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abadbitchblogs · 3 months

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SOS

Part 2

Pairing: Jey Uso x OC x Damian Priest

Warnings: none

Word Count: 3.5k

a/n: Thank you all so much for all the love! I couldn't have asked for a better reception of my art. You all inspired this next part! Likes, comments, feedback and reblogs are always appreciated! Mwah!

-credit to @cafekitsune for the divider

If it weren't for the 15 text messages from Joshua and the Instagram spam from Damian, she could swear that last night was a dream. One minute she was partying with her best friend and the next she was trying not to catch a case. Then she found solace in an unlikely companion. Her head was honestly still spinning from trying to process everything that happened less than 12 hours ago. Work was definitely going to be- something today, that much was certain. After she opted to just block Josh, she smirked at her notifications being flooded by thearcherofinfamy. He was obviously trying to get her attention since he didn't have her number. The drive to the arena would take less than an hour if traffic was nice to her so she had time to kill before the superstars were set to arrive. Kendall decided to play with the dark priest and thought to lure him out via DM.

[kenthedoll_] Meet me in an hour

[archerofinfamy] That didnt sound like a question

[kenthedoll_] Bc it wasnt, yk you wanna

[archerofinfamy] Alright I’m in

[kenthedoll_] I was counting on it. Meet me at my room

[archerofinfamy] Yes ma’am

Well it was already 10 AM so going to the gym was out of the question which meant today would be a day of indulgence. Finally rolling out of the bed for the morning, Kendall danced through her daily routine with Bongos blasting on her portable speaker. Damian felt so new- exciting! There was something just effortless and easy about being around him that caught her attention. Ken googled brunch spots on the beach so they had a chance to take in the scenery before they went home after the show. The weather called for a little white tee and shorts combo but she kept it cute pairing it with some comfortable loafers. Dressing like an Instagram baddie 24/7 was too much work for her. When she wasn't on screen or out on the town, she was more of a comfortable girly. In the few moments left before Damian was supposed to show up, she made sure her stuff was packed for the show then her flight home in the morning. You had to stay ready even if you weren't scheduled for the show in case any last minute changes occurred.

Right on cue at 11:15 three knocks rapped against her door to which she skipped over to snatch it open. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her tone was playful as she smiled at his classic bad boy appearance. “Good morning to you too, cariña.” The corner of his lips quirked up in a subtle smile that she found cute. Despite his dark wardrobe, his presence alone filled the air with warmth. The kind that kept the house smelling like chocolate chip cookies hours after they'd been baked. “I hope you like french toast and mimosas because we have reservations.” She didn't wait for a response as she took his hand leading him to the elevator after making sure her door locked behind them. “I don't care what we eat when my view looks like this.” A snort shot through the hallway at his cheesy line but she found his doting to be refreshing. “Do you use that line often?” Kendall mused while leaning against the wall observing his mannerisms to familiarize herself with him. “My first time. Did it land?”

All she could do was put her head down to hide her amusement not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he could fluster her so easily. The elevator dinged, signaling that they had reached the lobby and she ushered him to the back entrance of the hotel to allow them to walk on the boardwalk. “I hope I’m not keeping you from any leadership duties. I know you run a tight ship.” Damian thought Kendall was so different from the other women on the roster. No one ever really said what they were actually thinking but she did. She was inquisitive, direct, and original. “If you're wondering if I told them that I would be with you, I didn't. I wasn't sure if this was a secret rendezvous or not.” Ken laughed at his uncertainty as they walked side by side to the restaurant. “Think of this as a qualifier for you getting that number you asked for. I wanna know if you are as interesting as I think you are.” “Guess I better show you what you're missing.”

The confidence in Damian’s statement made her pulse quicken, her brown skin prickling with goosebumps. When the pair arrived at the restaurant, he made it his business to open the door for her and pull her chair out once they were seated. As they sat across from each other, her counterpart scanned the menu making small talk about what they would order but she was fixated on him. Kendall snapped out of the trance when he put his menu down to see why she wasn't responding to him. A smile tugged on his lips whilst he leaned forward on his forearms, bathing her in the attention she was giving him. “I would ask if you see something you like but if you said yes, I'd have to do something about it and we’re in public.” Kendall mimicked his actions with a grin playing on her lips. “Well you know I love to perform.” The silence that settled over the table fueled the intense stare down between the two; the air crackling with desire.

Damian carefully contemplated what he was going to say next. Should he tell her that he wanted to eat her on that very table or should he change the subject? Before he could decide, the waiter came over to take their orders breaking their fierce eye contact. Glancing down at her menu briefly, she decided to make the most out of her cheat day. French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and home fries while her counterpart opted for something high in protein like steak and eggs. The tension was still palpable after the waiter left with Damian shifting to lean back in his chair with his eyes locked onto hers. “How come you don't call me Luis like everyone else?” Taking a sip of her orange juice then mirroring his posture, Ken gave him a small smile. “Because I’m not like everybody else if you haven't noticed.”

Once their meals arrived, they ate in comfortable silence stealing little glances at one another between bites. In true woman fashion she longed for some of his food even though her own was good. He noticed her eyes flickering back and forth to his plate so he wordlessly sliced a piece of his steak and held the fork out to her. Instead of pinching the meat off with her manicured fingertips, she rose up slightly to lean across the table and wrap her lips around his fork. All the air in his lungs evaporated as she let out a hum of satisfaction while looking him dead in the eyes through her lashes. If he didn't drink the complimentary ice water, his boiling blood was going to start traveling south. “Is it good?” At that point he didn't even know if he was referring to the food or not. “The best.” Her tone was definite. They were indeed not talking about food.

Food was finished and the check was placed on the table. Damian looked at her, she looked at Damian then they both looked down at the bill. Snatching the envelope off the table at the speed of light, he waved it at her in triumph. “Gotta be quicker than that, princess.” Damian placed his card in the pocket making sure he held on to it as they got up to leave. “I asked you out so I should be the one paying.” Kendall argued, crossing her arms over her chest to look more intimidating but it just made him laugh at her bratty nature. “Ah so you admit this was a date.” His chin raised in victory, his back rested against the hostess counter while they ran his card. “Maybe.” She shrugged heading for the exit once the staff returned his card. He chased after her, catching up to walk beside her back down the boardwalk to their hotel making sure was on the other side of oncoming foot traffic. “You’re a stubborn one aren’t you?” Though it was posed as a question, she knew it was rhetorical and he was teasing her. “Well I am a Taurus.” It seemed like the most obvious thing in the world to her but he wasn't really into the whole zodiac sign thing.

The whole walk back consisted of the two bumping into each other like they were on a different planet with no gravity. Even while they waited for the elevator, he found his eyes glued to her smaller frame until they moved to board. Both of their minds seemed to be so preoccupied that when the ding alerted them that they had arrived on her floor, it startled them a little. “After you,” In a sweeping motion, he allowed her to exit first as he watched the way her jean shorts seemed to hug her ass the way he wanted to. When they reached her door, they felt a sense of deja-vu all over again. “Well that was…” She struggled to find a word that could describe the date they just had. “Exhilarating.” Damian breathed out in agreement. He was nearly pressing her against the door as he peered down at her in adoration, “I think we should do it again.” Ken wordlessly held her hand out for his phone. Damian took the hint, pulling his phone from his pocket and gently placing it in her palm. She saved her number in his phone under ‘Princess’ before handing it back to him. How fitting.

His body was tingling with the need to grab her and kiss those lips that always managed to stay glossy all the time. But they had to get ready to head to the arena soon; as much as he wanted to be the reason she was late, he didn't want her to get in trouble. “Do you want to ride with us there?” He offered half because he wanted to make sure she could get there okay and half because he wanted to spend more time with her. “Nah, I have a rental and I'm not fighting five people for the AUX.” “Alright then I’ll see you there.” His soft tone was accompanied with a curt nod and he knew he was supposed to walk away but his feet just wouldn't move. “See you later, Luis.” She laughed, gently pushing on his chest to give him some momentum to make it back to the elevator. He walked backward toward the elevator never taking his eyes off of her before she gave him a little wave before disappearing inside her room to get ready.

Ken sat perched on a crate in an empty hallway backstage as she cackled on facetime with Trin who wanted to know what was going on with her and Luis. “Mmm, who you looking cute for Miss Ma'am?” Her friend instigated causing her jaw to drop to drop at the implication. “Um, not too much. I always look good.” Rolling her eyes, she couldn't help the laugh that escaped when Trinity replied with a deadpan. “Yeah but when you're not scheduled for any screen time, you go for cute and comfortable. You got your titties sitting, legs all out and everything.” She lifted her phone up, angling it down to fit her whole body in the frame. “And is!” The two of them were cutting up so much in the secluded area that she didn't hear footsteps approaching until she felt a strong presence beside her.

Her smile slid right off her face when she looked over to see Joshua. “I gotta go, sis. I’ll text you.” Just as Trin was about to ask her who had her moving like that, she hung up on her knowing that was probably gon get her cursed out later. “Joshua.” She hoped her flat tone would deter him from saying whatever he was going to say and ruining her mood. “Hey, can we talk for a minute?” Slowly scooting off of the crate, the girl held her hand up in dismissal. “Like I said before, we don't have anything to talk about. I’m good.” His gaze used to make her feel invincible but now she found herself trying to tug her skirt down in discomfort. “Please. You don't even have to say anything. Just listen. I wanna apologize.” In her mind she was debating on whether or not she could listen to his explanation. She really did want to put the shit behind her so she could fully let go- let him go, but now that he was in front of her, she knew she wasn't ready yet.

“I just can't do this right now, Joshua.” Kendall moved to walk past him only to be stopped by him grabbing ahold of her hand. “Wait-” “Stop doing that shit!” Snatching her hand from his grasp she quickly composed herself not wanting to draw any unwanted attention to them. “Stop smothering me. You can’t go from ignoring me for years to popping up on me and texting me fifty fuckin times. I’m not your bitch. Never was. I don’t owe you a damn thing. IF I decide to listen to whatever excuses you have, it’ll be on my time- not yours.” She walked away to take a breather when she turned the corner and smacked right into someone while she was lost in her thoughts. “My bad. I wasn't paying attention.” However when she looked up, she locked eyes with Señor MITB. “We have got to stop meeting like this, princess.” His stomach buzzed upon seeing her but when he noticed her agitated state his brows furrowed in concern. “You okay? What's wrong?” Shrugging the previous spat off, Ken instantly brightened up at his concern for her well being. “Fancy meeting you here.” Her teasing tone sent them into their own little bubble as they stood there making googly eyes at each other.

Before Luis could respond, Josh rounded the corner she just came from and almost tripped over his own feet stopping to watch their interaction. Luis gave him a friendly head nod with his signature half smile when he realized they had an audience. “Wassup, uce.” Kendall swore she was so annoyed that a visible irk mark actually appeared on her forehead. “What's up, bro.” Jey’s cold demeanor confused him but he chose not to question it. Instead his eyes drank in her figure before lifting to connect to hers again. “You look fucking amazing.” “I try.” She grinned recognizing that familiar glint in his eyes. “I was actually looking for you because I just had an interesting meeting with creative.” “Oh yeah?” She arched her perfectly plucked eyebrow in intrigue. “Turns out they think Damian Priest would be more susceptible to leave Judgement Day because of a woman.” Now that was the last thing she expected him to say. “Looks like Carsyn and Damian Priest are going to be entwined soon.” “I look forward to it.”

A stagehand interrupted their heated exchange to tell Damian that his match was on in ten minutes. “Good luck out there, champ.” Luis patted his championship with one hand then raised his briefcase with the other. “I don’t need luck, but I think a kiss would give me a little motivation.” Her brows shot to her hairline being surprised by his boldness before patting his chest. “Win and I’ll think about it.” She smirked then turned on her heel to head to catering. “And don’t look at my ass.” Ken called behind her even though she knew he was most definitely watching her walk away. Luis shook his head in disbelief before going in the opposite direction to meet Finn by the gorilla.

Kendall watched tag team champs defend their titles against DIY on the monitor in catering. All the close calls had her abandoning the food on her plate because she was too anxious to eat. Winning matches was always the goal but being safe as entertainers and athletes was top priority. Damian could hold his own but they were doing a great job selling the match because those kicks had her wincing for him. The match finally ended with The Judgment Day retaining the Undisputed Tag Team championships. Smiling proudly to herself, she continued to push her food around her plate, having lost her appetite when her phone buzzed with a text message from ‘Papi Chulo’.

[Papi Chulo] Now back to that kiss

[Princess] I said I would think about it

[Papi Chulo] Don’t make me take it

[Princess] Is that a threat or a promise

[Papi Chulo] It's a warning

A tingle shot up her spine in anticipation. Tossing her food in the garbage, Ken left catering intent on furthering their game of chicken.

[Princess] Catch me if you can

She was making quick work of trying to find a place to hide while superstars and staff looked on in confusion at her speedy movements. Rounding a random corner, she threw herself into the first storage closet she saw. They never took particularly long showers at arenas so she knew he'd be hot on her trail any second. Placing her hand on her chest to calm the pounding of her heart, she sucked in a breath hearing movement outside the door. Waiting with bated breath for something to happen, she slowly exhaled when the feet in front of the door continued on down the hallway. Kendall went to check her phone for any messages from him when the door burst open making her squeal and drop her phone. There he stood with a wolfish grin plastered on his face as he closed the door behind him. “I found you, little lamb.”

Every step she took backward, he stalked forward with his long legs crossing the small space in mere seconds. “That was fast.” Her adrenaline spiked again as her back hit the wall allowing his tall frame to cage her in. “What can I say? I had business to take care of.” His deep voice filled the air like smoke making her feel lightheaded as she laid her hands on his chest to ground herself. “And what business is that?” He wrapped a strong forearm around her waist pressing their bodies flush together and cradled the back of her neck with his other hand. “You.” Any words on her tongue died when he connected their lips in a passionate kiss. It felt like all the air left her body then came rushing back. Draping her arms over his neck, she leaned up on her tiptoes to deepen the lip lock. Ken let out a quiet moan feeling like she was slipping from reality as he held her. Hearing her sounds of approval urged him to lower his hand to grab a handful of her ass.

Willing herself to pull back from the kiss, Luis chased her lips coaxing a giggle out of her. “You’re intoxicating, muneca.” His voice was low but his stare was burning right through her. “I’ve been told I have that effect on people.” He laughed, moving to snake his arms around her small waist maintaining their closeness. “Careful. That effect gon have your ankles making friends with your ears.” The fire between them was spiraling- warping into something insatiable. “Is that a threat or a promise?” Kendall challenged only to receive a harsh squeeze to her ass. “Definitely a promise.” Tugging her hand to lead them out of the closet, he poked his head out of the door to make sure the coast was clear. “Let’s get outta here. I’ll drive.”

kenthedoll_

kenthedoll_ In my soft girl era

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archerofinfamy the fairest of them all

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last-starry-sky · 27 days

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innocent!reader x graves - part 3!!!!

(original idea inspired by this post by the lovely @shotmrmiller - part 1 here - part 2 here)

NSFW - MIND THE WARNINGS - MDNI: (slut shaming, a lil bit of body horror-ish stuff, pov switches, lots of pet names (as per usual lol), dub-con if you squint (reader is a bit drunk so ymmv), fingering, look me in the eyes and tell me graves isn’t the type of guy to pack heat 24/7, i’m really leaning into how much of a virgin reader is so buckle in, no hard smut (again, sorry lmao))

You were standing around the kitchen island with your mother. It was your usual morning ritual, but this morning was different somehow. You just couldn’t place it. Things seemed . . . weird. Off. Just a little to the left of normal. Like how the sun felt a too bright, blasting in the front windows like a floodlight, far too bright for the early morning.

You squinted at the bleached out white walls and shiny tile floor as your mom was cradled your face in her hands. They were cold. Your cheeks were cold. You shuddered in her grasp, peeling her off you as you stepped back. Your foot hit the leg of a stool behind you. You plopped down, falling right into the cushioned seat.

“How was it sweetie? You have fun?” she said picking up her coffee cup with a smile so wide you wondered if it was hurting her.

Her voice is unbearably high-pitched and sweet; like cold syrup pouring in your ear. It took you a moment to realize you had heard those words before, that this was not a dream.

It's a memory.

Oh yeah, you realized, this was the morning after you went on your first date. You felt the stupid smile you had walked in with return to your face. Your first date with Phil.

The thought of him warmed your brain. His hand in yours as he led you to the front door. How he’d let you doze off in his car on the way home. How warm and protected you felt laying against him by the bonfire. The memory was comforting, creating a mix of pleasant feelings in your chest.

“Yeah mom,” you replied automatically, “had a lot of fun.” It was the exact answer you had given her that morning.

Her hands clenched around her steaming coffee cup, knuckles white.

“Tell. me. how. it. went.” She said punctuating every word, smile gone taught; practically carved into her cheeks.

Weird, a rouge blip of a thought came to your mind. Those were the right words . . . but her voice, the way she said them. It was far too terse. This was not how you remem-

“Really good,” you responded on queue, still dreamy and automatic. It was like you were on a track, all of the lines already set and all you had to do was say them as they came, no matter the parts of your conscious brain screamed at you that something was wrong. You have to stop. You have to stop now.

“That’s good!” she said flipping back into her overly-happy demeanor so fast it gave you whiplash. “He seems like such a nice man. Your dad just wouldn’t stop talking about him after you left!”

That was . . . normal. You still felt weird, squirming in your seat and looking at your hands just to look at anything but her. Maybe if you kept going everything would go back to norm-

“He is nice,” you said before you could stop yourself. “So nice. I’m glad you both like him, too. We want-”

She interrupted you.

"Oh, but I don’t, honey.”

“What?” you gasped off script, cracking away whatever part of the memory had it’s tenuous hold on you. This isn’t how this went. You remember this morning. You remember what she said. You know-

“You heard me. Whore,” she said, smile dripping off her face. Her words were like a black hole. Void of emotion and sucking you in with a terror like oblivion as the unreal brightness of the room turned dimmer and dimmer behind her.

Your mouth fell open. You tried to do something, anything: turn around, backpedal, run, but you couldn’t. Of course you couldn’t. You never can run away in a dream. You were forced to watch your mother’s face swirl off into the cheery kitchen around her as her voice turned acrid and shrill.

“Don’t play dumb with me you little slut.” Her eyes falling inward into black pits that shone back at you. Mirrors into your own guilty soul. “I know what you do when you’re alone in your room. I can hear you. And now, even that’s not enough? Look at you. I spent all that time, raising you right, taking you to church, putting the fear of God in you, and still you ended up like this. What would your father think if he saw you now? Letting a stranger touch his daughter, in public no less!”

“Mom!” you managed to gasp out, cheeks burning. How did she know? How did she find out?

“Don’t mother me!” her squaking, multitudinous voice called out, echoing around the little kitchen as a pit twisted deeper and deeper in your gut.

“You think you’re still my little girl? Look at where you’ve done. What you’re planning to do.” You felt like God himself was there shaming you. The cup shattered in her hand, spraying blue ceramic in slow motion. “I sure hope you enjoy your night with him because you’ve made your own bed now.”

The truck sways, bouncing up and down and then left to right, waking you suddenly from your soft, childlike sleep. You hear Phil mumble a quiet ‘sonofabitch’ above you as he corrected the truck with his left hand while squeezing your waist protectively with his right. You’re still right where you’re supposed to be: cuddled safely into his chest.

You crack open your eyes a slit. The cab is dark, interrupted only by the irregular pass of streetlights that flooded the cab suddenly with light only to plunge it back into inky, silent dark a second later.

You can feel his bicep flex, tensing to hold you close, behind your head. When he’s got the truck back safely in his lane, his muscles in his arm relax. He sighs into your hair and you feel his hand move back down to your thigh, the rough skin of his fingers slowly stroked at the exposed skin south of your skirt. You sigh softly, shivering at his touch, burying your face in his shirt as you stretch yourself in his lap.

His hand stops when you move, turning to look down at you. It lays there, warm and strong, on your thigh.

“I wake y’up, sweets?” he asked, his breath rustling your hair.

You squirmed in his lap as you shook your head, stretching your neck and wiping at your eyes. His hand tensed on your leg.

“What happened back there?” you asked sleepily. The alcohol had made your tongue heavy and clumsy in your mouth. You could still taste strawberries when you swallowed.

“Ah. Oh that? Just a . . . just a log in the road,” he said with a pause and a shrug.

He patted your thigh once before reaching up to take the wheel with both hands. He let out a soft groan as he canted his hips, shuffling your body on top of him as he readjusted himself in his seat. His eyes were focused straight down the road. It made you sad to lose his touch but you understood. Out the windshield you could see the road he was driving you down, if only what was illuminated by the headlights. Pine trees thickly lined both sides of the unfamiliar two lane road, interrupted only by the odd set of mailboxes that signaled a line of houses down hidden dirt roads. Everything was dark green and black. No stars. No moon. You didn’t know he lived so far out in the country, but then again, you had never been brave enough to ask.

“You okay?” you asked quietly, still not quite woken up. You wrapped your arm around his ribs, relaxing into him, stealing his warmth.

“Yeah,” he said moving his left hand, letting it drip down the steering wheel until it just barely hung off the bottom. “Musta been a raccoon or somethin’ in the road. Got distracted.”

He let go of the steering wheel, bringing his hand to grip your thigh where his other hand had been just a few minutes ago, right on the hem of your skirt. His thumb swiped back and forth, gently tracing from the soft, sensitive skin of your inner thigh to the top of your leg. The motion sent tingles racing to your core. You moved your leg a fraction of an inch to relieve the pressure but had to bite back a moan. Oh no, you thought tipping your head against his chest. You could feel how wet you still were.

“Saw it too late ‘n had to swerve,” he added as an afterthought. You wondered if he had taken his eyes off the road to watch you now; if he could see you with your eyes closed, lip caught in your teeth, blissed out and squirming against his leg.

He spread his fingers, pressing his warm palm flat to your leg, as he brushed up under your dress. You let your head loll back against his bicep behind you, unable to to keep your next moan from escaping.

“Now I got you distractin’ me,” he said with a hiss into your hair, sliding his hand up further. His fingers brushed at the edge of your panties. You squirmed under him as he danced ever so close to where you wanted him. Needed him.

“Phil,” you sighed.

You were just about to crack, to grab his hand with your own and make him touch you, when he stopped, resuming his absent stroking.

“Hold on jus’ a little bit longer, darlin’,” he said with a squeeze to your upper thigh. “Last turn’s comin’ up.”

He slowed down fractionally, taking a wide left turn that swayed the whole truck, the driver’s side wheels falling down into the slope of the ditch before pulling back onto the road. You bounced in his lap as the truck transitioned from the rough, but still somewhat maintained, concrete country road, to dirt and gravel. The trees lined the narrow road even closer than before, choking out the light from the increasingly rare streetlights.

He took his free hand out from your dress, nudged in between your legs and his pants and adjusted himself. He closed his eyes for but a moment and groaned as he palmed his cock. It made you blush, you weren’t exactly used to men acting like this around you, but it also made you wickedly excited. He was like this because of you. You had made this strong, older man, a soldier, race you home on a dark rainy road just so he could get his hands on you.

He put his hand chastely on your waist for a moment, flexing his fingers into your skin. It was as if he was weighing his choices. When you sighed into his touch he let out a held in groan. His choice was made. He skimmed his hand down your body to the press of your legs. When he got to the edge of your dress, he slid his hand under, bunching it against his sleeve as he sought out his prize.

It was the tip of his middle finger that first grazed your pussy. It made you jump, his touch punching out a gasp even through the cloth of your panties. He kept going, pushing his whole hand to palm at your warm, aching core. He ground the bottom of his palm against you, fingers stroked at your weeping hole, earning a pitiful whine into his chest. The brute, indirect pressure was making your legs shake.

You grabbed at his arm, looking up at him with pleading eyes. His eyes stayed stubbornly on the road. “Phil . . . please,” you begged. “Please-”

He cut you off by twisting his hand, curling his fingers under the waistband of your underwear to stroke at your silken folds in a single, fluid motion. You clenched, nails digging into his arm as you squeaked out a silent Ah as your eyes flew shut.

The truck slowed to a crawl, headlights swaying back and forth, illuminating the same frame of unfamiliar road and dark, foreboding trees, as he concentrated on slipping his fingers through your untouched pussy. His ability to drive completely shot. You were lost too in the overload of new sensations. Your wetness covered his fingers, dulling the rough texture of his skin. He used his strength to press almost too hard as he made a circuit through your labia, up to your clit, finally swirling down and around your hole. You’d never had someone else touch you there, and even your own “experiments”, alone and frustrated in your bed, hadn’t yielded very much pleasure. But this, the tingling, shooting pleasure coiling tight in your core that had you open-mouth panting. This could be something.

He took his remaining hand off the steering wheel to wrap both his arms around you, leaving his whole body flexed on to the brake like a vice. He pressed his face into your hair as he rolled his hips against you with a moan.

“Fuck, baby,” he said with a flick of his fingers across your clit that made you flinch. He was completely blissed out - his voice rough and heady. The combination made you shiver against him. “Fuck. We can’t-” he said tipping your jaw up, forcing you to face him again as a blush crept over your cheeks, “-can’t do this here.” He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your lips before pulling back, his nose sliding against yours. “Open your mouth for me now, babydoll,” he said taking his hand away from your pussy to peel your bottom lip open with his thumb, your own slick painting your jaw.

Somehow, someway, he did manage to pull his brain out of his cock and drive that last stretch of road to his house. As much as he had wanted to throw his plans to the wind and just fuck you in the truck he reminded himself that this was your first time. He needed to make it good for you.

No high school specials tonight. That wouldn’t make you stay.

He let himself indulge in one more sleepy, dazed kiss before he mechanically went through the motions to shut off the car. Slide the clutch into park, unbuckle, radio off, lights off, turn the key in the ignition. He had to move you off his lap to get out first before he could scoop you back up into his arms to bring you inside. When he leaned in to pull you out he saw his jacket crumpled into the corner of the passenger seat. You nuzzled your head into the crook of his neck, almost ready to fall asleep again. A corner of your bright purse stuck out. It was tangled inside his jacket, almost completely hidden. He hugged you tight to his chest as you shivered from the misting rain. Your phone was probably in there too.

Shame, he thought as he slammed the door shut with his free hand, you’ll probably be looking for that in the morning.

He didn’t set you down until he got to the front door, not that you protested. Your useless heels would have sunk into the mud of the lawn anyway. It was still cold night despite the weather clearing. He liked feeling of you shivering against his side in the dark as he unlocked his front door. It wasn’t longer than a moment before he had the deadbolt and door unlocked, shooing you inside ahead of him.

You ambled in, tipsy and disoriented, in the dark, heels clacking in an unsteady gait across the wood floor. He listened with amusement as you made your way around his unfamiliar home with only the sparse outside light to guide you. Sometimes he forgot how dark it could get out here in the country.

He stopped at the dinner table, taking his time, unloading his usual carry: wallet from his left pocket, phone from his right. Each made a light clink against his keys as he tossed them onto the table. He reached around his back and unclipped his holster from inside his slacks. His clip followed shortly. They both made a weighty thunk on the table. He rubbed at the sore spot the grip had worn into his back, suppressing a groan. It didn’t help that his holster had slid to the middle of his back, making him adjust the way he sat the whole drive home with you wriggling in his lap.

Once his watch was off his wrist and his shoes kicked behind him, he walked silently back to the door and locked the deadbolt. The sharp CLACK of the metal had always been comforting, but now, it was exciting. A sign that everything was ready. That you were safe now. Finally. he thought with a sly smile creeping across his face. Locked inside his home (could be yours too, in a heartbeat, if you asked). With no one around for miles to bother you. Right were you were always meant to be, darling.

The only safer place you could be is wrapped in his arms, and he planned to remedy that problem as soon as he found you.

It didn’t take much of a hunt to find you. You’d made a light thump as you found the end of the couch with your hip in the living room and had decided it was as good a place as any to lean against. He had to give you credit, you had hauled yourself up onto the arm of the sofa all by yourself. It was almost cute to watch you struggle to keep your balance as you reached down for your ankle straps, little frustrated noises falling from your lips.

He was quiet in his socks. He could tell you hadn’t heard him when you jumped as his hand touched your knee. He laughed at it as he slid up your thigh boldly.

“Phil . . .” you said grabbing his belt, looking up with pleading eyes.

“Need help, baby?” he teased, trailing his hand back down to hook under your knee. You let out a gasp, crumpling his shirt at his waist as your fingers clamped suddenly together. He held your hips with his other hand, hiking your leg up to his hip, allowing him to smoothly slot himself in between your legs.

This was going so fucking well.

It took a little bit of fiddling in the dark, but he managed to unclasp your left heel, letting it fall with a loud THUNK against the floor. It didn’t help that there was not another sound in the house beside your rasping breaths. You were such a cute little thing like this: holding on for dear life, whining into his chest, barely able to breathe already. He smoothed his hand up your leg until it met his other hand at your waist. He couldn’t help but give you a little squeeze. You yelped, head shooting up out of his chest to lay your pleading eyes on him.

He pressed his advantage immediately. He chuckled and leaned down to peck a gentle, toying kiss on your lips. His hand was already moving down to your remaining shoe as he pulled away, a small, disappointed oh falling from your lips. This time, he wouldn’t let you hide. He moved his hand from your waist to the small of your back, rough fingers catching on the smooth, clingy fabric of your dress. You were red cheeked and panting, a small ah all the noise you could make, when he pressed you forward, forcing you flush against his front. Only an inch of needy, heated space separated his cock from your barely-clothed pussy and, good fucking God, did he need it.

Need it. Need it. Fucking need-ed-it.

Your ankle in his hand, he deftly popped your hip open. He tilted forward that last, cloying centimeter to feel you. His eyes fell shut as he pressed to you with a groan. You were so warm. He could feel it through his pants. You let out a shamefully high-pitched whine in return. He felt his trapped cock jump in his pants. He was throbbing and, fuck, so were you. He couldn’t feel it yet, but he knew you were wet. How could you not be? All that excitement in the car had to have your pussy working overtime.

Your second heel fell to the floor.

“Phil . . .” you whined in the silence that followed, pawing at his sides and back. His dress shirt made soft swishing noises under your nails. It was almost like music.

He chanced looking down at you. Fuck did you look gorgeous. Your skin shimmered in the dark with sweat. The first thing that caught his eye was your breasts pushed against his ribs, that little silver cross hidden safely away, swallowed entirely by your chest. Your eyes were huge, with pupils blown wide and glassy with tears as you looked up at him. You were chewing on your bottom lip again, the irritation making it all the more red and kissable. The more blissed out and needy he made you, the more irresistible you became.

A perfect, vicious circle. A positive feedback loop.

He let go of your ankle to place his hand on your cheek. You were beyond flush, more like burning. When he felt you fold your leg around his hip of your own volition he couldn’t help but feel satisfied. He rutted forward into you. It was a rough pleasure that did almost nothing for both of you, but it was something. A tease in this slow, slow dance he had been leading you on, a preview of what was to come, maybe even a reward for holding on this long, for doing so so well.

“Doin’ okay, sweets?” he asked, petting your burning cheek with his thumb.

You nodded with a bat of your lashes. You straightened your back suddenly to make yourself taller when you saw him leaning down to kiss you. You were still so excited, enthusiastic.

Trusting.

He let all the chains come off. Long gone were the quick, chaste pecks at your front door. The ones that drew you into him. A delicate summer moth hypnotized by a porch light, never to escape. Even the “real” kisses he’d had with you outside the restaurant and in the truck were blown away. He held your jaw open with an iron grip while he forced his tongue in your mouth. He was sloppy, aggressive, taking what he wanted. He would only momentarily break away to nip at your open, panting lips, before diving back in. It amazed him how submissive you were. You weren’t fighting him in any way, just let him control everything while you let out an occasional moan or whine. It took him longer than he wanted to admit to figure out why that was.

You’d never been kissed like this before. How could you have an opinion on how you liked it when you’d never- Fuck, he forgot. How could he forget? You’d never done anything before. He’s got a little virgin in his hands, whining and squirming, practically begging for it.

Hmm, he thought. Could he really . . . could he make you beg for it?

He squeezed the side of your thigh as he rolled another thrust against you, groaning against your lips. You yelped at the pain of his fingers biting into your skin, but it dissolved into another high-pitched whine. Fuck, could listen to that all night. Your legs tightened around his waist, keeping him close.

“Phil,” you sighed as he rolled his hands up your thighs, dragging your dress up with it. “Phil please.”

Oh fuck, he thought. She’s really going to do it.

“Please what, darlin’?” he asked hoarsely, resting his forehead against yours, watching you squirm as he tried to pull your dress out from under you.

“Please . . .” you trailed off shyly, trying to make him stop by pawing at his hands. Not that you could.

“Gotta tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he said voice drawn gruff and dry.

He balled the stretchy fabric of your dress in his fists and pulled. It resisted, pulling ever so slowly from where it was trapped under you. The sound itself was delicious tension. More music to his ears. It was a long, soft noise as the knit stretched to it's limit in the quiet of the room. You tried to turn your head away, to hide your pants and whines, but he prevented it by shoving his face into your neck. He kissed and nipped at your neck until, without fanfare, your skirt popped out from under you.

You slammed a hand to his chest before he could make another move. This time, he obeyed you.

“Phil!” you plead, red faced from embarrassment, “Can we . . . can we not- um can we go . . . ” You caught your breath for another couple moments, wiggling your knees on either side of his waist, before turning to him. “Can we do this in your bed . . . please?”

He hauled you up by your thighs, throwing you up onto his chest without another word. You scrambled to throw your arms around his neck as he backed away from the couch.

“Yes, ma’am,” he whispered into the side of your head.

#mw2 #graves/reader #graves x reader #cod fanfic #starry writes #call of duty #cod mw2 #here i am once again blue-balling my audience by delaying the smut for another chapter :)#sorry this took a fucking month i was outta my groove #also. just lookit me using dividers and shit like a real author

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quotelr · 7 months

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It is not our differences that divide us. It is our inability to recognize, accept, and celebrate those differences.

Audre Lorde

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vg-k · 2 months

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𝗆𝖺𝗇𝗁𝖺̃𝗌 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝐯𝐨𝐜𝐞̂ ᤣ९ @yrminji

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frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months

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🖤 dividers for writers w/ a bone to pick 🖤

Get it? Bone? Skeleton? Halloween...anyway, the season of the witch is upon us and your scary godmother is stopping by to drop off some skeleton (& other spooky themed) dividers for your horror/supernatural adventures

#line dividers #tumblr dividers #post dividers #page dividers #dividers #aesthetic dividers #halloween #spooky season #horror writing #fan fic author #fan fic writing #fan fic stuff #writing resources

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besinhos · 2 months

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⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀🔎⠀⠀wonnie being lovely for 24h straight !

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sarasade · 1 year

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Backstory headcanon- Harrow and Viren met at a small pastoral village where the royal family used to spend their summers and where Viren lived as Kpp’Ar’s apprentice

#virrow #varrow #tdp fan art #sarasadeart #I want to imagine them having one of those intense adolecent boy friendships #1800's England style #like high-fantasy has those all the time between men I could just insert one here #also make it gay 'cause why divide relationship to be either friendship or romance #why not a bit of both #if the authors have revealed their backstory don't tell me lmao #I follow the show's canon only everything else is way too complicated to keep up with

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inklore · 6 months

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— feel free to request more colors.

like or reblog if you use them please!

#content banners #author dividers #author banners #content dividers #fic banners #dividers #writer banners #rainbow banners #fic dividers #support your content creators #rainbow dividers #writer dividers #ʚ laurs art ɞ

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questwithambition · 2 months

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Final post of the night I swear but I got to chat with @olivieblake about how tumblr is actually one of the best places because you basically get to just see what the mutuals want to share aka pretty pictures and their current obsession and I’m buzzing

#it was a great event!!!#loved how the questions evolved into tangential thoughts!#and the interesting divide between fanfic and original works #I neeeeed more author events in my life #also so many of the outfits were slaying #questwithambition #bookblr #the atlas six #Olivie Blake

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littlerosette · 4 months

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save me “i know this would have happened anyway” everlark aus please save me.

#katniss and peeta falling in love outside of the games but still dealing with the challenges #of breaking social norms #racial and class divides #katniss slowly realizing she’s always loved the baker’s boy #the wonderfully sweet friendship that blooms before that #i literally don’t care if it’s the same fic from fifteen different authors i will fucking read it #the hunger games #everlark

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blankweiss-sb · 10 months

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Gift "Drabble"

For @hiding-in-the-vault

TW: Prison Arc + Post Prison, references to torture and eye removal

Summary: Eventually, Dream found a cave and hunkered down. He didn’t dare making a fire pit, didn’t know whether he could, but it would surely reveal his position. Instead he curled up in the warmest, most wind-safe spot he could find – and slept.

Dream doesn't escape unscathed – mentally or physically.

The red stone pistons fired, the deep grumble distinctive from the ever present hissing of the lava. Dream didn’t dare lift his head or move his cheeks from the grimy, sticky floor of his cell.

Rule number whatever: Either be on your knees head bowed, or you better not have moved from the position Sir left you in.

Was Dream slightly bitter that even thinking Sir immediately called up an image of Quackity and tides of fear and anger? Yes. Would he show that bitterness? No. (Maybe Quackity would think he’d finally broken Dream but he hadn’t. Dream wasn’t quite broken yet, just brittle and fractured. If – when he got out, he’d just pour gold into all those cracks.)

Faintly, Dream heard it – the rustle of small feathers that could be crushed so very easily, the tapping of fingers against the wooden handle of a tool or weapon and a slight hum, the hum of a song Sap had loved. The lava curtains gurgled – please, red stone, fail, a moment of weakness gave itself a voice – before it fizzled out.

Sir bounced into the cell.

“Hullo, Dreamie, how are you? Comfy?”

Dream knew better than to answer. Quackity didn’t care, he just loved the sound of his voice too much. If Dream was lucky, Quackity would gloat, maybe kick Dream a couple of times and leave. That, Dream could endure, he could endure anything, anything but –

Fingertips stroked along the curve of Dream’s face, the one not pressed against crying obsidian and sticky maroon, and it was only the terrors of existence that prevented Dream from flinching. But nothing could have prevented Dream’s throat from releasing a whine when Quackity gently carded through Dream’s hair, almost petting him like a beloved dog.

“Awww, you’re doing good but being greedy, I see.”

Fuck you. Fuck you, Quackity, Dream thought as his head leaned into the comforting touch Sir was offering. It was his body seeking comfort, not Dream. It was his body being pathetic, wanting his torturer to be gentle. It was his body. Not Dream.

“You can be cute. But that’s not why I’m here, not today, puppy!” Don’t call me that. “I’m giving you a gift, look –“

Quackity burst out in little giggles, giggles Sapnap used to gush about. Sapnap had called them more adorable than a baby piglin. Dream had teased him about that, by that time already missing George pressed against his side and joining in on the fun. Teasing his brother had always been one of Dream’s favorite things and George loved to needle Sapnap, too.

A sharp of burst ripped through Dream’s skull as Quackity’s hand grabbed his hair tightly and pulled Dream up until Dream’s scalp was burning. “Listen to me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Two, three seconds more and Quackity let Dream’s head fall, huffing.

“And here I was about to clean you up, wash you, but no. You had to be bad. A bad puppy.” Dream flinched and Quackity’s laugh was more than delighted, echoing between obsidian walls. “Anyway, here you go, you’re going to need this.”

Something cold settled on Dream’s face and – comfort washed over Dream as he realized it was the cold porcelain of a mask, a mask Dream knew quite well. Greedily he sucked in some air and through the stale scent of copper coils and bracken water and burnt out embers, he caught a whiff of earthy flowers.

(“Earthy flowers? Are you serious?” Dream had laughed, pressing his shoulders against Sapnap’s. George had already been snoring, his legs hanging over Sapnap’s lap and his head nuzzling Dream’s stomach.

“Man, you asked me how you were smelling. Earthy flowers. Deal with it, it’s sort of disgusting.” But the tips of Sapnap’s ears had been a brilliant red.

“Someone’s lying~ But that’s ok. I like your hearth embers and George’s bark and petrichor, too.”

“Pe – tri – chor,” Sapnap had mocked. Yet he had relaxed into Dream and – they had slept, together and bonds untorn.)

It was Dream’s mask, not a replica, but his own.

Despite this meaning nothing good, Dream sank into old comfort. The safe feeling was soured by Quackity once again running his hands through Dream’s hair. “Things are going to get exciting,” he crowed, no, that’d be an insult to the death goddess and her harbringers, Quackity quacked. “Better to keep a few things mysterious, right? I’ll be generous and let you rest up.”

Dream didn’t know what Quackity meant until the next day when the pistons fired up and someone swaggered over the bridge. The bars slammed down, Techno grunted as he sprung the trap and it clicked in Dream’s mind.

Time passed.

Sir didn’t enter the prison.

How Techno didn’t realize one tiny but largely important fact was beyond Dream but he couldn’t help being grateful.

How Dream managed to escape with Technoblade was also beyond him.

(Sir had managed to shatter Dream – after Technoblade vanished. Sir had not only dug into all the cracks he’d made but also ensured that not even respawning would ever give back Dream’s sight. There had been a slight, incredibly miniscule chance that Dream could have regained his eye sight but… hard to do that without the vital part of eye sight.

Sir had left Dream cold and raw and – there had been moments.

Dream had even hallucinated at one point, must have imagined trembling hands cleaning him up, a lullaby he hadn’t heard since he was ten being sobbed against his ears and a determined vow being seared against his temple. The voice had sounded like Bad, but Bad hated him, guarded him even, offered suggestions like Dream’s loathing of being alone in the dark to Sir. )

“I refuse. You have done more than enough, he can look after himself now.” The coldness in Philza’s screech was more than biting, was cutting when Technoblade didn’t refute his statement.

Once again Dream’s weakness took over and he wasted a minute on hope, begged Technoblade without the right words or gestures but surely, surely Technoblade picked up on it – “See ya later, nerd, stay safe.”

I’m not seeing anything, settled heavy on Dream’s tongue but – Philza was there, feathers scraping against wooden planks. He must be flaring his wings before refolding them. Rinse and repeat.

It wasn’t pride stopping Dream from saying those words. It was Caution. Philza already was irritated with Dream – Dream, objectively, had harmed the man’s family greatly and in various ways. And in an altercation, there was no world in which Technoblade wouldn’t side with Philza.

So Dream bowed, once, the proper Admin way, and darted off into the forest, barely hearing a sudden intake of breath behind him, probably Philza’s. Technoblade wasn’t an Admin, he wouldn’t have known what Dream’s bow had meant.

They didn’t chase after him, anyways.

That first night Dream almost died five times.

The server refused to reconnect to him – a weak Admin was something no World wanted, vulnerability was undesired – and so Dream had to trust his ears and nose, rather than an innate sense of the World.

Twice the rattling of Skeleton bones was barely enough to get ready for the screeching of arrows flying through the air and aiming directly at Dream’s heart. Muscle memory was, thankfully, enough for Dream to land crits against the Skeletons, even though his own frame didn’t differ much from the Skeletons.

Once a zombie almost ripped into Dream’s leg and would have infected him. Dream was already on the ground, having tripped over a root and landing on a patch of ice that sent him careening through the snow. He’d been contemplating just curling up and sleeping when the zombie fell over him. A kick and crit had taken care of the zombie.

Twice, the environment itself, the World – hadn’t that smarted – had turned against him, giving him no warnings as ravines opened up in front of him. Only hearing the echo of stones crumbling and falling, falling, falling before the unbreakable hit the bottom and shattered into a thousand pieces not even gold could glue back together had warned him.

Eventually, Dream found a cave and hunkered down. He didn’t dare making a fire pit, didn’t know whether he could, but it would surely reveal his position. Instead he curled up in the warmest, most wind-safe spot he could find – and slept.

That first night ended and his first day in freedom dawned – judging from the birdsong sneaking through the tree leaves and into Dream’s cave.

Dream didn’t have the energy to stand up.

More hallucinations haunted his sleep – if it was sleep. His body felt too heavy, his thoughts too hazy for him to be sleeping but – at one point, the hallucination of Bad took root in his mind. Dream heard Bad coo, felt Bad heave him into a bed that Dream certainly hadn’t made, cried while Bad tucked him and drew covers tight around him.

“Sleep tight, good dreams will arrive, cupcake,” the hallucination’s voice quivered as rough, scarred fingers slipped underneath Dream’s mask and tugged it off. The hallucination wanted to card through Dream’s hair and it did, detangling the knots, casting Dream’s drifty mind back to the days of happiness and – “Shh, Clay. I’ll protect you, don’t worry.”

Dream wailed, his throat giving out on him. All the while, the hallucination kept touching him, gently, like Bad loved him, like Bad was here, like Bad cared.

(Love and care were two different shoes. Surely, Sapnap and George still loved Dream but they had shown that they didn’t care for him.)

(Dream was forgetting something. Or someone. Heat was lancing through his brain, pain a deliberating force on everything that was him. How his mind still had enough force to call upon a hallucination with the ability to mimic the sensation of touch he didn’t know. But there was someone else, an agenda, Dream was forgetting.)

(Clay hated getting sick, not only because he couldn’t play with Pandas but because he couldn’t help demanding attention. To be fair, Bad would always give it to him.

“I’m dying,” Clay sobbed, writhing against the covers Bad had forced him under. “It’s too hot, it hurts, I am dying!”

“Shh, you silly, silly cupcake.” Bad chuckled, gently stroking over Clay’s head. Those fingers were so good, they spanned half his head and… Bad was starting to mindlessly but gently tug at all of Clay’s knots, tutting whenever another appeared in the long locks of Clay’s hair. “You’ll be ok, I’m here.”

Whenever Bad acted like this, Clay could pretend that Bad wasn’t only Pandas’ Dad but also his own, and fierce, fierce love wrecked Clay’s body together with the many illnesses he suffered.

One day, one day Clay would create a server for them, for Bad and Pandas and himself and anyone else he loved. He knew he was strong enough, as were his convictions and dreams.)

Energy trickled back into Dream, day by day. The hallucination stayed, far longer than Dream expected it to, offering comfort and safety and the weakness was too strong. Dream, shamefully, gave in.

Until one day the rustle of wings, the wind whistling through feathers just outside his and his hallucination’s cave broke the spell.

“Mate?”

Not Sir, not Sir at all but –

“Get out.” His hallucination growled and the air pulsed with heat and old power – and there was no way that Dream’s stitched together mind could have replicate Bad’s aura when he was pissed and protecting someone. (Someone, not something, an important distinction.)

“Bad Boy Halo, I –“

“Leave before I make you leave. You offered no help, worse, you rejected sanctuary.”

“I didn’t know.”

Bad snorted and responded. Philza said words as well but – Dream had already lost the thread, his mind fuzzy with realizations and too full, too broken to comprehend anything. Until –

“Had I known he was blind and a baby Admin, he wouldn’t have left my house!” Feathers hit the stone walls. Or did feathers scrape along obsidian, crying in sync with the dripping walls? Sir was back, wasn’t he –

Scarred hands cradled Dream’s cheeks and a pair of leathery wings sneaked around and under Dream’s frame. The hands didn’t move. They just held his face and provided an anchor for his mind.

“Bad…” How to say the things he had to say, how to ask questions, how –

Dream’s head is pressed to a dark throat and his breath hitched. Too often Dream had been in this position whenever the world got too big, or he got too big for the world and it bared its fangs at him. Being settled against the thrum of Bad’s heart hadn’t rightened all the wrongs in the world but it had always – always – made them manageable.

“I’m here, Dream. Don’t you worry.”

Dream believed him and let himself fall into trust.

One more time.

#c!dream #c!badboyhalo #c!quackity #c!philza #c!techno #gift #angst #hurt/minimal comfort?#warning author likes c!Dream and cc!Dream so please don't come in with neg #also warning: author's been tipsy or drunk while writing this in one go #divider was made by riftdancing

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frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

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✨ cutesy dividers because why not? ✨

I figured I'd try out making some dividers that give some fluffy, sweet vibes so, as usual, if you see something you like, take it my loves.

#aesthetic dividers #dividers #line dividers #separators #post dividers #cutesy shit #fluff #fan fic author #fan fic writing #fan fic stuff #writer help #writer resources #fic writing

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strangeauthor · 5 months

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oh and this might be a bit more petty compared to the other things in the 4 hour palgarism vid but internet historian has always been a right wing piece of shit i hated seeing him recommended by ppl so seeing him getting called out for being a plargist gave me Life

#author makes a speech #like aside from the dashcon vid which was barely about dashcon and more about talking about sjws #he always had to get a fucking jab in about lgbt folks in some shape or form #even if it had NOTHING to do with the topic #like that fallout 74 vid #or spouting the r slur which ugh #OH AND THAT VID ABOUT HE WILL NOT DIVIDE US WHICH HE THOUGHT IT WAS A FUNNY THAT A JEWISH MAN'S STATEMENT WAS GETTING VANDALIZED #AND PPL GOING OUT THEIR WAY TO BE ANTISEMITIC FOR 'LAUGHS?'#like fuck shia labeouf for real but this vid SHOULD'VE tipped ppl off that internet historian has no good intentions in ANY of his vids

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aropride · 18 days

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reading 1984 rn and winston just got the brotherhood manifesto or whatever and it starts out saying "war is strength" and it calls itself an oligarchy... starting to think this book is a critique of authoritarianism in general not necessarily soviet communism nor american capitalism, while also offering critique of radicals and the way these groups can mirror the structures they claim to protest. havent finished the book though so maybe i'm wrong

#text #lb #<- getting really into liveblogging books as of right now #Also sidenote- i cant tell if winston is like . sexist and racist to make a Point about life under The Party encouraging divides #btwn people or if the author was just racist and sexist #guessing both . or just the latter . but i would like it more if it were the former

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m0ther-of-p3arl · 8 months

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across the great divide (there is a glorious sunrise)

chapter two: home, can we go?

hiya and WELCOME BACK to the next chapter of my lovely little au for the niche-est audiences ever :DD if you're into owengejuicetv, charlie slimecicle, and camp halfblood aus, this fic is defo for you!! enjoy the second chapter <3

(also its my birthday so wish me a happy birthday :P)

Owen steps cautiously into the room, trying with little success to curb the quivering of his knees, biting at the inside of his cheek to stop from nervously jabbering away; as was a common tendency of his. Madeline is waiting at her desk, ball gown splayed out around the edges of her chair (why the heck is she even wearing a ball gown anyway- honestly just not at all acceptable teacher behavior from this person all around.). The mottled brown bulldog continues to look up at Owen from its perch under the desk, and if not for its intense and unnerving stare, Owen would have easily thought the animal to be dead.

“Hey, Ms Pemberton,” Owen greets, attempting to swallow down some of his worry (this is just a normal student-teacher conversation anyway, no reason to be scared), “Any reason why I’m being kept inside? Did I do something wrong?”

“No, darling, nothing wrong, nothing wrong at all!” She seems like she’s telling the truth, but as Owen listens a little closer, replays her sentence in his mind, he can hear the grating edge of her voice, the way it lilts higher at the end, crescendoing to an almost squeaking tone.

“Then why am I here?” He tries to keep his voice calm, he really does.

“Well, we’ll just have to figure that out together, won’t we?” She stands from her desk, leaning on it with her hands, the bulldog growling long and low beneath her.

“But… you can’t keep me inside without a reason.” Owen glances backwards at the door, swallowing quickly and resisting the urge to run out the exit as fast as he can. But Charlie told him to stay, and he trusts his best friend above all else.

“I’m the teacher. I have authority here. I can do whatever I want, honey.” Her words are somehow clipped and sloppy at the same time, a slithering quality that's masked by sharp enunciation and crisp syllables.

(The bad vibes Owen’s getting from this situation are ridiculous. He has to admit he’s never felt anything like it before, and that scares him. Usually when he’s around a dangerous or at least unsavory person, he’ll be able to tell what they want from him, and how best to go about handling the situation. That, or he has Charlie with him, and everyone knows that something bad is much less likely to happen if you’re not on your own. Plus, Charlie has the added benefit that he'll cuss out anyone who even tries to harm them, which usually scares most people away.

This, however, is different. Owen doesn’t know what to do, and worse than that, he can’t even tell what the problem is. Why has he been kept inside? Why him, why not any of the other students? Why only him? It feels like an isolation tactic, a way to get him alone so Ms Pemberton can strike. The thing is, if that’s the case, then the original query returns: Why him? Why not Charlie, or Bill, or anyone else in the class? As far as Owen can remember, he’s never met this woman before in his life. So why does she seem so intent on, presumably, harming him?

Owen doesn’t know, and that’s the part that scares him.)

“But I want to go spend time with my friend, and if there’s no reason to keep me here, then- is there?” Owen voices his question with a blanket of confusion masking simple caution, every instinct in his body screaming at him now, more than quiet chatter, to run, straight out that door, and never come back.

But Charlie said he had to “deal with… that,” and, again, Owen trusts his friend. So no matter how much he wants to, no matter how many longing glances he'll throw towards the direction of the exit, no matter how his hair stands on end, his skin prickling with nerves, Owen knows he will not leave the room- because Charlie told him, Charlie promised, that Owen would be okay.

“Oh, trust me, there’s a reason. We’ve been looking for you for a very long time. You’re quite powerful for one of your kind- born from a lesser power, though, unfortunately. Athena is nothing when you compare what she can do to Hades or Demeter- those are the ones to watch out for. I’m just here to take you out real easy, a nice meal before things really start going down,” Madeline says, her tone absolutely pleasant, only the faintest hint of hatred poking through the facade. Why is she so against him? Again, Owen can’t remember ever meeting, or even seeing, this person before in his life. So why is she suddenly acting as if he personally has wronged her in unimaginable ways? The whole situation screams unsafe, and it's so uncomfortable he can almost feel the wrongness of it in the air.

Then the implications of the other things she’s said finally reach his mind.

“Did you say a meal?” Owen asks, backing slowly away. He's not sure if she's alluding to cannibalism, or what- though, thinking about it some more, that does seem extraordinarily unlikely.

(If Owen didn’t know it was completely impossible, he would have sworn he could see Madeline's mouth lengthening, tongue splitting in two and forking at the end like a snake’s- he could’ve sworn as her shoes were kicked off her feet that he could see legs fusing together under the dress to form a silvery snake’s tail. But such things are impossible, and he chalks it up to simple hallucinations from stress. A much easier, more consumable explanation for the horrors taking place before his very eyes.)

“Yes, young halfblood,” Madeline hisses, delight written plainly across her now-hideous face, the skin bloodily crackling at the edges of her unnatural smile, “I am Lamia, and in my heyday, I destroyed countless men just like you, who thought that they were superior to everyone else. Idiot! You will be no different, little one- it has been far too long since I properly feasted. And what better time than now to satiate my appetite? You’re not much, but you’ll simply have to do. It's not like I have another option.”

And with that, she discards her dress, cackling like a witch- and Owen gasps, not so much from fear as from simple surprise. Her body is completely covered, save for her face and hands, with brutally scuffed silver scales. Some are even peeling off, hints of raw, irritated skin peering out from beneath. Her eyes have widened and eyelids thickened, snake-like vertical pupils gracing the centers of eerily yellow irises. Madeline is bleeding from her face, a continuous torrent from cracks and cuts, formed due to the stress that must be caused on her facial tissues whenever she smiles. Her nails have elongated into borderline claws, chipped and bloody, her own finger tissue still visible from where it is stuck underneath the talons.

Owen’s eyes go wide, breath becoming shaky, erratic- he is witnessing a marvel, a scientific phenomenon. He's afraid, of course he's afraid- but fear is eclipsed by wonder and interest as his eyes graze over Madeline- no, Lamia's body, and he almost wants to reach out a hand and run it along the scales, to see if they're as rough and jagged as they appear or if that's simply an intimidation tactic. She sneers at him, and his nails dig into the orange still clutched in his hand instinctively, some of the skin peeling away and sticking under his nails.

Until all of a sudden, he's no longer clutching a molded orange in his fist. Instead, a gorgeous antique pistol is how gripped lightly in his hand, and it feels as though he's held the gun a million times before, it feels as if everything has suddenly just clicked into place. Owen barely has time to register his astonishment before Lamia pounces at him (insofar as a creature with a snake tail can pounce), and before he realizes what he’s doing, he’s slid under her, winding up behind the creature as she hisses in frustration.

"Stay still, idiot!" Lamia screeches, blood streaming from the cracks in her cheeks, from cuts formed by every broken scale, her mouth pulled into a hideous sneer. She reaches out one clawed hand, her fingers too long, claws far too sharp to be anything of this world- at least anything Owen knows of. He flinches back, heart beating too fast to be healthy.

After this little aggression, Owen doesn’t have time to think. He lets instinct take over, cocking the pistol as his pointer finger pulls deftly on the trigger, the world flashing into slow motion as the bullet rips straight through the monster’s chest. Owen’s sure that the gunshot, along with her subsequent scream, are loud enough that his parents back home in England can hear it- the deafening thunder crack of the bullet, a scream more enraged than terrified sounding from her too-wide mouth as blood-

No, wait, Owen realizes. That’s not blood. He’d expected it to be, but- somehow- it’s not. Owen doesn’t know how it’s possible, but all of a sudden, Lamia has exploded into soft, golden dust- the woman, the creature, is gone, and all that’s left in her stead is a meager pile of shimmering sand that coats the room, and, subsequently, Owen.

(He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to get the taste of her scream out of her mouth, the memory of the bitter flavor grating at his tongue and irritating his eyes. It’s all up in his hair, and he writhes at the thought that the remnants of- of whatever that was- are still upon him even in its death. It’s an unwelcome realization, and with it, he gets the strong and sudden urge to shower as soon as humanly possible.)

Owen handles the pistol almost reverently, releasing it from his rock-solid grip and turning it over in his fingers, admiring the lacy metalwork and brightly varnished wood that adorn the beautiful, almost ceremonial-looking, weapon. The metal appears to be some kind of bronze, though certainly it is like no bronze Owen's ever set eyes upon before. It shines with an almost unnatural glow, although in all honesty it should have been varnished and scuffed beyond recognition.

(At least he assumes so, as given the state that the orange was in, and if the orange was the gun… he’s kind of accepted at this point that weird things are at work here and if moldy oranges are going to turn into guns, there’s not much he can do about that other than roll with it.)

Owen’s attention is lifted from the firearm laying in his hands by the screeching sound of tennis shoes skidding along the linoleum floor, followed quickly after by Charlie, doubled over and wheezing, hands planted on his knees, appearing in the doorway. He must have run all the way here, Owen realizes, though what he doesn’t understand is from where.

It seems to take Charlie a minute to realize what he’s looking at, to take in the pistol clutched in Owen's hands, the sand-like material blanketing the classroom in a carpet of gold- but when he finally does, his eyes widen in something resembling shock, with a heavy tinge of pride mixed in. “You- you did it!”

“No need to sound so surprised,” Owen mutters, the pistol hanging awkwardly from one hand. “So, uh, was I supposed to do that? What- what happened to her, Charlie? Why did she, like, turn into a snake person, and then I shot her and it was so loud, and now she’s just- just this, just dust, and it’s everywhere- How am I going to explain this to my parents, and the school- what have I done? Where do I go from here?”

“Well,” Charlie suggests, a happy tint to his voice that Owen does not think fits well with the situation, “you could come to my summer camp!”

Owen stares at him, the suggestion so ridiculous on so many levels that he feels it's only best to voice the most obvious concern first; lest Charlie's mental state be somehow compromised due to the way he's acting. “School’s just started, it’s not summer anymore. Plus, I don’t really think that they’d be willing to harbor a literal murderer-”

“You’d be really surprised, actually,” Charlie interrupts, beginning to walk casually down the hall. Owen has no choice but to follow, body still quite literally shaking with adrenaline. “And I may have lied about that bit. Only a little, though! Only a little bitty lie. They do a year-round thing too, for kids like you-”

“Criminals, you mean? Juvenile delinquents? Because that’s what I am now- Mom and Dad are going to be so disappointed, I’m not going to be able to finish my education and become a lawyer like they’ve- like I’ve always wanted. Charlie, why the heck did you make me do that?”

“Okay, um- well. First things first, I need to- I need to fucking- to explain some things. What that was, what you killed- Lamia. That wasn’t a human, dude, it's not murder- I promise you're not a murderer. That was a full-ass fucking monster. Monsters are what we call them, by the way-” Charlie is cut off abruptly by Owen, pushing in with his own two cents.

“But Lamia is from Greek mythology, Char! Those things aren’t supposed to exist! And why- no, the question here is how- how did you give me a moldy orange that turned into a literal gun?!” Owen accepts what’s happened, yes, but that doesn’t mean he understands what’s going on. Not by a long shot.

“Okay, stop interrupting, stop interrupting! X will explain everything when we get to camp, until then, you really just need to stick by me. Now that you’ve slain your first monster, your scent is already so much more strong, even I can smell it and with a nose like mine-”

“Scent?” Owen lifts his arms, sniffing his armpits expectantly. “I don’t smell any worse than usual.”

“No, no no no, not that kind of scent, the other one, the one that smells like- like fucking buttered bread or some shit-

(Charlie’s brow is wrinkled up in annoyance- it doesn’t seem like it’s directed at Owen, but instead at the fact that Charlie knows all of these things that he doesn’t. Usually Owen can catch onto a concept really quick, and he supposes it must be really bothersome for Charlie that he’s not exercising that ability to its fullest extent here- but honestly, what does the guy expect him to do? Greek myths and- and the monsters from Greek myths just are. Not. Real. Things like- like whatever’s just occurred- things like aren't real things that happen real to people. That’s not how the world works.)

“Okay, okay, I’ll just lay off until someone better at explaining can tell me what in the world is going on," Owen placates, hands raised up in surrender and the ghost of a grin reappearing on his face, dimples pulling inwards.

Charlie shoots him a glare (albeit not a super angry one, but Owen still instinctively flinches back) and continues to lead him down the hallway, their two sets of steps on cold linoleum the only sound permeating a silence that hangs in the air like molasses slowly dripping down the edges of its barrel. It’s only when Charlie throws open the doors of the school and gestures to a taxicab waiting outside that Owen balks, stopping in his tracks as his eyebrows raise up into his bangs in incredulity.

“We can’t just leave the school in the middle of the day. You know that, right?” Owen asks, a hint of pleading in his voice, a giggle of discomfort breaking his voice in two. His parents, still living back in England, receive daily reports from the aunt he’s currently living with, and if she finds that he’s skipped school, he’s in for the angriest phone call of the month- no, his entire life, even.

“Dude, you don’t really have a leg to- Owen, you honestly just don't have a choice at this point.” Charlie half-laughs the words out, decidedly shaking but still firm in his decision.

“I just- I-” Owen pauses, thinking over his options. He trusts Charlie with his life, that’s simply a fact. That is the only indisputable truth in his life full of uncertainty. And just knowing that, he knows he’s already made the decision. He would follow Charlie to the ends of the earth.

“Fine,” Owen relents, sighing deeply, “Fine, I’ll go with you. But just- What about my parents? My aunt?”

Charlie cringes and scuffs his shoe against the pavement, one foot on linoleum, the other on warm concrete. He’s in between two worlds right now- the thought comes to Owen’s mind, and though he’s never realized it before, he realizes it’s true. There’s something that Charlie’s not telling him, something he’s hiding- not just about this mysterious summer camp, not just about what it actually is, no. Charlie is hiding something about himself.

“You- we’ll notify them that you’re fine. Your dad will understand, he’ll know where you are. And your mom… she’ll probably also be fine. She married your dad after you were born, right?”

Owen affirms Charlie’s statement with a sulking nod of his head.

“Okay, good. We need to hurry the fuck up, though, if we’re going to get back in time for me to check in with X. I would just call the sisters, but I don’t have a drachma- of course I don’t.” Charlie shakes his head and walks forward, gesturing for Owen to follow. He does, but not without another boatload of questions.

“Who’s this ‘X’ guy, by the way? You keep talking about him and I have no idea who he is.” Owen fiddles with his fingers, the worry having seeped out of his chest and into the appendages.

“Camp director,” Charlie answers, pulling open the back door of the taxi and climbing in, handing a wad of cash to the driver. Where did he get that? “You’ll like X, he’s really smart, just like you. He’s also a super good teacher and mentor, you two will get on great.”

Owen nods, and as he slides into the backseat beside Charlie, no idea where they’re headed and no clue if it’s safe, following his best friend into what for all he knows could be oblivion, or death, or sadness. But he follows Charlie, because he always follows Charlie and always will.

Owen trusts him. And that’s the only thing he knows for certain anymore.

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