#now obviously you should put the glasses back on before the sun starts to reappear

[absurdthirst]

The Arrangement {Oberyn Martell x F!Reader}

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Talks of sex, mentions of pregnancy, arranged marriages

Writer Wednesday 8/18/21 @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @clydesducktape​

You bite your lip and look around the very severe and expensive foyer. You had no clue what this is about. All you knew was that two days ago, several serious looking men in dark, expensive suits showed up at your doorstep and informed you that your presence was required in Dorne.

No one had spoken to you, beyond offering you an exquisite five star meal on the private plane and refilling whatever drink you chose. They simply let you stew in your own thoughts after saying ‘everything would be explained’.

You should be nervous, or scared, or hell even plotting to try to get away. Googling Dorne showed you that it was a small country perched in the Mediterranean. They were a kingdom and that raised more questions than it answered as to why you were being summoned.

Before you were shown into the study, a kind older woman came up to you. She was lovely, gorgeous even. Her lovely skin and dark eyes were simply stunning with the luscious dark curls that tumbled down her back. Her smokey voice reassured you once again that you would be explained everything just as soon as the Prince was finished with his earlier appointment.

She took your hand, clasping it as if you had been friends for your entire lives. “You are beautiful and Oberyn will be pleased.” You tilt your head and give her a curious look. “That is the Prince’s name. Oberyn.”

Oberyn Martell. The second son. He had reportedly had affairs all over the world with beautiful men and women, sired several illegitimate daughters that he proudly claimed and flaunted as any proud papa would. Why would he send for you?

“I’m sorry.” You shake your head and give the woman an apologetic smile. “I am so rude. You are?”

“Ellaria, darling.” She smiles at you and your stomach flips. She has something, you can’t quite put your finger on it, but there is something about her that makes her seem like a goddess. “My name is Ellaria.”

“The Prince will see you now.” You jump at the sound of the voice, not even noticing anyone else has come to join you in the atrium. Ellaria had completely captured your attention and everything else had fallen away.

The woman, beautiful and obviously bewitching, leans over and kisses your cheek. Lingering for a second longer than was proper, she gives you a small smirk “Do not keep Oberyn waiting.” She tells you, standing up and letting her hand gently pull out of yours as she walks away.

****

Dark gleaming furniture and velvet upholstery. The study was beautifully appointed, if a bit severe and yet the man sitting behind the desk was not. Glasses were perched at the end of his nose, dark eyes scanning a document in front of him.

He was just as handsome as the pictures you had found. Tanned, smooth skin and dark, slightly curly hair that was starting to be threaded with silver. The thin edge of the chinstrap beard he wears would look ridiculous on most, but it somehow works on him.

Instead of the formality of a suit, he was wearing a bright linen shirt of a buttery yellow, adored with suns with coppery centers, you could see the edges of white trousers and brown leather boots under the beautiful open front desk.

You are alone with him in the room, the man who had guided you in disappearing like a wisp of smoke although you can be certain that he will reappear the moment that he is needed. Biting your lip, you resist the urge to fidget, your fingers curling around the edge of the long, comfortable sweater you had worn on the trip.

“Forgive the solemn atmosphere we find ourselves in, my brother thought it would be quite inappropriate for us to have this conversation at my estate.” He chuckles, still reading the document. “Believed that it would scare you off.” That confuses you and causes you to have so many more questions but you just hum quietly.

It takes him another minute to finish up, his eyes piercing and intense when they find yours. Every bit as hypnotic as Ellaria's, they seem to hold you captive in their grip while a small smirk appears on his handsome face.

That smirk dips down into a frown when he sees your appearance and you feel like a naughty child appearing before the headmaster in muddy clothes. “They did not allow you time to rest and clean up before seeing me?” He asks, taking off what you assume are reading glasses and standing up.

“N-no.” Your voice shakes and you don’t know why you are so nervous. Something about him screams unleashed violence behind a civil facade. It’s like your instinct is to run and yet you feel compelled to stay. “It-it’s o-kay. I’m f-fine.”

His jaw clenches and the rocks in displeasure and you pray it’s not directed towards you. “I apologize on behalf of my staff.” His accent is soothing, and you feel the tenseness of your shoulders relax at his words.

Walking around the desk, Oberyn makes no secret of the fact that he is assessing you. You feel your entire body burning under the weight of his gaze. Dark eyes raking up and down your form and humming slightly to himself while he circles you, as a shark would. A shiver runs up your spine and you lift your chin slightly, gathering your courage as you desperately wonder what this is all about.

Only when he is done does he lean against the front of the desk, crossing one arm over his chest and his other comes up to stroke the thin edge of his facial hair. “You are wondering why you were summoned here.” He tells you, accurately summarizing the thoughts that are bouncing through your mind like a ball.

“Yes.” You don’t stutter this time, but your voice is quiet, making him smirk again.

He turns slightly and reaches for a document, extending it for you to take. “When you were three, your father and my brother arranged a marriage between us.” He announces.

Your gasp echoes around the room and your eyes bulge in your head. Snatching the document out of his hands, you read it. Barely able to make out the legal terms but you see the words marriage and children all included with your name and Oberyn’s.

“I don’t understand.” You shake your head and your brow furrows in confusion. “I- why would my father do such a thing?”

“Your family was a very powerful one in our neighboring country before the fall of their monarchy.” Oberyn tells you.

You remembered vague flashes of upset and unease from when you were younger. Just the general feeling of worry. You had grown up knowing that your family had fled your birth country but you had never known what role your family had there, always assuming they had wanted to leave the war torn country.

“I-”

“I am getting older.” Oberyn announces. “The call for a legitimate heir is getting stronger and my brother claims that I have put off doing my duty to Dorne for long enough.”

“Oh.” You look up at him, the contract for your marriage to the stranger in front of you in your hand. “You want-”

“I am legally your finacé.” He tells you, lifting a brow at your unchanged expression. Most women would be cheering if they found out they were set to wed him. “But- since you were unaware of these things, I would not fault you if you were to break the contract.”

“What would-”

“We would marry.” Oberyn tells you bluntly. “And you would be required to give me heirs. Girl or boy makes no difference. I have eight bastard daughters. But you would be required to be in my bed alone until you have conceived.”

“Alone?” That makes you rear back in surprise.

Oberyn smirks. “I am not one to limit pleasure. I have indulged in all manner of things and would not see it change with a marriage.”

It shocked you to hear a man as powerful as him talk so casually about infidelity and you nearly choke on your own spit.

“Come now dove, this arrangement would be one of our own making.” He gives you a slight shrug.  “Despite the terms set in that document.” He reaches for the paper and pulls it out of your fingers. “We marry, we have children, we get to know one another and indulge in pleasure with each other and others.” He shrugs and gives you another smirk. “My paramour said you are quite beautiful.”

“So we- you want us to marry and for me to have your children and you fuck whoever you want?” You are slightly indignant at that.

“We, dove, we fuck whoever we want.” He tilts his head at you in amusement. “Did you think that I would lock you away while I played?”

You shake your head, unable to believe that such a proposition is being given to you. Oberyn pushes off the desk and comes to stand right in front of you. His hands grasp your shoulders lightly.

“You will be a princess of Dorne. Mother to future generations of princes and princesses. The people will come to love you, as might I.” You gulp at that. “In return, all I am asking is that you not limit pleasure. There is no scandal in allowing whomever you want between your thighs as long as we are both in agreement. My paramour, Ellaria, has shared me for years and yet she comes first before all others. You would be the same.” Oberyn’s eyes are serious and soft as he speaks of his lover and his passions.

You gulp, realizing the beautiful woman that you had been slightly enamoured with was his lover. Of course she was.

“So, dove.” Oberyn reaches up and cups your cheek, his thumb stroking the bone gently. “Do we honor the arrangement, or do you wish to forfeit your betrothal?” He asks, arching an eyebrow at you.

You swallow hard, your throat dry and you open your mouth to speak. “I-”

MasterList

#pedro pascal #Oberyn Martell #oberyn martell fanfiction #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #oberyn martell x f!reader #prince oberyn x reader #prince oberyn x you #prince oberyn x f!reader #prince oberyn imagine #oberyn martell imagine #tw arranged marriage #tw pregnancy mention

[dottielovegood]

ASMR - chapter 3

Elriel fanfiction

About this fic:

Azriel can’t sleep Elain has an ASMR channel Match made in heaven (or you know, on youtube..)

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You can find chapter 1 here and chapter 2 here Read this fic on AO3

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Chapter 3

Luckily for Azriel, the next day was a Saturday, which meant that he didn’t have to go to work. The only plan he had that day was his gym appointment at 7.00 in the morning, just like every other day. Cassian and Rhys often gave him shit for going to the gym that early in the morning on weekends, but they had partners to enjoy the days with. Azriel did not, which meant that working out was a good way to pass time. Especially for someone like Azriel who didn’t sleep and seemed to have more hours to his days than most regular people did.

However, today he woke up to the sun shining in through his window. He picked up his phone to check the time and was surprised to see that it said 9.23. He never slept that late. And he never slept that well.

She made me miss my gym appointment, Azriel thought to himself and couldn’t help but smile. And then it hit him. It was 9.23. That meant that Flower Girl ASMR would call him in exactly 37 minutes, and he hadn’t even had coffee yet. Azriel quickly got out of bed and hurried to the kitchen. While the coffee was brewing he jumped into the shower. He didn’t know why, but it felt wrong to be on the phone with her without having a shower first. Just like it would feel wrong to show up to a date without showering.

This is not a date, he told himself as he tied the towel around his hips and walked back into his kitchen. Azriel lived in a studio apartment, which meant that his ‘kitchen’ was actually a corner of his living room/bedroom. It was quite big for a studio apartment and he could easily fit his bed, a big sectional, and a dining room table in the room. There were exposed bricks on one wall which gave it a rustic feeling, and the white sleek details everywhere else made it feel modern and minimalistic - just like Azriel preferred.

Azriel leaned against his counter and sipped his coffee. He glanced at the clock on the wall which told him that he had 15 minutes left before the phone call. His hands were sweating. Was it because the coffee was so warm? Azriel tried to tell himself that the coffee was the reason for his warm hands, but it was more difficult to find an explanation for the butterflies in his stomach.

He was nervous. Not because of what they were going to talk about - he could probably guide someone through this in his sleep. But because she made him nervous. It’s one thing to see someone in a video and talk via DMs and an entirely different thing to facetime that person. What if she thought that he was ugly?

As the thought entered his mind, he shook his head as if trying to shake the thought away. Why did he care? He was just helping her with a problem. It didn’t matter if she found him ugly because this was a one-time thing. He would never see her again.

The butterflies turned into a tight knot in his stomach.

Azriel let out a low groan and went to his wardrobe to get dressed. He put on a black T-shirt and black jeans - his standard uniform. He dried his hair hastily with the towel before throwing it in the hamper.

At 10.00 on the dot, Azriel’s phone started ringing on the kitchen island. Or vibrating actually, since he always kept the sound off.

Unknown number is calling

Azriel stared at his phone, suddenly feeling very shy and questioning everything he knew about computers. He checked his reflection in the microwave and let out a deep breath before answering.

“Hello, this is Azriel.” His voice was hoarse, sounding deeper than usual.

“Oh, hi!” A cheery voice said and he was a bit taken aback. In his stupid brain, he had imagined her answering in her whispering voice. “Is this… is this Shadowsinger?”

Azriel decided that her normal voice was just as wonderful as her whispering voice.

“Yeah, this is Shadowsinger. Or well, that’s not my name. I’m obviously not called that. That would be weird…” Azriel babbled, growing more and more self-conscious by the second. He took a deep breath. “I’m Azriel.”

“Hi, Azriel. I’m Elain.” He could hear the smile in her voice and it made him think of sunshine and flowers.

Elain. The name suited her. It was a welsh name that meant fawn. Or at least that’s what Feyre told him one night when she had spent three hours going over possible baby names with their entire friend group (After three hours, Azriel, Cassian, Mor and Nesta had been very drunk and started suggesting weird names from TV such as Khaleesi, Anakin and Buffy which led to Rhys kicking them out.) But Elain wasn’t a weird name. It was pretty. Just like the person that the name belonged to.

“Hello, Elain,” Azriel said quickly when he realized that he had been quiet for a short while.

“Azriel is… an interesting name.” He couldn’t tell from her tone if it was good interesting or bad interesting.

He chuckled. “Yeah, try growing up with the nickname ‘Ass’ in school. Not Az. Ass.”

He could hear Elain laugh and it warmed his heart. “Oh no,” she giggled.

There was a stretch of silence then, both of them unsure of how to begin this.

“So...” Elain started after a few moments. “How do I block words on Youtube, Azriel?”

As soon as the words traveled through the phone, he wanted to ask her to say his name again, but that would be weird. So instead he cleared his throat and got himself into work mode.

“Well, I didn’t know if you were a visual learner, but I created a Youtube account yesterday so I could show you what to do, and you could just follow along if you like?”

God, was he doing too much? Would she find this creepy? Maybe he should just tell her what to do without video.

But to his surprise, Elain did not sound creeped out. “Really? That would be so helpful! How...How can I see your screen though?”

Azriel huffed a laugh. It was kind of cute that she was so oblivious when it came to technology even though she had 250k followers on Youtube.”Well, we’ll change to FaceTime and I will be able to flip the screen and just show you what I’m doing. Is that okay with you?”

He was met with silence.

“Elain?”

“Oh, sorry. I was nodding,” she laughed. “Yes, that’s fine.”

Azriel clicked the icon for FaceTime on his screen and within seconds, her face filled his screen. Her brown hair was in a high ponytail and she wore a mint green hoodie. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and Azriel had to catch his breath. God, why did she have to be so beautiful? He realized that he was staring at her through the screen but his brain wouldn’t form words.

“Hi,” Elain smiled, her cheeks turning pink. “I kind of forgot that we would see each other and not just a screen. Sorry that I look like a mess. I’m going to the gym after this...” She gestured to her hair and Azriel had no idea what mess she was referring to.

“What? You look wonderful,” he said and as soon as the words registered in his brain he wished to be swallowed up by a hole in the ground. He winced. “I mean... I just–” he was making it worse. Lovely. “I just meant that you don’t look like a mess.”

She gave him the sweetest smile. “Well, You don’t look too bad yourself.” She was blushing even more now. Was he blushing too? He had never blushed in his life, so he didn’t even know what that would feel like, but he did feel a bit hot.

Azriel cleared his throat. “So,” he started. “I’m going to flip my screen and film my laptop now. Tell me if you can see what I’m doing.”

“Okay!”

Azriel logged into Youtube and held his phone in front of the screen. “Can you see?” He held the phone in front of his computer, and even though she couldn’t see him anymore, he could still see her.

“Just a second,” she said and held up a finger. She was moving and so was her camera. When she reappeared, Azriel was very happy that she couldn’t see him. She was wearing glasses and they made her, if possible, even more attractive. Her beautiful golden eyes looked even bigger. Like a fawn, Azriel thought to himself.

“Yes, I can see when you have the phone so close to the screen,” she answered.

“Okay, good. Are you near your own computer?”

“Yes! And I’m already logged into my Youtube account.”

Azriel nodded, even though she couldn’t see him. “Great. Then you should see your profile picture here in the corner.” He showed her where to look.

“Mhm, I see it.”

She was focusing so hard on the screen, she had probably forgotten that he could see her. She was leaning in close enough for Azriel to see her freckles.

I want to kiss every single freckle on her body.

The thought entered his brain before he could even react and he was very happy that she wasn’t a mind reader. He tried to ignore her face on his screen and focus on his task.

“You will click the photo, and that should display a menu,” he explained. “Like this. You are going to click ‘Youtube Studio’ here.”

Elain scrunched up her nose in concentration and Azriel thought that he might die from the cuteness.

“Done! What next?”

“Okay, then you click ‘Settings’ at the bottom here,” he showed her where to look. “And then you choose ‘Community’”

“Community?” She asked and bit her lip.

Azriel wanted to bite that lip too.

“Yeah,” he answered, happy that he didn’t have to come up with more advanced words.

“And then you scroll down to ‘blocked words’ here,” he instructed. “Are you there?”

“Yes, I found it,” she answered with a smile.

“Well, aren’t you a gold star student?” Azriel joked and Elain’s face went from smiling to blushing in a nano-second.

“Thank you,” she mumbled.

There was a beat of silence again. Azriel wanted to kick himself.

“What now?” Elain asked in a low voice, still determined to get this over with.

“Well, now you just fill in the words you want to block. Make sure that you separate each word or phrase with a comma. And then you just press save and that’s it.”

“Oh, okay. That was easier than I imagined.”

Silence again.

“Can you manage from here?”

Elain bit her lip again. She was staring somewhere behind her phone; probably at her computer. “Ehm, I’m not sure what words to block.”

Azriel thought back to the awful comments he had seen and could think of a handful of words.

“Well, just block the words that these commenters often use, and maybe block bad words in general? You can review your comments later, so if nice comments are being filtered, you can choose to restore them while deleting the bad ones.”

Elain nodded and Azriel didn’t know if he should hang up or stay. So he stayed. His camera was still facing his computer, and Elain was still filming herself. She looked lost in thought.

“Are you okay, Elain?” Azriel asked cautiously, afraid to startle her.

“Hmm?” She looked straight at the camera now, eyes still glossy.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just… tired. I really like doing ASMR, but this sucks. I just want to make people happy and spread positivity, you know? And still, I have to deal with this.”

“Yeah, that must suck.”

Azriel had a question that he had been burning to ask, but he didn’t know if it was too personal. However, as he told himself before, they were never going to see each other again. He could always ask, and the worst thing he could get was a ‘no, I don’t want to talk about it’.

So he asked.

“Elain, can I ask you something?”

She nodded absentmindedly.

“Yesterday you wrote that you had blocked those trolls multiple times. Are you certain that they’re the same people?”

She nodded again. “Yes. In the beginning, they were a bit more creative with the usernames which threw me for a loop. But I realized that it was the same IP addresses every single time, so yeah. I know. I mean, I get hate from complete strangers too, but these people are a bit more persistent .” The last word was spoken through her teeth. She looked upset, but she also looked like she wanted to hide it. Azriel decided to switch his camera back to his face so she wouldn’t feel as vulnerable. And so he wouldn’t feel like a creep for staring at her.

Elain looked a bit startled. “Oh, hi again,” she smiled, but it wasn’t as genuine anymore.

“Do you know these people?” Azriel asked through gritted teeth. He didn’t know why, but he felt very protective all of a sudden.

“Yes, I do. At least the three people that commented yesterday…” she bit her lip again, probably contemplating if she should tell him more. “It’s my ex.”

Azriel tried his hardest to not look surprised and pissed off at the same time. “All three of them?”

With a surprised look on her face, she shook her head quickly. “Oh, god no. No. Just one. His name is Graysen.”

MortalGraysen. Azriel remembered the username because it had sounded so stupid.

“And the other two?”

She let out a long breath. “His stupid best friends, Amarantha and Hybern. Stupid names, right?”

Azriel could only agree. “Very. Why is he bothering you like this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Elain took off her glasses and massaged her temple lightly. “I dumped him after he slept with Amarantha and then…” she chewed the inside of her cheek. “Then he told all of our friends that he only slept with her because I was so boring in…'' her cheeks flushed again and she didn’t finish that sentence. She didn’t have to. Azriel understood perfectly.

“Okay, so he really is an asshole then.”

“The biggest.”

“Well, I don’t think you can block IP addresses on Youtube, but you could always try to block their names. It might work for a while at least?” Azriel suggested. He needed to help her.

“That’s smart!” she exclaimed and sat her phone down to type. He was very happy that she had leaned it against something so he could still see her.

“What other words should I add?”

Azriel thought back to the comments he had seen. Boobs, nudes, cock, jerk off and tits were all words that she should block, but they were also words he didn’t feel like saying in front of her.

“Just check their old comments and block the words they have used.”

“I’ve deleted the comments, but I remember a few words.” She typed again and Azriel could tell that she was uncomfortable.

“Hey, just block all sexual words and maybe swear words? That should probably work for a while?”

“Okay.” She typed again while Azriel waited patiently. Honestly, he would probably wait forever if it meant that he could watch her on his screen like this.

He felt like a teenager with a crush on the coolest girl in school. He knew that she was out of his league, but his body had not gotten the memo…

“I think I’m done,” she announced and smiled at her phone. At him.

Azriel smiled back. “Which words did you write?” he asked out of curiosity.

Elain picked up her phone and switched the camera so he could see her computer. In the box for ‘blocked words’ she had indeed written a few words.

Blocked words Graysen, Hybern, Amarantha, Boring, Dumb, Stupid, Weird, Ugly, Penis, Vagina, Sex, Sexy, Breasts, Feet, Ejaculation, Nipple, Damn, Fuck, Darn it, Hell,

“Do you think that’s enough?” She asked him in a low voice as if she was ashamed of what she was showing him.

Azriel had to bite his lip in order to keep himself from grinning. It was kind of sweet that she had written down the more technical terms, and not any words that would actually be used on the internet.

“Well, I think it’s a good start,” Azriel answered. “But I think there are a few more words that you should add. And maybe some you can remove from the list.”

“Which ones can I remove?” She leaned closer to her computer, probably trying to find the redundant words.

“I don’t think that trolls will use Darn it, for example.”

Elain pressed the backspace key a few times.

“And which words should I add?” she asked the screen. Her glasses had slid down her nose a bit and Azriel had an urge to reach through the screen and push them back into place.

Azriel scratched his chin, thinking about the best way to phrase it. “Maybe a few synonyms for the words you have written down?”

“Such as?”

Azriel held his breath. “Well…” Azriel hesitated. Was she serious or was she just trying to get him to say dirty words? “I don’t think that internet trolls will use the word vagina.”

“Oh,” her ears turned a lovely pink color. “So I should just add synonyms for that word then?”

“Sure.”

Elain looked lost in thought for a moment before typing again, this time a bit more aggressively. “There are quite a lot,” she muttered.

“Really?” Azriel could only think of two; pussy and cunt.

“Yes. I googled it.”

Of course, she googled a list of synonyms for vagina. Azriel couldn’t hold back his grin this time. She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing,” he said, still grinning. “Can you read me this list of synonyms?” he teased, thinking that she would tell him to fuck off.

He was wrong.

“Well, there’s pussy, cunt, vajayjay, punani, ho-ha, flower…” she drifted off and Azriel could tell the exact moment it hit her that she was reading these words to a man she didn’t know. “Oh, god,” she groaned and hid her face in her hand. “Please ignore everything that just happened.”

Azriel chuckled. “I rather not. What’s the weirdest word on the list?”

He was invested now.

Elain looked at him through the screen again, but this time he could tell that she was suppressing a smile. “The weirdest one must be fish taco, or bald man in a boat. One just sounds disgusting, and the other one is just… weird? Like, I don’t get it.”

“I think that the ‘bald man’ is supposed to be the...uh,” Azriel could not finish that sentence. He knew that he was blushing now, too.

“Oh,” she said looking surprised, and then disgusted. “Oh, that just makes it worse.”

The laugh that followed was contagious.

As she laughed, Azriel thought back to the day before. To when he had watched her video to fall asleep. In her videos, she was so calm and collected - the complete opposite from this bubbly, laughing person on his screen. Both sides of her were equally fascinating to Azriel and he wished that he could get to know her better. She was so easy to talk to. Azriel never found anyone easy to talk to. At parties, you could find him in the corner with a drink and a good book. He was not a talkative man. But with Elain, he wanted to talk. And he wanted to listen. He wanted her to tell him about her day and her life, which was absurd. They had been talking for like 30 minutes. They didn’t know each other. They would never get to know each other.

“Thank you for helping me with this, Azriel,” Elain said when the laughter had died down. “I really appreciate it. I’m sorry for being a bit weird and reading you that list. I hope that I didn’t cross a line or…”

Azriel held up a hand to show her that he didn’t mind. “It’s no problem, honestly. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much.”

Elain shifted in her seat and picked up her phone again, moving it closer to her face again. “Just like you couldn’t remember the last time you had slept well?”

For a second, Azriel was truly afraid that she was a mind reader because that meant that she had heard him think that he wanted to kiss all her freckles. And then, he remembered the comment he had left on her video a few days earlier.

“Yeah, just like that.”

She leaned her head to the side and regarded him through the phone. “Is that true? You can’t remember having a good night’s sleep?”

Azriel shook his head. “I have suffered from insomnia since I was a child. Sleep has never been a positive experience for me.”

He had never opened up like this to anyone. His former girlfriend never understood why he was awake and why he hated sleepovers. The insomnia had definitely destroyed a few relationships over the years. He could tell that Elain wanted to ask about it, but she didn’t. He really appreciated that.

“Well, I’m happy that I can help you with that anyway. It makes me feel less horrible for making you help me with this on a Saturday morning,” she said and gestured to her computer.

“You didn’t make me do anything. I offered. I was happy to help.”

She gave him the sweetest smile yet and Azriel was surprised when he didn’t melt into a puddle. “Well, thank you. Can I pay you for your trouble?”

Before she had even finished the sentence Azriel shook his head. “No, Elain. I really don’t want you to pay me.”

“Okay,” she bit one side of her lip again. Those damn lips. “Can I give you something else then?”

Did her tone sound flirty? Azriel didn’t know. He might just be hopeful because he started imagining all kinds of things she could give him.

“Like, maybe you could tell me your favorite trigger and I’ll make sure that my next video includes it?”

Azriel swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling very thick. “You don’t have to do that, I...”

“But I want to,” she interrupted. “What’s your favorite trigger?”

Azriel was trying to figure out a way to tell her that she was his favorite trigger without sounding like a serial killer. “Well, I don’t really know. I like when you whisper,” he tried, and when she smiled and nodded encouragingly, he continued. “Honestly Elain, I have tried to watch other ASMR videos but they don’t make me fall asleep. Your videos make me fall asleep within minutes. Whatever magic you put into your videos, that’s probably my trigger,” he half-joked.

“Hmm,” Elain regarded him. “I’ll figure something out.” She winked at him teasingly and Azriel hated that this was the first and last time he would ever get to talk to her.

“Well, I really have to go,” Elain declared. “I’m meeting a friend at the gym.”

“Yeah, I have to go too,” Azriel lied. He would have canceled any plan he ever had if he could continue this conversation.

“Well, thank you again for your help, Azriel.”

“Don’t mention it.”

She removed her glasses and looked straight into her camera. It felt as if she was staring into his soul.

“Goodbye, Shadowsinger.”

“Goodbye, Flower Girl.”

The call disconnected and he was left staring at his apps. Not a single one interested him.

With a heavy sigh, Azriel walked to his bed. He was planning to lay down and scream into a pillow when he received a text from a number he didn’t recognize.

New message I searched for a few more synonyms, and this one for penis is horrendous. Just listen to this: Meat banjo. Isn’t that just horrible? I’m definitely blocking that word.

Azriel couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled up from his chest. It really was a horrendous synonym and he could imagine her sitting in front of her computer, making disgusted faces at the various words on her screen.

New message Oh, this is Elain, by the way.

And that’s when it hit him.

She had texted him and he could see her number. That meant that he could save her number on his phone. It also meant…

Well, he honestly didn’t know what it meant, but he didn’t feel like screaming into his pillow anymore.

#elriel #elriel fanfic #azriel x elain #azriel #acotar #acotar fanfiction #elain archeron #elain x azriel

[issabangtanfic]

[Jungkook] The Windmill House (Chapter 11)

Synopsis: When your stereotypical Christian Grey meets his not so stereotypical Anna

Pairing: Jungkook x OC

A/N: Feel free to submit a cover! Tell me what you think in my inbox! Enjoy!

-

It's been years since I’ve been left with that much energy after a day at work. I have minimal oiliness on my face by the time I check my mirror in my car. I actually feel like I could run a mental marathon, which is good considering my next stop. Tonight, I’m seeing the flirtatious Mr.Jeon so he can finally give me the brief for the windmill house. I have to admit, I’ve kind of been looking forward to it, not only because the house is amazing, but also because I find some fun in declining his straightforward yet quite funny advances. I drive my Mini out of London, to the secluded green space where Mr.Jeon’s house is. I stifle a smile walking up the crackled stairs. I almost fell on it the first time I came here. I remember almost losing my shit when he caught me. I don’t think I’d be that phased if it were to happen today. I’ve had him way closer to me since then, and that has been something too.

I park my car at the end of the dirt road at the bottom of the hill, and hike up the stairs that lead to the house. When I get there, I notice a black wooden door with mouldings has been installed. It's better than the sad plank that was there before, and it actually kind of fits the architecture. I knock on the door, and a few moments later, Mr Jeon opens it.

“Miss Fair.” He greets, smiling at me, all grey suit and white shirt, his tie gone, three of his buttons undone. I stop my eyes from moving further down, not wanting to check him out too obviously.

“Good Evening, Mr.Jeon.” I murmur, returning the smile. He always looks so yummy.

“Good evening.” He replies, stepping aside to let me in. “Please, come in.”

Step into the house, the floorboards creaking under my heels as I make my way in, and he closes the door behind me. 

“How was your day?” He asks as I walk into the living room, myeyes immediately going to the immense, 3 to 4 meter high bookshelf  I saw last time. The house is as pretty as I remember it. 

“Busy.” I reply evasively, my eyes wandering up to the ceiling, and the dome where the roof opens up onto the sky.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks, pulling my attention back to him. I turn to him, and he's leaning against the kitchen counter, hands shoved in his pockets. I narrow my eyes at him.

“Are you going to try and turn this into a date?” I ask warily. Of course he's trying to make this a dinner date. He chuckles ,taking a few steps towards me.

“I’m worried about your blood sugar.” He counters, and I roll my eyes to the heavens. My blood pressure is what is really worrying. 

“I am fine, thank you.” I decline politely. This is a business meeting, Maya. I turn back around, venturing further in the living space. The couches are still covered by white sheets, except for one old brown leather armchair that I will one hundred percent stay in the house.

“Where should we start?” He prompts as I set my bag down onto the pretty arm chair.

“We can go from room to room and you tell me whatever you want to be done." I explain, sliding my coat off of my shoulders. I set it down on the back rest of the chair and start gathering my equipment. "I can also give you my ideas. I’ll snap a few pictures so I can remember how everything looks.” I say, pulling my tablet, camera and notepad out of my bag. 

“Then, I’ll draw sketches and I’ll come back to you for your approval.”  I conclude.

“Okay.”

“I'll also need the blueprints of the house.” I add before I forget.

“I’ll send them to you.” 

“Okay.” I turn around , glancing at the stairs that lead up to the star-azing platform..

“I really want to start up there.” I informed him. I have been thinking about this part of the house ever sincethe first time I came here. The sun has set, and I'm not sure what I'll be able to see but I'm curious.

“Sure.” He concedes, walking me up to the stairs. He lets me go first while he stays down under the staircase to turn the crank that lifts the blinds from the roof.

On the platform there is what I'm guessing is a telescope covered by a white sheet pointed at the ceiling.

After he gets to work the panels slowly go up, unveiling a dark sky with a few sparkles, and an almost full moon clearly visible.

“Oh, wow.” I whisper. This isn't the starriest sky I've seen in my life, but it's pretty bright for something just 45 minutes away from London. I guess the light pollution doesn't hit as much here.

A few seconds later, Mr.Jeon climbs the stairs and comes up behind me. This  space has so much potential. It's so unique, I don't think I've ever seen anything like that before. 

“So your grandfather designed this?” I ask him, unable to detach my eyes from the spectacle in front of me.

“Yes. I’d like to keep it like this of course, but I want this space to have seats.” He explains, pulling my attention back to the platform I'm standing on. The stairs and floor are metal, which gives it a very industrial feel, but doesn't match the warmth we're trying to give the house. Imagine laying on a comfy fatboy and just staring up at the sky for hours.

“Like a star-gazing station?” I ask him.

“Exactly.” He concurs. “I think it’d be nice if you were able to lay down too.”

“I agree.” I nod. 

"I think," Mr.Jeon trails off, stepping in front of me and reading the calendar stuck on the wall right next to the covered telescope. "Venus should be visible tonight." He says as he checks the time on his watch. Venus?

"Really?" My eyes widen in excitement as he uncovers the telescope. It's dark green and kind of rusty, defenitely an old piece of equipement. I bet this belonged to his gandfather. It's not dusty though, meaning he probably uses it frequently. 

"I mean it is visible during the day too, it's one of the brightest objects in the sky." He explains, unscewing the lense cover and the eye piece. Oh, I'm about to see a planet for the first time! I'm still surprised a man like him has this kind of interest. It's really not common.

"But it might be too low now." He muses, and I watch as he twists and turns the telescope that is almost his height, following an integrated compass with coordnates. He looks into the telescope in silence, and I'm fascinated by how easy he makes it look. This businessman has hobbies that don't consist in golf. 

"There she is." He says once he's found his target, and steps back from the telescope. "Take a look." He invites me. I take his place and look  through the lense, to see white bright disc in the center of my vision.

"It's so bright." I observe. I'm only seeing a bright disc of light, I wonder what it would look from up close.

"It's atmosphere is mainly thick clouds which makes it really reflective." I hear him explain behind me. 

"You sound so nerdy." I remark, turning around to look at him. He crosses his arms.

"I wouldn't be building rockets if I wasn't a nerd." He retorts. True. I take another look at the planet thoufh the telescope. It's amazing to see, but I'm really curious about how it would look if I were on the surface. It's kinda sad that I'll probably never know. 

"This is a really cool place to have in a house." I muse, looking back at him. He has his very own small scale observatory. "I've never seen anything quite like this."

"It's pretty nice." He agrees. I pull out my camera and snap a few picturs of the space, and we move on with the rest of the tour. After coming back down into the livingroom, we both agree to keep the massive bookshelf. That was a given; this is another huge piece of the house that never in a million years I would have considered removing even if he asked me to.

He tells me his grandfather has read evey single one of the books in there, and has even written some of them. He throws some ideas for the arrangement of the space ,and I snap e few more pictures. Then we tour the rest of the house; the dinning room, the two bedrooms upstairs, the bathroom, and the backyard. It takes us almost an hour to complete, and we're back in the living room, where I put down all my tools and start to pack up.

“Wine?"

I turn around to find him behind the kitchen ocunter, holding an expensive-looking bottle of red wine. He's trying to make me drink again!  I give him a dissaproving stare.

“I bought this bottle for the occasion.” He tells me. 

“What occasion?”

"Any day I get to see you is worth celebrating to me.” He coos. Oh please!  “Considering how you’re always avoiding me.” He adds. Oh, I know where this is going. 

“I am not going to sleep with you tonight.” I articulate, trying to sound convinving despite my amused tone.

“I’m just offering you a drink.” 

“You’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Maya, you’re way smarter than this.” He tilts his head to the side.

“Excuse me?” I mimick him, crossing my arms under my chest.

“You wouldn’t be here if you really thought I was going to try to take advantage of you like that.” He points out. True. But still. 

“It’s Italian wine.” He adds when I don't answer. “I think you’ll love it.”

How does he know what I like already?! 

“Just one glass.” I give in. One tiny glass. I'm driving anyways so I'm not about to go crazy tonight.

“Okay.” He agrees before pulling two wine glasses from under the counter. He pours me half a glass, before serving himself.

I thim and we clink our glasses before taking a sip each. An boy this man knows his wine. I love sweet reds. Before I can even comment on the taste, there's a loud knock on the front door.

"Just in time." He comments, droping his class and walking over to the door. Who is he expecting? I hear the door open.

"Thank you Jimin." Mr Jeon says. Jimin? Isn't that his assistant? I remember his name from the time I went to the purple mansion. The door closes and Mr.Jeon reappears.

“I hope you like sushi." He announces, holding two plastic bags in his hands. Sushi?

"You ordered food?" I gasp, my face a mix of confusion and glee. "I figured you wouldn't have had time to eat." He answers, walking over to me. I watch, mesmerised as he drops the food on the counter. My eyes follow as he pulls out one, then a second, then a third plate of colorful sushi. There’s makis too, salmon, tuna, sea breaam sushi- a lot f very good stuff. I’m salivating, my eyes hugging the food close. "Hungry?" I look up and see him smirking at me. I love sushi, and I don’t know if I can refuse this offer. This is better than sex. "Well, I wouldn't want to waste." I shrug a shoulder, making him chuckle. He then pulls out the sauces, disposable chopsticks and napkins.  Little white makis catch my attention. "What are these?" I ask, pointing at my first preys. "Cheese makis.” "Cheese?" I repeat. Has there been a kind I haven’t tried yet? It’s time to update the sushi-pedia. "Have bite.” Mr.Jeon proposes, splitting a pair of chopsticks. He picks one of the cheese sushi and brings it over to my face. At this moment, I don’t even feel like pointing out how inappropriate it is, this man just won’t stop. I bite the sushi off, surprised by the creaminess of the cheese. I hum appreciatively. Sushi can never go wrong, even with cheese in it. This is amazing. "Right?" He concurs, smiling softly. "It's good." I agree once I’ve swallowed. Mr. Jeon hands me another pair of chopsticks, and I dive into the colorful maki rolls. "I'm going to be honest," I trail off after the first two bites. "You have found my weak spot." I mumble. "Sushi?" He says, amused. I nod vigorously. I would have declined any other type of food he would have proposed, but not sushi. He was spot on, and I'm not ashamed for giving in. "Any physical weak spot you want to tell me about?" When I look back at him, he’s turned his body so he’s facing me. Elbow propped onto the counter, he’s giving me all his attention. Oh you wish, Mr.Hotbuttocks. "I'll let you in on a secret." I announce, twisting so I’m facing him as well. "I'm all ears."  He murmurs. Feeling brave, I lean closer to him, prompting him to bend his neck and quite literally give me his ear. A distant, unused and forbidden part of my brain wants to bite his earlobe just to see his reaction. But I refrain. "I'm not having sex with you." I whisper, making him chuckle. He pulls back, shaking his head at me. I catch another sushi. "There was a time when you wouldn't say that." He says to me, eyes playful. "I was drunk." I retort. "Just tipsy." He counters. Ha! "There's not much difference." I mumble. "Let me put it another way.” He prompts, and I don’t like the smirk he’s giving me. I narrow my eyes at him. "Are you attracted to me?" He asks, but I’m not sure it’s a question. He’s looking at me dead in the eyes, probably watching my pupils dilate. I don’t think I can ever say no to that question, now that Iiterally have drunk-dialed him asking for sex. But I’m not going to admit it either. "Does it really matter?" Is the best I come up with, and he laughs at me in a short snort. I know he knows that was a lame attempt, but he ignores it. "Well, you know the feeling is mutual." He murmurs, and it makes my insides fuzzy. Such a handsome man being attracted to me physically is a confidence booster, but I also know the fact that I don’t take shit from him also plays a role in it. He likes that I'm not giving in. "You're only attracted to me because I resist you." I reply. He raises an eyebrow. "Is that why you're resisting me? So you can have me chasing you?” He asks, leaning closer to me and propping his chin on his fist. I am more phased by his words than his proximity. Am I enjoying the chase? I mean the only reason I’m not throwing myself at him is because I know when he finally gets me it’ll be over. Is that what's stopping me? Knowing there probably won't be a second time? Or is it the fact that I'll just be another rebelious woman he'd managed to tame?

“No.” I shake my head after thinking about it for too long. I mimic him, resting my head on the palm of my hand, my elbow right next to his. “Well, I’m not attracted to you because you resist me." He murmurs, and I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Sure.” “Let me get to my point." He prompts. Oh, whatever. 

"You're submissive, right?" He asks out of the blue, taking me by surprise. Excuse me? Rude!

 I immediately feel exposed, because I know he knows the answer to that question. I feel my face heat up. Where is he going with this? "Maybe." I reply, trying my hardest not to betray my panic. But I can’t bring myself to lie looking into his eyes, so I look away, earning another heartfelt chuckle. "Maybe, alright." He repeats. He sees right through me .To be fair, I am not putting the best act. I'm too easily read. I blush, I frown, I fidget, I play with my hair - I have the most telling body language and it hasn't helped me once in life. “What is your point, Mr.Jeon?” I ask, wanting to end the torture. "So when you find someone attractive, you tend to let them take control and bring you pleasure." He trails off. I nod in agreement, still unsure where this is going.  "But it doesn't mean you're weak or dependent. You chose to be in that position because that's what brings you the most pleasure. In fact outside the bedroom you're a very opinionated woman and you get your way quite often." He adds. I'm still following at this point, but I know he's trying to get me somewhere I don't want to be. I repeat his words in my head a second time. I feel like I’m about to get tricked. "True." I agree reluctantly, knowing I probably shouldn't.  “See, you think I'm all about the challenge and keeping women who challenge me submissive and obedient, but I work differently." He explains. Oh, I’m sure he does. "Just like you being submissive doesn't mean you're dependent and passive, me wanting to pin you against a wall and do things to you has nothing to do with my respect for you or women in general." He murmurs. Pin me against a wall and do things to me?! I take a discreet but deep breath, watching as the corner of his mouth turns into a smirk when he realises I’m already imagining things. "What I'm trying to say is," He trails off, and I think I catch his pupils dilating as our eyes meet. "When I find someone attractive, I tend to hold down..." He says, his tone lower, his voice so seductive it sounds like a purr. "And bite..." He adds, bringing the tip of his index finger just under my ear. "And kiss..." I hold his gaze while he slowly runs it down the side of my neck, barely brushing my skin but letting me feel plenty. "And lick..." He stops at the  spot where my neck and shoulder connect, my hairs standing alert in the wake of his touch. His eyes don’t leave mine, intense and blazing. My libido is through the roof. I want him to do that again. Biting and kissing and licking... I’m not learning anything new here. I’ve always known this man was dominant and kinky. I’m not surprised, but he’s just so sexy. He oozes sex, he smells like sex, he looks like sex, it’s intoxicating. "Because that's what gives me the most pleasure." He adds, his voice feeling like butter. "But I also always have my partner's pleasure in mind. Sometimes more than my own." He says, barely hiding the promise in his words. He leans back as if to mark the ending of his monologue, and that’s when I realise I had stopped breathing. 

I feel dizzy and my cheeks are burning. "Well,”I sigh, reaching for my wine. “Your next conquest should consider herself lucky." I say, raising my glass in his honor, before throwing the entire thing back. I feel thirsty, and hot and bothered. "Yeah, you should." He retorts, making me splutter and almost choke on my wine. He laughs at me, his laugh loud and boyish, while I try not to spit wine all over myself. “You have no shame.” I say in wonder, shaking my head at his mirth. "What should I be ashamed of? Being attracted to you?" He retorts. "Being inappropriate." I reply, narrowing my eyes at him. What a tease. "You're smiling." He counters.  "It's better than you running from me." He murmurs, his words heavier than what he wants me to think. I don't think I'm running away as much as I used to. I went to dinner with him, and I'm here today. I'm still aware of the majo red flags he waved at me when we first met though. "You give me reasons to run." I argue. This man smells like trouble, and I'm hovering over a dangerous line but I'm confident in my capacity to protect myself. His gaze turns to playful to a little bit more serious. He looks pensive. "I was hoping it wasn't the case anymore." He says quietly, and he almost sounds disappointed by my answer. "I wouldn't be here if it was." I say to reassure him a little bit. "I'm glad to hear that." He smiles softly. Part of me doesn't want to make him too happy, but I guess I'll give him that.

"There's something I wanted to talk to you about." He prompts, and I feel him getting even more serious than before.  

"We've never really talked about what happened with my brother." He trails off. Oh... 

Way to kill the mood. I feel myself stiffen instantly as the few memories I have of that night flash back to me.

"And again, I'm sorry for what happened." He says to me. He has told me before that his brother got the "wrong impression". And I would like, in order to start contemplating the idea of forgiving me, to know how in the hell he got that wrong impression. Because to me it is unjustifiable. Was it my dress? Nope. No matter how short it could have been, and it wasn't even short. My body language? Nah. The mere fact that we were drinking? Hell to the no.

"I have always wondered how he could possibly have thought I was going to have sex with him. That still doesn't sit right with me." I tell him honestly, because if he's asking me to forgive him for thinking anything I did led him on, I'll be gone before he even finishes his sentence. 

"He could tell I was attracted to you, and he knows I usually don't mind sharing." He explains to me. He doesn't mind sharing? Sharing women with his brother?!

 "And he was drunk." He adds while I try to precess this information. My face is a knot of confusion. He had threesomes with his brother? Why do I feel like there's something very incestuous about it? I'm effectively grossed out.

"You share your sexual partners with him?" I utter, unable to hide the judgment in my voice. He doesn't seem fazed by the horror on my face."If they both want each other I usually don't have a problem with it." He shurgs a shoulder. How is he so cool about this? Is it normal nowadays? Am I weird for finding it weird. I mean; obviously him and Eliott aren't blood brothers, and I don't think they have sex together per say, but they both participate in a sexual act at the same time! 

"So you-"

"Not threesomes, no." He cuts me off. Oh thank god! 

"Huh." I exhale.

Okay, so he just doesn't mind sleeping with the same woman as his brother. 

"So, hypothetically," I traill off. "If we were to sleep together- which we won't- you wouldn't -"

"I would be extremely possessive of you." He cuts me off, looking into my eyes with intent.

"Why?" I frown. He mimicks me, scrunching his eyebrows togetehr in a pensive manner. He's actually thinking about it.

"I'm not sure." He murmurs.  "I guess I just don't like the thought of anyone else bringing you pleasure." 

Okay? 

After processing this, a tiny part of my brain thinks this means something? That maybe I'm different? I shouldn't believe him that easily though, but if that's true, then I'm confused.

"Interesting..." I muse. I don't feel like elaborating on that. The implications are way too heavy for what I want this whole thing to be.

"But okay, let's say he thought you and I were having sex." I prompt, because his explaination isn't very satisfying yet. "What made him think I'd have sex with him?"

Mr.Jeon inhales deeply, visibly a little bit embarassed to speak. 

"His dumb ass thought bringing you over was what I meant by cheering him up after his breakup." He explains, and it dawns on me.

"He thought I was a bloody hooker." I conclude. He makes a face.

"Not quite. He did drink a lot before you came over too." He counters. Okay, his drunk ass thought I was a bloody hooker.

"Anyways. I hope you'll be able to forgive him one day. He's not a bad guy, just really dumb." He finishes. 

"Okay." I nod. I've heard him, but I don't knwo about forgiving his brother. Not because I'm still mad or anything, but because I can't this of an istance where I'll ever have too see him again. It's not liek he was about to become my brother-in-law.

"Thank you for explaining." I say before glancing at my wtach. I have been here for nearly two hours.

"But I do have to go now, Mr.Jeon." I declare. It's getting really late. “Oh, what a shame.” I hear him complain as I slide off my stool. "Thank you for the sushi." I murmur, looking up at him. "You're most welcome, Miss Fair." He replies, standing up I as well. I gather my stuff, putting my camera and sketchbook back in my bag and throwing my coat on. "I will make plans and sketches and get back to you to schedule another meeting." I explain to him once I'm ready to leave. "How long will that take?" "I think I'll be done in a week or two." "That's a long time without seeing each other." He mutters, scratching his chin in a pensive manner. I raise a curious eyebrow. "Now I'm thinking we're only doing this so you can talk me into sleeping with you." I reply, crossing my arms over my chest. "Miss Fair, I would never." He gasps dramatically. Yes you would. I narrow my eyes at him. "No, seriously. This house means a lot to me, and I don't share this part of my life with that many people." He says more seriously, but I still think he could be doing this to get his dick wet. "Would you mind if I made you sign a contract, then?" I propose. He's all about NDA's and shit, right? "A contract?" "Yes." I concur. "So I'm guaranteed to get my fifteen percent." I explain. I don't want to dive into this and then leave the project like last time. If he ever fucks up to the point where I don't want to see him, we can still do everything via e-mail. Hott buttocks aside, this project is really exciting. He frowns down at me for a second, but is quick to shrug a shoulder. "As you wish." He concedes. "I should make you sign it before I actually start putting in the work." I muse. "I'll be out of town for a few days, I leave on Wednesday." He warns. "I'll e-mail it to you." "Or we could meet up and read it through together." He proposes. Of course he'd want that. "You're funny." I chuckle. "I'm not signing anything via e-mail." He declares. "Why?" I frown. "Don't know how that technology works." He shrugs. Now he's playing the age card? "How old are you?" I ask, realizing I still don't know how old he is. "I'm 21." He says. He keeps adding a year every time I ask him!  "But you build rockets." I deadpan. He smirks- fucking smirks at me. He's so handsome it's angering. "Then I'm not designing anything for you." I retort. "Is seeing me that much of a torture?" He asks with feigned disappointment. I take a moment to think. "Not anymore." I reply. "Not anymore?" He repeats, eyebrows meeting his hairline. "But still." "But still?" He frowns, looking offended. I giggle at his reaction. "I can throw food in the mix, we can meet during our lunch break." He proposes. "Our offices are very close." Oh, god. "I'll see what I'll do tomorrow." I concede, feeling like a straight no would be too mean of me. And I actually don't know I want to say no or not. I enjoy his company. "Just remember you have the power to make a man's day by saying yes." He murmurs, stepping closer to me, hands in his pockets. He looks yummy. "I'll keep that in mind." I murmur, looking up at him. "Good." He says quietly, holding my gaze. The hairs on the back of my neck rise in alert. Why am I still wearing clothes again? "Let me walk you back." He proposes after a beat. I accept, and Mr. Jeon escorts me out of the house. "We'll have to fix these stairs as well." I mumble, looking out for any rogue piece of rock about to make me fall. "You have carte blanche for the outside. I trust you." He replies. I don't think the outside -or at least the pathway, needs a lot of work. Just some brand new steps and green grass.

"Can't wait to get to it." I reply. He walks me down the stairs and back to my car.

"Thank you for your time, Ms Fair." He says as I stand next to my Mini, ready to unlock it.

"It was a pleasure." I reply, smiling at him. I open my door and slide into my seat.

"I'll be waiting for your text." He says, leaning down to my window, eyes small and playful. I giggle.

"I'm sure you will." I tease. "Goodbye, Mr. Jeon." 

"Goodbye, Miss.Fair."

#jungkook scenarios #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts smut #bangtan smut #rm smut #rm scenarios #bangtan scenarios #bts scenarios #park jimin #bts jungkook #jimin fanfic

[diavolodigitale]

L’appel Du Vide: 01 What a Way to Start

Not that anybody is really reading it here, but I decided to follow through with this story no matter what.

All chapters: 00 - 01 - All stories in PDF

Rhys is the CEO of Atlas and Jack’s AI is back, surprise, surprise! Now Rhys is dismayed, Jack doesn’t care much, and the events of Borderlands 3 are just beginning to unravel. Is there any way to fix the plot of this game? Would it be any better if Rhys had to cooperate with Jack this whole time? Well, this is your chance to find out!

Spoiler: yes, dammit, it would. Everything’s better with a bit of Handsome Jack in it.

Genres: Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Alternate Canon, POV Third Person, Humor, Drama, Plot-driven (kind of? well, it has plot)

Pairing: Handsome Jack’s AI/Rhys (they’re still just talking, dammit)

Characters: Handsome Jack’s AI, Rhys

Rating: M for Mature but not in this chapter lol

Size: around 3000 words (chapter 2/11)

Sun set and rose, another day began. Rhys shaved off his moustache.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” said Jack, who was sitting in Rhys’ chair when the latter one entered his office wearing only red bathrobe and home slippers.

“Morning,” replied Rhys, eying Jack wearily. Jack almost expected him to be surprised by his presence all over again, but it seemed like Rhys did not, after all, convince himself that the events of the previous day were just a dream, which, depending on how one looks at it, might even be considered personal growth. “Let me say how much I appreciate you not stalking me while I sleep. Just so you knew,” he said, painfully aware of Jack’s realness and determination to stay.

“Actually,” began Jack, idly following Rhys’s movements around the room with his gaze, “I watched you for some time, but your face looked so stupid that I started having these fits of hysterical laughter, so I left not to wake you up accidentally. I care for you so much, after all, and… Hey!”–he suddenly sat upright in the chair and pointed at Rhys’s hunched miserable figure–“that thing from your face disappeared! I could’ve sworn I saw it yesterday...”

“And now it’s gone,” concluded Rhys with a sigh.

“Phew, great job, pal. It was so awful, I cannot even begin to describe.”

“What? I thought you liked it,” said Rhys, nonplussed.

“Yeah, about that… I lied. Didn’t want to tell you this, but with that moustache, I wouldn’t let my kids anywhere near you,” said Jack and cackled.

Rhys scowled. He got rid of his moustache precisely because Jack told him he liked it, even despite the fact that it was particularly hard for him, considering the meaning it supposedly held. Since the day before he had this strange desire to do everything in opposition to Jack. Perhaps, it was deeply rooted in his former traumatic experience with the AI. Or in the fact that he had always been kind of mischievous, either one of those two.

“I see you’re in a good mood today,” said Rhys, making himself a morning coffee. He couldn’t say the same thing about himself – half of the night he spent persuading himself not to bang his head on the wall until Jack left for good. As a temporary means, it was as good as anything, but certainly wouldn’t be a reliable way to get rid of the AI forever. In any case, it seems not to have worked for Rhys previously, so he had to come up with something else. Changing the prosthetics took time, and he didn’t have that precious resource at his disposal in the needed amount.

In the end, when he finally managed to fall asleep, it was at the thought that he was actually a little sorry for what happened with Jack’s hologram during their last confrontation. Despite all the evil Jack had done, he used to be a significant part of Rhys’s life and helped shape him into what he was now. Most importantly, he taught him not to trust anybody and to always swing for the fences. Now, being the CEO of Atlas, Rhys could clearly see that this strategy worked perfectly.

“Oh, by the by, I took some time to look through your files and check out this Kawatagi guy we talked about yesterday. Must say, he’s a very promising candidate. Maybe, I should’ve chosen him as my successor instead of you-know-who,” said Jack in a conspiratorial tone, stroking his chin and narrowing his eyes. “Instead of you, I’m talking about you,” he added in a normal voice.

Rhys sighed, gently lowering two sugar cubes into his coffee. Here we go again.

“First, why the heck did you rummage in my computers without my permission? Second, his name’s Katagawa, more precisely – Katagawa Junior. And a candidate for what? Wait, don’t say anything, I don’t even want to know. Now get out of my chair,” said Rhys and proceeded to try and shoo Jack away with a few careless waves of his hand.

“It’s not like you can’t sit here. I’m just a hologram, you know.”

Jack was grinning, of course. Rhys looked down at him with his tired sleepless eyes and sighed the fortieth time this morning.

“Remember when we first met, you called me weird? Now you’re the one being weird, congratulations.”

“Oh, come o-o-on, don’t be so bo-o-oring.” Jack disappeared from the chair and reappeared on the sofa, lying on his side with his head resting on his hand. “You know, I think I’ve now seen enough of you to bet with confidence that you don’t have any friends. I bet I was your closest friend (and don’t forget that I was your imaginary closest friend), ‘cause I don’t see how someone can tolerate that attitude for long.”

Don’t worry, Rhys, he won’t get to you, you’re thick-skinned now, you know that, thought Rhys and put his mug on the table. He sunk into his chair and turned on the ECHO device to check for any new messages.

“Actually, I do have friends,” he said in his best I-am-not-offended tone.

“Yeah? Anybody in particular?”

“Zer0, for example. I am proud to call him my friend and I’m sure he’s proud to be called mine.”

“Zer0, yeah… wait, who’s that again?”

Rhys rolled his eyes. Some things just never changed.

“One of the vault hunters who… took part in your elimination, so to put it,” he answered carefully.

“Oh, yeah, that filthy bandit, I remember him! Well, not him killing me, of course, but I think I saw him somewhere. Didn’t he have that mental condition? I remember him saying some gibberish instead of speaking like normal people do. Yeah, right,”–Jack laughed–“I can see you two dorks being friends.”

“How could I have survived this long without you trying to offend me all the time? Unbelievable.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking! Or was that still your thought? I always forget I’m in your head. Anyway, to summarize our conversation so far, we’ve established that you’re a pathetic loner with only one creature in the whole world you can call a friend of sorts. You never seize to amaze me, Rhys.”

“There’s also Vaughn,” said Rhys through his teeth, beginning to lose his patience.

“And that is…?”

“You remember Vaughn, don’t you?”

“If I’m asking who that is, then, apparently, I don’t,” answered Jack, making the irritation in his voice sound as blatant as possible. “Why do you carry around that thing people call a head, huh?”

“He used to work for Hyperion with me.” Rhys threw a quick glance at Jack, looking for any sign of recognition on his face, but there was none. “Is short, wears glasses?” Still no signs. “Has a six-pack?” he said in his last desperate attempt to make Jack’s memory serve its purpose.

To his surprise, it actually worked. Jack snapped his fingers and rolled over on the sofa.

“Oh, that ne-erd, yeah, I remember him. Where’s he now?” he asked, not even trying to pretend that he really cared about the answer.

“He’s on Pandora, doing some bandit stuff. Guess he is working for the…” Rhys suddenly stopped, hastily thinking about what he had almost let out.

“For whom?” asked Jack indifferently. The answer still didn’t matter much to him, but he just couldn’t bear the thought of Rhys keeping something hidden from him.

“For the… err… for, well, you know… coughmson coughders,” replied Rhys, sounding like he was choking on something, and started loudly typing on the table, pretending that he was incredibly busy with his emails.

“What? Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Rimzon raide-ez,” indistinctly said Rhys into his fist and cleared his throat.”

“God dammit, Rhys, what the fuck are you saying there?” shouted Jack with annoyance and jerked up from the sofa. “Should I stand right behind you all the time to know what comes out of your mouth? Even your thoughts are more distinct than that.”

Perhaps, scared by the prospect of Jack constantly following him closely, even closer than he already did, Rhys gave in.

“It’s the Crimson Raiders, for god’s sake!” he yelled and landed his fist heavily on the table. He then took a deep breath to calm down and added, “He works for the Crimson Raiders. I just didn’t want to tell you.”

“O-oh. O-o-o-oh, I see how it is. He’s with team idiots now, isn’t he? Well, good to know. Now we’ve proven that all your friends are either stupid or nonexistent. Great.”

Rhys’s left eye was glowing as he was interfacing with the devices in his office. He took a sip of his coffee, scrolled down the list of new casualties reports and tried not to take what he had heard close to his heart.

“Now that I got my daily dose of humiliating you, let’s talk business,” said Jack and laced his fingers together as if he had a very profitable offer for his interlocutor. “I think we can squeeze something out of this Katamaga,” he began, and Rhys immediately exerted himself. He did not like the sound of that. “I think there’s more to him than you see. He doesn’t just want Atlas, you see, he very obviously wants you to work with him. What a fool! That’s a perfect opportunity for us to rob him of everything he has, including his pathetic corporation. I mean, I never liked Maliwan, but if it’s a gift horse… Who am I not to take it on your behalf, right?”

“I appreciate the thought you put into it, but I already have another plan, and it definitely isn’t allying with Katagawa Jr. He’s an obsessed psychopath and I don’t want anything to do with him,” replied Rhys confidently. He shivered even at the possibility of having another Jack-like associate.

“Enlighten me then. What genius idea has your corporate mind produced?”

“First, you have to promise not to yell at me. My head aches and I won’t endure any more than you already being here and talking to me,” said Rhys patiently, already predicting Jack’s reaction to what he intended to share. There was no way to keep it a secret, so he wanted to at least soften the blow.

“Yeah, whatever,” said Jack and yawned.

Rhys braced himself. Discussing this would surely be no easy matter.

“I want to make a deal with Lilith. She helps me defeat maliwans, and I give her something she wants in return.”

There was silence. Then there was a snarl and a nondescript squeal.

“WHAT. THE FUCK. ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?! MM, RHYSIE, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU MEAN?” Jack appeared standing on Rhys’s table right before him. The sight made Rhys spit out a bunch of his coffee. “You’re joking, right?” Jack squatted down to see Rhys’s face when he spoke. “Out of a-a-all people in these 6 goddamn galaxies you choose her? I see you’ve been a very bad boy in daddy’s absence, completely out of your mind!”

Rhys raised his index finger and burbled, “You told me you won’t yell. I specifically asked you not to yell, Jack.”

“What am I supposed to do then, huh?!” Jack disappeared and in the next second was already standing at the window with his arms crossed, thoughtfully observing the Atlas soldiers running around outside. “I thought you can’t disappoint me more than you already have, but it seems like you always manage to conquer new heights.”

“Look, there’s really no point in talking about this. I’m my own boss now and this is my decision. I was the one to rebuild Atlas from ruins, so I’m sure I’ll be able to take care of it. Please, Jack, I’m tired and sick and I don’t want all this.” Rhys sighed wearily and rubbed a coffee stain on the table with the sleeve of his bathrobe.

“Okay. Okay-okay-okay-okay, hear me out. Just this one time, just once, let me tell you something.” Jack turned to Rhys and Rhys gave him a little nod after considering for a few seconds. It’s not like he really had a choice, he just liked to think he had a firm grip on the situation. “Tell me, do you remember Lilith doing something, anything for the sake of somebody else?”

“Um, yeah, she killed you, actually,” replied Rhys confidently.

“No-no-no, honey, she didn’t do it for somebody, she just wanted to have her revenge on me,” said Jack, stressing what he viewed as essential pieces of information to make sure Rhys REALLY got what he wanted to say. Were he not a hologram, he would probably be shaking with rage as he did it. “She wanted to destroy me, because I destroyed her boyfriend who just wouldn’t let me wipe those bandit asses, which, by the way, included his, off my planet. She couldn’t care less about all those people that died, about Crimson Raiders, about her other “friends”. She is a murderer, just like you, me, like any other person on that goddamn planet. The only difference is that she, unlike us, didn’t have ANY good will.”

Jack’s intense stare made Rhys turn away. AI’s words made him consider what he knew of Lilith, but he felt almost wrong when doing so. He shook his head, trying to scare the thoughts away.

“You just hate her, that’s all. She may not be the best option, but when choosing between her and Maliwan, I believe, the choice is obvious.

“Is it? Is it, though?” asked Jack furiously with his eyes almost bulging out. “Let me tell you one thing. Two things, actually. Despite how surprising it might sound to you, I’m actually happy that she killed me. You know why? Of course, you don’t, otherwise we wouldn’t have this conversation now, dummy. So, I’ll be kind enough to explain. Even after her betrayal, I didn’t finish her off, which means I am better than her. “What is the second thing, Jack?” you might ask. Well, here goes: she is a stinking bandit. A bandit, and the only thing you should do with bandits is kill them, but I’m sure this much you should know by now.” After finishing his rant, Jack exhaled loudly and adjusted his unmoving hair with a swift motion of his hand. To top his speech off, he asked, “Still better than Katagawa?”

Rhys, however, still remained unimpressed.

“Jack, he killed his entire family to become the CEO of Maliwan. I imagine you would think it’s a reasonable thing to do when you want to run the corporation so bad, but I’m sure you know I disagree with that.”

“And what do YOU know about his family?” asked Jack, clearly upset by the lack of expected reaction. “Do you even know anything about the way he runs Maliwan? The only thing I know is that now they are more successful than ever (even though I hate to say it). Use your brains, kid, and you’ll go further than you could’ve hoped. One of these two alliances will bestow endless opportunities upon you while the other one will almost certainly get you stabbed in the back.”

“I hear you. I hear you and I disagree. I’m sorry, Jack,” said Rhys and shook his head apologetically. He was already imagining what would such a start of his day lead to.

“Oh my god, how can you not see that you have more in common with him than a skag and a grinder! He sees something in you, and that something makes him crave for your favor with such persistence. Just imagine how much you can squeeze out of him if you give him the tiniest thing in return. It’s simply a gold mine!”

“He wants us to merge, that’s enough of a reason for me to refuse him,” said Rhys with utter disgust.  

“So what? Don’t worry about that, cupcake, you’ve got me, and I’m here to help. Who says we’re gonna merge?” Noticing how Rhys was shaking his head again, Jack leaned closer, trying to make the atmosphere more… companionable, and continued in a calmer voice.  “Believe me, I know that Atlas is your child and you would never sacrifice it. We’re gonna… adjust the conditions a little, little tiny bit. No merge, only the alliance. How does that sound?”

Rhys thought that Jack was once again confirming what a masterful negotiator he was. No matter what objections Rhys had, he always did his homework and learned his weaknesses. The long-forgotten feeling of a threat sitting right at his side returned to Rhys as he caught himself thinking over the possibility of allying with Maliwan. Don’t budge, Rhys, don’t let him see that you have second thoughts, he’ll eat you alive.

“Completely unachievable,” he was only able to utter.

“Come on, stop screwing around, will you? You’re wasting time with your fidelity to stupid principles. Have I ever given you any bad advice?”

Rhys chose not to say anything. It was as good an answer as any other. The leftover coffee in his mug already went cold and he frowned in disgust when sipping on it.

“Okay then, I’m beginning to grow real tired of this, so you better listen here, you little dipshit, and listen carefully…” Jack’s tone was once again peremptory and his eyes were drilling into Rhys’s soul. “I’m tryna help here, so stop pretending you’re a princess who lives in a tower filled with her little cute ponies and chooses to believe there’s no filth around her. Just do what I say and you’ll be on your road trip to success. And you’ll thank me later, believe me. If you choose not to do this, however, I’ll follow you around all the time, saying what a sore loser you are. All day, all night, Rhysie. You know me, I’m restless, and I can come up with millions of ways to make you hate your life. You won’t sleep, you won’t talk to anybody, you won’t eat your fucking lunch without me standing one centimeter away from your ear, whispering how much you suck. Now let that sink in. Once it has, give me your final answer.”

Jack’s eyes were glowing. His whole body was glowing because he was a hologram, that’s just what holograms do. Yet even though it was his permanent state, an unchangeable condition, his eyes looked different.

He really is serious, thought Rhys to himself. Well then, guess I’m going to die of starvation, sleep deprivation, and lack of human contact.

“Fuck you, Jack. Fuck. You.”

“Is that a yes?”

#borderlands #borderlands 3 #tales from the borderlands #handsome jack #handsome jack's ai #rhys #rhys strongfork #handsome jack x rhys #fiction #fanfiction #fix-it #alternate canon #drama #humor #romance #l'appel du vide story

[epicbasher65685]

(Soo yeah a few people wanted to read this so here it is. sorry I can’t write for anything but I tried my hardest to get my head cannon across)

TW: descriptions of blood and gore, abuse

“What a fantastic song! No one could ever go wrong with the brilliant song “Let’s Misbehave” by none other than the darb Cole Porter!” Alastor exclaimed excitedly with his powerful transatlantic accent into the microphone. “Truly a marvelous performance. Anywho! The bayou killer strikes again! That’s right folks you heard it here first! The bayou killer claims their 11th victim! Oh the tragedy! There seems to be a pattern in this killer’s cycle. The moon cycle! Who would’ve guessed? And who will be the twelfth on the full moon? What kind of monster from hell could possibly cause this much pain and torture to both the victims and their families?” He questioned the listeners. His smile grew bigger at his sarcastic yet genuine sounding empathy. Deep within him he knew there was none. If he tried to look any deeper in himself the only thing we would find would be the rumbling of his stomach and it’s almost snickering like sounds, laughing mischievously and knowingly at his sarcastic line of questioning. Alastor reached over and closed the report he was reading from with a resounding thud, a look of accomplishment graced his face. The listeners were shocked with the news, seeing that the killer is still at large and could pounce on them or their loved ones at any moment. “Lock your doors and stay safe ladies and gentlemen! This concludes tonight’s broadcast. Oh oh! Almost forgot the regularly scheduled joke! Just to lighten the mood a bit. What happened when the cannibal was late for dinner? He got the cold shoulder! Ahahahahaha! See you tomorrow folks, stay safe!” He said brightly as he ended his radio broadcast, turning off his equipment and microphone.

The streets were full of Ebullience and joyful spirit. The year was 1933. New Orleans, Louisiana was really quite a marvelous and interesting place to live. Alastor McCarthy walked down the sidewalk in his clean white shirt and suspenders, shoes polished so thoroughly you can see the bright sun and the blue sky reflecting off of it! All the Cadillacs and Buicks cruised down the smoothly paved road. Almost everyone in this town knew Alastor. And Alastor knew almost everyone just as well. The lovely people waved as they saw him walk by, and he of course would wave back with a friendly smile on his face. He was always smiling! One happy fellow indeed, everyone would imagine. He walked down the sidewalk with a pep in his step softly humming to the bustling jazz that played from the gramophones in the nearby shops. He was making his way home now, it was almost supper and he needed to help his mother prepare it! Oh yes, Alastor loved his mother dearly, she was a true light in his life. People like to tease him sometimes and call him somewhat of a mama's boy. He would be lying if he protested this though. He truly loved his mother. His father, however, he did not. Just the thought of him made Alastors smile falter, just a smidge. He was a real goof, and a drunk. Alastor despised him, but only put up with him because his mother still loved him. Alastor could never see what an amazing woman like herself could ever find in a hunk of junk like him.

The noise of the streets died down as he started to approach his neighborhood. The walk from the radio station to his house was only a 30 minute or so walk. He figured it was good exercise and also an efficient way to build up his appetite. When Alastor wasn’t doing his radio broadcasts, he would find himself hunting deer in the nearby bayou. His father showed him how to hunt when he was a young boy. He had mastered the art of hunting and butchering the creatures he captured. Whether it be deer, rabbit, boar… human. His mother taught him the culinary arts, which he soon too mastered. He would help his mother prepare jambalaya, his favorite dish, when he was younger. He reminisced about those good ol’ days. Well, most of it at least. He had finally arrived home.

“Hello mother! Father.” He called out into the calm house. He took his shoes off and saw his mother appear from the kitchen.

“Oh! Alastor, how I’ve missed you dear.” She said lovingly as she ran toward Alastor to hug him. “How was your day? Anything exciting happening down in that ol’ radio station? I completely forgot to tune in today. Silly me. Apologies!”

“No need mother, it was just business as usual, quite copacetic! We had our top music hits and, well, a quite shocking report on the bayou killer.” Alastor explained

“Oh? Was he murdered? Oh oh! Caught by the fuzz? Hot dawg!” She exclaimed in excitement.

“...No mother, he was not. Always jumping to conclusions! Ahahaha. My, that’s just like you!” He said. Her words pained him only in the slightest. She obviously disliked this killer. Yet she unknowingly loved this said killer more than anyone else. He felt a sick giddy because of this. Why, he found it quite humorous! How twisted. “He’s claimed his 11th victim, unfortunately.” He said with a softer voice.

“Oh dear… how horrible. I can’t believe he’s getting away with this! Someone has to stop him eventually.” She said with sadness in her eyes. Alastor didn’t like to see her like this, not ever!

“Yes I know, quite the tragedy I’m sure. I heard he was a rude man however, a real dewdropper as some may say! The man had nothing going for him anyways.” He explained, or rather explained himself, for that matter.

“Darlene, when the hell is that dinner going to be finished?” Gus, Alastors father, yelled from the living room couch. He had just finished his twelfth beer of the day. Alastor could hear the subtle clinks of the glass bottle against the cup holder. Indicating that yes, he had indeed gotten drunk again.

“It’ll be ready in about half an hour dear!” She yelled back, Completely forgetting about the news of the bayou killer. An audible groan sounded from the living room in response.

“Alastor, would you be a dear and help me peel the potatoes for dinner?” She questioned

“Of course mother! Let’s get started then shall we?” Alastor asked joyfully.

Once dinner was prepared and the table was set, Alastor’s mother called for Gus to come and eat. Another audible groan sounded from the living room as Gus managed to stand up, very blotto from all his drinks. Without anyone seeing, Alastor was quick to drop a pill into Gus’s drink at the table. He then turned away and started to whistle an innocent jazz tune.

“Oh, Alastor, I almost forgot about the pie in the oven. Would you mind taking it out for me and cutting it’s pieces?” She asked him kindly. Alastor responded with a quick ‘yep!’ and put on the oven mitts. He took the pie out and put it on the stove. He took his mitts off and placed them back on the counter, only to replace them with a knife. Without hesitation he stuck the knife into the steaming pie. It smelt like delicious baked cherries. The pie oozed red juice and covered the knife. He continued to cut even slices into the beautiful pie. He stared longingly at his work, admiring the precise cuts and the knife dripping red juice. He licked the knife clean and saw his father's reflection walking into the room when he looked at the knife. He stared for a moment, then put the knife into the sink. Gus finally arrived at the table as everyone sat down.

“So what do we have here?” Gus questioned as he occasionally hiccuped. He had messy black hair and his eyes were half lidded. He wore a black vest with his tie sloppily tied.

“Well I made venison, mashed potatoes, and beans for tonight. That damn venison was quite tricky to cook, but hopefully I got it just right.” She explained

“I’m sure it turned out great, mother.” He smiled at her. Alastor eyed his father as he sat down. Gus started digging in with the slightest amount of politeness. Hungrily shoving the food into his mouth. Alastor sighed and picked up his utensils to start eating.

“What is it boy? You’ve got something to say?” He snapped at Alastor. Glaring at him with whatever amount of sobriety he had left.

“No, sir.” Alastor responded while staring at his plate. He hated this. He hated his father and he hated how he treated both him and his mother. Not to mention how rude he was. All of the bayou killers victims reminded him of his father. What a coincidence huh? No, he chose them very carefully, and he planned out every bit of it. Every time he killed them he imagined as though the person was truly his father. It gave him satisfaction and it quenched his thirst, for the time being. But this thirst would always reappear. He could never get rid of it through these involuntary murders of his, and he knew this. He knew it would only be a matter of time before… he would claim his final victim. That’s all Alastor thought about when he looked his father in the eyes. The twelfth. The twelfth. The twelfth. The second full moon. It will complete his design.

“Whatever,” He sneered at Alastor. Gus downed his drink in a few gulps. Alastor watched with a smile. Then Gus began to cut into the venison, and suddenly there was an irritated look on his face. “This venison is overcooked.” He started while he looked up at Darlene.

“Oh, yes I was afraid that might happen…” Darlene quietly said with a look of disappointment appearing on her face.

“Isn’t that just perfect? Maybe you should learn how to cook properly instead of having a gay ol’ time dancing swing like a flapper at the club down the road. Dumb-Dora can’t do anything right can you? Darlene was taken back by his sudden outburst. She apologized and told him it wouldn’t happen again with a tinge of fear spreading on her face and tears threatening to breach her eyes.

“Well, actually, I do have something to say,” Alastor said as he interrupted his mother’s apologies. “Maybe if you stopped getting bent everyday like a normal person, maybe people might actually like you! You’re such a flat tire and a real boozehound. You think it’s ok to treat us like this? For crying out loud you’ve been doing this for years! You just futz around and do whatever you want, when you want, and how you want!” Alastor exclaimed loudly at his father while eyeing him with a scornful look. He wasn’t going to let him talk to his mother that way, no sir! Enough was enough. Darlene looked at Alastor in shock. She really can’t believe he said that to him. A wave of panic hits her knowing what’s going to come next.

“Why, you little! How dare you talk to me like that? I come home after a long day and this is what I get? A cheap meal and a disrespectful family?” Gus’s voice grew louder and louder with every word he spoke. He pointed to Alastor. “You… I’ll wipe that stupid smile off your face permanently!” Gus stood up and walked over to Alastors side of the table. Alastor and Darlene stood up quickly, knowing this situation is about to become physical.

“Don’t you dare touch him!” Darlene shouted as she grabbed hold of Alastors arm. Alastor backed up while the adrenaline started coursing through his veins. Gus took hold of Darlene and threw her against the counter. She fell on the way down with a yelp hitting her head on the edge of the counter. Darlene’s vision started to blur and soon after she drifted into unconsciousness as she heard the faint yelling of Alastor.

“You absolute madman! Now look what you’ve done. You’re some real tough guy hm? Well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy my next show, you’re the super important participant, after all!” Alastor said with a growing smile. His creole accent slipping out for only a moment as he yelled. “Aren’t you excited?”

“What are you… talking about..?” Gus talked as his words became sloppy and quiet. The once calming and peaceful kitchen warping and turning in place as his vision grew cloudy and dark. His eyes lidded fully, the last thing he saw before he fell to the ground was Alastors prideful smile. Alastor thought Gus would pull something like this. All this commotion, that is. Yet it was in the back of his mind as was planning out his demise. He stared at Gus for a good while, lying there helplessly. Although this isn’t exactly how he planned it out, he was still ultimately satisfied with the outcome. That is, until he remembered his mother lying on the ground. Her nicely combed and silky brunette hair in a bun was now frizzing out everywhere, the bun loosened from the altercation. Her lids shielding her innocent blue eyes to what has become of her husband, and the truth of her faithful son. Alastor slowly picked her up and placed her on the couch. He took an ice pack from the kitchen and placed it on the noticeable bump on her forehead.

“Do wake up soon, won’t you?” He whispered to her. He kissed her forehead and made his way into the kitchen. He managed to pick his father up with a few strained breathes, grabbed the knife out of the sink, and walked out the backdoor.

It was about 8pm now, and the sun had already cast its final flare. Only to replace it, was a thoughtless moon. Alastor navigated his way throughout his backyard and soon into the bayou unseen. Gus remained unconscious and hung over Alastors shoulder. Once Alastor traversed deep enough into the bayou. He tied Gus up to an old bald cypress tree. It’s leaves spaced out enough to let the moonlight fall and flicker between them. A few moments later, Gus finally awoke to a conscious state. Confused and dazed to where he was, and how he got there.

“Hello lucky contestant! Welcome to my show!” Alastor exclaimed in a cheerful announcer voice.

“Al? Where.. where the hell am I?” He said in a choked voice. He tried to move his arms, but they were restrained by a tightly tied rope. “What the hell are you doing?” He said as his voice wavering. Alastor took out his knife and walked slowly up to Gus. Gus watched every little movement Alastor made, his adrenaline rising with each step.

“Oh you poor thing. Haven’t you realized what’s happening by now?” Alastor teased as he lunged playfully forward, causing Gus to gasp and defensively lean back in the tree. ‘How pathetic’ Alastor thought to himself. “What? Don’t tell me your giving me the cold shoulder! Ahahahahahaha!” Alastor laughed at his silly little inside joke. He lowered himself to Gus’s level on the ground and pointed the knife at his chest. “Boy that thing must be pounding! I think I’ll eat your heart first!” Alastor exclaimed once again. Gus’s face was pale with fear as the knife slowly etched its way inside of his chest, blood soaking his already stained shirt. He screamed in excruciating pain as Alastor carved all the way down to his waistline. Exposing his organs and blood to the everlasting moonlight. Gus writhed in pain as he looked Alastor in the eyes.

“Y-you…killed them?” Gus managed to choke out. Disbelief filled his eyes.

“Hmm? Oh! That’s correct!” Alastor said while he backed up, admiring his work. Alastor looked down at his hands and his cuffed sleeves. The blood dripping off of his hands was much more black then the usual dark red.

“My! The mother was right! Blood really does look black in the moonlight,” He said. His smile unwavering and as prominent as always. That was the last thing Gus saw as his vision started to melt away for the last time. Alastor kneeled beside Gus and pulled out his heart behind his rib cage. He took a big bite from it without hesitation, just like how one would eat an apple. He noted that it tasted almost the same as a deers.

Soon after, a sudden rush of panic struck Alastor as he heard a males voice calling close by. He quickly turned toward the sound and saw multiple men in the distance holding flashlights pointing in Alastors direction. He hopped to his feet in a frenzy and ran deeper into the bayou. It was dark and he could barely see where he was running, but all he knew was that he needed to get away. It was only a matter of time the cops had found him. The pattern was quite obvious, Alastor knew. Yet, he thought it was orderly and scheduled, and that was something he’s always taken to heart. As he was running, he recalled his fondest memories and previous murders as the cops chased him on his tail. He knew this was it for him, unless he could throw them off somehow. Quickly, he noticed out of the corner of his eye a figure. It was a lone deer. It looked him in the eye without movement. The deer eyed him knowingly. The full moon shining between its broad antlers.

Suddenly, the night and day remembered how they came to be. Alastor glared back at this deer, his smile wavering as he was shot dead in the forehead with a rifle. He fell to the ground as his smile fell completely. A hunter had missed the deer, accidentally shooting Alastor killing him instantly. Surely it was too dark for the hunter to have seen him. There was no hope for him. Then, the deer quickly ran off into the deep bayou startled from the shadow of nobody there.

#um chile anyways so #alastor #hazbin hotel #heres my poorly written head cannon #fanfic #human alastor

[love-carries-on]

Love Carries On: Chapter VIII

A/N: Sorry ya’ll but chapters might become a little spare, my mental health is taking a dive right now, (I’m posting this at about eight a.m. and I haven’t slept yet) I will try to keep writing though!

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

Logan, Decan, and Patton went back into the dining room, while Virgil slipped back into their room so that he could grab the present for Logan. He knew that the other three had already wrapped and put their gifts in the dining room, but Virgil’s had arrived later than expected and he hadn’t got to put it in a bag at the time. He packaged it quickly, half jogging to catch up with them in the dining room. They were all sitting at the table, except for Roman. Virgil sat down his gift. 

Do you know where Roman went? He signed to Decan, his eyebrows going down to express his question. 

When we came out, he went into the kitchen. He gestured with his head, but when Virgil went to walk in that direction he caught his arm quickly. When Virgil turned back towards him he signed, Try to be gentle with him, you know how sensitive he is. 

I will, I promise. He patted him on the arm, before turning away and heading into the kitchen. 

Roman was sitting on the counter, twisting his fingers with a nervous movement. His hair was ruffled out of his usual perfect swoop, his eyes downcast. After all three of his boyfriends had left, only after looking at me like I killed their brother of course, he couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something wrong, with the reappearance of Patton and the quick look from Decan, he had left the room, trying not to cry. 

He heard Virgil come in, his head shooting up. Are they mad at me? 

A little bit. You made Patton cry. 

I didn’t mean to. If he had just liked dinner it would’ve been fine. 

It was a textural thing. He didn’t like the beans. 

There was a pause in the conversation, Roman stared at Virgil in open mouth shock, he hadn’t thought that maybe Patton didn’t like the texture, he assumed that he hated his cooking, and to some extent, hated him. “Oh.” He said out loud. 

He hoped down off the counter,  readjusting the collar of his shirt with a careful hand. What should I do? They’re mad at me, and I hurt Patton. He probably hates me. He signed to Virgil, the expression of sadness and fear very real. I’m so stupid. He thinks to himself as fidgets with his clothing and his hair. 

Maybe try apologizing? And making sure he’s okay? That might be a good start. Virgil tried to express calmness with his facial expressions, so that Roman wouldn’t think that he was mad at him. 

Okay. He nodded his head, before reaching out to grab Virgil’s wrist and pull him back into the dining room where everyone else was. 

“I’m sorry you guys, especially Patton.” he sighed as he exclaimed the words, sitting down in a chair very quickly and letting go of Virgil as he did so. “I just thought that Patton hated my cooking and he was making a big scene because I did something wrong. And you know how I am about my cooking and since Patton didn’t tell me that, I didn’t think about that. And I’m sorry.” He said it all very quickly, pushing his hair back in frustration, though who he was frustrated with was unclear, even to himself. 

“It’s okay Roman.” Patton responded immediately, reaching out to pat his hand. He missed his birthday sweater, the soft material and oversized sleeves were good in a situation like this. 

“Your apology is accepted.” Logan, couldn’t see the frustration on Roman’s face but he frowned at the response from Roman. 

“Yes, thank you for apologizing, love.” Decan reached out to touch Patton’s leg in sympathy. 

Patton looked around to confirm that everyone had forgiven Roman. “Okay, let’s get back into it then.” he turned to face Virgil. “Would you like to cut the cake? Then we can get started on the presents at the same time.” 

Virgil nodded, and picked up the knife off of the table next to the pan. He cut the cake into fair sized squares, placing them on plates and setting them near everyone’s place. As he did so. Roman, Patton and Decan retrieved their gifts from beside the doorway. 

It didn’t take them long to each finish a slice of cake, and as soon as they did, Logan opened his presents. He picked up Roman’s first. 

“Who is this from?”

“Me.” Roman was practically bouncing in excitement. 

Logan untied the ribbon from around the box, struggling with the paper and the lid, but pulling it open nonetheless. He picked up the thing inside. It felt like a sweater, he ran his hands over it, feeling a soft and plushy material. 

“I crocheted it for you, it isn’t much but - -”

“Describe it to me.”  

He paused, trying to think of what to say, it was a perplexing request to him. “Okay, it’s, it’s dark blue, like the color of your eyes mixed with black.” Logan hadn’t heard a description like that before, or even really thought about the color of his eyes. He hadn’t seen them in years. “The yarn is pretty thick, there’s a stripe of silver around the neckline and along the hemline. I gave it a v-neck so that you could wear it over your button-ups and tie.”

Logan smiled at him, it was simple, so simple really, just a sweater in a style he liked, but the fact that Roman had made it, had spent more than likely months working on it, it almost brought a tear to his eye. “Thank you, thank you Roman. This is very thoughtful, I cannot imagine how much time it must’ve taken.” 

“You’re welcome.” He quipped out, smiling brightly, it felt nice to be appreciated. 

Next he picked up Patton’s present, it was a bag and after reaching in to take out some paper, he felt a lot of silky and smooth fabric. He was confused. 

“What’s this?” He pulled it out of the bag, before reaching his hand in to grab a few more. After pulling out two of them, he understood. “Ties? Who got these.” There was a smile on his face. 

“I did.” Patton was hesitant. “Most of them are solid colors, kind of like the ones you already have but in different colors, but a few of them have fun prints on them.” He swallowed, pushing up his glasses. “One of them has a dog on it, and paw prints.” 

“That’s very cute.” He reached out to offer Patton an affectionate shoulder pat. 

Next he grabbed Decan’s gift, it was rather heavy, and he struggled for a moment to hold it without dropping it. 

“Careful, it’s fragile,” he heard murmured to him, and he quickly put away the ties on his lap and set the bag next to him so that he could lift the box with both hands. 

He opened it up, and wrangled out what felt like a framed photo, it was rather large, and the frame felt wooden. 

Without being asked, Decan launched into an explanation. “The frame I painted white, obviously there’s glass over the picture. It’s the picture we took the day we all moved in, where we’re standing outside the ranch. The sun was very nice, it was right before Roman’s brother left for Spain, he took our picture for us.” 

Logan remembered that day, it was maybe the best day of his life, getting to meet each of his wonderful boyfriends in real life. It was the first time he had been able to really touch each of them, running his hands over their faces to get acquainted with how they look. To know who these men he was devoting his life to really was. The smile showed on his face, he ran his hands over the glass slowly, like he could feel that day in his hands. 

“Thank you, Decan. This is a very thoughtful - -” he felt choked up with tears. “I don’t know,” He swallowed. “Thank you, I love it very much.” he put it back in the box carefully, picking up the final gift from the floor. 

“I presume this is from Virgil.” He opened the bag, and pulled out what was inside. It felt like a CD. “What’s this?” 

“He says it’s an ebook. The Murder of Roger Ackroyd by Agatha Christie. He says that he’s sorry it isn’t quite as nice as the other gifts, but he remembered you expressing interest in this book when you went shopping last time.” 

“There’s no need to be sorry, this is a great gift, I’m going to enjoy it immensely, I’ve heard good things about this book.” He spoke slowly so that Virgil could read his lips 

“He says he’s glad that you like it.” 

“Thank you, to all of you, this has been an amazing birthday,” then, he did something a little uncharacteristic, stumbling slightly, Logan went around the table and kissed each of his boyfriends on the cheek. “Thank you so much for making this birthday so amazing.” He sat back down in his chair, thankful to be able to move around the table without any issue.

 “We love you Logan.” they all chimed out, smiling at him, even if they couldn’t see it.

“Perhaps, if you would all like,” he paused, allowing them to chime in and tell him no. “We could watch a movie or something. You can pick of course.” 

Patton was the first to agree, despite the fact that he just wanted to go to bed. The others agreed, and after a few minutes of back and forth, they finally agreed on a documentary about Disney. As soon as the movie started, he realized it was too loud, burrowing his head under the blanket and pressing himself as close to Roman as he could, Patton tried to block out the sound, falling asleep minutes into the beginning of the movie.

Tag list (?)

@mayflowers07

@librowyrm

#love Carries On #tsLogan #TsPatton #TsRoman #TsVirgil #TsDeceit #TsSanders Sides #dlamp #poly #multi-chapter #disabilityau #autism #ADHD #DID #HOH #blind #deaf #fluff #angst

[elopez7228]

Scenic Route 21/47

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/18268208/chapters/43229774 

Start over : https://elopez7228.tumblr.com/post/620919089893933056/scenic-route-0147

***

Hmmm, there he went flirting again. She would have liked an exchange without romantic undertones.

Rey to Ben :

You can’t just say things like that.

She thought her own answer was a little caustic. Oh well, at least she could see his reaction.

Ben to Rey :

Are you mad at me? Can I make it up to you somehow?

*

Rey to Ben :

I’m mad at myself.  My life is a disaster right now, I don’t have time for a fling. Sorry if my actions made you think otherwise.

Truthfully, her actions were much more receptive than she would care to admit. But if he was wise he wouldn’t dwell on the semantic abuse.

Ben's answer didn’t take long:

Ben to Rey :

I'm going to silence my phone for the concert.  I understand where you’re coming from, you know, even if it doesn’t always look that way. You can trust me.  

Rey rolled her eyes. Subtlety was obviously not his forte...

Rey to Ben :

I don’t trust strangers. We'll have to get to know each other before anything else happens. Happy concert!

*

Ben to Rey :

Okay. Good night to you too. TTYS  

Kylo Ren

He signed it Kylo again. Rey made a face;  she didn’t like his stage name. Or the appearances he put up when he was in character. If she was to consider giving Ben Solo a chance, she would rather not deal with Kylo Ren.

She had her coffee (blegh), her chips, and her Snickers, before wiping her fingers on her jeans. What a peculiar honeymoon: alone with a dog, in the back of a car older than herself, eating snacks for dinner like a broke college student.

Desperate to find an electrical outlet to charge her laptop, she resolved to unplug the vending machine for about fifteen minutes. It was probably the most illegal thing she ever did in her life, and even then—she thought with some irony—she was far from being a hooligan.

She slept for a long time the next day.  The previous nights had been long and exhausting. It was BB8’s impatient barking that finally woke her up. The poor dog needed to get out, she was pacing restlessly in the back seat. Rey pushed herself upright and scratched her head. The car stank of dog and sweat.  She herself had slept in her clothes from last night and was now sticky with perspiration and grime.

"My kingdom for a bubble bath," Rey grumbled, realizing with disgust that she had not brushed her teeth the night before either.

She was utterly unrecognizable. If she had been told a month ago that she would be traveling alone, sleeping in her clothes, and forgetting all notions of basic hygiene, she would have been shocked by such absurdity. How very wrong she would be!

She opened the door and let BB8 roam, then dragged herself out of the car with some difficulty.  She had slept badly and her neck hurt.

BB8 made a few laps by herself, wagging her tail excitedly before finally relieving herself between two other cars. Meanwhile, Rey refilled her dog bowls with water and food.

She was putting the bag of dog food back in the trunk when Maz reappeared.

“Hello,” the little woman greeted her. “Did you sleep well?”

"No," Rey admitted. “I'm cold, dirty, hungry, and hurting everywhere. I would give anything for a hot bath...what about you? "

"I have strong bones, and I workout. I’ve had more difficult nights.”

Rey pulled her toothbrush out of her bag, followed a bottle of water. Indifferent to Maz's presence, she began brushing her teeth with an expression of undisguised joy.  

“Ere did you ‘leep?” She mumbled, her mouth filled with foam.

“Under the stars. I found myself a cozy nook between two motorhomes. And apart from a family of opposums, I was undisturbed by wild animals during the night.”

Rey rinsed her mouth. “You should have accepted my offer, it was still less risky... "

Maz shrugged. “I like to sleep with the sky above my head, don’t worry. Don’t you think it’s time for breakfast?”

“Not a moment too soon!” agreed Rey, whose belly was rumbling loudly. “But where are we going to find food in this area? At a hotel restaurant?”

“Let me, I know a place. How about a breakfast and a hot bath? How does that sound?” Maz offered, adjusting her enormous glasses.

Rey gaped at her incredulously. “A hot bath? You're kidding...”

“You’ll see. So, shall we?”

Rey took the wheel, following Maz's directions as she guided the Falcon across Yellowstone from south to north until they reached Mammoth Hot Springs, one of the most popular points of interest in the entire park. Maz pointed to a parking place  in front of the village hotel. After haphazardly smoothing their dirty and disheveled clothes, they entered the restaurant together.

The menu had Rey drooling. She ordered a mountain of pancakes with maple syrup, a large coffee with cream, and fresh fruit on the side. Maz, despite her meager frame, ate no less than her companion but in fact more. Scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, sausages, a black tea, and yogurt with fresh fruit. The two women sighed contently after wolfing down their meal, and Rey even let herself lick the plate clean, ignoring the disapproving glances from other customers.

But alas, she was filthy, she smelled, her hair stood in odd clumps on her head, and she obviously didn’t mind her table manners. It was too much for the restaurant staff, who politely but firmly asked them to leave the premises. Maz  demanded a doggy bag before paying, then left the room with her head held higher than the Queen of England.

Once outside, Rey let out an irrepressible giggle and allowed herself cherish the pure joy of having a full stomach, a life in front of her, and a friend to share this moment with.

The surplus of sausages was presented to BB8, who also deserved her share of the feast. When they finally caught their breath (after laughing for a good ten minutes at the offended pearl-clutching of several hotel guests), Rey stretched out on the lawn in the center of the village square.

She turned to Maz, who sat cross-legged next to her. “Thank you,” she said.  “I haven’t eaten or laughed like that for a long time.”

"I’m glad," replied the tiny woman. “Two days of traveling in such good company—a good meal was well-deserved, and the least I could do.”

Rey closed her eyes, savoring the feel of the sun on her face.

“Do you still want that bath?” Maz asked, reaching out to her gently.

“More than ever,” Rey replied as she sat up suddenly. “But how are we going to manage it? Unless you’re telling me you snatched someone’s room keys while we were in there?”

“You don’t know me at all, do you? I live for the great out doors, child! I always find a way. To the Falcon!”

It took roughly ten minutes to reach the state border, located at the extreme northern point of the park. Rey stopped the car to spontaneously take a selfie in front of the "Montana" sign. Maz posed with her eventually, after no small amount of pleading.

The border of the national park was only a few kilometers north of them. Maz directed Rey to turn right and park on a rugged patch of raised earth overlooking the Gardner River.

“Take some clean clothes and a towel and come with me,” Maz gestured, getting out of the car with her bag in tow.

“What?” Rey gaped incredulously, “Here? I asked for a bath, not a plunge in some wild river that probably plummets right down into the glaciers...”

Maz was practically glaring at her now. Rey raised an eyebrow. What was the old woman plotting?

They walked for several hundred meters on a trail that stretched alongside the river itself before reaching a rest area equipped with benches and informational signs. The latter described the hot water source that bubbled just beneath the riverbed.

“Welcome to Boiling River,” Maz grinned broadly, “one of Yellowstone’s best-kept secrets to date.”

But Rey wasn’t listening anymore. She was instead busy struggling, on one foot, with her jeans that did not want to come off. Soon the denim was lying on the ground, followed by her sweater, and her t-shirt. Hesitating, Rey found herself in her underwear, rummaging in her bag for the bikini she knew she had stashed somewhere.

She put it on without worrying about being seen naked, and rushed into the water in pursuit of BB8, who had just jumped into the river with an enthusiastic splash.

"Bloody hell!” She shouted at the height of ecstasy, letting herself slide into the steaming whirlpools of the river with delight.

Depending on one’s proximity to the spring, which boiled underground and mingled its scalding waters with the cooler Gardner River, one could enjoy a bath at 45 degrees (Celsius, of course) or colder.

“No soap allowed!” Maz yelled, taking off her boots. Any soap or shampoo would pollute the water. They had to respect park rules, after all.

Rey didn’t care.  To hell with shampoo!  The very caress of the hot water on her skin was divine. She could feel the dirt being swept away by the current, the sweat disappearing into the whirlpools, and her fatigue dissolving into the waves.

The two women took advantage of the spring for over an hour. Thoroughly reinvigorated, they went out to dry in the sun.

Rey put on clean clothes and carefully brushed her hair.  They would need a real shampooing eventually, but it was less urgent now. She could easily wait until she reached another campsite.

Consulting her phone, she found that it was almost noon. Her expression darkened, it was time to call Poe.

She apologized to Maz, who was busy putting on her clothes, and walked away to have a little privacy.

No signal.

Damn. She would have to either return to Mammoth Hot Springs, or failing that, would have to bargain for the hotel's wifi password.

Gathering their shoes, the two women returned to the car. There was a massive grey SUV parked on the side of the road, just a little further away.

Rey had the feeling that she had seen it before somewhere...but it was a popular model, she might have just become accustomed to seeing dozens like it at a time. But was the owner?  She had had the impression that she and Maz were quite alone in this part of the park.

She shrugged, eventually driving south to return to the nearest town.

Rey left the car door open to let in some fresh air, and gave BB8 to Maz as soon as she recovered enough bars to call England.

“Hello Rey,” Poe’s voice greeted her, “doing well, I hope?”

"I'm fine, yes," Rey confirmed, and strangely enough, it was true. She felt good. Poe's voice had not upset her, and no malice was trying to seep through her own words. She felt calm and rage-free.

“What about you and Finn?”

“I can’t complain. Not the best of times, but it’ll pass. No improvement in Finn, he’s still in a coma. "

"Can he hear when we talk to him?

"I dunno," Poe mused. “The doctors say so...”

“And what are you telling him?” Rey's voice was barely above a whisper.

“I tell him about my day, and I tell him about you doing your trip and going on the adventure of a lifetime.”

In the silence, she smiled. Her eyes were red and burning with tears again.

“Tell him that I forgive him, please. Tell him tp stop being a vegetable and that this should have happened differently, but that I understand. I understand. Okay?"

"Okay, I'll tell him. Thanks, Rey.”

“Poe?  Don’t hang up. Tell him he should have a vested interest in surviving, otherwise I’ll curse his grave every day by growing endives next to it and singing all the songs that annoy him.”

She heard Poe laugh. “He does hate endives with a passion.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“Okay.  I'm going to tell him that we'll grow a garden of endive and spinach on his grave if he forces us to.  If he’s not awake tomorrow, it will be nothing but his own fault.”

“Exactly!”

Finishing up the call, Rey wiped a tear for her cheek. She smiled in spite of her grief.

At the wheel of her SUV, Syed breathed an exasperated sigh. She had slept in this fucking car instead of a nice bed, she had watched Rey and her new best friend Granny Whatshername eat like pigs and get kicked out of a restaurant, she had waited patiently for these two numbskulls to stop splashing in the water like children, and now she was witnessing a telephone conversation she couldn’t hear, but which was apparently so touchy-feely that Rey was literally blowing her nose at the end. She fired off a text:

Syed to Ben :

RAS with R. No suspicious activity.  Tourism + bathing. Waste of time!  Authorization to return?

The answer didn’t take long:

Ben to Syed :

Look harder. She’s hiding something. U can do better than that.

“Bastard!” Snarled Syed, punching the steering wheel and sounding the horn. “You're doing this to punish me! Son of a bitch!”

She was dead sure, after two days of nonstop surveillance, that this Brit was here by accident and that FORCE was watching her for no reason whatsoever.

She was, unfortunately, equally certain that Kylo Ren had reached the same conclusion but that he claimed otherwise because he refused to quit.

Let this bitch go. He had decided to seduce her, him and his bloated ego. As long as no one stood up to him he wouldn’t budge, and it was Syed who paid the price.

It was time to mobilize Hux and Snoke to put an end to this ridiculous charade.

#reylo #fanfiction #scenic route #Modern AU

[marcloveskylie]

Kylie Minogue Sunday Times interview in full. (Thanks to Darren Nixon)

Kylie Minogue interview: the pop star talks love, regret and new beginnings ahead of playing the Glastonbury ‘legends’ slot

Kylie Minogue is glowing. Of course she is. As the blue-eyed, blonde princess of pop music and golden girl of pop culture, idolised by millions since the 1980s, Minogue, I imagine, floats around in a perpetual state of looking luminous. She has also been dancing in front of our photographer for an afternoon and, as she puts it, “should be glowing after all that make-up!” It’s not just the make-up. On the brink of releasing a new album, the gig of her career, her 51st birthday and with the thrill of a new man, she is happy. “I could say nothing and you could read everything,” she laughs, pointing to her smiling face. “I’ve met someone who I feel good with. It feels right.”

Post-shoot, Minogue sits upright and cross-legged on a sofa in our east London studio, her 5ft frame wrapped in a barely-there slip dress. Much has been written about her dabbles with Botox, something she admitted in 2009, but today she looks beautiful and natural — faint lines on her face, yet still miles younger than 50. She speaks so softly that I strain to hear her and she answers many questions with a giggle. On the surface, dainty and delicate. Underneath, nerves of steel. “None of this was handed to me,” she says, “but this was my destiny. I was meant to do it.”

The first music I remember was a 1989 VHS tape of Kylie’s videos. Aged five, I watched nothing else for months. Fever (2001) and Aphrodite (2010) — the CDs scratched from overuse — made up much of the soundtrack to my clubbing twenties. Interviewing her is an excruciating test, as I attempt to maintain professionalism while trying not to touch her face. (Full disclosure: when we hug at the end, I scream a bit. She doesn’t mind.) But aren’t we all Team Kylie? In 2005, when, at the age of 36, she revealed her breast cancer diagnosis, support from fans and the press came in floods. When her highly public relationships end, it is always her the world sides with. She is, perhaps, the only non-Brit considered a “national treasure” by the tabloids — The Sun ran a campaign in the early Noughties to have her bottom listed as a World Heritage Site on the grounds it was an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. Brand Kylie has mastered the near impossible: triumphing for three decades, with gold- and platinum-certified records, scandal-free and to global adoration. She’s still considered both a reigning disco diva and a bubbly, Aussie girl next door. Underestimate her at your peril, though. Being Kylie, she says, “takes a lot of work, graft and insecurity — not always what the wrapped-up end product looks like. There have been times when I’ve thought, ‘I just can’t.’ But you’ve got to take the knocks because they’re always coming. It ain’t all roses.” A pause. “But maybe otherwise it wouldn’t be as sweet in the end.”

She values her private life as “precious”, and admits that she has “sacrificed some anonymity”, no doubt because her romances have been tabloid fodder for years. Her most high-profile relationship was with INXS frontman Michael Hutchence from 1989 to 1991. In 1997, long after they broke up, he committed suicide. For four years, she dated the French actor Olivier Martinez, who supported her through her cancer diagnosis and chemotherapy (“Olli was there all the time,” she said in 2006). They broke up in 2007, but were rumoured to have reignited their romance in 2017, claims that she has never addressed. Then there was an engagement to the British actor Joshua Sasse. The two started dating in 2015 and that December she told Desert Island Discs that Sasse, then 28, was “my love”. They announced their engagement in February 2016, but broke up 12 months later; last September, he married an Australian entrepreneur. It strikes me as sad, but her steeliness quickly reappears.

You’ve had your heart broken, I begin. “I don’t know about heartbroken,” she flashes. “I’ve made mistakes.” Such as? “I regret lying to myself. Like, ‘This is OK,’ and doing the merry dance. When that honest bit inside of you knows, but you’re busy covering it up? I regret doing that. It’s not fair on yourself. And yet I think we’ve all been there, we’ve all done it. But I don’t see myself doing it again. I’ve met someone who I feel good with.” She has been dating Paul Solomons, the 45-year-old creative director of British GQ, for just over a year. When talk turns to him, she lights up. “I can feel my face going,” she says. “People say, ‘Your face changes when you talk about him,’ and it does. Happiness. He’s an inspiring, funny, talented guy. He’s got a real-life actual job! It’s lovely.”

Their weekends are generally spent in her Knightsbridge home, watching documentaries on Netflix — “We liked the Ted Bundy Tapes. I was too scared to watch them on my own” — or listening to podcasts — “Have you heard Dear Joan & Jericha [Julia Davis and Vicki Pepperdine’s mock agony-aunt podcast]? I’ve literally creased myself to that, it’s so inappropriate.” He does most of the cooking. “He’s got me cooking too, actually. He’s the first to do that. It can no longer be the family joke that I can’t cook.” Her family are all still in Australia. Her parents, Ron and Carol, worked as an accountant and dancer respectively, and her younger sister, Dannii, followed in Kylie’s showbiz footsteps as a pop star. She also has a younger brother, Brendon. They are a close family who text daily and speak frequently. I imagine they are overprotective about any new boyfriends. Minogue tells me that the first time Solomons met her clan was spending last Christmas with them. “They [already] could tell I was good within myself. They liked him before they met him, and they liked him more after they met him.”

Her Australian accent is still distinctive, but she has lived in London since the early 1990s, when Soho was her stomping ground. “I was really deep in London nightlife back then,” she says. Now, generally, the only time she’s up until the early hours is when she’s on tour. Her last big night out was her 50th birthday party, a year ago, at Chiltern Firehouse, complete with performances by Rick Astley and Jake Shears. “I went to bed at about 5am, but probably had no more than a glass of champagne all night. I was talking and dancing and high on life. The icing on the cake was that I had my special someone to share it with.”

It’s remarkable that Minogue has the stamina to dance until 5am at an age when many women are experiencing the menopause. Indeed, she’s already been there, done that. As is common with younger breast cancer patients, her menopause was medically induced when she had treatment, to suppress her oestrogen levels. On Desert Island Discs, she stated that she would love to start a family. It’s a difficult subject to broach, but I wonder if she feels the chance to have children has passed. “I can definitely relate to that,” she answers. “I was 36 when I had my diagnosis. Realistically, you’re getting to the late side of things. And, while that wasn’t on my agenda at the time, [cancer] changed everything. I don’t want to dwell on it, obviously, but I wonder what that would have been like. Everyone will say there are options, but I don’t know. I’m 50 now, and I’m more at ease with my life. I can’t say there are no regrets, but it would be very hard for me to move on if I classed that as a regret, so I just have to be as philosophical about it as I can. You’ve got to accept where you are and get on with it.”

Born and raised in Melbourne, she attended acting school in her home town and became a superstar at 18 as Charlene in the Australian soap Neighbours. Charlene’s wedding to Jason Donovan’s Scott in 1987 was witnessed by 20m viewers in the UK. Despite no formal singing or dancing training, she left the show to pursue music, and her debut album, Kylie, released in 1988, was No 1 in the UK for six weeks. She has since released 13 more studio albums, as well as dozens of compilation, live and remix records. Next month she is releasing Step Back in Time, her latest greatest hits album. All the big hitters are on there: Spinning Around, I Should Be So Lucky, Confide in Me. She doesn’t have a favourite, but points to Where the Wild Roses Grow (1995) and All the Lovers (2010) — “just glorious”. She had to brace herself, she says, to listen to some of the older tracks. “I recorded Locomotion when I was 18 or 19. I was so young and I felt so young.” She shakes her head in bewilderment.

Minogue has just finished the Golden Tour, six months of shows in Europe and Australia. “I don’t know how much time I’ve got before my showbiz hips and knees start to protest,” she laughs. “They’ll be like, ‘You’ve been treading those boards for a long time, we think you should slow down a bit.’ ” This summer, along with gigs in London, Manchester and even Scarborough, she will take to the Pyramid Stage at Glastonbury in the Sunday afternoon “legends” slot, previously filled by the likes of Dolly Parton, Barry Gibb and Lionel Richie. It is particularly poignant as she was set to perform there in 2005, but her cancer diagnosis meant that she had to pull out. She sang at the festival in 2010, as a guest of the Scissor Sisters, but has never performed solo. “I’m bound to cry,” she says. On stage? “It’s going to happen. When I was meant to be there, I watched it from Australia. I was dealing with much bigger things back then, but when I’m there it will take me back to when I wasn’t there. But I’ll work through that.”

She confirms there will be guests joining her on stage, but won’t tell me who. Dolce & Gabbana designed the Greek goddess-inspired costumes for her Aphrodite: Les Folies tour in 2011, but her on-stage style now is “more human, more real”. “But even Elvis had a few diamantés on him,” she continues. “Come on! I’m thinking of it as a big sing-along. It’s daytime, so you can’t have the lights, effects and lasers that I normally have. I think the simplicity is part of what makes that slot so magical. Dolly Parton just walked on out. Lionel Richie just walked on out. I mean, I’ll sashay on out.”

Minogue’s manager then intervenes. The car is waiting and the star has somewhere to be. “I keep threatening my team that I’m going to retire,” she winks, safe in the knowledge that there are decades left of her career. And, with that, she sashays out. Glowing.

Step Back in Time is released on June 28

#Kylie Minogue #the one and only kylie

[bluewallsandtallwindows]

Freedom

“Sir, I really think you should consider showing some compassion, for once.” Little Martin commented awkwardly from the other side of the room. He was a stubby man who had a set of gills that sat on either side of his neck. 

Austen Bizet, with his silver hair and sharply chiseled beard, looked up from his work and assessed his assistant with a critical eye. Being half human, Little Martin was one of the few creatures he found tolerable. 

“Please, elaborate.”

Martin’s gills flapped with subtle nervousness, “Well, its just that you’ve made significant cuts to several departments. Several divisions have been halved in size - costing thousands of your employees to lose their jobs.”

Austen looked at Martin over the square frames of his glasses. Calmly, Austen asked, “Little Martin, are you the director of this company?”

“Obviously not, sir.”

“Well I am very glad that we’re on the same page about that. These are very difficult, albeit cost-effective, decisions to make and they take a lot of time and consideration. Don’t pretend like you understand what it is that I do up here. Next time you want to talk to me about compassion, think about how I single-handedly built this company from the ground up. ”

The gills flattened on Martin’s neck as he looked at the ground, “My apologies, sir.”

Austen hummed and looked back to his work, “I’m so glad we’re on the same page, now. If there isn’t anything else, you may excuse yourself. I have work to do.”

He worked until the sun went down, finally putting his pen down as the sky turned from glass to velvet. Most of his employees had gone home. Rubbing his eyes, he took a moment to appreciate the emptiness of the huge building before he packed up his papers and headed towards the transport lines. As he passed by the citizens in the streets, he couldn’t help but admire them with envy. He gazed at winged creatures with a thought of what it might be like to fly and stared at grizzled wizards, wondering what it might be like to have that much power. 

“Oi, human!” A lizard-man called at him from up ahead. “Mind giving me a lift?” he sprawled his tail across the side walk. Avoiding eye contact, Austen neatly stepped over it with clenched teeth. It was hard not rise to the bait. Human’s aren’t allowed to drive. Stupid slimy lizard.

It wasn’t long before Austen made it to the waiting platform. He stood close to the edge, waiting for the transit capsule. It was still fairly busy at the station. The noise served as a blissful distraction. The sleek, rectangular body of the train barrelled its way across the tracks and Austen prepared himself to board one of the passenger cars.

Something shoved into him - hard. The world rotated as Austen found himself falling into the tracks, the lights on the face of the transit capsule blinding him. Everything he had worked for, every hardship he had fought against, it was going to end like this. It was going to end with his face pressed into the metal tracks and his body smeared against the metal of the capsule.

He screwed his eyelids together and brassed himself. 

Impact never came. Austen opened his eyes. He was suspended, hovering over the tracks, the capsule just meters away. It was silent and he could only guess that the creatures on the platform had been frozen too. Austen instantly knew it was a time spell. Several of his employees used such a thing to extend their break times. He tried passing a policy against such spells but the board majority was against it.

“Austen Bizet,” A voice intruded his head, “you carry a blackened soul. You have oppressed and caused so many creatures great grief. As punishment for your crimes and to purify your soul, you have been summoned to the Correction Chamber. You can accept our invitation or you can die at the hands of fate.”

Something primal in Austen refused to die and he accepted the summons.

There was a sharp twist in his abdomen, and he felt like he’d been yanked sideways. He reappeared inside a large, black room. It was strictly rectangular, with a bed in the corner and a bathroom on the other end. He was still dressed in his business attire but his brief case was missing. On the wall adjacent to the bed, there was a door with three locks. A poem scrawled across the door in white paint.

Sounds of the soul,

Heard from the heart,

Born in the bones.

Austen wasn’t sure what it was supposed to mean but there were three lines and three locks. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that this “Correction Chamber” was some sort of puzzle. He closely examine the locks. They sat in a line, across the width of the door. The first lock had a funnel attached to it. From the second lock, a stethoscope diaphragm dangled. In the third lock, there was a small hole, just wide enough to fit one of his fingers. 

Based on experience, he recognized the handy-work to be a warlock’s creation.

As an experiment, he spit in the first lock, placed the stethoscope over his heart and slipped his index finger into the third lock. Nothing happened. He figured it wouldn’t be that easy, anyway. Deciding to acquainted with his surroundings, he shed his blazer and vest, leaving them on the bed. Then, he rolled up his sleeves and started to to examine the rest of the room.

He started with the bathroom. There was a toilet, a stand up shower and a sink equipped with a mirror cabinet. Basic objects littered the shelves. There were soaps and mini shampoos, as well as some basic first-aid items. A few odd trinkets caught his eye, such as the vial of florescent blue liquid and several, empty pill containers. Austen closed the cabinet and moved towards the bed. The bedding was a simple white and he could find nothing hidden within the duvet or the pillows. Just to be safe, he checked under the bed. His hand scraped across a menacing saw and he decided to leave it where he found it.

He considered trying to pour water from the sink into the first lock but he still couldn’t come up with anything to use on the rest of the locks. Without much else to do, other than sit and puzzle out the locks, Austen decided to take a shower. If anything, it would at least pass the time. When he stepped out, he noticed that a clean set of pyjamas had been placed on his bed and a tray of food had been left on the floor. The pyjamas were an uncomfortable flannel and the food was tasteless, but he was warm and at least there was something in his stomach. Sleep was difficult to find. Feeling a little beyond his element, Austen had trouble feeling safe enough to sleep.

He woke up the next morning feeling like he’d just pulled an all nighter. Ignoring his exhaustion, he continued trying to figure out the door. He took another look inside the mirror cabinet and decided to examine the strange blue vial. Tentatively, he dipped his finger inside and pulled it back out. It started to feel tingly after a few seconds and when he couldn’t feel the bottle cap to put the vial away, Austen figured that the liquid served as some sort of anesthetic.

He sat on the bed for a long while, staring at the door and its cryptic message. The silence was sickening. He could feel tiny bubbles of claustrophobia, acidic against the inside of his body and thought about how much longer he would be stuck in this room. Austen took another shower, hoping that it would calm him down.

As the hot water splayed over his back, Austen lathered soap across his body. Content to just stand under the spray, he leaned against the tiled wall. He was surprised to find that his hand slowly started sinking into the wall as the tile was pressed into it. His brows came close together. A hidden button?

He removed his hand and the tile sprang back into place. There was no noise or immediate movement. Austen figured that he would find out what the button did soon enough. He finished his shower and redressed in the flannels. Opting to take a nap, he was still short on any ideas as to how to solve the room.

He wasn’t sure how long he slept. There was no way of telling the time in this room. He got up to take another look at the door, as if staring at it would give him some sort of answer. He noticed something odd, however. The space between the door and the adjacent walls had gotten noticeably smaller. He sat back on the bed and watched the walls for a long while. Eventually, he nodded off again. When he woke up, the room was noticeably different.

The room had gotten smaller again, to the point where there was only a few meters of space between the bed and the opposite wall. Access to the bathroom had been blocked off as a result of the imposing lack of space. The walls were also moving faster, eating up more of the room as they flocked towards Austen. It wasn’t long before he could feel the ceiling against his head. He panicked as cool black surfaces pressed up against his body, sending chills through his flannel clothing.

Austen started imagining the walls pressing his body together. He pictured his bones splintering into tiny shards as he was turned into a mushy pile of flesh and blood. He was right up against the three locks, heart trying to burst through his ribs -

Austen, in the depths of his panic, attained an idea. 

In a last ditch attempt, he grabbed at the stethoscope and pressed it against his chest. The diaphragm was cold against his skin, flushed with fear.

The walls stopped, and Austen noticed how awkwardly his body was angled to accommodate the small space. Then the walls started to recede. A tsunami of relief overcame him so strongly that he relaxed into the floor and started to cry. When his body stopped shuddering, Austen noticed that the second lock had turned white in colour. He’d done it. He’d unlocked one of the locks. His leaned his head back and laughed through his tears.

After he’d calmed down a bit, Austin stood up and took another look at the door. He was absolutely certain that each lock correlated to a line in the poem. Quickly, he scrambled into the bathroom and took everything out from the cabinet. He lay each item on the floor near the bed and began to sort. Soap, toothpaste and shampoo were grouped together. He then made a separate collection for the first aid amenities along with the weird anesthetic. He decided to put the empty pill bottles in another group entirely. There had to be something that would help him solve the puzzle. He pulled the saw from under the bed and set it aside, just in case.

Growing bored, Austen decided to eat the lunch that had appeared on the floor. Then he took another shower - careful this time to avoid the hidden button. When he finished, he accidentally caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. I really need a shave. He observed, scratching at the hair that started to grow under his chin. There was nothing else to do, really.

From the floor outside, he grabbed a razor and a bar of soap. Austen lost himself in the repetitive motions, enjoying the mundane nature of the task. He winced as he managed to nick his skin pretty badly. He washed the area as best he could and covered it with a bandaid. It got him thinking as he redressed, dampness still clinging to his skin.

After he pondered the items further, he put the razor next to the saw. Then he rearranged the first-aid pile so that the bandaids and the anesthetic were strictly together. He took another look at the door. He noticed that, while the first and third lines stayed the same, the second line had been replaced with the word “empathy.” He ran the words through his head, Sounds from the soul…Born in the bones… if he needed his heart to open the second lock, it wasn’t much of a stretch to say that he also needed something of his soul for the first lock and, by extension, his bones for the third.

Austen put his index finger in the hole again and wondered…

Hesitantly, Austen poured the antiseptic over his left hand and waited. Then, when he couldn’t feel the limb anymore, he set it flat against the ground and took the saw in his right hand. It was surprisingly easy, the way the saw’s teeth ripped through his flesh. He worked the saw against ridged bone and tried not to black out as his blood rose from his skin, pooled on the floor and soaked through the knees of his flannels. 

Finally, after struggling with the rising bile in his throat, Austen was able to rip his finger from his hand. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve felt relieved, happy or scared. Really, all he felt was the numbing tingles in his bloodied hand as he watched the third line of the poem transform into the word “sacrifice.”

He got ready to remove the skin and muscle from the finger but realized he had a bit of an issue. The saw had cut too far and, as a result, the middle and ring fingers were awkwardly hanging off of his left hand - still connected by pink tissue and pulsing veins. Austin felt a fresh assault of vomit launch itself straight from the depths of his body. He never made it to the bathroom before the acidic mush burrowed its way from his mouth. Austen stared at the mess, unsure of what to do with it. In the end, he left it there and returned to the door. Hastily, he wrapped his left hand with the button down he had been wearing on his first day of captivity. He tried to ignore the way blood-roses bloomed through the fabric of the shirt.

Austen steeled himself and got to work. Crudely, he scrapped the remaining flesh from his severed finger until he could only see porcelain bone. Thoroughly disgusted with himself, the finger was shoved into the third lock. Like the second, it also turned white.

He had yet to open the first lock. It wanted a piece of his soul. He tried dripping his blood into the indifferent funnel. Nothing happened. There would be nothing for the rest of his life except for him, the black walls and his mutilated hand.

His frustration bubbled over. He had given up his finger. He was not about to give away his soul and most certainly was not prepared to waste away in this twisted prison. 

He shouted at the ceiling, “You want to talk about oppression, you stupid time stopping sadist? Why don’t we talk about the fact that I can’t drive a car because I’m considered an entity below the law? Why don’t we talk about the fact that I can’t put a ban on spells in my own office but I’m not even allowed to dine at restaurants with a rating above three stars?” He took a moment to catch his breath. “You want to talk about empathy and sacrifice? How about you sacrifice your pride and empathize with me.” Austen had to lean against the wall, light headed from the blood loss in his fingers. “All of you - who ever you are, you and Little Martin and everyone who’s not human - stop chastising me for how I choose to run my company. I don’t run it any different from other large businesses and if I sometimes act out of line, that’s because you taught me,” He slid down to the floor, finding it hard to put oxygen into his lungs, “...you taught me to do that. You play your games of… kill or be killed, eat or be eaten like its some extreme sport…and I’m… I’m…” It was hard to keep his voice up and he focused on the locks, trying to finish his sentence. His thoughts were expanding and reforming into unrecognizable shapes. He took another, struggling breath, “I’m done…”

Nothing remained except Austen, the room and the ringing silence. Through laboured breaths, he watched as the first lock turned white and the door swung open. Something awoke in Austen’s body. He felt a petrifying, animalistic fear that the door would close and he wouldn’t be able to open it again. Desperately, he dragged his utterly broken self across the floor, struggling to stand up before he stumbled out the door.

Austin was falling, face first, towards the ground. He smelled the gritty smoke of the transit platform and his eyes made out two, endless parallel sets of tracks that slithered into the darkness of a tunnel. Then, into the side of his body, there was impact so jarring, he felt his skeleton rearrange itself. A blaring horn deafened him into unconsciousness.

It took city officials two days to finish scrapping Austin Bizet’s mangled body off of the transit capsule.

#short story #creepypasta #creepy #monster #creatures #fantasy fiction #fantasy horror #writing #writer #writing on tumblr #writings on tumblr #writer on tumblr #writers on tumblr

[misssophiachase]

Protection

25 Days of Klaroline + Tropes (I’m a little late)

When former first daughter Caroline Forbes and her former bodyguard Klaus Mikaelson have to part ways professionally can either of them deal with the imposed distance given their unresolved feelings and what will bring them back together again?  

I'll stand in front of you, I'll take the force of the blow. 

Daytona Beach, Florida

“This is Spring Break, Care, when are you going to start having some fun?” Her roommate Katherine drawled as they made their way from their hotel towards the packed beach. It wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned it that week and Caroline knew it wouldn’t be her last.

“I’m having fun…”

“Oh yeah, if fun means having your nose stuffed into a book,” she scoffed, placing her oversized sunglasses on her face. “There’s many things to be seen scenery wise but the inside pages of your pathetic, romance book aren’t one of them.”

“Trust me, your running commentary on the local beach talent has provided me with more than enough visuals, nose in book.”

“I only say this because I care,” she insisted. “Someone as hot as you deserves to have some fun at least…”

“I’m having fun...”

“The fact you keep repeating that you’re having fun means you’re really not.”

“Always looking out for me, aren’t you, friend?” She drawled. 

“Look, I know you still have feelings for him.” She stopped abruptly on the street, placing her hands on Caroline’s shoulders and spinning her around. “After eight years in that close proximity, I can understand. Although, I’m surprised you never ravaged each other senseless.” They’d only known each other six months but she was fast becoming acquainted with her roommate’s direct nature. 

“It wasn’t like that, what we had was purely professional...”

“Sure it was,” she drawled. 

“It had to be,” she conceded, slightly regretful she’d never made a move. “Fine, I’ll lose the book today.” 

A few hours later and Caroline was stretched out on a towel, soaking up the warm, Florida sun in her newly acquired, white bikini. Not that she’d ever admit it but Katherine had a point. It was supposed to be their term break so Caroline figured a bit of relaxation wouldn’t hurt.

Caroline was the type who needed to have a busy brain and schedule at all times and studying law at Harvard was the perfect excuse because if not other thoughts would creep in unexpectedly. Her life had been so different six months ago and Caroline was having a difficult time letting it go completely.  

6 months ago - Washington DC

“Caroline!” The young blonde had been a thousand miles away, staring out onto the wintery, Presidential Inauguration parade and only coming to when her mother broke her reverie by tapping on the cold, frosted glass window to grab her attention.

“Huh?”

“I know this is going to be difficult, darling,” Liz cooed, pulling her closer. “After eight years in the White House, life is going to be very different from now.”

Different? Caroline was extremely buoyed by the fact she would have a relatively normal life and wouldn’t have to hide behind Secret Service detail anymore. But at the same time she felt a heavy weight settle over her chest knowing it meant she’d never see him again, including those crimson lips which would frown in frustration whenever she argued back, those dimples that would flash unexpectedly when she thought he had no sense of humour and those dark, knotted, blonde curls that were begging to be touched.

Caroline had sent her mother the contrived smile she’d mastered over the years and one Liz was still yet to see through. Caroline made her way towards the front door, knowing it would be the last of her final duties as first daughter.  The relief was immense for the most part but the lack of his presence was eating away at her firm resolve.

“Someone looks like they’re going to a funeral,” he chuckled. Caroline would know that accent and know-it-all tone anywhere. Why was she going to miss him again? He looked immaculate as usual in his black suit and crisp, white shirt as he approached. “Going to miss me?”

“Urgh, you wish.”

“Don’t pretend you’re not going to miss my witty sense of humour.” Caroline didn’t respond, just rolled her eyes exaggeratedly. “I guess I’m only surprised about your expression because of all the times you fought me about your security detail.”

“What can I say? I don’t like pushy people,” she shot back. “So sue me.”

“Well, after today you are fully in charge of your own destiny and I for one am pleased to not have to put up with your…”

“My?”

“Uh, interesting character quirks.”

“You’re no longer responsible for me, Mikaelson, so just say it.”

“Opinions,” he answered, still somewhat diplomatically.  “Every single one of them in their bossy glory.”

“I’m not the only one with opinions,” she replied, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You wear yours like a badge of honour.”

“As do you,” he quipped. “I’m not sure if the men at Harvard or the world are really ready for you, Victory.” Hearing him use her secret service codename was almost like a punch to the chest knowing it would be the last. 

“As long as they don’t tell me what to do, it will be fine,” she teased. “And I think you can call me Caroline now.”

“Force of habit,” he explained. “I think it took me five minutes to work out why you chose that codename. I’ve never met anyone more competitive and set on winning at all costs.” 

“I’m determined and tenacious, what can I say?” She huffed defensively. “Plus, I seem to recall beating you on a few occasions at pool, Mikaelson.”

“I suppose I can break the news now. It was only because I let you, princess.”

“A likely story,” she smiled, thinking just how much she’d miss their easy banter after being in such close proximity for eight years. “Maybe one day we can have a rematch and I’ll school your ass just like last time?”

“Maybe.” It was non committal but Caroline didn’t expect any less from her aloof, former bodyguard. 

He regarded her seriously and even though he was good at keeping his emotions hidden she swore there was something telling in his eyes. Almost like he was going to miss her as much as she him.  Time seemed to stand still, until she heard a car horn from the driveway. Her mother never was very patient. 

Then just as quickly as he’d appeared, Klaus had left, the only parting gift a knowing smirk and the flash of a rogue dimple before walking away, one last time. Knowing that he wasn’t coming back to protect her was more difficult than she thought. She’d been desperate for independence but now she wasn’t quite sure what she wanted. 

“Caroline.” She could barely hear her name it was uttered so quietly amongst the nearby chatter on the beach, an underlying growl accompanying it. Goose bumps formed over her naked skin and suddenly the hot, Florida sun was no competition for the shiver that rippled through her body. She’d know that voice anywhere. But why here and why now?

“Klaus,” she inquired, removing her oversized, floppy hat and peeling away her sunglasses, resting on her elbows to get a better vantage point to check she wasn’t dreaming. “What the hell are you doing here?” 

His good looks hadn’t faded in six months, that much she could tell in his tight fitted, navy polo shirt and an oversized pair of aviator sunglasses, his blonde hair curling over his ears teasingly.

“You have to come with me, right now.” His voice was low and decidedly urgent but Caroline never was one to give in easily, especially given he was no longer assigned to protect her.

“I’ll do no such thing,” she refused, suddenly feeling a little self conscious in her skimpy bikini. At least her awkwardness hadn’t diminished her stubbornness.

“Well, maybe you’ll come along for me then? Niklaus always has been a questionable sort of character.” Another familiar voice interrupted, she’d recognise that serious tone and chiseled jaw anywhere, even unusually attired in casual clothing.

“I almost didn’t recognise you without a suit, E,” she chuckled, her hand covering her eyes so she could see him amongst the bright sunlight.

“A suit on Daytona Beach? Not the kind of ensemble I was going for on this particular occasion.” Caroline looked between them, Klaus’ crimson lips were pursed and Elijah’s brow furrowed. This obviously wasn’t a social visit. She’d thought about Klaus a lot the past six months but never imagined their reunion being quite like this.

“What’s with all the chatter? I’m trying to suntan here,” Katherine murmured lazily, finally turning over onto her back to see what all the commotion was about. As soon as she cocked her left eyebrow approvingly, Caroline knew they were in trouble, even if it should have been the other way around given their profession. “Well, well, who do we have here?”

“Look, there’s no time for chit chat,” Elijah shot back. “We need to get out of here.”

“Charming,” Katherine drawled. “And go where exactly? You may be cute but the creepy, stalker vibe isn’t doing much for me, mister.” 

“Who’s your mouthy friend?”

“Katherine…” Caroline attempted knowing that if anyone could make a scene it would be her brunette best friend scorned by a gorgeous stranger. 

“Why don’t you do us a favour and buzz off,” she growled. Even though she was wearing sunglasses, Caroline knew that if looks could kill Elijah would be a hot pile of ash right now.

“Katherine, these are my friends,” she explained, albeit cryptically.

“Well, your friends need to learn some manners.” Although Klaus had been decidedly somber since his sudden reappearance, Caroline couldn’t miss the slight smile tugging at his lips. He did always like to see his uptight brother berated. Today was obviously no different. 

“They are my friends,” she continued. Caroline wasn’t sure of the threat but if it was nearby she didn’t want to cause more of a scene.

“Before…”

“Before I started university, you know when I was living at my former house.” Katherine seemed to be processing what she was saying and Caroline wasn’t sure what else she could say. 

“Oh that pretty, white one,” she mused, finally catching on. “Why didn’t you say so?” The girls gathered their belongings and made their way through the throng still unsure of the threat. Caroline couldn’t help but watch everyone around them. In one respect being in a crowd had its advantages but at the same time you didn’t know who was close by either. 

Katherine stumbled a little on some loose sand, stumbling forward slightly. Caroline noticed Elijah’s strong arms catching her before she fell. She steadied herself but not before slapping his hand away. 

“Get off me you oaf,” she growled, stomping ahead. 

Klaus gave Caroline a curious look, his eyebrows now firmly raised. “And you thought I was difficult, Mikaelson.” She didn’t bother to catch his ensuing expression. 

2 hours later

“Where the hell are we?” Caroline asked, looking around the impressive house. Shortly after leaving the beach, Elijah and Klaus had ushered them into a nearby jeep and driven them down the coast. 

“Your new home for the next few days.” 

“I’m sorry what?” Katherine whined, her brunette pony tail whipping around so fast they could hear its impact. “We have a home in party central on Daytona Beach and it’s been paid for upfront.”

“Well, I’m so sorry to ruin your plans,” Elijah groaned. 

“And we all know that this beachfront, private property is a hell of a lot better than your meagre accomodations in that questionable environment.”

“Wow, I never took you for such a snob,” Caroline accused, raising her eyebrows in Klaus’ direction. 

“Says the former first daughter,” he chided. It was as if they’d been transported back to their presidential days. 

“Were they always in the foreplay stage like this?” Katherine asked Elijah, looking between the two expectantly. Caroline felt her skin flush, choosing to divert her gaze downwards. Katherine always knew how to make a situation decidedly more uncomfortable.

“I didn’t work with the First Family but every time I saw these two together it was exactly like this.”

“Hey.”

“What can I say the annoying brunette has a point. Nik.”

“Annoying? Excuse me?”

“Do you ever do anything but complain? And here I thought the car ride and ten thousand questions was going to be the worst it would get.”

“Well, call me crazy but after you kidnapped us from the beach I feel like it’s the least we deserved and being Caroline’s former, secret service, hottie, detail doesn’t count.”

“Klaus was my former detail, he doesn’t work in the service anymore.” Caroline responded, her attention solely focused on Klaus. She’d said it before thinking about the consequences. 

“Have you been keeping tabs on me, Victory?” He grinned knowingly. Caroline may have done a little research over the past few months but never wanted his arrogant ass to know that. 

“You wish, Mikaelson.”

“Victory? Oh just great, so who exactly have I absconded with? For all I know you’re all part of some Government cover-up. I really should have listened to my mother when she said never go anywhere with strangers.”

“Someone’s been watching too much Designated Survivor. Will you be quiet for more than five seconds if we tell you what’s going on?” Elijah sighed, his frustration with the feisty girl at its absolute limit. 

“I’m not making any promises but start talking, broody,” she insisted, making herself comfortable on the oversized couch. Caroline took a seat nearby, careful not to be too close with Klaus, scared of the unresolved feelings it would evoke. 

6 hours later.... 

Caroline couldn’t sleep. She’d found her way into the kitchen around 3am and boiled the kettle knowing that the only thing that would help was chamomile tea. She’d never been a tea fan until Klaus had suggested its calming effects during a presidential tour of India when she was restless due to the jet lag. 

When Klaus had appeared from nowhere earlier, Caroline knew he wasn’t secret service but the urgency in his tone and the trust she still felt towards him was enough to leave in a hurry without much information. Finding out exactly why he was there was another and more terrifying prospect, hence her insomnia. 

“There’s been a very real threat made against your father,” he’d admitted. During his time as President, threats weren’t unheard of but now it seemed so unexpected. 

“But why?”

“The current President has made some comments about your father’s actions and time in the Presidency. His more extreme followers have taken them personally and are out for revenge.” Given just how unhinged his successor was, Caroline wasn’t surprised but the fact her father should suffer made her feel suddenly ill. 

“What? I need to be with him now...” She’d attempted to make it to the front door before he grabbed her round the waist and pulled her backwards. He’d touched her before but this seemed very different and decidedly more intimate. Caroline decided to blame it on her highly strung emotions. 

“Get off me! I have to see my father is okay.”

“Your father is in complete lockdown, so too your mother at their place in Houston. No one is getting to them,” he whispered, pulling her closer. She could feel his heart beating against her, his mouth lowered as his hot breath tickled her ear. “The best thing you can do is stay here until this is over. That’s what they want.” She stilled, knowing that it was probably true. 

“Why are you here though?”  

“After leaving the service, I started my own private protective company with my brothers. We still work as consultants for the Government.”

“And let me guess, my father insisted the consultant, who happens to be you, intervene?” He chuckled against her hair, calming her considerably. 

“He figured I was the only one who could get through to your stubborn self.”

“Sell out,” she growled, not bothering to pull free. For some reason being cocooned in his arms felt so right.  “If we get through this, I have every intention of raising this with him and kicking your ass, you can quote me on that Mikaelson.” 

“Why do I feel like this is deja vu?” He yawned, making his way towards the stainless steel fridge and opening the door, breaking her from her trance. The glow from inside cast light on his toned, not to mention bare, torso. From what Caroline could tell in her shock, the only clothing he was wearing was a fitted pair of grey boxer shorts. 

“Do you mind?”

“I’m hungry,” he muttered, rifling through the fridge. “And I figured you needed some lemon,” he said, placing one on the kitchen counter, just like in India all those years ago. “You’re welcome.”

“Do you always walk around half naked?” 

“I didn’t expect to run into you if you hadn’t noticed. And just so you know that singlet and short set isn’t completely innocent, sweetheart.” 

“Excuse me for being kidnapped at short notice with no proper change of clothes, unlike mister organised.”

“It’s bloody hot out, not that I owe you an explanation given I’m trying to protect you, Victory.”

“But in eight years together you were always clothed and professional but now you’re just...” She faltered as he turned to face her. If she thought the side view was impressive, front on was even better. Caroline had lost all sensible thought, her mouth dry. 

“Just?” Caroline knew two could play at this game, picking up the nearby knife and waving it in his direction to keep him at bay.

“I’m armed and dangerous and given my current emotional state you should be worried, naked boy.”

“If I knew my partially naked form would have created this reaction, I would have done it sooner.” 

“You smug ass,” she scowled, knife still well and truly poised. She was losing all resolve, the grip on the knife weakening with every second.  

“You conceited princess,” he growled, removing it from her grasp and pulling her towards him greedily.

“I hate you so much,” she panted, feeling every last shred of willpower slip away.   

“Well, luckily I hate you too,” he growled, his crimson, lips taking hers hungrily, his tongue finding its way into her hot and waiting mouth. It was as if eight years of pent up sexual frustration was playing out. 

His hands caressed her back, making their way lower to cup her taut ass, lifting her onto the kitchen counter, while not breaking their connection.  His hands found their way to the hem of her singlet, his fingers teasing the sensitive skin underneath. Caroline’s skin felt like it was on fire, her nipples tingling in anticipation of his touch.   

“So, this is what you two get up to without supervision?” Elijah asked, interrupting their frenzy. They broke apart like startled animals, albeit reluctantly. 

“He started it,” Caroline accused, licking her lips self consciously and attempting to push him away, her hands shaking. 

“No, it was definitely her, I mean she had a knife and....”

“Ooooh kinky,” Katherine whistled appreciatively appearing from behind. “Please don’t let us stop you.” She pulled Elijah away strategically and Caroline had to admit she was glad. The fact that those two might have been playing nice finally was a bonus. 

“I’m sorry, we really shouldn’t...”

“This might not be the best time but there’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for years, Victory,” Klaus admitted, pulling her closer and placing a chaste kiss on her temple. 

“And what’s that?” They were both silent obviously scared to admit their true feelings after such a build up. 

“How about a game of pool?” He suggested. “Each time we sink a ball we confess something and then...”

“Winner takes all?” Caroline smirked.   

On FF HERE

#protection #misssophiachase #klaroline drabbles #25daysofklaroline #day 3 #tropes #however long it takes

[fire-bear]

Arthur in Wasteland

I managed to sort of put two in one today! :)

Warnings: Minor character death. Or is it? This is Wonderland and I haven’t decided completely on what would happen in the rest of the AU but whatever.

NB: Arthur is 16 here.

Wonderland was not as he had expected it.

He had read the story, watched the films, seen the other takes on it... But it had never been like this. The Pool of Tears (or so the crooked sign claimed) was gone. Only dirt and dust remained, though he could see a downed flying machine on its side and an upturned boat. Nothing moved and there were no sounds or people talking.

It was as if he had fallen into Hell rather than Wonderland.

But Arthur knew this was Wonderland. After all, he had followed a White Rabbit into a rabbit's burrow. Strangely, it had been a robot which he had thought was a toy gone haywire. He'd followed it without thinking, hoping to catch it before some poor child lost it forever, and now he was stuck.

When he'd fallen down to the first room, he'd known something was wrong. He couldn't see a thing when he fell and banged into several chairs and other lost things as he got lower. Landing had been painful and he'd almost extinguished the single candle which provided light in the room with all the doors. There, he'd realised what had happened and grabbed the key before he'd reached for the bottle which said DRINK ME. Opening the door, however, had taken Arthur to the Pool of Tears rather than the Queen's garden party and he was now lost as to what to do.

Was there a party? Was there a Queen of Hearts? Had something happened to Wonderland? And where was everyone?

Looking around, Arthur noted that there was a desert behind him, with rolling dunes. He put his hand out and soon discovered that the desert was, in fact, a realistically painted wall. The door had disappeared, of course, but it meant that there was nowhere to go save the Pool. Squinting against a bright sun, Arthur spotted something green in the distance. Assuming that there was some vegetation and, thus, a way out, Arthur stepped off the dock he stood upon and began to make his way across.

When he reached the flying machine, he bent to take a look at it, lifting one of its cloth wings and hoping for something to drink as he'd grown rather thirsty. Instead, he jerked back with a cry when a skeleton stared back at him. It took him a moment to calm down before he looked under the wing once more and grimaced at the image. "I think that's the Dodo," he murmured to himself, quite appalled that one of his favourite children's tales was shaping up to be far less welcoming than he had ever imagined.

"Indeed it is," said a voice and Arthur leapt away from the machine once more. Spinning around, he found that there was a man standing behind him. He had shoulder-length blond hair which he had pulled back into a ponytail. The suit he wore was obviously tailored and fit his curves quite smoothly, the deep purple and blue stripes drawing out the azure of his eyes. Speaking of which, his pupils were actually more like slits, intent on Arthur as he stared back. On his head were a pair of cat's ears which blended with his hair as did the tail which curled around his hip, though the tip of it was the same purple as the suit.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, heart still racing from the fright.

"Good afternoon," the man said, placing a hand over his heart and bowing deeply. "I am the Cheshire Cat. Though, that is just a Title. You may call me Francis."

"You're... human," said Arthur slowly, looking him up and down. "Mostly."

Francis grinned. It was a little unsettling; he looked so much like a cat in that moment and yet, at the same time, it looked as though he had gotten the upper hand in some sort of game. "Indeed," he said. "Wonderland tends to reflect Upland, you know."

"Does it?"

"Yes. Though, perhaps, that is not true any more."

"Why not?" asked Arthur, curiously.

"The war," Francis answered him, sweeping a hand across the Pool. "It's... affected Wonderland more than either Queen realises. It will die if nothing is done."

"Wait, both Queens?" Arthur frowned at Francis and folded his arms over his chest. "You mean to say this is more like the world from Through the Looking Glass?"

"No. And yes."

"That makes no sense."

"Perfect nonsense," Francis agreed with another large grin.

"So the Red Queen-?"

"The Queen of Hearts," Francis corrected him.

"Right. The Queen of Hearts and..."

"The White Queen."

"...are at war?" Arthur asked, relieved to finally get his question out.

"Indeed," said Francis. "The Queen of Hearts is without a King while the White Queen has locked the White King away to avoid him disappearing. Meanwhile, the Duchess is trying to remain neutral but the war is spreading into the Duchess's lands..."

Arthur pondered on what that would mean. He imagined all the Cards fighting against the Jabberwocky or something similar and grimaced. It seemed like an awful state of affairs and one he had no desire to be a part of, particularly if the Queen of Hearts decided to take off his head. "Then how do I leave Wonderland?"

"You don't," was Francis's simple answer. "You are the new 'Alice' – another Title, by the way. You are the one which will drive the story forward. Or, at least, that is what you're supposed to do. However..." Francis glanced in the direction Arthur had been travelling and shook his head. "Every 'Alice' since the war started is trapped here, pressed into service to either Queen. They fight each other quite terribly and each new Alice provides new technology from Upland. Some, though, manage to escape the service and have become freedom fighters, wanting to create something called 'democracy'."

"Are you saying that I'm going to have to fight?" Arthur asked, glancing at the flying machine. "Do... Do the Alices die?"

"Yes."

Gripping his arms tightly, Arthur looked over his shoulder, searching for a way to escape. "And there's... no way to... well, avoid them?"

"Not if you're left to your own devices."

That made Arthur pause and he blinked up at the man before him. "But... You're the Cheshire Cat... You're supposed to leave me on my own."

Francis's tail twisted behind him as he gave Arthur an aggravated look. "Have you ever been fed hamburgers every day?"

"Wha-? No...?"

"Well, I have. Alfred says there's nothing else to cook because the war's destroying everything. There is milk and cheese but he refuses to cook with them and I hate those burgers." The fur on Francis's ears and tail ruffled: Arthur had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at him. "I want to eat some civilised food. So I want to help you."

"How does helping me help you?" Arthur asked, bemused.

"I will help you to stop the war," Francis told him. "Then Alfred can be discharged from the Duchess's service, as per the agreement and I can receive proper meals from the proper Cook."

"Then who is Alfred, if not the Cook?"

"No-one."

"Hm."

They fell silent as Arthur thought over what he should do. If he helped Francis, he could be in danger. Yet, if he sent him away, he'd be in just as much danger, if not more so. Especially since he had no idea where he was going or how to get out of Wonderland. But there was something else he needed to know...

"Will you protect me, then?"

"Of course. As much as I can, being a Cat."

Arthur snorted. "Sure. Well, fine. I'll help you out. Just make sure I don't die."

"Your wish is my command," said Francis wryly, bowing once again.

He wasn't sure how long it took them to get to the main battlefield. It felt like months, the days bleeding together as Francis kept himself between Arthur and any perceived dangers. All of the main players from the original story seemed dangerous to Arthur, all of them wary and armed when they appeared. Oddly, all the animals now looked human with the exception of ears and tails. Francis would usually turn them away with words, twisting them as he returned them to their owners.

The Cat also managed to find food and water for Arthur. He wasn't sure where Francis got them from as he hardly disappeared from Arthur's side and there wasn't much around. But he always faded from Arthur's perceptions and quickly reappeared behind him with whatever Arthur had been craving. Fish and chips, bangers and mash, curry, bacon butty, dainty sandwiches with cups of tea, delicate fairy cakes... Arthur eagerly ate them all and was relieved when he neither shrunk nor grew.

As they walked, they talked. Sometimes it was about what had happened in Wonderland since the first Alice had appeared; Arthur learnt that the Titled characters changed every few years, newcomers who weren't named as Alice usually taking on the jobs. At others, Francis asked about Arthur's life and Arthur found that, unlike others who stumbled into Wonderland and seemed to forget themselves, Arthur could clearly remember everything about himself. He obligingly told Francis about his successful recovery but that he was still stuck at home and the Cat paid close attention. More often, though, they kept up a witty back and forth, their words often turned back on themselves in such a way that kept Arthur amused.

When they finally reached the battlefield, it was sudden. One moment, they were in the middle of the desert that the Pool had become, odd bits of vegetation hiding one person or another, and the next they seemed to be at the side of a massive table of some sort. It was too high for either of them to see but Arthur could hear shouting, distant explosions and screams. He shuddered at the sound of it and unconsciously drew closer to Francis. Luckily, he managed to stop himself from clutching at the Cat's arm, but only just.

"I've brought you here so you can see what's happening," Francis told him. "The Duchess's house is beyond this. Follow me." He started off again, Arthur hurrying to keep up.

"I don't think I want to see..." Arthur said, chewing on his lip.

"You must," answered Francis.

They started up the steps set into one of the table's legs which spiralled around as it followed the curved block of wood. Arthur was forced to keep his eyes down as Francis's tail trailed behind him. Several times, he stumbled as he tried to correct where he stepped before he stood on it. Thankfully, he steadied himself on the table leg and was able to continue, hurrying to keep Francis close.

Suddenly, the steps disappeared and Arthur found himself tripping over air. Hands caught his arms and steadied him. They didn't leave him until he'd straightened up and given Francis a grateful look. Then an explosion rocked the table and Arthur tensed, his attention stolen by the battlefield set into the sunken table.

Whatever the table had originally been, only stray squares of black and white were visible. The rest of it was taken over by long trenches which stretched across the space. No Man's Land was barely a few inches across but, with the size of everyone, it was more like miles, pitted with craters. People yelled from each of the trenches before machine gunfire drowned them out.

Horrifyingly, there were bodies lying in No Man's Land.

A man with long, black hair had crumpled over a couple of Cards. It seemed like he had wings attached to his back, though one of them had a large hole in it, fire still eating away at the material there. When Arthur squinted at them, he could see the colour that should have been there and realised that they were the wings of a butterfly. What appeared to be a young boy with blond hair and a little cap and large, round ears lay on his back with unseeing eyes, a horrid hole in his chest. Beside him, a small rifle with a bayonet at the end had fallen, his hand still on its butt. On the other side of the table a man cradled someone who looked identical to him from this distance, wailing in despair. With a shock of recognition, Arthur realised the two of them must be Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum.

At either end of the battlefield, a tent had been raised on a plinth Arthur hadn't noticed before. On his left was a red one and on his right was white. The flaps were pulled back and, sitting above the entrenched troops on comfortable chairs, were what Arthur assumed to be the Royal Families. Arthur couldn't see their faces so he couldn't make out their expressions but they didn't seem to react when the surviving Tweedle began to drag his fallen brother back towards the White side. His sobs made Arthur flinch, wishing he could leave but finding himself stuck to the spot.

"It's... horrible," he whispered, stepping closer to Francis as if the Cat could protect him from the sight.

"Yes," Francis murmured. "I'll take you to the Duchess's house now. We'll have to go around the Chessboard."

"Right," said Arthur. But, when Francis turned and moved off, Arthur was unable to move, unable to take his eyes off the Tweedle brothers.

And so he saw it happen.

Francis had taken no more than a handful of steps towards the Red side of the board when a whistle sounded. A roar went up from the Red's trenches and, suddenly, an army of people came over the top, brandishing rifles and sub-machine guns and pistols. There were so many different guns that Arthur knew that there had been a constant evolution in the war unfolding before him. But the most shocking thing was the fact that every single one of them were Alices. Each of them wore a dress a lot like the traditional one associated with Alice in Wonderland. All of them had red hearts stitched over their breast. A lot of them had evidently been previously injured, their heads or hands or ankles bandaged as they rose from the depths of the board. Their hair was in varying styles but a lot of them had shorn it off, helmets pulled down over their heads as they rushed towards the other side.

Arthur wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been for the Alice who was a good shot. Or she had been aiming elsewhere and had an awful aim. Either way, a bullet hit the moving Tweedle in the middle of his back and, with a shout of pain, he collapsed over his brother. He weakly tried to move off him, tried to drag him along the ground with him. Arthur's eyes widened as the poor man turned to the Royal Box and reached towards them.

Then the Alices overran them and Arthur could no longer see what happened.

The White Queen did nothing.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook it. Dazed, Arthur looked around to find Francis gazing at him, seeming worried. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Looking between Francis and the battlefield, Arthur shook his head. "I... This..." He bit his lip to force away tears, tearing his eyes from the scene. Then, determined, he looked up at Francis, fists clenched. "I'm going to help you stop this," he told him, firmly. "I won't rest until I do. I swear that to you."

His words made Francis light up, his tail swinging behind him. The Cheshire grin he usually wore was replaced by a smile of such fondness and relief that Arthur's heart skipped a beat. "Thank you, my Champion Alice." Francis held out his hand, keeping himself towards the battlefield. "Come with me."

"Yes," said Arthur and took his hand, certain that his life was about to get a lot more dangerous whether he wanted it to or not.

By the way, those particular bodies I described are Hetalia characters so guess who!

And the Queen of Hearts is Lili, the Jack is Vash and the White Queen is Natalya. For reasons.

#frukspringfestival2k17 #Day 5 #hetalia #fan fiction #fruk

[funkymeihem-fiction]

Chapter 7

Junkrat returned from the other side of the van, re-buttoning his shorts and adjusting his belts. “Piss break, last chance!”

Mei didn’t even glance up from where she had been going through her phone’s files, holding up a bottle of clear liquid and waving it from side to side. “Hygiene.”

The wiry junker rolled his eyes, protesting aloud with a “Tchuh! Really?” but cupped his hands together anyway as Mei doused him in sanitizer. “Been wipin’ my ass without sanitizer for years and I’ve been fine, ya know.”

“Jamie, just…no. I understand not wasting water, but we’re all making concessions about our cleanliness levels here, please meet me halfway.”

He grumbled and scrubbed his hands together, wrinkling his nose at the chemical smell before flinging them off. “Ugh. Lemony fresh.”

They had stopped on the side of the road, in the middle of another large flat expanse of rocky outback desert. The early afternoon sun was brutal enough that Mei had finally relented to tying a rag over her head for fear of her hair simply combusting into flames, and sweat was streaming steadily down the layer of brown road dust that had caked onto her face from the open windows. She was perspiring so much that it was washing away the protective layers of sunscreen sprays, and she was sporting a tan on top of a rather painful sunburn, her once icy-pale skin looking a bit more like a freshly boiled lobster. She looked a mess, but Junkrat had swooned over the appearance and declared her ‘almost a quarter of the way to looking like a real junker’.

Roadhog had the hood of the van popped, rummaging through the engine and occasionally taking pieces of it out, shaking off clogged dust from the breeze, and putting them back in. Junkrat was busy re-applying the layers of dirt on his hands by wiping them against his shorts as he loped to the back of the vehicle, hopping inside and holding his ear to the large tanks of gas in the back, prodding them with his peg leg and listening to them slosh. Mei twisted around in her seat to look back at him.

“How are the gas levels?”

“We’re gettin’ low. Good thing we’re coming up on the next stop. Few hundred more kilometers and we’ll reach Lucky’s Knob Station, where we can top off and supply up…hope they got beef jerkys and tea bits, don’t want to run out.”

“Lucky’s Knob?”

“Yeah! It’s owned by a bloke named Lucky, set up just below a great big cock-lookin’ rock formation.”

“…Of course.”

“It’s a junker stop, it’ll have petrol, a shop, and a scrap heap. It’ll also have a lot of junkers. Uh, maybe you should wait a bit in the car? Or you could be in charge of the pump for us? You know, stick around the van, we’ll be in and out before you know it.” He rubbed the back of his neck uneasily, fingers coming away sooty and black.

She couldn’t help but rankle a bit at that for some reason. Innocent suggestion though it was, it almost sounded like he was trying to give an over-eager child an ‘important job’ to do to keep them out of the way. And after the incident with the dog, she couldn’t deny that she felt the need to prove she wasn’t so incompetent. “Or I could go in the shop,” she offered quickly. “I can buy some supplies. Just make a list for me, I’ll go in.”

“Ehhh…” He didn’t sound convinced.

“Plus I have to go to the bathroom,” she lied quickly, searching for some semblance of a reason she might need to go in a junker shop.

“We’re literally on a bathroom break, right now.” He gestured out to the surrounding desert as if the connotation should have been obvious.

“Well, I-I want to go to a proper bathroom,” she winced a bit at herself, becoming more aware of how petulant it sounded. “With, you know…ah, toilets.”

Roadhog’s deep chuckle rumbled from the front of the van outside. Of course he would find all this amusing.

She coughed, abruptly facing the front to hide the deepening shade of pink across her cheeks. Much like Junkrat, she couldn’t keep a poker face for the life of her. “So! Just make a list and I’ll go in the shop. I’ll buy what we need and come right back.”

“Well, I guess it would give me and Roadie a bit more time to go over the scrap heap, see if there’s any good parts we can use. S’pose it might be all right, if you’re just in and out real quick-like. Maybe if we made you look a bit more local, though. You’re still real obviously a tourist.”

“How do you intend to make me look more ‘local’? I’m not going to like this, am I.”

“Can’t just have a tourist wandering into a junker shop without getting into trouble. You gotta look like a junker.”

“Oh dear.”

“What was it you said earlier, ‘bout making concessions about your clean levels? Hehehe. Oi Roadie, got some grease ready?”

Junkrat jumped to the front of the open van, arms disappearing into the engine and both hands coming out fully blackened, and then Mei was suddenly being pulled through the open door, standing in the sand as the disgusting black ichor was smeared across her cheeks and arms, stained into her poor headscarf, and scrubbed into her hands.

“Get it real good in there, under the nails! No proper junker got clean nails!” he urged, rubbing his blackened thumb under her eye as she squinted unhappily. “And uh, I assure you this is not me copping a feel on ya, just need to get your chest and arse…”

Mei slapped his hands away. “I can get that myself,” she said quickly, saying a brief prayer for her deceased garments, as she ruined her tanktop and leggings with more splotches of black ooze. "Do I actually need to look like a junker or is this just because you want to see me all greasy?"

“I choose not to comment on that question! Hmm…needs more. Wait, I got just the ticket!” He ran back to the van, bustling and clanging about, before reappearing with a pair of driving goggles, latching them onto her headscarf before pulling the glove off his flesh hand and rolling that onto her as well. Tapping his narrow chin like a thoughtful fashion designer, he snapped his fingers and undid one of his belts, pulling it from his narrow waist and wrapping it about her. Mei looked and felt like a very strange and very filthy doll that was being dressed up as something she wasn’t, but she bit her tongue and stood still as he finished his adjustments.

“Ta-daaaa! Roadie look, it’s our Junker Mei!” he announced, stepping away and waving both arms to the disheveled and confused woman behind him.

Roadhog gave her a thumbs up.

---

The van had long ago crested the hills that started to separate the lowland plains into a much rockier badlands area, with rising buttes and shallow canyons. One of them in particular stood out from the rest, a great red sandstone rock formation that must have stood for eons in the middle of an ancient and long-dead inland sea, when the canyons had been marine trenches. The seas had eaten away at the rock for eons, scraping and scraping, pebble by pebble, sand by sand, until all but these cliffs remained. Perhaps the highest pinnacle of them had stood above the waters, leaving a rounded wide head at the top of a long, narrow shaft…

Mei readjusted her glasses as she looked up at it. “Okay. It really does look like one.”

“I told ya, it looks just like a great big rocky donger. That’s Lucky’s Knob, and we’re coming in on the station.”

At the bottom of the offensively-shaped escarpment was something that resembled more of a small town than any gas station she had seen. There was a cluster of ruined buildings that had been hastily repaired and re-shaped with pieces of cars and metal and old shipping containers, surrounded by sheet metal walls and gates. Several of the structures were mechanic shops, and at least one with several chimneys spewing out thick black smoke might have been some sort of foundry, which for some reason was directly next to (and spewing fumes into) an establishment that looked like a pub or drinking room. And in the center of it all was the gas station, which seemed surprisingly intact compared to everything around it. There were still pumps for the petrol, an overhang to keep off the sun and rain, and the main station shop was just inside, underneath a light-up sign that had been rigged to spell LUCKY’S with letters that were clearly purloined from other scavenged signs from long ago.

The station was also infested with junkers, the most people she had seen in several days. They were all shapes and sizes, with many missing pieces of themselves as usual, and all were covered in dirt and ash. They stood smoking and chatting with one another, playing cards outside the bar, working on their numerous vehicles by the mechanic shops, and judging from what little she could see in the shop’s windows, there were quite a few of them inside as well.

The van sputtered into one of the wide gates and pulled up alongside one of the gas pumps, hissing as it came to a stop. Roadhog’s motorcycle came rumbling up behind them before switching off as well. They were officially at their first junker stop. Mei sat transfixed in her seat, grease-painted face peering out the windows, watching wide-eyed as a brawny man wandered by with the limp body of a dead kangaroo slung over one shoulder, sending a suspicious glare her way before vanishing into the pub kitchens.

“You can still wait here, if you want,” Jamison offered blithely, scratching at his gold tooth with a fingernail.

She frowned back at him, “No. I’m going in and I’m going to buy our things.”

“And use the bathroom,” he grinned.

“…Yes! Yes, and use the bathroom. Inside. The bathroom…” she trailed off lamely, knowing her bluff had been called as the man giggled madly.

“Arroight, darl, don’t get in a twist. Just go on into the main store, pick these up if they got ‘em.” He shoved a crumpled piece of paper into her hands with a hastily-written list. “I’m going to go get a few parts from the scrap heap so this piece of shit don’t break down too soon. I’ll be round back if you need me. Come right back to the van, and if anyone gives you shit, you gotta look tough and tell them to fuck right off. You’re a junker now, love! You gotta act like one!”

“Okay. Look tough, I can do that. I’m sure everything will be fine.”

“Oi, Mei…”

She looked at him.

“Have a great piss!” he gave her the wink and the gun, hooting and cackling madly as he loped off.

“Xiăo huài dàn!” Mei called after him, making a rude gesture.

She climbed out of the van, looking down at the list. Junkrat’s wild handwriting and numerous misspellings aside, it was an easy list; more water and drinks, a jug of coolant, toilet paper, another tarp, some new books for Roadhog, and a few other items. She grabbed an empty backpack and shrugged it on before slamming her door and taking a deep breath, ready to give to herself a little pep talk. She immediately inhaled a face full of stinking fumes from the blacksmithing area as the wind changed, and she coughed before simply dashing out of the smoke and towards the gas station shop.

Roadhog stood quietly at the gas pumps, refilling the tanks as he watched her go.

The bell above the door jostled and chimed as she went in. The inside was a dreary place, dimly lit with flickering light bulbs and poorly insulated, with an untidy amount of sand and dust on the floors, blown in from the outside. But that was easily explained away by the holes in the metal ceiling and the bullet scars in the walls. An old junker with an eyepatch and a metal jaw sat idle behind the counter, ignoring the flies buzzing around him as he read his magazines. The store itself was little more than randomly places shelves of goods, and a smaller area at the back with a few refrigerated storage units. It really was just a gas station after all, though Mei felt distinctly out of place, trying to ignore the other junkers already browsing through.

She went through her list quickly enough; drinks, supplies, and a jug of engine coolant that had been underlined, so it seemed important. The only thing available for Roadhog in the book bin was a few torn magazines and some pulpy romance paperbacks. They were the kind with red lipped women swooning and fainting against burly men with perfectly windswept hair, usually in a field of flowers or on the top of a cliff somewhere. Is this what Roadhog read to pass the time out here? Making a mental note to buy him a better collection of reading materials, she grabbed a few of them anyway. The refrigerated food and the glass bottles felt like heaven to her, and she couldn’t stop from literally hugging one against her cheek, enjoying its cooling touch. It melted away some of the dark grease on her face and the label came away black, but she scrubbed at her cheek to try and correct it before moving towards the food and snacks.

To her delight, there was a tin of oatmeal that wasn’t too far past its expiration date. And not only was there oatmeal, but there was a large package of beef jerky. No doubt Junkrat would love those, so she leaned down to the bottom shelf and snatched them up. As she lifted back up, she took a step backwards and found herself slamming into another person, who stumbled and almost fell onto the display. Mei whirled around in horror, finding an older woman with tanned and leathery skin, wearing black leather biking gear with far too many skulls on it, and with a wild shock of frizzy dyed white-blonde hair that was dark brown at its roots. She was tall enough that she dwarfed Mei when she straightened to stand.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Excuse me!” Mei squeaked automatically, going to grasp her by the arm to help steady her once more.

The woman flung her off, and was immediately joined by another junker dressed in similar black leather and skull-emblazoned biker clothing, half his face taken up by cybernetic parts, including a false eye and ear. He was just as tall as Junkrat, but far more top heavy, and his bicep was tattooed with a skeleton being kissed by a voluptuous woman in a red dress, much like the kind would be found on one of Roadhog’s pulp romances.

“Excuse me. Please,” Mei tried again. “It was an accident.”

The woman stared her down, her eyes a vivid and extremely poisonous shade of green, nearly as bright as Jamison’s own. “Yeah. An accident, shoving ladies down.”

Mei blanched visibly. “Sorry. Sorry. I’m very sorry. Are you all right?”

The biker lady seemed emboldened by her apology. “I’ll get better once you hand over those jerkies and then turn about and piss off.”

“Oh. Ah, of course. Here, it’s all right, you can have them. I don’t mind. Sorry again.” She hurriedly set the package of beef jerky down on the shelf before turning to go.

“And that other tin.”

Mei bit her tongue and quietly put down the tin of oatmeal as well, backing away.

The blond woman stared her down, motioning to the jug of coolant in her other hand. “That was mine first too.”

Mei tightened her grip and held the bottle behind her, not liking at all where this seemed to be headed. She met the other woman’s eyes and pointedly shoved it into her backpack. “I’m sorry, but my friends need this. It’s ours.”

“No, see, I had me eye on it the whole time before you took it. So it’s mine.” The frizzy-haired biker woman smiled unpleasantly.

The barrel-chested man turned on her, cybernetic eye whirring audibly as it focused. “Ours.”

Mei licked her chapped lips, trying to remember what Junkrat had told her. She had to seem tough. Stalwartly, she puffed her chest up and picked up both the oatmeal and the jerky again. “No. Now you’re just trying to bully me. I had it, I was buying it. And the beef jerky. And the oatmeal. Um…sorry.”

Her gaze darted, looking to the man behind the counter for help, or the other junkers perusing the shop, but none of them seemed interested. The little gesture of desperation only seemed to refuel the aggressive junkers’ efforts, and the man stepped forward to block her path as the woman slithered around behind her.

“Nice tan lines, love. Never seen a ‘junker’ so soft and white under her shirt straps before,” He leered a grin, reaching out his mechanical hand to prod hard at her arm with a metal digit. “Yeah, real soft, actually. Fresh sunburn too, musta been so pale. Ooo, fancy.”

She backed away, trying to shove his hand off her. “Excuse me!”

The junker followed her, his hand still around her upper arm before sneering aloud in amusement, “Oi, Tilda, she’s wearing a fancy real brassiere too! Aww, it’s gettin’ all mussed. Here, lemme get that for ya!”

The woman behind her laughed derisively as the man ignored Mei’s attempts to shrug him off, hooking a finger around her bra strap and pulling the elastic until it stretched up and out, and then let it free, leaving it to snap back against her flesh with a sharp popping sound.

“Qīfu rén!”

The can of oatmeal hit him square between the eyes, bursting open and showering him with dried oat grains. Mei clenched a fist, slamming it as hard as she could against the forearm that was holding her. It did little to dissuade the oatmeal-covered bully, who narrowed his eyes down at her and started to snarl a retort.

He never got the chance.

Mei’s punch had been mostly ineffective. The same could not be said of the gigantic spike-gloved fist that came hurtling in from the side, a blur of movement just before it slammed into the man’s head with a sound that she could not even describe, a flesh-and-bone crunch as metallic knuckles met human cranium. It knocked the skull away first, and then the features followed slowly as if being dragged after, his meaty face twisting grotesquely as he went flying away from her. He literally spun like a football, droplets of liquid red whirling after him, going airborne as he was knocked away into the far wall with a painful thud.

Roadhog snorted and drew his bloodied fist back, offering his other hand out to help the startled climatologist back up. She grasped onto it and pulled upright, only to whirl back around as there was a loud clicking noise. Tilda, the woman with the shock of fried white hair, had pulled out not one, but two sets of cobbled-together semi-automatic firearms. Mei couldn’t even begin to guess where she had been hiding them.

“Oi, biggest and last mistake you ever made was sockin’ my man!” Tilda’s green eyes blazed, aiming her guns at the massive bulky wall of Roadhog as he stood in the way.

Mei lifted a placating hand. “W-wait! I’m sure we can still talk this out!”

“Tilda, you drongo! Biggest mistake was you drawin’ on me mates!” A familiar voice interrupted.

A peg leg slammed into the ground next to her, Junkrat’s towering form joining Roadhog’s, his grenade launcher lifted and ready. Apparently Junkrat and this ‘Tilda’ knew each other, and by the expressions on their faces, their relationship was not at all friendly to begin with. And not only that, but there came a series of rapidfire clicks, clinks, clatters, and clacks as every single junker in the shop drew their weapons. Each and every one of them was bristling with some sort of firearm, from the clerk’s shotgun, to makeshift pulse pistols, and what she was almost certain was a junker version of a bazooka, all aimed at the brawlers. And Mei.

This did nothing to encourage the situation, and merely caused Roadhog to pull his massive firearm as well, slamming a handful of scrap into its ammunition packet as he turned on the rest of the shop, while Junkrat and Tilda faced off against each other, still spitting insults and curses. Mei’s stomach dropped as her muscles tightened, face going clammy and pale under her grease paint, adrenaline surging through her. If this escalated any further, the shop would be rapidly reduced to a smoking hole in the ground with all the inhabitants still inside it. She could only think of one thing to do, so she held her handful of money in the air and waved it like one would wave a surrendering white flag, as she started backing away towards the counter.

The old man at the counter, who she could only guess was the eponymous ‘Lucky’, watched her warily, his shotgun still pointed at her junker companions. She held up both hands plaintively, then slowly placed the handful of money before him. “W-we just want the things in the bag, it should cover the spilled oatmeal too...and some extra. I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Lucky glanced down at the handful of crumpled bills and coins, seeming to count it out in his head, before sitting back and pulling his shotgun back behind the countertop. “Get the fuck outta here, take them with you.”

She nodded, then carefully approached her junkers again, hands raised. She hesitated to even touch Junkrat, who was literally growling as he stood off against Tilda. But she took his arm and very gently went to urge him back with her. He took an unsure step, peg leg clacking thudding noisily against the ground.

She very nearly lost his attentions again when Tilda snickered behind her, voice taunting. “Yeah, s’right, run away like you do from everything else, trash rodent.”

Mei had to head him off at the pass when Jamison’s trigger finger twitched on the grenade launcher, pulling him hard along as she whispered hurriedly, “Let’s go. Jamie, please, I’m asking you. Let’s just go.”

With an unhappy grumble, he let himself be pulled towards the door, his enormous bodyguard covering their exit as Tilda finally turned her attentions to her still-unconscious partner who lay in an upside down heap in the corner. Mei half-dragged him outside and didn’t stop half-dragging him until they reached the van, and hurriedly threw the shopping pack inside, climbing in after waving to Roadhog. Junkrat threw another hateful look back at the station shop, then reluctantly climbed back into the driver’s seat.

---

Mei grasped her chest in relief, slumping down into her seat as she let out an exhausted sigh. “That was the most stressful gas station situation I’ve ever been in! I really do not understand junker culture at all. When Bobbero tried to kill you, you acted like it was all a game. Now when that Tilda woman insults you, you’re out for blood and then the whole shop is ready to blow each other to pieces?”

“Yeah, that’s how it is. It’s easy, darl. I like Bobbero. I don’t like Tilda. And Tilda don’t like me. Rankly old hoon should have kicked the bucket ages ago, and now she and her lugs wanna start shit with you? Ffft, if I ever needed a reason…”

“I’m fine, really. Just glad nothing happened. It’s over, let’s just get back on schedule and move on,” she moaned, massaging her forehead.

There was a sharp rap at her window as Roadhog’s still-bloody knuckles met the glass. Rolling it down, she peered up at him curiously.

“There’s a problem,” he grunted.

She looked in the direction his mask was pointed. Tilda was standing outside the mechanic shop, with the half-conscious form of her junker companion slumped over her, speaking to a very large group of other junkers near their motorcycles, all dressed in almost the exact same uniforms with the same skull motifs and colors. At the same time, the entire crowd of them all glared over at the van. Their expressions, especially Tilda’s, were quite murderous.

“Huh. Didn’t know Tilda had made that many friends since we left,” Junkrat muttered.

“That’s a biker gang, isn’t it. We just angered an entire biker gang.” Mei slumped down into her seat, covering her eyes with both hands.

“Oh yeah, they’re going to be right up our arses as soon as we try to make a break.”

“Over a disagreement in a gas station? We were just buying drinks and toilet paper, for goodness’ sake!”

“People been killed for less, darl. Especially over toilet paper. Actually, I got a story about that, if you want to hear…”

“Maybe later. Much later. Thanks.” She pondered a moment, watching Tilda’s gang mill about and prepare their motorcycles, before turning back to Jamison. “Do you have a map of the canyons ahead?”

“The map? Uh, pretty sure it does, why?”

“I think I have an idea. You still have all your bombs with you, right?”

Junkrat’s expression lit up, and Mei could have sworn she saw little hearts appear in his pupils. “Have I ever mentioned how much I love ya?”

She gave him a little half smile. “A few times. Either way, I think you’re going to love this.”

#meihem #Junkrat #mei #mei-ling zhou #jamison fawkes #junkmei #roadhog #mako rutledge #australia #outback #adventure #fanfiction #story #funkyfluff

[idombledore]

The Corona Monologues

In 1918, the world was embroiled in the Great War (1914-1918), a conflict that would eventually claim twenty million lives. Despite the terrible conditions of trench warfare, soldiers always had letters from loved ones back home to look forward to, a time when they could shut out the shelling, the gas attacks, the mud, the never-ending dampness and dream of a sunny day walking to church with wives and children. Then suddenly, letters from home started speaking of darker content, a darkness that rivalled the soldier’s own. Soldiers were being told that people were dying. People were getting sick with something and dying. The protagonists of the war had to maintain morale on the front line so letters from home were stopped. Newspaper articles referring to a deadly illness were banned. Only in neutral Spain, was the press able to broadcast the horrors. The perception was that the disease was only affecting people in Spain and so it was called Spanish Flu, but the truth was it was everywhere. The Spanish Flu was an H1N1 virus, a strain more recently known as Swine Flu in 2009. The Spanish Flu took an estimated fifty million lives worldwide between 1918 and 1920, more than double the casualties of the full four years of war in only half the time. Nowadays, 2020, people must have the words ‘Corona,’ ‘Covid-19’ and ‘Pandemic’ branded into their life like they’ve been looking at the sun too long. The Covid-19 virus, part of the SARS family of viruses, originated from Wuhan in China. We might imagine a medieval slaughter pit that surely had to give birth to something nasty eventually. We imagine how a place could possibly make a virus twist and morph and finally metastasize into such a killer. What ungodly conditions would have to prevail? Wuhan wasn’t a boggy medieval slaughter pit. It was a modern city of eleven million people. But Wuhan had within its confines, the equivalent of that medieval slaughter pit and with it, the gravest danger, the extent of which we do not yet know. The virus most closely resembled viruses found in bats and pangolins, scaly anteaters, so they tracked it down to a market selling bats and pangolins, alive or dead. Early conspiracy theory pointed the finger at a virology lab some twenty miles away but scientists said Covid-19 bonded to its target receptor in humans too perfectly to be anything but a natural evolution. This diary comes from the small Spanish town of Javea in south-east Spain. It attempts to catalogue the thoughts and fortunes of a new generation locked in a new battle with an old enemy. Soon enough, cases started appearing in Europe and it became the conversation du jour from mid-January. Italy was the hardest hit initially. The usual jokes and photos cropped up on social media. It was almost exciting, something newsworthy. Maybe this would be the ultimate virus, the final molecular war, the one that put an end to us. I didn’t know it at the time but, one evening I witnessed a sign of things to come. I was returning home from a friends house and was stopped by three police cars patrolling the port area. They stretched their hands out to ensure I didn’t come any closer and then one of them gestured for me to turn round and get my hands up against the wall. I was waiting for a pat-down but it never came. Words were exchanged between them and he asked me for ID. I went to pass it to him but again an annoyed hand came out as he squinted to see it in torchlight and take a few notes. He said I could go but if they caught me out after dark again, there would be trouble. I didn’t bother telling him I wasn’t aware of any curfew and went on my way, more confused than I was expecting to be. When casualties appeared in Spain and eventually spread closer to home, that mild excitement waned and the exodus began. It was another sign that something had changed on a deeper human level, a descent to survival instinct. People were taking this seriously enough to run for the hills, fly home, move house, anywhere away from other people. They were scared. There were no schools open, no factories or shops. Buy half a shelf in the supermarket and hole up. The next day, the lockdown was implemented. Bars and restaurants shut, everything but pharmacies, tobacco shops and supermarkets shut. Two weeks. We switched to good old-fashioned home entertaining. It’s safe. It’s people we know. It feels like we’re fifteen again, sneaking out of the house to go drinking with our friends. Forget the dirty handshake, it’s now an elbow tap salute, possibly more out of sarcasm than safety. Any sort of touch is considered a mark of absolute trust and a hug just isn’t necessary. We’re given our own personalised glasses, plates, cutlery. We’re given our spot and boundaries are established. There’s even been no-touch dancing. We’ve become accustomed to everything being closed. We’ve also become accustomed to the patrols of the Guardia Civil and Policia Local. We’re being watched and if they catch us without a shopping bag and a shopping list or otherwise verify the authenticity of our escape from home, they will have a certain approach to the conversation and there may well be a fine. A couple of days later, I heard something you normally hear at fiesta time, a sudden uproar of applause and cheers down in the port. And then the church bells started to ring. I looked up to catch any fireworks. Fiesta and lockdown just didn’t correlate. It can’t be. A quick search confirmed there were no festivals until Easter. A Spanish lad from Javea finally posted that’s what they do. In a time when we are at risk and we have to be safe, the police are still out there, supermarket workers, gas station workers, pharmacies, tobacconists. They’re all still out there. That’s who the applause is for. Every night at 8pm. The next evening when the bells rang, I knew what it was all about but it was now the third sign of living in a slightly different world. I remembered castaway comments the previous week, ‘maybe this will be the one.’ Was this the one? The thing we’ve always said we should plan for but never did, the chaos and the Bear Grylls stuff that’ll get us through it. Are we going to have to run for the hills, are we going to have to arm ourselves? A week or so after the lockdown came the grim sequel. The lockdown was to be extended by a further month. This was now more than an inconvenience. A friend said they always bring in the initial idea with a short penalty clause, knowing full well they’ll tell us the full story after we’ve got used to it. Social media was full of worthy wellwishers urging us in pretty pointy lingo to stay at home. I feel ostracised for even thinking of getting the onions I forgot last time. I’d be someone obviously happy to give someone else a deadly disease. We’re all getting an awful lot of work done. We cook things we’ve never tried before, we see parts of the house and garden we hadn’t considered worthy until now. Then, I noticed the sun hadn’t shown itself and the rain hadn’t stopped since the day the lockdown started. A full week of un-Spanish weather. On balance, I took it as a good thing. There was less temptation to consider something fun. My phone became a journalistic tool. I wondered if I should try and film something. Not the nooks and crannies of the house. Out and about. But who would I interview anyway apart from the police? I can shoot empty streets, bars and beaches and I WILL get caught, again. I looked at the curves every day and watched them grow, watched the death toll grow. The curve was still accelerating and that was an awful lot of people dead. After two weeks, I wondered how long it would take before it was all over and we could start touching each other again. I missed hugs more than I thought. Although social media was still up and running and I didn’t feel lonely, I just felt a little more alone than I was. I wanted to stand with my people against this nasty little virus but I couldn’t. I wanted to go to designated places just to interact with other people, but when I got there, I couldn’t. They didn’t want to and neither did I. Maybe it’s something about just seeing other humans that makes us feel better. Other people were doing things I probably should be doing myself, wearing masks and gloves but there was also something people tend to notice more easily in Spain. Usually, it’s the way of it to pass a stranger in the street, make eye contact and say ‘hello’. But that would serve only as a temptation to converse and interact. The way of it now is distance. In the supermarkets, the security guards make us take plastic gloves when we go in. About half the people I see wear masks but the place that sold masks sold out then shut. A lot of people get the mask idea wrong. The masks are not to prevent inhaling the virus. Corona isn’t airborne. The mask is to prevent us from touching our faces, transferring what’s on our hands to our mouth and nose, Corona’s cosiest place. It’s only when we think about it do we realise quite how many times we touch our face in the course of the average day. It’s an awful lot, mostly for unknown autonomic reasons but it did suddenly feel like I was spending most of the day with my finger up my nose. So, in the absence of officially approved masks, I made do with a scarf. I look like Billy the Kid in blue plastic gloves. No hugs. We start thinking about the people near us. Could they have it? How close is it? A week ago, it reached Denia, just the other side of the mountain. That’s close enough. It’s here. It has to be here. Who's got it? That’s when the loneliness sinks in a bit deeper and the final sign. We can’t assume anyone is clean. If they wait maybe four days to two weeks and they’re OK, they didn’t pick it up two weeks ago, but they could have picked it up yesterday. This had to be true isolation. Still, the sun hadn’t reappeared and even the church bells at 8pm became more ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ than the symbol of resistance and solidarity the Spanish are famous for. Families with kids were settling into something more like a TV show. No outside influences to help make it work, just them. A week ago, a young German couple and two very young kids took the house just down from me. I look over their back garden. They came here for some Easter sun but they landed in lockdown. They couldn’t go anywhere and they couldn’t go home. Every day, they came outside with balls and bikes and frisbees and they’d laugh and play until the time came for small people to get sleepy. The parents were laughing and joking and loving each other too, doing what families who live here are doing. Making it work. It could be an enlightening time but probably also a time that stretches the elastic a little. In Spain, as with anywhere else, elderly people form a major part of the death statistics. Most would say that makes sense but conspiracy theories keep cropping up, not just who released the virus but was it targeting the elderly? The Spanish government announced last week that, at a certain number of cases, medical facilities would have a cut off age, an age at or beyond which, people will not be treated. That age is 67. The conspiracy is how cunningly in line with retirement age that is. But for most people, conspiracy tends not to wake up with us in the morning. I speak to a computer screen instead of humans and walk around the house talking to myself far more than I did. I need to see the curve decelerate. And I need to see the sun again. It’s April 1st 2020. My birthday. The oddest birthday party ever. Skype will be live with six other households later and we will all be listening to the “Corona on the Rocks” jam on local radio. So, until next time…. Stay clean, stay safe, stay with us.

#covid19 #corona #virus #conspiracy #lockdown