stack of those shiny cards on the desk, and a note. Scrawled quickly over the surface were just a handful of words.

These are for the men that your brother wishes to send my way. Keep none for yourself. Ever onward and ever forward.

-A

Next to them in the slim vase where you'd left the blue marble, now was only a long white feather. Very much like the one you'd noticed missing from his hat.

#sako atsuhiro #mr compress x reader #bnha #mha #sako atsuhiro x reader #old gods of appalachia au #the man from the railroad!Atsuhiro #tw monsterfucking (maybe)

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heylors · 3 years

Text

The one where Harry Styles and Taylor Swift reunited at the GRAMMYs 2021.

I just wanna taste it, I just wanna taste it Watermelon Sugar high Watermelon Sugar–

And the applause of the small crowd echoed in the studio they were in. It was ten seconds of clapping for Harry Styles who just opened the GRAMMYS with his hit single that is nominated for tonight. He bowed and fixed his hair while appreciating the cheers for him.

After his performance, he made a quick change and wore a custom made Gucci outfit with a fuzzy purple boa wrapped around his neck. He took photographs for the red carpet before proceeding to his seat.

After twenty minutes of waiting, the program resumed with the host presenting Taylor Swift to perform.

His heart suddenly started to beat faster than it did when he was opening up the GRAMMYS as soon as he saw his old flame on the big screen performing her song, Cardigan.

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite.

She then continued her performance by singing August and Willow.

Harry was able to sing along throughout the performance since he tried listening to Folklore. He's been always so amazed by how Taylor writes her lyrics and how she puts melodies into it. He remembers how she wrote 'Style' where she stated that he really got that James Dean daydream like... who writes like that? Who compliments their exes like THAT?

He was also stunned on how she wrote the bridge of Out of the Woods and how she narrated the downfall of their relationship in just a span of 20 seconds.

Taylor did the same thing as Harry after performing. She changed her wardrobe after going back to her seat with Jack and Aaron.

While waiting for the program to resume, her eyes explored the tent where a lot of nominated artists are seated but as soon as she laid her eyes to the man who inspired the album that was awarded AOTY last 2016, it never left.

She smiled behind her mask. She remembers how Harry would talk about how cool it is if he wins an award for himself back in 2012. She knew he was so passionate as her on writing songs about his feelings and seeing him 9 years later, nominated for the same categories with her at the GRAMMYS, is something that makes her feel cozy at some point.

Harry gazed at her the same time Taylor was gazing at him. His green and her ocean blue eyes collided once again after years of not seeing each other.

They both squinted and knew they both lowkey smiled at each other since their masks were covering their mouths.

After the quick intimate staring, they both looked at different ways and made themselves busy but they couldn't deny the fact that memories from the past starts to linger in their heads.

Before they can even zone out from their reality, the program resumed and they were about to announce the winner for Best Pop Solo Performance where they are both nominated.

While they are showing the nominees, Harry kept looking at Taylor's direction because he knows that she's gonna get the GRAMMY and didn't even thought of winning it for himself. He's already too grateful to be nominated alongside his ex and other wonderful artists.

Taylor on the other side is hoping for her old flame to win knowing how much it would mean to him plus, she knows he deserves it.

"And the GRAMMY goes to...."

"Harry Styles." Taylor breathed.

"Cardigan." Harry sighed.

"Watermelon Sugar, Harry Styles!"

Taylor smiled and stood up before anyone else. Even before Harry.

She clapped and looked at his direction. She starts nodding as if she was saying "Well deserved, Lad. Well deserved."

Harry proceed to give his acceptance speech for his first ever GRAMMY which he only dreamt of having. He grabbed the trophy and put it back seconds after holding it.

"Wow, erm..." He sighed before continuing his speech. He couldn't believe it, and the thought of winning something from a prestigious award show couldn't sink in that quick.

Taylor's watching him from her seat and couldn't help but to grin behind her mask all throughout his speech. She could tell that he's nervous because he speaks too fast and he kept looking down.

"All of these songs are fucking massive." Harry said and took a quick glance to Taylor so they made another eye contact.

"I feel honored to be among all of you so thank you so much." This time, Harry's eyes were locked in to Taylor and she didn't even looked away. She's just so proud of him and how far he's made.

Harry made his way out after giving his speech but he forgets to take his GRAMMY with him which made Taylor giggled.

Harry took some quick photographs backstage with his achievement and the thought of winning against those artists is still not sinking in for him. He went back to his seat since he's nominated for two more categories where in one of them, he's nominated alongside Taylor again.

It was time to announce the winner for Best Pop Vocal Album so Taylor and Harry made themselves comfortable in their seats since this is a big category to win.

Taylor was sort of anxious because out of six nominations for Folklore, she won nothing since the pre-show. This is her second to the last nomination.

Though she was worried about it, a part of her didn't care about the awards because she didn't even think of winning awards for the album that she only wrote to keep herself busy and to entertain her fans during the lockdown.

"And the GRAMMY goes to... Future Nostalgia, Dua Lipa!"

Taylor as well as Harry clapped and stood up for their good friend. Despite of not winning 5/6 of her nominations tonight, Taylor remained calmed and enjoyed the rest of their evening.

As soon as Dua ended her acceptance speech, Harry took a quick glanced at Taylor who's also applauding for her.

He's thinking of approaching her before he gets out of the tent since he's not nominated for anything already. A little catch up wouldn't hurt anybody aye?

After the cameras stopped rolling, Harry stood up and talked to some artists in the room before walking towards Taylor to start a conversation.

"Hey, good to see you." Harry greeted Aaron Dessner as soon as he reached their table, "Congratulations on your nominations. Folklore deserved!"

Aaron congratulated Harry too for winning his first GRAMMY.

"Thanks! I couldn't believe it either." He then turn his attention to Taylor who's sitting on her chair, listening to their conversation.

"Great performance by the way." He looks down to her and started the conversation.

Taylor stood up so she would be on the same level as him, "Thank you! Did you see it?"

Harry nodded, "Yeah."

"We were like so nervous because its the first time we played on National TV." She explained.

"Yeah, it was great." Harry responded.

It felt like it was 2012 all over again but everything's not out of place, and there's no trace of uncertainty. He could tell that Taylor is in a very grounded, and stable life which he failed to give when they were in a relationship. She looked as beautiful as the day that he lost her.

He always imagined that they would be standing here, talking to each other about how great life is going on for the both of them. After what they had in the past, Taylor was something for him. She will always have this piece of him that she didn't know she holds.

December 2012 ( I highly recommend to play Unchained Melody by The Righteous Brothers while reading this part. )

"Help me move this one, Babe." Taylor asked his boyfriend a favor as she holds a side of her couch.

"Let me do it. I workout for you, you know." Harry flexed his muscles and winked at Taylor before holding the other side of the couch.

"With your clumsy ass? Yeah right." Taylor chuckled and rolled her eyes. Harry mocked her accent which made Taylor giggle.

"Let's just move the furnitures please? So we could dance."

After they moved some tables and upholstered piece of furnitures, Harry puts on The Righteous Brothers' vinyl record and Unchained Melody starts playing.

He walked towards Taylor who's waiting for him at the middle of her apartment.

He holds her tight like it was the last time because he knows deeply that this is soon gonna last considering that their relationship is very fragile and tentative.

They swayed slowly to the music with their eyes closed, feeling each others' heartbeat.

"I wish we could stay like this forever." Taylor whispered.

Harry rubs her back because he knows she's tearing up, "I always pray for it, baby."

After seconds of silence, she spoke again but this time with her voice cracking.

"Do you think we'll make it?" Taylor.

"We'll make it right?" She continued.

Harry sighed and responded, "Of course, we'll make it."

He kissed her temple and hugged her as she starts to sob. She held him tighter than she ever did before, knowing that it could be the last time she'll be holding the love of her life.

"Well, its great to see you!" Harry tries to end the conversation since he still has things to do backstage.

"It's great to see you too, Haz." She tilted her head and flashed a smile at him.

He bids goodbye to Taylor and the others who were at the table and then proceeds backstage. He wouldn't be there when they would announce the Album of the Year but he is certain that Taylor is going to get it. He is so sure that he already have a draft of a congratulation-text for her.

Taylor watches Harry walk away and realizations just hit her on the spot.

They made it.

Separately.

But they still made it.

and she's happy for that.

She considered Harry as someone who would interrupt her wedding because he believes that it isn't over yet. That it should be him that she must marry.

Nine years later, she still considers him who would still go to his wedding but to not interrupt it. He would be there with a date on his arm, a date he loves truly because he found his person too. He would give a beautiful toast about love and growth... about relationships that are meant to be and relationships that are meant to send you on a path of change.

They will share a dance where he kisses her on her forehead just like what they did back in December of 2012.

He'll tell her that he is proud of her, of them, and of their history and she's thankful to hear that from him.

She's been thinking about the hearts she's broken on her journey here, and he tells her his heart was broken but it taught him about himself in only the way your first love can.

Taylor tells him she really loves this person he is with and he tells her that he's been planning to propose and a year later, she's at his wedding giving a toast about love that's meant to be and love that helps you grow.

"And the GRAMMY goes to... Folklore, Taylor Swift!"

Harry flashed a grin as he watches Taylor makes history for being the first woman to win Album of the Year three times from the television backstage.

"Joe.." Taylor let out a sigh of relief as she thanks his boyfriend.

"Who is the first person that I play every single song that I write and I had the best time writing songs with you in quarantine."

And when I walked up to the podium, I didn't forgot to say your name.

And on her way home to her boyfriend, her phone lits up with a message notification from someone she knew and might really never forget as long as she lives.

From: unknown

Congratulations! I knew you would make history. You deserve it, Taylah.

Send my regards to Joe, I would love to meet the lad someday.

All the love, H.

___

#haylor #taylor swift #harry styles #haylor fic #haylor au #grammys2021 #haylor 2021 #grammys #au #fanfiction #just wrote what i wondered happened that day where we all died dead on the spot

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clockworkgraystairs · 4 years

Text

There is no such thing as vampires #1 || Jurdan AU

Jurdan Smut Week 2020 • DAY 2

The prompt was technically dagger play...it didn’t really worked that way but HEY more smut! (vampire smut cough)

@jurdannet @jurdannetrevels

Rating: E (no I don’t mean ‘everyone’)

Warnings: Explicit content, mentions of blood, some biting (it’s a vampire au c’mon), swear words (just in case)

Summary:

Behind me stands a tall, slender man dressed in black trousers and one of those puffy white shirts men always use in period TV dramas. Raven curls frame the sharp angles of his face and his pale skin resembles marble. I stare at him unsure if my eyes widen because of the scare or how good looking he is. Maybe both.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying.

Extra comments: Just because I’m extra af, I’ll leave you the ambience music videos I listened while writing this. In case you’d like to hear them while reading:

Rain in a forest at night - Haunted Mansion/rain/thunder/wind - Narnia Lullaby

Written for: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23 MA’AM AS ALWAYS THANK YOU FOR ALL THE HELP AND SUPPORT, FOR BETAING THIS UNENDING PIECE AND FOR HELPING ME CRAFTING THE IDEA FOR IT! ❤️

Part 1 || Part 2

Masterlist • AO3

“Please tell me again why are we doing this?” I ask for the third time, leaning to rest my head on my sister’s shoulder. We bounce as the uncomfortable van we travel in turns to a cobbled path, leading us deeper into the woods.

“Because,” Vivi hisses back. “Your little brother is currently in his Twilight-obsession phase, and he just broke up with his girlfriend so we’re trying to cheer him up!”

“He’s 9! And they lasted like, what? Four hours?”

In that moment, Oak turns violently from the front seat, scowling at me. “First of all Jude, we were together two full days ok? She was the love of my life and suddenly she’s not sure about us anymore? Now I shall never find love again! I might have to become a priest. I expect a little consideration.”

Vivi ruffles his hair affectionately. “We absolutely understand, your sister here doesn’t have an ounce of romance in her veins but of course she supports the cause.”

That said, he returns to his place. I bite my lip hard, trying not to laugh. Typical Oak. I love my brother I really do, even if half of the time I can’t understand his dramatic outbursts.

Sighing, I stare through the window, to the heavy clouds gathering on top of us. Great. We are probably far away from the highway by now, nothing more than trees, rocks and occasional wild animals around. For some reason, our father had thought that there was no better way of fixing a kid’s broken heart than going on a quest in search of legends and hidden castles.

The thing is that apparently, it works. Instead of an incessant whining about love being doomed, my brother spends the days throwing the most random facts about werewolves, vampires, ghosts and any impossible creature. To be honest, I don’t think wikipedia and the Twilight books are a reliable source, but if it makes Oak happy I could live a couple of days with it. And most importantly if I have to choose between this or spending the week back at home with my mother and twin sister going to tea parties for old ladies, well, the answer is very clear.

I remember reading a few books about myths when I was younger. When I turned fifteen, I developed a hard crush on Brad Pitt after I saw Interview with the Vampire, filling half of the walls in my room with posters of him. Even now ten years later, I actually enjoy talking about old folklore and legends, urban myths and stuff like that.

What bugs me, are the fraudulent morons who want to take advantage of Oak’s naive curiosity to engage us in the most ridiculous tours that were obviously a waste of money. So far, we’d entered three “museums” where most of the so-called relics were made of plastic, and a haunted house with special effects so poorly done, father had discreetly asked for his money back. Only another two of the places we visited were actually interesting, but since the guides spent most of the time flirting with Vivi or me, it had annoyed our father.

Now though, we are driving behind the car of an old couple who swore their ancestors owned a castle where true vampires had lived once. The sole mention of the word “castle” was enough to make Oak hang from our father’s sleeve begging to go.

I’m not going to lie, it is an intriguing idea. But I remain a little worried about how much money Madoc is ready to pay before he hurries his little son back to his fantasy books and videogames.

“Dad, did you know that vampires like to live in the woods because it allows them to make racing competitions without being interrupted?” Oak asks with enthusiasm.

Madoc gasps. “Do they? Is it because they’re so fast?”

Okay, he might be willing to pay more than I thought. Next to me, Vivi muffles a laugh and keeps taking pictures for her instagram, occasionally asking for my help.

Upon arriving at the castle I have to suppress a curse. This, now, is a real castle. Nothing like the pitiful buildings we’d visited before. It is huge, made of pure stone and a modest wooden bridge that connects the entrance with the spot where the cars park. A slight fog covers the sides of the castle giving it a creepier look.

A shiver goes down my back. I turn to find my family who are all equally gaping at the place in front of them. Oak is visibly shaking with excitement. Vivi shoots me an astonished look before taking my brother’s hand and following the couple across the bridge.

The first thought that pops into my mind is that this place must have been taken out from a movie. Or set up for one. Maybe this is one of those pranks for TV. There is no other explanation for the massive room we find behind the giant front gate. Every inch of the walls is covered by paintings, several images barely recognizable through the dust. Aged furniture rests under dust and spiderwebs, pointing out they haven’t been used in quite some time. The illumination doesn’t help either. Electric lights hang from a few spots on the walls, though not enough for the big space, which I suspect is the reason that long candles are lit up too.

My next thought is that I should’ve brought my sweater. The damn place is freezing.

“Phew, sorry about the dust!” The old man says, flashing an embarrassed smile to us. “We were not planning to have any visitors yet.”

“You said this is going to be a museum?” Madoc asks, carefully surveying the walls. Next to him, Vivi tightens her hold on my brother’s hand to prevent him from starting to run around. I swear his eyes are about to pop out of their sockets.

“It will indeed! This place has been in our family for generations, but since it’s hard to adapt it to modern technology it was abandoned.” He turns to Oak and winks. “Not to mention the creepy things that happen here all the time.”

His gaze widens. “What kind of things?”

“Well, some distant relatives used to try spending their vacations here. But after a couple of days they left in a big rush, claiming some strange force had commanded them to go away.” With a lower voice, he adds. “They also mentioned noises coming out from empty rooms and dark hallways. Steps. Shadows that followed them along the place.”

For a second everyone remains silent. The only noise I can hear is the wind outside and the start of a slight rain. Somehow my hands are even colder.

“The legend says,” The woman, whose name is Marrow if I remember it correctly, continues while taking one chandelier with her hand. “This was the hideout of ancient vampires, how many, we don’t know. But they didn’t appreciate people trying to live within their domains.”

“So why come here at all?” Vivi asks. “Isn’t it dangerous?”

“It might be.” She shrugs. “But that’s half of the fun, isn’t it?”

“We like to think we’ve found a safe way to open this castle to the public without taking any risks. We will use a part of it as a museum, to show some of the family relics. But be aware, no one is allowed to go further than the marked area.” He signals at the yellow tape stuck on the floor forming arrows.

“If you please...” Marrow says, motioning at the stairs where the markings start.

They get me for a moment, not gonna lie. The surroundings and the way they speak are creepy enough to make me doubt my beliefs for a second. I shake my head to clear those thoughts away and walk behind my family. There’s no such thing as vampires or haunted castles.

We go through passages. Madoc has to remind Oak to not touch anything, constantly. From what I see, he’s living his best day. Several counters line up side by side against the wall. Some of them contain jewelry, others weapons, old writing pens among other things. Most of them carry a family shield, although it’s too blurry to properly identify what it says.

The rain thickens outside and Marrow keeps talking. She tells the story of her so called ancestors, whose family were big enough to fill all the rooms in the castle. Elwen, Eldred… something like that, and his many wives had once lived here. Along with his abounding children. I see in Oak’s face the intention to ask about how that family arrangement worked but Vivi gives him a slight pull of his hair.

I would have thought our guides would try to keep a proud name for their so-called ancestors. But they don’t. In fact, she seems particularly interested in explaining how Eldred’s cruel and terrible nature brought him nothing but disgrace. His once prosperous castle and assets were gone little by little. He claimed he was under the effects of a curse, but no one dared believing him. At least not until people started disappearing.

I stop listening at some point, focusing my attention on the relics in front of me. I’ve always felt a significant attraction to weapons, but not the ordinary ones like guns or rifles. These ones though, such beautiful daggers and swords. I’d give a kidney just to hold one of them.

On the next shelf books pile one next to the other, the dust around them a clear sign of how long they’ve been unbothered. All except for one. The navy blue cover has almost no dust at all, yet it looks like it would fall apart with a gentle blow of wind. The title is partially gone, probably through time.

I turn my head to my family but they’re gone, probably to another corridor since I can still hear the muffled voice of Marrow and my brother. Would she care at all if I check out that book?

I bite my lip. As long as it doesn’t break it’s probably alright. Standing on the tip of my toes I reach for it.

“That is an excellent book.”

I shriek and whip around, my hand flies to my mouth trying to cover the embarrassing sound. The book falls open next to my feet.

His lips curve as if he finds my reaction somehow satisfying. “My personal favorite. Too bad the author was a poisonous bunch-backed toad.”

My mouth opens to apologize, but I only manage to let out a strangled. “Shit”

The stranger lifts an eyebrow and chuckles.

“Sorry, I- that wasn’t what I meant to say.” I stutter. I feel as if my heart has jumped to my throat. “I wasn’t trying to steal the book.”

“I did not say you were.” He answers, his voice is like velvet.

I nod and take a deep breath. “I came in with my family. Marrow is showing us the place.”

His dark eyes wander down my body, but not like one of those rude men on the streets. No. Something in his gaze feels feral, like an animal sizing up his prey. A strange urge to run pools in my stomach, yet at the same time my muscles seem to have forgotten how to do so.

He looks me in the eyes again and it’s all gone. I let go of the tension in my back and a breath I didn’t know I was holding. When he smiles again, I feel as if I could trust him. Why shouldn’t I?

“And are you enjoying the tour?” He bends to pick up the book I’d dropped before and puts it back on the shelf. His movements are fluid and carefree. I doubt I’ve ever seen such elegance in a simple action. It is unsettling as much as it is attractive. Then I realize I’m supposed to answer.

“Yes, this is amazing actually.” I look around and take in the aged stone of the walls and ceiling. In that corridor there’s only one electric lamp, the rest is only lightened by candles. I can see our shadows dancing along to the flames. “All of this really helps getting in the ‘mood’.”

“The mood?”

I look at him and notice his tilted head. “Yeah you know, the mood of enchanted castles and old legends. This is well put enough that a credulous person would believe any story. Marrow is pretty good at it too.” Motioning a hand to him I add. “They even have their own actor.”

A thunder roars outside. “I beg your pardon?”

I roll my eyes and flash him a smile. “You don’t really have to keep the charade with me. I’m not some schoolgirl.”

“Yet I managed to pull a scream out of you, didn’t I?” The way he says it feels as if he was talking about an entirely different subject. Heat creeps up my cheeks.

“That was… not the same.” I mumble. “I didn’t hear you approaching. That could scare the living hell out of anybody.”

“I have been told I am quite sneaky, I concede you that.” He nods. “Why don’t I give you the rest of the tour? As an apology, of course.”

He’s doing his job, I remind myself, he’s not flirting with you.

“You haven’t even told me your name.” I say. “If we’re roaming around a castle together I should at least know who’s guiding me.”

That sounded an awful lot like flirting. Dammit.

“Cardan, at your service madam.” The tone he uses feels like a caress, he bows his head in a way I’ve only seen in movies. He takes his role seriously. I almost chuckle, but the sound dies in my throat.

“Cardan.” I repeat, just for the pleasure of doing it. “My name is Jude.”

He straightens. “Delighted to meet your acquaintance.” He answers and offers me his arm. “Shall we, Jude?”

I can’t believe how far away my family has gone. Cardan and I walk through a couple of corridors and still there is no trace of them. Did we take that long talking?

He’s an excellent guide, I have to acknowledge that.

While Marrow uses a tone of suspense and mystery, Cardan has this melancholy in his voice that sounds as if he’s talking about a memory. It’s bewitching. He also drops the most ridiculous “facts” about the people on the paintings. I refrain myself from asking if inventing things is allowed for employees, because saying that the girl with the pearl necklace enjoyed to play on the beach while saying she was the Princess of the Sea, certainly sounds like it.

“If you bite your lip one more time, I am going to do it for you.”

My heart skips a bit and I let go of my lower lip. I hadn’t realized I was tugging it. It’s an unconscious habit. I turn to him and I find his gaze different, hungry. It sends a shiver down to a place I know it shouldn’t. He arches an eyebrow as though he notices it.

“Is that a thing vampires like to do?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. The last thing I want him to know is that for the last twenty minutes I’ve been listening to him speak wishing he put a different use to that wicked mouth of his.

His gaze doesn’t change. “It is a thing I would like to do.”

I am pretty sure my expression is giving me up by now. Knowing my traitorous body, I’m probably flushed, my mouth open in awe. Desire coils inside me.

At my lack of answer, he continues. “Why don’t I show you something vampires really like to do?”

He walks back without letting go of my hand. I notice he steps out from the marked section and into a forbidden corridor.

The sensation returns, the one that is telling me to run. The problem is that I don’t know whether to run away, or straight to it. My mind wants both and my body, only one.

“You’re going to the restricted area.” I’m partially surprised by how breathless my voice sounds. “You can’t go in there…”

Cardan pauses and a confused expression crosses his face. A second later, it returns to his charming and teasing smile. “Are you afraid?”

I am.

Yet, I don’t care. I walk into the shadows with him.

As we cross the passage darkened by the lack of chandeliers I tell myself this is a terrible, terrible idea. The way he devours my mouth the moment a door slams shut behind us, convinces me it is the best.

Cardan pushes me against the wall, the cold temperature of the stone goes through my clothes making me gasp. He takes the opportunity and kisses me harder, his tongue explores my mouth with such deliciousness I have to bite back a moan.

My fingers are tangled in his hair pulling him closer to me, if such a thing is even possible. His hands are everything but still. They roam intensely from my breasts, down my sides and finally to my rear, where he grabs me, pressing me against his pelvis. I hear him groan and the sound makes something clench inside me.

Before I can double-think about it, one of my hands lowers to rub his hardness, still hidden behind his trousers. His breath hitches. He pulls back a bit and whispers to my ear. “Needy little human.”

I frown a moment, something about his words not clicking inside my brain but whatever it is I forget it the moment he slides his cold hands under my jersey. I yelp at the sensation, not sure if what flutters down my back is a result of the temperature or the eagerness which he’s holding me with. When he reaches my bra I hesitate for a moment. Cardan pauses too and leans back to stare into my eyes.

“Do you want to stop?” His voice is throaty and charged with desire. Still, he doesn’t make a move, waiting for my answer.

An instinctive part of me knows this is something I shouldn’t be doing. But that’s definitely not any close to me wanting to stop. Without removing my eyes from his I take the hem of my jersey to pull it over my head. The piece of fabric hits the floor, but neither of us pays attention to it. Once again Cardan’s gaze roams me in that predatory way.

I don’t stagger this time.

When my bra falls to the floor too, I take his hand and guide it to my jean’s button. “Do I look like I want to stop?”

Without hesitation he yanks the button open and slides his hand inside to cup the apex of my thighs. The contrast of my warm skin against his coldness makes my hips buck. Cardan buries his other hand in my hair and tilts my head back. I can feel his lips nipping down my jaw and my neck. A moan escapes my lips as he swipes a finger along my heat. He hums in response, the vibrations of it against my neck makes my eyes roll back.

He continues his ministrations until he feels me wet enough to slide a finger inside, he curls and pulls out. Then back inside. My breath comes out in elaborated pants as he quickens his pace. My hands almost finish unbuttoning his shirt when he slides another finger through my folds, his movements turn fast and punishing. Wet sounds taint the silence around us. As pleasure takes full control of my body I cling to him like a life saver, trying to muffle my moans.

“Let go Jude, let go for me.” He breathes next to my ear. My back arches and I sob a curse, writhing down on his hand.

He slows down as I come back from my orgasm, but never stops. Despite the freezing surroundings a drop of sweat runs down my chest. My heart beats as if I just ran a marathon. Cardan’s lazy moves continue, frequently grazing that spot that makes me mewl.

I hear him sigh. “You smell so good.” He claims my mouth one more time and bites me hard enough to make me wince. His tongue caresses my lower lip and a warm throb expands through my veins. He freezes and pulls back, releasing me. I stare at him in confusion, or at least as much as I can manage giving my current state.

He pants a couple of times before looking up at me. There’s a fiercess in his eyes that would’ve been scary under normal situations, right now, it only makes me want him more. He swallows before finally speaking. “If we go further, I won’t be able to stop.” His voice is like sandpaper.

My body seems to work on its own account, as I move to cup his face between my hands. “I already told you.”

“Jude…” He warns me, but I interrupt him joining my lips to his.

“I want this.” I breathe into his mouth. Cardan lets out a defeated groan before pulling my body back against his. Either he’s been holding back or it is until that moment that I realize how strong he actually is. He kisses me like a starved man and I can feel my pulse rise once again.

Soon his shirt joins my other clothing. My fingers trace his chest and torso, marveled at the softness of his skin. I mimic him moments before and kiss his neck. A low sound that almost resembles a growl comes out from his throat. My hands travel lower.

Somehow I manage to free his raging erection from his trousers, closing my hand around him. He hisses and then tilts his hips up to my touch. I start pumping him with unsure movements before gaining confidence to do it harder, tighter. Now it’s his turn to curse. Even though it sounds like something taken out from a Shakespeare novel, it makes my core pulse.

Cardan grips the hem of my jeans strong enough that for a moment I fear he’d rip them away.

“Take these off.” He demands instead.

I’m not sure of how I manage to do it. My mind feels blurred with a mix of sensations. Disoriented, not sure about exactly how my body is doing all of that, and the bliss of knowing I’m enjoying every second of it.

Before the air hits my skin, Cardan lifts me from the ground. My legs circle his waist in a reflexive move. His lips quirk in approval. Then my back is once again pressed against the wall, making me arch in a failed attempt to avoid touching the cold stone. A sound leaves my mouth, though it is not clear if it’s a protest or a moan. I hear him chuckle in my ear and I turn my head, searching his lips.

His kiss is slower but still deep. I feel as if small electric sparks are tickling every single one of my nerves. More, I need more. Cardan holds me in place with his hips, letting his hands wander up and down my legs.

The tip of his shaft is grazing my core over the thin fabric of my remaining piece of clothing, with an aching slowness that is not enough to ease my thirst. More.

I might have said that out loud because Cardan’s hips grind faster against me. It feels so good. And yet, it’s not enough.

I whine his name like a plea.

He continues for a couple of torturing seconds before reaching between my thighs again. There’s no teasing now as he moves my panties aside and immediately sinks his fingers inside me, pumping in and out with a pace that has me gasping in no time. He murmurs something I can’t understand and lines himself up to my entrance.

With soft, deliberate movements he slides through my heat, letting me feel every inch of him until he’s completely filling me. Then he stills. My muscles twitch around him, trying to adjust to the invasion. The exquisiteness of it is making my head swoon.

Cardan grabs my jaw and locks his gaze with mine. I can imagine what he’s looking at. Hooded eyes and flushed skin, though he doesn’t let me think a lot about it as he starts to move. Slow at first, with careful strokes that quickly evolve into long and deep. My mouth falls open at the sensation and my eyes shut.

“I warned you.” I hear him pant. “That there was no coming back.”

A whimper escapes my lips. I’m not even sure I’m actually trying to say something. He doesn’t seem to care either and leans to whisper to my ear. “You are mine now, Jude.”

There is something in the way he says it, his words carrying some compelling implication I can’t fully catch. His lips trail down my neck and I want to answer. To tell him that I am, that after the way he’s taking me, how could it be otherwise?

That’s when I feel a sharp stinging pain on the base of my throat.

I cry out and try to shake it away but whatever it is won’t let me go. Cardan’s words echo at the back of my mind, Needy little human.

As if sensing my thoughts he grabs my thighs and opens them wider, he thrusts into me harder and faster. Everything mixes in sensation. Pain leaves as fast as it came, leaving behind it that throb in my veins I can’t really explain. It is more intense now, what I felt as warm now is scorching. My entire body feels like it’s on fire, I’ve never felt so exhilarated before in my life. I don’t want it to stop.

Cardan sucks on my neck again and I moan his name. Without realizing it, I’m on the brink of another orgasm. I only realize it because he groans when my legs start to shiver around him. I cling to his neck and his hair. If I’m pulling too hard I can’t really know. A familiar swirl comes up from my core to the rest of my body as I spasm around him. It takes me a moment to notice the broken moans and sobs I hear come from my own mouth.

He keeps going a little longer until his fingers tighten over my skin, surely leaving bruises on both thighs. Muffled moans ring against my skin as he comes, thrusting in a couple of times more before stilling. A warm sensation covers the place where we join together. His mouth lets go of my neck. I grunt and shiver.

He puts me down carefully, still holding my waist, which is good considering I don’t know if I’m able to stand by myself. I feel dizzy. Cardan lowers his lips to mine one more time. He’s slow and gentle as though he’s worried. There is a slightly metallic taste in his tongue but I don’t pay attention to it. I trace the fine features of his face with trembling fingers. Little by little my senses start to take in the surroundings, the cold.

The place rumbles with another crack of thunder.

“You have to go back.” Cardan says, barely pulling his lips apart. Go back. I frown, then images of my family crash in my mind. I look around searching for the door, there is something on the floor. I realize soon those are my clothes. Shit. The tour, Oak. How much time have I been gone?

I dress in a hurry, not really caring if I put on my jersey correctly. He does the same but with the calm an elegance he has.

Panic must be written in my face because he grabs my chin and turns me to him. “Hey. Calm down.” He soothes me. Then his tone changes, turns commanding. His eyes are darker too. “Listen to me. You are going to do exactly as I say, do you understand Jude?”

I want to ask why, but for some reason I only nod. Cardan grabs my hand and pulls me out of whatever room we were in. “You must follow this passage until you find a way to turn left. Then continue until you see a painting of a black snake then turn right, you cannot miss it or you will get lost. Walk straight, and you will be back to a safe area.”

“But-” I start. I don’t want to go alone. And I don’t understand why but I don’t want to separate from him either. Which is nonsense, I barely know him and still...

He interrupts me. “I cannot go with you, I have lost so much control already and I don’t think…”

“Cardan, I can’t-”

A growl echoes in his chest and he pulls me closer to him. While his voice is still hypnotizing it sounds threatening now. “You will not tell anybody about what you saw here. Now go if you intend to leave this place alive.”

Then he's gone. I can’t recall if I blinked or turned, because a moment before I could still touch him and now he vanished.

I take a deep breath and start walking. Focus. Go straight, then turn right. Or was it left?

All passages look the same, some spaces don’t even have a painting or anything at all to help me differentiate them. Sometimes I whip around, thinking I heard a familiar chuckle behind me. Distant rain is the only sound that is a constant companion, but even with it I’m able to hear an echo of every step I give. It unsettles me more with every minute that passes. Although I feel more in control of my body than before, my knees falter constantly and a sensation of tiredness slides over my mind.

I find the snake painting just as I’d started to think I would be trapped here forever.

It’s huge, and despite the years that have probably passed the scales still seem to shine. The head is painted in an angle that gives the illusion of the eyes following the person looking at it. It doesn’t help that the candle’s flames also make the snake look as if it’s moving. Stalking. Before noticing, I start hyperventilating. I shut my eyes close and turn away. Something is terribly wrong with me, I need to get out.

Turning right, I start running. I cover my ears fearing that if I don’t, I’ll start hearing the snake’s hiss behind me.

I cross an arch made with the same stone and stop right in my tracks upon realizing somehow I’m back at the room where we first arrived. I blink to adjust my eyes to the change of light, since here’s where all the electric lamps are. The room is empty though.

I’m not sure of what I am supposed to do now. Sit and wait? Go out to the car?

While I’m weighing my options, trying to choose any that doesn’t imply dropping myself on the floor to have a panic attack, I hear murmurs and steps getting closer.

“Jude!” My little brother yells and runs to me. Behind him, Vivi scans me like she’s trying to find something wrong. I straighten my back and put on my best calmed face.

“Where were you?” She demands. “We lost you hours ago! Are you ok? You look pale.”

Always such a mother hen, I sigh. “I’m fine. I fell behind and lost y’all. Then... I guessed it would be better to just… return here.”

I try not to frown at my last words, since I didn’t fully intend to say them. You will not tell anybody about what you saw here.

“Jude knows how to take care of herself.” My father adds. I could hug him, but we’re not exactly the affectionate type. So I just flash him a smile.

Vivi does not look convinced but still stands down. “I guess so. The weather did a mess with your hair though.” A flash of Cardan’s fingers pulling from it to gain access to my neck sends a shiver through my body. Had that really happened just minutes before?

Before I can answer, Marrow calls for us. We turn to find her standing next to a big set of paintings that apparently were covered with a curtain. “You cannot leave without meeting the royal family.”

The canvases are ordered to mimic a family tree. A man with a severe expression rests at the very top. Eldred, I assume. Just by looking at it I feel judged. I can’t imagine what was like to actually live with him. The pictures of his wives look all so different but under them, their sons do have resemblance to one another. A weird sensation tickles my fingers as my gaze continues travelling over the paintings. Finally, I get to the last one. Once more, I cover my mouth to avoid an undesired sound.

Staring back at me I see Cardan.

I don’t care if it’s a painting, there is no way I could not recognize those features. Those lips.

“A big family, I see.” Madoc’s words seem so far away.

Marrow hums in agreement. “The Greenbriars always felt proud of their vast offspring. Such attractive sons and daughters. It’s a shame the curse took most of their lives all those centuries ago.”

“Did he…” I start, without knowing how to continue.

She approaches me to look at the canvas. “Ah, young master Cardan. He was the last one of Eldred’s children.” Then a frown appears on her face. “There was a lot of controversy regarding his death. Some say he died because of the curse, some others say he was the curse. The books all have different versions.”

“That sounds creepy as fuck.” Vivi says.

“Creepy as fuck.” My brother mimics her, the thoughtful expression on his face makes him look ridiculous. We cackle as Vivi shouts Oak he’s not supposed to say bad words.

By the time we get out of the castle the rain has decreased to a drizzle.

Madoc carries Oak on his shoulders, listening to his non-stop squeals of excitement after visiting what he calls ‘a real vampire hideout’. This time, I don’t find the words to contradict him. Vivi is the first one to get to the car, shouting back some nonsense about the Greenbriars needing a protection hex.

The moment I step down from the bridge something shifts in my head and I feel as if I had just woken up.

Perhaps it is me who needs a protection spell after all.

Before closing the car’s door, I turn to the castle one more time. Marrow and her husband wave at us from the front gate.

A dull ache throbs on the base of my neck and my hand flies to the spot. I retrieve it and see blood staining my fingers.

My heart misses a beat when I lift my gaze to the upper windows, where a tall figure with white shirt and dark hair is looking right back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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anatrik · 4 years

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Folklore feels like summers spent in your hometown, wandering barefoot with your best friend all day, coming home to sweet tea set on the porch. You slouch in a deck chair, watching the sun set, your grandmother's soft voice rising and falling beside you.

She tells stories, histories of the people you see everyday, Old Man James and his Betty. James and Betty, Betty and James who'd been together so long everyone thought of them as two halves of a single unit, a living breathing forevermore. But Grammy remembers...there was once another girl. A girl, with startling green eyes and a heart of fire and desire. A girl, shamefully wronged, disregarded, brushed under the carpet with all the lint, lost socks and cardigans, things we wish to forget. The girl everyone remembers and no one mentions.

Rebekah.

And you listen in wide eyed silence, trying to reconcile the image of the bluff honest old man with that of a dark haired philanderer, trying to picture Mrs. Betty- who still looks at her husband like she sees the 17 year old boy she fell in love with- huddled under the bleachers as Mrs. Inez (that old bat?!) confirms that the rumours are true, trying to imagine what the woman would've looked like, this Rebekah, who'd been able to steal a man's eyes from 'Betty the Beauty' and coming up with a blank because some things simply defy imagination.

"How?", you whisper in a strangled voice

"How can she bear to even look at him?"

Grammy smooths a hand over your tousled head and smiles at how young you are, how black and white the world you live in, how innocent.

Because invisible strings tie us to our fates. Because Betty knew the other girl and the shitty hand life had dealt her. Because James had been 17 and hadn't known a single thing. Or maybe, it was something as simple as a sorry at the right time by the right person for the right reasons.

And the other girl? You want to ask. But it feels wrong somehow, after all these years, her memory still tainted, her grave still fresh, her presence always felt.

Grammy hears the question anyway-she always does. Her voice grows softer, her words come out hoarse and laced with bitterness. And she tells you, about a runaway who had left home by moonlight with a twenty dollar bill and the clothes on her back, how she slept her way through bus stops and shady motel rooms, greedy fingered old men who had breathed in her desperation like it was the finest of perfumes. About a lost girl who didn't know better and the men who should have. How finally one summer, she had stumbled into a sleepy little town, 1989 miles away from where she had started, a ghost town she'd thought, marvelling at the silence. And then...him. They had talked politics and got drunk under the streetlights, spent weekends together and he'd made her feel special, kissed all her aches better, really truly saw her. For the first time she felt like she could maybe put down roots, here where the grass was green and the skies purple pink and blue, here where she had been happy for the first time. And then, when the wind turned and the evenings grew longer, he'd finally touched her and it had felt like a goodbye. When she woke up twisted in the empty bedsheets, she was alone. All of August slipped away into a memory .

The school year was a knife to the chest, her love had relegated her to the shadows, abandoned her to the whispers and side eyes. They called her a bad girl, a mad woman, a whore, nothing she hadn't heard before but nothing ever really prepares you to hear it again.

"What happened to her?" you ask in a hushed voice.

She left. The day of James and Betty's wedding, the whole town and it's cousins were at the church, no one missed the freak. She went back to the city she'd run from, back to that house of horrors, the demons had long since died but their ghosts remained in the walls. But she knew what it was to live with ghosts. She wasn't one to fear things that couldn't touch her.

She worked her way through med school, threw herself into her work, reckless, passionate, determined and burned like a star in a sky full of streetlights.

Then came the great war of men, what your history textbooks called the second world war.

"You were there too?" you whisper in awe.

Yes. I was posted with the 104th infantry. It's where I met your grandfather.

She speaks of the guns and the smoke, the trenches of blood and broken men, the white curls darken and the wrinkles fall away, you see your soft Grammy, but also the steely young nurse she had once been.

She speaks of a young soldier, Bill, and a love set to a soundtrack of artillery fire, uncertainty and prayers. A love neither easy nor inevitable, that they had fought for tooth and nail because it was all either of them had.

She tells me of their early days, back when Bill was just one among a thousand struggling young men,the times she almost ran because it was the only thing she knew. How after a particularly vicious fight he had come after her to find her stood on the cliffside, angry, unsure, screaming at him to give her one fucking reason. How he had slowly unpicked the messy knots in her head where love and lies were so entwined she couldn't tell one from the other. How she'd warned him of the storms that lived within her and he'd weathered through them all. How she had finally found it in herself to believe again.

And then the homecoming, the city life wasn't for them and Grammy had missed the sea. So they'd packed their bags, said goodbye to St.Louis by moonlight. Then the house on the beach, parties straight out of Gatsby, card games with Dali. The quiet moments in Grandpa Bill's arms. Their new neighbours, James and Betty who had moved back home to raise their family. How James would sometimes look at her like he was seeing someone else or maybe a reflection of the man he could've been. How whenever that happened Betty's lips would tighten imperceptibly. How he always snapped out of it. Every single time. He always went back to his Betty. Bill would tell a joke to smooth over the tense silence, the moment would pass. Everything would come back to normal. Then she had your mother, your uncle, your other uncle, their dog, Benjamin, Grandpa Bill's heart-attack, the stories start running together and before you know it gentle arms are carrying you to your bed, a soft I love you goes unanswered, summer ends, it's time to go back home.

When you come back next, the porch is empty, no sweating jug of sweet tea on the table. The house is crowded and smells of roses- Grammy hated roses- and expensive perfumes. There's too much black everywhere- Grammy hated black- you search for a familiar face in the sea of weeping strangers and find none. You huddle close to where Grammy lies. She looks so peaceful. Just like you remember from the last day of summer. People come up every few minutes, mumbling words of comfort to your mother as your uncles stand by stoically. No one says a word to Grammy, which is pretty rude you think considering she's the reason they're all here. They hover uncertainly, then attempt to drift away inconspicuously. Mrs. Betty and Old man James are among the last, you look up curiously trying to see beyond the ill fitting suit and the balding grey head, but whoever James had been at 17, was long gone. He stands for a long time, his head bowed, tears slowly dripping down the tip of his nose. He doesn't say a word to your mother. He doesn't say a word to anyone. But from where you sit you can see his lips moving, the same word again and again, like a prayer, Betty, Betty, Betty. You wonder why he'd be talking to his wife right now. But then you see Betty's mouth tighten.

Becky, Becky, Becky...

Grammy.

Rebekah.

Thank you. For folklore. For these stories. For everything. @taylorswift

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willowistic22 · 3 years

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Famous!newsies

Ok so here are my famous!newsies headcanons from an a modern au i thought of if newsies were celebrities/famous yknow bcs I couldn’t get this idea out of my head and idk what to do with it other than making a headcanon list nabsnzbsvsnsbz anyways hope yall validate me after not posting any original content for like…. awhile now hehe

btw it got longer than expected. And I mean r e a l l y long. So if yall wanna read this better sit down and buckle up!

Jack

He’s an artist on youtube

Like a modern day bob ross ig??

If yall know zhc on youtube just imagine that but not so rich (I don’t watch zhc btw but i do know that he does custom art on iphones and stuff and that is definitely not jack kelly)

Anyways Jack simply goes by Jack Kelly.

So jack does art challenges. Like does the weirdest requests from his fans left in his comment section and stuff

Or maybe challenging himself to make art from a specific theme or a specific media

Sometimes he vlogs too but his art videos are what his fans like the most

His merch is amazing because he designed the pattern/drawing/whatever yknow. It’s printed/sewed/whatever on the clothing and it’s good quality. It’s pretty lowkey for a youtuber’s merch bcs jack doesn’t like those merch that just smacks his logo on a hoodie

Davey

He’s a fantasy, YA, romance writer (he mixes it wisely ok?)

And goes by David Jacobs

Listen he’s a hopeless romantic and i’m pretty sure yall agree too

He wanted to stick to YA romance. The classic high school lovers yknow

But he wanted to challenge himself since he’s been writing about high school lovers since he was in high school

Thus the fantasy genre came in mind

So yeah he likes creating love in his own universe

Whether it’d be different worlds, universe, species, time periods, whatever.

He wanted to direct the movies based on his books, but he’s actually lowkey terrible at leading on his own. But he did stick to being the script writer and co-director (look idk how it works in the film industry i’m just making shit up)

Crutchie

He’s a solo jazz singer

Crutchie gives off Michael Buble and Jason Mraz vibes tho

And maybe a bit of frank sinatra? Yknow ‘cause he sings jazz

Also he riffs thank you very much :)

He goes by Crutchie Morris to everyone

He usually plays the acoustic guitar or piano on stage

Ok but he’s like really good with the piano

Makes the best jokes on stage too. Some are just sarcastic comments.

Crutchie asking through the microphone : “Oh, straight?”

A fan he’s talking to from the crowd : “Uhh… no, gay”

Crutchie : “no not you, the vodka”

Everyone at the concert : *laughs*

Crutchie, jokingly : “Oh, you’re drinking vodka! Straight? No gay”

(yes that was indeed inspired by that one video of Harry Styles and a fan in one of his concerts yall can’t stop me)

Kathrine

She’s a crime mystery writer

Think like the modern day Agatha Christie

Okok but she goes by Kathrine Plumber on her books :D

She chooses that genre bcs she’s a huge fan of Agatha Christie

Her favorite book from Agatha is Murder on the Orient Express

Oh and her books are sometime very gruesome alkjsfhakjsfb

Nobody check her browsing history, she’ll look like a murderer

Ok but I feel like she also has a youtube channel about books and stuff and sometimes like to vlog

She also has a writing tips series on her channel where she shares tips on some of the frequently asked questions about writing or her fans leave a specific question in the comment section and thought she could expand more to it in a full length video

Also she likes to vlog while she’s in a book convention

Her books are also turned into movies and she has done a great job directing it

Race

Yall would be lying to me if you don’t think this kid would end up being a twitch streamer and youtuber (like vlogging yknow. I feel like his gaming stuff would strictly be on twitch)

And ik it’s widely agreed by everyone in the fandom that he’s a dancer of some sort so yeah he’s also simultaneously a dancer

I don’t think I need to explain any further bcs it’s just so in character

He goes by Racetrack Higgins

Ok so he likes to vlog on his youtube channel

Sometimes does stupid challenges

Maybe he’d drag Albert to do a challenge which he always says no

“I’ll just be your cameraman dude, dw”

Race : *angery*

Since Al and Smalls are the skateboard peeps™ race is the rollerblade dude™ bcs I say so

He has three cats named Racecat Higgins, Spot Clawlon, and Romeow (i’ve mentioned it before and I will mention it again hehe) and his fans loves them endlessly

Albert

You don’t think this kid would also end up being a twitch streamer and youtuber like his bestie up there?? Lmao you thought wrong (again, gaming is strictly on his twitch)

He just goes by Albert DaSilva on the internet

And yes he’s also a dancer because I say so

On his Youtube channel he also vlogs

Half of his vlogs starts with him riding his skateboard

“Hey, guys! Welcome back to another vlog-” *falls off his skateboard for not paying attention to a curb*

It happens way more often than he’d like to admit let’s be real. His fans make a compilation of it and memes on reddit

Always wear a snapback

Snapbacks are an important element to him so his merch store is really boosting his snapbacks

And just for the wormsie discord server he has one with the word ranga on it after it being born from a stupid inside joke he, race, and both of their fanbases combined share (@ my wormsie fam thank me later)

Oh yeah, his youtube besties are Race and Smalls just so we’re clear here :) (I’ll get to Smalls in a bit)

So I always headcanon Albert having two big dobermans. So his fans always want to see a doggy update because Zara and Zoey are everything to them.

Doggo vlogs are fun. It’s usually Albert taking the two good girls to Central Park for playtime or teaching them new tricks

Spot

He’s a solo rock singer

Is an amazing singer like wow none of the newsies expected him to have that sort of pipes to reach high notes

And he does it amazingly with no sweat

Also his instrument is the electric guitar to go with his amazing singing ajsfhasjfhajhf

Anyways he goes by Spot Conlon still

And his songs are very lyrical. Like very.

A lot of metaphors. No one knows what most of his songs means.

So basically Taylor Swift songs if it switched genres to rock. And not even like songs from speak now or red. But like if evermore and folklore songs were to turn into rock songs with a little bit of reputation vibes sprinkled on top. And his concerts has the reputation era vibes but make it spot conlon (hey non swiftie fans reading this i’m so sorry i’m pretty sure yall don’t understand wtf i’m talking abt)

That is also the only way i know to describe his vibe i’m sorry but i don’t really listen to a lot of rock alkjhfasjk

Anyways it’s a known fact that he wears tank tops daily that it becomes his signature look. And also an inside joke among his fanbase

Now just picture the merch booth from one of his shows and there’s like endless tank top designs for his fans to pick and choose

He’s also crowned to be the King of Brooklyn bcs of obvious reasons

But the joke is he’s a pretty tough hardcore guy that’s a cat person

Sarah

She’s a badass female solo singer

Mostly does pop but the badass type of pop

Yes, she does go by Sarah Jacobs

Fans were really surprised Davey and Sarah are related

Because one is a hopeless romantic while the other is a total badass

Anyways she gives off Little mix, Ariana Grande, Taylor Swift, and Selena Gomez vibes

That is literally the only way I can describe it

She’s very lyrical, with a lot of metaphors

When she dances on stage, she d a n c e s

All while holding a mic to sing. And she hits all those high notes like it’s no ones business (a literal queen i tell you)

She and Spot are besties and has been known to have done a few collabs together

Their fans were hesitant about their collabs since their genre is pretty different from the other but they make it work and it slAPS

And among all her boppy songs with full choreography and backup singers, she always have a few songs she sings while only being accompanied by piano or guitar (Either electric or acoustic) which she plays on her own

Finch

He’s an indie pop artist with his trusted acoustic guitar by his side

Just think of music by Wallows and Lewis Capaldi were to be blended in together and Conan Gray for the cherry on top

But it has a little bit of Ed sheeran, Lorde, and Lauv vibes to it too

His concerts are simple but his songs are mostly very boppy so his fans still have fun either way

And it’s usually in small venues but there are times where he had a concert in a huge stadium

He goes by FINCH (yeah all caps btw)

Finches are a very on brand thing for him obviously

Has been known to collab with Crutchie and they actually make a very good team

Somehow was able to combined both genres to produce a few boppy songs

Ok ok but Finch and Crutchie have made a collaborative album (and maybe they went on tour????)

Specs

He’s a history fiction writer

Yes this is inspired by the fact that he’s 100% a history nerd (no one change my mind i love this headcanon aight)

And he explores a lot of different histories from different parts of the world

He actually helps a lot of students understand history even further for school through his novels

Anyways he goes by Specs because I say so

No one knows why that’s his pseudonym and Specs isn’t interested in explaining either. No one other than the newsies need to know it was born from a stupid nickname the newsies gave him :)

His research mostly comes from history books because of his genre which wouldn’t be a problem since he has loads and will voluntarily buy more if needed

Also yeah he makes a great director for the movies taken from his books

Mush

He’s a chef on youtube

Goes by Mush Meyers

So think if Gordon Ramsey and his youtube channel but make it mush

Yeah that’s it really

Ok but Mush is a jolly and friendly person

Other than just food vlogging he does cooking challenges and cooking tips too

Sometimes he does the cooking challenges with a friend (mostly henry but i’ll get to him later on in the list)

But he also vlogs his life

Which isn’t really often but he likes to sometimes

He’s that big of a foodie he has a food blog too

And also a seafood restaurant so that’s cool :D

Henry

Like Mush, he’s a chef on youtube

Goes by Henry on the internet and in general

Ajkfhajfjska I’m thinking about how ppl would address him as Chef Henry kajhfkjlashfjklasfjklsf

He mostly does the same thing like Mush actually

Food vlogging and cooking challenges (they do it together so) sometimes cooking tips

But Henry vlogs his life a lot

And instead of a food instagram he has a food blog

He has a sandwich restaurant

Yeah it is inspired by his pastrami on rye with a sour pickle line from KONY get mad about it why don’t ya (well if i’m not mistaken henry was the one that said it but idk i have horrible memory)

Blink

He’s a youtuber

Ok so I have a specific headcanon that Blink majored in psychology but didn’t end up being a psychologist

So instead he becomes a psychologist on youtube

Who often vlogs jhgasjlfhs

The guy looks like he could cut you but his sense of humor once you get him talking is just *chef’s kiss* amazing

Which is why he also has a podcast because he’s also secretly great at talking

He just thinks mental health is very important, okay?

Romeo

He’s an actor

Mostly on Broadway but has worked with Hollywood before

He’s usually a supporting character but has been known to understudy for main characters

Ok ik these bullet points are getting shorter and shorter but these are mostly bcs some of these stuff are pretty self explanatory since it’s very in character

Like are you telling me a kid named Romeo isn’t gonna be in some way very dramatic and end up turning that personality trait into his career?? Plus he’s very good at that?

Yeah you’re lying to me

Also he’s a pretty frequent vlogger on youtube

Look he’s a fun guy, what did you expect?

Just goes by Romeo on youtube

Elmer

He’s an actor

Has done his fair share in Broadway and Hollywood but started in Broadway

He can dance but thinks he’s pretty average in it yknow

Which his fans has no idea what he’s talking about because on stage he can do flips and turns like it’s no ones business yknow

But he can sing really good and takes pride in it

Elmer would play characters that is really far off from his own personality that fans couldn’t believe that Elmer played that character

He has done his fair share in main characters and supporting characters on Broadway

In Hollywood he usually does indie and rom-com movies

Buttons

He’s a fashion youtuber and basically an influencer

Let’s be real this boy is a fashion icon

He’s not really a model but more like a fashion influencer and also kind of a fashion designer

His clothing line is very *chefs kiss* amazing

He designed it all and sometimes likes to design for his friends as well

He also does fashion tips on his youtube channel

His instagram game is god tier level (along with Tommy Boy and Sniper I’ll get to them in a bit)

But yeah he also vlogs

And goes by Buttons Davenport

Jojo

He’s an actor

Mostly on Broadway but has done a few movies in Hollywood

He radiates main character energy and he does become the main character most of the time (on hollywood at least)

On Broadway he mostly enjoys being apart of the ensemble because this boy loves dancing

But he does play a few supporting characters

He has released one or two albums too because his singing is top tier

But isn’t interested in doing a lot of live concerts with his albums

Since no one has the time to say Josephino Jorgelino De La Guerra he turned it into Jojo De La Guerra (so much for ‘a special nickname only for friends and family’)

Mike and Ike

They’re a pop boy band and bcs of my lack of creativity it’s called Mike and Ike

At the start of their career :

“My name goes first because I’m older than you!” - Mike

“You’re only older than me by 13 minutes, holy shit!” - Ike

But Ike slowly accepts the fact that it’ll be like this yknow

Anyways they’re pretty great singers

They have one direction and new hope club vibes

Tho unlike one direction they can dance (i love the boys alright but i really think it’s funny that they can’t dancelkhjjlh)

They like to switch from the guitar (electric and/or acoustic) to the piano

The amount of times their name is confused by the candy is too many

But they like it like that lol

Anyways i’ve mentioned a headcanon where Mike has tattoos (not like from head to toe but it’s fairly noticeable to everyone) and Ike has piercings

So the only way their fans tell them apart is by that

But there are times where Mike has his tattoos covered or Ike took his piercings off in public alone. A fan mistakens them for the other twin but they still respond to the other name because they don’t feel like there’s a need to correct them since they’re mostly known by Mike and Ike anyways. When the fan posts it on instagram and tags the twin they thought it was the twin that was tagged would comment “wrong twin but nice pic you two”

Happens wayyyyy too many times. Their fans are officially scared to approach one of the two in public alone without their differentiating indicators on which is which

And yes it is widely known that they argue a lot when it comes to writing songs

Nothing out of the ordinary sibling squabble yknow but it’s a lot

But they do end up finding a solution to the topic of their argument and make a good team at the end of the day

Hotshot

He’s an actor

On Broadway, he’s one of those actor’s that is mostly good in just the acting and singing

He can’t dance to save his life sjdfghaf

So Jeremy Jordan yknow asj;oghajshf

No not really. He can dance a little bit

So he’s mostly the main character

But he’s widely known for his works in Hollywood

He does a lot of drama. Think stuff like Elite and Designated Survivor. Yeah those kinds of heavy drama (well idk i think those two are pretty heavy)

He wants to release his own music because he’s a pretty good singer but he can’t write songs to save his life either jgnjafjasf

And all the demo songs he was suggested by producers isn’t his cup of tea

So he’s no singer ladies and gents ://

The name Hotshot is used to name his social media platforms. He always adds a description in his bio’s that Hotshot is a nickname his friends and family use so his fans and the media refer to him with his name

I headcanon Hotshot’s real name is Tyler or some sort. No don’t ask me what’s his last name is because idk either lol

Sniper

She’s a model, beauty and fashion youtuber (I’m pretty sure those are two different things tho idk i don’t watch youtube religiously anymore), and just an influencer in general

Instagram game on p o i n t

I know most beauty youtubers go by their names but uhh… i don’t think i’ve ever thought of a first name for Sniper but I really think she really would just go by Sniper Wah on the internet (Idk she seems like an Ashley in my head but feel free to recommend headcanon names to me)

Anyways she’s very fashionable

Tommy Boy (i’ll get to him just wait aight?) and Buttons are her fashion besties

The three of them pretty much appear in each other’s Youtube video not Tommy’s tho bcs he doesn’t have one lol

Sniper’s brand are huge sun hats

I have no idea how or why but that girl has sun hats vibes I can’t explain any further I’m sorry

Doesn’t have a clothing line but does have a make up brand of her own. She calls it Sniper. Yeah that’s it akjfhjf

Smalls

She’s a twitch streamer and youtuber like race and albert

They’re a youtube trio everyone loves it

And yes she does go by Smalls

Oh and she also dances like her two stupid besties thanks for asking

Bubblegum is her brand (idk how to explain she just has the vibe)

She is skateboard chick

I’m imagining a video collab of her and Al on a skatepark doing stupid challenges

It’s her most viewed video

Tommy Boy

Ok ok he’s a model, influencer, and dancer

So think a male version of Gigi Hadid that dances

No he doesn’t have a youtube channel but frequently has made an appearance on Buttons’ and Sniper’s videos

Yes his instagram feed is also very amazing

He goes by Tommy Boy

People genuinely thinking ‘Boy’ is actually his last name and kinda think it’s strange but doesn’t complain

Tommy literally didn’t think people would think it was his last name. But they did anyways

Les

Let’s just get straight to the point : he’s a famous tiktoker

And yes, ppl are surprised at the fact that him, Davey, and Sarah are related to each other

To the people that made it through this entire list. Congratulations and thank you for your validation. Have a wonderful evening and stay hydrated

i will write at least one oneshot out of this au i promise!!

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deniigi · 3 years

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i have been sick in bed with a stomach bug and re-reading a bunch of your series and these questions have plagued me so pls, for the sake of your fellow samuel chung lover, if sammy was in the Selkie verse, would he be a fae? if so, what kind? ALSO, what would his interactions with jack be like (either in the selkie verse or in the lying by omission verse)? pls and thanks <3

hi!

I’ll answer asks in a bit, but for this one I have a fic that explore a What If Jack Lived/Mike existed scenario with Sam in the Inimitable verse? I know it’s now what you asked for, but it is like 4k already written so that might be smth--an LBO Sam would be tricky because Sam would be itty bitty and Matt wouldn’t have the same kind of relationship with him.

As for selkie-verse Sam? I would have to do more research on Chinese spirts/fae/folklore, but for now, he’s not fae, just human 💖He’s like 12 and can make himself invisible though, which would be very confusing for Sue if she ever bumped into him

(Sue: baby boggart??? come here I love you I will look after you.)

(Sam: please stay exactly 5037 feet away from me! Thank you and I’m calling my mom!)

Here is the What If Jack and Mike thing from the Inimitable Verse.

Jack Murdock was the size of a house. He made Matt look dainty. He made Kirsten look like a kids’ mannequin. And he made Foggy laugh until he wept.

Sam could not understand a goddamn thing he said. Nor could he understand the guy he’d brought with him, who appeared to have had some serious plastic surgery to look exactly like Matt.

Sam could take an unintelligible giant. What he couldn’t take was an unintelligible Matt, and before him, somehow, in this ring of ginger, he’d been presented with two unintellible Matts.

His head was spinning.

Kirsten patted at him sympathetically.

“I’m from New York,” Sam told her mournfully.

“I know, hon.”

“How is this even possible? You’re from New York. How are they—what are they saying?”

Kirsten shook her head.

“Only Foggy knows,” she said. “It’s okay, he’ll translate when he gets back up.”

Mr. Murdock, the tallest of the gingers, might have been a good three to four inches taller than his boys, and he might have had the biggest hands that Sam had ever had the opportunity to touch in his life, but he was really nothing but a big, shaggy sheep dog.

The reasons Sam couldn’t understand a single fucking word he said came threefold.

1) Mr. Murdock had grown up in mid-century Hell’s Kitchen. That was just how accents from those parts used to sound. They’d lightened with time.

2) He had an extra layer of what Matt called a ‘brogue.’ He was first-generation American. Both his folks had immigrated from Ireland. He talked halfway between the way they talked and the way that the kids in his neighborhood growing up had.

And 3) The man had a lisp?

It wasn’t super noticeable. Sam sure as shit couldn’t hear it among the other layers of stuff going on, but Foggy said it was there.

Apparently, it came out more when he was anxious.

Apparently, he was anxious a lot.

Foggy told Sam to just give it an hour and he’d understand.

“So your name is Sam?” Mr. Murdock asked him while Sam tried to keep his mouth from falling open.

Matt was holding his facial-copy-cat against the wall by his lapels. The copy-cat had started making kissy noises at him. He egged Matt on to punch him right in the face.

No one was stopping them.

Kirsten cleared her throat and brought Sam back down to earth.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sam. Mr., uh—”

“Call me Jack.”

Never.

“Matty hasn’t said much about you, sorry to say.” Mr. Murdock explained. The more he spoke directly to Sam, the more Sam found, to his relief, that he could understand him. “He don’t like sharin’ things his brother can get ahold of and take from ‘im.”

Sam looked from him to the ‘brother.’

“There’s two of them?” he asked.

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“God help us, every one,” he huffed.

You can say that again.

“How long has there been two?” Sam asked hesitantly.

“Mm? Oh, uh. Christ with the math,” Mr. Murdock said, “Michael—Michael—boy, you knock that off; that’s how you lose teeth—how old are you now?”

Nevermind. Sam didn’t need to know.

“I’m ageless, Pops, remember?” ‘Michael’ said, grinning at Matt’s sneer in his face, “Everlasting, never dying. Immortal. Timeless. I’m—” Dude got the wind knocked out his sails from Matt aiming for his solar plexus instead of his face.

“Maitiú,” Mr. Murdock said sharply. “He’s your brother.”

“He earned it,” Matt snapped back at his dad. “You said ‘no teeth,’ I ain’t even touched his goddamn teeth.”

“No, you coward, you wouldn’t, would you?” Michael threw back at Matt with no sense in his head. “You scared of gettin’ stuck on all that metal, huh?”

“I ain’t got my tetanus booster,” Matt deadpanned.

“Oh, get the yellow fever one next time, it’s a hoot—”

“I’m mailing you back to Thailand in a crate.”

“Oh mail me, why don’t you?”

“I’m gonna.”

“Boys,” Mr. Murdock said, exasperated. “Knock it off. You love each other. We get it.”

Kirsten shook with giggles.

“I’d drown you in the open ocean and then kill myself,” Matt said through gritted teeth. His nose was maybe an inch from his brother’s.

Michael just beamed.

“Aw, babe. You’d do that for me?” he gushed.

“HHhhh—”

“Maitiú.”

Sam had never heard someone said ‘Matthew’ this way. It was delightful. It made Matt’s shoulders go stiff as a board and then squirm in barely contained fury.

“Thank you,” Mr. Murdock said. “Drop ‘im.”

Matt didn’t want to, but he released his grip on his sibling. Michael slipped down and then caught himself and straightened himself out.

“Well, I’ll never,” he said. “We come all this way to visit you on your deathbed and—”

“I’m not dying,” Matt said.

“—you worry Dad sick for months on end. Don’t call. Don’t write. He thought the Californians had eaten you—"

“—I told him that it was a dislocation and I’m fine—”

“—and of course I told him, ‘no Dad, there ain’t any more cannibals in California than there are in New York’ but who listens to Mike, huh?”

Mr. Murdock had only been in the house for 15 minutes and he already looked exhausted.

“Where are the dogs?” he asked Foggy.

---

This was the weirdest time-out session Sam had ever experienced and he’d decided that he was living for it. Mr. Murdock went out onto the deck and locked himself out there with the dogs. Matt and his brother had never been more guilty.

Quickly the arguing turned towards scheming, which turned towards climbing out a window, which turned towards getting stuck on the roof and pleading with the Father to lend a hand.

Mr. Murdock observed Matt sobbing with laughter over Mike’s sudden anxiety of stepping from the roof to the deck’s arm railing with only hollowness.

“Mike’s not very super,” Sam pointed out to Kirsten.

“Nope,” she said brightly. “He is refreshingly normal,” she said. “Even the conman part.”

The what?

---

Matt climbed off the roof with ease and took the opportunity to finally give his old man a hug, which Mr. Murdock seemed to appreciate. He smoothed a giant mitt of a hand through Matt’s hair tenderly, like he was a baby.

It was kind of cute.

Mike scowled at them both and announced that he was pretty fine, by the way. He’d just stay there on the roof until the vultures got him.

“Matt’s the younger twin,” Foggy told Sam cheerfully. “He can do no wrong.”

Sam felt like he could suddenly see the forest for the trees.

“And Mike?” he asked.

Foggy snickered.

“He and Jack live together to keep each other in good cardiac shape,” he said. “They drive each other nuts.”

“But they still live together?” Sam clarified.

“Yeah,” Foggy said. “Mike’s what happens when you give a used-car salesman ever so slightly too much brain. He travels all over. Gets shot at and held hostage a lot. He’ll do just about anything for a couple bucks, no matter how hard Jack’s tried to get him to go straight over the years.”

“And Mr. Murdock? He doesn’t mind his son living with him?” Sam asked.

Kirsten and Foggy softened.

“Matt used to check on him more when we lived back home,” Foggy said. “Without him and Mike, Jack’s by himself. He’s got friends and work, yeah, but you know. If it weren’t for Mike, he’d come home to an empty apartment every night. Man’s got too much head trauma for that to be any kind of good. Mike looks after him—probably more than he lets anyone else. He’s too stubborn to let Matt try to help him.”

Aw, cute.

“Be prepared, Sammy,” Foggy said. “Jack’s already adopted you.”

Say what now?

---

Mr. Murdock didn’t outright say that Sam was puny and he was going to fix it, but Sam could see it in his disappointed gaze.

“Don’t like bread?” he asked as Sam chewed his way through an Uncrustable at the kitchen table. Sam froze with the sandwich in hand. He stared at it.

It was bread.

Surely, this was bread.

Right?

“Uh?” he tried.

“Don’t like the crusts?” Mr. Murdock asked him more gently.

Oh.

“I don’t mind them, these are premade though. You know, convenient,” Sam explained.

He got a stare impossible to read.

“Stay there,” Mr. Murdock decided.

It took too long for Sam’s brain to work out what had just happened, and by the time it had, it was too late. Matt stuck his head in the room and asked Sam why he’d told his dad that Matt was starving him.

Sam floundered and tried to explain the sandwiches. Matt absorbed this and rolled his whole head.

“Well, now he’s makin’ a week’s worth for you,” he sighed. “Wants you to eat the crust.”

Dude.

“It’s easier not to question it,” Matt sighed. “What kind of jelly do you want?”

---

Matt didn’t interrogate his father, but Mike did. Unrepentantly. He walked in as Sam was emphasizing that he didn’t want any kind of jelly and he’d make his own sandwiches and understood the entire situation faster than Sam could have possibly explained it.

“FATHER,” he roared. “Leave the boy alone, he’s not starvin’, he’s just short.”

Flattering. Thanks, asshole.

There was no response from the kitchen. Matt told Mike to ease off. Mr. Murdock was trying to be nice.

“There’s nice and then there’s rude,” Mike said.

“And you’re rude?” Matt offered.

There was a pause.

A warm hand found the space in between Sam’s shoulder blades.

“I’m sorry about both of ‘em, kid, they got rocks for brains, it ain’t their fault. Our grandfather was a caveman, you know how it is,” Mike said kindly.

Matt was not amused.

“It’s not a big deal,” he repeated. “I’ll eat ‘em if Sam doesn’t want ‘em.”

“And subject yourself to peanut butter hell for multiple days in a row, Maitiú?” Mike asked, scandalized.

Matt glared in the direction of the stairs.

“Some of us enjoy nut protein,” he said.

Sam blinked in shock as big hands slapped themselves over his ears.

“There are children present,” Mike hissed.

Sam found the guy’s middle fingers and yanked. Mike swore. Matt chuckled.

“He ain’t a baby,” he said fondly. “Sam’s a tough cookie.”

You’re damn right he was.

“Charming,” Mike grumbled as Matt abandoned them for the kitchen again. He scowled down at Sam. “What’s your gimmick then?” he asked.

Sam wondered if he could make his contacts come out by blinking slowly enough. It would be cool as fuck. It definitely wasn’t happening.

“I control typhoons,” he said.

Mike winced.

“Fuckin’ vigilantes,” he said.

---

Mr. Murdock gave Sam a second sandwich. He’d cut it into quarters.

“Matt says you don’t like jelly,” he said. “Bananas are better?”

Sam couldn’t help but like him.

“Yeah. I don’t eat much bread generally,” he said. “My family has always been more about rice.”

Mr. Murdock analyzed him.

“I can do rice,” he said.

Bless. It was okay, really.

“Do you like spicy things, Mr. Murdock?” Sam asked.

“Jack.”

Nice try.

“Spicy?” Sam repeated.

Mr. Murdock considered it.

“Not sure,” he said. “You mean like hot sauce? I ain’t fuck with that ghost pepper shit.”

Sam hummed.

“Before you leave, I’ll cook for you in return,” he said. “I won’t make it too spicy, cross my heart.”

Mr. Murdock considered this and then got a look in his eye that made Sam’s cheeks start to ache a little.

---

Matt told Sam to play nice. Matt told his father to play nice.

There was to be no hiding chilis in Mike’s pasta.

They were caught and scolded.

“Not to worry,” Mr. Murdock told Sam fondly, “There are other ways.”

---

Sam had never seen such outrage over a knot in a shoelace. Matt crossed his arms over his chest, seconds away from tapping his own foot.

“You said you were ready,” he reminded Mike for the fourth time.

“I know what I said,” Mike snapped at him. He’d dug through all the kitchen drawers to procure a metal skewer to apply to this situation.

“We’re going to be late,” Matt said. “I wait for my guide, she doesn’t wait for me.”

“Well she’s waitin’ today,” Mike said. “I swear to god—”

Mr. Murdock stroked the top of Tuesday’s head and asked Mike if he’d tried putting baby powder on it. Mike spat at him to mind his own business and went back to the knot. He managed it get it untangled and the shoe half on just in time to find the second one stuck in the third hole down.

He just about vibrated with fury.

Matt sighed loudly.

“Borrow mine already,” he said.

“Never.”

“Mike.”

“They’re blue. This outfit tolerates only warm colors, Matthew. ONLY warms.”

“We’re late.”

“Style waits for no man.”

“Well, clearly that ain’t the case, is it?”

Mike stood up sharply.

“I’m going to change,” he said. “And whatever elf tied these will rue the day. Mark my words.”

“Yeah, okay, I’ll tell the elf—oh, my bad, the clown, Mike. It’s you. Get your life together. We’re late.”

Hilarious.

---

“Why don’t you move out here?” Sam asked Mr. Murdock as he watched Sam sand away at his latest secret project in Matt’s absence.

“Sun’ll kill me,” Mr. Murdock deadpanned.

“I thought so too, but it’s not so bad,” Sam said. “I miss the snow sometimes.”

Mr. Murdock cocked his head and then knelt down to take the sanding block out of Sam’s hands. He gestured for Sam to give him the hunk of wood in his hands, too.

“Matty says you don’t got papers,” he said.

Sam was surprised. Matt usually kept that secret locked tight. But Mr. Murdock didn’t seem to have any adverse reaction to it.

“No,” Sam admitted. “My mom brought me here when I was really little. I didn’t know what it meant to overstay a visa.”

Mr. Murdock hummed.

“Makes flying tricky,” he said.

Yeah.

“Bus, not too bad, though?”

Mm. Bus was better, yes.

“Train?”

Depended on the train.

“Hm. Well, if you get homesick or need busfare, you just give a shout, ya hear? You’re always welcome to stay with us.”

Aww.

“Or if you really hate yourself, I’m sure Mike would love to come pick you up.”

Oh god.

“He can drive?” Sam asked.

Mr. Murdock paused and held his face in his dusty palm.

“The day he got his license was the worst day of my life,” he said.

Sam snickered.

“Did you guys drive all the way here?” he asked.

“No, thank god.”

“Can you drive?”

“Son.”

Sam looked up from the block of wood into Mr. Murdock’s hazel eyes.

“I take two steps out of New York and I’m gone, that’s me dead. No, I don’t drive. Why the hell would I drive? Where the hell am I goin’?”

Wow, mood.

“I tried to drive once,” Sam said. “Reversed into a fire hydrant. Matt laughed so hard he cried.”

Mr. Murdock handed back the woodblock. It was much smoother than it had been. Sam was chocking that up to the muscles and the practice.

---

Matt and Mike got home and Mike announced that he was disowning that ‘putrid being’ that was the Swamp Monster beside him. Matt told Mr. Murdock that Mike didn’t approve of the swimming part of triathlon.

Mr. Murdock picked leaves out of his hair with supreme patience.

---

“So Dad’s officially decided that you’re his grandson,” Mike informed Sam out of nowhere that Sunday. “He prayed for you at church today.”

Sam almost dropped his wrench. That was so endearing his teeth hurt.

“It’s ‘cause I do woodwork,” he said. “He can smell the handyman on me.”

Mike cocked his head to the side. His eyes were blue like Matt’s. Their mom must have had blue eyes—or maybe hazel like Mr. Murdock’s.

“No,” Mike said. “It’s ‘cause he’s also been a grocery bagger, a janitor, and a contractor.”

He what now?

“He wants to know why you aren’t in college.”

Oh. well—

“Matt tried to explain, but you know, it ain’t clickin’. He don’t get the politics part of things sometimes. Gets confused why people make such a big deal when there’s obvious solutions in front of ‘em. It’s not all his fault, he barely got a highschool diploma back when ‘critical thinking’ wasn’t even a testing category. Anyways, he wants you to go to college. Thinks you’re too smart to be pushin’ paper.”

Sam was going to cry.

“I think he sees a lot of Matt in you,” Mike said with a squint. “So just as a warning, he’s unbearable. Always—well, no. More like 95% of the year. He’s alright around New Years when he’s tired. You can tell him to fuck off at any time, though.”

No, no. It was okay. It was nice to have…more family. That’s what it was.

“I hope you know what this means, Samuel,” Mike said.

Mmm no?

Mike’s hand clasped his shoulder.

“You can call me ‘uncle,’” he said.

Ah.

No, thanks.

---

Foggy and Kirsten couldn’t look at Sam without bursting into merciless laughter, which Sam had realized was a result of Mike’s vocal distress at his rejected offer of uncle-dom. Sam didn’t know what to tell him.

Mr. Murdock was nice. Enormous, yes, but very well meaning and gentle. His and Sam’s priorities and experience in life aligned neatly and Sam was slightly charmed by the way that he expressed himself verbally only to Matt and Mike.

Sam also didn’t hate Mike. He just didn’t want him to have uncle privileges. He didn’t see what was difficult about this.

“Mike’s got a history of rejection,” Foggy said. “And by that, I mean that every woman on the eastern seaboard has rejected him and he tries anyways.”

---

Matt came downstairs and told Sam to ignore everything Mike said to him all day. He also said that they were going out that night, so don’t burn fingers on the soldering iron.

Sam saluted in acknowledgement.

Forty minutes later there was a rap at his door followed by Mike saying through it that he wanted to show Sam something.

Sam did not open the door.

He heard Matt’s name being cursed on the other side.

---

Twenty minutes later there was another knock, this time with Mike saying that Mr. Murdock wanted to bond with Sam.

Sam nudged open his curtains and squinted hard into the backyard where he could see the vague shape of Matt chatting to his dad on the deck stairs, both apparently having a beer and shooting the shit.

This was a scam.

Sam would not be scammed.

He went back to the suit.

There was more cursing outside the door.

---

About half an hour later, there was a knock, followed by Mr. Murdock’s voice this time, asking Sam if his shoes were supposed to be on the front porch.

They were not.

This was playing dirty.

Sam ventured out to go right this wrong and ended up outside on the front porch with the conman himself. Mike closed the door after him triumphantly and proceeded to get them both locked out.

“Are you supposed to be a good conman or?” Sam asked.

Mike gaped at him.

“The best conman,” he said. “Don’t worry, kid, I’ve broken into a thousand houses and won two horses. I’ve got this.”

That was not comforting. Sam was not comforted.

“First, we gotta test all the windows, and, failing that, we get a rock or a gun,” Mike told him with a knowing finger.

Sam blinked at it and then up at Mike. The man’s shoulders twitched.

“Uh?” Mike said.

Ah. The eyes. No contacts today.

“Do you like them? They’re Prada,” Sam said to absolute silence.

“A brick,” Mike announced abruptly. “A brick works too. Like a rock but bigger.”

Okay, so they weren’t talking about it, gotcha. Look, a whole family’s worth of repression styles. Sam was glad that they had a full set of methods.

---

Sam broke into his own bedroom through the window. Mike clapped for him outside. Sam opted to leave him there.

---

He was sort of sad to see the Murdocks go, especially after seeing the effect that the most senior of them had on Matt.

Sam hadn’t seen him this chilled out. He visibly relaxed under his dad’s hand on the back of his neck. He tolerated the fussing and constant hair fixing and the fingers brushing at his cheeks and elbows. Mr. Murdock guided him with the same practiced ease that Foggy and Kirsten did, but his guiding was accompanied by a quiet, ongoing commentary about the street around them, which Sam hadn’t actually heard Foggy do in the same kind of way.

It was like Mr. Murdock was telling Matt a story everywhere they went.

He told him when there were flags hanging up a story above, waving in the wind. He told him about the hanging wire baskets of flowers that Sam forgot about. He huffed a bit while he talked about lines of traffic in the street and a vast lack of color in the group due to the absence of so many yellow cabs.

Mr. Murdock of course, had been Matt’s first ever guide. It only made sense that he had a specialized style of it, just for Matt.

And for Matt’s sake, Sam didn’t want him to go, but alas, New Yorkers, man. The city called them back to the coast like a siren.

“You take it easy, y’hear, kiddo?” Mr. Murdock told him at the airport.

Sam smiled and said that he’d try.

“Take care of yourself. I mean that. Out at night too.”

Copy that, big guy.

“Give us a hug.”

Oh??? A hug??? Sam loved hugs. Hugs were great. He was—er. Leaving this one with double the ribs from the cracks apparently.

Mr. Murdock released him to go break Matt in half and then Foggy and then Kirsten. Mike told him that he couldn’t avoid flying again by hugging people. He also warned Kirsten that he’d see her soon and that then, she was sure to fall for his charms.

Kirsten said that she would be waiting with bated breath, and then that was it. Three Murdocks again whittled down to one.

“God, I should have married your dad,” Foggy moaned.

Matt laughed at him.

“He’s plenty busy avoiding the gaze of every person over sixty in his building. Let him live,” he said. “Sam? Not too traumatized, I hope?”

Mm. Not so bad.

“Are you sure Mike’s your brother?” he asked.

“Unfortunately.”

Too bad.

“It’s fine, if we ever need a guy to distract the police, we’ve got him on retainer.”

That was true.

“They’ll come back?” Sam asked.

Matt paused before feeling for his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he said. “Or we’ll go to them. I think you’d enjoy watching them in their natural environment.”

-----------

Hope that’s something for you anon!! I also hope you feel better!

#samuel chung #jack murdock #matt murdock #mike murdock #inimitable verse #fic #ficlet

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thisselflovecamebacktome · 3 years

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Dancing With The Devil Parts One and Two Thoughts/Moments That Stuck Out

(I’m going to put this under a read more before it’s long, but be aware there’s going to be talk about death, sexual violence, eating disorders and drug use)

General thoughts:

So I’ve made it pretty clear that I was definitely nervous about this coming out. Any long term Demi fan knows that making these documentaries have not turned out well for Demi in the past. Likewise, I have other concerns surrounding it. In saying that, I am also not egotistical to think that I know for sure this will be different or even if it’s not, that I can change things. I also feel a little better knowing that most of what was said so far has already been spoken about in interviews rather than it all coming out at once. Either way, as always, I wish Demi nothing but the best and hope that she is currently as okay as the documentary makes it seem.

The Scrapped Documentary:

One thing that really stuck out to me as soon as it was said was the implication that her friends lied their way through the documentary that never got released. On one hand it feels like a very friend thing to do, like we’ve all been there and done it with good intentions even if it was the wrong call to make. But I definitely think that when considering that the person who called 911 felt like they had to sneak away to make the call and everyone talking about how controlled they felt by having to be careful about food and substances around Demi, there seemed to be a major push to save face and save Demi’s celebrity persona over Demi. And I mean there’s no shock about that, we all assumed Phil wasn’t just in it for Demi’s health.

But what I do find interesting is how Demi’s friend still believes that her old team meant well but was just unequip for dealing with mental issues. Once upon a time, I felt the same. Again, obviously they wanted her well for their own sake because they were making money from her, but I believed they at least wanted her well. But the melon cake revelation changed that for me. Like at that point I went from “The label clearly favoured Nick Jonas and didn’t handle things well but maybe he genuinely thought Demi couldn’t handle it” to “Demi’s team did not give the slightest fuck about her”. So I find it interesting that it didn’t for her friend and makes me wonder just how much of this saving face came from Demi herself (or what she thought she wanted) compared to her team. This is especially the case given the focus, and particularly Dallas’ words, on how she didn’t choose to be a role model but felt she had to be for her fans.

The Death Of Demi’s Father:

A little confession for you all, I almost quit watching this documentary 6 1/2 minutes into the first part. While I feel like almost everything else said in this documentary was at very least alluded to if not flat out said in interviews, this hit me over the head. I am someone who is estranged from their own father and knows that his epilepsy could cause his death at any time should a fit get that bad and that he doesn’t really have anyone who would be consistently checking in on him. So the fear of him decomposing in his flat all alone is one that is all too relatable to me. It is also relatable in terms of my mother, but at least she has my brother who wants to stay at home forever and I would call her even if I moved out, so it’s less likely. So yeah, the way Demi said it and knowing that Father’s Day passed in that time and she probably spends every Father’s Day regretting she didn’t call stings a lot and will almost definitely stay with me for a long time.

I also related to her talking about her guilt of not helping him the way she feels she’s helped other with her advocacy more than I’d like. While not drug related, I’ve spoken a few times on my blog about how I reached a point with my mother’s bipolar and need for remedies to the legal issues that worsened her health where I gave up despite still advocating for others. And she’s pointed that out. But ultimately Demi and her loved ones are right; a person needs to want help to give it to them and trying to force help doesn’t work. It didn’t for Demi’s father and it didn’t for her until she was ready.

Demi’s Drug Use:

I didn’t actually realise Sirah was Demi’s sober companion and while I didn’t really know anything about her beforehand, I think her parts were among my favourites so far. She was honest, emotional, informative and really contextualised what she was saying not only in terms of Demi but addicts as a whole.

Unfortunately one of the most relatable parts of this documentary so far was when everyone spoke about how Demi seemed normal in the weeks before her overdose. To this day, a lot of my then loved ones, whether it be family or friends, still don’t know I went to rehab in my teens. A lot of the people who do know now didn’t find out about it until years later when I was ready to talk about it. Looking back, the only really clear sign I showed that something was “wrong” is that I went from being a teacher’s pet to skipping a lot of classes and heading home for lunches instead of hanging with friends. But given a lot of my friends knew I had gone through trauma and a separate death in the year before, they didn’t think anything of it. Like from memory, I think at “worse” there was a joke made about I had become one of them and cared about school less. Granted there is always the case that they realised but never said anything, but yeah, at least from where I’m standing, they never knew. And that’s why I will never judge loved ones of someone who does anything negative off the bat, because it, and especially addiction, can be so easy to hide.

I also find it really interesting and relatable that Demi linked her drinking with drugs like that. I spoke about this the other day in an ask, but the two have always been super linked to me. But what I find most interesting is that she spoke about it in connection to negative emotions. Because while yes, I have always connected both with negative emotions, for me, being in a negative mood has somewhat made it easier to not relapse over the years because I could justify it with “well I’m feeling bad, of course I want something to pick me up. That doesn’t make it what I need though”. Meanwhile, I found out last year that I still feel that need to use when drinking in a good mood and that freaked me out to the point I don’t drink at all anymore. Either way though, like I said, it was an interesting point to bring up the connection and definitely relatable.

This isn’t really about the documentary itself, but it really hit me how far I have personally come when she spoke about and started playing Sober. Like at the time Sober was released, I was so close to relapsing myself that I couldn’t bring myself to listen to it straight off and yet now I am really starting to feel like I reached a place where the future looks so bright.

The Sexual Assault:

I don’t really have much to say here past “god I wish this wasn’t so relatable”. During my time using, and even the early days of trying to get clean, I had someone in my life that would constantly try to start something sexual with me and when they realised I wouldn’t do it, they drugged me and did it anyway. And while that is clearly sexual violence, there still very much was that stigma of ‘well I was getting high with them anyway” and feeling like that made it consensual and realising down the track that no, it really didn’t. And while not part of the documentary itself (yet), Demi talking in an interview about how she invited the drug dealer back to her house to “make things right” afterwards really hurt my heart knowing how long I spent with the same delusion that this person would make amends too.

Other/Final Thoughts:

I find it interesting that Demi noted that this pandemic is pretty much what made her stop and fully comprehend all of her past trauma. In many ways, it reminds me of sentiments that Taylor has said in regard to Folklore and Evermore, so it’ll be interesting to see just how much of that makes it onto Dancing With The Devil: The Art Of Starting Over. I also find it interesting that according to wikipedia, the last part is meant to come out after the album which could be an implication that the album finishes at a point of Demi’s life before the documentary finishes.

All up, this documentary gives me a similar vibe to Taylor’s documentary Miss Americana where it somewhat feels like it’s more for the casual/non-fans because anyone who pays attention to Demi’s recent interviews will have heard/at least been alluded to nearly all of this information already. That in no way makes it a bad (half of a) documentary, it’s just an observation. In many ways, I also feel like that’s what made the content about her father hit harder too because it was new or things she has not spoken about in a while. It will be interesting to see where the next two parts go from here in terms of being more positive and/or the nitty gritty of picking yourself back up. Either way, I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

#demi lovato #dancing with the devil

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starry-seongmin · 3 years

Text

Something Wicked This Way Comes

a/n: While I was on a break, I felt bad for not updating especially the requests which have been sitting in my drafts and inbox since September so I have started working on them. While I’m finishing your requests, have this fantasy au Enhypen I wrote inspired by their debut trailers. Since there are many theories circling their roles and their supernatural forms, I decided to be ambiguous here in the case it is later revealed. I hope you enjoy as I have ventured into an area which I have never touched and is outside my comfort zone. I would be very grateful if you guys give feedback and responses. As much as I appreciate likes, as a writer I do get discouraged if I don’t get responses :( - Mia

themes: fantasy, angst?

warnings: disappearance of family

word count: 1.7k +

The woods were silent. Uncomfortably silent. Not even a leaf shifted let alone an animal or bird. An uneasy feeling had long ago settled in your brain. The sound of leaves crunching and twigs snapping underneath your footsteps had your heart beating erratically within you.

You were not supposed to be here. You knew of the stories, the legends, the rumours and myths of the woods that stood uninviting right outside your village. You never believed them, after all they were just that. Stories and tales to keep children away from the woods. Folklore and plays to entertain tourists and make money off them by selling talismans and souvenirs and what not to ward off the creatures that seemingly roamed there.

The village shaman had foreseen the disappearance of your family and had forewarned you but obviously you brushed it off, believing the shaman to be a quack. You never believed this stuff and neither did your family but right now, it was completely different.

Here you were, well deep into the woods after the promised disappearance of your family. The shaman who was weirdly content at your frantic state while standing at his doorsteps had directed you towards the woods.

"The one to whom the woods kneel before is the one who rules the darkness. He has the answer you're searching for."

Well that was very helpful and considerate of the creepy shaman. Now here you were, in the middle of the woods that were forbidden, starting to believe that the stories you had heard since childhood were not just stories. Scolding yourself for being wavered even for a minute, you continued your journey to search for whoever the woods kneeled before. If the words of the shaman were true then you'll hopefully be with your family soon.

Continuing to trek onward and deeper among the trees that stood tall and brooding, submerging the covered forest ground underneath a canopy of darkness with the sunlight barely fighting it's way through.

What seemed like an eternity later, you found your path blocked by a large body of dark and still water. Not even the slightest of ripples was seen on the surface. Like every other part of the woods it too seemed dead.

You wanted to stop. To turn back. To scream and shout. But you were not in control of your body. You were helpless. You felt detached and dissociated from your body.

Crack

The sound of a twig snapping made you jump. A shiver ran across your body and a sudden gasp left your numb lips. You looked down at your trembling hands. The state of not being in control over your body vanished and you heaved a sigh of relief.

Realizing you stood on the shore of the lake, on rocks and pebbles made you realize that it couldn't have been you who had stepped on a dried piece of wood. Heart hammering at the unwanting and daunting realization of a presence near you, you slowly turned a 180° slowly, preparing to see a horrific sight or possibly to be met with an attack of some sorts.

No one.

Nothing.

You didn't know if you were relieved at the prospect of not seeing anything or anyone or sent in a cold sweat for not seeing the source of the noise you clearly heard.

Still struck with horror although you refused to acknowledge it, you turned back to face the lake once again only to jump and let out a scream as you were now face to face with a human or so he seemed. Your eyes widened and you stumbled backwards to fall on the ground, crawling backwards while your eyes were fixated on the person standing before you.

He looked to be in his youth. Blonde hair framing the top half of his face, brown eyes that stared at you with hardened gaze which sent goosebumps up your skin. His skin pale yet unusually smooth. He stood tall, dressed like how a normal boy would.

"You shouldn't be here"

His voice was soft unlike his stare. He seemed normal and harmless but you knew better. Maybe all the tales were true about creatures that lurked within the darkness of the trees in the form of humans like you and me. Was he one of them? Of course he was.

"You must leave this place at once"

His expression never changed. He stood still and never once blinked, maintaining eye contact since the beginning. "What...what are you?" Before you could put a filter to your words, the question escaped your lips and you winced at your own words. The last thing you wanted was to anger or offend a creature or entity of the woods and end up dead or cursed.

"Run away while you still can"

For the first time you could see his expression falter and sense some franticness behind his warnings. "You're not safe here", he took a step forwards and warily looked around his surroundings. "Heed my warning. Escape while you still can." With every word he spoke, anxiousness radiated off him. Before you could ask what he meant, a chilling whistle ran throughout the trees and echoing, surrounding you. Making you feel trapped. Even though the blood curdling note had disappeared into thin air, it still kept echoing in your mind and had no intention of subduing.

Your hands instinctively covered your ears and you curled up in a fetal position, desperate for the whistle that haunted you to vanish. When it seemed like it had gone, a much terrifying noise rang through the trees. A nefarious laugh with pure evil dripping from it.

The boy's eyes widened, worry and fear etched upon his handsome features. "He knows", he whispered. "It's too late... he knows you're here." Before you could question him about the noises that haunted the woods and the words he spoke, the boy made his way towards you and grabbed your arm. It was too late to fight him off or escape from his clutch as you felt sucked in, wind in your ears and all noise and vision distorted until you found yourself standing inside a cabin of sorts.

Regaining balance and composure, you turned to the boy who was now peeking out of the only window from inside. "Why have you brought me here? Who are you? What are you? Who knows I'm here? Will you tell me anyth-"

Your voice became muffled and ultimately stopped bombarding him with questions when you felt his hand clamped on your mouth and his fixated on you in a steel like stare.

"You talk to much... I'll only let you talk if you answer my questions first" he growled, clearly annoyed at your questions and inability to listen to him. Vigorously, you shook your head. Anything to get his freezing hand off you and of course... to stay alive.

Slowly, he retracted his hand and took a few steps backwards, studying you and making you feel small and intimidated in his presence. "Why are you here, mortal?" His eyes narrowed and he leaned against the grimy wall of the cabin, arms folded. "And I want the truth. I have my ways of detecting lies... so think carefully before spouting nonsense."

Wow, he really had attitude even for a supernatural creature. "I was told that I would find the answers behind my family's disappearance", you replied and stared right back at the boy. After a few seconds of silence he nodded his head which meant your answer passed the truth check. "And who told you you'd find the answers to your family's disappearance?"

How long is this interrogation going to last?

"As long as you answer all of my questions honestly", he said.

Your eyes widen. Did he just... he can...

"Yes, I can read minds", he was sporting a devilish smirk which only enhanced his good looks. "Now answer my question...who told you that you'll find your answers here?"

"It was the old man... the shaman of our village. He was the one who told me that my family will disappear and he was the one who told me that I'll find all that I need to know here", you replied not wanting to test his patience.

"What did he exactly say?" the boy asked, once again peering out of the window before leaning back against the wall and staring at you. "He said something about someone who rules the darkness and before whom the woods kneel", you recall.

He seemed to be in deep thoughts after hearing your answer. Something between a dry chuckle and a scoff left him as he raised his head to look at you. "You weren't sent here to find about your family... the shaman fooled you and you listened to him without thinking. You unknowingly went after your death, foolish mortal"

"What are you talking about?", your heart was hammering against your chest and the words you spoke were barely heard but he managed to catch on to you. After all, he did have supernatural abilities.

"The shaman sent you as an offering...in other words, a sacrifice".

"How do you know that?", you narrowed your eyes at the grinning boy in front of you, hoping and praying he was just messing around but that seemed unlikely given the circumstance you were in right now.

"Let's play a fun game. Recall all the stories and legends you have heard and read about.Then match my powers to one of the entities you were told of."

Playing a game with a creature of the woods was probably the last thing on your list when you just found out that you were sent as a sacrifice for whatever reason which was unknown to you.

You rattled your brain, trying to recall anything and everything about the creatures that dwelled within the woods. One creature flashed before your eyes. The ability to read minds... the power of teleportation... the blonde hair... ice cold body temperature... giving warnings to anyone who ventured into the forbidden land... As sudden realization hits you thanks to all those books and tales you knew like the back of your hand, a gasp leaves your mouth and you scramble away from him util your back hits the wall, eyes widening in horror.

"It can’t be... you're..." The name fails to fall from your tongue. One of the names which was forbidden to even whisper out loud.

He shrugged his shoulders and smiled tantalizingly and amusingly at your reaction.

"Jongseong... the Guardian of the Forbidden Land..."

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itmighthavebeenintentional · 4 years

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Walk Me Home - Ch 7

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension.

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3667

Author’s Note: All my love to @mskathywriteswords , @fangirlxwritesx67, and @cracksinthewalls for so much of all the things. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY.

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 7

“A goddamned hex bag, Sam. I didn’t even see whoever it was. I was going to the bathroom, they tapped my shoulder and shoved it in my hand as I turned around. I was...it was…”

Kimber trails off, not ready to share what she saw while under the influence. She rubs circles on her temples, calming the dull throb that’s persisted ever since she woke up. Sam waits patiently for her to finish, giving her time to gather her thoughts.The motel room smells faintly of fries and coffee, and the shower hisses in the background as Kimber does her best to fill Sam in on her near-catastrophe.

She and Dean had come straight back to the room after finding their way off the roof. Kimber headed right for the bathroom, cranking the shower up as hot as it would go to try and scrub some of the experience off, and Dean took the opportunity to check in with his brother.

When Kimber emerged, feeling only slightly less violated but a little steadier on her feet, Dean ended his call with Sam with a stipulation that Sam let him know the second he found out anything at all helpful. Dean and Kimber had exchanged quick glances then before looking longingly at the bed.

“Nap?” Kimber asked hopefully. Dean didn’t bother answering verbally. He shucked his boots, flopped on the bed, and opened his arms in invitation. She joined him, and the two of them slept for nearly four hours until Sam knocked on the door with food and a disappointingly short report on his own morning’s work.

Now Kimber is doing her best to bring him up to speed on their side, but for some reason, she keeps stopping short of telling him what her hallucination consisted of. She trusts Sam as she trusts his brother, but this is something she needs to talk to Dean about first. Preferably alone.

“I had very little control and was completely unaware of my actual surroundings. These are the most realistic hallucinations I’ve heard of from a hex bag. I’d say nearly on level with a djinn. This guy is good, Sam. And we’re not any closer.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Sam counters, drumming his fingers on the table top. He leans forward, resting his forearm on the smooth surface. “We know Helen definitely didn’t fall. We know there weren’t any hex bags left at the scenes, but that doesn’t mean there weren’t any involved.”

He pauses to take a swig of water from his bottle, deliberating.

“We know he’s sneaky, know he can blend into a crowd without standing out. He may very well have been at some of your defense classes before but made an effort to not be noticed. We need to talk to your instructor, maybe some of the people in your class, see if anyone knows anything about him at all.”

“The class is in the campus rec center. I know the instructor’s name, but not her contact info. Class is tomorrow night, but we may be able to find her at the rec center before then.”

“Not ‘we.’ You’re staying here,” Dean says as he exits the bathroom. “After this morning, you’re staying right here until we end this son of a bitch.”

Kimber’s temper flares at his commanding tone, and she bites back an acidic retort. She trusted Dean’s instincts all those years ago, and they most likely saved her life. Even in her hallucinogenic haze, she heard him and tried to listen. And she trusts him now, too.

But she’s tired and beyond stressed, and while she knows the day hasn’t treated Dean any better, he doesn’t have to be a dick.

“We’re not seventeen anymore, Dean. I’m not a naive little girl who needs to be bundled out of the way, and I sure as hell don’t take orders from you. Don’t think for one second that I’m staying out of this investigation. This is my life, and I’m in charge of it. Not you.”

Dean’s face darkens, the tendons in his neck flexing alarmingly as he opens his mouth to retort, but Sam cuts in before Dean gets a chance.

“Kimber,” Sam offers, ignoring when Dean’s glare shifts in his direction, “You know Dean is just worried about you. What if I go to the rec center, ask around. You could call ahead, explain why I’m coming, and then your instructor might be more willing to talk to me. Whoever the witch is, they’re probably expecting you to go to class at some point. It really would be safer if you stayed here.”

She grudgingly concedes that Sam’s plan is solid, a lot safer than her gallivanting around campus as if a psychopathic witch isn’t trying to kill her. She forces her brain to accept reason, expelling as much of her ire as she can with her next couple of breaths.

Sam stands, pushing back his chair and beginning to bag up the trash from their late lunch. Dean reaches for his jacket, but Sam puts out a hand, holding Dean’s eyes and shaking his head. Kimber doesn’t miss the muscle jumping just above Dean’s jaw or the way his expression softens fractionally when Sam’s eyes flick her way.

“Dean, maybe you should stay here, just in case. The witch probably doesn’t know where Kimber is, but we really can’t take that chance. She’ll be safer with you.”

Subtle, Sam, she thinks, sighing internally. Real subtle.

To her surprise, however, Dean doesn’t argue. He grips the back of the cheap chair so hard that it squeaks in protest. His head dips down for a long pause, jaw and fingers flexing. When he resurfaces, his anger isn’t gone, but he is visibly more in control.

“You go, Sam. Kimber and I will regroup, see if she can remember anything else. I think we’re both pretty wiped from this morning, even after passing out. Is that okay?”

Though the question is directed at Sam, his eyes move to Kimber, including her. She nods as Sam finishes gathering their take-out containers, offering Dean a conciliatory smile. The relief on Dean’s face dissolves what’s left of her irritation.

The sky outside is nearly dark when Sam leaves. Dean and Kimber sit on the two beds, facing each other in silence. They study each other for a long time, staring unashamedly as they search out reminders of the kids they once were, relics of the past that are now mixed with the scars their separate lives have carved with time and experience.

She can feel his gaze on her, heavy at first, and then as searching and tender as a lover’s caress. She wonders if he likes what he sees as much as he did twenty-four years ago. She hasn’t changed much, in her opinion, but, then, she’s not exactly an objective observer. Some lines, a little sag, some silver (which she actually likes). But all the main features are still there.

Kimber is the first to move. She slides to the side, tilting her head to indicate the empty spot next to her. Dean frowns, seemingly determined to keep his distance, and she shoots him a look of such utter exasperation that he actually cracks a smile for a second before he’s able to stop himself.

“Fine,” he growls. He shoves up from his own bed, dropping down next to her with enough force to tip her off balance and send her tumbling into his side, where he is ready to catch her, as always.

A shudder runs through her at that realization.

“You...you got me,” she whispers. In her mind, she’s at the edge of the rooftop again, her heels on solid ground, nothing at all beneath her toes. “You…”

“Me,” he says, his tone heavy, weighed down with everything he isn’t saying aloud. “I got you.”

Flashes of terror, disorientation, fury boil through her so fast they steal her breath and her balance, and she grasps at the lifeline his shirt presents. Her fingers clench into the soft material. Her gut burns with bitter shame, and she’s blinded by a sudden onrush of hot, angry tears.

Violated. That’s it. She feels violated, absolutely powerless against this unknown assailant. All these years of preparing herself, staying vigilant and alert, and yet it all came to absolutely nothing, in the end.

She shoves the heels of her hands against her eyes. How dare someone intrude upon her well-ordered life, bringing nothing but terror and violence? The tears flow faster, harder, the rage burning down to a fine point, honed and hard.

“I may be his target, for whatever messed up reason,” she hisses, “but I will not be his fucking victim.”

“Damn straight,” Dean agrees, his arm tightening around her back. He doesn’t offer any useless platitudes or promises he might not be able to keep. He simply agrees with every curse she spews out, holds her tighter when the scalding tears soak into his shirt, and unapologetically augments her wild declarations of revenge with his own suggestions of violence.

Kimber knows they (probably) won’t act on any of it beyond what’s necessary, but it’s nice to share in a violent verbal tirade with someone who gets what she’s going through.

“Thanks,” she finally says as she straightens up, having finally blown through her considerable cache of vitriol. He chuckles, looking down at his hands and rubbing them slowly together.

“I’ll plot revenge with you anytime, sweetheart. Gotta keep on your good side; I’d be an idiot to piss you off after finding out you’re capable of all that. That was, uh...creative.”

She bumps her shoulder against his, still feeling very raw and open but a lot more settled.

“Kimber,” he starts, deliberately avoiding her gaze. “What...what did you see? I get it if you can’t talk about it, but you were so zoned out when I chased you down. You were saying my name, but I got the feeling it wasn’t me me you were talkin’ to.”

When she falters, Dean puts his hand on his knee, palm up in a silent offer of support. When she takes his hand, the strength and warmth of his grip soaks into her, and she bolsters herself.

Her brain shivers with revulsion, balking at the prospect of digging back through the earlier episode. She’s scared, so scared to go back to that place, even verbally, but she perseveres, pushing herself to get the words out.

Because even if she can’t pull herself out this time, she’s going in knowing Dean is there, anchoring her to reality.

“I got you.”

I know, she thinks. Instead of affirming aloud, she simply starts talking.

“It started off like that one walk we went on, the trail with all the falling leaves.”

“I remember that day,” Dean says, studying their entwined fingers. “Your mom made that pumpkin pie for dessert. That was a good...that was one of the best days.”

“I think that’s why my mind went there. There’s no way to know for sure what spell he used on the hex bag, but it took me to that afternoon, sort of. You were ahead of me, and I kept trying to catch up, but I couldn’t. And the leaves kept falling in my face; there were so many more than the actual day, and I kept having to knock them away just to be able to see. It was hard to walk, to think.”

Dean squeezes gently, waiting for her to continue. She licks her dry lips, her face pinching in, but she pushes on, knowing she has to draw out the poison.

“I could hear you calling from behind us. I know that now, but I didn’t then. You, the real you, would break through every now and then. But I couldn’t stop following him. He led me to a house, a just-married couple. It was you and me, not us from then or from now, even. We were maybe in our early twenties? The house was a lot like my parents’. The pair of them, us, were so happy, so...together. And he said...the teenage you said…”

“What did I say?” Dean prompts, his voice soft and measured.

“You told me it was your dream, that we could still have it, if I wanted. And I knew it wasn’t real, there were too many little parts that were wrong, that reminded me it wasn’t true. I knew we’d lost our chance all those years ago, but Dean...I wanted it. I wanted you, I wanted that life, and it seemed so easy to just give in. Take his hand, take that step, get our happily ever after. I wanted-”

She breaks off, the thought too big and too deep for her to vocalize. The past twenty-four hours catches up with her all at once: the anxiety and stress of her supernatural stalker, Dean’s unexpected arrival and the return of all her residual feelings for him, the shock of realizing she’d been wrong all this time about him forgetting her, the terror of finding herself literally on the edge…

She still cares for Dean, the feelings deep and aching, no matter how hard she shoved them into a metaphorical box and locked them away. She still has no idea why he never got in contact again, but at this particular moment in time, she no longer cares.

I wanted to give you your dream after all, she thinks, and in the end I couldn’t even do that.

“Kimber, look at me.” His words grind out, ragged and thick. He turns towards her, his free hand moving to hold her face so she has no choice but to meet his gaze.

“Don’t you dare feel sorry. You saved your life. Yeah, I caught you,” he says, his eyebrows lowering warningly as she starts to interrupt. “Yeah, I got the hex bag out of your hand, but you knew what you were seeing was wrong. You felt it, you knew that wasn’t me, and you pulled yourself out. You fell away from the edge of the roof, not towards it. You did that. I just caught you, that’s all.”

He holds her gaze, and they sit frozen, mere inches between them. His eyes are ablaze, relentless in their determination to burn Kimber down to her base elements. She is speechless, without air or thought to offer another single word.

But he waits, adamant, letting her make whatever final decision she feels is right, or at the very least, right for now. It seems he’s always waited for her to decide, and she owes it to both of them to end their shared misery.

She drops her gaze, loosening her hand from his. Her eyes rise with her fingers, and she places the barest tips against his jaw, wordlessly asking permission. In response, Dean lowers his arms, his hands moving to brush her hips as he presses into her touch. His eyes close, his face awash with elation almost to the point of pain.

She traces the fine lines surrounding the corners of his eyes, just as she wanted to do this morning. Her fingertips smooth the creases between his eyes, gliding over his furrowed eyebrows until he finally relents and lifts them. She presses the heel of one hand over the worry lines ingrained in his forehead before running her thumbs under the silky, delicate skin beneath his eyes, stained dark and bruised from years of sleepless nights.

She finally allows herself the indulgence of mapping first his lower lip, then the upper, the pads of her fingers tingling. But the feel of him, the soft warmth, the scratchy stubble, the silk plush of his mouth, is too much and not enough for her overwhelmed senses. She needs more, needs him closer.

His breath catches, fingers contracting, when she pulls his head down to place a kiss on first one temple, then the other. Another press of her lips just above the bridge of his nose, then one for each of his eyelids. A kiss for the tip of his nose, for each cheekbone, then each corner of his mouth.

“Please.” She feels the movement of his lips, his plea so soft as to be inaudible. His hands are tense on her waist, just shy of painful.

The knowledge that he wants her as much now as he did so long ago, even just the knowledge that he wants her, is heady and powerful. Lightheaded, giddy, she brushes feathering, teasing kisses across his lower lip, his upper lip, before claiming his entire mouth.

His reaction is so quick she doesn’t even realize she’s in his lap until he’s shoving back to get more purchase on the bed. His hands slide down from her waist, pulling her back with him. She shifts until her legs are on either side of his hips, settling more firmly as she deepens the kiss.

Dean tugs, pulling her shirt loose from her waistband, and skates calloused palms over her flushed skin. She arches reflexively, and his lips trail down her chin, ghosting over her throat. She returns to him as fast as her position allows, desperate to touch, to taste, to drink him in. Four seconds away from Dean’s mouth is too long, nevermind twenty-four years.

She is raw and aching from the weeks of worry and frustration, off-balance from her close brush with the void, and every movement sends her senses reeling. His strong, denim-clad thighs scrubbing through the thin fabric of her slacks. His day-old stubble abrading the taut column of her throat. The silk of his lips caressing her own, the sinful slide of his tongue.

She loses track of who removes whose clothing, but they are bare and joined in what feels like a heartbeat. Dean pulls her back into his lap, her hips firmly in his grip, and she stills against the intensity of his gaze. He throbs, hard and hot against her belly, and a tremor of need shivers down her spine.

He holds her eyes, one hand dragging down from her waist with torturous languor. Her flesh burns in the wake of his touch, muscles trembling in reaction. A breath jerks simultaneously from both of them when his fingers find their goal, and she nearly comes apart on him right there.

“Does this work for you?” he asks. His breathing is shallow, almost panting with the effort of restraint, and his eyes have taken on a glassy quality, but still he asks. And waits.

“Always.”

His eyes close at the first touch of her tight, wet heat, his lips parted as his eyebrows draw down, and she can’t decide if she prefers the feel of his fingers on her or the sight of him more. Then he moves his hand, curling his fingers inward, and she makes up her mind real damn quick.

“Please.” The whisper comes from one of them, but neither knows nor cares who. Dean’s fingers plunge, retreat, repeat until she’s riding his hand, oblivious to the obscene sounds coming from her mouth as well as where they’re joined.

Her hands drag up from where she’s been digging into his shoulders, anchoring firmly into his hair. She pulls his face back to hers, seeking his kiss even as his fingers press again and again. His tongue sweeps into her mouth, matching the curling rhythm of his fingers, and she’s so close she can almost taste her completion.

She’s so close, she just needs…

“Dean, please, I need-”

His free hand slides up her back to grip her shoulder from behind, and his cheek brushes against hers. His lips ghost over her earlobe, his breath hot against her neck.

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he growls, and that’s all she needs to hear. She buries her face in his neck, her breath coming in fits and stops as he murmurs broken bits of praise. Her hands slip from his face, arms draping around his neck as her limbs go loose and weak. She loses track of time, riding the last diminishing shocks his fingers stroke from her.

“Kimber, I...god, that was...I need you, are you ready?”

“I’ve never been ready for you,” she breathes as she rises up on trembling knees, “but I am so damned tired of waiting.”

Dean’s eyes seem to cross for a moment, and he grips her like he’s afraid she’ll float away. A low, guttural sound works its way from his chest, the tendons in his neck stranding out tight and thick against his flushed skin.

“Waited...so long…”

She leans in, her forehead sliding against his, and they move blindly, bound together and barreling towards completion with reckless abandon. His nails scrape against her shoulder blades, his teeth rasping down the crook of her neck. The sound he makes when she tangles her fingers into his hair, grips and pulls, makes something vital clench deep inside of her, and she moans his name shamelessly with every erratic roll of her hips.

Dean stiffens in her arms suddenly, cursing, his teeth bared. She rides him still, and he guides her hips with rough encouragement, their staccato breaths echoing through the still room. He claims her mouth just as she comes, and her cry is muffled against his desperate kiss.

She knows effort is involved in getting them into an actual horizontal position and under the blanket, but to Kimber it feels like she simply melts into bed with Dean. Just as the night before, she molds perfectly against his side, her head rising and falling with each of Dean’s breaths. He strokes her cheek with one hand, his other arm solid and strong around her back.

They drowse, fingers wandering aimlessly under the covers, occasionally stretching up or leaning down to meet for a kiss. Kimber drifts with Dean, sated and content to her soul.

Just before she slips under completely, she hears him mutter, “Can’t believe we waited a quarter of a damned century to do that. Fuck was I thinkin’.”

Sleep claims Kimber with a smile on her lips.

…

Chapter 8

#apparently I forgot to do tags the first time around #woops #um #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #teen dean #teen winchesters #original character #original female character #let's face it #if you got here through tags it's a miracle anyway #fuck it #i'm ready for bed #g'night

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