#the part three that has eluded me for SIX MONTHS

[avarkriss]

dust to dust iii: same sweet shock

✭・.・✫

Obi-Wan (Ben) Kenobi x Female Reader (no y/n, no she/her)

Rated: E for Explicit, 18+ only

Word Count: 3.996

Summary: The pretty space hermit finally returns; shenanigans follow

Song Inspo: Dust to Dust by The Civil Wars

Warnings: porn with feelings; naked male/naked female; p in v sex; female receiving oral sex; (whispers) come eating; a tiddly bit of angst at the end; hopeful ending; canon-typical injury; brief mention of blood

Author’s Note: I still wanna fuck this old man so bad it makes me look stupid. He deserves this :) Enjoy, share what you can, and be well ~

Part One Here

Part Two Here

It had been quiet since you saw him last.

Your stand was calm and the business was steady, your days filled with barter and trade. Boonta Eve was quickly approaching and you were bringing in sunfruits and air cakes, even some sparkling light toys for the kids. All was as it should be.

Except for that gnawing pit you felt in your stomach every time a few small eddies danced across the sand. They came and went in the wind, granules lost to the dunes when the soft breeze passed. They were beautiful in a sad type of way - captivating, but too short lived.

They reminded you of him.

Fleeting.

Sometimes you weren’t sure if they had even been there at all, a trick of your tired eyes. Just like the moments you thought you saw him deeper in the market, but by the time you raised your hand in greeting, the figure was gone again. You often wondered if those glimpses were of the ghost himself, or if it was just your slightly dehydrated brain giving you hope.

But there wasn’t time to dwell - Boonta Eve was on the horizon. A welcome distraction for now. You were good at keeping busy, tiring yourself enough during the day that you could quickly fall asleep. But at night you had nowhere to hide, and your want had a habit of making itself known.

If someone had known to ask, you might have said that you stopped counting the days since you last saw him. That it had been so long there was no way you could still feel the press of his lips to your thigh, the warmth of his tongue, or the stretch of his fingers. You couldn’t possibly still feel the soft breeze of his exhale, or the dip that his body had made in your bed. You had long forgotten the way he tasted and the sound of his moans filling your room.

But you weren’t a good liar, and your dreams filled the gaps where bliss left your memory blank. He stayed with you, even after forty seven standard days. Even after you convinced yourself that a sarlacc had gone and swallowed him whole, that he was never coming back. He stayed on the fringes of your mind, in the pit of your stomach, and in every neat pile of dishes you left stacked up on the counter, waiting to be put away.

Which was exactly where you found yourself now, placing a cup into your small cupboard before heading to your stand to open early, sure that the customers would stop by for last minute purchases on their way to the races.

The morning passed in a flurry, final purchases quickly packed up and handed off to your patrons with a smile. As the time for the first race neared the crowd disappeared, leaving you to close for the day. You were looking forward to having the afternoon to yourself, glad for a small break from your daily routine and an excuse to watch your favorite holo.

Everyone was gone, so when you turned to collect your cache you nearly jumped out of your skin at the sight of a billowing brown robe, the hood casting a shadow over the most brilliant blue eyes you had ever seen.

-

You blinked a few times, unsure if this was another trick of your mind or if he really was here, right in front of you.

“Ben?”

He lifted his hand in an awkward half wave, taking a step or two forward.

“I apologize for frightening you, I was looking to purchase a few bandages but I see that you’re closed. I can return tomorrow.”

You scoffed and told him you were happy to help however you could, still surprised to see him. He was so close you could reach out and touch him, prove to yourself that he was really here.

“Wouldn’t you prefer a bacta patch?”

He hummed for a moment, something about them being too costly and how the cut was really quite small. Nothing to worry about, you know, just a fall out in the rocks. But you were insistent, and with a long suffering sigh he pulled his hood back, auburn hair bright in the midday suns. There was a gash across his forehead, pooled with crimson and dirty at the edges.

You fixed him with a look and a slight shake of your head, watching the skin of his upper cheeks warm with flush. Cache in hand you stepped out from behind your stand, nodding your head towards the alley he had taken with you so many days before.

“I have bacta at home -”

“Really, there is no need to fuss, it’s just a small -”

You turned and narrowed your eyes at him and he stammered to a stop. Pulling his hood up and folding his arms into the sleeves of his cloak he nodded towards you, accepting the favor.

“Lead the way.”

The two of you made your way to your familiar painted steps and you took them two at a time, getting your door open in record time before ushering Ben inside.

“Have a seat on the couch,” you told him gently, gesturing towards it as if he hadn’t been in your home before. “I’ll be right back.”

You could feel your pulse in your fingertips as you made your way towards your refresher, moving the curtains to the side to access your med kit. It didn’t have much, but you always kept a small pot of bacta gel and bandages for those small kitchen accidents or when you spent too much time in the sun.

When you returned Ben had removed his cloak and had it in his lap, fiddling with a few loose threads along the bottom corner. He gave you an apologetic smile that you returned with warmth while setting your things on the table before fetching some clean water and a cloth, the dirt and sand around his wound more glaring now that you could see him closely.

It didn’t take you long to have him all cleaned up, wiping away the debris and drying blood. You dabbed the gel into his skin and covered it with a small strip of cloth, a porous type that would fall off once the bacta had dried and the skin was healed. It was in your application of the cloth that you noticed a few marks on his shoulders and hands, dressing those wounds as well as he asked you how you had been.

You wanted to tell him that you missed him. That you thought of him every day, dreamed of him every night.

That you were convinced he was dead…

That you wanted to kiss him.

But instead you shrugged and said you had been busy preparing for all the holiday sales, keeping your lips a respectable distance from his hairline. When you returned the question he gave you a noncommittal hum, not providing much insight into his life.

“How’d this happen,” you ventured, placing a small bandage a cut near the crook of his neck, peeking out from under his tunic.

He smiled.

“Well, you know how the Wastes can be.”

You certainly did, as did everyone else on this Maker-forsaken planet, so you didn’t push.

“Stay and rest,” you offered, noticing little nicks on his knuckles and a small scrape behind his ear. Whatever scuffle he had gotten into certainly left him worse for wear.

“I’ve got some food to share, and my roof has a nice view of the fireworks. I heard the Hutts got them off Naboo this year so I’m sure they’ll be beautiful.”

You wondered how hard he must have hit his head because he surprised you with a hum of assent instead of his typical polite-but-infuriating refusal of your hospitality. Part of you craved knowing where he was and what had happened, but he looked so soft, exhausted from whatever it was. Instead you offered him a pillow, which he graciously took. He tucked it under his head as you started up a holo, glancing over to find that he had fallen asleep in two shakes of a lothcat’s tail. You took a thin blanket and spread it across his form before retreating to your room, hidden away from the high suns and the burning desire that threatened to outshine them.

-

You looked over at the sound of quiet rustling, watching as Ben sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. You kept your smile to yourself, quietly observing the way his hair stuck out at a funny angle and how he stretched his back.

It took all you had to not laugh when he saw there was no more sunlight, glancing around your apartment to find you like he had committed some horrible atrocity. He was patting his hair down when he saw you standing in the kitchen, and the look on his face made you think he was about to apologize.

"I am terribly sorry," he started, the words drawn with sleep.

You turned your head to the side, looking him up and down.

"What for?"

He stumbled a little, searching for his words before you held up your hand to stop him.

"Ben, there is nothing to apologize for. You're my guest, and you're welcome to stay as long as you need."

Forever, you privately hoped, but there was a part of your heart that knew he could not leave whatever brought him to this planet.

He swallowed, and you so wished that you could see into his mind. The thanks he whispered was so sincere it made your heart crack, genuinely wondering when he last experienced kindness outside of your walls.

The sands were known to not welcome strangers.

You cleared your throat and refocused your mind, stirring the pot of soup you made.

"The fireworks will start soon, if you want to have dinner on the roof."

He said it sounded lovely and you felt your pulse quicken, ladling the meal into two bowls. He gathered the pillows and blanket from the couch as well as his cloak, following you to a door that looked like it led to nowhere. With a quick button push it opened, revealing a small landing and stairs to the roof.

"Vaporator access," you explained, walking up the half flight and setting the bowls on the small, weather beaten ledge that so often served as your makeshift table.

Ben handed you a pillow before taking a seat next to you, stretching the thin blanket from his shoulders to yours.

"I see why you like it up here," he mused, gazing up at the glistening stars.

"I've always wondered what it's like out there."

He hummed, and you heard him take a sip of the warm broth.

"It's beautiful in some places, cruel in others."

"How many worlds have you traveled?"

He distracted you then, mentioning that the soup was delicious. You sipped your own before repeating your question, genuinely curious about life in the stars.

"Honesty I couldn't say," he started, eyes crinkling at your look of surprise. "My work required frequent travel. My favorite planet had an ocean, along with beautiful forests and mountains. It was unlike anything I had seen before, alive in every way."

"You came here when you could have had that?"

You couldn't help but sound incredulous, unable to imagine how anyone would give up all of that for well, this.

His smile held something sad as he looked out at the horizon.

"I could never find it again after my first visit. Some things just aren't meant to be."

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding in agreement before a shiver ran down your back. Ben took his cloak and draped it over your shoulders, sliding closer to you as bright lights began to fill the sky.

You watched the display in silence, letting your fingers slowly entwine with his. The Naboo fireworks were more extravagant than you had ever imagined, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at the man sitting next to you. The light illuminated the angle of his jaw and the slight breeze ruffled his hair; a part of you thought that maybe the fireworks were the second most beautiful thing you had seen that evening.

They ended far too quickly, and you found yourself slowly standing, Ben’s cloak wrapped around your shoulders. He gathered the bowls and pillows while you folded the thin blanket before making your way down the stairs and back into your flat.

You found him looking down into the sink, appearing to be deep in thought.

“Are you alright?”

You slipped his cloak from your shoulders, placing it over the back of your couch before joining him.

“Yes, very much so, but -”

He trailed off, and you couldn’t quite tell what was hiding in his eyes. Was it sadness, or perhaps regret? You wanted to hug him, to hold him close and kiss the ruddy tip of his nose.

“Whatever you need Ben,” you offered, not insincerely. He could ask you for one of the suns and you would find some way to bottle it.

“I’m afraid I’m not looking forward to leaving.”

His smile was sad.

You moved closer to him, close enough that he could touch you if he wanted.

“So don’t,” you breathed, fingertips brushing his.

And he must have wanted, at least as much as you did, because now he was coming closer, forehead nearly touching yours before pressing his lips to your cheek.

“You’re sure?” you asked, arms wrapping around his waist. You were met with a nod of his head and you kissed him in earnest, swallowing a quiet groan.

-

You were clumsy making your way to your bedroom, bumping into corners that you’ve known for years. His robes were thick and warm and tied far too tightly for your liking, taking considerably more time than you imagined to undo.

You felt him smile when you whined, placing a soft kiss to your temple before covering your hand with his own. He worked around your fingers to breach the offending knot, letting your hands in to explore his soft torso.

It took far less time to remove your clothes, letting them find the floor as the two of you climbed into bed, all tangled limbs and no grace. You could feel him growing hard against your skin and you reached down to stroke him, feeling his hands pause their path up your back.

“Is everything alright Ben?”

You had retracted your hand and he looked almost pained, nodding at you earnestly.

“I want this, I do, it’s just -”

He trailed off as he often did and it didn’t take long for you to put two and two together. Maybe it had been a while, or perhaps it was his first time taking things this far with someone, but you didn’t mind. More than anything you wanted him to be comfortable, to give him even half the pleasure he had given you. You considered him a moment longer and splayed your hand over his chest, gently directing him to lay back. When he did you crawled next to him, holding his cheek in your hand.

“We can do anything you like,” you reminded him, brushing a few loose hairs from his forehead.

“This,” he breathed, grabbing at your soft flesh. “You, now, this -”

You chuckled, but not unkindly, at the way he stumbled on his words. Normally he was so well-spoken even with his habit of speaking in half sentences, and you never imagined he could sound so flustered. You kissed his jaw and then his throat when he stretched his neck back, a whine caught between his teeth.

“Just relax,” you smiled, kissing his collarbone. “I’ve got it from here.”

He caught your hand and kissed your palm, the look in eyes near pleading. You smiled softly at him before arranging yourself over him, straddling his waist and kissing every scar and freckle you could find. He was eager but shy, grabbing at your hips before pulling his hands back, stumbling over his words, somehow trying to ask if you were okay with moving forward, like this hadn’t been the subject of your every spare thought.

“I promise I’m okay Ben, but if you want to stop at any point -”

“No,” he interrupted, settling his hands on your waist. “Never that.”

You kissed him full on then, his sand chapped lips rough on your own. He parted his mouth and you let your tongue dance across his, reveling in every small noise he made against you as you ran your hand through his hair.

When you parted you shifted your knees, working to align him with your entrance. He groaned as you slowly sank down, tightening his fingers against your skin. Part of you hoped they would leave a bruise, something you could feel deep in your skin that kept him around for longer than the night.

You studied his face as you gently rolled against him, testing how far he wanted to go. You committed him to memory - the messy hair, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and the way his nose was scrunched up while his lips were parted, rasping your name between heavy breaths.

“Shh,” you soothed, leaning down to kiss his open throat. “I’ve got you.”

You peppered him in kisses and small licks, trying to press as much of your skin against his as you could manage while rolling your hips against his. You could feel every part of him this way, and the friction was pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

You sighed his name into the corner of his mouth and he finally opened his eyes, looking at you like you had hung the suns in the sky. He turned to kiss you back, letting one of his hands roam across your chest.

“You’re beautiful like this,” you murmured, unable to help the smile spreading across your face at the blush blooming across his. He looked up at you from under his lashes and you decided right then and there that you must be dreaming. You clenched around him and his eyes fluttered closed again, some mumbled curse lost on his tongue.

You began to roll your hips faster, chasing the sweet friction he provided, closer to your release.

“You have to stop,” he breathed and you stilled against him before sitting up, looking panicked.

“I won’t last much longer,” he clarified, looking distraught.

You took his hand and guided him to the implant on the front of your thigh.

“We can stop if you want to, but we also don’t have to.”

“Thank the Maker,” he groaned, reaching his thumb towards your clit while thrusting up against you.

You let your head fall back for just a moment before returning your attention to him, determined to burn this moment into your mind. You met his thrusts and whined high in the back of your throat as your release neared and then overtook you, walls fluttering against him as he spilled into you.

Your chests heaved together when you leaned over him again, letting your foreheads rest together. Ben made a quiet noise and you opened your eyes, pulling away just slightly.

“Would it be alright if I cleaned you up,” he asked gently, finally releasing the flesh of your hip to rub small circles around your lower back.

You nodded and slowly rolled off of him, relaxing into your pillows. You had told him there was a stack of clean cloth on your desk, so it surprised you when you felt his hand on your knee, gently tugging your legs open. You gave him a curious glance and then he came closer, running his hand up your thigh before tracing over your entrance, settling between your legs.

He gave you a cheeky grin before parting your folds with both thumbs, humming with what you could only guess to be delight before running his tongue against you, lapping at your shared spend. He moaned against you as he worked, tongue finding all the places his fingers had mapped so many cycles ago.

Your moans were much quieter now, toes curling while you tangled your hands in his hair. He worked you through another orgasm slowly, pulling every ounce of pleasure from your chest that he could. You were gasping by the time he finished, and you let yourself tangle your limbs against his when he returned to your side with a gentle kiss to your temple.

There wasn’t a need for words, not like this at least. You laid together and you kept yourself up as long as you could, counting every quiet thump of his heart because on a logical level you knew that when you woke, he wouldn’t be there next to you.

But sleep won, as it always does, and you found yourself fading away to Ben’s soft snores against your hair.

-

When you woke your bed was cool, and your curtain was parted to let the sun in. You sighed before wrapping yourself in the sheet, looking out into the sands. When you did you saw a figure clad in brown and thought it must be Ben, heading back to… wherever it was that he was from.

Only, he didn’t seem to be moving away from your position. In fact, it seemed quite the opposite.

With the risk of extreme embarrassment of running towards some other desert hermit you quickly threw on your discarded clothes from the previous evening, grabbed your old comm from the counter, and bounced down your steps as quickly as you could, rounding your building and breaking every rule you had ever known: running directly into the Dune Sea, alone, towards a stranger.

He must have been moving fast, you couldn’t believe how much distance he had crossed to meet you, wrapping you in his arms. The corners of his eyes were wet.

“I can’t… I can’t stay.”

He sounded devastated, but you nodded your understanding.

“But I can’t stay away either.”

Hope bubbled inside you, mind racing as you tried to find something to say.

“So it was you in the market,” you chided, leaning back to look him up and down.

“I guess I’m not as good at hiding as I thought.”

“No,” you laughed. “Not at all.”

He smirked a little then. “If only you knew.”

“Ben I don’t know what you’re doing out here, but you deserve to be happy. I know you can’t stay, I know. But I’ll be here. I’ll be here for you.”

He pulled you back against his chest, pressing a kiss against your hairline. It was bizarre, to be embraced like this in the most barren area of a desolate planet on the edge of nowhere, but in that moment it was everything you needed.

You pressed the comm device into his hand, wrapping his fingers around it.

"A direct line. Just in case you… fall again."

He nodded and placed it in his pocket, returning his hand to yours.

“I’ll come to you when I can, to make sure you’re alright. I’m sorry -”

“You don’t need to apologize. What is meant to be will find a way. Stay safe, Ben.”

“I’ll find a way.”

It was so quiet you almost missed it, and you leaned in to kiss him one more time, bathed in the light of the rising suns. Before you were ready, and if you were honest with yourself you don’t think you would ever be, he had to turn away and return to what bound him so tightly. You watched him walk for a short while before turning back as well, your own day needing attention.

Maybe it will be tomorrow, or maybe next week. But as sure as the suns rise and fall, you know you will see him again.

Some day.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#obi-wan kenobi #ben kenobi #female reader #no y/n #no she/her #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi/reader #obi-wan kenobi/you #star wars smut #sw smut #nsft #the part three that has eluded me for SIX MONTHS #i had hoped to get this done by the holidays but it is what it is #hope whoever finds this enjoys it <3

[utterlyinevitable]

Darling Dom😘 kiss #4 for e&b? Please and thank you🌻

Again. 

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC (Becca Lao) Rating: Mature/NSFW Summary: It’s been three months since the incident. They haven’t been intimate since.. except today Becca thinks it’s time to try again.  Warning: Eludes to pregnancy termination/loss Trope: NSFW, Partnership, Pregnancy, In Love, Traumatic, Ethan POV. 

#4 …where it hurts. 

A/N: from the write a kiss list. Oh Petra thank you for requesting this 💚 I was seriously stuck on what to write for these beans for a very long time. One night I was in my feelings and spilled this out in the dead of night. It’s raw, got away from me and I’m not really sure there’s a coherent plotline. It’s also my very first attempt at smut.  This is in the DWHAF? universe with the intended audience of just you and me. I know you’re on hiatus right now and hope you’ll find this soon.  I love you 💕

A/N2: this is emotional porn. again, i have done ZERO editing to this. please be gentle. 

__________________

It hurts. 

Not physically, no. 

It’s an ache in the chest that never seems to heal. 

Becca thought she was ready. It has been months, after all. Three weeks was the recommended recovery time, her own proclivities chose six just to be safe. Just to make sure everything healed the way it should. 

The reality is it’s been three months.

They haven’t had sex since the week before she took that daunting test. 

Ethan hadn’t pushed her. It wasn’t his place too. And he had bigger worries than their libido - like the grim look on her face, and getting her back to work. Bringing the color back to her smile. Even when it did return, duller than before but there, he worried. 

If Ethan was being honest he hasn’t felt like it either. 

So Becca got to choose when they were ready to go farther than sweet kisses and soft above-waist caresses. 

She chose tonight; quite randomly Ethan must admit. Nothing about the day was very romantic nor inspiring, everything about it was the same mundane routine they’ve fallen into. 

The only difference being the hunger in her eyes as they left work and the fervent kisses up his arm and on his neck in the elevator up to their condo. The way she pulled him down to her lips the moment his key scraped against the lock of their door. Her determined fingers unbuttoning half his shirt before they’ve even crossed the threshold. Shoes tossed in the same motion as their tops. 

Ethan gathered her in his arms. Hiked her up around his waist carrying her to the bedroom. His lips never leaving her skin. It’s been so long it feels like the first time. The butterflies and electricity and static and wonton anticipation, he’s already hard and twitching just thinking about being in her again.

He sets her down on the bed as gracefully as a his inherent carnage would let him. Becca bounces on top of the memory foam, her fists gripping at his pants. 

Ethan playfully bats her away - a few fingers to her shoulder pushes her back towards the mattress. Now she’s laid out before him like so many times before - her open mouth and flush cheeks saying more than she has all day. 

He leans down to try to seductively remove her trousers, wants to try to have a semblance of lasting foreplay. Ethan wants her to be ready. Sure. Confident that it’s the right time. Becca wiggles with splendid impatience that has his devious smirk broadening. He peels the skin-tight pants off her legs and admires his woman. 

She’s in the most remarkable unremarkably mismatched lingerie - a horrendously lime green everyday bra and blue cotton panties. 

It’s his favorite sight to behold.

Then her hands are reaching for him, opening and closing like a toddler reaching for a parent. 

For a moment Ethan falters. 

For a moment he’s forced to remember why this time is special. 

Why he needs to be careful. 

That even though she hasn’t talked about it, it’s a heart wound that may never heal. 

Ethan swallows back the emotion that begins to build in his throat. The leftovers of which manifest in the glaze of his eyes. Mixes with every ounce of love for his beholder. 

He’s resigned to believe he’s made peace with what’s happened weeks ago. It wasn’t his place to get involved more so than as a supportive partner. He didn’t have a right to make any part of this about him. It may have been his baby but it wasn’t his body, his life on the line. He’d take a thousand more weeks like that one if it meant keeping Becca by his side.

Ethan laces his fingers through hers, uses her as an anchor to bring them closer together until their clasped hands are pressed into the mattress and he’s hovering above her. Until mandarin oranges and peony are in his nostrils. The smell of her mixed with the sweetness of sex starting to transpire on her skin. Until one of her legs hooks around his and pulls him closer. 

It’s a tender kiss with soft lips. Another to her jaw. To the other side. Peppers of pecks down her neck. His hands follow to free her breasts, tongue swirling around one nipple while the other is teased by the tips of his fingers. It’s the switches when she groans, perfect lustful reverberations. Then she’s wiggling more seeking friction between her legs, grinding against what she can get from his thigh.

Ethan can’t help but oblige.

Lips trailblazing the plain of her body, hands following until fingers curl in the waistband. Tugs one side then the other down. 

Becca lifts her hips eagerly. 

The motion shouldn’t have stopped Ethan in his tracks. 

But it did. 

He has to take another moment to appreciate this sight. Her. His Madonna. His siren. The love of his life. The woman who far surpasses any of his wildest dreams. 

His partner.

She feels his intense gaze - his azure eyes weighted down with so much love. It makes her uncomfortable. 

Bare and barren in front of him Becca throws her arms over her face. 

She didn’t want this. She didn’t want the attention - didn’t want the cloud of despair that hangs over her every moment of the day to rain on this one bit of normalcy. She wanted to get back to the way they were. Wanted to get so intoxicated on him that she didn’t feel anything anymore. 

She wanted to go back to before.

Ethan catches the shift. His hands are rubbing up and down her thighs comfortingly, and Becca feels one side of the bed dip below her hips.

The air is filled with terminal understanding.

His fingers are still grazing her upper thighs, to her hip bone, through her tuft to the other side and around again. Drawing a parallelogram around her most sensitive area. Sparking sensations she hasn’t felt in months and desensitizing her all the same.

Becca peeks out from her hiding place. Even in the dampened glow of Boston through the windows, she can see him so clearly. His eyes so dark and large, inviting and questioning. 

She forces a half smile. 

He responds with a kiss to her lips with every ounce of understanding he has to offer. 

His smiles matches her own when he receives a roll of her hips as his forefinger grazes the crease of her legs. Then he gets a moan of encouragement. She parts for him and his finger meets her labia, sticking out like always. He gives it the attention it deserves then dipping further into her folds. Wet and biologically ready. 

Further up he circles her clit and the little groan she makes is music to his ears. It’s a groan of pure satisfaction. Deep and pleasurable. Ethan looks over and Becca's eyes are shut once more. Enjoyably light and without creases. Like she’s lost in his touch. Her hands twirling in the sheets in anticipation for what’s to come.

Ethan shifts. Swift movements down the bed to kneel between her legs. She smells sweet and a little like chlorine and undoubtedly like sex and they have barely started yet. It settles deep in his abdomen, his cock twitches. 

He wants to keep going. 

He will keep going. 

He’ll worship her and bring her to ecstasy multiple times. 

But, before he does anything else, he leans over.

He leans over to place a delicate everlasting kiss to the inner area of her pubic bone. To the area she’s clutched and cried out in pain over. A quick recognition of what was, has been. 

They’ll never forget. 

But they’ll move on. 

They’ll make it better, together.

__________________________

a/n: woowee this was a doozy. can you see what i mean by i didn’t edit and just sent it off into the void? this was also my first attempt at smut so i hope it wasn’t cringe-central 🤞 

thank you for reading ♥

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[mashedpotittiess]

Arrangements Ch 1

Title: Arrangements. Chapter Title: It’s just a little crush.

Pairing: Lim Sejun x Reader. Mentions of Choi Byungchan and non mentions of Do Hanse, Heo Chan, Kang Seungsik, Han Seungwoo and Jun Subin as well as OC’s.

Summary: He was the aggravating fuckboy roommate of your best friends but maybe that’s what caused you to agree to such an arrangement. But will the arrangement work out? Between mutual friends, his other hookups and a certain romantic interest on your part, this could all be trouble.

Words: 6,500

Rating: PG13 but will eventually become M

Genre for this Chapter: College! au, Angst.

Tags/Warnings: Drinking, Mentions of sexual scenarios, mentions of possible drug use (a roofie), Mentions of someone possibly wanting to take advantage of someone (While Nothing happens I need to put this as a warning as it can trigger some past experiences readers have had)

Fic Series inspired Playlist Link:

Taglist: @a-mess-of-fandoms @dnyad

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You hated Lim Sejun and his band of one night stands. Before anybody assumes it’s a case of “oh she has it bad for him and she’s just jealous” you were in no way into him like that and in no way jealous of the Grey haired man you dubbed ‘FookBoi’ nor his female companions. He simply cramped your style.

When he moved into your best friends apartment as a third roommate you thought you’d have the same dynamic with your friends that you had had for about a year before his sudden appearance. But you were sorely mistaken.

It was Friday night and you had your body sprawled over the deep grey fabric of the couch with your sock covered feet lying on your best friend Do Hanses blanket covered lap. Byungchan had occupied the black leather like single seat to your right and you all were currently debating on whether or not twins were creepy. The debate brought to you by you all watching The Shining once again.

“How could you even think twins are creepy? It’s clearly just the matching outfits with the head tilting that eludes to the creepy factor” you were thrown into a fit of laughter as Hanse imitated the twin’s expression when Johnny first saw them, his lip ring glinting in the soft shadows of the single lit lamp to his right. Byungchans dimples were on full display as he couldn’t help but laugh as well. You really did try not to blush at his adorable face. You had a thing for one of your best friends and you couldn’t help it, your small crush had existed for around 8 months are you knew it was a matter of time before it was known.

You were admiring his soft contours of his face down to his defined jawline and back up to lip plump lips curled upward around his teeth as his focus was still on Hanses face when the front door slammed open causing you three to jump in surprise. Hanse grabbed your feet as if to use your unicorn print covered appendages to shield himself from the big scary monster he assumed had not only come through his front door but also used a key.

As you tore your gaze away from the man you had been admiring you looked up to see Lim Sejun walking passed the back of the couch with some blonde traipsing her body on his ebony leather jacket covered shoulder. He threw you a smirk as he had undoubtedly witnessed your admiration for his roommate. “Enjoy your movie” was all that left his lips before you heard a woman’s giggle and the closing of his door followed by a hard thump.

Pulling your feet back to your body you crossed your soft cotton short covered legs and snatched a fist full of buttery salty popcorn from the shared bowl in the center of the dark wooden coffee table situated in front of you. Hanse pulled the off white blanket closer to his body and used a black nail polish covered finger to press play on your movie. As you took another bite full of popcorn your munching was cut short by a woman moaning a loud “Unngh yes Daddy” Choking on the salty kernels your face took on a sour expression and you turned to see Hanse grimace and Byungchan blush a bright crimson followed by a shake of his head.

The sounds of what started as a soft mumbling were turning into a shrieking of sorts causing you and your best friends to stand up together and make a beeline to Hanses bedroom. You all knew it would be no use to higher the television to try and drown out the sounds of pleasure the two people in the room next to the living room were feeling. Clutching your beloved popcorn and fizzy coke you settled yourself in the middle of the light blue jersey sheet covered bed. Hanse with the fuzzy blanket from the living room took up the space to your right and Byungchan settled himself on your left, his long legs sprawled out, his green and yellow parakeet printed socks causing you to smile softly.

With a few clicks of the remote the movie had been ready to be continued but before you could immerse yourself into the infamous “Redrum” scene, Hanse decided to look you straight in the eyes and with an obnoxiously loud screech he let out a “ HOOOYAH D A D D Y.” His eyes rolling back into his skull. Fake gagging you shook your head and slapped his tattoo covered shoulder over his thin tank top. “I fucking hate you sometimes.”

Curling yourself into your oversized hoodie you got comfortable with both of your best friends, settling yourselves once again into weekly movie night. As the movie played you were brought back to what had just happened in the living room. While this certainly wasn’t the first time your plans were ruined by Mr ‘Fookboi’ himself, it still irked you. You knew this wasn’t your apartment and you had no say what happened around here but you missed the fun times you three had had without the possibility of hearing ridiculously loud sex take over the three bedroom apartment at any time of the day or night.

Hell, before Sejun moved in, the boys had shared an apartment with a man named Seungsik. He was genuinely nice and even joined in for a couple of your movie nights. It was peaceful and the only loud banging happened in the apartment was when Hanse attempted to make cookies and the clanging of pots and pans that most certainly weren’t used in baking resounded throughout the shared space. But that peace was cut short when Seungsik accepted a study abroad opportunity and Sejun occupied his space.

You spent about 4 days out of the week here and you swore there was a new female face that accompanied Sejun almost every one of those days for the passed six months that he had been living here. You were in no way sex shaming him as you believed everyone can do whatever they wanted with their own bodies but his choice in woman was sometimes infuriating. They held no respect that this was a shared apartment and it showed.

From the Brunette last week who had walked around in nothing but a towel while you helped Hanse study for his Psych midterm to the Blonde the week prior that you caught using YOUR purple toothbrush that you had left in one of the two bathrooms for nights you slept over. Like who the fuck uses a toothbrush that isn’t theirs? As you had taken in her party dress which you assumed she had been wearing earlier in the night when she followed Sejun to his room passing you and Byungchan grimacing over Hanses attempt at baking  muffins, covered frame and her makeup smudged eyes, your eyes narrowed in on your toothbrush between her pink stained lips.

“Excuse me, that’s my toothbrush” you said with a grimace on your face as she leaned down to spit the toothpaste that had been sloshing in her mouth into the sink, the white fluid making its way down the drain. “hmm? oh here” was all she replied before placing the toothbrush in your palm. It still had toothpaste on it and it took everything in you to not throw the toothbrush at her and go full on hulk mode.

Then there was the Red head a few days ago that you knew as Cynthia from your shared Calculus class. You had been making dinner for your best friends that had been having a difficult school week. Walking into the apartment with the the bags full of groceries using your key the boys had given you, you set the canvas bags onto the white counter before organizing them into piles of what needed to be made in order from first to last. Pulling together the pots and pans you needed your thoughts were interrupted by a high pitched whine and the sounds of a bed thumping against a wall. Glancing towards the door you saw what appeared to be a woman’s taupe coat. Shaking your head you let out a disgusted ‘gross’ and pulled up your Spotify playlist hoping it would drown out some of the sounds coming from the occupied bedroom.

Throwing the tomatoes and onions into a pan you let them sauté until they were caramelized and got started on putting together the garlic butter for the fresh baked french bread you scored at the grocery store. Grooving to your music, you went along with your chopping of vegetables for the salad followed by dumping a box of penne into the salted water you had prepared. Spreading the herby garlic spread onto the soft doughy bread you plopped it into the oven and checked your pasta.

‘Buss it Buss it Buss it Buss it’ came through the speaker of your phone and you let your body do a little twerk as you plated the penne a la vodka, salad and finally the warm garlic bread fresh from the oven, turning around you checked to make sure everything was turned off and grabbed your phone to check the time. “They should be home soon” you mused and poured yourself a glass of ice water. ’Is you FUCKIN’ yelling the fuckin part you wiggled your hips as you sipped your water and turned around when the sound of crunching put a halt in your boppin.

Your jaw twitched as you took in the Red head leaning against the island counter with a piece of garlic bread between her smeared lipstick covered lips. The smell of roasted garlic and tomato sauce hung in the air as you stepped towards the female eating the food you had just made.

“That food isn’t for you, you do know it’s rude to just eat what someone else had made without asking right?” you furrowed your brows at her and extended a hand towards the rest of what you had plated up. Leaning her head against her left palm she licked her lips clean of what looked like breadcrumbs and smiled. “Aww, were you making a meal for Sejunnie? if so, I can assure you this won’t get him into your pants, not when he has a lady like me right here. But it’s cute that you tried.” Opening your mouth ready to ask her what the literal fuck she was talking about, Cynthia moved her elbow along the counter followed by a ‘oops’ and a shrug of her shoulder.

Looking down at the tray that had skidded across the wooden floor when her elbow knocked down your garlic bread just milliseconds ago you let out an annoyed “are you fucking kidding me?” Looking unaffected, Cynthia shrug her pale pink covered shoulders at you and licked her index finger of what looked like garlic butter. Leaning down with a bend of your knees you started to pile the bread you now had to throw out onto the faux marble tray that balances itself in your left hand. You grit your teeth stopping yourself from saying much else knowing that it wouldn’t do a thing. Knees knocking against the floor as you reached for a piece that had gone under the counter, before you could grasp it between your deep purple nail polished fingers, a pale hand reached out and placed it down onto your tray.

Looking up your eyes met Sejuns light grey contact covered gaze and you shook your head head towards the woman he had just been fucking. “Some company you keep” you mumbled to him before standing up, lavender slipper covered feet coming into contact with the dark wooden floor. As the door clicked open you were met with an enthusiastic“y/n did you cook? your’e the BEST.” Hanse stepped through the threshold of the open plan kitchen and took in the scene. You with a tray of what looked like garlic bread, a furious gaze in your eyes, Sejun with his hand extended towards you and a red head smacking her lips along a napkin.

“Um what happened?” left Hanses lips as you tossed the food that had been in your hand into the trash and got to work looking for the swiffer they kept in a linen closet close to the kitchen. Your ears picked up on what sounded like Sejun saying out a soft yet firm “I called you an uber, they’re here already” followed by a sickeningly sweet “But Sejunnie we could spend more time together.” Rolling your eyes you entered the kitchen once again and wiped the wet wipe along the grease covered floor. “Domestic, cute” Looking up you stepped towards the red haired female ready to throw hands. You were beyond tired of her shit and weren’t going to take anymore. She fucked with food, precious FOOD.

“I told you to leave already” Sejun grabbed Cynthias elbow and guided her towards the front door. “But, ugh fine. Call me later?” she asked and he just shrugged his shoulder while walking her to the elevator.

Angrily throwing the swiffer pad into the trash you thrust the mop to Hanse to put away and bounded to the sink to wash your hands. “I fucking can’t stand people like her, Sejun needs to filter out the bitches from his list of hookups. I swear to god dealing with someone like her is not worth getting your dick wet.” You shouted and Hanse pat your back.

Byungchan’s soft head of hair leaning on your shoulder brought you back to reality and you sighed shaking the thoughts of Sejuns hookups out of your mind to focus on the movie that was almost finished. Looking to your left you smiled softly at the dimpled boys sleeping face. Hanse shifted on you right to pull his blanket closer to his body.

While Hanse was still awake you knew it would be a few minutes before he completely passed out like the sweetheart to your left had. Sitting up carefully you leaned Byungchans head onto a pillow and brought the comforter up his body while Hanse curled into himself mumbling a “you can sleep here or take Channies bed.” Shaking your head you let him know you’d be taking the couch as you tucked the bowl of kernels under your arm and balanced two glasses between your fingers of your fight hand as you maneuvered your way out of his room and to the kitchen. The soft lighting over the stove illuminated your trek to the kitchen and you spotted Sejun in a pair of joggers and an oversized pale blue t shirt sipping a glass of what looked like water.

Moving passed him you dumped the remnants of the kernels into the trash and carefully plopped the dishes into the sink to his right. To your left his eyes followed your movements as you cleaned up. “I’m sleeping on the couch so if you’re going for round two with whatever her name is, please keep it down.” you grumbled without looking at him and you made your way to the couch you had spent many a nights on. From the open kitchen you heard him shift as he placed the glass he had been drinking out of into the sink. “She left already, goodnight y/n” he responded and walked the few steps to his room, his door softly closing behind him and you shut your eyes, pulling the blue blanket that had been on the end of Hanses bed and you had snatched, closer to your body letting sleep overtake your tired brain.

The smell of sizzling bacon and warm butter invading your nostrils sending your senses in an uproar and your body to slowly open your eyes. Sitting up you still clutched the blanket you had been using tight around your body in a makeshift cocoon. Gaze scanning the kitchen behind the couch you were sitting on you watched as Sejun joked with Hanse while preparing the bacon that was sizzling in the pan below him. Hanse was mixing up more pancake batter and Byungchan was finishing a flip on the duo of cakes bubbling up in the pan he had been working with.

You could almost curse your stomach as an obscenely loud grumbled was heard in the open space causing all three boys to turn around and take in your messy bun that more like a turd flopping atop your head and your mascara slightly smudged under your eyes. Raising your left hand into what looked like a small wave you heard Hanse laugh loudly causing you to smile. “The Princess is awake” with a stern look in your eyes his smiled widened “I forgot y/n hates being called Princess, EHEM my queen.” Standing up you stretched your arms over your head and arched your back hearing the muscles pop from lying in the same position for too long.

Trudging towards the bathroom, you abandoned the blanket on the kitchen island on your way there. As you took in in your appearance in the bathroom mirror while you let the water warm you shrugged. Your best friends had seen you look a lot worse.

As you smoothed the foaming cleanser onto your hands and over your face you let out a soft sigh in content. Reaching into the cabinet under the sink you pulled your small body of makeup remover you had stashed there and massaged it onto your eyes to cleanly remove any remnants of eye makeup. Letting the warm water rinse your face of all impurities you got to work on bushing your teeth with your N E W purple toothbrush.

Letting your hair loose from its turd like confines, you softly ran what you knew as Hanses brush over your locks and shuffled back into the kitchen after your bathroom escapades were done with.

Tucking your hair behind your ears you poured yourself a glass of cold OJ and watched as the men finished with their Gordan Ramsey like cosplay of cooking. Giggling to yourself as the visual of Gordan Ramseys face on your friends bodies overtook you.

When you noticed the boys were just about done preparing the food you pulled plates from the cabinet and paired them with silverware for all four persons. A comfortable silence surrounding the room as you all piled your plates with food and made your way to the dining table to the left of the kitchen.

“Thanks for the food” you smiled out while cutting into your fluffy pancakes earning a wide from Hanse, a smile from Byungchan and a nod of your welcome from Sejun. Plopping a piece into your mouth you almost moaned at the warm syrupy goodness that coated your tongue, you could take the vanilla Hanses flavored the cakes with.

For the most part you all had ate in silence with the exception of Sejun and Byungchan talking about the college Basketball team Byungchan was on.

You had offered to do the dishes in repayment for the delicious breakfast the boys had cooked up and joined in on the conversation that took place in the living room when you had finished. Settling yourself on the cushion next to Hanse you let him ruffle your hair and leaned your head on his shoulder.

Hanse was like the brother you never had, you had known him since your first year of college, you small body nervous as all hell when you walked into your first Literature class of the year. Sitting next to you he had struck up a conversation when he took in the crescent moon earring dangling from your double helix piercing on your right ear.

From then on you all had become great friends, you had liked the same music and enjoyed some of the same aesthetics. A couple of months later you all had stumbled upon Byungchan at a frat party and a conversation about Liquor vs Beer ensued in the comfort of the lit kitchen. Before you knew it you all had drug your asses to waffle house for 4am food to nourish your alcohol filled bodies. You both becoming fast friends with the tall teddybear of a man.

A year later and the two men rented an apartment together inspired by the fact that you had been living in an apartment with your roommate since the middle of your freshman year. They had invited you to be their third roommate but you were on a multi-year lease and to be honest, you didn’t mind your roommate. You loved your friends but you liked being able to come home when you needed alone time or just girl time. Lately you had been spending more time at your best friends house due to your roommate having her boyfriend over a lot more before he graduated later this year and you wanted to give them alone time.

Musing to yourself on how grateful you were for their friendship you took in the effortless conversation between all three men. You knew they had been friends with Sejun for sometimes prior to him moving in but you hadn’t really taken in how friendly they were all with each other. You had to admit it put the moving mattress of a man in a new light.

“Favorite Nirvana song..3..2…1.” Hanse blurted out. All together four answers were heard at once “Lithium” you heard Hanse shout which you had already known. “All Apologies” Byungchan smiled and “Come as you are!” you and to your surprise Sejun yelled at once. “oof we have a tie.” Hanse said followed by a “Okay, okay.. Favorite BEYONCE song 3…2…1”

“Wait wait, Beyonce solo or Destinys Child included cause that’s a whole other convo” you added in before anybody could answer before taking a sip of your ice water and roaming your feet into the blanket you had been using. “Solo Beyonce” Hanse answered before shouting his countdown once again.

“Crazy in love OG version” Hanse shouted, “Formation” was Byungchans answer. “Irreplaceable” Sejun answered while tilting his head onto his palm with his elbow resting on the arm of the couch to your left. “If I were a boy” you smiled at the lyrics invading your thoughts. “But seriously Yonce is a fucking icon and you can’t just pick one song, that’s like ILLEGAL!” you added which earned claps from your best friends and a genuine smile from Sejun causing you to cock an eyebrow at his dimples cheeks.

The familiar ding of your phone signaled a text and you entered your password into the drive while vaguely listening to what the three men were talking about. Sending a message in reply to your friend and classmate Haley you tossed your phone back onto the coffee table in front of you and leaned back onto the comfy cushions behind you. “Oh shit y/n I almost forgot! Heo Chan’s frat is having a party tonight and i’m making you come with” The inky haired man to your right said with a clap of his hands, his rings clanking against each other. “Oddly enough that’s what Haley was texting me about and I already agreed to go with her since i’m obviously the best wingman ever. I also love how you weren’t planning on giving me a choice on going.”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice because I knew you couldn’t say no to this face” with a pucker of his pink lips, Hanse folded his fingers under his chin leaning closer to your face in a mock pout. Rolling your eyes you flick his slightly exposed forehead with a painted index finger. “Yeah yeah yeah.”

“Byungchannies going too and I think Sejun may show up too” Hanse added and you nodded. You knew Byungchan would go, with him being good friends with Chan and Seungwoo from Lambda Tau Nu or VTN for short. Sejun going came as no shock to you either knowing the amount of girls that would be wanting him to go with them and of course leave with them as well.

Checking the time on your apple watch linked onto your wrist with its black leather strap, you stood up throwing the blanket that kept your legs warm onto Hanses lap and grabbed your phone while looking for your slippers you had worn there. It was a little passed two in the afternoon and you knew you need to go home, shower and then later prep for the party. “Imma head out to freshen up, see you later. Hanse you picking me up?” with an of course heaving your best friends mouth you left the comfort of the three mens apartment and heading off to your own.

Smoothing your warm vanilla and rose body oil over your freshly shaven legs you checked your phone noting you had a little over an hour to finish getting ready before Hanse and byungchan would be pounding on your door. You had just finished pulling your black satin bra and panty set when your doorbell sounded off. Wrapping your fluffy white robe close to your body you opened the door to a smiling Haley who was carrying what you presumed to be her “getting ready shit” and a bottle of Svedka.

“Pre game sweets” she said when she caught you glancing down to the bottle clutched between her fingers. With a slight smile and a shake of your head, you both headed towards your room to finish getting ready.

Checking her ass in the mirror, Haley gave a little booty jiggle in her skin tight taupe body con dress that accentuated her deep mocha colored skin. You had just finished styling your straight hair with some silkening gloss when Hanses called signaling them leaving their apartment and heading towards yours. Sliding your feet into your black suede high heeled ankle booties you smacked your medium toned nude lipstick covered lips and followed Haley into the kitchen.

When the boys got there Haley demanded a pre game shot and you all but obliged. With a slam of the clear shot glass onto the faux marble counter you all headed out, following Hanse to his small Silver SUV.

Pulling up to the long street of parked cars in front of the VTN house you shook your head at the seemingly already drunk couples making out in the bushes and a half naked guy running down the lawn with a V painted onto his chest in what looked like red lipstick.

Entering through the oak double doors behind Byungchan you squeezed his shoulder as he maneuvered you all through the crowded entrance. Settling on a quieter side of what you knew from a few parties here as the living room, Byungchan excused himself to bring you all some drinks and you surveyed the area you were in. A couple of kegs were a few feet to your left where some guy you recognized as Subin was performing a keg stand. The two couches and coffee table were pushed closer near a wall where the stairs leading to the second floor bedrooms was to make the makeshift dance floor where bodies were rhythmically shaking the hips. Behind you to your right was the brightly lit kitchen when bottles lined the counters and bags of chips were strewn everywhere.

As you surveyed the kitchen you noticed Byungchan talking to a girl you knew as Emi. Byunchans dimples were on full display as he laughed at whatever she had been saying causing a soft bloom of rose to flush onto her pale cheeks. Leaning down to stir her drink her light brown hair fell slightly over her face to which Byungchan leaned forward and swiped his fingers over her forehead and still blushing cheeks to tuck her shoulder length hair behind her right ear. Noticing your gaze, Hanse chimed in “Oooooooh is Channie finally making a move on Emi? He’s been into her for like a month now” Whipping your hair around towards the tattooed man your deep brown smokey eyeshadow covered eyes widened slightly.

“He what now? How did I not know about this?” Hanse furrowed his eyebrow at your seemingly upset look and Haley cleared her throat. Haley had been the only person who knew about your crush on your friend from a night of one too many Vodka Tonics and Tequila shots. “I only knew about it cause I caught him shooting her google eyes and I asked him what was up until he fessed up.. why do you look? wait..y/n did you?” With a tick of your jaw you shook you head pleading with him not to continue his question.

“Since when?” was all he asked and you softly told him the answer. “But it’s fine, I honestly didn’t think much would come from it. I wasn’t sure how our friendship and the dynamic would work if we ever got together” You ran your thumb along the hem of your black and deep green plaid skirt. “It’s for the best, I’m glad he looks happy.” you were being honest, you wanted your friends to be happy and that’s all that had mattered to you. Yes you were a little heart broken but it was better than him finding out about your crush and you getting rejected then, or you all getting together then later breaking up and you losing one of your best friends and Hanse being stuck in the middle of his two best friends.

With an are you sure? Hanse headed off to the kitchen when you nodded your head and sighed. “God you’re such a good person babe, I would’ve been like ‘HELL NO IM NOT OKAY I AM A HEARTBROKEN WOMAN ON THE VERGE OF A MELTDOWN’” Haley whisper screamed into your ear and you felt yourself smiling at her over dramatic theater kid self.

“Ugh Chan looks so good” biting her deep fuchsia colored lips Haley wiggled her eyebrows and you shook your head. You knew she was staring at his ass in those tight light wash jeans as he talked to Hanse and Byingchan in the kitchen.

“Oh shit he’s coming over here” Fluffing her black shoulder length curled hair Haley pushed her boobs out by straitening her back causing you to giggle and accept the drink Hanse handed you. “Hey Haley hey y/n” Chan smiled causing adorable dimples to grace his cheeks. ‘Do all these men have dimples or what?’ you thought and shook your head slightly.

With a hello and a thank you for invited us you let Haley grab all of Chans attention with a conversation about Musicals. Hanse caught on to what you were doing and stepped further away from the two, taking you with him.

You had been talking to Hanse about Haley and Chan when Byungchan stepped in front of you both with Emi right behind him. “Hey guys, this is Emi” Hanse smiled and gave her a little wave. Suppressing your urge to be jealous and petty you took a deep breath and nodded towards her “Hi” leaving your lips. As Byunghcan talked to you both about how sweet Emi was and how they had been talking but it hadn’t been anything serious, you gripped your glass in your right hand and tilted your head back drinking all of its contents in one go. The familiar warm burn of alcohol siding down your throat and distracting you from Byuns dimples as he spoke so highly of the female clutching onto his right arm.

Taking in the girls pale blue satin liken dress and beige sweater handing off of her arms you had to admit she seemed nice, very demure and soft spoken but nice. “You’re so pretty, Byungchan didn’t do you justice when he told me about his best friends” Emi genuinely smiled at you and you thanked her. Needing a refill of your drink you excused yourself and headed towards the kitchen.

Setting your glass on the counter you got to work mixing Rum and a splash of coke. Taking your first sip you nodded and hummed at the taste. If you were going to deal with your crush and best friend finding a girlfriend you definitely needed something strong. Taking another sip you leaned your hip against the counters and slowly moved your head in a circle to relieve the tension you had been building up. You felt your body starting to heat up from the amount of bodies in the house and the alcohol flowing freely through your veins as you finished your second drink with a long chug.

Shrugging your oversized medium blue denim jacket off of your shoulder you looked for a suitable place to hide it from partygoers. Situating your jacket behind bottles of soap under the sink you made a note on your phone letting you know where you hide it in case you forgot and needed to retrieve it the next day.

Pouring yourself another drink you capped the Rum when you were done and sighed as the breeze from the overhead vent licked against your skin in your black crop top and plaid skirt. “Damn, now that’s a drink” came from your left causing your to look up with an arch of one of your eyebrows. Liam Martinez stood in front of you with a smile of his pearly whites and you couldn’t help but smile back. You recognized the Wide Receiver of your college football as you shared a literary course with him. You actually also shared that class with Sejun as well.

“Want one?” you asked with a smile to which he shifted closer to you and handed you his red cup. “Yes ma’am” you opened the same bottle you had been using and started pouring it into his glass, followed by a splash of the open coke to your right. Scooping a bit of ice from the bag in the sink into his glass you handed it back to him which he accepted gratefully.

“So, what’re you doing here? or better question, why are you drinking alone in a kitchen full of bottles?” Leaning your hip against the counter you quirked you lip slightly over you glass. “Well if anybody was drinking wouldn’t it be better to drink in a room full of bottles?” Chuckling at your retort Liam placed a hand on the counter and sipped his drink waiting for you to continue. “But if you must know, I finished my drink my friend made me and came to make another, plus they were having a convo I didn’t really feel like being a part of” you let the last bit slip out with a shrug of your shoulders.

With a ‘hmm’ in acknowledgment you two started a pretty nice conversation about your shared class and the frat house you were currently in which Liam had been a part of. Feeling the buzz flowing through your body you accepted his offer when he asked you to dance.

With your hand tucked into his you made your way to the dance floor and wrapped your arms around his neck as the music thumped around you. Settling his hands on your hips he pulled you closer to him, swaying your bodies to rhythm of the bass. Under the soft lights in the dark living room Liams light brown hair shined. Liams hands trailed up and down your hips, eventually turning you around pulling your back into his white t shirt and blue plaid covered chest feeling his muscles rippling against your back.

Leaning your head back onto his chest you ground your hips back into his and smirked. The alcohol coursing through your veins lending confidence to your dance moves as your began to grind with him in the middle of the other swaying dance partners crowding the space.

Another song came to a finish and you felt your body heating up tremendously. With a huff of air escaping your parted semi glossy lips, you knew you needed water and as Liams fingers grazed up your left thigh you excused yourself telling him you’d be right back but he had insisted on going with you.

Reaching the kitchen you looked for a clean empty cup to be the vessel that you needed to quench your thirst and hopefully cool your body down. Liam handed you an opaque red cup from the stack of downturned cups and you poured yourself some water from the fridge and took a long sip relishing in the fresh cool liquid cooling your body down and causing a small shiver.

“Hey can you pass me a coke from the fridge?” The taller man in font of you asked as you were closer to the fridge than he was and you nodded thinking nothing of it. Opening the metal fridge you looked around on the middle shelf before your eyes landed on the signature red cans, plucking one from the shelf you turned and stepped your way back to Liam, handing it to him which caused him to smile his pearly whites in return.

“Hold on, did he just drop something in y/ns glass?” Hanse voiced out while putting a black nail polished hand up in a stop motion after his eyes had zeroed in on the man in question drop something that looked like a small white circular pill into your drink. Earlier in the night Sejun had been talking to Hanse when they both noticed you dancing with Liam, he couldn’t quite place where he knew him from but after Hanse voiced what he had just seen, he remembered a girl he had hooked up with a couple of weeks ago said that after she had hooked up with Liam about a week prior. She had been looking for her shorts and found what looked like roofies on the floor in a bag under his bed. Sejun had asked why she didn’t report him to which she just shrugged and said Liam hadn’t done anything to her and she wasn’t sure that’s what they were so she wasn’t going to start trouble.

With a narrow of his eyes he peeled Tashas hand from around his torso and bounded off into the kitchen following Hanses fast steps towards your figure holding a red cup smiling up towards the tall figure in front of you.

——————————————

ANNNND chapter 1 is done! I’m going to try to update this pic every week but i can’t make any promises as i’m also writing a Jungkook Magic/au fic series.

I hope you enjoyed the read and pls let me know of any errors you come across as this is partially unedited and i don’t have a Beta reader or anything of the sort. ILY

-C/Potittiess

#lim sejun #sejun #sejun x reader #victon #sejun smut #victon fic #fluff #angst #smut #college fic #collegeau #roommates #roomateau #enemies to lovers #fwb #friendswithbenefits #series #kpop fic #kpop #kpop imagines #victon fanfic #do hanse #choi byungchan #heo chan #jun subin #han seungwoo #kang seungsik #kpop smut #kpopfluff #kpop angst

[clockworkgraystairs]

HERE FOR YOU || Jurdan College AU Pt. 2

Warnings: None. Swearing maybe?

Tags: @slightlyrebelliouswriter23​ @aesthetics-11​ @hizqueen4life​ @duarteegreenbriar​ @mysweetvilllain​ @judexcardanxgreenbriar​ @nite0wl29​ @althekingshorses​ @thewickedkings​ @demydreamer-otaku-and-book-lover​ @thesirenwashere​ @b00kworm​ @acourtofmoonlight​ @queen-of-glass​ @random-llama-socks​ @jurdanhell​ @cardan-greenbriar-tcp​ 

[if I forgot to tag anyone or if you want to be tagged let me know!]

Summary: After finding a very ill and feverish Jude, Cardan takes her to the doctor. And deals with her usual stubbornness.

HFY Masterlist      Pt 1   Pt 2   Pt 3   Pt 4 [coming soon] 

AO3 link

My masterlist

Cardan had never liked doctors. When he was a little kid, his mother had to apologize several times because he kept glaring and calling them creepy warlocks, claiming they cured people using potions that stunk and had a sour flavor. And even though he’d got over that phase of his life, the scent of medicine still gave him a slight skittish sensation. 

Now, after nearly an hour of waiting he was definitely not enjoying himself, except that this time he couldn’t quite tell if the feeling was because of the smell or not knowing what the doctor was telling Jude, making his muscles tense more with every minute that passed.

One part of him wished nothing more than yell at her for being so reckless and not seeking for help earlier. 

The other part though, kept thinking about that morning.  

He and Jude had agreed to meet every monday and  friday at 9:00 am to work on their final project. At the beginning their meetings had place at the school’s library, since they didn’t talk much. Not because he didn’t want to, of course. But after years of confronting Jude at class, he’d learn to give her space when she focused on something. And maybe because she was a little scary too. 

Within time, her frowning glares became curious eyes and her monosyllabic answers, full conversations.

By the third month, they had to look for a new place to meet. The library’s manager, tired of scolding them at least six times a day for talking and laughing too loud, had forbid them to enter the building together. Or being together in there at all.  

That’s how they ended up in a coffee shop near the campus. The place was small and cozy. The owner, an old sweet lady called Joanne, prepared the best cappuccinos Cardan had ever tasted. 

That morning though, he hadn’t been able to take a sip of his beverage. The two cups of coffee steaming on the table seem to mock him as he alternated his gaze between them and the door, waiting for her to arrive. His leg bounced uneasily and he felt his hands sweatier than usual.

 He glanced at the clock. 9:20 am. She was already twenty minutes late. Jude was never late. 

From the kitchen, Joanne whistled cheerfully the song that came out from the speakers. An italian song he couldn’t identify. When her eyes crossed Cardan’s she smiled and gave him an encouraging nod. He shifted on his seat, looking down at the small bunch of flowers he’d bought. The white peonies and daisies rested smoothly on the wooden table.  

Damn her. Of all days, she’d chose this one to be late.

When he woke up that morning, he was thoroughly decided to finally come clean. To finally tell Jude he was in love with her.

He sent her another message. Nothing. 

He called her. No answer. Again. 

Had she forgotten? 

Impossible, they met there twice a week. 

The only possible option left in his mind was that she’d remembered. And didn’t care.  

Anger pooled on his stomach. What an idiot he felt now. They had an agreement, imposed by her by the way, of letting the other one know about any inconvenience. Was he really that insignificant for her he didn’t deserve a simple notice? 

Bottle it up, he said to himself.

That’s when he remembered she’d been absent from class those last two days too. Even professor Noggle asked about her, a thing he didn’t do with most of the students. 

Cardan frowned. In a swift move he stood and walked out. 

He left the money for the coffee on the table, and the flowers next to it. 

The door opened, bringing him back to the present. As Jude walked out of the consulting room, he noticed her pallor had decreased. Not enough to relax him, but it was something. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked, raising to stand next to her. 

She shrugged. “Better, I told you it was nothing. Let’s go.”

“Ah ah,” The doctor started, closing the door behind him. “That’s not exactly what I said young lady.”

Cardan frowned at her. Seriously? Her only answer was a deep sigh and rolling eyes. 

“My exact words were that it didn’t seem like something too serious or life-threatening. Not that it was nothing.” He took a prescriptions block out of his coat and scrawled something in the front page. Jude groaned.  “It’s most likely a severe stomach flu, aggravated by the days it was left untreated. But since the fever was strong, I’d like to wait and see if it settles now.”

“Most likely?” Cardan repeated, his brows pulled together in a frown. What had he paid this clown for, then? 

“Well it’s always good to scrap any other possibility, I took a blood sample from miss Duarte so I can send it to the lab. But I don’t believe it will show any other result.”

He nodded. “So what now? We just wait?”

“Cardan.” Jude mumbled. He didn’t move his eyes from the doctor.

“Pretty much.” He handed him the prescription. “She got an injection for the temperature already. Here are scripted some pills she’ll need to take for the next three to five days, to help with the nausea. And of course, lots of water and electrolytes.”

“Thank you, I’ll get those right away.” She said as she snatched the paper from Cardan’s hand and put it away. 

“Miss Duarte, I’ll recommend you to stay under observation the next two days. Just in case the fever returns and you need immediate assistance.” 

“Of course.” Jude answered nonchalantly, already reaching for the exit. “I’ll let my sister know so she can come over. Thanks.”

Back on his car he drove in silence. ‘Never let me go’ by Florence + The Machine sounded low on the radio. With closed eyes, Jude leaned towards the open window, her brunette locks flying wildly around her head. 

Cardan glanced sidewards at her, forcing himself not to linger too much on her slightly parted lips. His mind went back to the moment she’d collapsed in his arms. Cheeks flushed and burning up in heat. Even if he never admitted it out loud, she’d scared the hell out of him. 

He pulled his attention back to the road and cleared his throat. “I thought both of your sisters were out of town. Is any of them back? I can call them if you like.”

Jude ignored his question. After a moment of silence she whispered. “Why are you doing this?” 

Cardan shrugged.  “It’s a little bit obvious isn’t it?” She quirked an eyebrow at him. “You have our full project on your laptop, Duarte. And it has a password. If you die, then how on earth am I supposed to recover it?”

A punch landed on his arm, followed by a soft chuckle. “Ass. And you don’t need to call anyone. It’s not necessary.”

“Meaning?” Now it was his turn to scowl.

“Meaning,” She sighed. “That I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, you already did more than enough. Besides you’re right, my sisters are far far away from here, right where they should.” 

He couldn’t believe his ears. Earning a honk from the car behind them, Cardan pushed the brake, leading the car aside so it could fully stop on the sideway. 

“Hey, calm down Toretto!” She shouted raggedly, grabbing the door handle for support. “What the fuck!?”

“What the fuck? That’s exactly what I’m asking you, Duarte!” Now he could fully turn to face her incredulous stare. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You passed out a couple of hours ago, you were burning up in fever. Do you realize that? Apparently not, because despite the recommendations, you still insist on not listening!” 

An exasperated sigh left his lungs. He grabbed the wheel tighter, trying to ease the growing pool of rage inside him. Calm down. He’d spent his life telling himself to calm down. Being terrible at expressing his feelings, he was used to get irritated every time he faced pain, or fear. Or pretty much anything, actually. But gods, how could she be so stubborn? 

Jude pressed her mouth into a thin line and looked down, her hands twisting faintly on her lap. She was indeed nervous about whatever illness loomed in her body, he noticed, trying to ignore the lips he so badly wanted to tug between his. 

“I’ll stay with you.” The words left his lips before he fully realized it. 

“You what? Don’t be rid-”

“The doctor said you needed to be under supervision.” He answered turning back to the road, and put his car on march again. She was probably giving him some murdering glare that he prefered to elude. “So you have two options sweetheart, either you let me stay at your place or you come back to mine, but a frat house it’s not exactly a place to rest. You are, by no means, staying alone.”

Half a second later, even the radio was muffled by her incessant ranting. Hardly determined to convince him of doing otherwise. 

Cardan just drove.

~

When he parked next to her building the sun was already setting. 

With her arms firmly folded across her chest Jude hadn’t stopped gritting her teeth all the way back. This was madness, she repeated to herself over and over. 

The man showed up out of nowhere, took her to the doctor, paid for her medicine and now wanted to stay in her apartment? No fucking way. 

The problem now, was that if there was anyone on earth even more stubborn than her, it was Cardan. A man that no matter how many times she asked him to just leave her on the sidewalk and leave, was now walking up the stairs next to her. A satisfied grin on his perfect charming face. If she didn’t feel as weak at the moment she’d slapped his way out of the place. 

Once inside she left the medicines and the gatorades on the table and turned to him. 

“For the hundredth time, Cardan. You don’t have to stay, everything is under control and I’m not feveri- what’s that?” She asked, noticing the hanging object on his shoulder.

“A backpack?” 

She rolled her eyes. “I‘m not blind, you ass. What are you doing with that backpack?”

“I always keep some extra clothes in my trunk. You know, in case I find myself in any unexpected situation.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her in a way that twisted her guts. Ugh, disgusting.

The repulse must’ve been written on her face too because he snickered for a second before throwing it next to the couch. “Becoming your hot nurse certainly fits in the category dear, you can’t deny that.” 

She blinked and pushed back the intrusive thoughts that emerged from his statement. Why was her mind against her today? Maybe the fever had burned her coherency brain cells, if she’d ever had any to begin with.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“I know.” Cardan dropped himself on the couch, opening a book he’d taken from his pack. “Now take those pills, put on your weird pijama and go rest.” 

Maybe she could still gather the strength to slap him after all.

Trying to ignore the sour flavor that shitty pills left on her mouth, Jude stood in front of the mirror. Wearing the shorts and the t-shirt she’d put on before they went to the doctor, she found herself suddenly worried by her clothing and messy hair. 

Which was utterly absurd. It wasn’t as if he cared at all about her wardrobe choices.

Still, the idea of them sleeping under the same roof unnerved her. It had been a long time since she’d had someone from the opposite sex staying the night. Either way, her exasperating classmate certainly hadn’t crossed her mind.

She bit her lip.

Ok that was a lie. Being honest she might have thought about it a couple of times. Mostly drunk. She always felt guilty the day after. And pissed. It left her wishing she could hate him again, like she did on sophomore year when he was truly a rude idiot. But no matter how hard she’d tried, his wits and dumb jokes had slowly changed her perspective of him. Not to mention those deep dark eyes and wicked smile of his. It only took a pair of tequila shots to start fantasizing about running her lips along that jaw. FINE, it didn’t take any tequilas to do that. But sober she had a tiny bit of control over her too-creative mind. Drunk Jude had already undressed him in her dreams once. Twice?

And now Cardan was outside, lying down on her comfy couch. Staying the night.

Jude chewed her inner cheek. This was a nightmare. 

As quiet as possible, she opened the door and peered outside. He was nowhere to be seen. Maybe some ancient deity took mercy on her and vanished him to oblivion. That or he was probably in the bathroom, so she tiptoed her way to the modest kitchen. 

She’d just finished preparing her chai tea when the bathroom’s door opened. Decided to ignore him, she kept her gaze down. 

At least until she caught a glimpse of him with the corner of her eyes. That, snapped her attention back. Oh no, no no no no.

“CARDAN GREENBRIAR WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

“I...what?” 

“Could you please… I don’t know, maybe put a fucking shirt on?!” She could already feel her blood gathering on her cheeks. 

He paused and quirked an eyebrow. “For your information, Duarte, I tend to sleep naked. These pants are a sign of my consideration to you, since we’re at your place.” 

The goddamn idiot was made of marble. Jude knew he wasn’t precisely one of those big muscular men, not that it meant he didn’t have everything in place. His well formed shoulders and arms were visible even with clothes, and now she could admire the slightly marked muscles of his torso all the way down to the V that disappeared under his pine-green pants. His shoes were off too. 

“Are you blush-” He started, only to be cut by her murderous voice.

“Good night, Cardan.” Taking her cup, she crossed the place with big steps, slamming the bedroom’s door behind her. 

Leaning against the wood, she heard the couch creak as he laid down. Her breathing evened a little a few minutes after. 

Shit, that had been rude. Even if he’d imposed his presence there he was still a guest, her mind scolded her. A really hot guest. No no, don’t think of that now.

As silently as she could she opened the door again. And pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laugh at what she saw.  

Cardan’s legs hung over the couch’s arm. Which made sense, considering how tall he was, but right now it only looked bloody ridiculous, and kind of adorable. She tried to ignore the guilt that pierced her heart again. He seemed stiff. An idea shone on her mind. A terrible terrible idea.

“Cardan?” She whispered.

He hummed in response.

She swallowed and walked towards him. “You can’t sleep in there.”

He scoffed and looked at her through hooded eyes, dark and deep made her heart skip a beat. “If you’re trying again to convince me to leave…”

“I’m not.” Jude blurted, passing a hand over her curls. Somehow words seemed to stuck in her throat. “I mean- even when you are completely ignoring me about you not needing to be here… I guess I… What I try to say is-”

“Jude Duarte is babbling. Gods, now I’m intrigued.” He breathed, propping himself on his elbows.

She crossed her arms and tilted her head elusively. It was humiliating how easy it was for him to put her on edge. “Shut up will you? You can’t stay on the couch, it’s small and uncomfortable… And I, well, I happen to own a double bed.” 

Smooth, girl, smooth.

“Trying to lure me into your bed? So soon?” He teased, flashing her a smile, yet his joke didn’t reach his eyes. Something in them was different, they were wider, intense.

“You’re intentionally being an asshole.” She said, gritting her teeth. This time his tricky words and good looks wouldn’t affect her. She couldn’t allow it. “I just meant that we can both sleep there. Like, as far away as the bed allows but at least you could rest.”

For a second he just looked at her. Not mocking or rude, she couldn’t place the expression in his face. His jaw set, chest raising and falling slowly. “You don’t have to, Jude. I’m ok in here.”

“Don’t lie. Besides I’d feel better too. Not because- Ugh, I’d feel better knowing that I could at least make your staying more bearable, I guess.” That wasn’t so bad. Yet. And honestly she couldn’t tell if it was worse if he accepted, or refused. 

Back in her room an awkward silence filled the atmosphere as both laid side to side. Somehow, even if they were not touching, Jude could feel the heat of his skin. Her heart hammered so fast she swore he could listen to it.

“So…” He started.

Panic filled her senses, she needed to cut any conversation before saying or doing something she’d regret later. “There’s no need to mention it, just go to sleep… please.” She rolled onto her side, facing away from Cardan. “Good night.”

Jude barely heard him sigh. “Sweet dreams, Jude.”

~

It was hot. Really really hot. Fuck he couldn’t move. How much had he drank last night?

Wait. No, last night he didn’t go out with Locke. He’d said he would spend the weekend with his girlfriend, at least this month’s. Cardan had stopped mocking him for it long ago. 

Eyes still closed, he grimaced and tried to stretch but something held down his arm. As Cardan became more and more aware of his body, the memories of the day before flashed in his mind. The failed meeting with Jude, the flowers he’d spend almost an hour choosing, her body going limp against him, the useless doctor… Jude offering him her bed to sleep.  

That’s when something tickled his neck, startling him. 

No, not something.

Cardan’s eyes snapped open, he looked down and froze when he realized Jude’s body was pressed flush against him, one of her hands resting on his chest. Somehow their legs impossibly tangled. Terrified, he found his own arm encircling her waist, bare skin touching his fingers since her too big shirt had rolled up in her sleep.  

She shifted a little and her nose brushed his neck again, letting out a small breath that sent hot shivers down his body.

Any knowledge of how to move or think completely forgotten. He stared blankly at the ceiling. 

Fuck fuck fuck shit what the fucking fucks. 

#i'm so so sorry it took me so long!! #BUT HERE IT IS #honestly i'm not that happy with it #but i'll try to make it better for chapter 3!!! #oh some good stuff coming there #jurdan #jurdan college au #college au #jude duarte #cardan greenbriar #tfota #holly black #jurdan fanfic #tess writes

[scotianostra]

 Johnny Ramensky, the Scottish safe cracker was born on April 6th 1905 in Glenboig, Lanarkshire.

This is the type of story that would make a great film, so settle down to enjoy the life of the man born Jonas Ramanauckas, who became known as  John Ramsay, Gentleman Johnny, and Gentle Johnny

His father was a miner who died when Johnny was young and the young Ramensky also became a miner. It was while he was down the pit that he learned his skills with dynamite which were to prove so useful to him in later years.

Johnny drifted in and out of trouble from the age of eleven and moved to the Gorbals area of Glasgow during the Depression with his mother and two sisters. He developed an amazing physical strength and acrobatic ability but in order to obtain some money, he became a burglar, specializing in robberies involving climbing up external rone-pipes to gain entry to premises. He also developed skills in picking locks and safe-cracking with explosives.

While his activities were criminal, he had his own code of conduct and raided business premises rather than people's homes. And when he was caught, he never resisted arrest. His philosophy seemed to be "if you are caught, you are caught - it's all part of the job".

His life of detention began at age 18 when he was given a term in Borstal but later he served various terms in both Barlinnie and Peterhead Prisons. He eventually spent more time behind bars than outside. It's often easy to sentimentalise and sugar-coat the past, there was something about him which meant that even the police who snared him and the courts which he frequented as regularly as others visit their local supermarket, regarded him as somebody who was more interested in eluding an alarm and breaking a code than becoming rich from his forays.

Johnny was married during one of his spells out of prison and the couple had a baby daughter. But in 1934, while he was serving a sentence in Peterhead, he was told that his young wife was dead. He was refused permission to attend the funeral and Johnny's sense of justice was outraged. So he made the first of many escapes from the prison.

  In 1942, he was serving yet another jail sentence in Peterhead Prison. The army offered to give him special commando training and Johnny accepted. After all, it meant he was out of prison, earning a wage - and fighting for his country. Part of a crack commando unit, he was dropped behind enemy lines and used his skills with both explosives and burglary to good effect, stealing important German documents.

During the war in Italy, he entered Rome with the first troops to reach the city and blew open the safes in 14 foreign embassies - all in one day!

For his commando service and dangerous exploits, he was awarded the Military Medal and given a free pardon at the end of the war. But not longer after his return to Glasgow he was back to his life of burglary and was caught and jailed again.

In November 1955 he was sentenced to 10 years’ "preventive detention" at Peterhead Prison, which should have given him a few privileges. But he found there were none. He served over two years with exemplary conduct and still there was no move to the better conditions of "preventive detention". So Johnny responded in the only way he knew how - he escaped. Of course, he was later recaptured but he was at least given an opportunity to put his case to the prison authorities - which achieved nothing. Johnny escaped (and was recaptured) from Peterhead (Scotland's strongest jail) no less than five times including three times in 1958. Sometimes the prison warders didn't know whether he was inside or outside the prison. His fifth escape evoked wide-spread sympathy amongst the public which was illustrated by a song "The Ballad of Johnny Ramensky" by Norman Buchan (a Member of Parliament), which was printed in the Scotsman newspaper, and another musical tribute, Let Ramensky Go, was penned by none other than Roddy McMillan, the star of Para Handy.

Not long after starting a prison sentence in Barlinnie in Glasgow, Johnny was in the exercise yard and suddenly threw off his boots and shot up the wall, using cracks in the mortar as toe-holds. He reached a roof - but could get no further. Equally, the warders couldn't get him down - and Johnny was demanding to see the Chief of the Prisons Department! Attempts to reach the roof were met by a barrage of roof slates - watched by a growing audience outside the prison walls. He stayed out on the roof for five hours, eventually coming down when it started to get cold.

In 1962 Detective Superintendent Robert Colquhoun (retired), said "Like most policemen who have come in contact with Ramensky, I find him an engaging character, the kind of man who, applying his brain to another, more acceptable, type of occupation, could probably have made good." Before he had retired, DS Colquhoun received a message from Johnny (who was once more in prison). He had heard that the policeman was seriously ill. The message contained his good wishes for his speedy recovery, plus the advice that he’d been taking too much out of himself chasing Johnny around! As he grew older and the escapes continued one question was being asked: Why does he keep on doing it, at his age and in his state of health? A police officer who knew him well said "Johnny never expects to get far when he breaks out now ... he's just got to do it to prove that he still can."

Johnny remarried and started a second family during his all too short periods out of prison but persisted in his life of crime into his old age - by which time his abilities as a cat burglar were beginning to fail him. In 1972 he collapsed in Perth Prison and died shortly after in hospital. In addition to his family, the many people who attended his funeral came from both the law enforcement and the law breaking sides of society. Whatever his faults, Johnny Ramensky was respected by them all. His obituary appeared in every Scottish national newspaper.

That's not the end of Johnny Gently though, he lives on at Peterhead Prison, now a museum where Ramensky served so many years behind bars, has created a exhibition space which highlights different aspects of his career.

I couldnae find the Roddy McMillan  version of Lat Ramensky Go, but former BBC Young Traditional Musician of the Year, Claire Harings makes a great job of singing it, the lyrics below are the original version, Claire sings a slightly different version. 

Let Ramensky Go

There was a lad in Glesga town, Ramensky was his name Johnny didnae know it then but he was set for fame

Now Johnny was a gentle lad, there was only one thing wrong He had an itch to strike it rich and trouble came along He did a wee bit job or two, he blew them open wide But they caught him and they tried him and they bunged him right inside

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

And when they let him out he said he'd do his best but then He yielded tae temptation and they bunged him in again Now Johnny made the headlines, entertained the boys below When he climbed up tae the prison roof and gave a one-man show

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

But when the war was raging the brass-hats had a plan Tae purloin some information, but they couldnae find a man So they nobbled John in prison, asked if he would take a chance Then they dropped him in a parachute beyond the coast of France

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Then Johnny was a hero, they shook him by the hand For stealing secret documents frae the German High Command So Johnny was rewarded for the job he did sae well They granted him a pardon frae the prison and the cell

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

But Johnny was in error when he tried his hand once more For they caught him at a blastin', and it wasnae worth the score

The jury pled for mercy, but the judge's voice was heard Ten years without remission, and that's my final word Ten years, my lord, that's far too long, wee Johnny cried in vain For if you send me up for ten I'll never come out again

Oh give me another chance, my lord, I'm tellin' you no lie But if you send me up for ten I'll sicken and I'll die

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Now Peterhead's a fortress, its walls are thick and stout But it couldnae hold wee Johnny when he felt like walking out Five times he took a powder, he left them in a fix And every day they sweat and pray in case he makes it six

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go

Alley-ee alley-ay alley-oo alley-oh       Open up your prison gates       And let Ramensky go..........

Here are some reports on him.......[1958:] Twelve hours after Johnny Ramensky had done his fifth and most baffling "vanishing act" in Peterhead jail yesterday it was not known whether he was INSIDE or OUTSIDE the prison. This was admitted late last night by a Scottish Home Department spokesman. Here is the sequence of events leading up to the cracksman's third escape in ten months.

Because of rain, 45 prisoners, including Ramensky, were being exercised in one of Peterhead's large prison halls. At 1.40, the exercise ended and the squad began a 50 to 70-yard march, in organised lines to the tailor's shop. At 1.43, they arrived at the shop WITHOUT RAMENSKY.

The alarm was raised. Every corner of the prison was searched. But there was no trace of the "King of Peterhead". No rope or ladder with which he could have scaled the jail's 18-foot wall was found. One theory was that Ramensky had a key to the back door of the tailor's shop, which is only ten feet from the wall. For it is believed that he had a key for the tailor's shop door on his October break-out. Out went the word to police all over the country:

 "Ramensky's free again."

Two hunts went on - in swirling snow and at temperatures below freezing point - for the 53-year-old convict who, despite ill-health, had made another freedom bid. Throughout the whole of the North of Scotland road blocks and police checks sprang up. Tracker dogs went out. A strong cordon was thrown round the immediate prison area. For on his last bid in October, Ramensky was found, after 40 hours of freedom only 200 yards from the prison. It was ill-health that beat him then. He collapsed after a child spotted him in a barn.[...]. 

Last night people living in the Peterhead area spoke of him without fear. For he is known as "Gentle John" and those beside the prison take bets on how long he will stay free. His escape in February this year lasted 24 hours, before he was caught in Peterhead's main street wearing a warder's cap and a long black coat.

One question was being asked: Why does he keep on doing it, at his age and in his state of health? A police officer who knows him well said last night: "Johnny never expects to get far when he breaks out now ... he's just got to do it to prove that he still can.

"Here is a description of the clothes worn by the wartime Commando who cracked safes behind enemy lines: Brown moleskin trousers, brown battledress tunic, brown jersey, blue and white striped shirt, black leather shoes ... and possibly wearing a cap. (Daily Record, Dec 18)

The six-day hunt for gentle Johnny Ramensky was called-off last night. And baffled police admitted: "There are still no clues." [...] The authorities believe that 53-year-old Ramensky, if still alive, is bound to make a mistake sometime, or to leave a clue somewhere. It is understood that police opinion is split over the reason for the absence of a "trail." Some feel he is dead in the sea, but others are convinced he is in the Peterhead area, possibly quite near the prison, and is being fed and sheltered. (Daily Record, Dec 23)

[1959:] Johnny Ramensky (53), the safe-breaker who made a sensational jail-break from Peterhead prison, remaining at liberty for nine days, is back in prison. He was caught at Persley, on the north bank of the River Don about three miles from Aberdeen. A police spokesman said after the capture that Ramensky was looking wonderfully well, apart from being footsore, and considering the long period he had been on the run. He was dressed in blue dungarees and a green jersey and his shoes were cracked and torn. It is understood that no police charges are impending against Ramensky on account of his escape. There have been no reports of break-ins or thefts. His fifth escape has evoked wide-spread sympathy amongst the public. During the war Ramensky was an instructor to Allied agents in blowing safes. (Weekly Scotsman, Jan 2)

#scotland #scottish highlands #criminal #cat burglar #sage cracker #soldier #hero #escape artist #history #peterhead #barlinnie

[holyevents]

IN SANCTUS TERRA…

After a month of merriment and mourning, Cador’s soul finds eternal rest — the crescents rise and fall, and as the New Moon wanes, stealing lazily behind the hills, the Red Rain Moon ascends, hanging crimson in the sky. Yet the wheel still turns. Its orbit conceals violence under its tongue. The moon’s bloodied mantle seems particularly fitting this year, given the circumstances; a spell of unease trickles into the light, leaving an indelible stain. The people of the Holy Land might have looked to the new moon with great liberation and promise, yet the feeling of trepidation begins to sink in. The Red Rain Moon is a moon of dark red, and the violence of it does not escape the masses’ notice: within their city walks a reputed murderer; within their city stalks a beast, seeking to disempower the meticulously cultivated harmony that the Tridium — Sun, Moon and Stars all — have always strived to brace.

The citizens seem intent on demonstrating their discontent, on letting their grief be known - all the mourning and rituals in the world, it seems, pale in comparison to their determination to hold onto their restlessness. As the days drag on, their impatience grows. The mortals feel their voices quelled, feel their hands shackled - and so, they drink on, and fight on, and find satisfaction in the anger that makes their fists shake. The whispered words of the few who saw the body of Cador before he was laid to rest are murmured into one ear then the next. It seems it was not Fate who had called the great Star home, no, he was sent there with poison upon his lips and in his lungs.

The people of the Holy Land look towards the execution of the red-handed creature as eagerly as they look towards those who might serve as their beacon of light in the midst of the encroaching storm.

If God were alive, would He not find it odd that the creatures He created craved violence and peace in equal measure? 

The powers that lord over the precious kingdom of the Holy Land have already begun moving within the shadows to place all their pieces on the board, to see who might crown themself as the new Star. There are those who find favor with ARIANNE ALTIER, LUCA RICHE, JASPER RICHE, and EVANGELINE TRAME. Theirs are the first names upon the lips of the people - those who have curried the adoration and interest of the people with their fame and wealth. It is whispered that the MEMBERS of the ROUND TABLE are already intent on casting their lots and having the vacancy filled. In turn, many have turned to the High Priestess, ISOLDE WICKEN, in the hopes of knowing to whom the honor of being the Star of the Tridium will fall.

“After all,” the keepers of the Temple mumble to themselves, “What does it matter who wears the crown, so long as it is a mortal?” 

“Some mortals,” sighs a Second Eye, arms laden with offerings from the people, “are more deserving of our loyalties than others. Not all of us should be tainted with divinity.”

Little do the citizens of the Holy Land know that it is because of divine creatures that they will have their hunger for justice satiated.

The two remaining parts of the Tridium gather the Horsemen to their chamber, the demon, AZAZEL, and the angel, GABRIEL, crowned with the moon and the sun, respectively. The Horsemen stand before them, VIKTORIA’s gaze flickering between the two as she takes a seat at the table, DMITRI and RYUK following suit while NERISSA leans against a pillar, an intrigued smile already gracing their lips. There is no one else present; not a single other soul that can hear what conversation occurs between the two parties. For there are secrets that shall be passed from the Tridium and into the hands of the Horsemen that will sever the tenuous harmony of the Holy Land.

If one were silent enough, perhaps they would hear Fate’s shears cutting the cord in two. 

Only the shadows will hear of what is proposed by the Moon and the Sun to the four creatures of the apocalypse. Poisoned, infernal, senseless - the words are whispered within the privacy of the gilded walls of the room, leaving the cursed soul who struck down the great Star of the Tridium with no option other than to fear for their life - or forfeit it completely - for the Horsemen are now determined to have it. 

IN THE REALM OF INFERNUM…

From the moment they step foot into the beguilingly hellish land of Infernum, they know something is amiss. The air is tainted with unease; bitterness swiftly stirring in the wake of it - what was once the taste of contentment now a rancid, ruinous coating upon their tongues. Even the Daemonium seem ill at ease; their guttural howls no longer cries for revelry and satiation, but desperation given vicious voice.

And still the lingering shift continues to elude the returning party of demons.

Little do they know that their kingdom was violated - that their peace was desecrated. 

The doors of the Black Palace open, and instead of howled greetings and a cacophony of salutations, the travelers are greeted with the silence of the dead - six veiled corpses awaiting them. All eyes turn to JUDAS, who looks on in silence then lifts the veil of the body closest to him. The mass of marred flesh that is revealed comes as no surprise - how can he possibly entertain such a sentiment, when the perpetrators are escapees of none other than the Black Cells? His eyes turn to ABADDON, who has no answers to lay before his questing gaze.

Then AMON, a notorious member of the Conclave, breaks the stony silence that fell over the Vices and their king. “There were three members of the Black Cells that escaped, my lord,” they begin, eyes flickering between the unspoken king and queen of Hell. “Their guard, it seems, had forsaken his duties and left himself vulnerable to manipulation. It seemed as though they knew that you, Abaddon, and the Vices had left the kingdom…” AMON’s gaze settles on ABADDON, their lips twisting into a sneer as they walk between the corpses. “But that is not what concerns me.”

The Conclave member reaches down, their fingers bunching the fabric of the veil before lifting it. Beneath it lies an angel - bloodied and marred, their wings twisted beneath them. On their breast is a pin, to mark their authority as an ambassador from Caelum. The Seraphic creature was bludgeoned within the realm of Infernum, by an escapee of the Black Cells. DAMIEN WARD kneels beside the corpse, and gently shuts their eyes.

When he pulls away, his fingertips are stained with blood. AMON bows their head, awaiting the word of the demon they acknowledge as king. MAMMON, however, looks at DAMIEN.

No one gives voice to what they are all thinking - the blood is not only on ABADDON’s hands, but all of theirs.

And the angels will seek retribution. 

It is what the now-dead God had created them for, is it not? 

“Who broke out of the cells, Amon?” ABADDON asks, her voice striking through the silence, as sharp as the end of a whip. 

“There were three of them,” AMON recounts, “two were mortal and one of them was a gifted one. They stole the weapons from the vault and -” 

“Have you sent forces to capture them yet?”

“Yes, my lady, of course-”

“I don’t see their heads on a stick yet,” ASMODEUS interrupts, crossing his arms as AMON twists their hands anxiously. 

AMON stammers out, “Th-They evaded us, but I believe that they may still be within the Realm-”

JUDAS raises a finger, and a hush falls over them all. Three murderers, hateful of demons, are now waiting within the shadows of Infernum - armed with weapons that could fell any one of them. If they aren’t careful, the streets of the city will run black with the blood of those over whom he reigns. The whispers of dissent would multiply ten-fold. They would look to another to uphold his beloved crown.

DAMIEN WARD looks at him, while the members of the VICES glance between the two. The Anti-Christ’s gaze doesn’t waver from that of the Great Betrayer.

“Send word to Michael.” JUDAS says, eyes shifting from the angelic corpse. “Tell them one of their own has fallen.”

IN THE KINGDOM OF CAELUM…

The angels return to their sanctuary, having grown impatient with the absence of their king. It is said that the land is tied to him - when he leaves, it seems to pale; the birds losing the lilt in their son and the sun sinking from its perch atop the skies. Were that the truth, none of the citizens of Caelum would be surprised, for their hearts are tied to the kingdom’s land as well. After all, they fought for it, raging against God, of all creatures, for this piece of eden-like earth. The blood of their enemies had drenched the soil, but it was their blood that made it flourish - it was MICHAEL’s blood that ensured its acquisition. 

When MICHAEL steps into the kingdom, Caelum breathes anew; the VIRTUES filing after him only serving to stir the land into giddiness. No longer are they shackled by the etiquette of foreign courts - now they can indulge in the respite offered by their people and their kingdom. Is it not known, after all, that angels find comfort only within the warmth offered by other angels? For none can compare to their holiness. 

It is why they take the loss of their loved ones as harshly as they do. 

It is also why, when word reaches MICHAEL and the VIRTUES as they make their way  through the halls of Archangel’s Castle, they are greeted with nothing but wailing and grinding of teeth. The angelic ambassadors are considered particularly beloved - for they are entrusted with the will and whim of the king that fought for their freedom. Among them is the fallen BARACHIEL; one of the first to draw their blade in rebellion against God. The most beloved of them all. 

Beloved as they were, the grief they receive is quick to curdle into rage.

The tongues of the angelic creatures grow barbed as they look at their king. Though he isn’t to blame, there is no doubt that the fissures in his visage are beginning to show. Looking upon him, they can’t help but wonder about the efforts he claimed to have made to ensure the loyalty of his allies. While the Holy Land thrives despite its loss, it seems as though Caelum suffers still under this king’s hand. Why are they not thriving as they should be? Can it truly be wise to keep their hearts threaded with that of a king who found it so easy to abandon his kingdom and leave it so pliant and vulnerable?

The whispers follow the king of Caelum as he strides towards the War Room, the VIRTUES gathered and armed to the teeth, awaiting their orders while they bite down on the grief and anger that weighs upon them. 

Gathered within the War Room of the Castle, the VIRTUES lay their eyes upon MICHAEL as he looks between them.

“We ride for Infernum,” He declares. “and we will not leave until we have our retribution.” 

FINAL NOTES: And with that, our second event is now live! We want to thank our members for their patience and support during this period — we sincerely hope the wait was worth it! We cannot wait to see what you all come up with on the dash. For the sake of clarity, you will find notes below on what is occurring with each of the factions. Please keep in mind that you are not restricted to threading only within your faction. Involving your character in any of the events taking place is certainly possible — and encouraged! We are incredibly grateful to our members for being so supportive and cannot wait to see the threads and activity that will bloom on the dash. Below you will find notes on what is occurring with the different factions. 

MORTALS: The entrants and nominees seeking election as the Tridium’s next Star are ARIANNE ALTIER, EVANGELINE TRAME, JASPER RICHE, and LUCA RICHE. If they hope to be successful, they will need to campaign for the position. We invite them — and any of the other mortal characters who wish to participate or offer support — to hold their own events to “canvass” for the position. At a later date, we will be releasing a poll for our mortal-writers to vote for who they think should be the next star. The results will be released at the end of our second event. 

HORSEMEN: The Horsemen have been hired by the Tridium to find the perpetrator that murdered Cador. Though the masses have begun to suspect foul play, only the Horsemen and the Tridium members are aware of this. Azazel and Gabriel have yielded all their information to the Horsemen and have established with them a line of rapport.he Horsemen are free to collaborate with others should they choose to. We also highly encourage that other characters volunteer for the suspect line-up for fun interrogation threads! 

DEMONS/ANGELS: The demons are experiencing a loss of their own — the escape of prisoners from ABADDON’s Black Cells. As the Horsemen are already occupied with the Tridium’s plight, we encourage members of the Virtues and Vices come together to hunt down these escapees. To reiterate: there are three mortals within the realm of Infernum currently running amok and highly likely to kill angel and demon civilians. Their identities and history are known only by ABADDON, but we encourage our players to hunt for more information!

Additionally, please keep in mind that there are two events that occur during the month of the Red Rain Moon. Your character is free to attend any of these, and we highly encourage that you use them for your threads:

VISITATION: Throughout the Red Rain Moon, Mortals in particular pay visit to the graves of those they’ve lost — whether to the Blood Plague, mortality or war. Rather than Visitation being a macabre ordeal, however, it is a celebration. Denizens light candles for those who are absent and dance until the sun comes up, gorging themselves on cuts of meat and fruits.

THE RED FESTIVAL: On the final day of the Red Rain Moon, creatures of all kinds gather in the citadel of the Holy Land and celebrate the Red Festival, the purpose of which is to demonstrate gratitude for those who have survived — and continue to survive — the Blood Plague’s defacing effects. The aim of the festival is to paint the participants in red, mimicking the influence of the calamity, and there is only one rule: all participants must dress in white.

And finally, if you have any questions, please drop them in the Discord channel. You are free to thread out any of the events that have been outlined in the event or to have your characters go on their own adventures. Otherwise, we hope you all have fun and enjoy!

#thcevent #rp #rpg #literate rp #event ii

[rolandsnotes]

HOW SHALL WE TELL THESE COVID STORIES???

If I had the sweet tooth of a six year old, the first three months would easily be my highlight of every year albeit January's financial demons; simply because many people I know - friends, relatives and acquaintances- celebrate birthdays during these months. In fact, someone averred that these are lent babies (no pun intended). You can then imagine how easily I shrugged off the idea, mid February 2020, that a certain unknown bug was flying first class aboard the best air crafts man has ever made, to practically every country -this is the annoying part- free of charge!! This criminal did not stop there since it then had the audacity to put heads of states at gun point (even freedom fighters) and force them to freeze activities for weeks on end, while it toured different cities, towns and villages, wreaking havoc to families indiscriminately. Like me, many people swiped across their phone screens with two fingers whenever anything about the virus came up, because we bought these things to watch bad black's videos, not so?! By the end of march, I was laughing and swiping alone, but I thought I'm just the only one left with a good sense of humor. It didn't take long before I chocked and realized things were getting pretty serious. Indeed they were; more serious than anyone would have imagined. The western world kept lamenting about their concerns for Africa and what happens when our turn comes, but other groups kept saying many of the previous battles we Africans had overcome did prepare us -even fortified us- against this virus. Of course we chose to listen to the latter. No one wants to be identified as vulnerable, especially when there is no benefit from it. Fast forward to this year and the very things we thought couldn't happen, prayed wouldn't happen, ignored and hoped shouldn't happen are happening to us. The script has not changed much; curfew and the lullabies of revving cars eluding police still remain, the therapeutic centers responsible for keeping things together with a few sips -sometimes many- and deafening music are still closed, walk-to-work is no longer illegal but rather the only way to get there and everyone is a marathon expert after 5pm. It's business as usual...but, the grim reaper wrote his way into this scene. Robert Greene tells us never to imagine that we can withstand rising stress without emotional leakage- it is not possible. However isolated you are from society, the loss of someone you knew, however remotely, will summon grief from within you. Usually, there is time to heal, or rather, adjust to the life without the recently departed. And that is exactly what complicates matters this time round- there is no time. The news of one departed is closely followed by news of another, and another and another. It is happening so fast that Whatsapp status' are turning into obituaries and if you are like me, you have become wary of checking there. This wave of death; It doesn't seem to stop, doesn't wait and it bites harder every time it strikes. This is what is going to make telling the covid-19 story so difficult. How shall we tell it, because we have to, if we want to preserve the honor of those departed?! How shall we tell this story??

#RIP Peter Ofong RIP Okema Mathew RIP Gerson Onono

[nextwarden]

Archenemies - Part I

Disclaimer: partially inspired by Supercorp and the very enjoyable facets of their dynamic. Hope you enjoy.

Commotions are always a good indicator of such happenings.

The first eyes on the scene are of course those of curious and surprised bystanders. Rarely does such an event be broadcast in advance. It's happened before, of course. Only a handful of times, however. It means the evildoers are confident in their plan and seek attention, two very bad news for any respectable super. The last time it's been the case, panic managed to erupt, only quelled by the competent authorities with some effort. Some joker tried to replicate the one before last, he's apprehended after barely an hour of shenanigans and threats, each more unbelievable than the last. What he tried to emulate, however, remains scarred deep in the minds of many. Blood and ashes flowing on the grass of the Magnus Arena in the city center on a crisp summer day, and the center itself drowned in cries of pain and terror. On that tragic day, SkullB makes the decision to invest in the services of both Mister Mind and LaValette, two of the most intelligent and cunning cons out there. One hundred and eighty six people die, each one in a slow and far too well documented way. Three pros are amongst them; experienced supers, yet they fall prey to SkullB's devious plans. Dame Seven, Verustoski, husband and wife in the business since the late 70s, and Sunny Sin, a young yet very capable teenage wiz, give their lives in exchange for SkullB's.

Mind and LaValette are, of course, smart enough to see themselves out once it turns in their disfavour, almost as if they see it coming. The former is caught a few days later, splurging on an online casino in his own underground mansion, while the latter still eludes the authorities to this day, taunting both pros and cons in an odd twist of fate. They realize the whole affair is getting far too out of hand, and some even speculate one of them (or both) to consort with the authorities to create the distraction that allows to bring out most of the hostages and to take down SkullB. That stems from irregularities in the chronology of the event and the fact that LaValette apparently decides to own up to her actions after that day. Not completely mind you, but enough to make a difference with a surprisingly efficient foil to many a plan, good or bad. Over the next few years it's apparent she's taken upon herself to remove supers altogether. Not in a definitively violent way, shockingly, but using her agile mind to dismantle actions undertaken to a significant risk to the city and its people. Dynopolis grows less weary and more peaceful due to that. It lasts a sufficient while for her to gain a strange and ambivalent status of anti-hero - chaotic good, as many surmise, in similar leagues to that of the legendary Crime Man himself, some add.

That changes over time as more and more supers, heroes and villains alike, manage either in their smarts, numbers, or luck, to pull and tug at the seams and reveal the cracks in her masterplan. What it loses in her ability, however, the city gains in balance. Many new pro upstarts join the ranks of a newly reformed agency, trying to attain both glory and riches, and to "do the people of this city some good". It's obviously been mirrored by the rise in organized and supercharged crime. That tendency is there from the beginning, structured even before the pros are themselves. It naturally evolves with the times and the influence of one changes the other. Not that they necessarily know - she doesn't care much for one or the other - but she naturally leans into that tendency. If one wants to make a difference by playing the game, one has to remove themself sufficiently from the board, and that she does in a surreptitiously efficient manner.

The second factor which sees to an apparent decline in her efficiency had been more subtle and more specific (although she would argue that it's not so much a decline rather than a shift of focus). It baffles a number and is the joyous guilty pleasure of some others, more observant or perhaps more versed in theorizing. It's fairly unnoticeable at first, by the audience as well as by those involved. The powerful blonde enters the scene unnamed and unknown, and almost by coincidence - officially "on a whim". A small incident takes place in the southern branch of Nat·Bank, devolving into a chaotic chase over land and sea. A simple passerby at the time, the greenhorn not-hero (yet) jumps to action, pursuing the robbers onto the beach and into the coastal waters once they reach their means of escape. Perhaps it's her gallant effort in taking them down despite their ion guns and reinforced armours, bringing the boat back to shore single handedly. Quite literally at that: she emerges on the warm sand pulling the swift vessel behind her, dragging it to the middle of the beach for the authorities to arrest the now baffled culprits. Many onlookers capture and immortalize this moment, making her drenched fit form into an object of many speculations for weeks to come. Her identity somehow remains unknown behind a hasty yet well-placed mask of cloth and nothing is made of it despite extensive research and avid requests on all fronts.

...

Dantra reveals herself almost two months later, to the day, new protegee of sorceress Saralis and a fresh recruit of the H.E.R.O. program - revamped by a retired Dynaman and funded by the Ministry of Defense to raise and promote fresh blood to the side of justice. She's expected to tour the studios and is breathed to be the new mascot of the agency; yet, despite all her efficiency and achievements on the field, she remains as elusive as on the day of her appearance on the chaotic stage. Her speculated concealed beauty adds to her engaging demeanor during her interventions, on top of her flashy yet efficient use of her power. Her flawless track record, only highlighted by her immediate appeal following her first and only late night show appearance, made her an almost instantaneous star, rising fast into the pantheon of revered supers. Some wait for her eventual demise, criticizing her close interactions with fans during downtime and her refusal at revealing too much about herself, theorizing many reasons, each stranger and more somber than the last. Yet it does not happen. She assimilates into the lifestyle flawlessly and durably, it seems. Perhaps too flawlessly for some. Not exactly dwindling, her popularity somewhat reaches a peak over the first year and a half during which she becomes active.

If she's anything, Dantra is not discontent. She takes it in stride, making the most of her situation, to the greatest pleasure of her enduring fans. If she's to plummet, she will, not that it will stop her from doing what was right as long as she was able to. Or so she tells the young reporter who manages to get the first interview in months. And she does, standing as a proud beacon of righteousness and letting life take its course as she does all that is possible to protect and help. This despite the insistence by the agency that she capitalize on her success. She does not yield, however, and accepts that interview on their recommendation only to clear some misconceptions that seem to have arisen over time. No she does not wear a cape and does not plan to as it would hinder her movements. Yes, that piece of white cloth she wears over her face is a replica of the original one, it's been retailored and enchanted by Saralis herself to not be easily removed. Oh she doesn't know if one could say 'superstar', she is proud to make a difference however. Definitely M'Persent, she's been amazed at their display of precision in the way they used their telekinetic powers, since her youngest age. That's excluding Saralis, of course! *laugh* Boreastre, perhaps, on one of his bad days and on her good, then again she has to respect the old man's resilience so, who knew… he is the only con to ever elude the great Dame Seven in his hayday, so that has to count for something. None of the above; the money is enough, the benefits are great, and the ability to use her powers as she does is compensation enough. Because it's right, that's why, and perhaps also a bit in honor of her grandfather, a war hero who she's always admired. Oh…! Uh, yeah, many. So many. Too many. *laugh* But no, never, actually. Sadly. She never has the time or the space, she guesses, or perhaps she's not been looking well enough. One day, perhaps, in her old age, in one of those quiet suburbs, with a dog and a small garden with flowers… That's a new one, never been asked that before, yeah, uhm, if she had to say, perhaps no sea, not that she doesn't like it, she loves the sea, but forests always seem more beautiful, intriguing, and without any tree how is anyone to breathe? *laugh* No, thank you for inviting me, it was great! Oh, yeah! Uh, stay safe and do good, folks. Until next time. *wink*

Some questions she does not answer or shifts the subject, but all in good sport. The interviewer doesn't seem too annoyed by it, more understanding than anything. They're even genuinely excited when she offers a quick demonstration, squealing when she does her trick with the water. Neither do the executives at the agency, they even congratulate her on its good value. She feels good after that, can't say no to fun. She returns to her usual routine without barely missing a beat, if only slightly more discreetly, satisfied for days and unwilling to engage in too much outgoingness at once. That seems to be her prefered rhythm: appearing sparsely on occasions unrelated to crime fighting yet always with panashe and with good reason. Time passes and finally she knows: her secret is safe. Tucked away behind the thin layers of her mask and her gentle charm. There are a number of reasons why Dantra refuses to unveil too much of herself, be it to her fans, enemies, or even her colleagues. She is young but has enough knowledge of the ways of the world, especially online, to wish to be careful about what she exposes of herself. She enjoys the attention yet wants nothing of it once the mask is down, relishing the quiet moments in her cozy house near the waterfront and the edge of the city. The most important reason, the vital one, is not because of a loved one - she's been alone for as long as she could remember - nor because of her job - the agency pays well enough, and a side gig as a commission photographer allows her to pass the time. No, her deepest, darkest secret is entirely other: she does not trust herself to look quite right, to pass well enough among them. She never has. Not before, nor since her arrival and her… change of style. Her face has always felt too angular, too sharp and harsh, underlying the softness that sugar-coats it. Okay, maybe it is stupid to hide such a thing, what with aliens and wizards and so many kinds of secret and supernatural entities buzzing about. Especially considering she is in fact time-displaced herself. But she's a private person and her doubts never quite leave her, neither with nor without the mask. Especially not without. And that's something she wants to keep to herself as long as possible, if not mostly because it would show the cracks in her heroic persona.

One second she's living her perfectly normal if only slightly different life in the wilderness, and the next she finds herself surrounded by stone and metal and sound.  So much noise. She fled the great fortified city of her birth for that exact reason, the smells and bustling activity making her prefer the quiet of nature. It's scary, so very scary, at first. Frustrating too, new words to assimilate, new people to remember. Many people. Too many. Tastes and colours as vibrant and foreign as they were interesting. It should be more difficult, more off-putting, it should be a lot weirder and far slower to adapt to this new life that she's quite literally thrown into. She knows that. But somehow, either she's better at adapting than she believes, or the strange shrieking and smelly hole she's been dragged through - she later learns it's all that ozone - has been kind enough to gift her with an augmentation in her abilities. She can't say. Assimilating information has always been easy for her, computing it, on the other hand, takes a bit more time, but she manages well enough and that's a start.

No one knows any of that, not the agency, not her colleagues, not even her best friend Zelda knew of it, and if she has any say in the matter, none would ever know.

…

Later on she realizes their first meeting is not their first. It's not even the first time they actually interact, simply exchanging a look as she disappears into her surroundings while the hero goes the other way in hot pursuit of her own target. They cross paths before, at least twice, always en passant and never out in the open, none recognizing the other. How Valerie Vonazzio misses and is missed so thoroughly becomes one of the many subjects of scoffs and giggles, somehow playing the absolute opposite of their actual first interaction.

How it goes from a simple meddling in a high stakes robbery to a double hostage situation with innocent people in the crossfire she would say is entirely the annoyingly boot-straight bulldozer of a newcomer's fault. He's the one who barges into her delicately masterminded play's fault. They simply have to open the safe, take the money - in truth a pile of fake yet highly realistic 'the artist formerly known as Prince' bills she planted there earlier - and attempt a getaway. No violence needed, no casualties, and she can pocket the money for herself. Not that those to whom it belongs would miss it, even if the amount were to be doubled. And everything seems to work perfectly at first, that is until that idiot of a C-list super Faramour and his disgustingly felty suit gets stuck in one of her countermeasures and calls for backup. The channels should be jammed, they are jammed, and yet, somehow, she hears. Dantra enters all guns blazing - not literally though, she bears no weapons. Praised be that fact or things would go downhill much earlier for the great LaValette. She has no guns, none made of metal at least. It does not prevent her from bursting in, plowing half the group against the wall and intimidating the others sufficiently for them to lose their cool. Having taken two hostages, threatening to do some actual damage if 'superblondie' refuses to cooperate. She doesn't, to Valerie's relief, but she's the smarter of the two, after all. By far. Faramour, on the other hand, does not do the smart thing. Barely liberated from his restraints, he takes one of the robbers in return and immediately escalates the situation. How it hasn't gone to shit quicker with that horrid perfume of his, Valerie will never understand. Deadly weapons are pointed in every direction and a single movement might set the whole thing on fire.

That minty, hair-waxed bumblefuck of a super doesn't even try to use his lonely brain cell, it seems, choosing to ignore Dantra's warnings AND the robbers' threats, yelling louder than either for everybody to shut up, get on the ground and put their weapons down. Despite the fun she'd had recording his disheveled meltdown and against all her principles, she intervenes then. Showing herself in broad daylight for the first time in months, perhaps years. Well, as best as one can through a thick field of smoke and behind a specialized retailored special ops suit. While they're all distracted, she takes Faramour out, stunning him into oblivion and then twice more for good measure with simple yet efficient darts of a sleep agent of her own personal concoction. The robbers are easy too: make them think they have a way out and leave the appeal of the money, and the next second they're running. Dantra is another story. She thinks of lacing the smoke with a sleeping agent but doesn't want to hurt innocent bystanders - she has principles, or at least she's tried to grow some - and instead deploys a simple spot-sonic. The small device works as a grenade and is used to stun anybody of above average physique - group which she instantly guesses Dantra is a part of - and gives her an opening of a few seconds to make a getaway. Hers has been ready for hours now, but as she rounds the building and her car she hears the voice behind her, ordering her to stop.

Dantra is coming around the corner too, armed with a surprising two unconscious robbers, one in each hand. Fortunately she's decided to go stealthy this time, wearing unmarked gear and a simple black gas mask. The lack of recognition she gets from the super means that either she does not know her face, which for the agency's poster girl is highly unlikely as the agency must have drilled her on the many cons they were tracking, LaValette still being high priority. Or that she has no way of seeing through her mask, past her eyes, which is lucky as it has definitely not been designed with x-ray vision in mind. She looks at the blonde for a second too long, perhaps, and her mind is made: she has to play this one well.

"Why? You gonna arrest me?"

"As a matter of fact no, but the police will once they get here."

"Ha. Apologies darlin', I have no time to wait for them. Things to do, places to be," she replies, her tone as cocky as possible.

"You have nowhere to go. I'll catch you if you try to run…"

"Maybe. But I don't intend to run," she jiggles the keys in her hands.

She sees the frown form on Dantra's face through the cloth, a cute set of lines creasing around and above her brow. The super lets the robbers fall to the ground and takes a step forward, then another. Good, just a few more seconds.

"I'm fast."

"Strong too, I guess."

That stops her.

"You're too confident."

"Mayhaps. But so are you, I believe."

"I have the means to back my words up, do you?"

If the very slight flex of her hands and her taut muscles is any indication, the hero does indeed, and she's ready to show it at any moment. Perfect.

"I don't doubt that. But see," and she takes a small step to the left, Dantra mirrors it to the right, "my ride is waiting and they don't have a policy of canceling last minute, so I'm afraid I won't be able to take you up on that."

"The choice isn't really offered."

"It is though, and I'm certainly not letting a muscle-brained blondie tell me what to do."

That gets her a frown. Good. Let her stew a bit.

"You're not part of them."

Oh, surprising. Not all brawns, then.

"You noticed."

"I'm more than just muscles."

"I can appreciate that."

And she winks for good measure. The slight abashed surprise which momentarily coats the frown is worth it.

"You'll be happy to know I'm not all ass either, darlin'."

And with the image of a vague incomprehension mixed with outrage, she presses the ignition button. The car beside her roars to life and then everything is gone, swallowed in the bright neon light of the headlights and the piercing shriek of the alarm. That's enough to make Dantra recoil; by the time the super focuses again, she's long gone. Not very far away, but out of reach.

…

The second time they cross paths it's more official and perhaps she isn't as prepared for it as she's like to make them all think. There's a joint operation by the newly formed Hexagon, a trio of wrongdoers comprised of Miss Spell, Shore Thing, and Sasz, who apparently decide to carry out plans as horrid as their individual designation. How people, supers mostly, come up with such ridiculous names for themselves is something she'll never quite understand. It does help motivate her to foil their plan without pulling any punches, however. Which is a good thing, she thinks. They try to steal one of the prototypes in development at Atomic Delaware Industries, some sort of energy cell that could either be sold to competitors or foreign powers for quite a pile of cash, or be used in not so nice ways by someone smart enough. She certainly would find a few uses for it, she has, actually, without trying too much, even. But that's not the plan, it hasn't been for quite a while. They've been on her radar for the last month and, unfortunately for them, a whole month is entirely superfluous if one were to want to rig the whole operation. Which she does.

The traps fly and spring, doors jam, electric circuits fry and, strangely, the alarm resounds the minute they're deep in the vault despite all their attempts at quelling its shrill signal to the whole of the city police force before they break in. The panic but not so much as would other newer and less competent cons. The prototype is loaded in a rush as they manage to evade the first wave of security. It's jostles a bit - quite a bit - as they come out into the night.  Whether it'll still work after that is anyone's guess, although she has an inkling as to the answer. It's but almost entirely confirmed when the crack resounds a few meters in front of them and Dantra appears, making them drop the cart onto the ground and letting the round object roll away. The trio tenses slightly, knowing they have the advantage, but Dantra shows no sign of faltering. The fight that ensues is what makes Valerie act upon her growing frustration: had she let them exit the perimeter they'd have been caught in her electromagnetic web until the police arrived. But of course the hero has to meddle in her affairs. She almost doesn't swarm all four of them with slime ice, a new project she's been working on for a while, trapping anything it touches almost instantaneously (super or not) and with enough efficacy it would work on Dynamos and his high speed vibrating or Saralis and her plane shifting. At least long enough for her to escape. Almost, because as she's about to think better of it, something barely misses the prototype. It's either a hex or an exploding scale, she can't really tell, but she knows that if it hits, they might not be there to argue whodunnit afterwards. To hell with being subtle, she doesn't want to die yet, and there are people in danger of being fried by the foursome's stupidity.

"Oy, nitwits!", she exclaims, stepping out of the dark black sedan she'd taken shop in.

They seem surprised to see her, enough to almost all freeze on the spot. Only Sasz seems not to lose any of his countenance - his cerebral implant must help, she thinks - which is a good thing because they don't immediately notice the small flattened cones that thud in the middle of them.

"What the fu-", she can hear Miss Spell attempt.

"Stop clonking so close to the prototype. Or do you want to raze this whole area to below sea level?!", she adds, seeing Dantra's eyes narrow.

"LaValette," Sasz simply says, still unperturbed. Not that he seems quite anything in the recent months since his upgrade. "How very pleasant." Well at least he's kept his tongue.

Miss Spell opens her mouth again but stays silent, still she can see her violet eyes widen slightly; Shore Thing doesn't react, simply getting ready to fight her too. She sees the flicker of recognition on Dantra's face, however. She wonders for an instant if she should have worn a mask but finds she is almost glad - a small prickle of pride even runs through her spine at the validation of her still very-well known status.

"Stop where you are," she hears the blonde's voice command.

"Oh don't worry, I don't plan on joining in the fight," she smirks, "I'm not made for that."

She lets a beat pass and sees them stew in their uncertainty. No more than a beat, however, or they'll have time to react.

"Plus I don't need to," her smirk widdens as she nods to the ground at their feet.

They look. Sasz and Dantra are the first to react but it's still too late. The cones explode into a storm of white and suddenly all four of them are covered in a thick layer of foamy substance. She has to give props to Dantra for attempting to jump away, but the slime ice hardens too quickly and she's frozen on one foot, her body angled back. They almost instantly begin to slump too, even Shore Thing's weird biology doesn't stop him from feeling the effects of the sedative. It won't take them out, she knows it, but it'll do for a while. She can already hear Miss Spell mumble curses under her breath, it would be cute if it weren't literal curses on top of her insults. She hurries her step, not wanting to overextend her advantage.

"Not that I don't find this fun but I can't trust you people with this," she grabs the prototype, "so I'll be removing your new toy from the playground until you learn how to share properly."

Without further ado she walks back to her car.

"Wait," she hears Dantra's slurred voice.

But she doesn't no matter the slight desire to play with them a bit longer. She knows if she does she'll lose her advantage quickly.

"Sorry darlin', can't stay. Have a nice night!", she smiles as she passes by them before rolling her window up and driving away.

Her exit goes unchallenged, none of the police notice the black vehicule hidden behind the bushes as they quickly drive by a few seconds later. The next day she confirms her slime ice was indeed efficient, more than she had banked on even, as she sees Sasz and Shore Thing still partially trapped in by the time the news channels are on the scene. Apparently Miss Spell managed to phase herself away in the nick of time, escaping right as the authorities arrived, Dantra taking only a few moments longer. She can't help the amused smile at the sight of the fit blonde going away as quickly as she can once the situation has been explained to the police, surely in search of her. The super doesn't succeed of course, as her being in her penthouse at that precise moment indicates. The morning is nice, warm with blue skies. She contemplates letting Dynopolis and its officials sweat it a few days more under the threat of her possessing the prototype, but decides against it. She's a tease, not an actual madwoman. The stolen property is found two days later in Hubway Park, in a glass box with a cute little ribbon on top of it and a card that says "Love, LV" in elegant cursive. And if the city's pockets are slightly lighter after that, well, it's not her secret to tell.

...

They meet again twice before it truly becomes a sort of routine between them. Not that she actively makes it that way. It just seems they can't stop themselves from running into each other. Maybe it's because LaValette's officially made an appearance after all this time, in front of no less than four supers, three of them being cons is of no consequence. Maybe she can't quite stop herself from being on high alert every time she goes on patrol, looking for the lithe dark woman in every corner each time she's called onto a scene or she is made aware of some nefarious happenings. The fact that Dantra is seen a lot more than usual out there does not go by unnoticed and many speculate as to why. The answer is simple: she's been bested thrice and she can't quite let it go. The smirk and the confidently teasing tone of a superior mind still ring in her ears. She's never been one to be very competitive, not seriously so to the point of letting it consume her rather laidback nature. But the villain has a way of getting under her skin. The con times her quips like the beats of a good song, like strums of chords during a guitar solo, settles her silver eyes so steadily that she can't help the shiver of anticipation at the challenge she knows is coming. The first time it's just a fluke, she doesn't realize she's facing the great LaValette herself, not even that she 's in the same realm as her for a while. The second time she gets the message but slightly too late. The result is positive in the end, not satisfactory however. It does have the unintended effect of giving her a purpose. She knows she can't force destiny, doesn't quite believe in it either, but it feels like something the third time they meet. She wants to be there because she knows what's coming. Or at least she knows LaValette will grace them with her presence. She loses her after a frustratingly slow chase amongst corridors and stairs in the tall building where the villain comes to meddle with an intervention the squad puts in place to nip the bud of a growing cult.

The thing doesn't go as well as planned. The cult is too prepared, as if they know what's coming. They manage to get them taken down before any blood is shed, however, which is a good thing. Until she realizes the ease with which it has been done and the glaring disappearance of a number of useless but golden artifacts the cultists had been in the process of using for their sacrifice. She realizes immediately what's afoot, perhaps a bit too quickly if she trusts the bewildered looks she gets from her partners. She spots the suit far too quickly too. She's nothing if not thorough and she's made her research on the older villain turned chaotic vigilante. Her style has changed slightly, moving on from spandex and leather to a more comfortable fabric oriented design. Still black, still badass and cool - she can't help but admire - and still kicking ass without actually doing any of the kicking herself. But as she's about to reach her, LaValette lets her know she's noticed her with a small turn of the head and a wink as she moves to the staircase. The resulting chase happens in a place too constricting for her, which she hates, and amongst a crowd of people who have no business being as productive as they are on a Monday. Still she follows as best as she can, careful not to damage anything. Unfortunately it's not enough and she knows it when the villain slips away one last time, dropping in an elevator shaft this time, and she's unable to follow. Not that she'd fear the fall or hurting herself (her body can withstand much more and quite literally fly, after all) but because she realizes she's been tricked when the shaft turns out to be a screen and she finds herself flailing not to walk off the seventeenth story. How the frustratingly smart woman managed to do that she doesn't know but she knows she's lost her. Despite it all, and while she does a round of the floor just to be sure, she can't help but be impressed. LaValette has never shown any other sign of outstanding abilities than her impressive intellect and for once she's glad it's the case, just imagining that coupled with any supernatural ability almost makes her shiver.

Their fourth meeting is the one in which she feels her work finally begin to pay off. She's been scouring every file, report and analysis she can find, all the footage available for clues as to what counter-measures she could try to put in place against LaValette for weeks. The incident at Magnus Arena makes her both angry, wanting to catch the woman as soon as possible and make her answer for her crimes, but also realize how much the villain has actually shifted her line of conduct since then. She doesn't quite know how others have not measured the impact of her actions since then, both to annoy supers of the program and to mitigate the destructive power of cons. There's no proof, no evidence, but she can read between the lines, feel the depression in the landscape of her crimes, and see the shadow the villain leaves behind her in each misdeed that goes a little bit too smoothly for the heroes or which seems to fail or combust in the air for the cons. How nobody has never noticed that is beyond her. Perhaps the long arms of LaValette extend even within the agency? Or perhaps someone else has been trying to keep the status quo?

It's a bit of a paradox. She gains newfound respect for the woman but at the same time the neverending list of accomplishments - which she seems to silently gloat about every time - makes her blood boil and gives her renewed determination to catch her.

So when she manages to corner her in the back alley of the store as she's about to flee on an unmarked bike, and she sees the brow quirk up in surprise as she halts mid climb, well she can't help herself and smirks.

"Well good evening to you," LaValette says, resuming her action and strapping the large duffel bag containing various pricy items to her bike, pricy items that the organized but not very professional group of masked individuals attempted to rob - are robbing? have robbed? - and will realize are missing from their own possession the next day.

"I would return the greeting but you're coming with me this time, and it will unfortunately not be 'good'," she quips back, hand on her hip.

LaValette has been calmly setting up her gear, putting on a pair of gloves and a scarf, zipping up her jacket, action following which she seemed to notice the quick glance, her smile widening ever so slightly.

"Not that the offer is not tempting, I'd love to stay but-"

"Stuff to do, places to be?", she cuts in.

The villain smiles wider still, a mischievous glint in her eye.

"Exactly."

"Well, sorry to burst your bubble but I can't let you do that. You being a criminal and me being a hero, and all."

That earns her a chuckle. There's a pause, the woman makes a grab for her helmet, still showing no sign of a rush or any kind of panic at all. This is what makes Dantra start to question her standing in this exchange. She has a way of getting her nerves to flare. It seems the woman notices, her head shifts slightly to the side. Could she read minds? Or was she just that smart? Dantra realizes she might just be that smart 

"Oh I know. And I can assure you I'm very flattered by your attention, but should you really be leaving those idiots alone?"

She follows the finger, it points at the store and suddenly, as if on cue she hears an explosion and sees bright flames erupt from the roof. The door she'd passed through moments earlier flies off its hinges and crashes against her, denting itself around her shape.

"What the-" she begins when she hears the engine rev.

Suddenly she's jumping to action, she lets her flight boom her through the alley and can feel the fleeing motorcycle revving its gears enter the grasp of her outstretched hand. Yet before she can do anything she hears a bump and her legs are once again cast in that annoying white substance, not only does it harden, it also latches onto the ground and she's faceplanting before she knows it. That much isn't enough to slow her down too much, and she's up the next second, grunting as she breaks through the foam - the countermeasure is one of raw power but it works, so, who's to judge. But as she's about to engage in pursuit again, masked individuals come pouring through the now destroyed exit and for a moment she's stunned. Why weren't they- It's then that she hears the shrill voice she's learned to dislike with every fiber of her body. Freaking Faramour…!

Only later, as they've rounded up the criminals that tried their best to escape and the police are there to take them into custody does she register the memory. It's seemingly jogged by none other than the felty cretin himself.

"Nice work, blondie!", he exclaims with a thumbs up.

Perhaps it's genuine, perhaps it's just playing it up for the cameras, she doesn't know, doesn't care much for it either. She's let her target escape once again. By the time she'd taken care of the robbers, barely a minute, and was soaring in the sky to try to locate the motorcycle, it had vanished once again. The criminals had given her restraints - a good measure of fence wire - a run for its money, already almost escaping by the time she came back down and she'd had to secure them once more. Then she'd taken measure of the whole situation: a blown up store, a bumbling super idiot trying to take over the situation and a disappeared LaValette. Then the police arrive, then the journalists, almost in sync. Then there's the report, which Faramour takes into stride despite his less than useful participation, and nobody seems to have noticed LaValette's presence. She'd been this close, so close… She tries to wallow a bit in her corner but even that is made difficult when Faramour comes all smiles to congratulate her. She had to at least nod and smile, she may be one of the most prominent faces of the agency - and miles more efficient than him - he had anteriority and some form of mind-boggling respect in the city. But his words trigger the flash of memory.

"Nice try, blondie!"

Almost the same words but a much, much different tone. Sultry and smooth, teasing as usual. With a smile and a wave of the hand as she rounded the corner, spoken in a voice loud enough for her to hear. The frustration is so much that she almost lets out a huff before she takes off to do her report at headquarters. It's only when she's done and gone home that she realizes she was close, much closer than usual. Next time. Definitely next time.

And next time comes. Much sooner than she'd expected. Barely a week later, in the middle of the afternoon. This time it's utter chaos. Three events strike at the same time. Havenleaf institute, the prison that houses many cons, is taken by Miss Spell and what can only be described as strawmen goons which she surel animated. Apparently an attempt to break out Shore Thing and Sasz. Nat·Bank is in the middle of a robbery orchestrated by the BronzeBronze cartel. And the head office of the Police is being hacked. The bank and the prison are already taken care of, Grace Solace and Mesmeride are on the case with their respective sidekicks she hears in the coms, and the police should be able to deal with whatever genius has decided to try his hand. She's met the ITeam and they know what they're doing. Still, she can't help but feel something is off. The coincidence is great, almost too great. So she goes anyway.

Everything is hectic. Power is going out repeatedly, the whole electrical infrastructure seems to be under attack. Which is weird, Rajan and Sam explain. They've made sure the whole network was secure and entirely closed off. She knows it is, she's seen Sasz try his hand at it and groaning in frustration. So whatever whoever is here wants, it's not in the database. The chaos feels too orchestrated. Like a danger looming around the corner and forcing you into panic mode but never making an appearance. She knows this feeling and that's what propels her into the stairs, down to the third basement and the writ archives. She struggles in the dark silence for a while, only nearly jumping when she hears clattering towards the deep end. The ever-knowing smile that usually welcomes her is only ever so slightly assured this time, only ever so slightly weaker, and she knows she's struck a chord.

"Wasn't expecting you so soon, darlin'", the voice drawls as the woman has the gal to look away, back to the files she's been searching through.

"Were you even expecting me?"

Her tone is light but it seems to land once again, from the slight tensing of the shoulders.

"Honestly? Not really. I hoped to have at least an hour uninterrupted, but it seems I got unlucky…"

She can't help the small satisfied scoff. She can't help the spark of curiosity either.

"What are you looking for, LaValette?"

The dark woman looks up, surprise passing through her steel eyes.

"Nothing much. Compromising pictures from college, maybe?", she chuckles. "What tipped your off, Dantra?", she returns.

Dantra knows she's curious but fakes disinterest. Somehow she knows. So she plays on it. She also can't help but lose some focus to the way her name rolls out of LaValette's mouth, soft and playful.

"I got lucky I guess. I had a hunch."

"A hunch?", a quirk of the eyebrow.

Now she was looking at her.

"Three at a time is a bit much."

"Ah," a shake of the head. "Maybe so… might have been a bit over enthusiastic on this one."

"You made all this happen?"

She should know better, she's seen the famed LaValette at work more than once, read and watched everything there was about her, but she still feels the wave of surprise at the revelation.

"No, I'm not omnipotent, you know. I may have… pushed the right buttons, however."

The smirk is back.

"Well you're certainly not getting out of this one," she quips back, hands on her hips.

"Are you sure about that?"

And there's that quirk of the eyebrow again. It's assured and confident.

"No."

But she is. And she jumps. As if she was expecting that the dark-haired woman throws the file at her and starts doubling down an alley of files, reaching for something in her bag. Dantra doesn't know what tips the scales in her favour this time. Perhaps she's gotten better with confined spaces, perhaps she's well and truly surprised LaValette, perhaps LaValette fumbles despite (surely) the many plans she has to escape. In any case, she has her pinned against a wall, any tools she might have discarded and her hands trapped within her own barely a minute later, near the emergency exit. They lock eyes and there's a surprised look in the steel discs, something else too, fear maybe? Something etched deeper than she expects, at least. But she doesn't have time to explore that before the other woman sighs and smirks.

"Well, seems it's my loss this time."

And it is. She doesn't resist. Lets herself be taken into custody without as much as an attempt to resist or protest. She takes an espresso when offered and answers each and every question the officers have for her once they begin processing her case. Dantra stays and watches, still unconvinced she's done it. She doesn't know if she believes everything LaValette says, still mulling over what she could have been searching for in the basement of the central police department. They only find a few files pertaining to an old cold case, one of an old woman found dead in her apartment. Nothing special about it, nothing linked to LaValette. Not that they could actually link anything to her. They don't even know who she is, she doesn't register in any database, no history, public or private, no facial recognition pings when they try. She's an anomaly, a dark and mysterious anomaly that keeps on slipping between your fingers even when you've got her. And have her they do. They have her face, her prints, her blood and saliva, hair samples, her voice and her story. Still, much good it does them. They resign themselves to keep her in custody until due process begins again. Dantra is on the go then, ready to leave when they have her secured. The day has been long and the thrill enough to wear her down. She'd been thinned by the last few weeks, her entire focus being on trying to solve the puzzle of the infamous LaValette. And now that it's done she can't quite believe it. They cross paths as the woman is taken to a cell, her usual black suit swapped for a standard grey uniform. It still fits her, she notes. The woman smiles as she notices her.

"Well played, Dantra."

She doesn't know what to do, what to respond to that. The amused twinkle in the woman's eyes another mystery she can't quite solve.

"Until next time?"

It's a question, she registers, as well as a statement. Nobody can keep her in for long, she seems to say, we'll play again soon.

"You're not getting out of this, this time," she manages to reply, throwing in a smile of her own, as confident as she manages.

That owns her a laugh. The sound is throaty and very amused. The wink that follows should unnerve her, so should the unfading smile. It adds fuel to the fire, that's undeniable, though what that fire supplies in turn, she has no idea. She doesn't sleep very well that night, exhaustion and excitement waging an intense battle. Exhaustion wins out in the end and she's rested enough the next morning when she wakes. It takes her the whole of the day to truly recuperate, however. She takes it off, she knows she needs it. Knows that she deserves it a bit too. No one at work is expecting her anyway. Not the bad weather nor Spyro, her cat, defecating on the coffee table manage to bring her mood down, however. The following night is the same as the previous one, a battle of nerves, she manages to go to sleep slightly earlier though. That Sunday morning she is well and truly rested as she wakes up. The weather is nice, Spyro is lounging on the coffee table, no poop in sight, and even the new seem to be good: the robbery has been foiled thanks to Mesmeride, and despite struggling a bit more and not catching Miss Spell, Grace Solace managed to prevent any escapes from the prison. She's coffee in hand, standing on her small terrace, Spyro resting on her shoulders, when she hears her name. It's faint but as she focuses the words become more clear.

"...and this morning, when Officer Wallace came to check on her she was gone. No traces of escape, no footage, nothing. The detectives are hard on the case but admit being somewhat at a loss as to how this was possible."

This definitely piques her interest and she steps inside. There's a still image of the cell with a few words splayed against it in elegant cursive. That's when she understands. Somehow, despite all the security measures in place, LaValette has made good on her words.

Till next time, Darlin', the writing reads.

She knows she should be appalled, she knows she should be stressed, she should be on high alert and perhaps already on route to rectify the situation but she finds herself excited and giddy. A smile plastered on her face when the screen turns black as power is ripped away from it. She's excited because finally, after so long, after so much hard work and dedication, it undeniably feels like she's managed to get her first arch-enemy. Her own personal nemesis.

To be continued.

---

More of what I write, if you’re interested.

#archenemies #super #hero #villain #superhero #supervillain #superpowers #pseudo fanfic #inspired by #supergirl #supercorp #love their dynamic #had to play with it #sorry for the tease #writing #fanfic #fanfiction #maybe #i don't know if it qualifies #anyway #hope you enjoyed #the rest one day #hopefully

[7-wonders]

Blame It On My Youth

Summary: You’ve seen enough of Michael’s world to last you three lifetimes. Now, it’s time to show him some of your world.

Word Count: 4907

A/N: Did that sound a bit like the Little Mermaid? Yes. Do I care? No. Hope you guys enjoy, feedback is always appreciated and, if you feel so inclined, I would love if you reblogged, liked, and commented.

Read Mad Love (part one) HERE | Read Totally F***ed (part two) HERE | Read The Isle of Flightless Birds (part three) HERE | Read A Hard Day’s Night (part four) HERE | Read Pour One Out (part five) HERE | Read Where Angels Fear to Tread (part six) HERE | Read Naked & Afraid (part seven) HERE | Read Ironically Alive (part eight) HERE

Out of all of the fantasy books that you read as a child, none was more frustrating than Lewis Carroll’s classic Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland. It was a fine book, filled with whimsy and adventure, all things that a child can devour like candy, but one particular passage captured your attention and warranted your problem-solving abilities for an entire week after you first finished the book. The famous question of “why is a raven like a writing desk?,” posed by the Mad Hatter to young Alice at their tea party, drove you nearly as mad as a Hatter in trying to solve it. It’s not as if there was an answer; the protagonist, herself, declared that “I think you might do something better with the time than wasting it in asking riddles that have no answers,” but you were determined to be the first to solve this unsolvable riddle. Obviously, you didn’t solve the riddle, and the answer still eludes you to this day. You haven’t thought about that old riddle for quite some time, but your current predicament, and the amount of time spent thinking about it, gives you an odd sense of deja vu and reminds you of Lewis Carroll’s question with no answer.

It’s been two weeks since your trip to the Murder House, and your mind has spun with hundreds of questions that seem to have no answer. Michael, of course, hasn’t been any help at all. The man seems to be a walking paradox; when you don’t need him, he’s impossible to get rid of, and on the rare occasion that you do need him, he can’t be reached. You’ve been able to talk to him, your weekend visits to his mansion forcing you to make some conversation, but Michael has diverted every question you’ve shot at him. He doesn’t get mad that you’re constantly coming up with questions that, to you, have no answers, which only confuses you even more. Although you shouldn’t be pushing your luck after his show of mercy at his childhood home, you feel that you’re entitled to some answers.

Michael, the infuriating, confounding, caring husband that he is, has patiently reminded you time and time again that your finals are more important than any questions you may have. You hate it when he’s right, especially when he pulls out the contract and points out that it was you who made it a point to refuse dropping out of school. Your questions, he tells you, can be answered after you’ve finished the semester and gotten the grades you know you’re capable of. If you’re being honest, at this point you would take a year of being trapped in the Murder House over a week of finals (“Your dramatics truly never get old,” Michael commented dryly when you complained to him during a study break on Sunday). Finals week, you’ve decided, is certainly the work of Michael’s father.

Regardless of your opinions on the week of tests that largely decide your grades, the feelings of joy and relief that flood through you upon walking out of the classroom in which your last final of the semester was held. You have a high enough grade in the class to be able to keep your ‘A’ even if you flunk and, if you were brave, you would have just completely skipped the final. Worst-case scenarios, however, prevented you from doing so and made sure that you actually studied for this test. No matter how you did on the tests, you walk across campus feeling like you’re floating on air. No more school for an entire summer! The bliss that accompanies a last day of school does not, thankfully, fade with age.

Part of you wants to literally put the school in your rearview mirror and stay at least a mile away for three months straight, but you’re also a good person who promised to meet her friends for lunch and isn’t about to back out of a commitment. College dining halls, contrary to popular belief, are not nearly as clique-y as high school lunch rooms. Although there’s a few tables that everyone knows the athletes sit at, the rest of the tables are up for grabs. This can make things difficult when you’re one of the last to an already-packed dining hall and you have to awkwardly stand in the middle of the room while you search for your ‘group.’ Having friends like yours makes this move a lot easier, waving at you to get your attention once they notice that you’re looking around for them.

“You had finals today, right? How’d they go?” Kate and Brennan sit across from you, a bowl of cucumbers sitting between them. You grab at one when you take your own seat, deciding a water-based vegetable is better than nothing.

“They went okay, especially considering they were my last finals,” you reply, glancing around the table to catalogue who is and isn’t here. It’s the usual crew, but you take note of a new face. Shooting Kate a glance, she quickly picks up on your question.

“Oh yeah, you two haven’t met before! (Y/N), this is Mallory. She’s in my Russian Lit class, her other friends have already left for the summer so I invited her to come sit with us today.”

Mallory’s beautiful, her large doe-like eyes and golden leaf headband nestled in her brown locks giving her the appearance of some sort of angel. She’s wearing a black dress that’s cinched with a belt that matches the headband, her outfit looking like it costs as much as a couple of textbooks.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N),” you smile warmly, Mallory returning your smile and waving at you.

“It’s really nice to meet you, (Y/N),” she says.

“Why haven’t I seen you around campus before?” Although it’s a large and populated college, you’re sure that you would have remembered seeing someone as unique as Mallory.

“Oh, we must just run in different circles.” The buzzing of your phone draws your attention from the conversation, sending Mallory an apologetic look before checking the notification.

“How did your tests go?” You can’t help the smile when you see Michael’s message, thumbs flying across the keyboard to type a reply.

“I think they went really well, thanks!” 

Barely thirty seconds pass before Michael’s responded, and you stifle a laugh at the mental image of Michael sitting at his desk and just waiting for you to check your texts. 

“You should call me when you get a chance, maybe we can go out and celebrate?” After the Murder House escapade, you had become a lot more lenient with your “two phone calls a week” rule. Sometimes it’s actually you that calls him first, much to the shock and surprise of both of you. 

“Wow, our second date? Amazing, maybe we can even go steady after this lmao,” you can’t help the sarcasm, especially not when the opportunity is right there.

“-and--(Y/N),” Kate whines, drawing your attention back to the people in front of you.

“I was listening!” You unconvincingly insist.

“Really? What was I talking about, then?”

“Um...Brennan?”

“No, but nice try. I was talking about the end-of-year party at Colin and Noel’s.” Colin and Noel are two best friends who live together and, at least once a month, throw the type of parties that are the stuff of legends. The first, and only, time you went to one, Noel got so drunk that he body slammed himself onto the pong table, somebody tried to crowd surf, and multiple people ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning. 

That was on a regular Saturday in January.

“I don’t know, Kate, I’m still trying to recover from Thirsty Thursday at the Stadium House.”

“That was almost a month ago.”

“That’s the point,” you say jokingly. “But really though, I don’t like crazy parties, and I’d rather not deal with the cops.”

“They’ve scaled their parties back so much since the last time you came to one! No hospital visits related to events at their house, even!”

“Really?” You can’t help but be skeptical at her claim. 

“Really. Listen, you don’t even have to stay for long, but I’d really like to hang with you one last time before I go back home for the summer.” Kate smiles when you sigh, knowing she has you. A good chunk of your friends are all going off to the far corners of the country for the break, and this will probably be the last time that you’re all together for three months. 

“Alright, let me talk with, uhh--yeah, I should be able to swing by for a bit,” your friends don’t know about Michael yet, and you’d prefer to keep it that way.

“Yay!” Kate squeals, drumming her hands on the table in excitement. 

“I should get going.”

“I’ll see you tonight though, right?”

“...Right.”

“Are you going to the parking lot? I’ll walk with you if you are,” Mallory says, a twinge of guilt running through you at the realization that you practically forgot about the poor girl.

It’s impossible for you to say no, and you find yourself walking side by side with Mallory towards the parking lot. It’s a bit of an awkward silence, as it usually is when two people who don’t really know each other are left alone.

“Seriously though, how have we not met before? Are you a freshman?” You ask.

“No, but this is my first semester here. I transferred from a school in New Orleans.”

“Oh, I love New Orleans! I went there for a week last year, it was amazing.”

“Yeah, I, uh,” Mallory looks down towards her heeled shoes, nodding, “I miss it a lot.” Your heart aches at the sudden look of homesickness on your new friend’s(?) face, causing you to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“Well, at least the school year’s over and you can go home now.”

“Actually, I think I’m sticking around for the summer. My aunt thinks it’s good for me to get out of New Orleans and out of my comfort zone. My best friend Coco’s letting me stay with her.” Mallory’s phone starts to ring, and she laughs when she looks at the caller ID. “Speak of the devil; it’s my aunt.”

“I’ll see you at the party tonight?” Mallory nods. 

“See you tonight, (Y/N).” Mallory watches you continue towards the parking lot, only answering her phone when you’ve rounded the corner. “Hey, Cordelia...Yeah, it’s her alright.”

////////////////////////////

Michael, as per usual, is in his office when you arrive at his home. Even though he has no logical way of knowing that you’ve arrived, the opening of his office door before your hand even makes contact with the knob gives you the sneaking suspicion that his Antichrist powers give him an advantage. You stroll in, Michael looking a little too nonchalant as he reads through some papers on his desk.

“Some serious Cooperative business?” You ask, falling into a chair on the other side of his desk. 

“You could say that,” he looks up at you, smiling. “How was your last day of the semester?”

“It was fine, finals were fine, it’s all fine, fine, fine.” You spin yourself in the chair, head falling back as you watch the blur of the ceiling above you.

“That’s a mood.” Stopping suddenly, you look at Michael in surprise before laughing loudly.

“Look at you, catching up on your slang!”

“Figured I’d try and actually learn what you were talking about.”

“Speaking of ‘moods,’ I might have something that would help to raise both of ours.” Michael raises an eyebrow, urging you to continue. “Some...friends of a friend are throwing a huge party tonight for the end of the year. Would you wanna go? I know you had talked about celebrating, but maybe we could celebrate this way?”

“You want me to go to a...college party? The same type of party that you drunk-called me from and where I had to get you from?”

Your face heats up at the reminder. “I’m not even going to be drinking at this party, I learned my lesson last time. Look, I know that you didn’t have the most normal upbringing, so maybe this could be your chance to experience some of the things you missed out on. You can’t tell me that you’re perfectly fine with going from a child to running your father’s army and planning the apocalypse practically overnight.”

Michael’s thinking about what you’ve said, which you’re not sure is good or bad yet. You know that you’ve made some good points, and he knows that you’ll go to the party even if he doesn’t. Maybe this is a question with no answer, like so many that you’ve encountered lately. Michael and parties don’t seem like they’d mix, and it’s impossible for you to read his mind like you can read his.

“Will I be out of place there?”

“Michael, there’s going to be so many people there that nobody will even look at you twice.” A lie; Michael’s far too beautiful for just one look.

“What time?” You aren’t even aware that you were holding your breath until he sighs and looks at you again.

“Really?” Michael nods. “Uh, probably nine or ten?”

“Is there not a set time for these parties?”

“Not really, just whenever people show up.” You stand up, smiling widely at Michael’s sudden apprehension and choosing to leave before he can change his mind. “I’ll leave you to your work!”

The good thing about being at the home of your Antichrist husband is that your wardrobe is limitless. A red satin top and a pair of black jeans (tightened with a Gucci belt, because how are you not going to take advantage of that?) is dressy, yet casual enough to be worn at a college party. When you trek down the stairs at a quarter to nine on a quest to scrounge around the kitchen for a quick meal, you’re not at all surprised to see Michael standing at one of the counters.

“You haven’t gotten dressed yet?” You ask, hopping up on the counter next to him and tearing apart a bread roll before popping a bite in your mouth.

“I figured I could just wear this to the party.” Michael’s expression sours when you laugh.

“I’m sorry, I promise I didn’t mean to laugh! It’s just--if you don’t want to attract a bunch of attention, then I wouldn’t suggest wearing a cloak, a suit, and a pair of red bottoms.” He looks down at his outfit, as if suddenly realizing how overdressed he is.

“But...I don’t know what else to wear?”

“C’mon, I’m sure we can find something in your closet for you to wear.” Michael hesitates when you grab his hand, obviously unsure of what to do next. “Kind of need you to lead the way, since I’m assuming your closet is in your bedroom that I’ve never been to before.”

“Right! Let’s go.”

The uncertainty that you feel at the threshold of Michael’s bedroom holds you back like a tether. It’s not as if anything unscrupulous is going to be happening, but the idea of invading the sanctity of your husband’s private bedroom is a little jarring. Peeking into the room, you’re reminded of a conversation you had with Michael during your first weekend here.

“Does every room look like this?” An unspoken question dangles in the air: does your room look like this? Michael grins widely, but it’s devoid of any of the emotions that a regular smile would accompany. It’s the smile of the devil. 

“Guess you’ll have to find out for yourself, won’t you?” He chuckles at the withering glare you give him, loping back towards the door and resting a hand on the silver handle. 

“So, every room does look the same,” you comment with a smirk, finally getting over your sudden fear and following Michael into his room.

“I had to have a little mystery surrounding me.” Michael smiles. “Are you going to help me or not?”

////////////////////////////

“Everybody here is in khaki shorts and printed shirts,” Michael hisses in your ear. Your hand grips Michael’s firm bicep, and you give it a teasing squeeze.

“Yeah, and you look a thousand times better than them. You always do.” Cars were already inconspicuously-but-not-really parked up and down the block, and you have to maneuver through at least fifty people just in the entryway and the living room. “College guys don’t really have a sense of style.”

“So I won’t lose you to one of these ‘boys,’ then?” Michael’s style, in your opinion, is timeless. You managed to work with his formal wardrobe, finding a white t-shirt and pairing it with an unbuttoned black shirt. The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows (although that part may be totally self-serving), and his black jeans are cuffed into a pair of boots. He still looks more formal than everyone else, but it’s way better than him showing up in a goddamned cloak.

“You never even had me in the first place,” you chuckle, shooting Michael a playful wink. “C’mon, let’s see if we can find any of my friends around here.”

There’s coolers set up in the kitchen to keep the different cans and bottles cool, as well as an array of liquor on the kitchen island. Michael looks like a fish out of water, standing around awkwardly while you start peeking into the coolers.

“I thought you said you weren’t drinking,” Michael comments.

“I’m not, I’m just trying to find some soda or water.”

“(Y/N)!” You turn around, smiling when you see Noel standing before you.

“Hey, bud.” Noel, one of two party throwers of legend, is a shorter guy who makes up for his lack of height with his absolute insane stockpile of never ending energy. His black hair is always carefully gelled and combed into place, and he dresses like a middle-aged rich dad who’s going boating for the weekend.

“Who’s your friend? If he’s a part of Sig Tau, he needs to get outta here before Colin sees him, because Colin still has a huge problem with--”

“No, don’t worry, he doesn’t go to our school.” Noel nods, drumming his hands on the table and picking up a bottle of tequila.

“In that case, can I get you two some shots?”

“I don’t know, Noel, I wasn’t really planning on drinking tonight.”

“C’mon, (Y/N), one shot’s not gonna get you fucked up. I’ve seen you drink before, you’re barely even gonna get buzzed.” He winks, already knowing that you’re going to say yes when you sigh.

“Two shots, then.”

Noel expertly pours two shots, sliding them your way with a friendly “enjoy” before leaving to continue his hosting rounds.

“What’s Sig Tau? Is that some sort of a cult?” Michael asks once Noel’s gone.

“It’s a fraternity, so close.” You slide a shot to Michael and pick up your own, downing it with a grimace. Michael just stares apprehensively at the clear liquid in the shot glass. “Are you not going to drink that?”

“What is it? It looked like you were drinking gasoline.”

“It’s tequila, which is kind of the same thing.”

“If I die, I’m holding you responsible.” Michael throws his own shot back, coughing and hacking as you cheer. “Satan, that was terrible. Why do people drink that?”

“I dunno,” you shrug, grabbing two bottles of water from a cooler and tossing one to Michael, “quick little buzz, palate cleanser, there’s a million different reasons.”

Michael grabs your hand and pulls you out of the way when a girl, clearly already drunk, nearly bumps into you on her search for another drink. She mumbles an apology, choosing to take the whole bottle of Jack Daniels with her instead of pouring it into one of the hundreds of red Solo cups stacked on the counter. His blue eyes meet yours and you both chuckle, silently agreeing to move out of the cramped kitchen and somewhere with less people. While the living room’s not any better, you do manage to run into Kate and Mallory.

“You made it!” Kate exclaims, pulling you from Michael to hug you. Her eyes are wide while also managing to droop at the same time, and you can almost guarantee that she’s crossed. 

“I told you I would be here,” you say, giggling when Kate affectionately boops your nose. Mallory’s standing awkwardly to the side, eyes flickering between you and Michael. Kate also seems to pick up on her friend’s sudden change in demeanor, and smirks when she notices the man trailing behind you.

“And just who is this, (Y/N)?”

“Oh, this is my--uh, my friend Michael.” ‘Friend’ seems like a good term to settle on; you can’t explain your true relationship, Michael is not your boyfriend, and ‘acquaintance’ would be weird to say. Kate wiggles her eyebrows at you, sticking her hand out for Michael to take.

“Helloooo, (Y/N)’s friend Michael.”

“So, do you two have the same classes?” Mallory asks politely.

“No, Michael isn’t in college. He...well, he does--”

“I work for my father,” Michael interjects, smiling down at you. “I’m learning the ropes before I take over for him.” It’s technically not a lie, and you’re impressed until you remember that this must be one of his Antichrist powers. Mallory nods, but you can see a hint of something--doubt, or maybe suspicion?--in her eyes. Kate gasps before anymore words can be exchanged, grabbing yours and Mallory’s hands excitedly.

“I love this song! Dance with me, please!” You don’t really have a choice, the small woman amazingly strong when she wants to be. You look back at Michael apologetically, but he just smiles and gestures for you to go with. 

The familiar bass that underlays all hip-hop songs thumps loudly through you, acting as some sort of an electric charge. Where you had once been bored and ready to quietly slip out of the front door, you’re now controlled by the beat of the song. The congregation of partiers who have also decided to dance grows larger with each passing second, enveloping your trio in the middle. While the dancing isn’t so much dancing as it is bouncing in time with the rhythm, it’s carefree in a way that you didn’t know you needed until now. Mallory takes your hands, both of you laughing as she spins you in a circle.

Michael leans against the wall, head tilted as he watches the dancing college students. More specifically, he intently watches you dancing with your friends. He’s intrigued, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a smile as you move in a way he’s never seen you move before. While you’re more relaxed around him now, you’re still so reserved in your mannerisms. Here, Michael sees a glimpse of who you once were before he dragged you into his life. You smile widely, singing the lyrics at the top of your lungs along with everyone else in the group of dancers. Your hair flows freely around your face, and he finds himself enraptured by the movement.

Would things have been different between you two if Michael wasn’t the Antichrist? Maybe, in another life, or another universe, you both would have attended the same college. The image pops into his head like it’s burned there; Michael sitting next to you on the first day of some nameless class, becoming friends with you first. Slowly but surely, your bond would only deepen, and from friends would spring lovers. Michael shakes his head imperceptibly: a fantasy. He can’t dwell on these silly theoretical questions that have no answers. It’s a fruitless pursuit, and nothing good will come out of fixating on the ‘what if’s.’

Michael jumps in surprise when you’re suddenly in front of him, being too wrapped up in his thoughts to notice the song ending and you making your way back over to him. You laugh, obviously delighted at finally catching him off guard. 

“I let you startle me that time,” he jokingly argues.

“Uh-huh, if that’s what makes this crushing defeat easier for you. Anyways, do you wanna get out of here? Kate and Mallory are the only ones I really came here to see, and if we’re not going to drink there’s not really any reason to be here.”

“I’m ready to go home if you are.”

“Actually, I might have a little detour for us…” you trail off, smiling conspiratorially.

“Oh?” Michael’s not sure if he should be excited or nervous for idea of yours, something that you easily pick up on. 

“I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

Twenty minutes later, you’re sitting on opposite sides of a booth in a small diner that you frequent with friends during the school year. A basket of french fries sits in the middle of the table, two tall glasses that are already beading with condensation standing guard next to the food. Amidst the fluorescent lighting, scratchy country music, loud ceiling fans, and run-down booths, you’re struck by how out of place Michael seems here, in your world.

He had stuck out like a sore thumb at the party, his uncomfortable posture and expensive clothing practically screaming that he did not belong in that small house. Here, in a restaurant with patrons ranging from a young family to an elderly couple, a middle-aged businessman to a homeless woman, he looks like some far-away traveler who landed in the wrong town. He’s a Renaissance piece of artwork, something far too beautiful and celestial for the eyes of these mere humans who couldn’t begin to comprehend the masterpiece that is Michael Langdon.

“Just what are we doing here?” Michael asks after the waitress, an older busty woman with red hair straight from the box, sets your order down and leaves. 

“We’re enjoying a late-night snack,” you say simply, grabbing at a fry and savoring the first bite into the just-fried food.

“A late-night snack consisting of french fries and--are these milkshakes?” Michael picks up one of the glasses, investigating its contents. 

“Uh, yeah? Have you never had a milkshake before?”

“(Y/N), my grandmother hid me away and refused to let me out of the house. Of course I’ve never had a milkshake before.” Your face falls, proving that you’re still not good at hiding your emotions like Michael is. Pushing the other glass towards him, you lace your fingers together and place them under your chin. 

“I’m honored that I get to be a part of your first milkshake experience, then. There’s vanilla and chocolate; try them both, and then you can have whichever one you like best.”

Michael looks uneasily between the two glasses, as if trying to decipher if one is poisoned. “Which one do you prefer?”

“I like them both,” you shrug. 

Finally, he takes a cautious sip of the chocolate. You’re mildly disappointed when he doesn’t have any sort of reaction, silently cataloguing his opinions on the flavor before taking a less-cautious drink of the vanilla. Without any fanfare, he pushes the chocolate back towards your waiting hands.

“They’re both good, you’re right, but I like this one better.” You smile, sliding the glass towards you and sipping the shake that he’s rejected.

“Um, Michael…” you trail, not sure how to phrase what you’ve been thinking of for the past week.

“Yes?”

“Would--is the offer to move in with you still on the table?” Michael smirks widely, and you rush to explain yourself. “It’s just that my rent is going up next month and it’s not worth it at this point, and your place is closer to campus. Plus, my cat likes you better than she likes me.”

You’re not sure why you’re nervous, since he’s obviously going to say yes to your request. You living with him was one of the only things he desperately wanted during the contract negotiations. When you think about it, you just don’t want him to get the wrong idea. It seems as if you’ve finally reached a comfortable relationship with Michael, a place where you tolerate him and could even see him as one of your friends. But an actual romantic relationship is so far down the list of things that you and Michael are, and you don’t want him to think that you’re finally going to be the loving wife that Satan wanted you to be. For lack of better wording, there’s no way in hell that will happen.

“Only because I like your cat better than you, and I wouldn’t want her to go homeless.” Your mouth drops and you laugh, picking up a fry and throwing it at Michael who, of course, deftly catches it in his mouth.

“You jerk!”

“You said it first, not me!”

“Fine,” you sit back against the booth and cross your arms over your chest, trying to keep your best poker face on, “but you should know that we’re a package deal.”

“Hmm, I suppose I can cope with that.”

“Do we have a deal, then?” Yet again, you’re struck by the irony of making a deal with the Devil (well, the Devil’s son, but close enough). Michael picks up his glass and waits for you to do the same, clinking your milkshakes together in agreement. 

“We, my dear, have a deal.”

////////////////////////////

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Pigment Coated Gold Pt 9 (Hakuno, Gilgamesh, Ur)

Previous Part: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight

______

Ur found his mother only after a month.

A long month of walking in this new armor. A month of spending every second of his time trying to learn more about the people of this place and trying to become close to them. He listened to rantings that lasted for hours. He listened to the pleas of the people and he talked to the guards, listening to them explain the situation.

He hated the king for making him listen. It felt so mean to be given such food when the people whined that some of their meals were not filling.

If he had been king, if he had anything under his control, he would have changed that. All of his people would have eaten like he did as the prince.

Any time he was in the dining hall, he glared at the king in his throne, waiting for the man to address him and insult him. Their eyes met while he waited for his chance to rub his new knowledge about the people in the man’s filthy face, but the man just smirked.

He hated that smirk.

Tonight though, he found himself pausing.

His mother sat quietly next to the king, talking to him about this or that, her gestures mellow and her voice level. The king would chuckle a bit, responding to her and throwing insult after insult…

Couldn’t he choke on that food?!

Why couldn’t he just die and leave them the kingdom?!

A king needed to be doing more! He needed to be fighting against this hunger that the people had and against this imbalance of power in Uruk!

He paused as his mother glanced his way. Her soft smile made him squirm.

Why is she okay with him now?

He didn’t like it.

When his mother was free from him, he’d-

“I will see you soon,” the king murmured to his mother. He stood up, heading to the doors and leaving the dining hall.

This was his chance.

He slipped under the table, eluding his guards and rushing to the main table, wrapping his arms around his mother tightly. His armor must have hurt her a bit, but she hugged him tightly all the same.

“Ur,” she breathed.

“Ummum… Ummum, what did he do?”

He was so sorry.

He hadn’t protected her. Not even once. Not against this corrupt king. Not against hunger. Not even against himself as a young boy.

Her hands ran through his hair gently, hugging him close to her.

“I’ve been working with Siduri,” she told him. “I wanted to help you. I heard from the people that you’ve been the best prince this kingdom has ever had. I heard that you have been a perfect son.”

“Ummum,” he pulled back a bit, glaring the guards off a moment before he looked at her. “Ummum, I’m going to help you. Help us.”

“You’re doing a great job.”

She hadn’t seen anything yet though!

“Where does father keep you?”

“I stay in his chambers or in the office with Siduri.”

The office… the king’s office was near his chambers.  He’d seen it before.

I’ll steal my mother and run.

“I am… I am marrying him in a week.”

Ur stared at his mother. The blood in his veins drained dangerously low.

“I am very proud of you, Ur,” Hakuno told him. “Let me do something to help build your future as well.”

#drabble #drabbles

[bigskydreaming]

So I’ve been going through all my old Scrivener files and rounding up all the various fics and updates I’m planning on queuing up to post during the month/however-the-fuck-long I’m bedridden after surgery in a couple weeks. Which includes Teen Wolf as well as Batfics, FYI. 

Anyway, came across this old WIP that I never ended up posting because I ultimately thought it felt too similar to both Where Wild Things Are and Lightning Crashes, just in different ways....not enough that any of them were derivative of each other, but enough that I wasn’t super inspired to continue writing it because the vibe I was going for with it, I was already getting from writing those other two fics.

But I still liked it and think there was some good stuff there, so what the hell. Here’s an opening from a never-planning-on-finishing-it Scallison AU, where things diverged from canon right after the Hale fire six years pre-pilot, and there was a different-from-canon McCall pack at war/trying to survive Peter’s pack in its attempts to stamp theirs out. 

The Scallison part starts out in the vein of the ABC show Revenge, where Scott’s initially just trying to keep an eye on the hunters in town/figure out where the Argents land in all of this, but then, y’know. The feelings happen.

Anyway, it was chock full of my favorite TW writing tropes - runaway/long lost Scott, pack politics, side characters turned main characters, scheming, double-dealing, Scott Is A Goddamn Genius and No I Do Not Accept Constructive Criticism On This Matter For It Is Wrong....you know, my usuals.

I did have a pretty extensive outline/summary for the rest of the fic and my plans for it, that I can post if there’s any interest in reading that and seeing where this was going. *Shrugs* Just let me know.

WHAT THE FIRES LEFT BEHIND

Scott McCall came home on a Tuesday.

For Allison, that didn’t mean much at first.  Her only context for the mass text was the bemused quirking of Lydia’s lips and a rather underwhelming ‘Huh.’ Then a shrug and a flick of her hair, and her best friend by default returned to ruffling through the Macy’s clearance rack with a vengeance.

“Awful. Grotesque. Needs to be set ablaze, immediately - ”

Allison nodded to herself and bore continued witness to Lydia’s evisceration of every hack designer of every fashion atrocity present, though sadly, the novelty of that had long since worn off. It was 7 pm on a school night. They’d been scouring the mall for something to meet Lydia’s approval for three hours already, and Allison did have trigonometry homework she could be torturing herself with instead, so….

Tough call. Hard choices had to be made. Allison steeled herself for battle and called Lydia Martin on her bullshit.

“Why are we here again? You hate Macy’s, and you absolutely despise clearance items.”

“I know that, and you know that.” Lydia emerged from a forest of polyester blouses wearing a look of disdain that had a ph level that would put any acid in the school’s chem lab to shame. “But I’m trying to see if I can find something here to start a trend with anyway.  Call it…a social experiment.”

“Hmm.” Allison nodded again thoughtfully. Briefly, she considered mercy. But she had just wasted three hours of her life. And mercy wasn’t really the Argent family way. 

She pulled the trigger. “You sure its not called Daddy cut your spending limit?”

Her melodrama-prone friend threw her hands up as if to express the whole world had gone mad and nothing made any sense. “It’s like he’s not even trying to buy my affection anymore!”

Allison coughed into her hand to smother a giggle. Being able to so easily rile up her friend when all others’ attempts dashed themselves harmlessly upon Her Majesty’s porcelain mask of perfection? Still her favorite sport next to archery. But certain social norms must be respected. One didn’t openly mock a friend in such obvious distress. She quickly changed the subject. For Lydia’s sake, really.

“So who’s Scott McCall?”

Lydia paused midway through working herself up to a truly tickets and popcorn-worthy rant, thrown by the sudden segue. “What?”

Allison waved her phone, flashing the mass text Danny had sent out to pretty much everyone in the Beacon County zip code.

“Scott McCall’s back. He just walked into the Sheriff’s Station. Stiles saw him himself,” she read out loud. “Who’s Scott McCall?”

“Oh. That.” Lydia tore her horrified gaze away from a leopard print mini-skirt and shrugged. “He’s this guy from our class who disappeared seven years ago. You know that Dunbar kid’s stepmom, Melissa? It’s her son.”

“Wait, seriously? And he’s our age? How have I never heard about this before?”

“I don’t know, Allison,” Lydia rolled her eyes. “Maybe because normal people don’t talk about things that depress them? It was a long time ago anyway.”

“I can tell it had a real effect on you,” Allison said, with just a touch of acid herself.

“I’m in the midst of a personal financial crisis currently. I’ll care when its over. Besides, its not like anyone has any details yet. Pointless gossip is for the peasants.”

“So what happened anyway?” Allison asked. Lydia shot her a look and she smiled innocently. “What? I’m comfortable with my peasant status. And I’ve lived here almost two years now and never heard a word about this. How can I not be curious?”

“Well this was an utter waste of time,” Lydia said under her breath as she gingerly replaced a sequin-studded monstrosity back on the rack, seemingly preoccupied once more. Or possibly just flat-out ignoring her. 

The menace of the malls then raised her eyes to the ceiling as if despairing at the world at large, heaved a sigh that was practically a soliloquy unto itself, and ran her fingers through her hair in some kind of ritual of self-composure. 

Once she’d observed the proper formalities for conceding her quest was officially a failure - at least, Allison was pretty sure that’s what she was doing, though she’d rather not commit to that, given that some of the intricacies of her friend’s habits still eluded her grasp - Lydia finally slung her purse over her shoulder and set off towards the exit with an imperious wave of her head. 

It was only when her brisk walk stalled out while waiting for the garage elevator that Her Highness deigned to address the lowly commoner’s curiosity. 

Allison just sighed internally. She’d long since made her peace with her friend’s little power games. They were entertaining as often as they were exasperating, so it was sort of a pick your battles type situation, and Allison preferred to err on the side of not waking the beast beneath Lydia’s deceptively dainty exterior.

“You know about the Hale fire, right?” Lydia asked.

Allison nodded. It wasn’t an everyday topic of conversation by any means, but it had come up at least once or twice since her family moved to Beacon Hills two years prior. Talk of the tragedy had even made an appearance in her own home, in a couple of muffled shouting matches between her parents that she’d only caught bits and pieces of.

“Yeah, my Aunt Kate actually lived around here back then. That was the fire that killed that whole family, right?”

“Right. So it was pretty much right around that same time. Scott went missing just a few days after. A lot of people even wondered if there might have been a connection, there were rumors the fire was arson, I don’t know. It was a whole thing, and we were only ten at the time, you know? Anyway, Scott’s dad was this hotshot FBI agent. There were search parties for like two months, but they never found a body or anything. Most people eventually figured it probably had something to do with one of his dad’s cases.”

“And now he’s back,” Allison prodded when Lydia lapsed into silence. The smaller girl just chewed on her lower lip, staring at the wall of the garage almost pensively.

“And now he’s back,” she echoed with a distracted nod of her head.

“That’s....interesting,” Allison offered tentatively. She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the mood that had fallen over her friend, like a spell had settled upon her the moment she’d actually stopped and reflected on her memories of the events in question. 

It seemed somewhat conspicuous to her that Lydia made no mention of who Scott was beyond just the victim of some strange small-town mystery, and so she was uncertain just how cautiously she needed to tread here. Had they been childhood friends? Mere acquaintances? Something else, likely as baffling and unexpected as most things about Lydia Martin tended to be?

But the born and raised Beacon Hills native just shrugged one shoulder listlessly and twirled a strand of strawberry-blond hair around a finger.

“It’s something,” she said at last. The elevator arrived at their level with an almost cheerful-sounding ding that was at odds with the somber mood they stood draped in. Lydia shook herself, a full body kind of motion not unlike a dog drying itself off.

“Are you coming?” She tossed over her shoulder at Allison, sounding almost exasperated, as though she hadn’t been the one just standing there staring at the wall for a good ten seconds after the elevator doors had slid open.

Allison sighed and shook her head, but she held back any retort and instead simply followed her friend down into the lower levels of the garage. Now was not the time to pursue...whatever that whole thing had been, just now. 

Lydia Martin had just unwillingly displayed an emotional reaction in front of another person. It was too dangerous to prod for further weak spots in her armor without letting at least a day or two pass first.

The self-styled Queen of Beacon Hills had relieved commoners of their heads for lesser offenses than that.

[wanderleave]

My contribution for @jancyweek2019, which is, fair warning: absolute nonsense. Entirely inspired by this post made by @metropoliskid, which is based on this tweet.

Once again, I know my blog text is tiny, so go find this guy on AO3 if you wish.

Nancy Wheeler was twelve years old when she started dating Jonathan Byers.

She thinks.

She isn’t sure. (Not about Jonathan Byers, she’s sure about him; she’d always found him endlessly intriguing, even in elementary school, when he sat at the picnic tables with Barb while Nancy played horses at recess, surrounded by girls who had names like hers—Stacy, Ally. Long e sounds. Names that rhymed.)

What she isn’t sure about is if they ever really started dating.

And if they did, they certainly never stopped.

If it did happen, it is, technically, the longest relationship she’s ever been in. If she’s counting.

She doesn’t know what that says about her.

She was twelve years old, sitting on a bench inside Hawkins Middle, reading A Tree Grows In Brooklyn for English, waiting for her mother to pick her up and bring her to ballet. (Nancy never considered it, in her youth, how much of her mother’s life revolved around ferrying her and her siblings across Hawkins, from one activity to another. She must have been so grateful when Mike declared his independence from the automobile and insisted on riding his bike everywhere.)

She’d glanced up to see the Wheeler family station wagon coasting to a stop just outside the front doors, just as Jonathan Byers coasted to a stop in front of her.

“Nancy,” he’d said, breathless.

And that’s when it got complicated.

In the rush of juggling her school bag, her dance bag, and the blare of her mother’s horn, she didn’t quite catch the words that followed her name.

Her eyes had flicked to the car outside, then back to him. She’d thought about asking him to repeat himself, but his face had been open, expectant, nervous. Hopeful.

She couldn’t deny that face.

“Oh, um. Yes,” she’d said, in response to what she’d been pretty sure was a question.

He’d grinned at her. Held up his hand.

She’d high fived him, and rushed out to her waiting mother.

It was only as the car door slammed shut that she processed the question he’d asked her.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?”

It’s only later—years later—that Nancy realizes that she’d have said yes even if she had heard him clearly.

As it was, she only got to enjoy their relationship—if it was a relationship (if seventh grade high fives could even be called a relationship)—for one day. Less than a day, even.

She’d glanced over at him shyly all through class, counting the minutes until lunch, when she would confirm if she’d heard him right. He’d returned her glances with equally shy smiles, putting her anxious mind slightly at ease.

And then the loudspeaker buzzed, Jonathan Byers was called to the office—and he was gone.

His whole family was.

Mike had pouted for weeks, his best friend vanished in an instant. “It’s not fair,” he’d moaned at dinner. “Why do they have to move just because of his stupid dad.”

The moaning continued over the phone, short long-distance calls that Nancy only ever worked up the nerve to intrude on once, picking up the receiver to mutter a quick “Tell-Jonathan-I-said-hi,” before hanging up with a clatter.

But the frequency of the phone calls trickled away as the school year went on, and by the time summer arrived, Mike had stopped insisting on being allowed to visit Will, and Nancy lost her only chance to confirm her relationship status.

She knows she could have called him herself. But that was, for her twelve year old self, too much to bear.

And plus, he’d never called her.

She misheard him, she told herself.

(She didn’t.)

He’d asked her another question, not girlfriend-related at all.

(He hadn’t.)

She’d told all her rhyming friends, giggles down the phone line later that night, and they’d waited alongside her with heavy anticipation for one of them to finally have a boyfriend, only to have their hopes dashed when it ended up being over before it really began. In the end she just felt foolish, for making such a thing over a boy.

“You know, you two never actually broke up,” Barb pointed out one day, once Nancy was able to think about it without wanting to bury her face in her hands, a matter of years later. As time goes on, it became almost a joke to her friends, a Schrödinger’s relationship that Nancy is both in and not in at the same time.

“Oh you can’t,” they said to James C, who asked her to prom as Nancy sat, blushing furiously, at her lunch table freshman year. “She’s dating Jonathan Byers.” (He’d been a senior, convinced she couldn’t turn him down, staggering away at Nancy’s faux-regretful confirmation of her relationship status.)

“So what’s this about you and some long distance guy?” Steve had asked, the first night she’d allowed herself to be inveigled into his back seat.

“Oh,” Nancy had said, already pulling her shirt over her head. “That’s . . . nothing. Middle school stuff.”

“Good,” Steve said, and Nancy forgot all about Jonathan Byers for the moment.

But she never truly forgets, not really.

Nancy moves to the city in one fell swoop.

She loads the U-Haul herself, only takes three wrong turns, and crams her entire life into the tiny studio that somehow costs more than the two-bedroom apartment she’d left Steve standing in, bereft.

She locates the nearest bodega, maps out her work commute on the subway, and prepares to begin her life anew.

It doesn’t quite work out like she plans.

She does manage to navigate the subway with relative ease, and she stops by the bodega almost every day, grabbing yet another item she’s realized she doesn’t own and cannot seem to live without.

The life anew part, however, eludes her.

She has a life, of course—drinks with college friends, lunches out with work colleagues. She tries new things, meets new people, goes on an endless parade of first dates. She even makes it to second and third dates for a few. But in the end, her days start to end up feeling enough like the inevitability she’d tried to escape that she wonders if it might make sense to head back to Indiana, see if Steve is still standing right where she left him.

It’s then that her thoughts turn to Jonathan.

Not in any kind of concrete sort of way—when she thinks of him it always feels hazy, somehow—but more idealistic; she imagines him living the life she wishes she could lead. He’d escaped Hawkins, in a way she somehow cannot, like the town is clinging to her, holding onto her fast even across state lines.

As a coping mechanism, it’s pretty fucked up, as Steve used to say, having the ghosts of her past haunt her present, but she’s working on it. She took the first step, at least.

She left.

“I wish you’d just come back,” her mother pleads, on the nights Nancy finds herself longing for the comforts of home, fingers grasped tight around the phone. What her mother doesn’t know is that she doesn’t call to be convinced to return.

She calls because it’s the one thing that strengthens her resolve to stay.

She only knows one person at the party.

Alice waves to her from across the apartment as Nancy navigates through the crowd, holding a six-pack in front of her like a peace offering, losing four along the way as she edges through and around clumps of people.

Nancy offers up the spare, taking the last beer for herself, and proceeds to endure the interminable agony that is entering a story halfway through and not knowing the teller well enough for them to recount the beginning. She likes Alice, she does, finding her Midwest sensibilities comfortingly refreshing after her months in the city, but theirs is a friendship of convenience, nothing deeper. Nancy wonders what Barb would say, if she were here.

Stop thinking about your dead friend and make some new ones, probably.

Nancy laughs to herself at the thought, and then starts at the unfortunate realization that someone is saying her name, and has been, for some time now.

“Sorry.” Her eyebrows raise, her eyes open wide, trying to make it seem like she was mostly listening this whole time. “I didn’t catch that.”

Alice gives her a look, but she’s smiling. “Sam was asking if you know the host.”

Sam ends up being a girl with black hair and even blacker eyeliner, who seems to be nursing Nancy’s other beer.

She shakes her head, shrugging a little. “Just Alice—”

“The only person that matters,” Alice interjects.

Nancy rolls her eyes a little. “I just moved here from Indiana,” she continues. “Alice is taking pity on me because I know no one in the city.”

Sam makes an ah yes face of benign interest, but then her eyebrows crinkle together. “Actually, my boyfriend grew up in Indiana, I think.” She turns her head, calls into the kitchen, but the actual name gets lost in the buzz of the crowd.

Sean, maybe.

Sam goes off in search of Sean (or was it John?) and Nancy takes a swig of beer as the conversation turns to the subway, as it is wont to do among people with only tenuous connections to each other but all with a singular hatred for their shared means of transportation.

Nancy’s just happy she has her own story—getting caught underground for half an hour, the windows steaming up as people shed clothes around her—and manages to coast on that contribution for the next twenty minutes, sipping the dregs of her bottle as the group grows and shrinks, and the stories go on and on.

She’s about to go in search of another drink (or if she’s being honest, maybe an Irish goodbye) when Alice begins recounting the story of her last date, a story Nancy knows from lunch last week, and realizes that she has one more story to contribute.

“—and when I told him I had to be up early the next morning, he rolls over, gives me a high five, says nothing else and strolls out the door. Haven’t seen him since.”

“I’ve got that beat,” says Nancy, and knocks back the rest of her beer. She takes a deep breath. “So I’m in seventh grade, and I’m waiting for my mom to pick me up after school. When—”

And then she sees him.

Coasting up to her just like he had eleven years ago.

“Oh my god,” she breathes.

She sees his hand reaching toward her, and for one absurd, heart-stopping moment, Nancy thinks he’s going to give her a high five. But the hand keeps going up, pulling her into a hug, and she actually cannot believe this is happening.

“Nancy Wheeler,” Jonathan Byers says, and she can feel her name vibrating through her, he’s holding her so tight. She wonders if that’s why she can’t catch her breath, but even after he releases her, she’s still got that feeling—like she’s missed a step, like the universe has been thrown out of alignment.

“Oh my god,” she says again, because that’s all she can do.

“I’m guessing you two know each other,” Alice remarks dryly.

He’s grinning, and his hair is shorter than it used to be (of course it would be, he’s not in seventh grade anymore), but he’s unmistakably Jonathan Byers, eleven years older. He spins to the side, wrapping his arm around Nancy, and she wonders if she’s dreaming, because this cannot actually be happening.

“Um, yeah,” she begins, but Jonathan cuts her off.

“Oh, we go way back,” he declares, and smiles fondly down at her. “Nancy’s my girlfriend.”

Nancy chokes on nothing, and changes her mind. She isn’t dreaming.

She has actually died.

It’s the only explanation. One last gasp of reality, chiding her for spending so much time thinking about a boy that she was never supposed to see again.

Death is cruel, though, because instead of the sweet bliss of nothingness, instead she has Jonathan Byers grinning at her, Alice looking at her, dumbstruck, and from behind her, a vaguely familiar voice saying, “I thought I was your girlfriend.”

Nancy turns to find Sam staring at her, a look of amused concern on her face.

“Um,” Nancy says.

#stranger things #jonathan byers #nancy wheeler #jancy #jancyweek2019 #special thanks to tumblr user stoprobbers for creating the initial gdoc for this guy while i was computerless in santorini #is that a #humblebrag #? #maybe #whatever it is thanks friend #after last time i know better than to predict how many chapters so #more coming soon #fanfiction

[caramell0w]

The Acquisition- Chapter 6

Parings: Business owner!Bucky x Reader (AU)

Summary: You are part of a business merger. Can you make it through with your heart still intact, or will The Winter Solder tear you apart?

Warnings: None

A/N: This is a much needed chapter, and I think you will all agree. Such a slow burn, but we are getting close to getting into smut. Don’t want to rush things. Thank you to all who have commented, liked, and reblogged. I appreciate it. Also, I’m going to be posting only about once a week so I can stay ahead on the story. Last thing I want to do is go a few weeks without posting because I’m behind.

Word Count: 2100

Masterlist | Previous Chapter

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We made it home and I ran upstairs, locking myself in my room. Steve tried to coax me out a few times, but I wouldn’t budge. I heard Bucky come home a few hours later and he tried to get me to come out and have dinner with him; but I sent him away, in favor of being alone.

Sleep eluded me and by ten thirty my stomach was rumbling so loud I thought I’d wake everyone up. Peeking my head out the door, I looked down the hallway to make sure no one was around. I then tiptoed down the stairs into the massive kitchen. This is the kind of kitchen I have always dreamed of. Now, it’s mine, and I want nothing to do with it.

I open the fridge and look around. It’s well stocked with the basics. I pull out a gallon of milk and the carton of eggs. I open cabinets until I find a bowl, frying pan, whisk and spatula. “Bread,” I murmur out loud.

“In the pantry, right side,” Bucky says. I jump and spin around putting my hand over my heart, trying to slow it down. He’s standing at the foot of the stairs wearing a pair of black sweatpants, seated low on his hips.

“Jesus Christ, you scared me. Don’t you know not to sneak up on people?” I walk into the pantry for the bread and come out to find him sitting at the table watching me intently.

“I want to apologize for everything today. I should have told you where we were going, and I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.”

“No you shouldn’t have.” I cross my arms waiting for him to continue.

His lips pull up in a half smirk. “I’ve known we were getting married for the past few years and I assumed you knew as well. There are some rules I expect out of this arrangement.” I raise my eyebrows but allow him to continue. “I would like this to be a real marriage. I expect you to walk down the aisle and I expect you to do it without a scene. You will want for nothing while with me. If you do want to have some sort of friend with benefits, I ask you keep it discreet and that no one finds out. The stipulation is you are not to get pregnant.”

“What if I don’t want this? Why can’t anyone see I’m not a piece of property. I’m old enough that my dad can’t force me into this marriage. No court will allow it!”

“You’re right. You aren’t a piece of property, but you are the going to be owner of Landon Enterprises. What’s the saying? With great power, comes great responsibility?” I smirk and nod. “Right, well same thing applies. Your dad is going to great lengths to make sure the people who work for him stay employed.”

“Why does he have to work so hard at it? I really don’t understand.”

“George told me when we were little Richard went to him for help. When his wife passed away he went a little crazy and almost lost the place. He came to my dad for a loan and in return this was the agreement.”

“To marry us off to one another?”

He scrubs his face with his large hands. “No. To merge the companies. This is the way your dad can keep it in the family. It was the only solution, and I agreed to it. They were in battles for months trying to come up with a solution. I just wanted it to end. I assumed, until our first meeting, that you knew as well.”

“If you figured it out, why keep the macho man thing going? Why not talk to me like a civilized human?”

“Like I told you at the restaurant. I’ve been going about this all wrong. I’ve been treating it like business deal. I’m sorry.”

I nod. I don’t accept his apology, but it’s a step in the right direction. “You said you want this to be a real marriage. Are you planning on having side action too? I’m sure there are many women at your club that would be willing.”

His face is stoic. “No. I don’t mix business with pleasure. If I were to take on a mistress, it would be outside the club and I would exercise the same precautions I’ve laid out for you.”

“Did you go to the club after the restaurant?”

“Yes. We were having a social and I wanted to be there to meet up with the patrons. I didn’t stay long though.”

“Are you currently sleeping with anyone?”

“I was, but I ended it a few weeks ago in preparation for you.”

Oh. I sigh. He’s trying to amend things, the least I can do is try too. “Would you like some scrambled eggs and toast?”

His smile lights up his face and his deep blue eyes twinkle. “I’d love some.”

I busy myself with prepping the food as he stands up and places a few slices of bread in the toaster. He brushes against me as he moves to put the bread back in the pantry and it feels... nice. Normal almost.

“I have another request.” I look over at him. “I don’t want you seeking comfort from Steve. If there’s something that frightens you, or if you need reassurance I ask you come to me.”

“You understand why I didn’t go to you, right?”

“Yeah. I get it. I was out of bounds today and you don’t trust me. Watching you watch that couple, and seeing the look of lust of your face made me act irrationally.” He takes a step closer, boxing me in against the counter, his eyes never leaving mine. He’s not leaning into me, and unlike today I don’t feel the need to pull away. “You’re so innocent.” My breath hitches and when I think he might try to kiss me again, he pulls back. “Don’t want the eggs to burn,” he mumbles.

Fuck. I forgot I was cooking those. I finish with the eggs and plate everything up, handing one to him. He pats the seat next to him and I sit.

“What is Steve to you? He has to be more than your bodyguard.”

“Steve’s my business partner. He owns half of Asset. We’ve been friends since we were kids. I can trust him.”

“Why make him my bodyguard then?”

He pokes his fork into his eggs, scooping a mouthful up. “I trust him. I know you’ll be safe with him when I’m not around.”

“Safe from what?” I take a bite of toast and brush the crumbs off my shirt

“There are a lot of people out there who are trying to get me to do business with them. I wouldn’t put it past some of them to try to force me in some way.”

“No one knows we’re engaged though.” I chuckle and look at my left hand. “I don’t even have a ring.”

His face lights up. “Yes you do. Stay here.” He takes the steps two at a time until he’s out of sight. Could this be the real James Barnes I’m getting a glimpse of?

I focus on my plate as I hear another male voice. Steve must be talking with Bucky. The sound of a door closing rings through the kitchen and Bucky comes down the steps again, alone.

“I can make some eggs for Steve if he’s hungry.”

He shakes his head. “No, he’s fine. He heard us talking and wanted to make sure you were fine. I assured him you are.” He pulls a black velvet box from his pocket and opens it. Inside there is a huge, shimmering, princess cut diamond ring. “I know this probably isn’t how you imagined getting asked, but would you marry me? I promise to be good to you, and I just ask the same in return.”

I bite the inside of my cheeks, thinking about what I want to say. “Do I have a choice?”

He shakes his head. “I’m afraid not. Not if we plan on keeping both company's operating.”

Here goes nothing. Welcome to the cutthroat world of business. “Then I accept.”

There were no tears of joy, no excited phone calls to relatives or friends, and no gushing over the ring. He simply slid it on to my finger and that was it. We finished our food in silence and we cleaned the dishes together. He washed and I dried.

He stops with me just outside my room. “I have a wedding planner coming over in the morning to go over arrangements. She’ll help you with whatever you need.”

“How am I going to tell friends and family about this? They are going to think we are doing a shotgun wedding because I’m pregnant. One month isn’t enough time for anything.”

“Money talks. We’ll get it done. As far as friends go, tell them a version of the truth. We’ve been engaged for a long time and keep it hidden from the public.”

I snort. “Up until three days ago I was dating someone else; and I was with him for a year. They’re never going to to buy it.”

“Then tell them your ex was an asshole and when the prospect of money came up, he dumped you. I came swooping in and decided I couldn’t wait any longer to be with you.” He smiles and shrugs. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.”

I stand on my tip toes and pull him into a hug and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, Bucky. If you would have shown me this side from the get go, we might have gotten off on a better foot.”

~~

The next morning I’m up early and decide to use the balcony for some yoga. It’s just before six and I figure they won’t be up for some time now. I get into my pants and a racerback tank top. I push the sliding glass door open and the cool morning air hits my face. I look down over the edge and can’t see anything, there are clouds below me, settling over the city. So this is what it feels like to be above it all.

I roll out my mat and sit cross legged, facing the balcony wall and put my headphones in, listening to serene music. After a few minutes I move into some other poses, making sure to concentrate on proper form and my breathing. As I hang out in downward dog, I catch a glimpse of my ring and I wiggle my finger around, allowing it to catch the light and sparkle.

Dropping to my knees I think about everything that’s happened in the past few days. My father essentially sold me for his company. I’m going to be married in less than thirty days. My future husband is into some weird, kinky shit; and it scares me because the whole club intrigued me. The idea that people can live out the fantasies they want and not be afraid of what they like is so freeing. I drop my head to my chest and close my eyes, fighting back tears.

I’ve never felt that freedom with past partners. Never have I confided in them what I want. Sure I can ask them to go down on me, or if I want doggy, maybe even a blindfold. Never would I have the balls to tell them I want to be bound and gagged and forced into positions. They would have run out on me! Tristian is the only one I might have been able to confide in; but even then, maybe not.

I feel warm, strong hands cup my cheeks and I open my eyes. Bucky is kneeling in front of me and tilts my head up so I can look into his eyes. He rubs his thumbs along my cheeks and wipes a stray tear away. I pull out my headphones, waiting for him to talk.

“You weren’t in your room. I got worried.”

“I needed some fresh air. I thought it would help clear my head. Why were you worried?”

“I thought you might have run.”

I snort and he drops his hands. “Steve already told me I wouldn’t make it far. I’m sure you would find me no problem.” I pause and think about what I want to say. “I don’t want to leave though. While this is not how I thought my life would go, I believe you’ll treat me well. I have the opportunity to help keep thousands of people employed; and that makes me feel good.”

He nods and helps me stand. “You’re something else, you know that?” I smile and nod. “Thank you, for giving me a chance. I’m really not that bad of a guy, once you get past my icy exterior.”

I peek up at him from my lashes. “Is that why they call you The Winter Soldier?”

He smirks. “Something like that.”

Next Chapter

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#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #the winter soldier #bucky drabble #bucky barnes drabble #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #slow burn #captain america au

[inmyownlittlecorner5]

Moonlight Chapter Six: Werewolves in Cokeworth

A fanfic Novel by la-topolina

Rated for Mature Audiences

Warnings: Language, Violence, Sexual Content

Chapter 6/26

Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Five+

Chapter Seven+ >>

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N.B. No Lupins were hurt in the writing of this chapter :)

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Some nights Severus wanted nothing more than to burn down his house at Spinner’s End. He never did, of course, as he strongly suspected that doing so would cause the sort of problems with the Ministry of Magic that he’d rather avoid. He’d lived alone in this house since the summer he’d graduated from Hogwarts, yet it was still haunted by the memories of his wretched childhood. He could have sold the place, but once he’d started teaching it hadn’t seemed worth the bother. After all, he only had to spend the summer months here. He was very good at tolerating uncomfortable situations--especially if they were familiar ones. 

Tonight, he sat in his library attempting to focus on the book in front of him. He'd spent the last month trying to convince himself that it was best to keep his indiscretion with Miss Rose to a one time event. As enjoyable as her company was, there was simply too much risk involved to begin even a casual relationship at this time. This had been much easier to believe directly following their parting that morning with her insults fresh in his ears. However, as the days passed, he found that his thoughts dwelt more on how her hair shimmered in the moonlight and all the delightful little sounds she made when he touched her. He threw down his book and began pacing the room. The silence of the house felt oppressive and he decided to take a walk. It was near midnight but he felt far too agitated to sleep. The full moon shone brightly above him as he headed out into the night. He started up the narrow street with no particular destination in mind. The depressingly shabby rows of houses spread out in front of him and he was too busy trying to keep his mind from dwelling on that bothersome American witch to pay any attention to them. He was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the lights in the street being extinguished, one by one, as though by an unseen lamplighter. Frequently the streetlights in Cokeworth refused to shine due to disrepair, but they never went out in so neat a fashion. After the third light disappeared, he began to take note of the phenomena. He drew his wand and scanned the street for the source of the trouble. Suddenly a massive, snarling, wolf-thing exploded from an alley onto the street, wrestling with a much smaller human. Severus’s eyes widened as he recognized the silver hair, now done up in a tight bun. He would not have thought it possible that Miranda was mad enough to take on a werewolf alone, but here was the proof before him. He debated a moment as to whether he should intervene, but decided against it. He hated unsolicited help himself and he rather expected that she would not want help from him after their exchange at her cabin. He leaned against his house to watch in case she lost control of the beast. She had a chain looped around the beast's muzzle, which he was desperately trying to scratch off. She was pulling tightly on another chain wrapped around his neck and they tumbled over and over across the cobblestones. They were obviously grunting and growling, but the fray was oddly silent, like a muggle television on mute. The werewolf slashed Miranda cruelly from shoulder to hip and she kicked it with both legs which, augmented by a spell from her wand, hurled him away from her. Severus stepped forward, wand extended, but she rolled into a crouch, drew a pistol, and shot the beast three times in rapid succession. The werewolf staggered a few steps and fell to the ground. By the time he came to rest, Miranda was on top of him, securing him with further chains. When he was finally subdued, she got to her feet, staggered herself, and slumped to the ground beside her quarry, panting heavily. When she did not rise, Severus decided he had watched long enough and trotted across the street to her. "You!" she gasped. She tried to rise and fell again. "Stay put," he ordered, eyeing the werewolf. "Are you sure this thing is secured?" Her breathing was very labored. "Yes. Those are silver chains and he has at least seven silver bullets in him." "Good," Severus nodded. "I'll come back for you." She looked like she wanted to argue, but was in too much pain to do so, so she settled for rolling onto her back and glaring at him. He waved his wand and the werewolf floated eerily in the air behind him. He quickly took the beast to a concrete room in his basement, triple locked him in, and hurried back to Miranda. Severus found her where he had left her, lying in the street as still and pale as a corpse. He knelt over her and put a hand gently over her mouth, feeling for her breath. He held his own while he waited and, after what seemed like an eternity, her slow, shallow breathing tickled his fingers. He pulled his hand away and quickly flicked his wand over the alarmingly large puddle of blood on the street. As it flew into his wand, he told himself that surely most of it had to have come from the werewolf. When the incriminating mess was cleared away, he pocketed his wand and gently lifted her in his arms. He wouldn’t be able to tell the extent of her injuries until he had her in better lighting, but he knew that the werewolf’s Curse would render it impossible to cure them by any sort of charm. He would have to clean and bind them by hand. It took him less than ten minutes to lay her on the bed in his spartan bedroom and gather his supplies. He had always liked to be prepared for trouble—especially since the return of the Dark Lord. Her clothing was in shreds and did not seem worth saving, so he flicked it away with a wave of his wand. He blanched briefly at the state of the flesh underneath, recalling both the pleasure he had taken in it, and his parting wish to her that she be killed by her next mark. A mixture of guilt and panic starting rising in his chest, but he forced it away. Emotion would not be of any use at present; only action. Her eyes fluttered open as he worked. "Damn Strengthening Solution," she whispered hoarsely. "Always starts wearing off at the most inopportune times." "Perhaps you need review the basics of brewing it," he snapped back. "You are such a bastard," she retorted, stifling a moan as he began cleaning her injuries and dressing them with Wound Reducer. "And you are a madwoman, taking on a beast like that alone," he hissed. “Now, silence, so I can work!” Her eyes rolled up in her head and Severus felt his panic threatening to return. He forced himself to focus on his task, first cleaning, then binding the wounds. When he was finished, he risked leaving her long enough to procure a draught of Blood-Replenishing Potion from his stores. When he returned to the bedroom, her breathing was alarmingly slow. Without hesitation he waved his wand. "Imperio," he commanded. She sat up and drank the potion without opening her eyes, then lay back down on the bed, deathly still. He sat staring at her for a long time, willing her to breathe. As the sun rose, her breathing became more regular and her color started to return, although she did not awaken. Satisfied, he went to start a new batch of Blood-Replenishing Potion and Wound Reducer. The Curse would render the potions less effective than they would normally be and each took several days to mature. Severus feared he would use his entire store before Miranda was fully healed. *******

Three days later, Miranda was still unconscious. Severus was beginning to wonder if he should move her to St. Mungo’s, but he wasn’t sure what else they would do beyond what he was already doing. He had continued changing her bandages and using the Imperio Curse to force her to imbibe his potions, water, and broth. He felt strangely possessive of his patient and the thought of depositing her at St. Mungo’s and walking away was unappealing to him. Perhaps some superstitious part of him felt responsible for her current situation, although he knew this was ridiculous. He hadn’t been the one to attempt to bring down a frenzying werewolf alone. He was dozing in a chair next to the bed on the evening of the third day when her eyes finally opened. "Professor..." she whispered, her voice thin and shaky.

Severus’s eyes snapped open and he hid his relief with a frown. “It is high time you awoke,” he said dryly. “I was about to go through your things for valuables.”

She smiled weakly. "I suppose I owe you more Snakewood after this." His face softened a bit and he laid a finger over her lips. "Save your strength. We'll discuss payment later." He tilted her head up and gently poured more potions and broth down her throat. When he finished, her eyes stayed closed so long that he thought she had fallen asleep again. He decided to risk sleeping on the sofa instead of the chair for a few hours, so he quietly rose and started to leave the room when he heard her say again, "Professor..." He stopped and said curtly, "Could you please stop calling me that? You sound like one of my students, and it's unnerving." She opened one eye and her lip curled into a weak smile. “Are you saying you’d like to go back to using our Christian names? “Considering the amount and variety of your bodily fluids I’ve come into contact with during the course of our association, it seems stilted to use anything else.” She snorted and said quietly, “Thank you, Severus.” "You're welcome, Miranda." Her smile widened and she drifted off to sleep. He left the door open and sleep eluded him as he lay on his sofa, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what he had gotten himself into. ****** The werewolf perished during the three day vigil Severus spent by Miranda’s side. He initially wanted to incinerate the remains, but thought that she might require a body to claim her fee. As he did not feel like skinning the beast, he settled for using the Glacius spell to prevent decay. On the fifth day of her stay at Spinner’s End, he was sitting at his desk in the library, methodically planning out the coming term’s lessons when he heard her shuffle out of the bedroom. She was holding onto the wall for support and had a look of grim determination on her face. “What are you doing?” he demanded, frowning fiercely at her. “Go back to bed.” “I’m looking for your bathroom. Or whatever you Brits call it,” she snapped back. “I think we’d both be happier if I use it from now on. And I can’t just lie there all day, I’ll go insane.” He couldn’t argue with her point about the loo, so he set down his quill and grudgingly escorted her to it. She was able to walk most of the way unaided, and she used the wall, rather than him, for whatever support she required. He stayed at her shoulder, though, until she was safely back in bed. The most massive wound she had sustained was barely closed and he did not care to have it reopened if she fell. An hour later, he was still at his desk when he heard her shuffling step heading towards the kitchen. He set down his quill again and stalked silently towards the noise. She had just pushed open the door when he reached her. “Is it your habit to go spying in other people’s houses?” he asked dryly. She gave him an exasperated look. “I didn’t see the need to bother you for a glass of water.” “Go back to bed,” he ordered, “and I will bring it to you. In case you have forgotten, you were almost cut in half by a werewolf a few days ago. I would rather you did not render my work useless by walking around before your wound is sufficiently healed.”

Her eyes flashed, but she went back to bed. He brought her a glass of water and then returned to his desk, satisfied that he had won his point. She was quiet for the rest of the morning and even fell asleep after lunch, so he took the liberty to spend the afternoon in the potions room in his basement. It was a bare, dark place, but contained all the necessary equipment and ingredients for his current projects. It also had the benefit of being much cooler than the rest of the house. He had been known to sleep there on the concrete floor during the worst part of the summer heat. His back tended to complain the day after he did this however, and so he kept the practice to a minimum. The anti-venom was coming along nicely, although he still was not convinced that he had the proper ratio of unicorn horn to mugwort. He had just started to crush the unicorn horn, when he heard that shuffling footstep in the library above him. He closed his eyes and sighed irritably. Very well. It was time for drastic measures. He put away his potion work and headed up the stairs, being sure to make enough noise that Miranda would notice him coming. He smirked to himself when he heard the sound of her hurrying back to the bedroom as quickly as her injured state would allow. He gave her time to sneak back into his bed before going to the kitchen to brew tea. When the tea was ready, he brought it, along with toast and a chess board into his bedroom. Without asking if she cared for any, he poured her a cup and set it on the night stand, along with a plate of toast and jam. He flicked his wand at the chess board, and it floated obediently next to the bed. With another wand flick, the pieces began clambering noisily over the board, each looking for its proper place. While they were arranging themselves, he poured himself a cup of tea, and sat down in the chair that he had been spending so much time in of late. “I’m sure you have work to do,” she said irritably. “You don’t have to entertain me.” “This is to keep you from getting out of bed and ripping open your wound by falling,” he replied. “I assure you it is not for my own pleasure.” They played fiercely, but in silence, and the sound of the chess pieces echoed through the room. By the end of the game, both Miranda and Severus were suppressing smiles of pleasure as they battled each other to a stalemate. She wanted to play again, but he dosed her with more potions and insisted that she rest. When she started to argue, he picked up her book from the bedside table and began to read aloud. “Alone

From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were—I have not seen As others saw—I could not bring My passions from a common spring— From the same source I have not taken My sorrow—I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone— And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone. Then—in my childhood—in the dawn Of a most stormy life—was drawn From ev’ry depth of good and ill The mystery which binds me still— From the torrent, or the fountain— From the red cliff of the mountain— From the sun that round me roll’d  In its autumn tint of gold—- From the lightning of the sky As it pass’d me flying by— From the thunder, and the storm— And the cloud that took the form (When the rest of Heaven was blue) Of a demon in my view.”

He raised an eyebrow, turned the page, and read on, “To Helen

Helen thy beauty is to me, Like those Nicéan barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore.

On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece, And the grandeur that was Rome.

Lo! in yon brilliant window-niche How statue-like I see thee stand, The agate-lamp within thy hand! Ah, Psyche, from the regions which Are Holy-Land!”

He closed the book to take a better look at the cover, and enquired, “Who is Edgar Allan Poe?”

Miranda had lain back on the bed, enjoying his reading. “He was an American No-Maj author. Nineteenth century. More famous for his horror stories than his poetry,” she explained. “He’s been accused of being a ‘jingle man’ in his poetry, but the French are wild for it. I’ve always found it to be quite moving and expressive.”

“I prefer Coleridge and Blake personally,” he said. “This Poe does have a fine sense of rhythm, though.” 

“You should try his short stories. Excellent at capturing a mood.” She leaned up on one hand so that she could better meet his eyes. “You read very well. We always had reading and music in the evenings at home.” “I thought muggles all watched television in the evenings.” “Maybe the normal ones do, but my parents had other ideas. We also had to learn to ride a horse and skin and dress an animal. Without magic.” “How perfectly barbaric.” She laughed, “No more so than some of the things you have to do to prepare ingredients for potions.” He allowed himself a smirk. “I suppose that is true.” She was wearing one of his nightshirts and her hair was spread over her shoulders and his pillow. The late afternoon sun was slanting in through the window, haloing her in its orange glow. She looked so enticing that he impulsively leaned forward to trace her cheek with his finger. She closed her eyes and turned her head towards his touch, but for some reason this made him feel awkward, rather than encouraged. He removed his hand, cleared his throat, and ordered, “Lie down and I will keep reading.” She did as he commanded and he opened the book again to continue. He read until she fell asleep and he sat for a long time afterwards, watching her dream. ****** Their days settled into a comfortable rhythm as she recovered. Severus would bring her breakfast and a stack of books in the morning, and she would obediently read until lunch while he worked. After lunch, they played a game of chess, and then she consented to sleep for at least an hour. The rest of the afternoon was spent playing cards—he had been unaware that there were quite so many Muggle card games, but he quickly learned the rules to several of them—and debating about what she had read in the morning hours. Following dinner he would read to her until she fell asleep, and if he spent far too much time watching her dream, he certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone about it. A week after the attack, her wounds were well on their way to healing, and her step was firm as she wandered his house. One day she made her way into his basement and, as he was in the middle of adding mugwort and mistletoe to the cauldron, he ordered her to take dictation while he worked rather than bother chasing her back upstairs. This may have been a mistake on his part, as she then felt bold enough to insist that they go for a walk after dinner when the heat of the day had passed. He argued vehemently against this, and she laughed at all of his reasons. Finally he stipulated that she sleep for three hours following lunch, which she did, and they emerged from his house with her holding his arm for support as the sun was setting that evening. They walked slowly up the street, and he received more than one curious glance from his neighbors. He knew they would ignore him, though, and keep their gossip among themselves. That night Severus and Miranda only went to the end of the block before he insisted that they return to his house, but after that first concession, it was impossible to deny her a walk on any subsequent evening. He hoped it would rain at least once to prevent the foolishness, but the weather was stubbornly fine and even a bit cooler than it had been all summer. They walked a little further every evening, and by the end of that week they went as far as the river that ran through Cokeworth. It was a sad, dirty river, much like the rest of the sad, dirty town, but Miranda seemed drawn to it and they followed it upstream. Eventually, she managed to find a place where the water flowed in such a way as to clear the sludge out of sight. They went down to the bank and she started searching for smooth stones among the bits of rubbish and broken glass. When she had a handful, she started throwing them across the water, skipping them lightly with a practiced flick of her wrist. “There’s a river on the farm at home,” she said as she skipped the rocks. “You still live with your parents?” he asked, watching her lithe body move.

“I do. So does my brother Finnian. Patrick and Seamus live within a mile too, with their families.”

“That sounds oppressive.” She shrugged. “Nah. We get along well most of the time, and there’s a lot to do to take care of the horses.” “I thought you were bounty hunters.” “We are. But you can’t hunt marks all the time—that’s no way to live.” She skipped a rock into the center of the river and went on, “I used to spend most of my time by the river, skipping rocks, making boats out of tree bark and flowers. Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t ask for a better family, but I’ve always been restless. Being by the river made me feel like someday I could go wherever I wanted to. Just the way it rushed over the rocks and the sound that it made. I’ve never liked being in one place for too long. Wanderlust, you know.” “I expect that your brothers were jealous that you could perform magic when they could not.” “Only if I used it when we played baseball, and our parents instituted a house rule that no magic was allowed during baseball. They said it was unsportsmanlike.” She grinned at him and added, “But I can strike out my brothers without magic anyway.” As though to prove her point, she skipped her last stone all the way to the other side of the river. “I suppose you expect me to be impressed by that,” he teased. “No. It probably takes a lot more than that to impress you.” She gave the river a final look and then took his arm for support. “We should go back before I overdo it and you have to carry me.” ***** The next morning, Severus awoke to the smell and sound of sausage cooking. He was tempted to go into the kitchen and see what Miranda would do if he were to greet her the way he had that other morning in her cabin, but he was far to wary of her to do something so foolish. They had never spoken of the insults they had exchanged that day, but he doubted that either had forgotten them. Not to mention the fact that the Dark Lord still hovered in the background, poisoning everything connected to him. Severus knew that it would be best if Miranda walked out of his life today, never to walk back into it and he was displeased by that knowledge in a way that he did not care to admit. He was more stoic than usual during breakfast, and Miranda seemed content to read the day’s Prophet and leave him to himself. After the meal, she gathered her bag and he went to collect what was left of the werewolf. He had cast a Reducio charm and it now fit into a matchbox. When she was ready, he handed her the box and she stowed it in her bag. "Well," she said, "I'm sure you'll be glad to have me out of your hair. I know you don't like complications."

He snorted to hide his disappointment. "You certainly are a troublesome houseguest," he replied. She started for the door, but as she reached it, she turned back to him, her face softer and more open than he usually saw it. ”Listen, Severus, thank you,” she said earnestly. “I know you saved my life. It's going to take me a week or so to tie up this case, but I'd like to see you after that if you wouldn't mind." Severus found he very much didn't mind, but he wasn't sure he wanted her to know that. "I will be returning to Hogwarts in a few days,” he said, nonchalantly. “Term begins in a week." "Of course," she replied. She studied him and seemed to be debating something. After a moment, she walked back to him and took his face in her hands. Slowly, giving him plenty of time to pull away, she brought his lips down to hers. It was a sweet kiss, and he did not resist—but he did not embrace her either. "Thanks just the same," she murmured after she had released him. Then she turned and headed out the door. She was about to close the door after her when he heard himself saying, "I simply wanted you to know where to find me." He saw her pause on her way out and, while she did not turn back to him, he could picture the smile playing on her lips. Severus, you're a fool, he thought harshly, but he couldn't really bring himself to care.

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Both poems by Edgar Allan Poe (1809-1849)

I think Severus knows exactly what Poe is talking about in Alone and I think To Helen might be the best poem that Poe wrote. The two poems actually are on subsequent pages in my copy of this book :-).

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Moonlight Masterpost+

<< Chapter Five+

Chapter Seven+ >>

#harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fandom #severus snape #snape #severus snape fanfiction #snape x oc #werewolves #hurt/comfort #romance #adventure #espionage #spying #second wizarding war #ilvermorny #american magic #poetry #edgar allan poe

[torturedwarrior]

David Berkowitz A.K.A “Son of Sam”

Who is David Berkowitz? Why do they call him The Son of Sam? What is the date of the first attack by The Son of Sam? Which couple was attacked by Berkowitz on January 30, 1977?  David Berkowitz also known as the Son of Sam, was an American serial killer who murdered six people in New York City in 1976to 1977. His crimes plunged the city into a panic and unleashed one of the largest man hunts in New York history. Berkowitz was a rough boy, often abusive. When his adoptive mother died in 1967, his irrational behavior, intensifying when his adoptive dad remarried in 1971, moved to Florida without him. Berkowitz joined the army in 1971. Upon leaving service in 1974, he became an excellent leader. He set some 1500 flames in New York City in the middle of the 1970s, according to Berkowitz's book. In December 1975, Berkowitz claimed to have been possessed by spirits and attempted to kill a child. In July 1976 he then murdered a woman, assaulting multiple couples the next year, reporting five more casualties. He sent letters to New York publications after his murdering sperm and signed "Son of Sam," a joke about a demon that his friend Sam Carr believed was residing in the Black Labrador retriever. Berkowitz early life: The Jewish-American hardware merchant Nathan and Pearl Berkowitz, who was born Richard David Falco to a poorly-deprived Jewish mother on 1 June 1953, in Brooklyn, New York, at a young age. He was a brilliant boy, apparently, but in his own way troubled. After being loyal to his mum, as a youth he had to deal with her death a very difficult time. Berkowitz was born in the United States at the age of 18. Army served and honored as a qualified marker in South Korea. Berkowitz returned to New York after finishing his military service in 1974 where he got a job as a letter sorter for the United States. Settled in the Yonkers building and postal service. He was identified by neighbors and friends as a loner who kept himself alone. The Son of Sam Murders: The murdering spree began on 29 July 1976 with two adolescent girls, Jody Valenti and Donna Lauria in the Bronx. Both were sitting in the car of Valenti in front of Lauria's house when Berkowitz shot Lauria, injured Valenti and fired at them. Berkowitz was again there a few months later. When he saw a couple in a car, he shot at them, causing huge skull injury. Berkowitz also shot two teen girls together and left a paraplegic in November. The officers had yet to bring together these cases and know that they were connected with them. But everything changed when Berkowitz stabbed a couple in a parked vehicle in January 1977. Berkowitz twice fired, missing Freund's leg, and later proved a deadly one, confronting Christine Freund with her fiancé. As Berkowitz was using the same pistol of the caliber of 44 in all its killings, the police were on their way, referring to him first as the ".44 caliber rapist," later leading to the name of the "Son of Sam." In March, Berkowitz killed Virginia Voskerichian, a college student while she was leaving her home. In their car in the following month Berkowitz mentioned another pair, Valentina Suriani and Alexander Esau, but he left a letter to Captain Joseph Borrelli in the vicinity of NYPD this time calling himself the first "Son of Sam." Berkowitz left several letters next to the corpses of his victims in his brutal strip and choked the police and eluded them. As a result, his activities were extensively covered in the media and Berkowitz welcomed the spotlight. Throughout the whole process, New Yorkers were terrified of their next victim. The last hit by Berkowitz occurred in Brooklyn in the early hours of 31 July 1977. Stacy and Bobby Violante fired it. Moscowitz died later, and Violante's eye was blinded and the rest of his hearing was impaired from trauma. Luckily, a witness saw something on the scene in the police that helped break the case. A witness saw a man in a vehicle that had a ticket on it at the scene of the Moskowitz-Violante films. There were only a few tickets that day, one of which was for Berkowitz. He was arrested by police on 10 August 1977. Berkowitz said, "Oh, you have me," according to The New York Times, as they put him in detention. Son of Sam' Dog In interrogation, he explained that his friend Sam Carr had been ordered to kill and that he had delivered texts through his dog, a demon-protected Labrador retriever named Harvey, to Berkowitz. Due to his outrageous claims, he had been mentally tested in several ways but found "competent." Berkowitz was put to trial. He perpetrated the six murders and almost 1.500 explosions in New York City in 1978. Berkowitz executed his crime. For each crime, he was given 25 years to life. The hearing for Berkowitz's conviction was dramatic — at the judge's decision, he threatened to leap out of the window of the 7th floor trial. “I have several children who I'm turning into killers. Wait till they grow up.”-- David Berkowitz. “A 'possessed' dog in the neighborhood won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood.” -- David Berkowitz. After his conviction, Berkowitz has retracted the story of his own-owned puppy, "Son of Sam," saying "Everything was a liar, a dumb hoox" to his therapist David Abrahamsen in his letter of 20 March 1979. He also said that he was part of a militant culte that helped him carry out the murders, and that John and Michael Carr (the sons of Sam Carr) helped him. Berkowitz was tremendous money to tell his story. Nearly all nations–including New York–however have laws that prevent convicted criminals from profiting directly from books, films and other industries linked to their convictions, also known as "Son of Sam Regulations." While Son of Sam's story has been widely published in the newspapers, Berkowitz does not benefit financially from his or her artworks. In 1996 Yonkers police re-opened Berkowitz's case to look into some of his allegations, but the probe has been suspended but remains unclosed, since there have been no significant findings. Although he was repeatedly put on parole (most recently in 2016 and in 2018 for 16th time) he was consistently refused release. He was also granted a pardon. Berkowitz's tenure in Wallkill, New York is at the Shawangunk Correctional Facility. “I didn't want to hurt them, I only wanted to kill them.” -- David Berkowitz. “Sudden death and bloodshed appealed to me.” -- David Berkowitz. “The people and the news media used to call me 'The Son of Sam,' but God has given me a new name, 'The Son of Hope,' because now my life is about hope.” -- David Berkowitz. David Richard Berkowitz, known also as the Son of Sam and the .44 Caliber Killer, is an American serial killer who pleaded guilty to eight separate shooting attacks that began in New York City during the summer of 1976. Take a look below for 30 more scary and bizarre facts about David Berkowitz. 1. His crimes were perpetrated with a .44 caliber Bulldog revolver, 2. He killed six people and wounded seven others by July 1977. 3. As the number of victims increased, Berkowitz eluded the biggest police manhunt in the history of New York City while leaving letters that mocked the police and promised further crimes, which were highly publicized by the press. 4. His killing spree terrorized New Yorkers and achieved worldwide notoriety. 5. On the night of August 10, 1977, Berkowitz was taken into custody by New York City police homicide detective in front of his Yonkers apartment building, and he was subsequently indicted for eight shooting incidents. 6. He confessed to all of them, and initially claimed to have been obeying the orders of a demon, manifested in the form of a dog, “Harvey,” who belonged to his neighbor “Sam.” 7. Despite his explanation, Berkowitz was found mentally competent to stand trial. He pleaded guilty to second degree murder and was incarcerated in state prison. 8. He subsequently admitted that the dog-and-devil story was a hoax. 9. In the course of further police investigation, Berkowitz was also implicated in many unsolved arsons in the city. 10. Intense coverage of the case by the media lent a kind of celebrity status of Berkowitz, and some observers noted that he seemed to enjoy it. 11. In response, the New York State legislature enacted new legal statues, known popularly as “Son of Sam laws,” designed to keep criminals from profiting financially from the publicity created by their crimes. 12. Despite various amendments and legal challenges, the statues have remained law in New York, and similar laws have been enacted in several other states. 13. Berkowitz has been incarcerated since his arrest and is serving six consecutive life sentences. 14. During the mid-1990s, he amended his confession to claim that he had been a member of a violent Satanic cult that orchestrated the incidents as ritual murder. 15. He remains the only person ever charged with the shootings. 16. Although some law enforcement authorities have questioned whether Berkowitz’s claims are credible, a new investigation of the murders began in 1996, but was suspended indefinitely after inconclusive findings. 17. Berkowitz was born Richard David Falco on June 1, 1953, in Brooklyn, New York. 18. His mother, Elizabeth Broder, was first married to Tony Falco but the marriage didn’t last. 19. She conceived David with her new partner, Joseph Klineman, but chose to give him the surname Falco for unknown reasons. 20. A few days after his birth, he was adopted by a middle aged, childless Jewish couple, Nathan and Pearl Berkowitz. They altered his name to David Richard Berkowitz. 21. His childhood was a troubled one. Although he was a child of above-average intelligence, he was caught up in petty theft and bullying. 22. He was distraught after the death of his adoptive mother, whom he adored, when he was just 14 years old. 23. He joined the U.S. Army when he was 18 years old. 24. After three years of service, he was discharged honorably from the force in 1974, following which he came back to New York. 25. He got a job at the Postal Service and stayed at a rented apartment in the city.

26. It was during this time that he located his biological mother and discovered that he has a half-sister by the name of Roslyn. 27. Some psychologists believe that the primary cause of his mental troubles is rooted in the abandonment issues that he faced from his biological parents. 28. Little is known about the people in Berkowitz’s life, if there were any. 29. He never married and has no close relatives. 30. There are some works of fiction based on him. “.44”, a fictionalized novel and “Summer of Sam,” a feature movie, deserve mention. He has also been the inspiration for songs like “Son of Sam,” “Looking Down the Barrel of a Gun,” and “Sam Son of Man.” Jimmy Breslin got a handwritten letter of someone who appeared to be the.44 caliber gunman on May 30th, 1977. The letter was posted in Englewood, New Jersey at the beginning of the day. The terms Blood and family–Hell and Death–Absolute Depravity–are on the reverse of the packet, well-printed in four specifically arranged sections. The inside letter read: Hello from the gutters of N.Y.C. which are filled with dog manure, vomit, stale wine, urine and blood. Hello from the sewers of N.Y.C. which swallow up these delicacies when they are washed away by the sweeper trucks. Hello from the cracks in the sidewalks of N.Y.C. and from the ants that dwell in these cracks and feed in the dried blood of the dead that has settled into the cracks. J.B., I'm just dropping you a line to let you know that I appreciate your interest in those recent and horrendous .44 killings. I also want to tell you that I read your column daily and I find it quite informative. Tell me Jim, what will you have for July twenty-ninth? You can forget about me if you like because I don't care for publicity. However you must not forget Donna Lauria and you cannot let the people forget her either. She was a very, very sweet girl but Sam's a thirsty lad and he won't let me stop killing until he gets his fill of blood. Mr. Breslin, sir, don't think that because you haven't heard from me for a while that I went to sleep. No, rather, I am still here. Like a spirit roaming the night. Thirsty, hungry, seldom stopping to rest; anxious to please Sam. I love my work. Now, the void has been filled. Perhaps we shall meet face to face someday or perhaps I will be blown away by cops with smoking .38's. Whatever, if I shall be fortunate enough to meet you I will tell you all about Sam if you like and I will introduce you to him. His name is "Sam the terrible." Not knowing what the future holds I shall say farewell and I will see you at the next job. Or should I say you will see my handiwork at the next job? Remember Ms. Lauria. Thank you. In their blood and from the gutter "Sam's creation" .44 Here are some names to help you along. Forward them to the inspector for use by N.C.I.C: "The Duke of Death" "The Wicked King Wicker" "The Twenty-Two Disciples of Hell" "John 'Wheaties' – Rapist and Suffocator of Young Girls. PS: Please inform all the detectives working the slaying to remain. P.S: JB, please inform all the detectives working the case that I wish them the best of luck. "Keep 'em digging, drive on, think positive, get off your butts, knock on coffins, etc." Upon my capture I promise to buy all the guys working the case a new pair of shoes if I can get up the money. Son of Sam. A conversation between the officer and the suspect: "Now that I've got you", Detective Falotico said to the suspect, "who have I got?" "You know," the man said in what the detective remembered was a soft, almost sweet voice. "No, I don't. You tell me." The man turned his head and said, "I'm Sam." "You're Sam? Sam who?" "Sam. David Berkowitz." David Berkowitz A.K.A the Son of Sam’s confession: In the early morning of 11 August 1977, Berkowitz was interviewed for nearly thirty minutes. He admitted immediately to the murders and expressed a desire to plead guilty. John Keenan, who made the confession, headed the prosecution. During the interview, Berkowitz said that one of the reasons why his neighbor's dog killed him was that his dog was seeking the blood of beautiful young people. He said his former neighbor Sam Carr was the "Sam" listed in his first message. Berkowitz believed Harvey was possessed by a witch from an old era who given unavoidable orders that Berkowitz had to kill people. He said that he was a Black Labrador retriever. Berkowitz was allowed to communicate with the press a few weeks after his detention and confession. In a letter of September 19, 1977 to the New York Post, Berkowitz made reference to its initial demonic possession article, but ended up with a note that some investigators perceived as an acknowledgment of complicity: "There are other Sons out there, God help the world." Berkowitz sentencing: The capacity of Berkowitz to face trial was identified in three different mental health assessments. Nevertheless, Berkowitz was told by defense lawyer to make a plea for not being insanely guilty, but Berkowitz declined. On May 8, 1978, he was silent in court, pleading guilty to all the attacks.  Two weeks later, Berkowitz was forced to jump out of a window of the courthouse on the seventh floor when he was convicted. He constantly chanted "Stacy was a quire" after he was confined to it and yelled, "I was going to kill her again. I was going to kill both of them again." Throughout his assessment, Berkowitz drew an image of an imprisoned man surrounded by several walls; he wrote at the bottom, "I'm not well. Not very well at all." On 12 June 1978, for each assassination that Berkowitz has been serving, she was sentenced to 25 years in jail. He was given time in the Upstream New York Supermax Prison, in Attica Correctional Facility. In 25 years, Berkowitz had been declared eligible for parole given the lawyers ' objections. David Berkowitz A.k.A the Son of Sam’s Prison life: Shortly following his conviction, Berkowitz was held in the Kings County Hospital mental hospital, where the nurses confirmed that his new environment seemed to be unusually unsettled. The day after his release, he was transferred to Sing Prison and to the Upper state Psychological and Physique Test Center in Clinton. Four more months were spent before he was moved to Attica Prison at the Central New York Psychiatric Institute in Marcy. Berkowitz worked in Attica for nearly a decade (c. 1990), where he lived for a number of years until he was transferred to the Sullivan Correctional facility (Shawangunk Correctional Facility) in Fallsburg, NY. In Attica, Berkowitz called life a "nightmare." In 1979, Berkowitz tried to shake his left arm from front to back, leading to a cut that took more than fifty stitches to close. He simply confirmed that he was thankful for the assault–he brought a sense of justice or, in Berkowitz's own word, the sentence which I deserve. Berkowitz refused to identify his killer.

A.K.A.: "Son of Sam" - “The .44 Caliber Killer" • Birth name: Richard David Falco

• Classification: Serial killer • Characteristics: Claimed that neighbor's dog, Harvey, was possessed by an ancient demon, and that it issued commands to Berkowitz to kill • Number of victims: 6 • Date of murders: 1976 - 1977 • Date of arrest: August 10, 1977 • Date of birth: June 1, 1953 • Victims profile: Donna Lauria, 18 / Christine Freund, 26 / Virginia Voskerichian, 21 / Valentina Suriani, 18, and Alexander Esau, 20 / Stacy Moskowitz, 20 • Method of murder: Shooting (.44 caliber Charter Arms Bulldog revolver) • Location: New York City, New York, USA • Status: Sentenced to six life sentences in prison on June 12, 1978, making his maximum term some 365 years behind bars Son of Sam today: Son of Sam' Books and other books Nowadays Berkowitz has become a Catholic Christian after his time in prison. In his novel, Son of the Hope: Davis Prison (2006) and on his blog (run by his supporters) he now prefers to write "Son of Hope," as seen in his essay, "The Prison Journals" by David Berkowitz. Berkowitz's writings are not allowed to go over the Internet. In his book and on the website, he apologizes for his victims and their families. The prison officials announced on 12 December 2017 that Berkowitz was moved to a nearby hospital from the Shawangunk Correctional Facility. The New York’s Post and the Albany Times Union confirmed that Berkowitz had been having heart surgery even if officials didn't provide specific medical details. The New York Post confirmed in February 2018 that Berkowitz had a heart attack in early December before his first surgery. At the end of January 2018, after having experienced injuries, he had to seek further surgery and return to hospital. Where is Son of Sam now? And how did he get the nickname Son of Sam to begin with? He was actually known as the 44-caliber killer before he was known as the Son of Sam after his shooting with a rifle. After the arrest of his neighbor, Berkowitz, a police officer called him (a man called Sam Carr), said that he told him to assassinates people in the city— and that order is supposed to have been given through a possessed Labrador driver. He wrote: "I am a monster... I am the Son of Sam." He wrote, "The police came up to Sam's bottom." Berkowitz has been given six straight 25-year sentences after being convicted, which he still holds. Since viewers were so fascinated with the murders of Berkowitz and his ambiguous letters he left behind, his story was told by Berkowitz with the money through media. Therefore, the majority of countries take measures to prevent criminal activity from benefiting from their misdeeds. It is APPARENTLY A BORN-AGAIN CHRISTIAN.... He appears to be guilty for what he has done on many occasions, but says he wants to stay in prison. That's TG.

Work Cited: "30 Scary and Bizarre Facts About David Berkowitz - Tons of Facts." Tons of Facts - Millions of Facts All At One Place. 1 Dec 2018. Web. 11 Feb 2020. <http://tonsoffacts.com/30-scary-and-bizarre-facts-about-david-berkowitz/>. Blanco, Juan Ignacio. "David Berkowitz | Victims | Murderpedia, the encyclopedia of murderers." Murderpedia, the encyclopedia of murderers. Web. 11 Feb 2020. <http://murderpedia.org/male.B/b/berkowitz-victims.htm>. "David Berkowitz - Wikipedia." Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Feb 2020. Web. 11 Feb 2020. <http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Berkowitz>. Thomas, Leah. "Where Is the Son of Sam Now? — David Berkowitz Life After Conviction." Cosmopolitan.com - The Women's Magazine for Fashion, Sex Advice, Dating Tips, and Celebrity News. 30 Aug 2019. Web. 11 Feb 2020. <http://www.cosmopolitan.com/entertainment/tv/a288wr72361/david-berkowitz-son-of-sam-now/>. "Top 22 quotes of DAVID BERKOWITZ famous quotes and sayings | inspringquotes.us." Inspiring Quotes | inspiringquotes.us. Web. 11 Feb 2020. <http://www.inspiringquotes.us/author/3275-david-berkowitz>.

Well, Made. "David Berkowitz - Letters, Books & Murders - Biography." Famous Biographies & TV Shows. 13 Dec 2017. Web. 11 Feb 2020. <http://www.biography.com/crime-figure/david-berkowitz>.

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