#he would've been mid thirties AT MOST
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Someone once told me that people in their 30s look young today because in reality, it's not that they look young, it's just that people think 30 is decrepit and don't expect them to look their actual age, and nobody proves that theory correct more than Jod fanartists.
#I love you guys but why does he always look like he's twice his actual age#he would've been mid thirties AT MOST#the locked tomb#John Gaius#fandom critical
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ᨳ dance lesson
synopsis - After the hot senior jake tries to court you, (aka flirt with you because he's bored) you lie and tell him your type are dancers
genre - highschool!niki x fem!reader
warnings - jake being annoying !!NOTT PROOFREAD! I dknt eeven know what this is
word count - 1.3k
You rolled your eyes.
"You know I want you" he said, grabbing your hand and interlacing your fingers together. "No you don't Jake, you just dumped another girl and are looking for an easy rebound," you unlaced your fingers and brushed your hair back "you'll just have to look for someone else." Today marked day four of the hot senior— Jake— flirting with you nonstop. He seemed to have the notion that every girl would drop dead if he spared them a single glance. He had the face, charm, charisma, if it wasn't for his personality and play-boy tendencies you would've fallen for him too.
"What do you want in a guy?" Jake started chasing after you in the hallway, "y/n I know you've never had a boyfriend, so what's your ideal type?" Ok, ouch, didn't have to bring your non-existent love life into this. After the initial sting of Jake's unintentional burn, you stopped to think. He has to be nice, charming, and kind to his mom. The bare minimum, really. "I don't know, maybe a dancer?" You shrugged and said something completely random knowing Jake could barely do a tumble roll (no offence).
Jake looked taken aback. "You can't dance, what's so hot about dancers?" You were now in front of your first block class. Jake doesn't even take pottery so for an hour‐thirty minutes he can't bother or talk to you. You rolled your eyes for the hundredth time this morning "Jake, seriously, give it up" you opened the door of the classroom and slammed it in his face. Aggressive? Maybe, but anything to get this Aussie away from your face.
"Literally, you date him!" You pushed Eunchae a bit because of her constant insistence of you giving Jake a chance. "No way! He's not my type" she rolled her eyes "who's your type anyway?" You asked, she never shows interest in any guy at school and she's drop dead gorgeous so… plus, school is often filled to the brim with mid guys anyway.
"Um… I kinda like Yang Jungwon from class 3" she chuckled a bit and tucked a strand of hair out of her face. "Really?! He's a grade older though" you and eunchae started talking more about Jungwon and Jake as you two entered the cafeteria.
"They're friends aren't they?" Eunchae asked "Jake and Jungwon?" you started to think about Jake and his massive group of friends. Most of them were fake but he had six close friends— if you recall. "Yeah, I think they've been friends for a while. Kinda cool how he has friends in the upper and lower classes" you placed your bag down at a table and sat down. Your legs hurt from running in cross country yesterday.
"I'll grab food for the both of us today" Eunchae smiled and left. What an angle, must know you're in pain from sprinting one hundred metres yesterday. You pulled out your phone and looked on instagram, the reels make you feel like a baby unaware of time while scrolling through hundreds of videos. "Hey" someone said, and sat down next to you. At first you thought it would be Jake. But after another beat of silence you knew this couldn't be the loud frat-boy energy Jake emitted everywhere he went. Instead when you looked up it was Niki. The Japanese boy in your pottery class. He had a more timid aura— quiet and reserved.
"Hi," you replied. "What's up?" You're still confused why the boy is sitting next to you. He sighed, you tilted your head in confusion "sorry. My friends— Jake actually, wanted me to talk to you" he confessed, a little laugh was bubbling deep in your throat. He looked up after looking down in his lap "well this is the worst first impression" he smiled awkwardly, "I'm Niki" he introduced himself, "I know who you are niki" he was shocked— apparently he thought you didn't know him— even though you've been classmates since junior high. "I don't have a memory of a goldfish Niki" he nodded and looked away embarrassed "tell Jake I'm not interested," Eunchae came back and placed your trays of food down.
"Actually I was wondering if you were down for some dance classes?" He said "Text me" he placed his number on your table and ran— dashed— back to his table.
The note had messy boy handwriting. Aka really wobbly and almost unreadable. "What's Niki doing talking to yah?" Eunchae began eating her fresh rice and kimchi "I don't really know," you looked at his number. Dance lessons? Did Jake tell him your type? "I think Jake made him talk to me," you scooped some soup into your mouth. "Something about dance lessons? Should I do it?" You handed the note to Eunchae. "'Private finance lessons with me (niki)'" she read the note aloud and slammed it down onto the table. "Yes! Take the lessons, I think Niki's been dancing before he could talk. Boy knows how to dance."
"Fuck, am I actually doing this?" You huffed and played with the hem of your workout top. It's now or never. Pushing the huge doors that separated you from your impending doom, you slowly stepped in, you took in the clean white walls, fresh smell of the lobby and lastly the posters everywhere. Posters of famous dancers, the dance teachers themselves, even kpop idols were everywhere. The crisp fall air outside brushed you slightly as someone stepped into the lobby. "Oh, um— uh, one second" the crunchy way of talking could only belong to someone as awkward as Niki. "Hey, I can't believe I'm actually doing this but, yeah. I'm here for a lesson," Niki was beside you, wearing a black sweater that was frayed at the sleeves and arms. His cargo pants seemed twice the size of you and his black hat covered his eyes. Even with his awkward personality around you, he had confidence— especially here at his dance studio.
Geez, maybe dancers are hot.
"Sorry for the mess," Niki placed his bag down and pushed some stuff away from the front of the mirror. "You actually came— which I didn't really expect… I didn't get a chance to rehearse anything." He played with his fingers nervously and looked up at you through his eyelashes. "It's ok! I–I don't know," you scratched the top of your head "I can leave?" Maybe this was a mistake, he clearly doesn't have a choreo or even a genre of dance I could learn-. "No! Please don't" Niki cut in before your mind got the better of you. "I have a pair dance we could dance to, it's beginner friendly and you get to…" he trailed off "what?" Was he blushing? "You get to dance with me" he finished and finally looked at your eyes. "Perfect"
You're an awful dancer. Correction: embarrassingly horrible. Your mom always said you have two left feet, guess she was right. "Ok, I think we should take five," Niki says, grabbing a Gatorade water bottle out from his bag and squeezing water into his mouth. "I'm sorry," your face is red from an hour of dancing. Somehow this is harder than cardio. "You're wasting time teaching an old dog new tricks" Niki turns and faces you "what?" He doesn't think you're wasting his time. He's had the most fun dancing with you then any dance partner he's been partnered with for the last two years. He won't say this out loud though. "You're fun to dance with y/n".
"Oh, I'm not very good but thanks" you smiled at him, eyes creasing and teeth on full display. God he could've kissed yopu right there. Actually, he did.
Nishumura Riki has put his lips of yours. Holy shit, holy shit. He got scared because of yoir silence and pulled away. "Im sorry, i didn't mean to that just now. I would ask you to dinner first—like a gentlemen—but apparently I can't even control regular human emotions around you-"
You giggled as he kept stressing over the kiss. He looked over with wide eyes after hearing you laugh.
You stood on your tippy toes and places a sweet kiss to his pink lips, stealing his breath away. After you broke off the kiss he kepr chasing your lips with his own.
"In a world full of boys, you are a gentlemen Nishmura"
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Been in the drafts a lil to long
Truth be told, i have no idea where that reference is from
Not proofread at all b t dubs , love yall even tho i disapeard off the face of the eartg 4 months
How are yalls 2024 going? Well for me i have been breaking out so much, um its hard for me to feel pretty. But 2024 is gonna my year /j 😍😍
#ᨳ reborn !#enhypen imagines#enha fluff#enhypen fanfic#niki enhypen#niki x y/n#enhypen niki#enhypen#enhypen x reader#riki nishimura x reader#nishimura riki
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HOW TO DISAPPEAR — CAPTAIN JOHN PRICE.
꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ synopsis: after a failed attempt at a date, you unexpectedly find yourself in the hands of comfort of your dormmate, (also known as your captain.)
꒰ ୨୧ ꒱ contents: bits of angst, age difference, comfort sex, body worship, praise kink, soft dom!price, vaginal fingering, size difference, size kink, just a whole lot of filth, grinding, overstimulation, daddy kink, missionary position, reader is described as feminine (descriptions of feminine clothes, anatomy.)
Provided with an interval of short respite, you find yourself in a situation; one that you would've never expected to end up in, much in similarity to a fly tangled in a spider's web. You in contrast to the fly, you're meet-up date the spider. As weird as the analogy was, it was the best description to fit whatever you were in. Drifted mid-thigh dress, Mary-Jane platformed heels, and an elegant touch to your appearance — a noticeable separation between your standard uniform attire and skin constantly caked in dirt and some drying blood originated from a concluded expedition. You'd been granted permission to be let off base for the night, just for this single opportunity.
A few miles away from base, in some settled town, there you stood in front of an entrance to a restaurant. Lip of your bottom lip chewed from your top row of teeth, the stinging cold of the wind blowing directly at your face each time you watched either sides of the sidewalk for the man. Sparks of anticipation raged at your chest in hopes for him to arrive.
Fifteen minutes, then thirty, then a hour. A second passing of that first hour.
You leaned up against the tile of the building, slumped and at a loss of confidence of him showing up. Perhaps it was the unsolicited consequences of your actions, having been warned by your peers days prior. Cautionary pieces of advice on how the guy could be a complete fraud — you having been fallen victim like the many other girls he had in the centers of his palms, tearing their hopes down and slaughtering their hearts apart. Naivety had got the best to you for this — immediate regret flooding.
A majority of guys were assholes. That was that, nothing more. Nothing practical, and no explanations to further expand into the subject matter. They possessed the kind of crudity, a sense of vulgarness that was nothing but mere torture — burying their teeth into people most sensitive to vulnerability, dismantling of their emotions. Warning signs came at you all at once and you do what you do best; be entirely oblivious to it, look past it and push on with your romanticized scenarios of the worst.
You had a terrible habit of doing that — being unsophisticated to new things. You loathed it, and wished you could overcome it but somehow; you just never do, never learn from your own tragedies. And it had just happened again on this particular night, one full of hope and keenness, now drained out and wrung of it. On the surface, you’re a solely normal girl. But if someone were to really reach down and observe your mentality in this moment, oh, how corrupt they’ll view you as. Corrupted. Heartbroken.
A deeper chew into your lip distracts you. From the tears that are right about to drip from your glossy eyes, that is. Another distraction is the bone of your thumb sliding across the screen of your mobile, alternating between multiple kinds of screens — waiting for a singular apology, some kind of notice from the man. The sight was humiliating to be in position, to you, at least; slumping at the wall of some restaurant, on the brink of the tears just because of one guy who wouldn’t give his presence to you. Fucking humiliating, you think, peering at the void of screen — sauntering away from under the restaurant’s porch and onto the sidewalk.
Chime.
Through a glassy vision, you examine the illuminated screen; white and blaring with a single slab of a message punctured right in the center. You're quick to press an index finger to the message, an eagerness — not too hopeful, not too built-up — risen to your chest. Right, don't get that eagerness up. If you squint through the pooling tears, it's not a formatted text, but a single photo attachment right in place of the chatroom (blurry resolution, a presumed accidental send right to you).
While you look more into the attachment, it just garners more and more of your attention. Nothing of the real world is real to you. Only that specific file.
You feel a swell of more humiliation rush to your face, bleeding of a scorching warmth while more tears just threaten to fall down your already-stained cheeks. None of it was a pleasure to see — a girl in the image pressed up against him — shoved right to your face. Jealousy wasn't the correct terminology, but provoked? That definitely was. Processing the image, a new message forms right underneath it — as if more of your reality couldn't come crumbling down within this night.
Wrong person, didn't mean to send.
His message makes you delirious, nearly driven to the borderline of hysteria — because, fuck, was he a jackass.
Found another girl, much prettier than you. You're nothing but an easy whore, easy to please, I never wanted to meet up with your slut ass anyways.
The final message of his shreds your heart to pieces, a pile of shattered fragments while the text replays in the back of your head; easy whore, slut ass, amateur insults you've heard frequently — but it clings to you so easily, weighing you down like a pathetic mass that is near-impossible to rid of. With a combination of pathetic weight, degrading names, and your heart burst into portions — you could only help yourself to cry; silently sob into the heel of your palms while you speed walk up the slope of the sidewalk. Sweaty, ruined, and teary-eyed — who knew you were so easy to break with a couple of shaming messages and a stood-up date?
By the time you've practically hiked up a few couple of roads and hills, the pain of the route wasn't the only thing that was causing a repeated ache in yourself — a reminder to never wear heels to a faraway date. Mascara ran down in gray-ish streaks with your pristine tears, the sniffling of your nose amid the quietude of the nearing midnight. The structure of base comes into view, a few windows of light plastered onto the colossal build; it's an abnormally comforting sight, one that you've grown used to — you could consider it home, somehow, in a strange way.
Carefully, quietly, you enter through the roofed front entrance and curve the usual course to the third floor — where your shared room was located. The halls were quiet, dimly lit with a disgustingly bright light of a tinted yellow. Some rookies were outside their doors chatting, greeting you as you somberly walked through the halls with a depressing greet back to them; through the sorrow, you still had conjured up formality. Weakly, you push on the solid matter of your dormitory room and close it behind you — the hallway light no longer spilling on the insides, shrouding you in a darkness that can only be eliminated with a glimpse of moonlight peeking through the curtains right between you and Price's mattress.
Staggering over to the edge of your own bed, you slouch down and tore your platforms off, legs to your chest while your face pressed to the patches of your knees. Aware that your captain had been knocked cold in a deep slumber a few feet away from you — you give an attempt to muffle your cries that were increasing in volume, some even gliding through the attempts and into the atmosphere. Just as you were about to give up as a whole to even try to lower your noises of misery; a lamp clicks on, filling the room with a burst of a glow, Price is positioned in a half-laid figure — muscle-tight white t-shirt, visible gray sweatpants under the thinning of his blanket, a mess of his darkened brunette hair, and his thick beard aligning the strong outline of his jaw.
He squints, then widens his eyes up to the sight, elevating more of himself up to where he sat on the edge of his bed — strong legs dangling off the cliff of the mattress.
"Christ, kid," His voice raspy, as if it ran across gravel, "What time did you get here?"
"A few minutes ago." you reply, still teared.
A smidge of concern is what he indulges himself in; the concern of your circumstances, and oddly enough — your own wellbeing. His eyebrows crook downwards in consideration, hoisting his athletic build off his bed, and he wanders over right to the own foam of your mattress. The foam right next to you slumps, heavily and in weight, his eyes delayed right set on you before they settle on his lap where his knuckles fold in a form.
"Thought you would be home much later. Tomorrow," He utters, thumbs twiddling in circles. "- And apologies if that's a bit intrusive. But-" he interrupts himself, sure that the topic would be too uncomfortable to speak on with a sudden upbringing, changing up. "You're crying, you're home early, so somethin' must've happened."
It was a polite nag — and it was unusual for your superior to show such sympathy right to you. Eased, you touch up on with his eye contact. He's not afraid of the embarrassment of staring, unlike you; damning yourself for being so meek. And you instead focus on the small wrinkles that touch at the skin around his cobalt irises with white, the stubble of his heavy beard, and the straight line of his pressed lips.
"I don't want to..." you trail off, impassive. "You know, put too much on you. It's way too late anyways, past midnight."
"Enlighten me." he assures, leaning to close more gap of space.
On his word and permission, your nails dig into the flesh of your exposed thighs under the skirt. It was sweet of him to offer a session of consolation, you thought — even if the slightest mention of the sensitive-touched subject was sufficient to your heart recycling that intolerable ache of shattering. But you gave into the man anyways, pouring your all right into him.
"Guy was a complete asshole, nothing more." You started off with a cruel remark. "Stood me up at that place we were supposed to meet-up at... you paused to take a chew of your bottom lip to prevent the tears, then finish; "...then he called me a whole load of nicknames — slut, whore — after he sent me a picture of him at a bar, with another girl."
His eyebrows no longer furrow, but slant in a condolence. The large palm of his hand rests at your back, patting at the cloth, while you couldn't help but bring yourself to embed your head into the white of his shirt — leaning yourself into him, both arms of muscle clamping around you and holding you tight. Tears inaudibly discolor the white cloth into a lighter gray, throat closing in on itself as it gradually grew harder to breathe.
"Sounds like a fuckin' slag to me," He melts into the embrace of your arms wrapping around his torso, tugging at his shirt. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I really am."
Sweetheart. Your heart throbs out of the ache, in a sheepish flattery at the term.
"John?" You ask. "Why are you doing this?"
"Doing what?"
You pull yourself away from him, but keep your arms wrapped at his torso and your head at his shoulder blade. "Why are you being so nice to me?" the question of yours drags further on. "- never seen you this sympathetic to the rest of the rookies."
"Rookie? You aren't no rookie, kid." He said, taking your hands in his and keeping your wrists imprisoned in fists. "I can promise you that, you're considered one of the elite." he confesses, "And whatever that bastard told you is entirely wrong. He doesn't know you, really know you — he doesn't know you like I do."
Tension bred between you and him. With this input tension, he almost seemed like a whole new hollow of a person. Peculiar man. His words had an undertone of possessiveness to them — you didn't know if it had intended, or it had just came out in a way that you took as wrong; but it was wedged right in there, it had to be. In the juncture, he wasn't your superior, your ordering captain of an intimidating identity and wielded of firearms — but a man. A real, authentic, man clustered into a realistic wheel of pure emotions that you've grown a strange bond towards; like a quickly-developed bond out of the warfare.
He's a distraction. A pleasant distraction. Him and the conversation steers you away from your provisional depression, deteriorating it down to the backgrounds of your head. And you love it — every single minute that it consumes; and you love the way one of his hands palm at your thighs and brush up-and-down at the skin. Your hands in which encircle at his torso now rest at the front of hist chest, balling up the thinning fabric of his shirt, a breath hitching at his touch while you lean back by a few inches as both palms are now resting at your naked thighs.
One of his rested hands come to cradle the back of your head, pulling you in to feel his heavy breaths on the skin of your face. You alternate between his drowsy eyes of full lids and silk lips that bare only a minimum view of teeth; before you know it, those pairs of lipped silk on your own — finding purchase in clutching his shirt harder, more compulsion. His remaining hand at your thigh snakes to your waist during the kiss, manhandling you onto his lap. Your legs dangle off the sides, hands cupping at his face and pressing fingers into the scratch of his beard.
No longer a distraction he was but ashamed. Wanting to break off those plush lips of yours; resign off his position as captain, never to catch you in his sights again. But he just couldn't, devoted to entire being and after months of eyeing you around the barracks and missions — he had you right where he wanted you, pretty little thing right on his lap, the curve of your neck bent to slope your head down to press your lips to his.
Nothing wrong about it in these areas of pleasure, at least in his own set of minds.
He admires your anatomy through half-lid lenses; how your shut lashes curled to the upper section of your eye, the soft nudge of your nose to his, the exclusive shape of your face. His cradling hand favors almost the entire expanse of your head, locks intertwined between the slits of his thick fingers. Smacks of lips and grinding, a stir of unadulterated ecstasy, currents of shocks running along your spine — you worship everything about it, because it's a kind of a one-time thing, so sparse — quickly paced, (Although from now on, it might be something more of a complete thing with him).
"Never told me how good you could taste, darling," he rasps between kisses, "- and to believe you've been hidin' this from me all these months."
A few pants puff from your lips to his. "Wanted to, but didn't know if you wanted it."
"If I knew it felt like this, then I'd damned myself for not giving it a shot."
"I've wanted you for long." your words drag into a whine.
"Yeah? How long have you, honey?" he inquires, kissing along your jaw to give some breathing space in the mean time. "Want to hear you say it for me, come on."
You bite your lip, tilting your head back to grant more access for his lips to implant themselves on your flesh. "Even when I was still messaging that guy," you gasp on your words when he bites at your neck, tongue lapping at the mark. "I couldn't help but think of you. Pretended it was you telling me all of those dirtiest things, calling me your sweetheart, your girl..."
Your revelation stuns him back, kissing a particular patch of skin harsher when the words choke out from you — your hips grinding rougher into his crotch, hands on his chest tugging at his shirt, back formed in an arch.
"You never really wanted that man, didn't you?" he asks.
"No... no," you heave with your thighs squeezing together. "I guess I was just lonely, desperate to have someone fill the space where you should've been."
"Oh, you'll have me," he withdraws slowly, hands rested at each of your hips while a tensed eye contact returned, "Don't you worry that pretty little head of yours."
The next scene, his fingers trail down to your thighs once more — only this time they venture further, caressing the inner sections of your thighs from underneath the flow of your skirt. A whimper stifles in your throat; how long he’s waited to hear those noises. Those pretty, personal noises of yours.
His thumb rests at your clothed clit through your panties, a shock running up your spine at the contact. Your hands link around his neck, legs on-instinct spreading wider while on his lap. The thumb at your clit begins to rub small circles — and being no longer able to confine any noises or movements, your back arches in an impossible curl while you slant your head backwards and allow more of those pretty noises to tear from your throat. A feverish sensibility runs to your face like blood through veins, the rest of that heat flowing off of right into the surrounding air — nostrils continually crowded with the aroma of sex and his masculine scents of spiced cologne and puffed cigars where you tucked your head at the dip of his neck; face pressed into the side of his.
Thick fingers skate past the waistband of your panties, a gasp at the cold fingertips settling on your folds; moving ministrations collecting in rounds at your founded clit, middle and index finger prodding at your cunt — slamming into the sweet abyss of your cunt with a final maneuver; one that you've fabricated scenarios about in a wave of indignity established.
"John-" the whine of his name was cut-off when those fingers of his began to pump up-and-out of you. Your body grows frail, limp on his lap with only his one hand on your hip supporting you while the other was occupied at your cunt. "Feels s'good..."
"Yeah, doll?" he tilts his head to get a better look at your face of pleasured contortions, "I assure it'll be much better when I have you on my cock."
Your head tilts backwards using nothing but the air as a leverage, mouth agape; a range of sounds breaking free of the raw barriers of your throat. The concept of a ‘better’ sensation had caused your body to writhe under this every touch, a non-infectious fever messes at your head as your body does all it can do as of now; submit to him as if he were still under the title of ‘Captain’ out on the fields of war, putting you right under his controlled commands.
Price angles his head to where the point of his nose pokes at the heated flesh of your cheek, lips ghosting over the structure of your jaw. He pins ghost kisses over your cheek, then your jaw, flooding you over with an affection while his fingers worked their ways inside your cunt. The contact has a sting to it, almost like a prick of a needle — a burning, elating sensation against you that died down to a more soothed feeling.
The addition of two fingers thrusted up inside of you and a thumb rubbing in quick motions at your swollen clit matured a coil in your lower abdomen; sensitive and swirling in a dragged-out pleasure that was dying to be released of its own prison where it stood in place. Your mind was blank — full-on buzzed static and a memory like a cleaned slate; entirely drunk on wherever he chose to touch you, whether it was a small grasp of your waist or a rough motion to your the throb located right between your thighs.
Your skin had been wholly flushed of sweat and caused the material of your dress to stick to you, a pre-arousal starting to leak around the length of his fingers. Your chest heaved with each hefty breath, eventually diluting to shorter breaths that were practiced in shorter durations. The tips of his fingers never failed to press at that soft spot of sensitivity, a low moan or whine played each time he did press up at it.
You gather some composure to form words, stuttered and whines but perceivable enough to recognize as the spoken language.
“John- I’m gonna cum, feels s’good,” you whine.
He stares, languid. “I’m not stopping you reaching your own pleasure baby,” he whispers, continuing to ghost his lips against the bow of your jaw and the warmth of your cheek.
His permission was the maximum to send you over that long-awaited cliff of ecstasy; a glowing, flashing beam of white depicting of your eyesight. Your legs had extended themselves more in width at the overwhelming wave of rapture which brushes over your; back arched in an impossible hooked curve, nails digging through his shirt and leaving crescents into skin behind. A surge of your arousal bursts around his fingers, that still proceed to thrust into your cunt despite your orgasm already at its peak.
Your eyes twitch at his fingers through your orgasm, your fingers wrapping at the wrist of his moving hand. “S’too much, daddy, can’t do more…”
“Daddy, huh?” he questions, even shocked himself at the sudden term you use for him, “Never knew you were into that kind of shit, sweetheart,” his last sense of morality slips away, a carnage urge running through the path of his head. “But I gotta do this, get you all ready for my cock.”
He gives you a couple more of short, quickened thrusts into your cunt before he slides his drenched fingers out of you — a whine from your lips at the loss of contact that once filled you, kept you full and at ease. The hand rested at your hip travels to your back, easily handling you off his lap and gently tossing you back-facing the mattress. His hand of drenched fingers are slowly pulled in with the use of your fingers wrapped at the wrist, taking the digits into your mouth and lapping at your own personal taste.
“Christ,” he breathes, taking admiration in the way he stares at you while your tongue wraps at his fingers, “Fuckin’ minx.”
The clutch you have on his hand loosens up after you lap up the final remains of your taste on the pads of his fingers — now only coated in a thin layer of saliva. Price can only manage a gruff chuckle, eyeing his fingers before he can position himself between the space of your spread thighs; that had extended out for him without the need of a single order given to you.
You practically knew what he would’ve wanted of you in this situation; spread out those legs for him, exposing your all just for him.
He takes the time to quickly tug the white of his shirt over his head, an exhibition of a sculpted chest littered with some hair; glistened with sweat and glossed over in some shine. At this, your bottom lip tugs at your teeth and you raise an arm up to each strap of your dress — pulling the light-weighted item down your shoulder and down to your knees where your legs assisted with kicking the rest of it off. The both of you sat there, half-naked; a bra, panties, sweatpants, and boxers the only forms of shelters that was wedged in between from the final stage of being bare and intimate.
His fingers next work at the waistband of his sweatpants and rag it down along with his boxers — in some way, it was animalistic, like he was in some desperate need to get everything off in order to finally be inside of you, (Which was exactly that). You peel your panties, doused of a previous arousal, down your thighs and discard them onto the floor to be forgotten of. Focusing, you rested your head on a more elevated surface on the pillow for a better perspective — the perspective of his cock that hovered over your stomach; larger than average, a few prominent veins that ran from his base to the dulled head, and the pre-cum that glazed over the slit. A fist pumps at his cock a few times.
The sight was erotic — the absolute condition of the situation erotic. Pornographic, even; the modest swaying of your hips, the flat head of himself now rested at your inner thighs, and a spitting image of a man straight from a seventies adult film at your own personal use — something about this was so utterly artistic and devoted. Your chest grows heavy with an excitement, numbed of intense heat. The bleary-lidded aspect of his eyes only can help to cherish over you like a sacred entity; an angel sent from heaven for his own keep.
"Can't believe that arsehole, lovie," he vocalizes while running the rough of his hands up your hips, taking compliment to the way your supple flesh dents and forms to his touch. "You're absolutely gorgeous, such a pretty lil' lady."
"Please," you whimper, flat palms digging into the fitted sheet which your clammy body lays under. "Can't wait any longer, daddy..."
The nickname on your pretty lips again pitches him off the last bits of patience, the hold your hips tighter as his hips ram against yours — a rapid, precise movement. The sensation of his cock filling your tender cunt up after months of indulging in the same day-dream had your back arching over the mattress, head absorbed in the fabric of the pillow, legs reinforced around his waist. The few sets of thrusts are slow and devoted, due to your tightness and essentially preparing you for more to come.
"You poor thing," he breathes out, slamming his cock into your wanting walls, "You've longed of this, haven't you? Must've been achin' so bad for my cock in your pretty pussy."
You're deprived of your words — any consciousness of your body — and only can help yourself to nod, admitting to his query.
Your saccharine moans and additional whines that he hauls from you are sublime to his ears; ones that he, shamefully, has speculated while inspecting you each time you would return back to your shared room — in addition to his times of isolation when nobody was around and off to their combat drills, his fist fucking around his cock with his head thrown back to the tile of the shower, grunting and envisioning your swollen lips taking his cock in like a divine sacrament. His eyes drift to your chest — a grunt tearing from his throat each time your breasts jolted with each slam of your hips.
He shadows his body over your own, chest of hair pressing to the softer mounds of your breasts as his lips press to almost every spots of your face.
"Could he ever do this?" he questions against your face, head rested in the on your shoulder while the leaned position he holds himself in causes his cock to pound into you more aggressively and deeper. "Could that prick ever fuck you like this, baby? Like a real man?"
"N- No!" you stutter, pressing your face to his neck and digging your nails to the flexible muscles of his naked back. Your legs stand out in the air and twitch every so often. "He couldn't... only you can."
"Mmm," he hums, pounding into your sweet cunt like a drill-hammer. "That's right, doll. I'll be the only man to treat you like this, to pull those beautiful noises that you hide from me."
Drool begins to collect at a corner of your mouth as he converts your brain to a mush of mess, body compliant and gone completely frail to the way he pounds you into the mattress. His hands slowly move from your hips to the hardened walls behind your bed, distancing himself up by a few inches as he pursues with more thrusts brimming of carnality. Relevant creaks of the mattress and the shared commotion of solid grunts and pitched moans reverberated at the slim, smothered walls that had grew moist overtime in the airspace of sex.
The head of his cock kisses at your cervix, each protruding vein branding itself in the clenched walls of your cunt. Your back sprouts an ache in the arched posture you holds yourself in — one hand coming down to your stomach and pressing on the area you feel his cock stretches you out from.
A broken gasp abandons your lips, arms stabilized up at your head and trembling. "John, mmph—" you get out, "S'too much, can't handle a lot more..."
"I know, darlin'," he said, "But all you gotta do is lay here all pretty and let me fuck you, simple as it sounds. Can you do that for me, pretty?"
You squeal when he gives a particular harder thrust into you. "I dunno—"
"C'mon, pretty thing, you can do it," Price said, breath full of cigar smoke, "Make me proud, angel."
Tears — not of sadness, but the sensation of being cherished washing over you and hitting you like a brick — paint your shot-opened eyes, only a silent nod agreeing to his words. He smiles, leaning to give you a kiss on your forehead before positioning himself back to your gleaming entrance; large hands strong on both sides of your hips, his upper-half slumped over you, your lower-half elevated and rested around his waist. The next collection of thrusts are fast, laced with precision as you feel yourself grow weaker, whines leaving your mouth with his more often occurring groans. Your inner-thighs grow soaked, body filthy of sweat and the remnants of your former orgasm on your skin that he caused.
Your entrance is slick, glistened with your arousal that had just started to form up. The noises of skin-on-skin escalating, and the strength he drills into you becoming overwhelming. With your smaller frame in comparison to his much larger, bulky build; you were bound to be left sore and aching after this. Your head has gone stupefied in every single corner — drunk of his cock and how it never fails to inch your closer to the final stage of pleasure that has you seeing heaven and blinded visions of white. A familiar coil in your stomach has more pressure added onto it with his flat palm still resting on it, slightly weighing down on the sticky layer of skin. You're beneath under him once again, much like how you did first on his lap, but more amorous.
The bulbous girth of his cock reaches barbaric speeds, providing you with no breaks in between — your desperate whines and pleads out to him cut short, delivered in incomprehensible babbles. Your legs are desensitized; back offered off of the bed as the two of his hands move to clutch your waist in a humane nature as if you were some doll, his hips paused right to yours and his cock nestled in the depths of you. Your fingers run up and down his back in brisk movements, nails slashing the tattered skin of declined battle scars. Warmth spurts right through your walls and washes over your insides in tints of white.
For a second time, the constructed coil in you loses itself, inspiring your cunt to spill while motionless at his cock and douse his rested thighs in your arousal. He slouches over you, plunging his frame down to rest against you. His chest meets right to yours; the soft, plush flesh of your breasts contrary to his more vigorous torso of hair furnishing the domain. The present force once at your delicate cunt is absent, pulled out, a final low whimper given rise to at the loss. Your nails remove themselves from the violent burial they give to his back, compressing your palms and stiffening your arms into him that was an embrace.
His head that rests at your shoulder turns to your face of a fucked-out expression, a chuckle from his mouth at the sight as his lips press sloppy kisses to your neck and face; a hum from your mouth at the softened contact of his beard scratching at your face. Whispers of praise and repeated cooes dive to your ears — quite inaudible since you were clearly still numb from sex. Sex that you played-out with your Captain, your superior. In a moralistic classification, such a relationship with a superior figure was inappropriate; putting you and Price at the risk of being ejected from both your positions, but it didn't really matter as of now.
As long as he devoted himself to you with his all, and you did the same for him, there was no wrongs. He was the one in command after all, supplied with a great amount of power over the Task Force.
He peppers your face in the traces of his lips. "You doin' better now, dolly?"
"Mmhm, yeah..."
"Much better than him, isn't that right?"
You give him a dopey smile. "Way better."
Price brings his hands to your hair, petting at the strands and locking your face in the scent of himself while he never falters to bring a kiss to whichever part of your face. "Yeah, I know that, sweet girl. Much better."
#.୨୧ fleur's writing.#captain john price#captain john price x reader#john price x reader#captain john price x female reader#john price x female reader#captain price smut#captain john price smut#john price smut#call of duty mw2#cod mw2 fanfic#oneshot#female reader
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Now, I know that other people have made similar connections between the Wachowski family protecting Green Hill for the past fifty years and Project Shadow but I'd like to plant my own theory about how I think Sonic the Hedgehog 3 will go down.
So, while the timeline isn't specifically clear, I was able to pinpoint exactly when Project Shadow was taking place: the 1970s. Do you know what else was taking place during the 1970s?
The Cold War. Project Shadow was built as a supersoldier to help GUN during the Cold War.
However, after GUN becomes paranoid of Gerald seeing Shadow as a member of his family rather than the weapon he made, they make the decision to invade Space Colony Ark.
And amongst the GUN soldiers is none other than Tom Wachowski's grandfather, a young, hopeful man in his late twenties to early thirties who has hopes of making the world a better place.
During the raid, Mr. Wachowski suddenly sees Project Shadow running with a shaking, pale twelve-year-old girl in a blue dress and thinking the worst, decides to go after the two, worried about the girl's safety.
However, it's only after a reckless, fatal decision that Mr. Wachowski learns the truth: Maria Robotnik really was an innocent child who was already suffering from an illness. And he took whatever future she may have had prematurely.
All because of the government's paranoia of Project Shadow.
Now disillusioned by the organization he joined to bring world peace and his dreams shattered, Mr. Wachowski makes the decision to resign from GUN and move to a small, countryside town to completely start over.
This town happens to be Green Hill, and he becomes their Sheriff over time, earning a reputation for being a likeable, loving yet protective Sheriff of their town.
However, despite becoming the Sheriff, Mr. Wachowski knows that whatever good he may do in this small town will never bring back the innocent twelve-year-old who stood defiantly in front of an escape pod.
Becoming embittered, scarred and almost broken, Mr. Wachowski only finds the mental strength to carry on would be his son (Tom's father---whom I'll call Michael). Judging by the fact that Tom seems to be in his mid-to-late thirties by the first film, Tom's father Michael would've likely been anywhere from a toddler to eight years old at most by the time GUN raided Space Colony Ark.
In the following years afterward, Mr. Wachowski never once reveals to his wife or family what actually happened at the Ark, knowing that they'd never forgive him for taking the life of an already sickly child. He only keeps a small diary that contains his thoughts over the next 50 years, thoughts of grief, regret, and horror over what he had done.
It's shortly after his grandson Tom is born that Mr. Wachowski passes away, taking his secret to the grave.
And it's not until after the events of Sonic 2, when Tom and Maddie find Mr. Wachowski's journal and the secret he's kept for all these years, forever shattering Tom's view of his grandfather.
And now, Project Shadow is coming for them (I mean, his glare during the final seconds of the second film says it all)....
#sonic the hedgehog#sonic the hedgehog 3#Sonic gun#shadow the hedgehog#tom wachowski#maria robotnik#my interpretation of Sonic the Hedgehog 3
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“t, they just leeched onto the same host to resuscitate their dying careers.” Sometimes I wonder what a sober, emotionally healthy Harry would look like now? Pre-Meghan, he seemed reasonably happy. He may still have had his issues with resentment, not enjoying all aspects of royal work, but when he went to engagements he did seem to enjoy it. He also had his friends. Maybe he’s a better actor than his wife? Outwardly, he just didn’t seem so self-obsessed and angry before 2016. Meghan and Omid are what they are, leeches or suckerfish. They always need a host to survive off of. I just don’t know if Harry has realized he’s the host. I’m not a Harry defender by any means. He was warned repeatedly about her by almost everyone in his life but he ignored it. However, he is the one in that relationship to have given up/lost everything he’s known in his life.
Harry was never much better an actor than Meghan. It was always clear what he was thinking/feeling on his face, even in his "healthy" days. The only differences were a) he had a longer fuse than Meghan ever did and b) he was the most popular person, or the second-most popular, in the BRF so he rode an enormous wave of popularity and goodwill. He was consistently in the 60s and 70s percentile in the YouGov rankings (mostly in the 60s, but every once in awhile it peaked up into the 70s).
I suspect is that Meghan thought Harry's popularity would rub off on her - possibly the way she thought William's popularity helped boost Kate's number. It worked for a little bit but then Meghan's own actions cancelled out whatever "help" her polling got from Harry so she got angry that he wasn't helping, causing him to get angry that his family wasn't helping. It snowballed from there.
An equally-important question to ask is with everyone around Harry and all the protections he had, how could Meghan have sunk her claws into Harry so deeply, so quickly. That answer reveals Harry may not have been as mentally or emotionally healthy as we think: he heard the ticking of his biological clock. All of his friends and family settling down with their own families at home, so there was no one left to hang out with him. (William used to get flack for preferring to stay in with Kate and the kids, which probably meant Harry was behind those attacks.) And on top of losing his friends, Harry was also losing his favor with the media, as more and more the press focused on George and Charlotte instead. The daughters and granddaughters of the aristocracy weren't dating him, suggesting something was definitely off, or not there. He was desperate to get married because everyone else around him was.
(To that I totally understand. I'm mid-thirties myself, everyone else in my family is settled down, and it does suck to go to family events without a partner and to celebrate milestones for friends that aren't happening for you. There's a singles tax everywhere, and I can't imagine it's any easier for someone like Harry, whose family is in a line of work that requires marriage and children for prosperity. So I can see the desperation of 'when will it happen for me' causing enormous pressure that he was unprepared to handle.)
And we know he heard the clock of time ticking loudly because he asked every girl he dated to marry him, and they all turned him down. So as much as we think Meghan rushed Harry down the aisle, Harry was also rushing her down the aisle too. So he wasn't in the best of places mentally or emotionally in 2016 and it just deteriorated from there.
A truly sober, truly emotionally healthy Harry probably would've put the brakes on how quickly Meghan moved the relationship, and there's a very real chance Meghan would have left if he did slow down the relationship (she threatened him throughout the whole relationship that she was prepared to walk out any second) so we wouldn't even be here today. If she didn't leave when he slowed the relationship down, I think the what-if is we still wouldn't be here today because there probably wouldn't have been a Megxit since the alternate timeline would push everything back - meaning they'd be stuck in the UK during lockdowns with a lockdown baby, which changes everything.
So for a truly sober, truly emotionally healthy Harry to have seen the likes of Meghan and Scobie coming from miles away - as the rest of the BRF seems to have done - the clock would probably have to turn back much, much further than 2016. I think we're looking at 2010/2011 kind of time - Harry needed to start therapy much sooner, the palace shouldn't have created the William-Kate-Harry monster, and Harry needed either to stay in the military longer (or have a civilian job like William) or be given more royal duties/work to the scale of the Kents and Gloucesters because it's apparent that the 'not working' lifestyle is what sent Harry into the tailspin leading to Meghan/today.
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Olrox Headcanons
.Olrox was the son of a Tetechutin, a high lord of Aztec culture (he seems too regal and sophisticated to have just been a commoner. Another tell he was probably royalty or nobility is his emerald earring as only royals/nobles could wear them).
.Though polygamy was common among Aztec nobility, his father was loyal only to his mother. This is what inspired him to be a loyal, devoted partner.
.He was young when the conquistadors came, about in his mid to late teens.
.He blames Montezuma for his empire's downfall because he foolishly let the invaders live instead of killing them on sight. He believes it would've saved them so much trouble.
.He and his family kept their titles as a result of the conquest and the implementation of the Spanish order (because the Spanish king saw it as a way of pacifying the local nobles). However, the rest of his people were forced into hard labor under the Spanish encomtenda (landlord). He hated every moment he was forced to bear the Spainards but kept it in for the sake of his remaining family.
.He saw many friends and family members die either by warfare or disease. He suffers survivor's guilt as a result. This also began his greatest fear- losing loved ones and feeling helpless to stop it.
.Olrox was turned in the year 1533 and was between his late 20s-early thirties.
.His sire was an incredibly ancient and powerful Olmec vampire (Olmecs were the ancestors of the Aztecs and lived thousands of years before they did). He/she was a priest/priestess of the god Quetzalcoatl in their human life and, for whatever reason, made a pact with the serpent deity to become a vampire. Olrox then made a similar pact when they turned him and that's why Olrox is so powerful- his sire was very powerful and very ancient, at least 1500-2000+ years old.
.Olrox slaughtered the encomtenda and other local oppressors that had indentured his people, freeing many of the Aztec slaves as well, some of them following Olrox and being turned by him. After that, he began traveling the world. He would cross paths with many so called vampire hunters. Well, you all know how that fared for them.
.After two centuries, Olrox had long become the lord of the vampires in the Americas, (possibly being one of the first vampires in the New World). His reputation is what possibly drove Julia Belmont to hunt vampires in America.
.His feathered serpent form is the result of his sire's pact with Quetzalcoatl.
.He met his Mohican lover at least a decade or so before the Native American was killed by Julia.
.His lover refused to feed on human blood, only animal blood. Olrox respected his wishes. Olrox even followed his example by splitting his feedings between animals and humans.
.Olrox protected his lover on the battlefield when he fought in the Revolutionary War.
.Olrox is bisexual but leans more towards men. Homosexuality was frowned upon in Aztec society and for a long time he struggled with it.
.His favorite color is purple.
.His favorite flowers are orchids.
.His favorite food was tamales.
.His eyes were light green even as human. According to him, he got the color from his mother.
.His preference for feeding on the rich stems from his deeply ingrained grudge against rich white men. Although, he equates rich white men to diseased vermin at times since they brought plagues to his people.
.He would never feed on women, children or the elderly. He's not that cruel.
.In vampire society, he's attained the status of an aristocrat. He understands that power and wealth is what drives the world and plays the game if just to survive and keep from ever being powerless or enslaved again.
. It's not that he hates money and wealth, it's that he hates corrupt people using money and status to harm others.
.In his 250+ years as a vampire noble, he's accumulated an insane amount of wealth, power and influence. He gets his wealth mainly from his own trading company and has many trade partners all over the world (most of them vampires). You won't find him complaining about his massive bank account.
.He's come to love British tea and began trading in it. He was PISSED when one of his shipments was ruined in the Boston Tea Party.
.The earrings he wears are relics from his Aztec culture and from his days as a human, as is his obsidian dagger.
.He's acquired a taste for fine wine, as well as all the finer things in life. He's also more than a bit vain, dressing in only the finest clothes and using only the most expensive soaps and oils for his skin and hair. He was born into wealth and luxury after all. He also detests getting dirty but still will if he has no other choice.
.The ghostly skulls he summons in battle come from the Spirit World as he can open portals to the realm.
.He knows a lot of spells and magic and is quite the mystical scholar.
.He has a large python and a jaguar as pets back home.
.He still enjoys eating regular food very much, like most vampires do.
.He's very much an avid reader, and has taken a liking to English literature.
.He'll admit: he loves European fashions and loves the way silk and satin feels against his skin. He will NOT however in this, or any lifetime, wear a powdered wig! You won't catch him staked with one on and whoever came up with them was obviously mentally retarded.
.He goes back to Mexico every year to visit and honor the graves of his loved ones on Dia Del Los Muertos.
.He took his lover's body back to Stockbridge and buried him in a spot that held sentimental value to the both of them- like underneath a favorite tree or by the river where they spent so much time together.
.Olrox combs his hair at least one hundred times.
.One of the hardest parts Olrox went through when he first became a vampire was learning to eat and talk without stabbing his lip or tongue with his newly acquired, lethally sharp fangs
.Olrox doesn't feel the need to drain humans dry when he feeds- he can get by perfectly fine on a small, safe amount. To him, such an act is quite barbaric, not to mention a gluttonous waste. That is, of course, unless said human truly pisses him off.
.He abhors slavery and sympathizes with slaves- he knew what it was like to have his people become enslaved. All of his subjects follow him willingly because he inspires great loyalty in them as well as ruling them with fairness and compassion. He's even freed a number of human slaves across the globe as well.
.Olrox is a very devoted, passionate and affectionate lover. His significant others or lovers would experience unparalled romance and pampering at the Aztec vampire's side. He loves to cuddle and is very "touchy-feely.'' The sex is also out of this world!!!
.Olrox doesn't like to be referred to as an "Aztec'' as that was a term coined by the Spanish. His people were really called the Mexica (that's how Mexico got its name).
.He is either immune or is at least resistant to sunlight (we've seen him out in daylight twice- once when he went to the Abbey and once when he stood in front of a window with sunlight streaming in).
.He's read the Bible, but considers it preachy and hypocritical. He once laughed at the thought of it making him "burn up."
.He is disgusted by the practice of devil forging because he feels it's an abomination as well as completely disrespectful and inhumane to the souls of the deceased.
.He has a soft spot for children and goes out of his way to protect the human children in the vicinity of his home from other vampires, robbers, monsters etc.
.Deep down, Olrox knows undeniably that if they had met other different circumstances, if he (Olrox) had never had his previous lover, if the Belmont family were not so adamantly sold on killing vampires, Olrox would've definitely pursued Richter as a love interest (the boy is a pretty, feisty little thing after all).
.He lives in a large manor somewhere in New England, possibly close to Stockbridge, because that's where his lover was from and by living there, he feels like he is keeping some part of him alive.
.The beads Olrox wears in his braid belonged to his lover. They are tokens he kept to remember him.
.His style of flirting includes teasing and provoking the object of his affections with touches or jibes. He loves to see them get riled up and display great fire and passion. That's what he loves the most about his potential lovers- a fiery spirit.
.If he takes a fancy to you, good luck trying to shake him; baby boy will stick to you like a shadow.
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Mr. Henley
The Rockford Files - Mr. Henley
Summary: A rich man is murdered and you and Tim must figure out which of his family members poisoned him.
Pairing: Tim Rockford x F!Reader (both in their mid/late 40s)
Rating: 18+ Series
Word Count: 13,800 (ish)
Warnings: Smut (w/no protection), violence, a very angry ghost, inaccurate detective work, medical examiner gore, fictionally speedy DNA results, and a mention of euthanizing a pet (cat).
Author's Note: This part was a long time coming - I almost didn't finish it in October. Ack! But it was worth it. I think I'm happy with the results. This has some inspiration from the Merge Mansion ads. I'm not sorry. Also, it seems 2nd parts are for smut in my little writing world. I have a pattern. ha
xxx
October 10, 1996 (Thursday)
You felt like you were being driven straight into a horror movie setting. An early morning fog encroaching on the long, deserted winding road that led to a Victorian styled gate with golden decals. Tim stopped his car at the front and you noted the number twenty-six that was painted onto one of the stone walls the gate was attached to. You were at the right address. You just weren't sure that you wanted to be.
Tim slid out of the driver's side, leaving his door open as he approached the gate with the key he'd been handed earlier by Chief Bronson, opening it up and letting the gate swing widely inward on its own.
When he climbed back into the car you began tapping your fingers on your knees, unsure of what you’d soon be walking into.
It didn't take long for the sparsely colorful forest surrounding the driveway to clear into a neatly maintained lawn lined with pink rosebushes, spread out before a massive white mansion that looked as old as the gate, although they likely hadn't been built earlier than a half a century ago.
Rich people, you thought to yourself, rolling your eyes at the obvious choice the owners had made to flaunt their money. Nobody in American history who had owned such a home had ever actually needed over thirty rooms to themselves. Most people who'd had twenty plus children couldn't afford a mansion.
"We have an hour before we have to be back at the department to question the family," Tim reminded you after parking the car, as if you needed to be.
You just nodded at him. A year ago you would've rolled your eyes, thinking he was being impatient, trying to rush you, but you'd learned with time he just worried about being late. He was a reliable person. If he could help it, he was always on time. You couldn't say the same, and you'd butted heads with him more than once over it, but eventually you'd both decided it wasn't worth it.
He fixed the position of the dark rimmed glasses that rested over the bridge of his nose (a recent addition to his attire, much to his dismay) and followed you as you strolled up the marble steps leading to the heavy looking white front door. After he used another key to unlock it you shoved the door open and stepped inside.
You didn't know enough about mansions and fancy furniture, but you knew enough to know that everything inside was mind boggling expensive. The trims were definitely made from real gold. The living room was the size of your whole apartment.
And everything was spotless - except for the dining room you headed straight for like a woman on a mission. Even though it was just you and Tim in the house, at the moment, you didn't want to give the mansion's owner the satisfaction of you having gawked at the place.
The only sign something had gone wrong in the dining room was the yellow tape and the bowl of cereal that was still, disgustingly, out on the glass table, half full of soaked flakes and rotting milk. The stench made you block your nose.
At least the body had already been picked up by Joe while the rest of the Forensics team had scoured the mansion. And the man had been found fairly quickly after his death, so the room didn't also smell like rotting flesh. You always tried to look at the bright side of things.
"I see Elliot Henley was a Frosted Flakes kind of guy," you observed humorously. "It's kind of comforting that corn flakes could potentially unite the rich and poor."
Tim snorted quietly at that, amusement sparking in his normally serious eyes. You beamed back at him. You'd taken a liking to trying to make him laugh with you rather than at your expense, like it had been at first. You were getting better at it.
"You getting any vibes, Psy?"
Where once that nickname had been at your expense, it had long since turned friendly, and in turn, you'd grown fond of it. Only from him though.
"Nothing yet," you replied with a sigh, "I'm not even creeped out by the knowledge that a dead man was sitting at this table at eight o'clock last night, face planted right on the table alongside this very bowl."
Tim arched his eyebrows, surprised. "That once bothered you?"
"It still bothers me often enough," you admitted. "I got this job because of my gift, not because of my tolerance for being around dead bodies. You?"
He shrugged. "It got better with time. It's rare a case really shakes me up."
You know exactly what kind of case shakes him up after Annie. Anything with kids. For most people in their field of work, that was the line, but it was especially true for him.
You hadn't asked Tim about his sister. You didn't need to. Helen had given you more than enough information and it wasn't your business. He was your partner, a friend, you might even dare say, but your relationship was very professional and that meant you didn't get to be nosy.
"I'm going to take a walk through the whole place, alone," you decided, "Just in case he's shy. But it's quite possible Elliot's already moved on. Even if our suspicions turn out right, that he didn't just die of a stroke or heart attack, that doesn't mean he'd linger. You know how it goes."
Tim gave you a quick nod. After working over two dozen cases with you he did know enough of how things worked, or at least how you believed things worked, since you'd yet to convince him your mind wasn't conjuring up these spirits.
Stubborn man.
He left to stand by the main entrance while you wandered room to room, trying to keep your mind focused solely on your surroundings, without paying too much attention to how absurdly "classy" everything was.
You walked the east wing first, finding Elliot's mother's room at the far end. Everything was so white it was near blinding. It felt too clean. Unlived in, except for the hairbrush with silver hair intertwined in the bristles that lay on the desk in the corner of the room next to a big bay window.
You wondered if the room had always been this way or if it had only become so sterile after her husband had died.
You concluded that it probably had always been that way when you searched the west wing and found Elliot's room to be in a similar shape, and the same for his older brother's.
Like many rich kids who hadn't worked a day of their youth away because of their parents' wealth, Elliot and Richard Henley had stuck around after they graduated high school, even into their late thirties.
It was interesting to you that Hazel, their mother, had them stay in a separate wing. For privacy or because she couldn't stand them? Either option was likely. Maybe it was for both reasons.
It took you a half hour to thoroughly check each room and give time for any presence to make themselves known, but none did, and with a long sigh you headed down the hall to return to Tim's side.
He was leaning against the door, arms folded, clearly trying to be patient, but still appearing annoyed. When he spotted you moving towards him he grunted. "Took you long enough."
"There's a lot of rooms," you said defensively.
He dropped his arms to his sides. "Please tell me you at least got something."
You shook your head apologetically and he groaned. "Great. So, this was a bust."
"Mostly, yeah," you agreed. "But I did find out that Hazel sleeps as far away from her sons' rooms as possible."
"They probably partied late into the night," Tim guessed.
It was as good of a guess as yours, but for some reason your intuition was screaming at you that there was something more to it, and in your experience it was wise not to ignore it. You'd definitely have some questions to ask the family when you got back to the police department.
Tim gestured to the door and you both stepped outside together, back onto the porch. As he locked the door again, a gust of wind ripped through the sheltered area and you shivered. It could have been just from the cold weather, but normal wind didn't usually make your skin crawl.
You glanced around warily and Tim noticed. His eyes filled with concern at your discomfort. "You sense something now?"
"That gust didn't feel right," you informed him, wrapping your arms around yourself for warmth and a sense of security. "Too cold for the season." You snuggled your nose into the wool jacket you were wearing.
His eyebrows furrowed at that. "What does that mean to you?"
"If Elliot's spirit caused that sudden gust of wind," you hesitated, not wanting it to be so, "Which I'm almost certain of, he's furious at something. Probably someone. Not necessarily who killed him. I've had several cases where the spirit was upset about something that happened right before they were murdered, since sometimes they aren't aware enough to remember what happened to them." You bit your lip. "Angry spirits aren't discriminatory. They want to lash out, get revenge, and it doesn't matter who's on the other end of their fury, as long as they are affected. Not everyone is, but sensitives like me are."
"You've been hurt by spirits before?" The lines between Tim's brows deepened. You wondered how much of it was from disbelief and how much was from genuine concern, but the fact there was concern at all was nice.
"No, I haven't had a spirit hurt me physically," you answered. "But they're great at causing nightmares and I had one purposely spook me into stumbling backwards. I was at the top of a flight of stairs."
You could've sworn a flicker of fear flashed in his eyes in reaction to what you'd disclosed, but it was gone in the blink of an eye. "Let's get you out of here then."
You didn't need to be told twice.
x
The first stop you and Rockford made after returning to the department was the Forensics Division to check for updates. You sought out Joe, finding him in the basement examining Elliot's body.
It was your first time seeing Mr. Henley outside the few family photos that had been scattered about in the mansion, and it was unsettling. It wasn't the first time you'd walked in on an autopsy, but it was the first time you'd seen a brain outside a body, in the gloved hands of the medical examiner. Your stomach did a little flip at the sight, and you tried to keep your eyes from directly looking at it and Elliot's open skull after.
"Got anything for us, Joe?" Tim inquired.
The rail thin man continued his study of Elliot's brain while he spoke. "I've got enough. Elliot here had a cardiac event. Some of his heart valves are damaged. But it wasn't natural. And my conclusion has nothing to do with him being thirty-five. Look at this."
Joe placed Elliot's brain back into his head and pointed out some dark pigmentation scattered on his skin and under his nails. "Hyperpigmentation." He pulled out a kidney that was sliced in half. Even for one that belonged to a deceased person it didn't look too healthy. "Renal damage. Any guesses as to what happened to him?"
You frowned as you pondered over it. A lot of things could cause these symptoms. But there were few that would make Joe behave this way. "Poison," you said in unison with Tim. You both glanced at each other. "Jinx," you declared, chuckling. He grunted.
"Arsenic to be exact," Joe told you, theatrically gesturing to his desktop computer in the corner of the room. "The blood results were positive for it. The hair samples are still being studied to figure out when the poisoning began, but by the evidence it seems it has been a long while."
"Arsenic is natural though," Tim pointed out. "He could have ingested too much of it by mistake through drinking water or food."
"Ah." Joe nodded. "Yes. But a very high dose was in the milk sample we took from his bowl this morning. That's not typical of pasteurized, grade A milk. Guessing he wasn't dying fast enough for whoever was adding it to his diet so they threw caution to the wind. Funny enough though, the high dose wasn't in him long enough to be the reason his heart failed. That was from the previous attempts stacking up."
"Please tell me someone's on their way to pick up that bowl before someone else gets dosed by accident," you said, though you were certain no one would dare eat from that disgusting bowl.
"Katie's on her way to rectify our mistake of leaving it behind," Joe assured you.
"Do you know if he sought out any medical attention?" Tim asked.
"I called the local hospital," Joe stated, "His primary care doctor works there, but hasn't seen him in two years and he hasn't shown up in the Emergency Room ever. I have no doubt he was suffering for weeks from this, but for whatever reason he never went to the hospital. Maybe he had nosocomephobia?" He shrugged.
"What's that?" you questioned, squinting at him in confusion.
"It's an intense fear of going to the hospital," Tim informed you. "My great tia Lucia had that phobia. She broke a hip one time, fully separated it. Despite the pain, she insisted it couldn't be broken even as she tried and failed to stand over and over. My grandmother was with her at the time."
"That's awful," you remarked, mouth agape. You'd never broken anything before, but you knew hip fractures were one of the worst breaks a person could have. She should have been seized up with pain.
"Fear is pain's greatest competitor," Joe told you solemnly.
Tim tilted his head in his direction.
"So, who do we think did it?" you quizzed. "It must be someone in the family, right?"
"Usually is," Tim replied. "Hazel would be most likely."
"Isn't their mother like eighty?"
"Seventy-eight," Tim corrected you. "And it doesn't take a body builder to kill someone by poison. You should know murderers come in all shapes and sizes and ages."
"Of course." And it wouldn't be the first time you'd helped investigate a murder where the mother killed their child.
"Anything else?" Tim asked Joe.
Joe shook his head. "I'll let you know if there's anything else useful to you as the results come in."
"Time for the interrogations then," you figured.
Tim was already halfway out the door.
x
Upon your arrival at the Homicide Division, Pete Woodward, a young, eager homicide detective-in-training approached you and Tim. Practically flew at you, really. "We've got Hazel and Richard Henley in separate interrogation rooms, ready to talk with you, Rockford. Victim's sisters will be in at noon."
Having lived in the same home, being family, Hazel and Richard were the priority to talk to. They'd been brought in as soon as the investigation had begun, though not officially arrested since there wasn't any solid proof either one of them had motive to kill Elliot yet.
You followed Tim into the first room finding Richard standing inside in a corner, looking bored out of your mind. You wouldn't have expected that from a man that had just lost his brother. Maybe suspect number two was actually the murderer?
"You want to take a seat Mr. Henley?" Tim inquired, gesturing at the gray chair across from yours and his as you both sat down.
"Call me Dick," Richard told him, plopping down on it.
"Really?" You couldn't help the slipped comment. You just didn't understand why anyone would be willing to take on that nickname, especially as a rich person. Did he not notice the possible implications of using it?
Richard either didn't hear you or didn't care; either way he paid you no attention. Tim's eyes however did dart to you for a second before he cleared his throat. "This conversation is going to be recorded, Dick. Is that alright?"
"Whatever you must do, detective. I've got nothing to hide."
Tim pressed record on the voice recorder to his left. "What can you tell us about your brother?"
Richard snorted. "Besides him being a hopeless lazy leech?"
"Aren't you also living with your mother?" you countered.
"I work," Richard informed you defensively, "I only moved back in because I recently got divorced and my new home hasn't been finished yet."
"Uh huh." You'd barely started talking with him and you were already starting to lean more towards him as Elliot's killer than their mother. He had clearly held disdain for his younger brother. That was a pretty good motive.
"Did your brother have any enemies?" Tim questioned.
Richard shrugged. "None that I know of, except his own damn self. He was a loner, mostly. Spent a lot of time online playing games."
"Do we dare ask you how he was with your family, with you?" you inquired.
He chuckled and leaned back. "He was Dad's favorite when he was alive, for some damn reason. Mom loves him out of duty. Our sisters and him get along fine but they don't hang out."
"And you and him?"
"I don't like him not putting in any effort to make his own life," Richard told you, eyes narrowing, "But I wasn't upset enough over it to kill him, if that's what you're wondering."
"We have to consider every possibility," Tim explained to him. "Murders often are committed by those closest to the victim."
"So it is murder?" Richard asked, pursing his lips. "You sound certain."
"We've got evidence that suggests Elliot was slowly poisoned with Arsenic," Tim replied, "Found some in his bowl of cereal."
Richard's eyes widened. "Shit."
"Who normally fed him his meals?" you prompted.
He frowned. "He usually made his own cereal whenever he chose to eat later at night."
"Was he the only one in the house who drank two percent milk?"
His jaw slacked a little. "Yes. Mom and I drink whole milk. You think maybe whoever did this poisoned the whole bottle?"
"I only just considered it now," you admitted. Your eyes flicked to Tim. "Looks like Katie's going to have to bring the jug in now too."
"I'll call her," he said, standing up as he dialed Katie's number and leaning against the wall as he explained to her that she needed to go back to the mansion a third time in less than half a day.
Poor Katie, you thought.
"Who besides you and your mother have access to the fridge on a regular basis?" you pressed.
"The cook, maid, the gardener, the whole family," Richard listed. "None of them have motive to do it."
"That's for us to decide," you told him as Tim sat back down.
Richard turned to him. "Anything else you want to know?"
"Plenty," he said, lifting his eyes to meet Richard's. "Where were you this morning?"
x
It was nearly a half hour later when Tim finished with Richard, letting him go with a warning to not skip town. You were ready to feel that twist in your stomach, your gut instinct, to tell you letting him go was a mistake, but you didn't get it. As much as you'd thought Richard's attitude towards his brother was bordering hate you didn't get murder vibes from him. His nickname suited him well, but being a dick didn't automatically make someone a killer.
The interrogation with Hazel, their frail appearing seventy-eight-year-old mother who looked every bit like the grandmother to four she was, went similarly to the one with Richard. Although Hazel did not share the anger Richard had towards Elliot, she wasn't shedding any tears either. It was so odd to you. You'd had a shaky relationship with your mother before she passed, but you still had felt the loss after she died. You'd still sobbed when she was laid to rest in the cemetery of your hometown. You'd heard of people being numb at first to loss, like they were in some kind of daze, but you doubted that was it.
You started to truly understand for the first time what kind of people tended to find themselves leading successful businesses. You didn't like what you saw.
"Mrs. Henley, did you hate your son?" you inquired boldly.
Her eyes grew wide. "Of course not. I wouldn't have let him stay home if I did. To most he was lazy, but he helped me around the property. Spent time in the garden with me every afternoon. Adopting him was the best decision I ever made."
For the first time in the last fifteen minutes you and Tim had been talking with her there was sadness in her eyes.
Maybe she isn't a psychopath after all, you mused.
"You adopted Elliot?" Tim prompted.
Hazel nodded. "We knew his biological mother. When she died, we decided to take him in, treat him as our own. It's what friends do."
"So kind of you," you said, trying to sound sincere. You couldn't help but think that there was something more; that there was no way this lady had adopted a child out of the goodness of her heart. Adopting him had probably come with tax breaks or something like that.
Elliot and Richard's older sisters, Heidi and Jeanine, who were both in their forties, blonde, and mothers to two children each, all in their teens, weren't much better than Hazel and Richard, clearly not much more than spoiled trophy wives to their rich husbands.
"Maybe Elliot poisoned himself," Heidi suggested, "He didn’t have a lot going for him, you know? I loved him, but he was always the mess up of the family. It had to have eaten at him."
"My brother was kind, but didn't make anything of himself," Jeanine said later during the interview with her. "I'd think him committing suicide makes more sense than murder. None of my family are capable of that."
The linear ceiling light above started blinking furiously above the three of you and you felt the air get thick with tension that was cutting knife worthy. Anger. Your breathing picked up to compensate for the lack of oxygen getting to your lungs. You shivered as a draft hit the back of your neck. Out of habit your eyes darted to and fro, looking for danger but finding nothing visible.
You knew he was there though, watching, and he was trying to tell you his sisters' theories were way off. He definitely had not killed himself.
Tim and Jeanine clearly hadn't felt anything in the air change, surprised by the intense reaction you'd had to the lights flickering, but they had at least seen the lights go off. Once again Tim was studying you, expression trained. "You alright?"
"I'm okay," you answered, "Nothing new for me."
It was true it wasn't new, but it had still shaken you. Kind Elliot Henley seemed to have a lot of hate in his soul in the afterlife. You honestly couldn't blame him though. None of his family, even his sisters who were supposed to like him, had shed any tears in front of you and you were pretty sure shock couldn't account for any of it.
After the interviews were over, you and Tim headed to the office you shared.
"What a piece of work that family is," you muttered as he closed the door behind you. You turned on your heels to face him.
Tim nodded. "Sure is."
"I’m almost certain there's no way either Jeanine or Heidi murdered him though."
"Their alibis are too solid," he agreed. "And they sounded more like they pitied him than were angry at him."
"Exactly."
"We're still going to do a solid background check on them."
"Of course."
He sat down at his desk and you at the computer one, and you both got to work.
x
After thorough searching you and Tim uncovered that the Henley family were generally law-abiding citizens - except for a few speeding tickets (Richard) and a couple court cases for tax evasion by Hazel and her belated husband Roderick, one that had been proven and had ended with him being in prison for a few months. Not with the general population, of course. You'd bet his prison room had been private and clean. Safe.
Though the day had mostly been a bore, you still found yourself exhausted by the end of your twelve hour shift, not hesitating to turn down an invitation to eat out with the floor secretaries from Helen. All you wanted to do was make a sandwich, eat it, and go to bed, as much as you liked Helen.
And that's exactly what you did, not even taking time to read before bed like you typically did.
You startled awake just after midnight to a loud cracking sound. It sounded like one of your potted plants in the living room had been knocked down from one of the wall shelves and had broken when it hit the hardwood floor.
Back in your early thirties you'd taken in a smokey gray cat with stunning light green eyes named Blue that had been owned by a woman who had been murdered in a burglary gone wrong. He'd been a serial houseplant tipper. It had been almost guaranteed one of your houseplant pots would fall victim to him during the course of a week until you learned to tape the underneath of each one to the shelf beneath them.
In your sleep haze you figured he'd finally managed to knock one down, but after a few moments your mind caught up and you remembered that you'd had to give Blue’s vet permission to euthanize him over six years ago, his kidneys having failed at the ripe age of twenty.
Dread seized you, tightened your throat. Had someone broken in? Had you forgotten to lock the door? You were usually very careful about it, but you had been pretty tired.
You reached blindly under your bed for the handgun you kept there, locked away in a black box in the off chance you'd ever need it, and without switching on any lights loaded the chamber with a couple bullets before heading down the short hall with it, into the living room.
You turned the corner carefully, gun at the ready, finger curled right next to the trigger, but the room was clear, except for the spider plant and its pot that had shattered on the floor, spilling most of its dark gardening soil all over the surrounding floorboards.
You sucked in a deep breath and moved into the kitchen but no one was there either. There had to have been someone though. Unless there had been an earthquake, but one of that magnitude would've jostled you awake before the pot had fallen.
You felt it then. Him then. That eerie feeling of being watched by someone no longer quite human creeping under your skin, making you quake, as it often did.
Saying that you were alarmed would be an understatement. Bullets didn't harm spirits.
You slowly twisted around to find him there, looming smack in the middle of the start of your hallway, half hidden by the shadow of your fridge, barely seven feet from you. He was standing with a hunch in his back and an arm curled around his belly, a stance of someone with some kind of severe abdominal pain. His eyes did not hold any of that pain though. All you could see in them was rage.
It was the kind of expression that would make any sane person flee, especially since he wasn't a little guy, so that's what you did, bolting for your car keys on the table and then the front door.
Before you could make it out, as you were slipping through the doorway, you felt searing pain as something sharp dragged down your back, and you concluded in terror that he'd scratched you, all the while racing for your 1991 Taurus.
It wasn't until you'd already driven a mile out from your house that you were able to breath properly again. It was at that exact time the tears spilled from your eyes and everything that had happened during the previous ten minutes settled into your memory.
Elliot was severely pissed, feral. The worst kind of lost spirit. And it had taken him less than a day to get that way. It seemed that the kind man his family had described had hidden an inner darkness. Maybe he'd been successful in life at beating it down, but in death all bets were definitely off. You'd never known a spirit to lose control so fast, even those who had managed to attach themselves to their murderers.
And he'd clearly latched onto you, followed you home. It wasn't the first time a spirit had, but it was the first they could actually harm you to any degree by touch. You swallowed hard. You'd only temporarily escaped. He'd find you again. It would be instant if you returned home any time soon, so you drove around the city aimlessly for a couple hours, after hiding your gun in the glove compartment. You didn't have a concealed weapon permit, but you didn't think leaving it on the passenger seat was wise either if a patrol cop happened to pull you over.
It was past two when you found yourself rolling up into Tim's driveway, not sure where else to go. You knew where Helen lived too, but you did not want to chance dragging her into the mess you found yourself in. She was just a secretary. At least Tim had some training dealing with violent situations, not that it would help much in the face of a being he could not see, let alone hurt.
That was your reasoning at least as you studied the plain looking two-story house in front of you. It was encased in white painted wood where yours was in brick, but with the addition of that second floor it was bigger. Probably not much more expensive though. The house was old, aged by at least three decades where yours had been built less than a decade ago. The paint was also chipping, the outdoor upkeep of it clearly not a priority for him.
Despite the house looking prime for a haunting it called out to you, beckoning you inside, because the man who called it home was your most trusted friend and you knew his presence could at the bare minimum comfort you after the trauma you'd just been through.
You approached with the energy of a woman half your age, sprinting up the front porch steps and pounding on the oak door more demandingly than you had intended.
Tim swung it open a full minute later, in nothing but dark gray sweatpants, his heavy eyes peering out at you, his hair tussled from what had probably been a deep, satisfying sleep.
You'd have felt guilty for waking him if your heart hadn't nearly stopped at the sight of his bare, broad shoulders, defined upper arm muscles, and soft belly.
You'd admittingly dreamed of him more than once in the last year you'd known him, your subconscious mind not caring one bit that he was your partner, but your brain hadn't quite done him justice. You wondered in what other...areas your dreams failed him, but you refused to let your gaze drop below the beginnings of the happy trail on his lower stomach.
"Psy, what are you doing here?" he asked, eyes widening as soon as his brain registered who was standing in front of him.
"Can I please stay here tonight?" you pleaded hurriedly, afraid if you didn't get what you wanted to say out fast that you'd chicken out.
"What's going on?" he questioned, pursing his lips. There was worry in his eyes again. He stepped aside before you could answer, gesturing for you to enter his cozy home.
You did so gratefully and folded your arms self-consciously over your chest. It had just occurred to you that since you were in nothing but thin cotton long sleeved forest green pajamas that your breasts were well defined underneath, especially after standing outside in the chill of an autumn night for some time.
"Elliot's spirit followed me home," you informed him, rubbing your upper arms with your hands, attempting to warm them up. "He attacked me."
"Attacked you?" Tim sounded startled. You met his eyes and saw his concern deepen. He hadn't thought to say that it was impossible because it was all in your head. You wondered if he was finally starting to come around to the idea that spirits existed.
If he wasn't, he surely would after what you'd do next.
"He scratched me," you continued, voice shaky as you turned your back to him and curled the tips of your fingers around the hem of the back of your shirt. "How bad is it?"
You rolled it up as high as you thought the scratch went and heard Tim inhale sharply as you revealed it to him. You felt his rough yet gentle hands glide over yours as he lifted your shirt up just a little higher to take in the full damage.
"Elliot did this?" he growled, sounding outraged, a fierce anger in his tone that you had not been prepared for, typically a man who was subtle with all his emotions.
"How bad is it?" you repeated, wanting desperately to know.
"There's three long marks diagonally along the center of your back," he stated stiffly, attempting to rein in his upset. "They are about four inches in length, start to finish. Luckily they don't look too deep, but judging from the blood on your shirt, they did bleed for some amount of time."
You stepped away from him and dropped your shirt back into place before facing him again. "I wouldn't do that to myself."
"I know," he said firmly. You could tell from his tense expression alone that he believed you. "There's no way you could've reached back there to scratch yourself up like that. No normal human's nails could mark you that badly anyway.”
There was great relief from him finally accepting that spirits were real, especially that night. You desperately had needed him to believe it after having been shaken up so significantly. Your sight was blinded by tears again.
Tim reached out to squeeze your left shoulder supportively. "Does it hurt? Do you want to go to the hospital? I can drive you."
You shook your head, unable to prevent the smile that briefly adorned your face, remembering how'd he been with you when you first met. Oh how the times do change. "No, I just need a place to crash. Can I take your couch?"
"Better yet, you can take my spare bed," he replied, dropping his hand back to his side. "Follow me up. I'll show you to the room and get a fresh shirt and dressing for you. Going to need to clean those marks to make sure they don't get infected."
You nodded and trailed him as he climbed the stairs to the second floor without another word, flipping on lights as he went.
He entered the first room on the left and made his way in the dark to the nightstand to turn on the white lamp centered on its surface. The light emitted from it was dim, but good enough to use while cleaning your wound. Without a word Tim gestured for you to sit on the edge of the bed and strolled out of the room to collect the items he'd need to treat the scratches on your back.
He returned a few minutes later with scissors, gauze, medical tape, disinfectant, and an old plain black t-shirt in hand. He offered the shirt to you as soon as he was within your reach. You noted the charcoal gray t-shirt he'd slipped on while he was gone.
"I didn't think you owned anything besides black and white suits," you teased, trying to lighten the mood as you accepted it, folding the black shirt up on your lap until you could switch it out with your bloodied pajama one.
"We've never been around each other on our off days," he pointed out, a hint of a teasing tone in his voice. "I like to be comfortable just like anyone else."
For some reason it had been hard for you to imagine him in anything else but his work apparel. It was strange seeing him in casual clothes. Strange because it felt almost intimate. Like it was a part of his life you shouldn't have seen as his professional partner.
"Gonna sit behind you," he informed you quietly, gruffly. "Can you hold up the back of your shirt while I clean your wounds?"
You nodded, finding yourself tongue-tied, and couldn't help but note how much the mattress sank as he settled on it just outside of your peripheral vision. You could feel the front of one of his knees lightly brushing against your back after he was seated. You tried not to think about it as you lifted your shirt so he had easy access to the scratches.
"This is going to sting," he warned.
Nodding again, you tensed as he pressed a wet gauze to your upper back, hissing at the sting of the disinfectant he was using. It was the only painful thing about Tim tending to your wounds. His calloused hands occasionally brushed your sensitive, slightly inflamed skin, but they were as gentle as they could be. You found yourself trembling under his touch, and it wasn't because of the pain. With every feather light glance of his fingertips the desire you'd consistently tried to stomp out for months flared with newfound strength.
"Sorry," he apologized in the softest tone you'd ever heard him spoke in. "Almost done."
You clutched at the mattress beneath you as he taped gauze to your upper back, trying to focus on that rather than his presence, grateful that your reactions were only coming off as ones of pain to him. He wasn't completely wrong.
“All done,” he finally announced, and you expected to be relieved when his hands pulled away from you, but instead you felt your hunger for him surge within you. You couldn’t keep still. You needed his hands back on you.
You twisted in place, dropping the shirt that had been on your lap, and crashed your lips into his desperately, hands splaying out on his chest as you prayed silently that he would respond, and respond he did, tugging you closer, curling a hand around the base of your neck, and licking into the heat of your mouth and you realized in that moment that he had desired you just as much.
When you both took a breath, he pulled his head back far enough to study your face, searching for anything in your expression that could tell him what more you wanted from him. He would only give as much as you asked for.
You answered his silent question with another searing kiss, your hands traveling to his back and up into his hair, ruffling it as you sought purchase. You pressed yourself closer to him and he embraced you, arms wrapping around your lower back, careful to avoid your bandaged wound.
It wasn’t long before you guided his hands to the edge of your shirt and he got your message instantly, easing your sleep shirt up off of you and chucking it to the floor.
The chill in the room had your bare nipples immediately hard, and he didn’t miss it, his thumbs tracing your stiff buds, blown dark eyes flickering between your breasts and face. “Okay?”
“Yes,” you whined. You lolled your head back and one of his hands left your chest to support your neck again as he leaned towards you to lave at your exposed neck. Your fingers slipped into his short, slightly wavy hair again as you hummed under his attentiveness. "So good."
You reached for the chord of his sweatpants to untie it, the back of your hand brushing against the hardening bulge behind it, and he groaned as he jerked away from you, as if it was painful to do so. “We don’t have to do anything else if you don’t want to.”
“Where’d you get the idea I didn’t?” you chuckled. You definitely did not want to stop.
“I don’t have any condoms on hand,” he admitted after a few moments. “The last box I had expired.”
“Well, lucky for the both of us I’ve already gone through menopause,” you told him, kissing the corner of his mouth fondly, his moustache scrapping pleasantly against your lips. “And I’ve been just as focused on work as you have been the last few years or so.”
He caught onto your underlying meaning and tilted his head to catch your full mouth again as you loosened his pants, tugging them down as far as you could while still on the bed, revealing his black and white checkered boxers.
In a brief, humorous thought, you made a mental note to get him items of clothing that weren’t black, white, tan, or gray for his next birthday. The man needed more color in his life.
He didn’t notice the amusement on your face as he stood and kicked the pants the rest of the way off him, and when you laid back so he could remove your pants, it was gone. Nothing but want to invade your mind and your face.
Slowly but surely the last articles of clothing remaining on you both were added to the pile on the floor as your mouths and hands explored each other greedily. Once you were free, you knelt on the edge of the bed in front of him and reached out to hold the heft of him in your hands, stroking him confidently, spreading the precum leaking from his head up his entire length. Your firm, yet caressing touch had his knees buckling, and he groaned into your mouth as he braced himself against the bed with an arm, the other molded around your hips. You glanced up at his face briefly as you continued to pump him with your hands and the edges of your mouth lifted, taking delight in watching him watch you work him up with hooded eyes.
Once he was firm you shuffled back on the bed to make room for him to join you, mirroring your kneeling position. He reached down between your legs and you gasped as his fingers made contact with your clit, circling and tracing it until you were thrusting against his hand and him sliding two thick fingers inside you was enough to make you come, a warmth flooding your core as you lurched forward, panting against his chest, giving yourself time to enjoy the waves of ecstasy that followed. It had been quite some time since someone had made you feel that way.
When it was over you firmly pushed him back onto his palms and heels, a soft smile on your face. He raised his eyebrows slightly at you, wondering what you had in mind, but did not resist, curiosity winning out over any yearning he might have to be in control.
You had an idea of what you were doing, but most of it was instinct, wanting to be face to face with him without either of you being on your backs. You clung to his shoulders with your arms, lifting yourself up high enough to hover over him as you climbed onto his lap and folded your legs around his waist, lining your entrance up with his head before you let yourself slowly drop down on top of him.
He was thick, and it was a tight fit, but the foreplay had done its job, making you slick enough to take him deep. The drag of his cock inside you had him gritting his teeth the whole time you slid him into you. He wound his strong arms around your lower back to brace you as you began to roll your hips against him and he joined in your rhythm, gliding in and out of you at a steady pace. Your faces stayed close, cheek to cheek, his beard prickling yours. You whimpered when he hit you particularly deep and he turned his head to nuzzle his nose against yours. “Okay?” he rasped between soft grunts.
You nodded vigorously, eyes snapped shut, breaths heavy. There were no other words spoken between you as you rocked together, letting your bodies and the sounds that slipped out of your mouths do the communicating.
It took you a little longer than it would’ve when you were younger, but when he found that special spot inside you his insistent press into it had you squeezing him and moaning loudly, invoking praise from his lips in the form of your name. He stilled in you soon after, cock spasming, spurting hot inside you as he emitted a low satisfied hmph, kissing along your lower jaw through both of your aftershocks.
When it was over, he let himself fall back onto one of the bed pillows and you followed him, still on top of him, allowing him to linger inside you as he softened, as your racing hearts returned to their normal rhythms, as you caught back your breaths. You were silent the whole time, not saying a word, just enjoying the intimate closeness with him. Trying not to let any of the fears and doubts knocking at your door in as your mind cleared from your lustful haze.
Eventually you rolled off him and he made a move to stand, only having managed to sit up when you pressed a palm against his broad chest in attempt to stop him from moving anymore.
“Stay with me, please?”
His eyes turned up to the doorway then back to your face, his expression saying what he wouldn't. He was uncertain if he should stay, though you could tell he wanted to. A brief kiss to his shoulder was all it took to convince him. "Alright. I'll stay."
You both took time to clean yourselves up in the bathroom across the hall, dressed back into your sleep clothes (you wearing his black t-shirt), and unmade the bed together, curling up under the thick blankets immediately after. You flipped onto your side, a hand folded under your pillow, and you smiled as he molded his burly body against your back, careful not to put any pressure on your wounds. His right arm draped over your stomach and you reached down to clasp his hand in yours, grateful for his affection. You felt safe in his arms, in a way you hadn't felt in a very long time, not when violent deaths and literal ghosts were a consistent part of your work. The warmth radiating off his body relaxed you as well, lulling you to sleep.
The last thing you felt as you drifted off was him burying his face into your neck.
x
You woke in the early morning to the beginnings of daylight spilling into the bedroom from the small window inside it. You were still warm, but when you registered that Tim's body was no longer pressed against yours, dread filled you. Had he decided to go back to his own bed after all?
You forced yourself to stand, quietly moving down the hall to peer into the next room over, the only other one with a bed in the house. The bed had been clearly used the night before, but it was empty, and when you dared to walk over to touch the sheets, they were freezing cold. You couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped your lips at that before you tip toed back out the room. It had to be a good sign that he'd stayed the whole night with you, right?
You chewed on the inside of your cheek as you headed for the bathroom and locked the door behind you so you could pee in privacy, still trying to push away your anxiety over how this morning would go. How Tim would be with you, what he would say. Where would you stand? You couldn't imagine the previous night being the one and only time you ever spent with him intimately, but you knew if he didn't want a real relationship you'd turn down any halfway offers. You weren't built for sex without emotion tied to it. It was in part why you hadn't had any for years, besides the forementioned workaholic issue.
You tried to ignore the ache that was forming in your chest as you washed your hands then brushed your teeth, splashing water in your face after, in an attempt to look put together when you were anything but after all that had occurred with Elliot and then Tim.
You strolled into the kitchen, finding Tim at the counter, pouring steaming hot coffee into two mugs. "Just in time," he said, his back still turned to you. You mused that he must have better hearing than you if he'd heard you padding into the room in your socks. None of the floorboards had squeaked. Maybe it was the job that had made him hyper aware.
"You want some coffee?" he asked, like everything between you was the same as it had been twenty-four hours before. You felt a tinge of annoyance that he could act so normal, but you hid it from him.
"Sure, if you have sugar and milk."
"Of course." He nodded at you and reached inside the fridge so he could grab the whole milk inside and mix a teaspoon of it into the coffee mug on his right, followed by a teaspoon of sugar from the canister on the countertop. He left his free of additives, preferring his black, something that still had you twitching your nose even after having seen him drink it nearly every day for the past year. You couldn't imagine drinking coffee as is, even if it was made with high quality whole beans.
Tim passed you your mug as you sat down at the small kitchen table in the far corner of the room. Instead of joining you he leaned back against the counter, eyes focused on his mug when he wasn't sipping from it.
"Are we going to talk about last night?" you inquired after a few minutes, the silence bothering you more than the fear of the conversation you were about to push.
Tim lifted his head to meet your eyes, appearing a bit ashamed. "I shouldn't have. Should've backed off. You were afraid. Seeking comfort. I feel like I took advantage of you."
You huffed. "I didn't sleep with you because I was afraid. I slept with you because your hands felt good on my skin. Because I trust you. Because I have feelings for you. Have for a long time. Do you know how good you look in suspenders?"
He snorted quietly, eyes falling back to the mug in his hands. "I've felt something for you for a while too. I've just been denying it to myself."
"Because of my abilities?" you guessed, trying not to be bothered by what was in the past.
He shook his head, looking back up at you. "I've been in denial about that too. Last night was not when you finally convinced me the spirits you see exist. It was slow, it snuck up on me, my belief, increasing with every case we took on that had an active one interacting with you. The way you consistently knew things you shouldn't have. The occasional unexplained eerie feeling I got sometimes right before you'd react to one showing itself to you. That's what eventually sold me. I just never imagined one would hurt you."
You recalled his reaction when he saw your scratches for the first time. "You were afraid for me. Last night."
"Of course," he confirmed with a growl. "Still am. He hurt you, he could hurt you again, and because Elliot's already dead I can't do shit about it."
There was a hint of defeat, of helplessness in his voice that made you feel like your heart was in a vice grip. You wanted nothing more than to run up to him and hug him, to reassure him it would be fine, but you denied yourself of that moment to further the conversation.
"The only way Elliot leaves me alone is if we solve the case," you told him. "And we've got a little over a couple hours before we can get back to that task. In the meantime, we need to figure out where we stand."
"Like if we pretend this never happened or we report to HR?"
"Something like that."
He peered back down at the coffee in his mug. "What do you want?"
"What do you think?" You curled your fingertips tighter around your mug. "I want whatever you want, unless that boils down to meaningless sex. I can't do that. What do you want?"
He sighed heavily. "A part of me wishes I could take last night back, and another part has no regrets." You swallowed hard, but said nothing as he continued, "This will complicate things at work. No matter what route we take. There's a reason HR frowns on people in the same unit having any kind of intimate relationship with each other."
"Because they're stupid," you muttered, sipping at your coffee, eyes shifting to peer up at him, waiting expectantly.
He couldn't help but chuckle even as he shook his head disapprovingly at you.
"I asked what you wanted, not HR," you reminded him, as you abandoned your mug at the table to join him by the counter.
When you got just within arm's reach he cupped your face with one palm gently, stroking his thumb over your cheek. "I want to see where this goes," he admitted.
"Then let's do that," you said as a weight lifted off your chest. "Screw HR."
Tim grunted. "We'll have to tell them eventually."
"Well, eventually is not going to be today."
He nodded his agreement as he guided your face closer to his, pressing a kiss to your lips more sweetly than you could've imagined him capable of.
When he pulled away you touched your forehead to his shoulder. "I need to get my work clothes at my house."
Elliot was not likely waiting there for you, and he could turn up anytime, anywhere, he even could've popped up right then and there in Tim's kitchen, but you still were not looking forward to it.
"I'll go with you," he offered immediately. "Let me put on my glasses and a pair of jeans and I'll drive you, go inside with you. You can grab whatever you need to get dressed for work and bring it back here. If that would make you feel safer."
He knew as well as you that it didn't matter to Elliot where you went, but he also knew going back to your home so soon after the attack would be difficult for you and that him being there would make a difference to you mentally.
"Thanks," you murmured. "I'll take you up on that."
"You can also stay here until the case is solved," he added, "No strings attached. I'm not expecting last night to happen again any time soon. I'm not trying to rush things. I just don't like the idea of you being alone while Elliot's still around, even though I know logically I wouldn't be able to stop him from hurting you again."
You beamed at him and wriggled your eyebrows. "Who says I don't want to repeat that any time soon?"
He cursed under his breath as you pulled away from him with a playful smirk and headed for the door. "I'll wait in the car."
"That's not fair, Psy," he called after you.
You didn't look back, but you were smiling warmly as you exited the house.
x
Luckily your fears of returning home were unwarranted, your quest to gather a few sets of clothes and beauty products uneventful. Maybe it had something to do with Tim standing formidably in the doorway to your bedroom as you packed your suitcase. Did the dead ever get intimidated by the living?
In any case you were grateful to get out of there without another confrontation with Elliot.
As soon as you and Tim arrived back at his house you both showered, him in the master bathroom and you in the hallway bathroom. He was dressed in a half hour and you in an hour, barely finishing up in time to not be late for work.
You and Tim took your own vehicles (well, he took his detective car), not wanting to spike the curiosity of any prying eyes and nosey noses in the department. Helen, bless her soul, would've been the first asking twenty questions and it was the last thing either of you wanted with your newfound relationship literally only hours old.
When you entered the Homicide Division you spotted Tim towards the back of the room having a conversation with Katie. You strolled up to them, a polite smile on your face.
"Anything new, Katie?" you asked lightly as you came to a stop between them, making sure you were no more closer or farther from Tim than you usually positioned yourself.
"Nothing with me personally," she told you, "But the Henley case, oh boy. Dex, the poison expert on our team tested a mystery substance in a gas can found half buried in the woods behind their mansion."
"And there were traces of arsenic."
"Of course," she said, "But that's just the beginning. There was blood on the canister. Just a speck. Looks like the killer cut themselves on the hard plastic trying to open the lid. I swabbed it and compared it to the oral samples we took from each of the Henley’s. Compared it to a blood sample from Elliot for good measure..."
You waited but after several seconds of silence you huffed. You hated when people stretched out tension, like a reality show going to commercial break right before the winner is revealed. "What'd you find kid?"
You could've sworn Katie's eyes were glowing with excitement. Whatever information she had was juicy.
"First off, you remember how Elliot is adopted, right?"
You raised your eyebrows. "Yeah..."
"Well, turns out he is actually related to Richard and his sisters," Katie informed you, "But not Hazel."
"Roderick cheated on her," you concluded, eyes broadening. "And she let him adopt his son when his mistress died?"
"She might have not known," Katie offered, "Not until now at least."
"Are you suggesting she's our prime suspect?" Tim quizzed.
"I would be," she replied, "...if it wasn't Richard's blood on the canister."
"He described Elliot as a leech," you recalled. "A lazy one at that. It wouldn't be a big stretch to think that after finding out Elliot is their father's bastard son that he might consider him unworthy of living in their mansion. Worse than an interloper; living, breathing evidence that their father was not faithful to their mother."
"We've got enough for you to get an arrest warrant," you stated.
"Let's get going then," Tim said, buttoning up his trench coat. "The sooner we have that warrant the better."
He didn't mention that it was because Elliot had become a threat.
x
By mid afternoon Richard was back in the same interrogation room he had been in the previous day, dressed in a suit and tie, having been caught on the front porch of the mansion right after returning home from a business meeting.
At first he wouldn't stop rambling, mostly about how he was going to sue the whole department for every penny for falsely accusing him, but he'd been quiet since Tim had revealed that Forensics had DNA proof that he'd opened the canister of arsenic, the gravity of his situation having finally sunk in.
"I know you said you're not going to talk anymore until your lawyer gets in," Tim started as he sat down in front of him, "But indulge me. Let me tell you how I think everything went down."
Richard stared at him, maintaining a neutral expression.
"I think somehow you found out Elliot was actually your half brother," Tim continued, "And I think you decided your good-for-nothing half brother had to go. You couldn't risk it getting out that your father, the head of your family, had once had a mistress. You had to keep your family's reputation clean of that kind of scandal for the sake of your business' success. Am I right?"
Richard had been well trained in the art of, well, training his face, but you had trained yourself well in the art of observation and you'd had several more years than him to practice. When Tim had called Elliot his half brother Richard's eyes had widened just a bit.
"You didn't know he was your biological brother," you realized. "You didn't murder Elliot." You took a step towards him, away from the wall your back had been pressed against. "Who had you open the gas canister, Dick?"
He refused to speak.
"Was it Jeanine? Heidi? No..." You paused, "It was Hazel after all, wasn't it?"
"Dick, without your statement, without the truth, we will have to go ahead with prosecuting you," Tim declared. "All the evidence points to you. Unless you can say otherwise or tell us of other evidence that would contradict what we've gathered."
"Guess I'm going to prison then," he snarled.
"Well, no one can argue you're not a good son," you said with a shrug, trying to act casual. "Guess there's nothing left for us to say here."
You headed for the door and Tim followed you out. "You have an idea."
"Actually, I don't," you admitted. "I was hoping you did. Since my little ghost problem won't go away until we put his real killer behind bars."
Tim worked his jaw. "We let Richard sit in prison for a few days, then let Hazel visit him and talk with her again after. Maybe she loves him enough to confess."
"A few days?" You arched your brows and he narrowed his eyes at you, his expression warning you not to say anything else.
"I don't have any ulterior motives behind the time frame," he told you. "We have the weekend off and Richard needs time to stew. To realize how awful prison truly is. Either he breaks or Hazel does."
You couldn't help the crooked smile that formed on your face. "Cold..."
“Apt.”
"True."
x
You spent the rest of the day digging up information on the Henley family history at the public library seven minutes away from the department and going over some photos that had been confiscated from the mansion.
One in particular got your attention. A wedding photo of Hazel and Roderick. “They look so happy,” you observed from over Tim’s shoulder as he studied it in one hand, his glasses grasped in the other. Something occurred to you. “Do you think she killed him too, for cheating?”
Tim shook his head. “I checked into his death. It was from lung cancer. He was a heavy smoker.”
"Of course.”
Tim checked his watch. "Time to clock out. Do you want to head out to a bar?"
It was a fairly common for him to ask you if you wanted to hang out at Liquid Alchemy on a Friday night, or after a case was closed, but it was the first time he had suggested a bar and not Liquid Alchemy by name. You cocked an eyebrow. "What do you have in mind?"
"There's this upscale full bar in the Lazy Queen restaurant on the other side of the city," Tim informed you. "I've never been, but I've heard good things. Though it's a little pricey for everyone here. For one night it wouldn't hurt to indulge though. I'll pay."
You got the message. The bar's location and prices would keep anyone you knew from work away and would allow you both to enjoy the rest of the night without prying eyes.
You glanced at the doorway of your shared office, making sure no one on the floor outside of it was within earshot. "Sounds like a date."
"If you'd like it to be."
"I would."
Tim dropped the photo in his hand on the desk and put his glasses back on before pushing himself up onto his feet with a small grunt, his left hand briefly clutching at his stiff lower back. You held back a comment about him needing to get a new office chair. You'd already mentioned it to him several times before, but he was stubborn.
"I'll head out right now," he told you as he shrugged on his trench coat, which had been draped over the chair in front of his desk. "Give me five before you follow me. We'll meet up at my house and you can jump in with me, okay?"
You grinned. "Sounds like a plan."
He dared a quick kiss to your temple as he passed you on the way out of the room and your lips pulled back even more.
Dating Tim was going to get dangerous. You could get used to him being affectionate with you.
x
The Lazy Queen's restaurant had the best Margaritas you could ever recall, and they hit hard too. After only a couple your usually not-so-lightweight self had become a chatty twenty questions kind of gal. It was so out of character for you Tim was amused by your behavior, lips quirking up on several occasions as you continued through your list of questions which he all answered patiently.
"Horror or action films?"
"Action."
"Have you ever seen snow in person?"
"Of course. It snows in Portland. Just not every year. Heard rumors we might this December, but it's not something to bet on."
"What's the story behind this?" you quizzed, stretching forward to clasp his left hand in yours, displaying the small target tattoo in between his thumb and index finger.
"I got it when I first started basic training," he answered. "It was to remind myself to hit bullseye every time. Literally and figuratively. To never lose sight of my goals."
"And have you not?" you inquired.
"Not what?"
"Lost sight of your goals."
He shrugged, taking a sip of the fancy drink in his right hand, and you realize you've forgotten the name of it. You pushed your current Margarita, your third, away from you. "I've had to take a few failures like everyone else. We can't solve every case."
There was something in his dark eyes, a hint of grief and guilt, that sobered you up a bit because you knew then that he was thinking about his lost sister.
"Think you're sober enough to drive us home?" you asked him with a sigh.
His eyebrows shot up. "You moving in permanently?" He was smiling lightly, teasing.
"Not yet," you huffed. "You know what I meant. Your home."
"Yeah," he said, an index finger circling the edge of his glass. "I'm sober enough. I don't even have a buzz. I've been nursing this lone drink all night. You didn't notice?"
"Shut up."
x
You were running barefoot through the forest at night at full speed, in a flowing white dress that reached your knees, eyes darting over your shoulders on occasion to make sure whatever you were trying to escape wasn't gaining on you. It was too dark out to see that far behind you though.
Fallen leaves crunched under your bare feet, damp moss made you slip twice, and you had to leap a few tree roots that stuck out of the ground but you didn't slow your pace for even a moment.
You heard a river roaring in the distance and for some reason you were convinced that crossing that would save you, so you aimed for the sound, stretching your legs out as far as you could in hopes of covering ground even faster. You stopped looking back, certain if you kept moving that you'd get to safety.
You pushed through a thicket of trees and had to skid to a stop, narrowly preventing yourself from falling off the cliff on the other side of it, one of your feet halfway over the edge. You were right next to a waterfall. You gasped at the close call.
Remembering that you had been running from something you twisted around and your eyes grew into saucers when you spotted it. A black human shaped mass easily flowing through the trees, into the same open space you were in.
"You can run, but you can't hide forever," said a furious masculine voice. It was coming from the black mass, though you could not see a mouth, let alone see it move.
"Why are you chasing me?" you demanded fearfully.
"Because you are fleeing," the voice growled, like it was the simplest thing. Maybe it was to him. Nothing but a predator chasing prey.
You swallowed hard as he took a step forward. "I spent so much time living fictional lives, I forgot how entertaining the living could be to mess with."
Your eyes grew bigger. "Elliot," you whispered. "You don't belong here."
"In your dreams, or in the world?" he hissed as his form reshaped into the man you'd seen lying dead on a cold table less than forty-eight hours ago.
"Both," you replied. "Spirits who stick around can become troubled fairly quickly."
"You think I'm one of your troubled ghosts?" He chuckled, a gleam in his already eerie gray eyes. "All I've done is discover the benefits of being dead."
"This isn't the man who sat with his mother in the garden," you noted.
"No," he agreed. "That man was murdered by her. Apparently."
At your surprised reaction he beamed. "I was there when you interviewed my brother for the second time. I just made sure you couldn't tell. I'm getting better at stuff like that."
You shivered. "This isn't you, Elliot." You knew it to be true in your gut. Everyone had the capacity to commit evil, some more than others, but what mattered was how you had behaved, and while Elliot had maybe been lazy, nothing you'd heard or read about him had hinted at him behaving badly in any kind of way. The in between had twisted him beyond recognition.
"Who says anyone has to stay the same?" He strolled towards you and you took another step back, finding yourself teetering, dangerously close to falling over the cliff. He grinned. "It's fun messing with you."
He shoved you, catching you off guard for a second, sending you flying over. You heard your skull crack against a stone before you collapsed into the frigid water at the bottom.
x
Your eyes snapped open and you pulled ragged breaths from your lungs as you shot up into a sit in Tim's guest room bed. For a few seconds you didn't move other than to press your right hand to your chest and close your eyes as you focused on recovery.
It had felt so real, but it had all been a dream. You could hardly remember the last time you'd been so relieved. It was short lived though, as you realized that Elliot might've been the crafter of your nightmare. After all, though it was rare, it had happened before with other spirits. It would explain why you were still shaking. He was nearby, close enough to affect you, for you to sense him on some subconscious level.
On the way back to Tim's house you'd both decided that sleeping in separate bedrooms would be best for your relationship for a bit, not wanting to rush into it any more than you'd already had.
You regretted that as you rolled over and ran your hand over the cold spot next to you on the mattress in an attempt to seek comfort. You'd taken pride in yourself all your life for being independent, for not needing anyone else when you left the office, but there were occasions, nights like these, when the solace of another body besides yours would've been much more preferable.
For the first time in your life when a spirit had taken the reins of your subconscious, you had the option to change your situation. To seek that comfort you wanted so profoundly. You slid out of bed and walked into the doorway of the room next door, quietly knocking on the solid oak, trying to wake Tim without startling him.
He still flinched a little when he woke up, glancing around sleepily as he rolled from his side and onto his back. When he noticed you wordlessly standing in his doorway he blinked at you, confused. "What's wrong?"
You were suddenly shy, feeling stupid. Like you going to see him was childish, even though your nightmare hadn't been just a nightmare and you had every right to be afraid. "Elliot's nearby."
Tim sat up in bed quickly, the blankets that had covered him up to his shoulders slipping down to his waist. He had kept on the plain red shirt that he'd worn that night to bed with a fresh new pair of light gray sweatpants. "Where?"
"I don't know," you replied. "But he was in my dreams. He said he overheard that it was his adoptive mother who killed him and then he pushed me over a waterfall and I woke up."
"I'm sorry, Psy," he said, standing so he could rub your arms comfortingly. "Maybe waiting for Hazel to confess was a mistake."
You shook your head. "It's the only good plan we have. Any other could've screwed up the case. It's not your fault. And at least he didn't show up here in the house."
You still weren't exactly sure why.
"Do you want to stay with me?" Tim questioned. "Share the bed? Would that help?"
You shrugged. "Maybe. He doesn't seem to like interacting with me when you're around for some reason."
"He is shorter than me," he stated as if it made total sense.
You snorted at his joke but some part of you wondered if Elliot really was intimated by him. Sometimes spirits still acted like they were living and breathing. That could include fearful behavior.
In any case, you weren't about to turn down the offer you'd been hoping to get. "I'll take the right side, if that's alright. I sleep better there."
"You're in luck," Tim told you. "I actually sleep on the left most nights."
He returned to his bed, lifting the blankets high enough so you could easily follow, tucking yourself into his side. "Is this okay?" you asked him.
"Perfect."
Saturday and Sunday night were also spent cuddled up with each other in the same way. Tim didn't complain, and since you didn't have sex, you figured you were still complying pretty well with the promise you'd made to each other to slow things down while you began to learn each other on a much more personal level than you had before.
You were really reconsidering it though.
x
Monday morning you and Tim returned to work refreshed, coming back from a mostly relaxing weekend filled with old movies, takeout, and the background noise of rain.
You were so ready to get back to the case on that crisp, sunny day that it startled you when you spotted Hazel waiting for you both outside of the department's main entrance, extending her wrists out towards Tim in a gesture telling him to arrest her.
You and Tim both nearly dropped the coffee shop cups in your hands.
"I've come to confess," she declared, as if she needed to. "I killed Elliot."
Tim slapped the pair of cuffs he always kept on him while on duty onto her wrists and made sure they were secure. "Hazel Henley, you have the right to remain silent..."
x
Within ten minutes you, Tim, and Hazel were settled into one of the interrogation rooms, and Tim was holding up a voice recorder in front of her, flicking it on to record. "Start from the beginning. State your name and explain why you are here."
"My name is Hazel Henley, and I am here to confess that I killed Elliot Henley."
There was a slight tremble in her voice, but you were almost certain it was from having to admit to a crime and not because she regretted that he was dead.
"Mrs. Henley, why did you kill your son?" you prompted, trying to ignore a thickness that started to fill the air, making it a little harder to breath, putting something deep inside you on edge. Elliot was in the room, and he wasn't trying to hide it.
"Because he wasn't mine," she huffed. "Not really. Not at all in my eyes."
You frowned. "You didn't care about him; not even when you intially adopted him?"
"No," she answered bitterly. "How could I? Knowing he was my husband's bastard son?"
Tim lifted a brow. "You knew?"
"Of course I did," she said with annoyance. "I'm not stupid. Roderick was the one who came up to me suggesting we adopt him, nearly begged me. It was obvious. He would've never begged for a kid that wasn't of his own blood. Son of a friend or not."
"You knew Elliot's mother?"
"She was a neighbor of ours," Hazel explained. "Born into her money. Loved doing charity work as a job. The only sweet thing about her. She lived alone but had a way with people. Knew how to intertwine herself into everyone else's lives, make them worship her, or at least invite her to parties. She probably got pregnant on purpose in attempt to make Roderick leave me for her. I got the last laugh. Or so I thought, until the bitch died in a car accident."
"Why'd you agree to adopt Elliot?" you inquired, genuinely curious.
"Because Roderick always got his way," Hazel told you. "I wasn't always a strong-minded woman. I was worried saying no would be the last straw in our already broken marriage. I was trying to mend it."
"Then Roderick died..." Tim trailed.
"Then Roderick died," Hazel repeated. "And I was free to get rid of him before I got too old, before he could get a cent more of our money."
"Why did the canister of arsenic have Richard's blood on it?"
Hazel raised both of her hands in the air, palms down. They were tremoring slightly. "I can't get a good grip on most things nowadays. I needed someone to twist the lid open and pour some into a few smaller jars."
"He had no idea what you were doing?" you asked.
"He didn't even question what was inside," she replied. "He just poured it and left. My ever loyal son. I'm only confessing because he doesn't deserve to be in prison because of me. He has so much life left ahead of him."
You felt a flash of anger lick at your insides. Even though Elliot's spirit had attacked you twice, he'd only done that because of what Hazel had done to him. "Elliot had so much life ahead of him too."
She scoffed. "Playing video games? He was just like his mother. Living off his father's money. No ambition."
"You'd be surprised the money people can make playing games while others watch," you told her. "Some make millions."
"He wasn't," she assured you, eyes narrowing. She turned them back to Tim. "Anything else you need to know?"
"Plenty more," Tim said, "Starting with where you got concentrated arsenic."
She nearly smiled at him. "That's an interesting story, but a long one."
He gestured at her to go for it. "We have all day if necessary."
So she jumped into a story about how she found herself buying from black market dealers.
It was afternoon by the time you and Tim were done with her, by the time a prison guard was pulling her away from you both at the door where prisoners were dropped off.
On your way back to Tim's car you spotted Richard walking free, out of the chain link lined yard, a duffle bag over his shoulder. And Elliot was right there behind him, leaning against the fence, watching.
He must have felt you peering over at him because Elliot glanced up in your direction, and what you saw in his eyes surprised you. Getting justice must have calmed him because his expression was nothing like the one he'd worn either of the times he'd attacked you. It was like the madness had finally been lifted.
Strange how that sometimes worked.
You hesitantly gave him a curt nod and he gave you one back, disappearing immediately after, to God-only-knows where. Or maybe gods-only-know where.
You just knew that a subtle, insistent tension you hadn't really noticed was there before snapped and it seemed like the sunny day had become even brighter.
Elliot was gone.
x
That night Tim followed you back to your house, wanting to be there as you unpacked and settled back in, even though you'd assured him that Elliot had most definitely moved on.
That had eventually led you to asking him to stay for popcorn and a movie, to which he agreed to readily. It was almost ten o'clock when he got off the couch to leave.
"I'd better go," he said decidedly. "Getting late for a work night."
"I've been thinking," you told him.
"Oh?"
"About our agreement," you continued, standing up to give him a swift kiss on the mouth. "And I was thinking we should amend it."
Tim arched an eyebrow. "What were you thinking?"
"That we just do whatever feels right in the moment," you answered. "Within reason of course. We still have to be professional at work, of course. Even after we tell HR what's going on with us."
"So...no more slowing things down?"
"Technically we've already been in a relationship for thirteen months," you told him. "Just not a romantic kind. And we had our first date. Already have done plenty of cuddling..."
A subtle smile played on Tim's lips. "What are you suggesting, Psy?"
"You could stay here tonight," you replied, placing your hands on his suited chest. "You could show me what you'd have done that night if I hadn't taken lead. If you want."
He dived in to kiss you until you were both panting, until you were burning up inside. "I want," he confirmed, barely a whisper away from your mouth.
You grinned. "Then lead the way."
xxx
Tagged: @harriedandharassed
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God. It's been two years since Top Gun Maverick came out, and I was dragged there by my friend fjjfjsknf. And despite my best efforts, I do have unironic thoughts and opinions on the propaganda movie, and have continued to have them despite my best attempts to ignore them the past two years. So!
Overall take is this: Top Gun 1986 is both a good movie and effective propaganda. Top Gun Maverick is a good movie, but incredibly ineffective propaganda.
It is also, more than anything, a movie that desperately wished it could've been made fifteen years ago.
Seriously, everything about it, both in universe and metatextually, would make more sense if it had come out in like. 2006.
Hypothetical 2006-ish TGM would've been coming out just past the height of fervor for the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, so there would be a more coherent conflict to be referencing. Maverick would be in his mid-40s- just past his prime as a pilot but not ready to be put out to pasture, and Rooster would be in his mid-20s, the same age as Mav in the first movie, making for a nice little reference and passing of the torch. The way Maverick talks about him and the other aviators as kids with a lot to learn would make sense, because they'd all be one step removed from rookies. Rooster's anger would make sense because getting his papers pulled would still be a very fresh wound, only 5ish years behind him
Instead! Even the most generous interpretation of the timeline puts Maverick at mid-50s or later and Rooster as mid-30s, and he could easily be 40-44. This is an insane choice!
I mean just on an in universe character relationship level. They've been estranged for 15+ years. I'm not saying Rooster can't be mad at him, but it would make more sense as a cold anger- "you did this incredibly shitty thing when I was 18, but I've shown you, I don't need you, screw you." It really doesn't read that way on screen.
More than that, it makes the infantilizing "kids" language used towards Rooster and the other kids seem really absurd and insulting. They are all grown ass adults in their thirties or more. The fact the 60 year old is the best and most accomplished aviator makes the program seem incredibly pointless and uncool, which is not a desirable vibe for a propaganda movie lmao.
Also the mission in not!Iran was so incredibly contrived jfosjdj.
And narratively, Maverick either should've died or been more seriously wounded such that Rooster has to step up to save the day, completing the cycling of the generations. Instead Rooster is turned into a little kid, unable to contribute to their rescue, emasculating him. The young men you are trying to recruit don't want to be Tom Cruise any more, and it's ineffective propaganda to make their proxy suck.
That being said there is something infectious about the disaster movie, and it has been stuck in the back of my brain for literally two years trying to to unpick its knots lmao so I can't knock it
Like it's a good piece of cinema, but in terms of accomplishing it's goals of trying to make people want to sign up for the Navy? Terrible! Completely ideologically vapid! But the dramatic choices are so unintentionally unhinged I can't quite get it out of my head either ldndkdn
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business proposal - azul ashengrotto
summary - after holding many failed interviews to see who's qualified to become azul's partner for a party, jade and floyd decide to choose you as their last option.
genre - fluff and a little angst on the way!
warnings - grim, deuce, and ace slapping you back to reality LOL
the twins hopelessly sighed after going through each pages with the list of azul's supposed-to-be partners for the formal event that his parents are hosting. azul gave a favor to the twins to find him a potential partner for his parents' event. he couldn't bear to see disappointment on their faces if azul doesn't bring over his partner.
azul had about at least thirty failed interviews for the potential partners. most of it was considered a fail because azul gained no interest all. and the least of it was the person not showing an intrest towards azul.
floyd had already become tired. "well jade, looks like we can't find anyone now." he sighs while putting away the papers. "we've called in almost everyone here in this list and azul just decides to throw them out." he complains to jade while showing him the paper with the list of people.
"there's still happens to be chance floyd." jade tells floyd making him surprised in reaction. "really jade? who is this person gonna be?" floyd curiously asked jade who knew of an idea. "they are not on the paper floyd. unlike people we know from outside, it's rather someone we know here in this school." jade answers.
floyd widens his eyes in surprise. he wanted to know who this person was. "is it someone from this dorm jade?" he asks as jade shook his head in response.
"no floyd. do should i give you a hint with regards to this person that i suggest for azul." he tells floyd as he nodded. "sure sure! let's hear it from your big brain now jade!" floyd was excited to hear about jade's idea. jade lets out a chuckle before saying a word.
"it's someone from the ramshackle dorm." floyd did not expect for that kind of response coming out of jade's mouth. "huh?" he says with a confused look on his face. "but there's only two people on that dorm. shrimpy and that sealie." he tells jade. "correct, i suggest that we take in mc as azul's potential partner." jade says. "seeing as we do not have anyone to call over for azul, mc is now our last choice."
floyd didn't give a second to think about it. he immediately agreed with jade's idea. "okay, that sounds good!" jade nods at floyd's reponse to his suggestion.
"i didn't even think of mc until you said so, jade." he also adds. jade was glad to hear it from floyd. "i had already planned them as our last choice if the list of people were to become failed results." he mentions to floyd. "what, so you're saying you already thought of mc in the first place?." jade nods at his question. "the prefect shall be a big help to azul as well." he adds.
"we made the right choice!" floyd smirked. "indeed." he nodded at his response. they looked at each other sharing snickered laughs when they've finally figured out an answer to their problem.
jade then stopped as he wanted to say something. "i do think mc is the right one for azul, out of all the people he had been with." he says. "but why didn't you put little shrimpy on the list first?" floyd asks another question. "i wanted to see how the other people would act around azul. but to my expectations, i was wrong." he answered.
"azul would've been happy if shrimpy was first in line." floyd stated which made jade suddenly curious to what he means by that. "should you give an explaination as to why azul would be pleased?" he asks floyd. "it's simple. he likes shrimpy!" floyd lets out a beamed smile.
"i need another proper explaination to what you said there, floyd." jade was still confused. "i have never recall a time wherein azul sublty showed that has a possible romantic liking towards mc." he sounded very lost in this topic as he had no idea of anything except for floyd.
"those two would always argue during mid-lectures that it would cause a distraction to the class." jade nods while he understood floyd's explaining. "i wouldn't call it a distraction. more like an entertainment since it was SO much better listening to them pointlessly arguing on something rather than a boring old repeated discussion." jade now finally understood his point.
"from what i've gotten in your statement, you're saying that their dynamics are like rivals but on a romantic level. correct?" he nods at his question.
"yep! i even overheard azul muttering "what would i do if i was mc?" while he was doing homework alone in his room." he also adds on. "oh and the day after that, azul approached me to ask a question that had something to do with thinking about someone very often. and since i'm no expert at that, i didn't help him out. that really did looked like he had a crush on mc." those were all the insights floyd has explained to him.
jade has now finally got the answer he was looking for. "azul is so head-over-heels over shrimpy!!!" he cooed in reaction. "you did happen to coincidentally think of mc for azul's partner." jade stated. "yeah, but like what you said. i wanted to see how the others would act around azul. but that made me forgot about mc after a while." floyd responds as jade lets out a nod.
"it's now settled. we shall call over mc to the longue tomorrow." jade suggests. "OKIE DOKIE!" floyd happily answers back.
"but i should have you reminded that you ought to not hint on mc that the person is azul." jade gives out a reminder to floyd as he nodded. "yes, i won't blow the cover." he responded. now that they've finished planning for azul's last potential partner, they called it a day to go back working at the longue.
it was now lunchbreak. the time where grim had awaited for. he had also fell asleep during lectures and he was on the verge of being in trouble if you didn't attempt to wake him up at that time. "about time, i'm starving!" grim groans in hunger. "you felt sleepy a while ago and now you're hungry?" you asked the cat. "well, that's basically why i was hungry. i was sleepy!" you rolled your eyes at his response.
the both of you proceeded to the food section to grab food then find a seat afterwards. "this omelette is gonna be so yummy, i just know it!" grim was salivating at the food on his plate. you sighed in hopes of grim not causing a scene as he eats because he's dead hungry.
"dig in now, grim. you don't want to catch me stealing your food, right?" you teased letting out a smirk. grim was not amused with your little joke back there. "don't you dare lay a hand on my food, mc!" he drags his plate an inch away from you. you let out a sigh again after seeing grim who was aggressively eating after his long starvation. ace and deuce couldn't sit with you both because they grim had told you they had extended classes.
as soon as you were about to eat your food, you heard your name that's been called infront of you. you looked up to see who it was. grim did not seem very happy to see them at all. "shrimpy and sealie! hello there!" floyd greets the both of you first before jade. "ahhh, you stupid eels! what made you feel the need to interupt our eating time?!" grim was annoyed to see their sudden presence.
"calm down sealie. we're not here to chit chat with you." he shoots a glare at the annoyed grim making him startled as he was intimidated.
"pardon us for interupting you both without a notice. we are only here to speak with you mc with regards about something." jade informs the both of you. "hear that sealie? we're not here to do bad business." floyd tells grim but he still doubted it.
"me?" you asked for confirmation. "yes mc, meet us at the longue after class!" floyd says but you were still in confusion. "but what's your reason to call me over for?" you asked the twins.
"if it has something to do with the octo azul's scheming tricks, i will burn the three of you down!" grim warns them. "i'm guessing you guys still haven't learnt from that incident one time."
the twins gave a laugh in response. "oh no, we don't do such a thing like that anymore. am i right floyd?" he asks floyd as he nodded in response. "yep, we don't do that anymore!" he says. "now, moving on about the topic. mc we request you to be someone's date for their upcoming party." you gave a shocked reaction to what jade have said to you. it happened too suddenly.
"uhm, a date? you're setting me up on a blind date?" you asked floyd. "you could say that it's a blind date. the person had called you over to the longue for the blind date." you gave an unsure impression at first, but now you felt tempted to accept it since you were curious to see who your date was. you hoped to the great sevens that it wasn't azul.
"this smells fishy. are you really gonna say yes at this scheming kinda behavior?" grim whispers to you but you ignored him and immediately accepted the offer. "yes, i'd be glad to come over for this blind date." you answered without having to think about it.
grim was shocked at your straightforward response. he gasps loudly. "HUHHHHH?! ARE YOU THAT STUPID MC?" he curses at you but you kept a straight face being unbothered by grim. floyd and jade lets out a smile at your answer.
"very well." jade replied. "yay!" floyd cheered in reponse. "don't forget to come over, okay?" he reminds you again. then he leans in closer to you whispering out something with a serious tone in his voice. "you'll be in great trouble if you do forget it." he pulls away. floyd gives you a wave in goodbye before he walked away leaving with jade.
now that they were gone, you can tell grim was mad as you turned to look at him. "you really did never learn, huh?" grim shook his head letting out a 'tsk tsk'. under his mouth. you could only shrug in response. ace and deuce had finally appeared after their extended classes were over.
"hey guys, sorry we were a bit late." ace apologizes. the two of them sat down, placing their plates on the table. "it's a good thing you guys are here on a perfect timing." grim stated. "why so, grim?" deuce wonders. you wanted to shut grim's mouth but you were too late. "well you see here, mc fell for the twin eels' scheming deal."
ace and deuce gasped in shock. "MC, YOU WHAT?" deuce furiously reacted. "did you not remembered what happened last time when we were involved with them?!" ace also said. "but guys!-" as you were about to explain your side, grim butted in again with his annoying antics. "which is why we exactly need to give mc a reality check."
the three of them glance at you with a smug look. "yes, a perfect slap back to reality." deuce cracks the both of his fisted hands. "ooh, my hundred thousand page book is gonna come in handy." ace lets out a book in his hand. you were now fed up with their reactions.
"JUST HEAR ME OUT FOR ONE SECOND GUYS!" you raised your voice at them making them stop. "they told me it was a blind date. of course i'd take the offer cause it's not something shady." the three still weren't okay with your response.
ace rolled his eyes. "who knew you were a hopelessly in love kinda person." ace responded with a sarcastic tone. "i hope they set me up with vil." you said something out of the blue which made them cringe for a second.
"like you'd ever have a chance with him!" deuce lets out a laugh. "now this tells me that you really do need some reality check, mc." ace points out. "YEAH! LET'S SLAP MC BACK TO THEIR SENSES!" grim suggested. the three began to chaotically mess around with you. you wanted to stop them from their actions but they weren't listening to you.
you had now arrived at the mostro longue by jade and floyd's request. the place was crowded as always. you went around to find one of the twins and to your surprise, floyd had approached you first. "mc, welcome!" he greets you. "and you arrived early too, that's even good!" floyd also added. "so, where's this person i'm supposed to be with for the blind date?" you asked floyd. "oh, shrimpy is so excited huh? follow me to the room." floyd says as you agreed to follow him.
the room just so happens to be the vip room. you already knew how this was gonna escalate. floyd opens the door for you and as you entered inside, you saw jade standing beside azul. he glances at you with a reaction that seemed like he was disappointed. "hm, i see how this is." he adjusts his glasses. "out of all the living beings here in this surface, it had to be YOU?!" his eyes widened with anger.
you rolled your eyes at azul who was very not happy to see you. you returned the same energy back to him. "that's funny because i had thought of the same thing too." you responded with sarcasm. you faced azul while crossing your arms with a big smugged look on your face. "you're not the only one here that's mad azul. i'm not happy to see you as well." azul lets out a 'tch' as he was not amused to see you at his presence.
the twins were watching you both carefully observing from a distance. "it do seems that you are right, floyd. watching them argue at a distance is intriguing yet entertaining." jade whispers to floyd who was beside him. "it's fun to watch them fight. this date will surely make azul fall for mc harder." he lets out a silent laugh.
"because of your failed dates, you weren't able to find a partner for this party you're invited in?" you asked azul while raising a brow at him. "look at you foolishly talking as if you know a thing or two. mind your words." he gritted his teeth.
"huh? i was only curious." you tell the annoyed azul. "i deserve to know right, cause i'm YOUR date?" those words were enough to make azul's face become flustered.
"mc, if you keep up with this ridiculous antics of yours on the day of the party, i will make you work for the longue until the end of the school year." azul warns you with the angry look on his face. you nodded as an answer.
"i'll be serious azul, i assure you. i won't cause a scene at your party, trust me." you let out a smirk to your reponse. you proudly answered back azul with pure sarcasm. "since you say so, i hope you do keep your promise." to your surprise, azul responded back with the same energy.
he walks away from you then began to go over the papers on his desk. "i thought this was gonna be a date? this rather looks like a negotiation." azul was once again annoyed with you. he turns to look at you.
"i've already came to a decision that i would rather not hold a date with you unlike the rest, because you're the only person i have bad connections with." you nodded as an answer. "okay." azul wasn't expecting for that kind of response but he brushes it off.
"now listen here, mc. this is how the party will execute." you let out a nod to let him know that you're listening. "the party will happen underwater as my parents will be present there. i shall give you another spare of my potion to breathe underwater." he explains. "and if you have concerns with that, i give you my permission to refuse to my offer-"
you stopped him from talking. "why would i refuse?" you asked him. "i only wanted to make sure." he says. "i'm guessing that you have decided to be my date for the party." you nodded at his statement.
"what time is the party?" you asked him. "it starts at eight in the evening. i expect you to be ready an hour before the time." he answers. "and what about my clothes? i don't own any formal clothes and obviously the people would be weirded if i showed up in my uniform."
"i already have that taken care of mc. your clothes will be sent outside your dorm." azul answers. "be sure to arrive to the longue at exactly ten minutes before the starting time. i will be the one to pick you up for the party." everything had now been settled for tomorrow's party.
"will sure do." you tell azul. "now, off you go. i've had enough of seeing your presence with my own eyes." azul says as he walks back to his desk. "me too. it's a good thing we ended early. see you tomorrow night, azul." you waved goodbye at floyd before leaving the longue then head back to the ramshackle dorm.
the twins approached closer to azul who was covering his face from embrassment because of his encounter with you. "azul's face is now red!" floyd points it out making azul even more embarassed. "quiet down, floyd!" he yells. "i can tell you're excited to see mc with the clothes you planned for them." floyd lets out a laugh as jade follows along. "you're so gonna drool over them!" azul decides to shut floyd's loud and nosey mouth. "i said to quiet down, floyd!"
as you went back to the dorms, grim stood infront of you ready to bomboard you with questions about your situation in the mostro longue. "so, how did your blind date go?" he asks you, wanting to be updated with your business. "was your blind date with vil like you expected?" you ignored grim's questions which made him offended since you didn't answer."oi, tell me who it is now!" you finally decided to tell him in order to make him shut up.
"it's with azul." you finally spat out. grim didn't say anything for a second until he starts to rage. "AZUL?!" he angrily exclaims. "WHY DID YOU EVEN AGREE TO IT?!" he starts to jump on you and you failed to yank him off.
"if you end up going on a risky contract with him, just know that i'm not helping you. i've already warned you from the start." he warns you. "grim, relax." you rolled your eyes at the grim who was still clinging at your back. "he didn't even planned a contract in the first place!"
grim still did not pay attention to you. "sounds like pure delusion to me." grim angrily said. "you really do need a slap to get you back to reality." you already knew how this was gonna go. you were met with grim smacking a book at your head.
tomorrow has now passed it was the day of the party. you went outside to check if the box of clothes have arrived just like azul promised. you looked down at the doorstep and saw the box. you took the box inside and you headed to your room.
as you opened the box, you saw a note that caught your attention. the note was written out "for you my love" with a heart doodle and kissy faces of two people. you let out a laugh as you found it funny. you weren't easily fooled since you knew that the handwriting belonged to floyd's. he wanted to trick you into thinking azul wrote that.
you started to change into your clothes. you observed that it had a nice and smooth clothing which made you comfortable. you looked into the mirror to get yourself ready. then grim comes into the room without a notice. "MC!-" he then notices your outfit. "wow, where'd you even get all those clothes?" grim asks. "azul prepared it for me." you answered. grim was surprised to know about that. "wow, despite the jerk he is, he still is a kind one." he stated.
"i better be going now grim. take care." grim was shocked to see you leave without him. "you're not gonna bring me?" he asks. "it's a date grim! i don't want any thirdwheel to pester us over!" you told him.
as you were about to head outside the dorm, grim stops you in your way."please bring me with you, mc! you can just hide me in a shoulder bag." he suggests while going over the closet to grab a bag to hand to you. "don't worry, i fit in this bag."
you still weren't convinced to bring grim with you. "please mc? you might need a wingman too and that's me!" he says. "i won't cause any trouble i promise!" since grim was already getting on your nerves, you had no choice but to bring you with him incase any trouble goes down. "fine. get in the bag." you opened the bag for grim.
he cheers in response while getting on the bag. "YAY! FREE FOOD!" you weren't surprised to know that grim only wants to be in the party for the food. "the party is gonna happen underwater. azul had already gave me potions so we gotta share." grim nods. "copy that!"
you entered the mostro longue to meet up with azul like you guys planned yesterday. as you began to approach near azul, he notices you and suddenly became unusually quiet. "azul?" you asked him but he still didn't give out an answer. you saw that his cheeks became a bit red. "azul, what happen to our schedule about leaving early?" you snapped him out of his senses.
"oh, right. my apologies. let us now go, mc." he tells you. you and azul then began to leave the dorms to head underwater. "mc, may i ask why you brought a shoulder bag with you?" he asks about the bag that contained grim inside. "oh, i need it for emergencies and such." you answered him. "don't tell me this bag will not look appealing to the guests on the party." you said with annoyance. "how harsh of you, i didn't even mention any of that!" he lets out a scoff at you after.
azul waited for you to finish drinking your potion. you only drank half of it and placed it at the bag afterwards. the potion still did work. azul didn't seem to have notice that since you were entirely covered the small tube with your hands. you and azul began to enter underwater.
the party had escalated well. you get to meet up with his family and they were happy to see you. after having a conversation with his parents, you decided to be excused for a bit. you sneaked in for dessert on the table and you placed it inside grim's back. you hurriedly head back so that no one would suspect a thing. grim was probably inside the bag having a hard time eating because you filled in so much food.
as you went back to where you last saw azul staying in, he was no longer there. you glanced around the area to see if he was there. you didn't want to ask his parents since it would make you get in trouble. you swam up to a balcony when you saw a familiar figure with your own eyes. it was definetly azul.
"what are you doing here?" you asked him. "didn't i tell you to not go around places until i go back?" he spits back. you were not in the mood for that as well. "azul, i'm serious. why are you here? does it have something to do with me?" azul shook his head. "no, mc. i would rather not talk about it. i'd rather prefer if you wait for me there once i have finished isolating myself here." that made you worry. this was the first time azul acted like this towards you.
"actually, i do want to consider that you stay here with me for a while." you were shocked to hear those words to comue out from him. "if it's enough to make you feel fine, then sure." you sat beside him while watching the people on a very far distance below.
"azul, if you’re annoyed with me just say it-” azul interupts you mid sentence. "it's not that reason, mc. i just seem to struggle with receprocating my feelings for a certain person." you had a surprised reaction. "this is the first time i've stressed over something related to this." he finally said something. you were curious to know who this possible person could be that he's thinking about.
"right in the middle of a party?" you shouldn't have blurted that out. "sorry, that was blunt of me." you apologized to azul. he lets out a chuckle slowly fading away from his gloomy mood.
"i have to admit, mc." he lets out his hand, intertwining it with your hand. "we may have a strong hatred for each other, but there are these traits of yours that i find likeable where it reaches to the point that i slowly start to-"
the both of you were interupted with a loud scream that came out of your bag. grim fell off your bag along with the food you gave him. "GRIM?!" azul was shocked to see him.
"the bag had so much food! i couldn't even breathe properly!" he complains. you and azul let out a sigh at grim's actions. you hate to admit that he did a cockblock with you and azul. "did i interupt you guys with your kissy-kissy time? i apologize if i did, this bag is just so-"
"i understand grim. though you did actually interupted us." azul sighed. "i said i was sorry." grim said while munching on his food. you rolled your eyes at the way grim apologized because it didn't sound sincere. "hey look, they're having a dance party!" grim looks down at the people who were on their way to dance.
"you go there first, grim. we'll catch up." you told him. "heck yeah! i heard they offer their special quality food to the person who dances great." grim had already swam off to catch up with the crowd.
"i see you brought grim with you. that explains the shoulder bag." azul pointed it out. "yeah, he was too annoying. sorry for not telling you so sooner." azul didn't mind at all. "i'm not bothered at all, so worry not." he assures you.
you looked at each other for a while to admire each other's faces. then azul looked away as he got too flustered. "i-i'm sorry-" you laughed in response. "you silly, it's fine." you told him. the two of you heard grim's loud voices coming from down the area.
"do you think we should check up on grim?" you ask azul. he nods as an answer. "sure, let's head off now." he grabs your hand once again intertwining it with yours. you both headed off the balcony to catch up on the party.
#disney twisted wonderland#disney twisted wonderland x reader#disney twisted wonderland fanfic#disney twisted wonderland imagines#twisted wonderland#twst wonderland#twisted wonderland imagines#octavinelle x reader#octavinelle#azul x reader#azul imagines#azul ashengrotto x reader#azul ashengrotto
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i love how utterly fucking abysmal The Wild (2006) is. it's a horrible movie, and not even in a fun way. it's agony to watch. literally don't watch this movie. it's like. okay hold on.
so we all know how Disney's business plans worked in the late nineties to mid oughts, right? here's the big three:
appeal to the teens. because, ysee, word on the cool cat street was that disney just wasnt jivin with those rad hip youngsters, the teens. this was because then-CEO michael eisner learned his teenage son thought disney was like, soooo whatever. so in order to appeal to a wider demographic that potentially had money to spend on disney, Eisner would purposefully have things appeal to teens. or, at least, a 40-year-old's idea of what teens were like in the 1970s.
one-up Dreamworks Pictures. any disney fan will tell you that Michael Eisner and Jeffery Katzenberg were BEEFING, and this was reflected in the Disney-Dreamworks feud, not LEAST of which was that Dreamworks was created because Katzenberg was passed up for CEO in favor of Eisner.
jealousy. the most famous examples of this are Disneyland's California Adventure (a famously California-themed area in the California Disney park in the middle of the California-themed California) and Animal Kingdom (an entire third zoological park built just thirty minutes away from the famously safari-themed Busch Gardens (complete with live giraffes!) in Tampa, FL). if someone else did an idea, Eisner would try to have Disney do it better.
we caught up on that? good. most of you will be pointing something out by now: Eisner left disney in late 2005! The Wild was released in 2006! there's literally no way he could have been involved! which, ignoring how long movies take to make, COULD make this whole thing not an issue... except for one little event that happened in 2005. a little Dreamworks movie that was taking america by storm. the little-known snuff film... Madagascar (2005), released by Dreamworks to insane success. kids LOVED Madagascar, they loved King Julien, they loved the funny talking animals, they loved the use of old songs for fun interstitial plot beats, and they ESPECIALLY loved those silly little spy penguins. critics thought it was juvenile, however, so Madagascar now sits at a middling, but still positive, 55% critical reception on RT.
for a fun game, imagine for yourself what The Wild, released by Disney in 2006, could have a rating of. Go ahead, without looking it up, guess. we'll come back to that.
now, what i'm saying here isn't substantiated and the timeline doesn't exactly work, but hear me out. The Wild was often criticized for ripping off not only similar to Madagascar, but also The Lion King. Disney and Dreamworks's little pissing contest wasn't exactly subtle, and Eisner's jealousy when he saw how that stupid little animal movie was going over like gangbusters would've been enough for him to greenlight a similar idea, but with that little disney twist. and then he left, like a rat on a ship.
let's discuss the plot of The Wild.
we hear Samson the Lion start with telling someone a story about a previous fight he had had in The Wild, which is apparently just Africa. the logo is happening, yknow with the little firework line making an arc over the castle? except the much-younger teenage son then keeps interrupting by saying he's heard this story, and the firework keeps getting pulled back to the start in Comedic Fashion. the story is about how Samson, who apparently has sonic fucking roars, sent a bunch of wildebeests flying into the horizon, but then they had a big beefy furry wildebeest in the background who was like 46 feet tall. the son, Ryan the Lion, says he can feel the roar coming up, and Samson tells him to let loose, and Ryan does an alley cat soundbite because they didn't want to go to the Central Park Zoo and record actual lion cub noises.
By the way, this movie IS, in fact, opening in the Central Park Zoo. because we couldn't be more obvious. Samson the Lion is appropriately very famous, but not more famous than Nigel the Koala (voiced by Eddie Izzard), who is the basis of "the most popular doll in america", a pullstring plush koala that has two phrases: "I'm so cuddly; I like you!" and "I'm having a really nice day!". anyways, similar to madagascar, when the Central Park Zoo closes for the night, all the animals just get out and mingle. every single animal has a very distinct accent for some reason, as well??
anyways we're at this point introduced to the other main characters and their running jokes: Benny the Squirrel, whose joke is that he can't take a fucking hint; Bridgette the Giraffe, who is every sitcom woman in one and the unwilling target of Benny's affections; Nigel, who is extremely surly and the worst character in the movie; and Larry, a burmese python whose running gag is that he's stupid but sometimes he says something smart.
i'd like to just take an aside here to tell you all that Larry, despite being the idiot comic relief, ended up being my favorite character in the entire movie because the movie keeps forgetting he's supposed to be stupid?? like he'll just keep being very observant, but because every so often he'll drift into a nonsequitor all of his friends will angrily tell him to shut the fuck up, but it's like - bro he's the only one who's making sense. like at the end of the movie he puts forward an idea and before anyone can respond he goes "yeah, yeah, i know, shut up Larry :(" and it's like. bro get better friends.
anyways through a wacky series of events, Ryan's attempts to stop his friends from causing a Gazelle stampede cause the gazelles to stampede, and despite all of Ryans efforts to stop the stampede he caused, they run through the Turtle Curling competition the Samson is trying to win, costing Samson the Big Game, which means we gotta have Samson and Ryan having a big fight. i should mention that Ryan is insecure that he can't roar despite literally being prepubescent, and Samson is just like "are you acting up all because you can't roar?!" like DUDE THAT IS YOUR SON AND HE IS EIGHT. HIS VOICE HASN'T EVEN CRACKED YET.
Ryan then runs off to the green shipping crates that are being sent to New York's Harbor, and Samson and Benny go off to save Ryan after the workers somehow fucking miss the lion cub sleeping in broad fucking daylight. the dynamic duo is then joined by Bridgette (who knocks Benny off the truck), Nigel, and Larry. we then get a montage set to, and i am not fucking kidding, Clocks by Coldplay, where the animals experience the mysteriously-empty Times Square for the first time. more uhhhhh Wacky Hijinks ensue, and the rescue party are too late to get onto the cargo ship heading to africa, so they COMANDEER A PONTOON and tail the ship - after Benny rejoins them.
and here's where it gets to the point where i realized this movie was trying TOO hard to be dreamworks. if you'll recall, dreamworks likes to sneak in adult jokes, like famously Shrek looking at Duloc and going "do you think he's compensating for something". yknow, little innuendos like that.
Benny, having ridden in on a flock of Canadian Geese that mysteriously vanish after this scene after being hired as navigators, turns to Bridgette and, in an attempt to flirt with her, says that he's an expert goose rider, and that he rides bareback, and then slaps his flank.
it was becoming clear to me that every character was slowly becoming unmanageable to feel sympathy for.
after what would be, realistically, a few months - much too long for a pontoon to remain fueled, and WELL too long for a ship with passengers and sans supplies to remain populated, they reach the shores of Africa, which is... well it's not the shores of Madagascar, despite it literally being exactly like that scene in Madagascar where the animals are beholden to the rich jungles of madagascar. but for some reason this area of Africa not only has rich jungles, but ALSO an ACTIVE VOLCANO centrally located in the jungle. this is the purpose of the green transport crates: the wild animals are being rescued from an impending eruption. this is never brought up, but Ryan confuses the situation despite spending LITERAL MONTHS on that ship and potentially- actually
now that i'm writing this out, HOW DID NO ONE ON THE FUCKING SHIP. NOTICE THEY HAD AN ADOLESCENT LION CUB ON THE- THEY WERE SUPPOSED TO BE EMPTY CRATES. THEY WOULDN'T HAVE. NOTICED THE. LION CUB???? PROBABLY MEWLING FOR HELP???? IN A CONTAINER WITH OPEN-AIR WINDOWS????? BRO????
anyways Ryan runs into The Wild, and Samson and friends run after Ryan but lose him somehow. Samson, whose main character trait is that everyone else is saying that he always talks about being a real child of the Wilderness (notice that Samson himself never backs this up), eventually comes clean about his past after a scene with a hyrax that goes WAY too long in anyone's opinion - Samson was sold to the zoo after being raised in the circus. Samson was Ryan's age, as in like eight years old, when he was forced to attempt to roar in front of an audience, and when he couldn't because he was eight, he was SOLD TO THE ZOO. and his father's parting words were "if you had been born in the wild, you would have been able to roar" LIKE SIR YOUR SON IS STILL A CHILD DOMESTICATION DOESN'T MEAN YOU CAN'T FUCKING- HELLO???
anyways everyone treats this as some Big Betrayal, and Samson goes off on his own to find Ryan. meanwhile Nigel gets kidnapped by wildebeests.
yes, there are wildebeests living in this fucking jungle.
Nigel is then brought to the ACTIVE VOLCANO, where the WILDEBEESTS HAVE STARTED A DEATH CULT. they are led by William Shatner Wildebeest whose name i have forgotten because despite being the main antagonist he was revealed fifty minutes into a seventy-minute movie. turns out, one of those Nigel dolls fell off of a cropduster plane over this nondescript african jungle, interrupting a lion hunt against this wildebeest despite the fact that neither of these animals live in the jungle. the pullstring then scared the lions into fleeing, and Shatbeest took this as an OMEN FROM GOD to START A DEATH CULT where ALL WILDEBEESTS WILL BECOME CARNIVORES AND ALL LIONS WILL BECOME HERBIVORES. also he made a whole song out of the "I'm having a really nice day!" voiceline complete with choreography. this is somehow not only plot important but also instrumental in his downfall.
anyways Nigel immediately gets drunk with power because he has no morals and is the worst character in the movie.
the wildebeests kidnap Bridgette and Larry and knock Benny out. have you noticed Benny just keeps getting put offscreen so he can solve the plot later? anyways Samson hallucinates dr seuss colors because he's activating his "predator instincts" to find his cub, which - red flag - but it also works. and then the wildebeests kidnap ryan after throwing Samson off a cliff, and you would not believe how much i wanted him dead so the movie would be over.
it was around this time that i realized i would much rather watch cars 2 again. my girlfriend had long since admitted that.
Benny wakes up in the middle of a bunch of German scarabs (who are all like. yodelling milkmaid types?????) who thought he was shit, and tbh yeah good call, but anyways Benny wakes up Samson who is somehow completely unharmed from being dropped off a cliff with an entire tree on top of him. Samson then has a tangible hallucination pointing them to the volcano, which he and Benny both see.
Nigel meanwhile actually has to weigh the pros and cons of siding with the wildebeests and watching them cook and eat his friends, or saving his friends. Shatbeest meanwhile REALLY wants to eat a LITERAL COWERING CHILD.
outside the volcano, we find out that Samson's hallucinations are a LITERAL LEGION OF SECRET AGENT CHAMELEONS who are trying to get people to defeat the wildebeests - which, like, WHY DID YOU NEED THESE TWO YOKELS???? YOU'RE LIKE. THERE'S A WHOLE JUNGLE OF POORLY-PLACED ANIMALS. THERE ARE OTHER LIONS IN THE JUNGLE SURELY. WHAT HAPPENED TO THE LIONS IN THE FLASHBACK??
anyways the chameleons can make benny and samson invisible by covering them and going transparent. obviously.
the finale is incredibly like. it's such a nothing finale. the chameleons barely factor into it?? like Benny and Samson are just suddenly there, and Shatbeest keeps physically overpowering Samson and later Ryan, but Shatbeest angers the other wildebeests because one of them couldn't get the choreography right and so he's kicked towards the sacrifices as one of them. and then Ryan is like "aw dad... i wish you had the father i had. :(" which like. WHEN was it explained to you what happened with your dad. you were JUST told that your dad was born in captivity you don't know WHAT HAPPENED you just IMMEDIATELY went to being mean to him. and that inspires the wildebeests to turn on Shatbeest because this is the lion king so we gotta have that hyenas eat scar scene. but then the volcano, the LITERAL ACTUAL VOLCANO EVERYONE'S BEEN INSIDE OF THIS WHOLE TIME, starts to erupt, and Shatbeest is crushed under rocks.
everyone gets to the pontoon, and Samson, Ryan, the group, the wildebeests, and for some reason the chameleons all escape just as the island erupts, and it's like, fuck all the other bitches right? anyways then we have a heartfelt moment immediately undercut by the animated movie dance party ending where Nigel the koala just starts twerking. Benny stops being sexist out of complete nowhere despite never learning his lesson and this is completely undercut by Bridgette kissing him and revealing she was into being objectified this whole time, she just wanted Benny to be Woke about it. every single character in this movie was awful (except Larry i just feel bad for him) and in my mind the movie ends with that fucking pontoon sinking in the middle of the atlantic for exceeding its weight limit.
it's such a nothing movie. every scene feels like it's from something else. my girlfriend maintains that everyone who defends this movie is a corporate shill. my experience with this movie was i watched it multiple times as a kid, and i had somehow convinced myself this WASN'T a disney movie and was instead made by one of those low-budget studios that makes a single animated film before vanishing forever. it feels like a parody of itself, like someone had made a prior movie that doesn't exist that they then warped with ten consecutive funhouse mirrors.
it feels like michael eisner's teen son tried to make madagascar but Edgy.
and now we come back to the fun game from before the cut. what was the number you came up with on rotten tomatoes? what would rotten tomatoes rate this movie that has effectively been scrubbed from disney's records? Madagascar has 55%, what could its ugly step-reflection be?
...well that's not good.
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Werewolf attack | Bill Weasley x Reader
Summary: You get a letter from Ginny saying that Bill was injured during a battle
Pairing: Bill Weasley x Reader
Square filled: Post battle
Word count: 1248
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Dear, Y/N
I'm sorry to have to announce this to you by mail, but Bill was severely injured during a battle with Death Eaters. He's currently being taken care of at Hogwarts' hospital wing. Come quick.
Ginny Weasley
It had been a while since you last been inside the castle, but you managed to find the hospital wing fairly easily - with the help of a few portraits. As you walked through the halls, you heard details about the battle Ginny had mentioned. According to the whispers, the Great Hall you once loved was now destroyed and so was Hagrid's hut. Lastly, and the most shocking, Dumbledore was...dead.
Bill's cot was surrounded by the Weasley clan when you arrived at the infirmary, making it easy to spot. Around you, there were students being treated in other cots for cuts and others injuries, making you wonder what had happened.
Having seen you walk in, Ginny stepped away from her family and came to greet you.
''What happened?'' you asked, but the younger Weasley didn't say anything and simply hugged you. You hugged her back, feeling like she needed it. ''Gin-'' you started, getting more worried.
''I think it's better if you see yourself.''
She led the way and you followed, preparing yourself for the worse. If it hadn't been so bad, Ginny would've put more details into her letter. So, it had to be bad.
You bypassed the hospital screen that had been installed between beds, separating and shielding him from other patients and curious eyes and took a deep breath before standing next to Ron and filling the empty space Ginny must've occupied before you arrived.
Tears welled in your eyes when you saw Bill in the small cot with bandages and scratches all over. His eyes were closed, having most likely been given a sleeping draught to ease the pain and facilitate the healing. Four long - and deep looking - scratches took the side of his face and kept going across his nose, chin and a little of his left cheek. He was, for lack of better words, disfigured.
Beside his bed was a small pot with soiled gauzes and bandages and other cleaning supplies from when the nurses had tended him. It made you sick to your stomach how many there were.
''William.''
Your broken voice caught Molly's attention. She looked up without detaching herself from her husband, holding onto a handkerchief which she must've used to wipe her tears. She forced a smile at you, but was too worried about her son's state.
A werewolf. A nasty werewolf that went by the name Greyback had attacked him, mauled him when the Death Eaters had entered the school, Ron had explained.
''Is he going to turn into a..?'' you trailed, speaking everyone's mind.
''There is a possibility,'' Mr. Weasley replied. ''Remus said if it had been a bite, there would be no questioning, but Greyback scratched him. And, it wasn't on a full moon. We'll have to wait and see.''
.
When it became too late to stay up, Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the clan left to get some rest at home. Molly didn't want to leave her son's bedside, but she knew he was in safe hands with you - and the Hogwarts nurses.
No one was allowed overnight at the infirmary, it was an old rule that still went, but Madam Pomfrey let you stay.
It was almost midnight when Bill's eyes opened.
The matron and all the nurses had gone to sleep in their quarters, leaving the ones in the portraits to watch over the patients. You too had fallen asleep, but instead of a soft bed, it was in the uncomfortable chair by Bill's bed. Your body was going to ache tomorrow.
A scratchy call of your name stirred you from your sleep, the quiet sound louder in the silent infirmary. You opened your eyes and saw your boyfriend awake in his cot.
''I'm here,'' you said, coming closer and sitting on the edge of Bill's cot, careful to not brush any of the cuts and scratches on his arms and chest.
The redhead looked at you and smiled softly, still loopy from the potions he was given. ''I must look dashing, do I?'' he asked, making you laugh as tears pricked your eyes.
''Don't worry, you're still handsome,'' you assured despite the scratches on his face. ''How are you feeling?'' you asked, gently stroking his hair around his face the way you knew he liked.
''Like I've been stepped on by one of Charlie's dragons,'' Bill answered half honest, half joking. He laughed it off, but the rumbling and expansion of his chest caused a sharp chest pain, making the redhead hiss.
You knew it was from the bruises on his ribs, but Bill's hiss of pain still worried you. You hated to see him in hurt, hearing his pain was worse and got you immediately in nurse alert. ''Do you need more pain potion? I'll go get a nurse-''
Bill put his hand on your arm, stopping you. ''No. I'm good.''
''Maybe you should cut down on the laughing until you're healed, yeah? The nurse said it should take two weeks for the bruises on your ribs to heal. Fred tried to use his invented bruise-healing paste on you, but Madam Pomfrey threatened to ban him from the infirmary so he put it back in his pocket,'' you explained, laughing at the memories.
''Does it even work?''
You shrugged. ''I have no idea.''
You weren't too familiar with the twins' Weasley Wheezes products, but if the bruise-healing paste didn't work, Fred wouldn't have tried to use it on Bill. Not while he was severely injured in a hospital cot.
''Has anyone caught Greyback?'' Bill asked, curious about the fate of his attacker.
''No.'' You shook your head. ''He got away with the other Death Eaters. I'm sorry.''
''It's okay. It'll give me time to recover until I can get my revenge.'' Bill forced a smile, trying to stay positive, but you knew it was only a facade.
''Remus wants his ass dead too. He won't live for long.''
You were trying to sound hopeful, but Remus had been bitten at the age of four and was now in his mid-thirties. In his defense, Fenrir Greyback was difficult to catch. He had been captured several times by the Ministry's Werewolf Capture Unit, but managed to escape every time.
''What happened during the battle? Did they catch the Death Eaters? Is-''
You shook your head, refusing to tell him anything about the battle. Something big did happen, but Bill didn't need to know about Dumbledore's death - not at midnight. For everything else, you didn't have enough information to answer everything he'd want to know. ''Madam Pomfrey said you need rest. We can talk about the battle tomorrow.''
He sighed, but didn't push. ''Come in the bed with me.''
You hesitated. ''I don't think-''
''Please, love. Just for a couple minute until I fall asleep.'' He used his Weasley charm and you gave in.
Thankful for the hospital screens around his cot, you carefully sat on Bill's bed and made sure to not touch any of his bandages, scared to hurt him. Once you were settled, Bill closed his eyes, head resting against the soft pillow.
You found a spot on his face where he had no bandages and kissed it. ''I still love you, William. Whether you owl at the moon every months or not.''
You saw a smile curl on his lips. He was going to be okay.
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🎼Yandere! Apollo(General) Headcanon⚕:
Tw: Violence, implied dub-con, delusions, mention of flaying, slight nsfw, toxic relationship, curses.
Ah, Apollo is known to be attracted to those that represent beauty. So when he got the gist of rumor spreading through the island of Kythira, that a young maiden has a mellifluous voice and an equally divine figure. He declared that he had to investigate, to make sure the rumours are true.
Thus, the blond god decided to pay a visit to meet the cryptic maiden; that had lit the flames of his curiosity as if it was the flames of Olympus* itself!
Before he descends to the village, Apollo disguised himself as man in his mid-thirties that have a flowing chocolate locks for tresses and stubbles beneath his chin. ' Now, to find the μούσα* of this village.'
The first thing that came to his mind, is that to search for her in the fields of flowers. Alas, he didn't find her which made him the more so frustrated. Were those rumours a mockery, just to taunt him for every lover he had met a tragic end?* If so, how dare they!
Yet, a kind gentlemen has came his way and saw the impatient expression painting Apollo's face. 'χαῖρε*, friend! I saw you were troubled, that's why I am here to help. As far as I am concerned, you're here to meet the allegedly fair maiden of our village. If you want to her, then head to the south east of chora. You'll find her humming a hymn and playing with animals, and Ὑγιαίνε!*'.
Before, he could give his blessing and gratitude to the man. The individual vanished into thin air as if he never existed. Nonetheless a smile tore Apollo's face, as he began heading to the place that stranger told him to go.
When he arrived to the location, his breath was hitched by not the beauty of place. But, with the woman in a flowy white dress who was singing her heart out. His heart was thumping so hard, that he feared that it may stop thanks to the woman in a simple village dress. It seems that the rumours were not an empty gossip, after all. Oh, did he finally 'meet' his muse and he won't let what occured to his past lovers happen to you!
Apollo is obsessive, clingy, delusional, and overwhelming-ly overprotective to the point of being overbearing. But, that's understandable when most of your lovers either wind up dead or turned into some kind of plant!
Apollo adores you immensely, so much that he will go as far as to defying you to his worshippers. Any mockery of you is akin of insulting him, which will steer his wrath. And his wrath isn't something to be taken so lightly, especially if his darling is involved.
It's a guarantee that Apollo will write poems, hymns*, and songs of praise for you. As well as, ensuring one of his devoted servants to sculpt you in the most pristine form and to be spread all through Greece. Then, he'll get rid of them* because he is the only one who has the right to appreciate s/o naked figure. 'What a fair woman you are, my μούσα. How fortunate, for the sisters of fate had decided to bind us together. So, let's take advantage of it and create the masterpiece of our deathless love.'
In fear of your death, the first thing Apollo will do is to force the ambrosia* upon you. Whether be it you're willing, or kicking and screaming to be let go. He simply will ignore it, as he believes those are 'signals' indicating that you desire him as much as he desires you. 'Shhh, μούσα. No need to be afraid, after all we will be together forever. Aww, those tears of happiness has blessed my day. Now, let me return the favour in our private chamber.'
If you're were to be taken away from Apollo, or worse injured significantly. Then, those imbeciles must be prepared to accept their fates. Oh dear, it has been itching him for a while to use his bow and arrow! Or, maybe flay them for their discretion of his sacred beloved.
Plus, he may or may not consider cursing their homeland with a terminal illness to make an example out of any mortal who has any ill intention toward s/o.
On another notice, rejecting or escaping him won't effect the outcome. As he'll accumulate you one way or another, in addition you'll be punished severely for 'breaking' his fragile heart. But don't worry, he won't hurt you....that much.
If you happened to escape on your own accord, not only will you make Apollo upset but also Artemis for upsetting her twin brother. (In which case, I believe from this scenario Artemis would've developed platonic obsession. Mainly, that you make her brother happy and that you haven't been dead yet. And, for that she promised to protect you until her last breath. Not only for her brother, but for herself as it has been a while since she met a kind mortal.)
Then, you'll become the prey of both Apollo and Artemis hunting game. If Artemis was the one to catch you, then you'll be handed to the lovesick god as he begin to drown you in his hold. However, if Apollo was the one to catch her then the s/o must be in for an intense 'love' session. In both scenarios, you'll be handed to him. It's just his reaction, that will differ.
Oh, also don't even attempt to break Apollo's delusions of you. As he will become a horrendous individual to meddle with, if he ever become lucid. And, the punishments will be amped to mind-shattering level. So try not to tread on his delusions, and you'll be safe for the most part. The more you escape, the more he'll be aware. Thus, he'll slowly become lucid. Oh, and just because he's lucid doesn't mean that he'll give up his beloved. NO! he'll be more persistent and bitter in his approach than his deluded state which is more softer and sweeter than any honey.
Anyways, one of his favored hobbies is to enact your and his fantasies with you. He can't help, but gushes at your flushed and drooling visage as he overstimulates your genital. 'Ahh, you're so.... dazzling especially with that flustered expression upon your face. Oh? You want more? Ask and you shall receive. No need to be shy with me, my βασίλισσα*.'
Anyways, as long as you play your cards right you might escape with your wits and sanity intact. But.....at the cost of either becoming the most dreaded immortal or cursed so no one can love you, but Apollo himself.
In which case, the isolation and ostracizion from the mortals will most likely drive you to return to him. 'Ah looks like you've learnt your lesson, κακῶς κόρην*. I forgive you now, so come into my warm embrace.'
Notes:
* Flame of Olympus: Here, I was referencing the myth of the first flame that Prometheus gave to humanity. Leading him, to be punished by Zeus.
* μούσα: Muse in greek.
* Tragic end: Poor Apollo. Each time he loves someone, they die or turn to plants. First, Daphne(turned into a Laurel tree) then Hyacinth(turned into Larkspur flower) then Cassandra(cursed for the rest of her life with the misfortune of no one believing her oracles). The last one, was a prickly act from Apollo ngl. But, then again there is no one right in the mythos. Everyone must've done something shitty for petty reasons with few exclusions (hestia/hades).
*χαῖρε: Hello in ancient greek.
*Ὑγιαίνε: Good luck in ancient greek.
*Hymns: are songs of praises towards a deity.
*then he'll get rid of them: you'll ask why would he spread sculptures of you around Greece, yet will punish anyone who worships it. Simply, because that's called hypocrisy and boy there is alot of it in the mythology. *Cough* Zeus *Cough*
*Ambrosia: Called 'the food of the gods', it is guaranteed to make any mortal into immortal.
* βασίλισσα: Queen in ancient greek.
*The first one to answer this will get a cookie from me: Who was the mysterious man that spoke with Apollo?
A/n: I apologize for uploading late, as I am busy with studying for my finals. Lastly, I hope you enjoyed this and thanks for requesting! Take care!
#yandere#yandere greek goddesses#yandere greek gods#yandere greek mythology#yandere x reader#yancore#Yandere Apollo x reader#Yandere Apollo
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In the Mountains - cth
summary: who would've thought hiking with the boys would have ended up being so eventful? as the fifth member of 5sos with a crush on a certain bass player, you’re about to find out.
author’s notes: thanks to @calumspupils for sending this request in! I hope you enjoy it!
masterlist || request
You didn't really know how you'd gotten to this point in your life. How you had ended up in a band with four people you'd give the world to, it all still seemed like a fever dream. Most mornings you'd wake up either on a tour bus or in a hotel room miles from home wondering if this was your real-life and it wasn't until you were sat at breakfast with your bandmates that you realized how grateful you were for the twists and turns that had led to your crazy life.
Some days you'd play shows and feel like you were on top of the world, rocking out on stage with your best friends. Some nights the views from the airplanes you'd grown used to being on took your breath away for so long you were afraid you'd actually imagined it all. That all the cameras flashing and fans screaming out lyrics you'd written with the four guys on stage next to you were a figment of your imagination and you'd wake up one day to find it all gone.
"Hey, I know you don't love hiking but...I'm sure we'll make it fun," Calum's voice rang out in the car, bringing you back to the moment at present, "And I'll be there to tell you all the jokes and point out cool rocks," he said with a wink.
Calum Hood. You'd turned your head to face him, the California sun was hitting his skin and making him glow. His bright smile adorning his face as the sunglasses he was wearing slid down his nose to reveal those brown eyes you'd fallen for. His soft voice and gentle teasing bringing warmth to your stomach that always seem to linger whenever you two were alone. It was something that you thought you'd kept to yourself, a little secret, but the comments online only left you a blushing mess.
If you were being honest, you'd been in love with Calum since the first months you'd spent with the band, getting to know each other and making sure you'd be a good fit into the group. those weeks had been filled with outings together where all five of you would spend hours on end telling stories about growing up and then laughing over how the internet blew up when they introduced you to their fanbase. But those few weeks were also spent trying your best to not make a fool of yourself in front of Calum, who seemed to always be at the right place whenever you stumbled or when your voice would crack while you were practicing alone.
You two had clicked instantly, both stuck to each other's hip as you took on the world. You'd write together, spending hours on a couch drafting out possible songs and humming along to tracks that had potential in matching the band's sound. You'd even become neighbors at one point when you'd first moved into the city to be closer for band work. He'd helped you move into the apartment next to his and you'd spent many weekends at each other's place, laughing over the awkward silences when you'd both caught each other glancing for a few seconds too long.
So you were in love with your bandmate, your best friend, with Calum Hood. How bad could it be?
Apparently, very bad. You and Calum had never been the subtle type and although you both pretty much knew there was more than friendship between you two, no one made a move to make it more. Ashton had asked you once when you two had gone out for lunch after a studio session.
"I just can't understand why you two haven't already gotten over it and got together. You'd thought about it, he's thought about it. Just do it," Ashton huffed, shaking his head as he watched you tense up and shake your head.
"The band is what's important, Ash. We can't let our feelings get in the way of fucking up what all five of us have created. He knows that and I do too," you'd replied, laughing quietly as Ashton only shook his head and mumbled something under his breath.
But Ashton was always one to try and make others happy in his own special way. And that's how you found yourself in the car with Calum on the way out of the city for a hike you were less than excited about. You knew Ashton was up to something when he'd texted the group saying that you and Calum would have to drive to the trail together since you wouldn't fit in his car with Luke, Mike, and their partners. As a form of payback, you'd purposefully told Calum to pick you up thirty minutes after the original time to make sure you were the last ones to get there because there was nothing more than Ashton hated than being late. And that's how you found yourself driving out of the city with Calum, lost in your own head over how beautiful he looked.
"Mhm, you always make things fun," you chuckled and winked back at him, "We're gonna need it especially now that we're late and Ashton will definitely kill us."
The hike had gone surprisingly good considering three of you were not the most athletics and Luke and Michael had constantly been racing seeing who could go the farthest faster. Ashton had tried his best to keep everyone on track until you and Calum had teased him about being the mom friend as he'd set up his phone on a rock to shoot an update video for fans to let them know about the band had been up to. It had all been going according to plan until you moved closer to Calum and twisted your ankle, ending up on the floor staring up at the blue sky.
"Oh my god, I'm going to die. Just leave me here to die because I'm not making it," you cried out, "This is the end of me!"
In a matter of seconds since your back had hit the ground, four familiar faces hovered above you, one of them looking more concerned than the others. The pain shot through your spine and down your leg, your eyes closing as you tried to stop the tears from falling down your cheeks. Soon enough you found yourself being lifted up from the ground and a warm body pressed against your back. You could hear all the guys fighting over what to do, which meant your ankle wasn't twisted backward since none of them had screamed or puked their guts out. Their voices all mumbled into one as you breathed through the pain and it wasn't until Calum's warm breath was hitting your ear that you felt yourself take a deep breath in and open your eyes.
"I'm gonna stay here with you until Ash and the others can get a ranger to bring a car or something like that, okay?" he mumbled softly, his hand rubbing at your back as he helped you sit back against a rock.
"Please don't let my leg fall off, I need it to run on stage and to kick Michael when he steals my food," you whined.
"That's not gonna happen, okay? I think you just twisted it and it's all going to be okay, sweet girl," Calum mumbled and kissed your forehead, "Promise."
The sun was still high in the sky by the time you started thinking Ashton had left you both in the desert. You'd both been sitting on the ground together, watching as your ankle grew and grew in size as the time passed by. The pain had dulled and your head was resting on his shoulder when your brain had started to think of the worst.
"You know, this wouldn't have happened if you were Australian. Us Aussies are known for our athleticism," Calum chuckled as he nudged your side with his elbow, "It's a well-known fact."
"I can do a better Australian accent than all four of you," you scoffed, rolling your eyes as you smacked his thigh, "And I can outrun pretty much all of you except Ash."
"Except right now."
"Calum Hood, I swear if you don't stop making fun of me-"
"What? Are you gonna hit me again? I dare you-"
You don't know what came over you. Maybe it was the heat of the sun beaming down on you both. Or maybe the fact that you were thirsty since Michael had taken the only backpack with water with him before you two realized it but Calum's lips looked very nice and it took no self-restraint for you to lean in and stop him mid-sentence.
"Maybe you should twist your ankle more often, huh?" Calum chuckled as you both pulled away, "Or bully you more often."
"Shut up and kiss me again, idiot," you laughed and pulled him back in for another kiss.
"Who knew all I had to do was get you two alone on a hiking trail for you to finally kiss, huh?" Ashton's chuckled made you both pull away, making you both look like a deer caught in headlights.
"Oh shut up, I'm never going on a hike with any of you again," you huffed and gratefully took the park ranger’s hand as he helped you on to what looked like a golf car.
It was a short trip back to the medical center, where they treated your very swollen ankle with ice while you downed all the water you could get your hands on. But you were grateful that Calum hadn't left your side once, his hand in yours as you squeezed it whenever you'd hit a bump or when the park ranger wrapped your ankle. His hand was still in yours as you both drove back to the city and it never left yours even when you both laid on the couch in his living room that night, drifting off in each other's company for once accepting that maybe, just maybe, this could be more than just stolen glances.
taglist: @hoodhoran @finelliine @moonlightcriess @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop @hemmo1996-5sosvevo @myloverboyash @notinthesameguey
#calum hood blurbs#calum hood imagines#calum hood x reader#5sos imagines#5sos blurbs#5sos x reader#calum hood#5sos#5 seconds of summer#gemma writes
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JSE egos family hcs!!
it was actually supposed to be "egos as dads" hc but yeah
shoutout to @no-strings-puppet for inspiring me :Р
some fluff for all of our broken hearts ahead ah he he
Chase:
He's most likely a really good dad! Going out with his kids, allowing them to go to concerts and conventions and stuff, maybe even with him! He's an appropriately young dad (around 27, i think, as he most likely has two kids, one 1-3 years older than the other), so he's geniuenly engaged in these things as well. Maybe they'd help him with fun video ideas, and at some point he makes a couple with them! I also imagine him a really supportive and accepting guy - like he would always support them coming out as LGBTQA+, openly talk about health problems (including mental health) and things that come with aging. Seriously, i imagine him spending like an hour and a half on the internet reading about periods if he has a daughter and then trying to explain it to her, stuttering and blushing but actually explaining it. He wouldn't ever yell at his kids and would try to help in a tough situation rather than blaming them. I think they would've been a really-really happy family if it wasn't for Stacy.
Henrik:
A man in his late thirties, he's a busy doctah, but he would still try to spend a lot of time with his family. I don't think they have a really warm relationship, but it's not bad either. They're just living together. There are some hiccups here and there, but she's an understanding woman - after all, she knew what it will be like to be married to a surgeon. Kids, however, might not understand it for a while, but Henrik understands it. He really values his time with them, because he remembers all the times he had to go to work practically mid-chat. lI also imagine his kids being bilingual from the early childhood, because he's German and his wife is British or American. A decent family.
Marvin:
Marvin is not really keen on the idea of having a singnificant other/family, because he thinks he won't be able to make them happy, but eventually meets "that person". They might not love life on the road that much, but they support him and tell him he's awesome even if the show doesn't go all good. They really love each other, and who knows, maybe one time Marvin starts to work in the circus, the two buy a small house and live a happy quiet life.
Jackieboyman:
I think he didn't have a significant other for a long time - lack of free time, living a double life, all that. Then, at some point, starting a long distance relationship - and things are nice for quite a while!.. Until they decide to move to him. He's happy, but also terrified to death. They figure out the secret almost instantaneously, as Jackie is a terrible liar, but support him and help him at everything they two do. He's really flattered and is trying to "repay the debt" as much as he can, but they always say that they're the one in debt, just as the whole city. He never agrees.
Maybe some time later a new young hero arrives at the city, Jackie cooperating with him and splitting the responsibilities, so the he can eventually get married and maybe even have a beautiful kid that recieves all the love in the world! Also: BAYTINGS!!! for everyone who dares to hurt his family (๑•̀ㅂ •́)و ✧
Robbie:
???????? he's a child himself?????????????? somebody please protect my small boi???????????????????
Anti:
... no. just no.
@psycho-septic @readeatfightlove13 @theinvisiblespoon @turquoisemagpie @incorrect-ego-quotes @septicuniverse @hufflepufftrax @jacksoopticboop @kasper-the-ghost @lum1natrix i dunno maybe some of you want to see this tell me if not
#jacksepticeye#jackieboy man#marvin the magnificent#chase brody#henrik von schneeplestein#robbie the zombie#antisepticeye
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TB&TB 🐇 Anon Answers 1 of... something. There are a lot. Sorry 😅
1. Heheh, I giggled when I wrote it! And I agree... very telling 😛
2. Now is when I out myself as a weirdo and admit I don't really picture things in my head, and when I do, they are very vague. Most of the time, I see the characters as cartoonized or animated versions of themselves. Bunny in particular, I change her appearance in my head regularly. I do this to ensure that I take all of my Readers into account when describing her, and because I can't ever seem to make up my mind.
I can try to do a couple Picrew versions of her, if anyone is interested!
Also, thank you so much and I am so glad you are here and enjoying yourself!!!
3. Thank you so much, friend! I love when people send me quotes from my writing; it really helps me improve and it's a joy to read people's reactions.
I love and appreciate you ❤️
4. Domestic is definitely a good word for them! They stay that way the rest of the fic, too 😚 But yes... Kyle certainly poked the bear a bit too hard this time. Not a side of Spencer that Bunny has ever seen.
5. Aaaa I wrote that scene first because I was so excited for it! I love dopey lovesick Spencer so much. He just loves her and wants her to be safe and happy so badly.
I checked my AO3 link and it was working for me, but those links are notoriously finicky. If you can't get it to work, my AO3 should be listed in my Masterlist of Links (pinned post) as well!
6. Heheh, people are taking it much lighter than I anticipated... I'm not sure how much more possessive Spencer there will be, but I imagine he'll bleed through a few times at least. That scene was a showing of weakness for him, so it's something he actively tries to avoid.
7. Make sure you take breaks! Absence makes the heart grow fonder 😜
8. So bad. He'll get there, though. He knows. I do not intend to dance around that topic.
9. Awwwe it's so nice to know people think about this series as much as I do, lol! I do miss focusing on my oneshots, but the regularity of it is nice. I'm definitely a sucker for a schedule. But yeah, it would've been way too hectic to try to do it this week. I don't think I'll finish before next week, either and I'm pretty bummed about it 😬
Best of luck with the health related struggles, though. I hope you get some relief soon, and then you can enjoy TB&TB without that stuff on the backburner!
10. I'm so glad to hear that you relate to my writing and it makes you feel even a little bit better about yourself. I promise you, we think that people care about these things more than they actually do. I knew and know multiple women in their mid to late twenties (and some in their thirties!) who are virgins, and it doesn't phase most people.
Trust me when I say that it is much more preferable, in my opinion at least, that you wait until you're comfortable with yourself before you pursue a sexual life. It would have saved me from a lot of dangerous situations.
That being said, the idea that you "have to love yourself first" before someone can love you is complete garbage. People will still love you with your faults. That's part of loving someone... accepting their flaws. You're going to find someone that makes you happy however you need, and you will live a great life.
Best of luck!
Thank you everyone for your patience on my vacation! I'll try to line up those Blurbs to post soon! 🥰
also i still have a bunch of asks to answer, sorry!
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