#Crooked teeth and thinks they are beautiful no one can replicate them and they are so uniquely you he loves it)

[jadewritesficshere]

18+ Only MDNI

Steve who loves every inch of you. Steve who kisses you silly and holds your hand during sex. Steve who makes sure to call you beautiful every day, because to him you are the most beautiful person he's ever seen and every day he falls more in love with you.

Steve who finds out you don't see yourself as beautiful, who thought you had brushed his compliments off because you were shy not because you didn't believe him. Steve who holds you as you cry over your insecurities. Steve who spends extra time kissing where you are most insecure, making sure to lather you with love. Steve who washes your mouth out with soap every time he hears you talk bad about yourself (it's supposed to be a punishment and he knows you would enjoy being spanked too much). Steve who makes you watch yourself in the mirror while he fucks you, so you can see how he loves you and how hot you are. Steve who buys a thesaurus to find synonyms for beautiful that he can call you. Steve who loves every inch of you and hopes that you can start to love every inch of yourself.

[angry-geese]

Risotto Nero x Reader

Warnings: nsfw / mdni. shameless smut, shower sex, oral (fem and masc receiving), fingering, handjobs, praise kink, unprotected sex, creampie, biting. lots of fluff. afab reader. fem pronouns, risotto calls the reader a good girl like once

a/n: a soft, self indulgent smut fic with Risotto

Word Count: 2k

The job went well. It's not often you can say such a thing. It's a rare, but welcome day when nothing goes wrong. Risotto suggested going out to dinner to celebrate. Food sounded nice, but you were far too tired to get ready for a nice restaurant. You settled on takeout.

He insisted on heading straight home. Any paperwork you can get done tomorrow. The hideout isn't going to burn down if left alone for one night. Well, not as long as someone responsible is around. Prosciutto is probably there. If not him, then Sorbet and Gelato are.

Over the past few years, the small apartment is what you two have called home. Rent was cheap, not to mention there weren't many neighbors. While Risotto may have been fine with sleeping at the hideout, you weren't.

You can hardly pull Risotto away from work. This was a rare, but welcome occasion.

The hot water feels nice as it pours over your sore muscles, turning varying shades of red as it rolls off your body, staining the bottom of the tub. It's not yours. Most of it anyway. Baths don't get blood out. Not a lot does. Showers are a bit better, but you’ve gotten used to tossing out a lot of clothes because of the stains.

"Hey Ris," you call out, "you comin' in or not?"

Momentarily the curtain pulls aside. Cold air rushes in, goosebumps raise along your exposed skin. He tosses aside the last of his clothes, joining you.

You give him a once-over for any injuries. Some blood is dried to his hands, though he looks mostly uninjured. He's too tall for the both of you to fit in the tub at the same time, so taking a bath together is out of the question. When you buy a home together—someday—you'll get a tub big enough.

"C'mere." You say. "I feel bad making you stand in the cold."

You take his much larger hands in yours, inspecting them for any wounds. He watches as your eyes scan up and down his body. Aside from a few scrapes, he's unharmed.

He practically has to kneel so you can wash his hair. A few, pleased sounding grunts leave him as you work the shampoo into his scalp. It smells like you, he notes. Your nails are getting a bit long, and feel nice against his skin. His shoulders tense as your hands work lower, working the knots out of his shoulders.

"Lean back so I'm not waterboarding you," you say, carding your fingers through his hair.

He has to duck to fit under the shower head. The one at the hideout isn't nearly as short, but there’s no shower curtain, not to mention Illuso who has little regard for personal space, and a penchant for appearing out of mirrors. Maybe the next hit will give you two enough money to look for a house. He could really use a bigger bathroom. And a bigger bed. There’s nothing wrong with the one you have now, but he wants one where he can sprawl out a bit more.

Though his back is to you, he feels your eyes drift down his body. You look at him in a way nobody has before. It both terrifies, and comforts him. Most eyes fill with fear when they gaze upon him. Yours never did. Even as you first showed up to the hideout, wide-eyed and frightened, telling him you had just been assigned to the hitman team, you never saw him as anything but good.

Each passing job, each day that goes by, he finds himself falling more hopelessly in love.

Your touch drifts across his back, working the soap over his skin. You’re shameless in how you admire the planes of muscle, and his well-toned arms. In public you’re rather reserved, it's only behind closed doors that you let your affections show. Risotto values the peace of solace, and most of all privacy. The two of you become entirely different people when no longer confined to a certain appearance. Very few things fluster him the way you do. He stiffens as your hands work particularly low, your fingers ghosting across the sensitive skin of his thighs.

Your intentions seem innocent enough until your hand wraps around his half-hardened cock.

A noise resembling that of surprise leaves him, followed by a weak: "the food-"

"We've got twenty minutes." You say. "It'll be fine."

His pupils shrink down to pinpricks. You have to stand on the tips of your toes to give him a kiss. Just a quick peck. He pulls you back to deepen the kiss, nibbling on your bottom lip until you allow the slick muscle of his tongue to explore your mouth. A strand of saliva connects your lips when you pull away.

He watches you with wide eyes as you give his cock a few pumps, sinking to your knees. The tiles of the shower can't be comfortable, but they don't seem to bother you. You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock from base to tip. The kitten licks you place against the head only serves to make him stiffen, and let out a few pleased grunts. It becomes a game, trying to get him to unravel entirely.

He’s too big to bottom out in your mouth. The man is quite literally huge, it's only fitting his cock would match. The hairs towards the base are the same silver as his head, and neatly trimmed. You hollow out your cheeks, pumping what you can't fit in your mouth with your hands. A mix of saliva and precum drips down your chin.

“Fuck-” He’s cut off mid-sentence by his own moan. “You feel so good. You’re so beautiful.”

Risotto can't tear his eyes away from the way the suds cling to your form, how the water collects and drips off every curve of your body, how your breasts jiggle with each movement of your head. It's rare he’s so shameless with his affections. Even behind closed doors he was rather reserved. Love such as the way you love is foreign to him. You’re never shy in the way you love him. It's not that he doesn't like it—it's quite the opposite—but in a way he’s terrified.

“There- tesoro,” His hands bury in your hair, tugging gently. “Like that. You take me so well.”

You pick up the pace a bit, pumping his cock faster. One of your hands slips between your legs, toying with your already-wet cunt. He pulls you off, an audible pop echoes through the bathroom as your lips release his cock.

Shower sex is a bit hazardous. He's too worried about you slipping. Still, he falls to his knees, his large hands ghosting down your sides. He leaves a trail of wet, open mouth kisses down your stomach, licking a stripe from your bellybutton to your mound. His tongue briefly dips between your folds.

He presses kitten licks to your clit, his touch achingly gentle. You angle your hips to give him better access. He latches onto the bundle of nerves, lapping and sucking desperately, rolling his tongue over the small bud. Your fingers bury in his wet hair, guiding him to where you need him most. The wet, lewd noises of his tongue can barely be heard over the shower and your own moans. Risotto’s name spills past your lips like a prayer. His ring and middle finger press into you. They pump in and out of you slowly at first, hooking and stroking against your g-spot.

His gaze drifts up your body, admiring every dip and curve. He takes you in like a man starved and given his first meal in weeks. You grind down against his face as you near your release. Steam coils off his back in ribbons, floating off and dissipating in the humid bathroom air.

Risotto pulls away, a wet smack echoing through the bathroom. There's a dark, needy look in his eyes, which are already hazy with lust. His cheeks are flushed; either with need, or from the hot air.

“Keep looking at me like that,” he says, running his tongue over his bottom lip, “and you won't be able to walk right for a week, tesoro.”

You let out a squeak as he hauls you into his arms, your legs wrapping around his waist. Your arms loop around his shoulders, your fingers lacing together behind his back. He mutters a weak "I've got you" into the crook of your neck.

The head of his cock is slick with precum. It presses into you slowly, filling you inch by inch. The stretch stings a bit, though with the prep it hardly hurts at all. He was always terrified of hurting you when you first got together. Sometimes he still is. You constantly have to remind him that you're tough, and you'll survive a little manhandling.

He groans as he bottoms out, muttering a weak "good girl" into your ear. You feel so impossibly full. His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs so hard you think they'll bruise. Not that you mind. Risotto gives you a moment to adjust to his size, although it's not needed.

“Please,” you say, your voice weak.

A dark laugh leaves him, coming from low in his chest. “Please what?”

“Fuck me,”

The heat that pools low in your stomach is undeniable. Risotto’s touch leaves you with an aching need you’ve never been able to replicate. Many nights when he was away on a job you would try to recreate his skilled touch. Always to no avail. Your hands never compare to the real thing.

Being so at his mercy is intoxicating. There's an odd, weightless feeling as he fucks into you. His hips meet yours in unrelenting thrusts. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoes through the bathroom, just barely drowned out by your collective moans, and the rushing of the shower. The angle allows him to hit deep, his cock curving in a way that makes your toes curl. His teeth sink into the junction where your neck meets your shoulders, leaving a faint, crescent-shaped indent. Tension builds in your stomach like a coil being wound tight.

You fit around him like a glove, your warm, wet cunt clenching around him in a way that threatens to make him cum on the spot. Nothing feels quite as good as the way you do. Before he never had much of a sex drive. It was something he had gone most of his adult life without. But upon meeting you, finally feeling your touch, he can never seem to get enough.

His own release creeps up on him far sooner than he expected, though you don't look to be far behind him. You're flushed from your forehead to your chest, blush dusting the tips of your nose and ears. Your moans—mixed with various curses and praises—echo through the room. His thrusts grow sloppy as he nears his own orgasm, his hips rocking against you in short, needy thrusts.

What sends him over the edge is the way your nails dig into his back, raking up the hard planes of muscle. Hot ropes of his cum spill into your unprotected womb.

His hand moves down to toy with your clit, working circles around the bundle of nerves. Your skin feels feverishly warm against his. He thrusts until the coil in your stomach snaps and you cry out, your legs tightening around his waist. You ride out your orgasm on his cock, his thrusts slowing.

He pulls out slowly so as to not make too much of a mess. Your arms remain around his shoulders to steady yourself. Shamelessly he leans back to admire his work. The sight of his cum dripping down your thighs is enough to make him want a second round. He likes taking his time with you, but he’ll never pass up on a quickie.

Risotto looks at you with such adoration that it makes your chest swell with affection. The kiss he pulls you into is uncharacteristically soft, but driven by need. His hands move to cup your cheeks, brushing your wet hair out of your face. It's another moment before he’s hauling you into his arms, heading for your shared room.

The moment is only disrupted by a knock on the door.

[rogueonestan]

brumal

word count: 2.3k

pairing: the mandalorian (din djarin) x reader

content warning: mentions of medication usage (pain meds)

summary: when you’re not feeling well one day, din checks up on you. (day 16: blankets)

a/n: here’s another piece that i enjoyed writing for @dindjarindiaries‘s dincember. this is basically a rewrite of a piece that i wrote a few months back that i didn’t like that much, so i edited it a bit and adjusted the piece for the prompt! @unstoppableforcce

convivencia masterlist | main masterlist

Tossing onto your back for the umpteenth time, you groan in agony as another wave hits your stomach. You’ve been struggling with intense abdominal pain all day. You took your pain meds, been resting all day, and nothing’s been working. The pain is so intense that you can barely stand, let alone walk around; you just have to deal with the pain and wait for it to subdue. 

Clutching at your stomach, you take in a deep breath and moan in agony as another wave of pain hits your system. As the wave of pain begins to diminish, you look to your right and notice that the sun is beginning to set outside as a beautiful sunset filled with oranges and pinks loom the sky. The sight before you nearly takes your breath away.

You can hear the continuation of the whistling of the wind from outside, shaking the windows in the room slightly in the process. The air around you suddenly drops in temperature and a shiver goes down your spine, leaving goosebumps all over your skin. Pulling the blanket tighter around your figure, your entire body begins to shiver lightly like the winds outside. 

After all of the harsh winter nights you’ve spent on the Crest, the cool air hitting your face is a welcomed sensation. Before settling down with your two boys, you got used to the harsh winter conditions you used to experience on a daily basis while traveling around the galaxy during this time of the year. Much like the state of the galaxy, the harsh winters would be unforgiving in the ship. The temperature would be nearly freezing, sleeping would be almost impossible as you struggle to fight the cold. The only way you were able to survive the harsh winter winds that were trying to fight their way inside would be the solace of the blankets you purchased from several marketplaces from different planets.

Though the current winds from outside aren’t as loud as the winds you used to hear say night on the Crest, it’s still enough for some of the cool breeze to worm its way inside. You can feel the wind beginning to take its effect by the cool air nipping at the tip of your nose. With the tight grip you already have on the blanket, you pull the cover even tighter around you, if it were even possible, as you pull the sheets over your nose; a small attempt to fight the cold that surrounds you. 

Taking in a deep breath, you close your eyes and wait for the upcoming wave of pain to pass over, “how are you feeling?” You hear a deep, raspy voice ask you. Opening your eyes, you see your lover, your riduur, leaning against the door frame with your adopted son in his arms, who is bundled in his favorite blue blanket. You groan in response.

With a deep sigh, a habit of his that he hasn’t dropped since you two decided to leave the bounty hunting life behind and settle down in your own cottage, he walks over to your side of the bed and crouches down to your eye level, placing your child in the crook of your arm. Nuzzling his head, you hear a soft coo leave your son’s lips as he rests comfortably in your arms. You bring your free hand up to his forehead and softly scratch at it. The soothing sensation lures him to a deeper relaxed state as soft snores now leave his lips. 

After giving your son a few more scratches and a peck on the forehead, you bring your attention back to your riduur and you can see the concern in his eyes. It breaks his heart knowing that there’s nothing he can do to ease your pain. 

“Is there anything I can do?”

Shaking your head against your pillows, you smile faintly at his consideration. Slowly bringing his hand to your cheek, the heat radiating from his fingertips are a strong contrast to the coldness of your face. The roughness of the pad of his thumb coaxes you to a relaxed state, as relaxed as you can be with your stomach pains coming and going every few minutes. The gentle strokes on your cheek continue to relax you as you shut your eyes in ease. 

Your riduur continues to do this, kneeled by your side. With the only sounds being heard in the room are the soft snores coming from the baby in your arms and the whistling of the wind, which brings another set of shivers roaming your body. Din sees how your body physically shakes at the sudden coldness of the room. Teeth chattering, you lean further into your lover’s touch.

Looking at his clan of three, Din softly uncups his hand from your cheek, stroking at his son’s ears shortly after, which only lures the little one into a deeper sleep. 

Silence continues to linger in the air; the continuing sound of the cool breeze from the outdoors can still be heard. The now familiar sound of the wind lures your body into comfort. If it weren’t for your stomach pains returning every ten minutes, you’re sure you would’ve fallen asleep peacefully by now. 

Before either of you are able to break the silence, another set of painful stomach aches enter your system. You immediately shut your eyes, clenching your jaw, and moan in pain. The pain this time is the most painful you’ve felt all day; you’re not sure for how much longer you’ll be able to handle the pain. You’ve done everything that you can think of to ease the pain away and nothing has helped. 

Breathing deeply, you reopen your eyes to look at your riduur, only to find him looking back at you only with concern. Tilting his head to the side, he finally breaks the silence, “when did you take your meds last?”

You shrug your shoulders at him, it couldn’t have been that long before he made his presence known, “a hour, maybe two.”

“No,” He responds as he shakes his head at you, the set of curls bouncing around on his forehead, “the kid and I came up here a hour ago to check up on you and you were asleep.”

“Oh.” You lean further against your pillows as your shoulders lower along with them, “I’m not sure then.” 

“Well, I think,”  Din begins as he leans towards your nightstand and picks up the bottle of medication, “that it’s time for some more.” He says as he offers you another dose, also offering you the glass of water that was also on your nightstand. 

The thought of taking some more pills makes you feel sick to your stomach. You know that if you don’t take some more, you’ll be in more pain than you already are, but you also feel like they haven’t helped whatsoever. You look at your partner, silently asking him if he’s serious. The only response you get from Din is his famous sighs, his head tilting at you for the second time.

“It’ll help with the pain.” He says as he tries to convince you, only for you to continue staring at him, “Please? For me?” 

With the way he’s looking at you, it’s hard for you to say no to him for a second time, “you know I can’t say no to you.” You reply as you finally cave in as you take another dosage of your medication. 

After gulping them down, you sigh heavily as you sink into your pillows. You’re hoping this time around, the pain will actually reduce instead of becoming overwhelming. Rather than focusing on how much pain you’re in, instead you focus on your breathing with your eyes closed; a method that’s been making today somewhat tolerable. 

You’re brought out of your thoughts by a hand softly scratching at your scalp, the sensation immediately bringing a sense of comfort over your system. Din’s comfort immediately is incredibly more helpful than any medication; your riduur’s touch is almost like a sedative itself.

When you finally bring yourself to reopen your eyes, you see his concern for you. His brown eyes almost pleading for how he can help you, “are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” He asks a second time.

You’re able to decline him once again, telling him that all you need is for him to be by your side, but a wave of nausea hits you. Combined with your stomach aches, you’re not sure how much longer you can muscle through this nonstop cycle. Before you’re able to open your mouth to decline him, a loud grumble fills the room. Immediately breaking eye contact, you look down at your stomach. 

Well, maybe that’s why you’re nauseous and light headed all the sudden.

“Can I have some soup?” You ask him, giving him the same big eyed look your son gives his father whenever he wants something. 

“Of course you can, cyar’ika,” Din replies with the soft tone he’s been using with you ever since you began feeling under the weather. Giving your scalp a few final scratches, Din gets up from his crouched position on the floor, only to lean back down to press his forehead against yours, followed shortly with a peck where you felt the warmth of his body against yours. The smile on your face replicates the same one that’s on Din’s.

Before he’s able to leave you, you interlace your fingers with his, squeezing his hand gently, “thank you, Din,” you begin as he only tilts his head at you in response, “for everything.” 

“You would do the same.” He says as it’s the most obvious thing in the entire galaxy. 

When you don’t say anything in response, only nodding, Din gives your interlaced fingers one last squeeze before slowly releasing the grip he has on your hand. 

You call out for Din one last time when he’s at the door, “I love you.”

“Ni kar’taylir gar darasuum.” 

With that, Din leaves you alone with the sleeping baby in your arms. Your smile only grows larger as his words repeat in your head. Even though the two of his have said those three words to each other countless times, even more so when you decided to settle down, it still makes your heart skip a beat to hear Din vocalize his true feelings for you when he kept them hidden from you for so long, out of fear that he might lose his second family. 

At some point, you mimic your son and fall asleep along with him. You’re not sure how long you were out, but you’re softly woken up by the sensation of something being placed on you. Blinking a few times, your eyes adjust to the semi-dark lighting of the room due to the fact that the sun is no longer in the sky, but is replaced with the moon peeking through the dark clouds. You take in your surroundings and find another blanket, your favorite one that you would always use during your days on the Crest, now covering you. You look at your nightstand and see the steam coming from your bowl of soup. 

You suddenly feel a weight being added next to you. You immediately look to your right and find your riduur next to you, placing a bowl of soup on his nightstand. You’re about to make your way into his arms when you suddenly feel the

long fingernails making their way up your body, almost like a sloth crawling up a tree. Looking down at your arms, you see your son has finally woken up from his slumber. 

Softly chuckling to yourself, you bring a free hand to gently stroke his cheek, which only brings a set of giggles to leave his lips, only to encourage your own set of laughs to escape your lips as well. You can’t see it, but Din’s features are filled purely of the adoration he has for his aliit. You’re about to give your son a soft kiss on his forehead but you’re stripped of the opportunity as he eagerly worms his way out of your arms when he sees his buir, but is unable to because of the tight grip you have on him.

The little one begins to let out a series of cries, pleading to have his father’s attention, “alright, alright.” You begin as you hold him with both of your hands, “Someone’s getting a bit antsy.” You say with a little bit of teasing in your voice. Your riduur only chuckles in response as he takes your son in his arms. 

You can feel the upcoming set of pains approaching, so you decide to finally indulge yourself with the bowl of soup that’s waiting by your side. By the time you’re beginning to eat the first thing you’ve had in hours, you hear a set of giggles coming from Din’s side of the bed. You enjoy the company of them two being happy by just being around each other as you enjoy the meal your lover has prepared just for you. The smile never leaves your face as you finish the comforting meal Din made for you. 

Once you finish eating, you look over at your lover once again, who now has your adopted son in the crook of his right arm. Din looks over at you instantly and immediately wraps his right arm and pulls you towards him, “how are we feeling now?” 

“Better. Much better.” Nuzzling your face into his neck, you smile in content as you feel your riduur give the top of your head a few kisses. The smile on your face only grows larger by Din giving you the affection that you so dearly need during this difficult time for you. Pulling the added blanket tighter around you, you lean further into your lover’s arms.

Wrapping your arms around his torso, you feel content. You know that even when you have bad days like today, when you feel like absolute hell, you’ll always have your Mandalorian, your aliit to take care of you. And you know you would do the same for them without hesitation. 

[storiesforallfandoms]

hear your voice ~ machine gun kelly

word count: 1503

request?: yes!

@iswearinthatmomentwewereinfinite “Could you do a smutty MGK imagine that goes along with this (picture below)?“

description: with colson away touring, you find yourself missing his voice and decide to call him

pairing: machine gun kelly x female!reader

warnings: smut, dirty talk, phone sex, daddy kink, swearing, i mean it y’all this one is dirty

masterlist

The sound of Colson’s music blared through the house as you did your nightly routine before bed. It was one of those nights that you were really missing him while he was away. It was probably because it was so close to when he would be coming home. You knew you were so close to having him back in your arms, and yet it felt like a lifetime.

When you finished brushing your teeth and getting ready for bed, you laid down in the bed that you and Colson usually shared. It felt extra empty tonight, extra lonely. His voice was still singing to you through your Bluetooth speaker, but it just wasn’t the same.

You weren’t really sure where he was, or what time it was wherever he was, so you didn’t know if he was free, or even awake. So you decided to send him a text to see if he’d be able to call.

“Can I call you? I’m listening to music but it’s not satisfying. I want to hear your voice.”

Near seconds later, your music cut off and the sound of Colson’s ringtone replaced the sound of his voice. You turned off your Bluetooth and answered the call.

“Hey babe,” Colson answered. “You’re really missing me, huh?”

“Tonight more than anything,” you admit. “What are you doing? I hope I didn’t interrupt your sleep or party or anything like that.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything. I just got home. I declined going out after the show tonight. I’m too tired for that. What are you doing?”

“Just lying in our bed. It feels lonely tonight.”

“Yeah? Do you wish I was there, baby?”

The tone in his voice alerted you exactly where this conversation was going, and you definitely were not complaining.

“I do,” you said, your voice sultry and lustful. “I wish I could feel your warm body next to me.”

“I wish I could be next to you right now, babe. What would I see if I was? What are you wearing, sexy?”

“Just one of your shirts,” you told him. “Absolutely nothing underneath. You wanna see?”

Colson hummed in response. You switched to Snapchat and took a picture, positioned just right that he could see you were wearing his favourite shirt that he left for you and it was hiked up far enough to see that you weren’t wearing any panties under.

After sending the picture, you put your phone back to your ear and listened for Colson’s reaction. You knew he received them when you heard him groan in pleasure. “Fuck baby, I really wish I could be next to you right now. You wouldn’t even be wearing that shirt.”

“Well I hardly think that’s fair granted I don’t know what you’re wearing.”

There was another moment of silence until your phone vibrated against your ear; a Snap from Colson. You opened it to see him on his hotel room bed in nothing but a pair of boxers, the outline of his hard dick the forefront of the picture.

“I think you should get those off,” you informed him.

“Only if you take my shirt off.”

You giggled as you pulled his shirt over your head, leaving you completely bare. You closed your eyes and imagined Colson throwing the shirt onto the floor then hovering over you. Knowing Colson, the tease that he was, he’d still be wearing those boxers, and he’d press his hard bulge against your heat.

Replicating what you wished you were feeling, you pressed two fingers against your throbbing clit. You let out an accidental moan at the action.

“Starting without me, babe?” Colson questioned. “How naughty of you. Daddy will have to punish you when he gets home.”

“I definitely deserve punishment, daddy. I’ve been very naughty while you’re gone. There’s been times I’ve started without even calling or Snapchatting you.”

Colson gasped in mock offense. “Oh, princess is definitely getting punished when daddy is home. Maybe he’ll punish her right now.”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“If I hear you pleasuring yourself without my permission I’ll hang up. You won’t get anymore pictures tonight, or at all until I come home. I won’t even answer your calls until I’m at the airport calling you to set up a ride home.”

It was a pretty solid threat. It wasn’t unusual for you and Colson to send each other dirty pictures while he was away. In fact, most mornings started with a dirty picture spree from the two of you to help each other with your morning situations. Every other night you’d call each other for one of these dirty phone conversations. To lose all that cold turkey till he got back, even if it was a few days, was going to be very hard. It just wasn’t the same without him.

You whined as you took your hand away from yourself. You could hear Colson chuckle at your response. “Good girl. Now, no touching yourself until daddy says so.”

In your head, you could picture Colson’s face right now. His smug smirk as he watched you pout. You could picture him running his hands along every inch of your skin as his lips kissed and sucked on your neck, leaving a trail of love bites and hickies that he would refuse to let you cover the next day.

“You know what I’d do if I were there princess?”

You slightly smiled to yourself. “What would you do daddy?”

“I’d kiss all over your neck, leave hickies so that everyone would know you’re mine. I’d kiss down your chest, giving each of your perky tits the attention they deserve. I’d kiss down that adorable stomach of yours, kiss up and down each of your sexy thighs.”

He stopped then, leaving that last statement to linger between you. You couldn’t help but clench your thighs together, hoping to relieve some of the built up tension you were starting to feel.

“What then, daddy?”

Colson chuckled at your desperation. “I don't know. I think maybe I’d just stop there. Show your thighs some extra attention, just lightly graze your wet pussy maybe.”

You whined again. “God, you’re such a tease even over the phone!”

“You better not be pleasuring yourself.”

You sighed in frustration. “I’m not. I wish I could be, although more than anything I wish it could be your dick pleasuring me.”

Colson moaned in pleasure. “Oh yeah? You really miss my dick that bad, huh?”

“More than anything. I miss being woken up by it in the mornings, getting to go to sleep at night after getting railed, our quickies in the studio when no one was around. I miss it all, daddy. It’s been so hard without you.”

You could tell your words were getting to him. You could hear his heavy breathing and could imagine him starting to stroke himself.

“Are you imagining me, daddy?” you purred. “My mouth around you, or my wet pussy? How princess will pleasure you the moment you ask?”

“Oh, fuck princess,” Colson groaned. “You’re killing me here.”

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine.”

Colson groaned again, finally deciding, “Okay princess. You can touch yourself, but make sure daddy can hear you, okay?”

With the permission given, you immediately returned your fingers to your aching heat. You moaned loudly as you pushed your fingers into yourself, causing Colson to moan in response.

Soon enough any conversation between yourself and Colson turned into moans and little slips of dirty talk as you both pleasured yourself. With your eyes closed, you pictured Colson hovering over you, fucking you hard like he did after a long tour when he was particularly horny and needy. You could almost feel his breath on your neck as he buried his head in the crook of your neck, and the sound of him moaning on the phone really helped you picture him there with you.

You started to feel your legs beginning to shake, signalling your coming orgasm. You could barley hold yourself together as you stuttered out, “Oh God, Colson, I’m gonna come.”

“Let me hear you finish, baby,” he told you. “I wanna hear who makes you feel this good princess.”

That was enough to send you over the edge. As you felt your orgasm rush through you, you screamed out Colson’s name in ecstasy. Soon after, you heard Colson grunt in pleasure and moan your own name, signifying that he was finishing, too.

You both lay in silence, the only thing to be heard was your own panting. You stared up at the ceiling, wishing you could be looking into Colson’s beautiful blue eyes instead.

“God, I can’t wait till I can come home to you,” Colson breathed. “There’s nothing I love more than having you in my arms after an intense fuck session.”

You giggled. “Oh Colson, you absolute romantic.”

Colson laughed as well. “Hey (Y/N)?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

You smiled. “I love you more. Come home soon baby please.”

[queen18xo]

My first Thor/Loki Fic.

Make Me Yours.

Thor is making his way through the cold, drafty, metal halls of the Statesman when he spots Loki. Thor takes in his brothers form, the smaller mans shoulders drooping as his back leans against the wall, Thor see's some form of ancheint magical text placed precariously on his brothers slender thighs. He silently crouches down next to his slumbering brother, sliding a large palm to cup one of Loki's soft cheeks. "Loki." he whispers gently in a redundent attempt not to startle the younger man. Thor feels as Loki jumps a shiver running through him.

Loki startles awake to the feel of warm breath ghosting across his cheek. One of his slender hands wrapping firmly around the throat of whatever idiot thought it okay to sneak up on him. Loki steadys his breathing as he begins to calculate his next move when a voice suddenly breeaks through the haze of his barely awake mind. He knows that voice.

"Loki, let me go." Thor grumbles he knew he should've kept his gaurd up, sleeping or not Loki is a force to be rekoned with, and downright dangerous when startled. Thor feels Loki's body connect forcefully with his, the force knocking him from his feet. He looks up at his brother letting out a pained groan.

Loki removes his hand from his brothers throat his strong thighs now pinning the man to the ground. He places his warm palms to Thor's chest, discouraging him from moving as he sits a top Thor's crotch. "Can i help you brother?" Loki sneers still angry over being startled. His full, deep red lips pulling up into a smirk as he glances down at the position he has the mighty Thor in.

Thor sighs in frustration tired of the games his little brother insists on playing. Thor reaches his arms up to grip Loki's slender hips brusingly. "Loki do not act a fool. Release me, i will not ask again." Thor states Loki merely laughs, his breath mingiling intimately with Thor's, Loki's jet black hair falling from behind his ear to create a cutrain between them and the outside world as Loki presses his lithe body futher into Thors muscular one. "And what if i don't Thor?" Loki teases mischief glimmering in his striking emerald eyes.

Loki feels as Thor's hold on his hips tightens giving him only a second to realise exactly what Thor intended to do. Loki feels the air gush out of him as his brother uses his brute strength to buck Loki from his lap and onto the hard metal ground below him replicating Loki's earlier position. Thor smiles down winningly as Loki grumbles over his misfortune.

Thor finds himself entranced by the sight before him. Loki's slender form laid out below him. Head throw back, eyes closed, lips bitten red. Thor finds himself lost in his brothers flawless beauty and not for the first time. He pushes a stray stand of Loki's silky hair from his smooth, pale skin. Thor watches as Loki's eyes snap open at the gesture, his lips parted in a silent gasp. Thor swallows harshley suddenly nervous of the intimate position they have landed themselves in.

Loki watches as emotions flitter across his brothers face. Before Loki can speak his brother is pushing himself up from his postition above Loki. "Just stop falling asleep in the damn corridoors, dammnit Loki you have a room for a reason. use it." Thor snaps harshly before storming away, leaving his brother slack jawed behind him. Loki swiftly makes his exit, locking himself away in his chambers in an attempt to avoid his brother.

Loki loses track of time as he sits hunched over ancient tomes. Loki eventually clambers out of his seat, sulkily making his way toward his bathroom hoping to sink into a warm bath. once filled with hot water Loki sinks into the comforting liquid, letting it envelope him. He releases a content sigh as the stress and confusion of the day melt away. Tension easing from his body as his eyelids flutter shut and his breathing evens out the warmth of the water lulling him to sleep.

"You know brother you could drown." Thor states matter of factly watcing as his brother startles from his nap. Loki groans as his bleary eyes lock with Thors amused ones. Loki tries to level his brother with a harsh glare but finds himself to heavy with sleep to pull it off. Loki feels a rush of anger course through him. However he finds himself too tired toarue with Thor over the events from earlier that day.

"Does privacy mean nothing to you brother?" Loki slurs in his tired state Thor blushes embarressed his eyes dropping from Loki's face, which Thor is quick to realise was a monumetally bad idea as he finds himself staring at the full expanse of Loki's beautifully, flawless figure. His strong thighs, his slender almost femanine waist, his toned stomach, Thor is captivated by the pure beauty that he sees before him.

Loki clears his throat nervously trying to turn Thor's gaze away from his exposed body. Loki gasps in surprise as Thor's eyes meet his, Thors eyes swimming with heat and hunger. "Wash my hair brother?" Loki asks hoping to break the tension strung tight between them.

Thor nods being unable to deny his brothers request. Bathing together is something the brothers would do regularily in their youth however as they grew older and began to drift apart it became nothing more then a distant memory for the two. Thor feels his body taking an intrest as he begins to climb in behind his brother.

Thor sits stifly behind Loki unsure of where is safe to put his hands. He is sure that no part of his brothers sinful body would be safe for his curious hands. Eventually he grips Loki's delicate hips pulling him back so that his back is flush with Thors muscular torso. Thor watches as Loki throws his head back against his firm shoulder lips parting with a breahy moan. Thor find himself drawn to the pale expanse of Loki's exposed and vaulnerable neck, slowly lowering his nose to bury into the crook of it. he inhales the pure scent of his brother. Loki's hand shoots up to pull Thor's hair roughly. "B..brother what are you doing?" Loki asks practically panting, Thor feels his cock fully harden against is brothers toned back, Thor groans. The sounds of Loki's voice broken and panting when he has barely touch the younger man sends a familiar burning disire through him.

Thor smiles agasint Loki's neck "I do not wish to lose you brother, however i fear i cannot hide my true intentions from you any longer." Thor delights in the soft whimpers he coaxes from his brother mouth, his slim body shaking in his grip and he stokes slow, teasing circles into his pronounced hip bones. "I wish to see you fall apart in my hands brother." Thor states as he presses hungry kisses to Loki's neck. "I love you in a way i cannot in good mind call brotherly, i will not lose you again brother." Loki gasps as Thor's large hand moves to grip his throat in a firm hold, his other hand sliding down Loki's slippery form as it entangles itself within the dark black curls adorning his cock. "May i have you brother?" Thor asks nervously not wanting to lose his brother but no longer being able to hide the disire he has had for the younger man since they were old enough to understand what it was.

Loki nods "Y...yes brother, i would like nothing more." Loki states losing himself in the pleasure of his brothers touch. "Take me brother, make me yours." Loki adds thors large, rough hand gripping his cock giving it one swift tug before releasing. Loki whines, his hips desperately bucking upwards seeking friction.

"Easy brother, i will give you want you want but first i intend to lay you down and make love to you the way you deserve." Loki feels tears escaping his eyes as thor gently lays him on the bed. " I love you Lo, i think i always have and i am sure that i always will." Thor says scooping Loki up gently into his arms, placing soft kisses to the top of his head as manouvers them to Loki's bed effortlessly.

Thor looks admiringly at Loki as he is sprawled out over the plush bed covers. Thor drinks in the obscene sight before him, slowly inching closer until his body is pressed flush to his brothers. He slowly grinds his wet eraction against Loki's own setting a lazy pace as closer the distance between their lips. Loki moans as Thor's lips claim his in a passionate kiss. Loki pulls away meeting his brothers hungry gaze "Thor i've never done this before" Loki whispers taking his plump bottom lip between his teeth nervously. Afound smile graces Thor's lips as looks down at his brother lovingly wacthing as a beautiful shade of pink adornes his cheeks.

Thor strokes his hand delicately through Loki's long hair. "I'll be gentle, I'll take care of you Lo. I will always take care of you." he says sweetly before claiming his brothers lips with his own. He trails sweet kisses down Loki's body causing the younger man to moan sweetly. He pushes two large fingers to Loki's mouth. "Suck them for me baby." He instructs gently, Loki sucks them swiping his tongue between the two digits, releasing a moan as Thor takes his dick into one of his large hands stroking him gently.

Thor pulls his fingers from his brothers mouth circleing his hole teasingly before gently pushing one in. Loki gasps at the intrusion his body writhing with pleasure and his mind becoming foggy as his brother stretches him open. "Thor.. fuck. please." Loki whimpers desperate for his brother to fill him up.

Thor hovers over him lining his impressive cock up with Loki's hole pushing in carefully, Loki screws his eyes shut at the mix of pain and pleasure as his brother inches in slowly.

Cupping Loki's cheek gently as his cock becomes fully enveloped by his tight heat. "Look at me Lo, you're doing so well beautiful. So good for me." he whispers encouragingly, Loki whimpers at the praise.

"Please brother, please move." Thor smiles down at him warmly setting a gentle pace as he slowly rocks in and out of his brothers hole. Thor watches Loki as he loses himself in pleasure his head thrown back, his black hair flowing over the pillows. his mouth parted letting out sweet moans. Thor increases the speed until he is pounding into his brother roughly. "Thor, im so close... please." Loki begs as heat begins to pool in his belly, his orgasm fast approacing.

Thor pins his hands above his head, gripping at his hips bruisingly as he fucks into him at a punishing pace. "Come for me gorgeous, Come on my cock like a good boy." Loki whimpers, his legs wrapping tightly around Thor's back. "THOR" he screams out as his come paints his stomache. Thor not far behind releases into his bruther with a grunt.

Rolling them over to face eachother as he pulls out, he presses his lips gently to Loki's. "I love you Lo." he murmers pulling the other mans body to his. Loki strokes a loving hand down his brothers face smiling as he lets himself be pulled closer. "I love you brother." he replies burrying his face into Thor's warm chest both brothers losing themselves to a peaceful sleep.

[officialtrashbin]

Scraps of Dreams

Commission for anonymous who wanted Corvus x Proxima smut! (Did I mention commissions are open again? Cause they are!)

Rating: Explicit (aka shameless smut) Corvus x Proxima  or: Thanos: Death Sentence left their sexual tension unresolved so I fixed it. Anon wanted Corvus to be more dominant and give his wife a little TLC.

* * * * *

  The hotel room they lent him was fifty stories above what could be considered ground-level for a city that felt built into a fault line, with streets and skyscrapers varied in length and curvature like personal desire, not reflective of an idea but of a transitive notion of accomplishment in its smallest form to amass into something bigger than mere individual value. Corvus Glaive supposed the want to leave proof of one’s existence in the universe stemmed from the underlying oppression of meaninglessness. To find purpose or to forge it.

It came as no surprise when he thought it all a waste.

  * * *

   They didn’t talk about what transpired today. Not the emotional ups and downs, or the political navigations, or the pathetic mess Corvus had been afterwards, realizing he might have finally reclaimed his destiny at his rightful Master’s side. It was difficult to process, let alone address, the hazardous accumulation of transgressive narrative from the last few hours. In fact, it felt like an utter chore to say anything at all.

Proxima had her body turned away from him as she undressed in favor of clothes that reminded him suddenly of their normalcy; he didn’t have to see her face to know her exhaustion was present, palpable, even, with how she moved like her limbs were filled under their surface with water. In the low light from the fluorescence of the city outside, her body took on the quality of water, too—translucent blue, hair rolling up and crashing down across her back, her motions so overstated by the constant occurrence of mere existence he wondered if he might just buckle under the weight of her enormity.

“Oh, Midnight—”

It had been so terribly quiet. His words shattered the very foundation of stillness. She snapped her attention to him, eyes widened, doe-like, in the low ambiance of illumination.

“Yes, my love?”

Corvus was beyond modesty, especially in the dark, where the shadows accrued across his lithe chest to replace the cloak he’d left thrown carelessly on the desk chair. He knew his horrible visage was worsened in the night. A beast by nature, or by universal law to counterbalance all the do-gooders that were compelled beyond his understanding to Make Things Right, assembled of equal parts horrible intent and predatory design. Maybe he was merely accustomed to justifying his own happenstance.

He said to her, “I think I will never know if I’m making the correct decisions,” and thought of the time he’d seen Black Dwarf break open a Shi’ar’s ribcage to expose their tender, beating heart, and the way it jolted, jolted, jolted in its meaty cocoon. The explicit, horrible vulnerability. “I think I will never know certainty again. What am I supposed to do when my life has been devoted to all that which has amounted to nothing?”

Proxima approached him slowly. She was the opposite of hesitation, always moving and speaking and thinking with the same absolution of momentum; a constant force awaiting a collision regardless of pace.

“My darling,” she whispered to him in the dark, her hands framing his face. “Am I nothing?”

They hadn’t been alone with each other in nearly five standard months. He’d been reminded of his loneliness when they reunited, albeit briefly, earlier that day—the swollen warmth of her mouth, the bend of her skin in his hands, their insatiable togetherness under the veil of his office shadows.

“That is not what I meant,” he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Without his gauntlets or battlesuit to disrupt their closeness, he could feel the lingering static of her power traversing the neurons under her skin, jumping to his fingertips by proximity. Something inside him unknotted. “No, you aren’t. Of course you aren’t.”

“But are you?”

That was how he felt, sometimes, when he wasn’t in her presence. “No,” he said, pressing lazy kisses along the length of her jawline, noting the dampness of her scent with each sudden intake of breath. “Yet, as of late—”

One of her hands went to the back of his head and anchored him in place. Their exposed skins, gray-on-blue, blue-on-gray, melded together, indistinguishable in the low light, in the encompassing darkness. “We are trying to get our footing,” she said. Her logic (and, he thought softly, her love for him) stood as a counterpoint to all the instances in his life that made him feel less than what he’d earned. “No matter where we are, when we are, or why—you are everything to me.”

He trembled in her embrace. He wanted to echo her words, to intake the sanctity of their marriage and every little fulfillment, and transpose it all into the atrocities of war, or of whatever was required of him, with or without purpose; to tear, to maim, to love. The truth of them.

“I am nothing without you,” he said, his mouth hot against her skin. His confession rang through her mind clear as a bell struck calmly and with total acceptance. “Oh, my dear Midnight.”

His teeth captured the soft junction of her neck, stimulating her nerves. She groaned at the reception of the desperate, self-contained violence in his actions. He bit her hard but not hard enough, the method of practiced power that didn’t hurt when it so easily could. Her leg entwined with his. Her fingers curled against his ribs, splaying out where she could feel his pulse fluttering beneath hard bone.

The wet heat of her lips pressed to the blade embedded in his skull, which tethered him to his unending existence, and he reasoned there wasn’t any meaning in that either.

“Take me to bed.”

  * * *

  Most times, the victor was decided by the basis of conviction alone, filling the precious time allotted to them with little, violent tendencies until one surrendered the struggle. If they hadn’t been interrupted by their Kree escort earlier in the office, Corvus suspected he would have retained the utter dominance that compelled his desire to make Proxima come for him right there against the wall. But he was so debilitated by exhaustion that his sense of time skewed at the edges where one memory met another, and it felt to him like that morning occurred in an entirely different time and place. He didn’t have the energy reserves in him to instigate or resist.

Proxima pushed him easily up against the cool metal that composed the headboard. She must have noticed his absence of strength because he saw the way her head tilted in silent questioning, suspending her weight above his left thigh. “My love?” she said, stroking the centerfold of his chest with her forefinger.

“Your beauty is distracting.”

Her thumb slipped into the waistband of his undershorts, running casually over the jut of his hipbone and raising bumps on his ash-gray skin. “I can be distracting in other ways.”

It felt natural to be alone with her again. He growled low in his chest, and his hands worked their way up her sides to her full breasts, contrasting her rain-cold skin with the dry heat of his palms. “I’ve missed you terribly,” he said, kissing the center of her sternum. “I often refrain from asking too much, however—”

“You can ask anything of me.”

“Then I want to enjoy this night. I want to worship you.” His hands went to her hips and he pushed her back, meeting only a moment of resistance from her weight before she submitted to his motions. He laid them out across the bed, which became, he thought, suddenly too small for the conjoined mass of them both. “Slow,” he added. “It’s been too long since I’ve given you all of me.”

Proxima’s expression was one of knowing. She guided his chin down and kissed him, always combative by fault of genetic disposition, her tongue pushing against his own and her teeth working at his bottom lip; she brought them so easily together in the privacy of a room he’d slept in for months alone, not easily, and only out of necessity.

Corvus gazed at her as she worked his mouth open, but she must have sensed his attention was on her because the pads of her thumbs pressed against his eyelids, forcing them closed. He became acutely aware of the featherlight pressure in her touch and how easily she could crook her fingers and gouge his eyes out. His spine prickled with the anticipation of her lethality.

 “We really mustn’t make a habit of being apart for so long,” she told him quietly, when she finally pulled away to settle on her back. Corvus delicately traced the swollen plush of her lower lip, already missing their connection. “I was not beyond taking you in the office, despite the interruption, though that speaks volumes on our lack of common decency.”

Corvus’ forefinger trekked along the curve of her shoulder, following the dip of her chest to her breast. “I should have cut his head from his shoulders and had you anyway.” His fingertip ran the circumference of her areola and she took in a sharp breath. “I care little for decency.”

Proxima groaned when he replicated his motion again, the fondness understated by the sweetness of it, how gentle he was being when he hardly ever was before. “And I care little for your—oh—stalling—”

“Am I distracting you?” he asked, flicking her perked nipple with his tongue.

Proxima’s only answer was a groan, barely emitted but somehow like a sudden gunshot in the stillness of the night. It rattled his entire being. Taking in her sounds and her presence, and threatening to shake apart under the strength of her existence alone. 

Corvus’ mouth indulged on her breasts, leaving love bites along the inner blue skin before settling on one nipple, and she arched her spine, pressing closer, telling him without words what she liked (as if he didn’t already possess such intimate knowledge. As if they hadn’t defaced every ship, bed, or closet they’d ever been in just to experience the emotional implications of how desperate they’d been when taking another body against their own). Her legs parted around his waist. One of her hands curled into the threadbare sheets.

Corvus placed his touch everywhere she wanted him to: on her other nipple to ensure they were both treated properly, on a seamed scar above her stomach from stray shrapnel of their first mission together, on the soft inside of her thighs where nerves roped into the junction of her hip. He nipped at the dip of her navel, startling a laugh out of her, and then a frustrated moan when he gently bit the band of her skivvies.

“Corvus, do not tease me, I’m—”

“Enjoying this quite a lot, apparently,” he said coyly, tracing her labia from over her garments with the tips of his fingers, and gathering the wetness that had accumulated. She rolled her hips in countermotion to his hand. “You are as insatiable as you are impatient. Look at me, my love.”

She opened her eyes and gazed down at him, noting the way his eyes flared crimson in the dark. A feeling of ice slid down her spine. “Corvus—”

“Don’t I always give you what you want?”

She hesitated. He kissed the scar on her stomach again, devoting himself to the repetition of ensuring every part of her, especially the damages that made her feel imperfect or skewed, was loved, and she said, “It’s been so very long since we were last together. Don’t you know how I ache?”

“I will remedy that very soon,” he said. “Be patient, Wife. Be patient and I will take care of you.”

She exhaled, sinking into the mattress, into the swirl of sheets, allowing him the ease of her surrender. His mouth was hot against the slope of her crotch and he worked his fingers under the hem of her skivvies, pulling them down her thighs as if shedding a layer of skin. The black fabric slid from her ankles. He bunched the cloth up in his hand and looked down at it in disbelief, realizing in that moment the horrifying fact that he’d been without her for entire weeks of his life—that he had felt for five agonizing months the quiet, enrapturing terror of loneliness in the universe, and wondered how he ever survived before her.

The skivvies were discarded to the floor. He sank easily between her legs, pulling one over his shoulder and bending the other open at the knee. “You’re beautiful, my lady Midnight,” he said, and saw her chest hitch. He transposed his words into his actions—into unfurling his tongue from behind the cage of his teeth and pushing it lovingly against her clit.

Her moan broke the shadows in the room. “Oh, my love…”

Corvus was experienced with how she liked to be treated. Five months wasn’t nearly long enough for him to forget, and muscle memory guided his hands so he was stroking her sides, her hips, her thighs, slow and tender, feeling her muscles flexing under the impressions of his fingertips—and his tongue worked at her opposingly, rough and steady, increasing the pressure and pace of his technique. He alternated the pleasures as he went, stroked her labia, circled her entrance, sucked her bud. Made her louder, made her gasp and roll her hips and utter his name.

Proxima thumbed at one of her nipples, still swollen from Corvus’ treatment, and whined into the dark as the pleasure tumbled through her body. She reached down with her other hand and took his into it, their fingers interlacing, offering a semblance of resistance against her oncoming orgasm. He glanced up from between her thighs, and she must have sensed his intentions because she met his gaze and the look in her eye ignited him inside, like a flare diffusing behind his chest. It was the surest feeling—even in the moments when he doubted this all wasn’t simply, absolutely, the final fleeting memories of his brain in death—that he was truly alive.

Corvus dutifully lavished her with his tongue. He gave her no indication of letting up, forcing her closer to the edge, maintaining his violent, loving pace even as she began to buck her hips against his face, amplifying the friction of his wonderful mouth against her beautiful cunt.

“My love—”

He knew. She didn’t have to say it, but gods did he adore hearing it.

“My love, I want to—”

A warning. A desperate plea. The fire burning low in her belly and raging upwards, burning a bright, hot path throughout her entire being.

“—come for you—”

He growled an acknowledgement, focusing on her clit as her sounds became erratic and loud and deliciously desperate. Her entire body seized up. Corvus had her at the edge and he left her there, right at the peak of coming, for a single moment to take in the pressure of her thighs suddenly around his head, of relishing in the knowledge that he was the only person who could make her feel this way, who could bring Proxima Midnight of the Black Order to the point of begging for release—and he sucked on her clit again, sending her careening into an orgasm so intense she cried out as if in agony, bucking her hips violently while he locked her against him with his other arm across her hips. His tongue stroked her womanhood as she rode through her ecstasy. His name slid from her mouth in a euphoric chant. Her body pulsed with each wave of pleasure; coming undone, falling apart.

Corvus maintained his momentum until she settled into the bed again; he easily released her, redirecting the affections of his mouth to her stomach. She twitched hard beneath him. Groaned and fidgeted and tried to regain control, never once releasing her grasp on his hand.

She came back to herself several long minutes after. “Corvus,” she whispered to him, earning his gaze. His eyes still burned with hunger, though they appeared more calculated—pensive, even, akin to the look of a wolf considering its own brood. He was anticipating her response, obvious as it was: “I have been patient.”

“Yes, you have.” He loomed over her and took in the sight of her hair fanned out beneath them, furling waves of water tinged silver like starlight. She possessed the aura and presence of a goddess, he was certain. A trifecta of beauty and power. The embodiment of mortal absolution sending a king to his knees and all she had to do was look at him.

Corvus wanted to worship her until his final breath.

She said, “I want to have all of you now.”

And she would have all of him, wherever and whenever, for now and for always. 

“Oh, Midnight,” he said, taking her into his arms. “Now, and until the end. Forever.”

[scottishoctopus]

Not So Heartless After All.

Chapter 6: The Aftermath.

Warning!

*Implied past child abuse and mature language included in this chapter!*

~ ~ ~

"And I thought the Darkened Thorn was indestructible."

A relaxed voice mumbled to themselves. A voice belonging to a man who was stood by watching the crew of the Darkened Thorn climb abroad his ship, the Poison Grail. They all looked to be shaking terribly, probably from spending too much time either trying to find land or attempting to get passing ships to notice them. They seemed to be starving too, as their faces were pale as a ghost and their bodies looked thin. They must of spent maybe a couple of days on the boats that they had evacuated to, the man assumed as he watched the scene unfold before him.

The tall man appeared to be a Privateer, as he was dressed in a navy blue uniform with a golden trim lining his long coat and wrists, the front of his coat was patterned with yet more gold lining. This man certainly gave off a sense of authority and nobility around him with his sense of style.

He wore a crimson red vest on top of his pristine white undershirt, though you could barely see that as his coat was buttoned up tight so he could keep as much warmth as possible from the cold breeze from the ocean. Strapped at his waist was an elegant sword, the handle made out of bronze and silver that were decorated with black and golden stripes. Certainly a work of art and luxury made by an extremely skilled blacksmith.

On top of his head was also a navy hat but was decorated with beautiful angelic feathers on top. His face was young and smooth, looking to be in his early thirties. He had jet black hair neatly hidden underneath his hat, and had brown eyes shining with disapproval. He had no desire to wear a wig like so many that he sailed with, he liked having his hair out in the open blowing with the gentle wind.

His elegant stance shifted slightly as he spotted the captain of the Darkened Thorn, well not a captain anymore so to speak. Justin Daniels turned to face the man, and his furious expression that was on his rat-like face had softened slightly as he approached him. Transforming into annoyance.

"Lachlan Houghton, I must thank you for aiding me for once in your life." Justin sarcastically greeted, not showing any gratitude for his saviour as he crossed his arms together like a bratty child and stepped in front of the man, who rolled his eyes in response.

He had dealt with this man before.

Many times.

"That is Privateer Houghton, Mister Daniels. I honestly hoped I wouldn't have to be in a situation like this." Lachlan corrected Justin, putting a stern emphasis on his title and moving his hands together behind his back, pale fingers connecting with each other. Justin immediately frowned with jealousy at the response, eyes gleaming with hate as his fingers around his elbows dug into his damp clothing.

"And that is Captain Daniels." Justin quickly replied. Nearly cutting off the man mid sentence. Replicating the same stern manner that Lachlan had just done now except with a dark smile that was wanting to rise onto his wrinkled face.

"I don't see your ship, captain." The Privateer calmly smiled back, pretending to look over Justin's shoulder as if he was searching for the Darkened Thorn. The smile that was growing on Justin's face had vanished in an instant, and Lachlan could swore that the dark brown eyes on the older man's face had twitched in disgust.

"So, Cutler Beckett decided to promote you and give you a new ship then? After your foolish move in the Bahamas." Justin spat, completely ignoring the reply like it had never happened, examining Lachlan's neat state and the uniform he proudly wore. The captain of the Darkened Thorn was rather in a messy state, some how he had lost the wig and hat he wore on his head and now his blond grey hair was untidy and wet strands of it stuck to his wrinkled forehead. Making him look like he had been involved in an intense bar fight on Tortuga.

"Were it not for my...foolish move, those diseased pirates would of sunk your ship and you along with it. I managed to drive those filth off the islands when I rescued you." Lachlan firmly replied, a large trace of boredom in his sentence.

"I was handling the situation."

"It did not look like that from my point of view."

Lachlan had known Justin for a number of unfortunate years. And never did he find anyone so big headed and selfish like Justin. The two were almost always giving each other glares when they were in a room together, and were certainly always trying to piss off the other. Not only that, but they had always wanted the position to be next to Beckett as it was a very rewarding job and they would be in command of multiple other ships. Both men wanted the upper hand, and were willing to fight each other to the death if that opportunity would ever happen.

"Did you have any casualties?" Lachlan questioned and glanced at the crew members of the Darkened Thorn. One of the men just wouldn't move, even if somebody had tried to get him to his feet. He was sat down against the railing. Staring at the floor. One would immediately think that the man had no life in his eyes. He looked pretty familiar in Lachlan's eyes, but wasn't able to properly recognise him as two other crew members had stepped in front of the sitting man and unintentionally blocked the sight of him from Lachlan.

"Only a few insignificant men. That doesn't matter though. Are you headed to Port Royal?" Justin demanded and caught Lachlan's attention once more. The Privateer angrily frowned at the uncaring dismissal of the lives that were unfortunately lost, mouth twitching into a subtle snarl.

"Indeed I am. Cutler Beckett is going to assign me to a important task." He took great pleasure in the fact that Justin furrowed his brows and gritted his teeth together once again. Yet another jealous expression now fixed on Justin's face. Cutler Beckett hadn't spoken or mentioned an important task, he had only some vital news to share to his work partner. Lachlan just enjoyed seeing the jealously on Justin's rat-like face.

"And what task would that be?"

"It's not your concern, so I don't know why you must insist on sticking your head in." The crew members of the sunken ship instantly turned their pale faces towards Lachlan in deathly shock, their jaws dropping almost to the deck and their expressions on their faces looked like they were screaming, without voices, to tell him to cease talking immediately.

As far as Lachlan knew, it was never a good idea to be angering this man. But he didn't fear him, he had met people that would make anyone's knees buckle in fright and he was much more taller than Justin anyway. He had joyfully angered this man multiple times before, although definitely not in front of the nearby men that served Justin.

Justin immediately became bright red in the face, his hands transforming into tight fists that were both threatening to connect with the Privateer's soft face. Lachlan could imagine steam hissing out the man's like a boiling contraption. The man had surprisingly held that urge back however, and took a step backwards. Giving the Privateer one last glare, he marched angrily out of sight, his fists held steadily at the sides of his body. It seemed like Justin didn't want to make a scene today which Lachlan was thankful for.

The young man sighed and rubbed his forehead. He was slightly relieved that he didn't get another bloody nose from Justin again, that had happened too many times to count and Lachlan was surprised that he hadn't gotten a crooked nose so far.

Turning his eyes to the still man on the floor nearby, he began to walk towards the sat figure and eventually he finally recognised him to be the first mate on the Darkened Thorn.

Spencer.

They had met a couple times in the past before, only when Lachlan was unfortunately stationed upon Justin's ship by Cutler Beckett's order. But he found that he was quite respectful of the first mate, always wondering how he could cope for many years with the most obnoxious person that had ever sailed the seas.

Lachlan made his way over to the still form of Spencer, two of his crew members silently moving aside from the sitting man who they had unsuccessfully tried to see what was possibly wrong with him. His oak brown eyes gazed at Spencer for a brief moment before turning towards the men standing beside him.

"I will take it from here. Continue with your duties, you two." Lachlan assured them, and they quickly nodded and walked off with a determined pace, hurrying back to their work.

"Spencer?" The jet black haired man crouched down to his level and placed his right hand on the left of the silent man's shoulder. Spencer blinked a couple of times, his emerald eyes full of confusion and horror. His head darted around the ship, apparently he hadn't realised where he was sat. His panicked state calmed when his eyes had focused on Lachlan now, he held his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes and forehead.

"How about we head on into my quarters and you can tell me what has happened?" Lachlan offered and Spencer's intense stare mostly looked relieved now, as if he wasn't expecting him to say that. He nodded carefully and used the railing as support to pull himself to his feet. Lachlan gave him a small smile and led Spencer into the captain's cabin.

The room was spotless and pretty large, as if it reflected Lachlan himself. With the many books on the shelves all neatly arranged alphabetically, all written about myths and sea creatures. The man had a fascination with the ocean life, even having a painting of a beautiful sunset with magnificent colours of blues complimenting the sea hung right next to the doors.

There was a large wooden desk in front of the windows, with neatly stacked papers with a paper weight holding the stack down. There was a vintage tea set on a tray opposite the papers, seeming to be made from perhaps Japan. The porcelain was a simple charcoal but decorated with Japanese flowers and patterns, there was only four tea cups but was in the same style.

Next to the desk and sat in the corner of the quarters, was an extremely gigantic painted portrait of Lachlan himself, stood high and mighty on top of his ship. And around him was multiple burning vessels in front of a town full of life and greenery. The painting depicted the day where Lachlan had managed to drive the terrified pirates from one of the islands in the Bahamas that they attempted to invade. Lachlan found that to be one of his most important achievements in his life so far and decided that it should be painted with him in it too.

He was inspired to do just that after one time when he was having tea with his superior and friend Cutler Beckett. The man had shown a painting of himself proudly standing upon a large globe with the East India Trading Company flag flowing right behind him. Cutler Beckett had shared the name of the person who had painted the masterpiece and Lachlan eventually contacted the artist and kindly asked if he could paint a similar picture, but of course of that day Lachlan had imprinted in his mind.

Resting by the papers, was a sleeping cat with it's fur dark as the deepest night. Lachlan firmly believed that having a cat abroad a ship meant good luck so long as the pet was well fed and looked after. The cat was named after Lachlan's father who was Thomas Houghton, certainly a common name for a cat but Lachlan couldn't care less about an unimportant deed such as naming a animal.

Many of his work partners, for example Justin, had joked at his belief, commenting that it was only superstition and that pets didn't belong on ships, but Lachlan ignored them. Whether or whether not the myth was real, he enjoyed having such an adorable creature abroad his ship.

Lachlan guided the suffering man to a soft seat in front of the desk, letting him sit down in it. Spencer held his head in his hands and rubbed at his forehead. He looked exhausted, and Lachlan wondered why his eyes looked so puffy and bright red. He obviously had been crying for a while, but what for?

Because of the deaths? Maybe Spencer was quite close to his crew members and that was why he looked so heartbroken, Lachlan had wondered.

Instead of seating himself in his chair that was tucked into his desk, Lachlan leaned against it as if he was almost sitting on the top of it. He rested his hands on the wooden surface on both his sides and stared hard at Spencer.

"Now, what happened then?" He questioned.

Spencer took a few minutes to reply, extremely silent but Lachlan was certainly not impatient. He wasn't going to sigh and roll his eyes whilst tapping his foot against the floor like a disappointed parent irritated at their misbehaving child, nor tap his fingers against the desk behind him. Lachlan would give all the time Spencer needed to reply, Spencer looked rugged and seemed as all the life in his eyes had vanished like a corpse.

Spencer slowly looked up, a tired sigh escaping his throat as he removed his trembling fingers from his face and placed them on his knees.

"T- The ship crashed into some rocks, we were in a storm and we couldn't see any land or ships," He managed to mutter, although it sounded more like a whisper. As if he was reliving the event through his eyes right at this very minute, his emerald eyes looked haunted as he stuttered his words.

"We evacuated everyone to the boats, but..." Spencer attempted to explain, his voice quiet and sounding like it could break at any moment, and then suddenly stopped as his eyes widened slightly like he had seen somebody get shot right in front of him. His skin looked pale now, as if he was nauseous, sea sick.

"His niece. She...she didn't make it." Spencer looked as if he had a lump in his throat as he tried his hardest to not break down in tears. His eyes were glistening and his hands were beginning to shiver like he was standing out in the cold without any warm clothing on. As soon as he mentioned the niece of Justin Daniels, he immediately lowered his head and closed his eyes. Lachlan noticed that Spencer was trying to fight the urge of crying, and he immediately came closer to the suffering man and placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder.

Lachlan had briefly seen the niece of Justin that one time where he was ordered to stay upon the Darkened Thorn. He had noticed her one time below deck with a young boy around her age who was passing her a slice of bread for her to eat. Lachlan didn't know much about her but she seemed very quiet and he rarely ever saw her above deck which was certainly strange. He then had assumed that she probably didn't like being abroad ships so she spent her time below deck then.

He could never really have the time to know much about her. She was most likely like her uncle anyway, irritating and insufferable. Of course, Lachlan immediately regretted to have thought of that just now. As no child should of have to perish so early in their life.

"That is...unfortunate. How did it happen?" Lachlan further asked, desperately hoping at least she didn't have to go through a most painful death. He loathed it when children had unfortunately died. Even if they were stubborn or selfish, they could change into a much better person when they got older as the years went by, children like them could of had a second chance at life.

"Captain Daniels ordered for us to leave her on the ship." Spencer instantly spat at the question, immediately after Lachlan had finished talking.

The Privateer felt confused now with the reply. He knew Justin could be cold blooded and harsher than most people but was he capable of such a sick act as leaving his niece abroad his sinking ship? Lachlan didn't want to believe that but Justin was a very horrid person so maybe he could of done that.

"That doesn't make any sense, I thought he loved her--" Lachlan began but was cut off by Spencer quickly staring at him with his emerald eyes and opening his mouth to speak.

"He abused her." His eyes were dark now, eyes glistening with tears and his hands trembling with anger now. All trace of sadness disappeared as he revealed his words with no shaky voice now. Lachlan's eyes widened in shock at the revelation. He wanted to say something back but his voice had gone silent and he closed his mouth shut.

Lachlan stood himself up and removed his and from Spencer's shoulder, the man's words were repeating over and over in his head as he tried to let them sink in.

He didn't think Justin was that far gone.

All that time Lachlan was stationed upon the Darkened Thorn and Justin's niece was probably being kicked and spat upon below the wooden floors of the ship. And he didn't know those sickening events was occurring right below his feet? It would explain when he caught a glimpse of her, she had sunken eyes and swollen cheeks. He just assumed she was possibly sick with a disease or that she simply didn't enjoy sailing.

Lachlan sighed and turned back towards Spencer, his brown eyes full of sympathy for him. The first mate must of been close to her for him to be feeling this way.

"I offer my condolences. But at least she is now finally free." Lachlan apologised, his voice mildly broken as he lowered his head towards the floor as if he were paying respect to a deceased person buried in a grave.

"Free?" Spencer immediately stood up from his seat, nearly tipping over the chair by how fast he got back on his feet. Lachlan's eyebrows raised to the point of not returning as he met Spencer's intense stare. His eyes were dark as Justin's, and his voice now angered, as if Lachlan had intentionally insulted him. The Privateer knew he wasn't the best for coming to for advice but he definitely knew he wasn't that bad at giving it.

"What do you mean by that?" Spencer demanded as he approached Lachlan with an intense march. All traces that he was grieving had disappeared like a flick of a hand, now there was only fury as he got up close to Lachlan. The man took a step backwards as he nearly stood in front of him, chests nearly touching. Lachlan felt like Justin was stood intimidatingly before him right now, but it wasn't Justin. It was Spencer, and he had never seen this man look so provoked before!

"I did not mean to anger you, I was apologising for your loss--" Lachlan attempted to explain calmly but Spencer had yet again cut him off. Lachlan really hated it when people did that.

"Bullshit, what did you mean by that?" Spencer snapped with another demand, Lachlan raised his hands up like a child who was caught stealing a piece of fruit, wanting to show that he didn't mean any harm by his words. Spencer backed off slightly but he continued to be furious with the Privateer, his fingers gripping the palms of both hands.

"What I meant is that she has gone through much horror and sadness but now she is finally free of that, and she can live on happily in the afterlife." Lachlan expressed, really hoping that the first mate could see that he didn't mean to provoke him. He made sure that he had a honest expression on his face. Lachlan attempted to place his hand on Spencer's shoulder so that it would make comfort but the man brushed it off. The fury in the man's eyes had softened and was beginning to shine with yet more tears.

"This wasn't supposed to happen!" He croaked out, his voice entirely now broken now. "I was going to leave that bastard Justin, and take her with me so she could have a better life, a proper life!" Spencer rubbed his right arm across his nose and puffy cheeks, removing trails of tears that leaked from his eyes.

"She never deserved to be whipped at, beaten at, burned or- or- or..." Spencer struggled to speak any further as his emotions became heavy and full of heartbreak. He couldn't stand any longer, his legs wobbling and dropped to his knees like life had defeated him and took everything he once had. Beginning to sob and hold his head in his hands. Lachlan quickly lowered to his level and pulled the crying man into a comforting hug, placing a hand on his moving head and the other softly on the man's back. His cries were muffled now as he buried his face in the Privateer's chest, Lachlan could feel his coat becoming damp now.

"I could of saved her! She's dead because of me! It's my fault!" Spencer bawled and hit his hand against Lachlan's chest as if he didn't want to be in this position right now. His body moved with his sobs and attempted to move out of Lachlan's grip but failed as Lachlan held him back. Spencer eventually calmed down by holding the man's arms tightly like he was holding onto dear life. He was overwhelmed with emotions and all Lachlan could do was hold the suffering man against him.

~ ~ ~

Spencer could hear sobbing. And he immediately panicked as he stumbled down the stairs and followed the soft crying. A pit grew in his stomach and he could taste bile in his throat as a horrid smell reached his nose, a smell that had told him that skin had been burnt. He rushed throughout the deck, the sickening smell becoming stronger now. Eventually turning a corner to see a red haired child lying on the ground with her knees tucked in her chest. Her shirt missing and lay tossed on the wooden floor nearby, exposing her pale sickly flesh.

Her back was horrifically covered with red fiery welts that trailed from her ribs and upwards on her spine. There were not so visible white streaks across her back, certainly scars from past injuries. The red welts look like they had been marked with a belt, as there was a purple imprint of something that was shaped as a buckle embedded in the child's skin.

The young girl was softly whimpering, her exposed back facing Spencer, she looked as if she was holding something in her arms but the first mate couldn't see what it was. He rushed over to her and crouched down to the small malnourished child, seeing that she was trying as best as she could to cover as much of her body as possible. Her left arm hiding her right from the man's sight.

Her eyes were scrunched tight, tears uncontrollably falling freely down her dirty cheeks.

Spencer felt his heart beginning to snap in two as he covered his mouth in horror, silencing a gasp of shock as he tried to process what the actual hell had happened to her. He knew instantly that it was Justin. There was no doubt about it. The person who did this to her was him, and only him. Although this time, it appeared that he was much more violent in the punishment.

Spencer had unfortunately been forced to go off duty much to his continuing protests involving a family matter, and hadn't been upon the Darkened Thorn in only two days. And this was what he came back to?!

Only two days and all hell broke loose!

He had thought that the cabin boy, Michael Stephenson had took over caring for her! He loved her as much as Spencer did. Now that he had thought of him, the first mate hadn't seen the boy since he stepped back on the ship.

Where was he?

"Child? It's me, Spencer," The man gently placed his hand on top of her small head and she slowly opened her eyes. As if she was frightened to even open them. Her teal blue eyes were wide and full of terror, tears still falling freely from the corners of her eyes. Her breathing was mostly full of convulsive gasps as it took a few moments for her to recognise Spencer at last.

"It's alright, it's me, Spencer." He repeated again. He hoped that she didn't feel betrayed by his leaving the other day. Spencer told her that he was being forced to leave only for a few days, so he was praying that she hadn't forgotten. His heart always dropped to the abyss when her expression was full of betrayal and that she had felt lied to, like he had broken his promise of returning to her.

The child softly nodded, using her left arm to quickly rub away her tears, instantly covering her right again before Spencer had the chance to examine it.

"W- welcome back, s- sir." She greeted with a failed attempt of looking like she was glad or pleased with his return. Spencer shook his head and gently stroked the side the red haired girl's face softly. Offering a small smile to her.

"How many times must I have to tell you that you don't need to call me sir?" He asked but instantly regretted it as his voice sounded annoyed slightly. She didn't seem to feel anything by his hand on her face, she just frowned and attempted to lift herself into a sitting position. Spencer immediately helped her, being careful to not touch any of her sore and injured marks on her flesh. The child winced slightly but there was no sign of her discomfort.

"I'm sorry." She apologised quietly, almost whispering, still not meeting Spencer's sympathetic gaze. He was really worried by how much she was really trying to cover up her right arm from his sight. He could still smell the burning flesh and was convinced that it was coming from her.

"You don't need to apologise for anything. You haven't done anything wrong." Spencer insisted, and this time she actually did connect her eyes to him now and she smiled. It was a small smile, but for the first time in a while Spencer could see some life in her cheeks. He desperately didn't want to let that smile leave for possibly the last time, but he knew that he had to take a look at her arm to see what Justin had done to her.

"May I see your arm, child? Please?" Spencer softly asked as the smile unfortunately fell from her thin face and she immediately looked back to the floor. Glancing at her right arm with guilt and disappointment. The child hesitated for a couple moments but slowly moved her left arm that covered the right. Spencer had nearly fainted by the sight of it, the stench of burnt flesh was stronger than ever now.

Marked, below her hand and on her forearm was a large "P" branded into her flesh. It was burning to the touch as Spencer carefully examined it with the tip of his fingers. The child's entire arm was a horrific red, swelling around the mark. The "P" was bleeding slightly and leaking down the curves of her thin arm.

Spencer had to hold his mouth again in utter disgust. Justin had branded her as a pirate! His own niece! But why?!

"Uncle says that the P means that I am a parasite," The child softly smiled again, as if she wasn't bothered by the fact that Justin had scarred her skin with a letter that was given only to vile and dishonest men! Either that or she had just naturally accepted it as the next form of punishment for her if she didn't fulfill Justin's orders.

"Why did he do this to you?" Spencer coldly questioned, trying to hold back his fury so that he wouldn't upset the small girl. He wanted to pounce on Justin, to rip his throat out with his own teeth like a lunatic!

"Michael was trying to help me into a boat in the night," She explained, covering up her right arm again like before. "It was my fault we got caught by Uncle. And then he put this on me as punishment." She finished with a frown entirely full of regret. Her eyes looking like a little lost puppy.

Spencer felt panic invade him again, as well as confusion as the child looked painfully at the floor. If Michael wasn't here, then that meant...

"What happened to the boy?" Spencer's eyebrows raised, and his fingers dug into his palms. He was prepared for the worst. The child looked sorrowful and dejected, closing her eyes once more as if she was trying to recall what had happened. Her teal blue eyes opened after one silent minute had passed, and her expression changed to despair.

"Uncle threw him off the ship..."

Spencer immediately got up to his feet, fiery fury consuming him as he suddenly swung a tightly closed fist at the wooden wall. He roared in rage and the child quickly turned her head way from him. Shutting her eyes and flinching when she heard his hand make contact with the wall.

The first mate was pissed. Livid. Exasperated as he thought of Justin. His heart was beating rapidly with anger, he had enough.

Justin had beaten this child too much for Spencer to handle and now he had basically sentenced another child to death by throwing the boy off the ship! He couldn't let this terror and sin happen any longer, he might lose his sanity he lived this way! Spencer was going to save her like he had planned with Michael, take her far away from Justin's hands and wrath and love her like he were her father.

Spencer turned back to her and approached the red haired child again, she was shivering and he felt regret for scaring her. She most likely thought he was going to hurt her just then. Reaching into his coat, he brought out half of a loaf of bread and held it in his hands for her to take.

"Here eat this, child. I am sorry." She carefully moved her head back towards him and her teal blue eyes gazed at it with a smile that had shown no emotion. No delight. She hesitated to take it at first, drawing back her left hand a couple times. But she finally did take it, and brought the bread up to her lips. Taking a small bite and chewing it slowly.

There was still no pleasure upon her face and that disappointed Spencer, but he knew it wasn't going to be that easy to successfully heal her and get the past behind them.

"I am going to get you out of here, child. I will not let anything happen to you ever again." He vowed and sat down next to her, stroking her head and making sure that she was properly eating. The red haired girl didn't react to his words and continued to take small bites, a heartbreaking frown on her lips.

And by this, Spencer knew that she didn't believe him. And that made his heart grow cold with misery.

~ ~ ~

It was probably ten minutes that had passed as Spencer's cries had eventually silenced, though his head was still buried in Lachlan's chest. Lachlan's knees felt numb by the time Spencer had finished, but he knew that the man was distraught and was likely not to recover from it for a while now.

Thomas, who had awakened earlier prior to the shouting, had jumped off the desk and sat right next to Spencer. His furry little head resting on the man's knees, the cat seemed to sense Spencer's despair and Lachlan was grateful for the cat to come over. Spencer sniffed and let go of the Privateer whilst he also removed his own hands from the man's arms, rubbing his fingers at his eyes and wiping the remaining tears away. His eyes still looked puffy as he held his head, he likely had a headache now, Lachlan had thought.

"You should get some rest, Spencer. There should be a hammock down below for you to take." Lachlan offered, standing up and helping the first mate to his feet. Spencer had silently nodded in return, heading towards the door so he could leave. He paused before opening it.

"Thank you."

Lachlan nodded his head towards Spencer, a gentle smile rising on the Privateer's face as he watched Spencer exit the quarters. Turning away, he was about to pick up Thomas so that he could place him upon the desk when he heard the door open again. There was a voice quietly muttering. "Excuse me, sorry." Before footsteps were heard, and the first mate abroad Lachlan's ship, the Poison Grail, Aaron had entered.

He was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a navy uniform with golden trims, typical with anyone who worked for the East India Trading Company. He wore a white wig like many others.

"Sir. We have arrived at Port Royal at last!" Aaron divulged with a relieved smile. He seemed to be pretty pleased that they had finally gotten to their destination. Lachlan wondered if it had anything to do with Justin on board his ship.

Nevertheless, Lachlan smiled and followed his first mate out from his quarters, Thomas trotting excitedly behind him.  

~ ~ ~

The Poison Grail was heading towards the peaceful and beautiful town of Port Royal, the view of the life coming closer as the ship was sailing to it.

Lachlan stepped out of his quarters, holding the door open for his cat to follow. He instantly frowned when he spotted Justin Daniels leaning on the railing of his ship, his expression full of delight as he had finally arrived at his destination. The Privateer was quickly angered by the awful smile on Justin's face as he was reminded of the harsh things he had done in the past, but kept calm. Focusing his stare on the growing town nearby.

Walking up close to the railing, he smirked with joy as he spotted the HMS Endeavour floating in the town nearby. He knew it was Cutler Beckett's ship from the brown and golden wood that kept the ship together.

The Poison Grail was quite similar to that ship.

The similarities were of course the brown and gold wood, a total of seventy five cannons armed on the sides, less than the HMS Endeavour but still capable of created mass destruction. And large billowing sails with the masts. However, Lachlan proudly had the United Kingdom flag perched on the back of his ship along with an EITC flag that was next to it just like the Endeavour.

Lachlan had been rewarded with the ship by Cutler Beckett himself not only for his outstanding loyalty and brutal defense for the EITC, but for of course, that achievement Lachlan had always been so proud of.

"So I see you've still got this parasite around." A disgusted voice mocked at Lachlan, cutting the man out of his pleasing thoughts. The Privateer turned to face the man, who was unsurprisingly Justin, who was glaring knives at Thomas who hissed at the man in response.

"That's correct, Mister Daniels." Lachlan frowned, and crossed his arms as he faced the older man. Justin had seemed to still be furious about the whole losing his ship situation and immediately became bright red in the face. Lachlan began softly smiling with pleasure as he stared at the man's dark eyes.

The Privateer noticed that Justin's knuckles were dangerously white now as both his hands had transformed into fists and he knew that was a bad sign. He chuckled and stepped closer to the man.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, it would be a shame for Cutler Beckett to know that you attacked one of his most successful work partners." Lachlan threatened and stepped back after Justin let out an irritated growl of pure rage, he forced his hands open and could only glare at Lachlan as he walked off with the most smug grin on his face.

Lachlan could feel the hate radiating from that man even as he walked off to find his first mate.

He really enjoyed angering that man.

~ ~ ~

Here is the next chapter finally! 

There is some more scenes of Justin in this one because I wanna make him a gigantic asshole who loves nothing more than making everyone hate him. So if you hate him, then that means that I've done my job! xD

So yeah, Spencer is gonna be pretty upset for a while but he is important to the plot so it's not like I'm dumping that guy off into the sidelines. There's another flashback in this fic, I really love flashbacks, and it just explains what kind of hell Spencer and Diana have been through and why Spencer wasn't present when Justin threw Michael off board. There will be plenty of more flashbacks about the past which should clear up plenty of questions.

Each chapter should be focusing on Diana's or Davy's POV for one chapter and either Spencer or Lachlan's POV for another so that should be good! Beckett should be appearing after the next chapter, and he's gonna be himself obviously. I'm thinking about having two canon character appearances that live in Port Royal and I think you know which two I'm talking about.

Hint: They both have the same last name and are related!

Next chapter should be back on the Flying Dutchman!

[thefigureinthecorner]

tama-rrow will be kinder- an am archives playlist

at least 3 months and 31 songs later and this monster of a playlist finally has a cover hell yeah

the pun title is....... literally the only fun thing about this playlist, actually.

song notes, and also spoilers, under the cut

a lot of these songs are mood songs; the lyrics don’t have a whole lot of relevance. most of them do have at least some lyrical relevance, though, provided that the song has any lyrics at all. it’s p much just the songs that helped me draw all that Good Good Angst

also important to note: I started making it after episode 9, so it’s mostly relevant to the back half of the show, and especially to the last couple of episodes.

again, this is 31 songs and over 2 hours long, so the notes are........ kind of long

Ghosts That We Knew - Mumford & Sons

So give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light/'Cause oh that gave me such a fright/But I will hold as long as you like/Just promise me we'll be alright

Desert Song - My Chemical Romance

this is one of those songs that’s there primarily for mood reasons; i added it right after episode 9 came out and it was on loop pretty much the whole time i was drawing stuff for that episode. the lyrics are kinda relevant, but not enough for me to pull out any specific lines.

The World Is Ugly - My Chemical Romance

this was added for mood reasons after 9, but then it became relevant.

I just wanted you to know/That the world is ugly/But you're beautiful to me/Are you thinking of me/Like I'm thinking of you/I would say I'm sorry, though/Though I really need to go

The Light Behind Your Eyes - My Chemical Romance

yes, there are three mcr songs in a row, and no, i’m not gonna apologize for that. the am archives slam dunked me right back into my emo phase. also, this song just straight-up hurts. like, the whole thing.

If I could be with you tonight/I would sing you to sleep/Never let them take the light behind your eyes/I failed and lost this fight/Never fade in the dark/Just remember you will always burn as bright

In Case You Don't Live Forever - Ben Platt

my one note for this song is: ow.

I've waited way too long to say/Everything you mean to me/In case you don't live forever, let me tell you now/I love you more than you'll ever wrap your head around/In case you don't live forever, let me tell you the truth/I'm everything that I am because of you

Spanish Sahara - Foals

this one’s another mood song, but it does have some lines that work; the forget the horror here sections are the biggest reason this song ended up on the playlist, actually, mood aside.

Hot Gates - Mumford & Sons

mood mostly, but also:

And I can't be for you all of the things you want me to/But I will love you constantly/There's precious little else to me/And though we cry, we must stay alive

Iridescent - Linkin Park

When you were standing in the wake of devastation When you were waiting on the edge of the unknown And with the cataclysm raining down, insides crying save me now You were there impossibly alone

Do you feel cold and lost in desperation You build up hope but failure's all you've known Remember all the sadness and frustration And let it go, let it go

Gone Away - SafetySuit

again: ow.

i just... go look at the lyrics. do it. it hurts.

POWERLESS - Linkin Park

it’s mostly here for mood, but the lyrics feel relevant in a way that i can’t pinpoint but it’s a way that hurts.

Daylight - Boyce Avenue

i have other connections to this specific cover of this song that make it Extra Painful but like Daylight started playing literally right after Crazy while i was at CVS and i was like hey hi excuse me i just wanted to get some Arizona w h y

anyway.

Here I am staring at your perfection/In my arms, so beautiful/The sky is getting bright, the stars are burning out/Somebody slow it down/This is way too hard/'Cause I know, when the sun comes up/I will leave, this is my last glance/That will soon be memory

Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol

ah. the Quintessential Sad Medical Drama Song. not that tama is a medical drama but like it kinda gave me those vibes at times?? anyway. it’s here for mood more than anything but there are some lyrics in it that hurt

The Winner Takes It All - ABBA

not even abba is safe from tama angst.

no seriously though i got this song stuck in my head and had an aw fuck come on seriously???? ABBA?????? you’re making ABBA hurt???????? moment

re: joan and owen

The gods may throw a dice/Their minds as cold as ice/And someone way down here/Loses someone dear/The winner takes it all/The loser has to fall/It's simple and it's plain/Why should I complain

and re: joan and wadsworth

I don't want to talk/If it makes you feel sad/And I understand/You've come to shake my hand/I apologize/If it makes you feel bad/Seeing me so tense/No self-confidence/But you see/The winner takes it all

I Of The Storm - Of Monsters and Men

Are you really gonna love me when I'm gone?/I fear you won't/I fear you don't/And it echoes when I breathe/Until all you see is my ghost/Empty vessel, crooked teeth/Wish you could see/And they call me under/And I'm shaking like a leaf/And they call me under/And I wither underneath

Hail To Whatever You Found In The Sunlight That Surrounds You - Rilo Kiley

this one is 100% a mood song. i’ve debated taking it off the playlist but it just... gets me in the right headspace for drawing tama art, i guess?? something about the sadness/anxiety in the song or something i think

Fear - Sleeping At Last

it’s instrumental, so yeah, mood song

For Good - Wicked

i’ve made art based on this song, but i didn’t even use the lyrics that actually hurt the most?

And just to clear the air/I ask forgiveness/For the things I've done you blame me for

But then, I guess we know/There's blame to share

And none of it seems to matter anymore

Empty Chairs At Empty Tables - Les Miserables

yeah so realizing how well this song fit kind of felt like what i would imagine getting hit by a train feels like

the whole song fits. just trust me on this.

All Gone (No Escape) - Gustavo Santaolalla

another instrumental one that’s mood-only, but i was rewatching a last of us playthrough as a reference for a thing and this song popped up towards the end and i was like “ah, that hurts, i need it”

All Is Well (It's Only Blood) - Radical Face

y’know what? the song’s pretty short. have all the lyrics, and i’m sorry.

All is well now Pay no mind All is well now I'm just fine I'm just fine It's only blood; I have plenty left It's only blood; I just need to rest I said I'd fix this That I'd set things straight You begged me not to But I couldn't stay Couldn't wait They cut me up, but I did them worse And I'll be fine, I just need to rest All is well now All is well now All is well now All is well now

......yeah.

when i heard it, i swear to god it replicated that exact sinking feeling i felt in the pit of my stomach when i first listened to episode 15. it fits way too well, and i have too many feelings about this song, and hhhhhhh

After the Storm - Mumford & Sons

And I won't die alone and be left there Well I guess I'll just go home, Oh God knows where Because death is just so full and man so small Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before

The Trapeze Swinger - Iron & Wine

someone in the tag mentioned this song and i’ve been crying over it ever since

it’s just. 9 minutes of jesus christ, ow, what the fuck

Winter Song - The Head and the Heart

this one’s mostly here for mood, but some of the lyrics do fit and they hurt, like “we’re just praying that we’re doing this right/but that’s not the way it seems”; joan realizing that she’s been going about the tier 5 clear out the wrong way and the costly mistakes that come with that.

Touch - Sleeping At Last

i think this one’s mostly for the mood, but there’s something in the lyrics that make me think of joan in the finale; that kind of numb, “none of this feels real” denial of everything that’s happened both to her and to the people she loves.

Silhouette - Owl City

this song hurts especially in the context of the “i need you to be happy” line, i think; the line changing between “will i ever feel again//will i ever smile again//will i ever love again” is just, like, a trifecta of pain

The fire I began, is burning me alive But I know better than to leave and let it die I'm a silhouette asking every now and then Is it over yet? Will I ever smile again? I'm a silhouette chasing rainbows on my own But the more I try to move on the more I feel alone So I watch the summer stars to lead me home

All Is Well (Goodbye, Goodbye) - Radical Face

fun fact! all is well (it’s only blood) has a companion song!! because you know what’s better than one angst? two angst!!

And I have lost your face It slips between my fingers now And all the world is gray As though you took the colors with you When you went and passed away

It's So Hard To Say Goodbye To Yesterday - Jason Mraz

this one’s on my joan/owen playlist too, but it hurt too much to not put it here.

And if we get to see tomorrow I hope it's worth all the wait It's hard to say goodbye to yesterday

And I'll take with me the memories To be my sunshine after the rain It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday

Cradle and All - Audra McDonald

i’m just sitting here, innocently listening to joan’s playlist, when this song pops up and i’m like aw fuck aw shit no goddammit

It's not like he didn't love, no, that I couldn’t conceive There are many ways a man can stay And many ways that he can leave

--

Oh hush, oh hush, don't be scared I know that you tried, I know cared Let's put it behind us, that noise in the hall

We All Go the Same - Radical Face

i’ve made art for this song, too! it hurts. it’s sad. it’s about death. it’s got sad piano. what more explanation do you want

Light In The Hallway - Pentatonix

it’s.... comforting in a sad way, idk. it felt like it fit, especially towards the end of this playlist.

Tomorrow Will Be Kinder - The Secret Sisters this song is kind of like... sad and optimistic at the same time. i wanted to end this playlist on at least kind of a lighter note, and i think this song does that. it works with the finale; sad, not quite recovered, but still looking towards the future and knowing things can still be better despite every terrible thing that’s happened.

also, it’s where the pun title comes from.

Sorrow weighs my shoulders down And trouble haunts my mind But I know the present will not last And tomorrow will be kinder

Tomorrow will be kinder It's true, I've seen it before A brighter day is coming my way Yes, tomorrow will be kinder

Today I've cried a many tear And pain is in my heart Around me lies a somber scene I don't know where to start

[benes-diction]

“I want to be better.”

Follow-up to Reunion, found here.

<Your hair is dark.>

The wet ink gleamed in the light from Celia's inn room window. When Caius had shown up, he almost thought she looked happy to see him. But how quickly that joy had faded once she realized who he was. How quickly he had forgotten about Audrey dyeing it. It almost hurt how fast her expression fell.

Caius tugged on a lock of his hair, examining Audrey's work in the light. “It is,” he murmured. “Audrey—the girl I told you about last morning. She did it. I… thought it might make you feel better.”

Celia tapped a nail against the table, staring daggers into his head, before drawing a question mark on her page.

“What?”

Her hand moved fast, quickly writing out her thoughts. He was almost impressed with how legible her handwriting was, considering the speed. Then again, he thought, he might have noticed it sooner, had he… been her brother and not her nightmare.

<You look like Aventus.>

“I noticed that, too, after the fact,” he admitted. “It was unintentional, I promise. I… I just didn't want you to be afraid.”

Celia narrowed her eyes, lip curling.

“I know. I know. It's… my fault. You have every right. I just… I don't want to mess this up.”

She stared at him a moment longer, eyes catching the light from the window that Caius had turned to avoid, before simply sighing. She poured a cup of tea and slid it across the table.

<You look like death warmed over.>

“I feel like death warmed over.”

<It shows. Bad evening?>

“A good evening. Just… poor, poor choices. And a shot that came straight out of--"

Celia quirked a brow.

“… It was a nice evening. Audrey wanted to help me relax.”

<Her solution was alcohol and a hangover?>

“Her solution was a night of just… not caring. Believe it or not, Celia, this… thing.” Caius gestured vaguely between them. “I'm serious. I want… to be better. I am better. And I want to make amends.”

She stared him down, and for a moment, Caius couldn't help but wonder if that was how he looked most days. But Celia only shook her head at him, pointing toward the tea.

Reluctantly taking a sip—it tasted like nothing, like leaf-flavored water—he murmured, “Audrey's been pestering me about learning that… thing. The…” He waved his hands. “Signing.”

She gazed coolly at him.

“I know, I had my chance when we were children.”

She crossed her arms.

“I was… wondering if that would make it easier. On you.”

Celia clicked her tongue, hands motioning too quick for Caius to pick out any individual motion. But from the ice in her eyes, he gathered enough to know she was far from happy with him.

“… Right. Stupid of me to ask.”

Huffing out a breath, Celia dragged her paper closer to write.

<I appreciate the thought. It would make it easier. Obviously. Caius.>

She tapped her pen against his name after he had the chance to read what she had written, directing his attention to her hands. She moved slowly, letting him see each sign distinctly before moving on to the next. Caius mimicked her as best he could.

“That's how you sign my name?”

She nodded. <How to to spell it, at least. And that’s what your name will be, for now. It's easier to just assign a name-sign. But… we'll see. I have no intention on jumping the gun in regards to this.>

“A name-sign?”

Suspicion flashed in her eyes at his curious question. She made one of the signs that had been in his name and slowly motioned it down her face. Then the same sign once more, but wobbling near her teeth. And then another unfamiliar one, gliding back over her head.

<Each of those was a name.>

“Really? So… mine would be…” He still remembered the sign she had leveled at the Miqo'te in her group—the one Audrey had said meant ‘idiot’—and he tried to replicate it.

For the first time since his mistaken identity, Celia cracked a smile, a hand coming up to hide it as her shoulder shook. She crooked a finger for him to bring his hands closer to her and gently readjusted him, flowing through the correct motion with him.

“How would I do your name?”

<Just say my name. I'm nonverbal, not deaf.>

“Right. Sorry.”

Caius squinted out the open window. He could have learned all that ages ago. But no. He'd had his head so far up his own ass that—

The sound of Celia scooting her paper closer to him drew his attention back.

<Was there ever a point in our lives when you looked at me and loved me, instead of whatever hatred or disgust you felt toward me?>

She stared at him, eyes burning, expectant, but she almost looked sad as well, as though she had an answer in mind already that broke her heart. He sighed.

“… I never really hated you,” he said slowly. “I resented you… because you… were ‘broken.’ You couldn't help me carry the legacy, and I hated that. And I hated the pressure, and you… You were an easy target. Grandmother used to go on and on about how worthless you were, and I took that to heart. I wanted someone to blame.” He picked at the skin around his thumbnail. “I know better now. I knew better then. I just… I can act on it easier now. She… poisoned us a lot with her words.”

She began to write again, but Caius stopped her, gently resting a hand atop her wrist. She jerked away.

“It wasn't your fault. It was mine. I should have stood up to her, and… you deserved a brother who would be a friend. And maybe a protector. Not… Not me. Not a monster.”

<You're right. I did deserve better. I do deserve better.>

“I want to try.”

<I'm not going to forgive you for what you've done. All of it—all the words and pushes and shoves—was inexcusable, no matter the reason or motive. But I'm giving you a second chance because you seem genuinely remorseful.>

He nodded. “That's fair. It's more than I was expecting. Thank you… Celia.”

<But if you go back to how you were, I won't hesitate to remove you from my life. Or take your life if you threaten mine.>

“I know. It won't come to that.”

Celia tilted her head, eyes darting over his face as she twirled her pen in her fingers. Whatever she found seemed to satisfy her, and she wrote out more.

<Tell me about Audrey.>

“She reminds me of you. She's Hingan—at least partly—but she's… in a bad spot. Like… what I put you through, but… worse. I don't think I could ever have been that bad. And she's dealing with two—two monsters, Celia. If not more. She's… beautiful. And smart. And too clever by half. And she's strong. She's so strong, Celia, bearing all that weight on her shoulders, and then dealing with me on top of it all.” Caius rubbed his temples. “She's… She's the reason I'm here. That I want to try.”

<You're here because you feel guilty?>

He couldn't lie. “Yes. It took dealing with my own monster, and then seeing my old self reflected in someone else for me to realize how badly I fucked up.”

Celia tapped her pen against the wood of the table.

“… A lot of things have happened since we last saw each other.”

She tapped a finger against her chest, where the cluster of burns were on his own, quirking a brow, and Caius nodded.

“Like I said, I got a taste of my own medicine.”

She signed something, looking at him with something akin to pity in her eyes.

“It doesn't matter. Audrey has done a lot for me. She's… been really patient. Through all of my shite, through… this whole thing with you. She's been there while I relearn how to be ‘me' again.”

<You sound like you really care about her.>

“I do. I don't know where I would be without her. She saved my life, Celia.”

Pursing her lips, Celia seemed to ponder his words before motioning for him to drink more tea, writing that hydration was the best way to fight a hangover. And Caius once more reluctantly obeyed, wrinkling his nose at the taste.

“She wants to meet you. Well. I suggested that the two of you should… be friends. Or at least friendly. Audrey seemed to like the idea. I thought you two could go out to the one place she likes. I figured it could be like a nameday thing, since yours was… what? A few suns ago?”

She blinked at him, frowning. <A sennight. I forgot about my nameday.>

“Well… Alright. Think about and let me know so I can let Audrey know. It's just a thought.”

<We’ll see. It depends on whether or not it seems you’ve actually changed.>

[surrealbill]

There was a Crooked Man

The Man from In between or The Crooked man is one of the eldritch entities called ‘The Others’ that I have created for my RPG campaigns (Call of Cthulhu and Pathfinder). This will be a description of the entity and its backstory.

The Backstory

Before he was The Crooked Man he was the Court Jester to The King in Yellow in the city of Carcosa. For reasons long since lost to time (along with the entity’s original name) he was cast out from Carcosa to ‘The place In Between’. What The Place In Between is, has been a matter of some debate especially when the Location of Carcosa itself is also unknown. Some believe that The In Between is located somewhere in the Dream Lands/Astral Plane others that it is its own demi plane or pocket dimension.

The Man from In Between is obsessed with creative pursuits, writing, art, acting, music, and the like, the more beautiful and expressive the better. He was first brought into our world/ the material plane by a piece of music so beautiful and powerful it created a crack in reality. The Man from In Between was able to force his way through this crack, but in the process, it twisted, contorted, and stretched his body and mind creating The Crooked Man. Now twisted and broken he found the beautiful music repellent although he could still appreciate the skill involved. He whispered to the musician slowly twisting them and their music to his will.

( Cristi Balanescu: The Path to Carcosa Cover  for Arkham Horror card game)

The Music

This new piece of twisted strange music now follows the crooked man whether he goes, and if anyone begins to play this piece of music they find themselves unable to stop and will continue to play until forcefully stopped or they expire. The music is also said to summon The Crooked Man as he can hear it no matter where he is. Those who hear the music are lulled into a trance thinking of nothing but the music and how they never want it to stop, becoming violent towards anyone they think is threat to the music being played. If the music is stopped its effects can continue depending on how long a person has been exposed to the music. Regardless, those exposed will always carry the music with them, a tune they simply can’t get out of there head faintly being carried on the wind. (This is the music I use in game to represent the Strange Music, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAwSxtaD4II)

(The music of Erich Zann by TomXaros, found here: https://tomxaros.deviantart.com/art/The-music-of-Erich-Zann-623903419 )

The Goals

The Crooked Man’s main goals are to twist and corrupt the art of others, after all why should he be crooked when others are not. Some believe he does this either for his own amusement or to catch the attention of The King in Yellow in an attempt to return to lost Carcosa. The second seems most likely as he has on occasion attempted to put on a production of The King in Yellow play often with a cast of mad artists and creatives some of which he has kidnapped or even killed.

The Execution

He usually appears as a normal man mostly a normal looking representation of his real form. Other times taking on the appearance of famous artists, musicians, and actors alive or dead. Regardless of how he looks his true form is given away by his shadow or reflection that remains crooked and tall. he attends performances of particularly gifted and talented artists posing as a critic calling himself Alexander Leslie (the name of the man that the original poem ‘There was a crooked man’ was supposedly based on). Appearing unmoved and disinterested in the work of the artist he’ll inform them that they’re not taking their art far enough, often showing them some unknowable and strange cord or colour or script based on the creative outlet of his target. His victim will often become obsessed with his example and attempt to replicate it or create something like it, soon after the person will disappear never to be seen again except perhaps in one of The Crooked Mans renditions of The king in Yellow.

The Appearance

His true appearance is as follows.

About 8 ft tall he is pale and thin his skin a light greyish colour. He is dressed as a conductor wearing a tail coat and crooked top hat, the suit is to small and fits his elongated and twisted body poorly. He has dark grey shoulder length hair that is greasy and matted. His features are sharp and angular with pronounced cheekbones and a mouth that extends from ear to ear he grins revealing rows of jagged razor-sharp teeth. His body is twisted and broken with his limbs bent at odd angles and with joints in unusual places. His fingers are long and bony ending in long sharp finger nails.

From the inside pockets of his jacket he seems able to produce a variety of things, ranging from instruments of various size to writing implements like pen and paper to a very well-read copy of The King in Yellow. These items all have one thing in common they are made of an unusual dark wood that is cold to the touch and hard as stone.

If needed a pair of leathery bat like wings can burst forth from his shoulder blades allowing him to fly short distances.

Worship

The man from In Between is unlikely to be worshipped by many, the fact that he is only capable of observing those affected by his work and that he has no interest in this worship anyway may be the reason. Those who do follow him will often mark their allegiance with the symbol of a crooked top hat or the Image at the top of this post. most who know of him and are inclined to worship are more likely to praise The king in Yellow or another entity with dominion over the arts. No those who worship him tend to be a lone mad man.

The Poem

For each of my eldritch entities I have written an in-universe poem or nursery rhyme, this one is of course based on the nursery rhyme ‘There was a Crooked Man’.

There Was a Crooked Man

There was a Crooked Man, and he walked a crooked mile,

He found a crooked sixpence upon a crooked stile.

He bought a crooked cat which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in a little crooked house.

There was a Crooked Man, who played a crooked note,

He sang a crooked song from a broken crooked throat.

He wrote a crooked book and performed a crooked play,

And painted crooked pictures to take the mind away.

There was a Crooked Man, who whispered crooked things.

He flew from crooked place to place, on twisted crooked wings.

He found a crooked artist that he quickly stole away,

And in Dim Crooked Carcosa the artist will surely stay.

 Thanks for reading, sorry if it was a bit long. If anyone would be interested in a stat block for The Crooked Man I can write it up and upload it.

[kaispeakshermind]

The Big Problem You Have if You Are Any Kind of Artist

I think I figured it out.

It hit me when I was looking at this gorgeous, vivid painting of a T-Rex roaring in front of a volcano.

The reason artists hate their work so often (or at least don’t appreciate it as much as the audience who beholds the finished product for the first time) is because it may not always turn out the way they expected it to, or the way they had it in their head when the idea originally came upon them.

For example, I think this painting has a spot-on example of what we commonly expect a T-Rex to look like, and many other people likely feel the same way, but I betcha the artist, upon finishing it, probably looked at it and thought: “Man, this could’ve been so much better. One of the teeth is not the right kind of crooked. I used gray on the interior of the mouth when I wanted to use a darker color but I ran out. The nostrils are asymmetrical.”

Because in their mind, they had a perfect inspiring image in front of them. Then, when they tried to replicate it, of course the physical work of their hands didn’t match their mental idea of what they wanted, primarily for the reason that:

Ideas are abstract.

Whatever mental image, sound, or feeling you have in your mind that inspires you to take on that artwork will not match the end result.

It’s not even a solid image. Things constantly change in our brains, which do, also, have limitations. For example, our brains are incapable of constructing an anatomically correct face (or even a complete face, for that matter). They can’t even make your hands look right. That’s why dreams are so weird.

Anyway, yeah. Remember that next time someone comes along saying “wow that’s really good!” and you feel the need to point out (at least to yourself) all the imperfections in your piece.

It’s all abstract. No one is perfect. That’s the beauty of art; you can always keep improving. There may come a day when you create a masterpiece with no imperfections, but until then, don’t beat yourself up over your work.

Take pride in the hard work you put in, the blood, sweat, tears, time, and passion you put into making this thing for yourself and the world to enjoy and appreciate.

[dothewrite]

oh god i loved that platonic relationship scenario you did so much itwas so cuteee. do you think you could do a similar one but with terushima and akaashi? it doesn't have to be about a boy but just similar to the original scenario in the sense that the girl is emotionally down and feeling quite insecure about herself whether it's like her body or whatever ?

This might be a bit (read: lots) different from the original style- can you tell I’m losing my marbles. I just needed to let loose a little in this one. Still, I’m sorry this is super late, but thanks for enjoying my original scenario. :) This is the ‘or whatever’ part of your request, but I hope you find it helpful in some way.

The original post here.

It’s animpossible habit to break when you’ve been paraded in front of various forms ofyourself since you can remember. Your mother and relatives had always actedlike the mirror was something you should be happy about- look at how adorable she is!- and would make you twirl in half-step circles,like a concubine in front of her jailers. They’d talk cheerily at each other,making cooing sounds that should have been for girls at least half your age,and you’d pull at the pigtails that pinched at your scalp in an awkward act ofself-consciousness.

The feeling doesn’t last.

The tricky thing about mirrors is that theyonly reflect, and each mirror is different, and so are your days. The one thingthat never, ever changes, no matter how much you plead, pray, or attemptthrough your paltry meals is you. The person in them.

It’s a solitary stand against yourself eachmorning, when you’re past your childhood and nobody parades you around anymore.Nobody takes you by the shoulders and pinches your cheeks to tell you you’recute. Men tell you you’re beautiful and hot all the time, usually in poorgrammar and after that comes wolf whistles, or unsolicited dick pics, and youhave to think: really? In Japantoo? This day and age?

You don’t take advice from the transferstudents anymore, and the rush of relief when you press the cross icon todelete the dating app on your phone is the best you’ve felt about yourself inseveral days. You take extra care not to accidentally face the mirror, just incase your mood gets ruined.

But they’re everywhere, and youcan’t run. You’ve gotten used to it by now, and some days when you think you’vematched an outfit particularly skillfully, you even sneak a peek at a passingwindow, or the strange, twisted reflection in the elevator doors. Most days,you can convince yourself to think: hey,maybe I don’t look so bad, andkeep walking.

People, however, enjoy spending their timetelling you otherwise. Whether they mean it, or they don’t, you can always seethe pleasure on their faces as they run their hands down their shirts as theymention that you’re not looking as shabby as usual that day, or that shirtdoesn’t make you look as odd as usual. The doctor asks you for your BMI whenyou get your scheduled check in, and you don’t need the numbers on a sheet ofpaper. When Terushima asks you how it went, you tell him that you werelucky that you didn’t get a doctor who’d leer at you.

Truth be told, there’s nothing worth lookingat, yet Terushima nods, looking satisfied.

“I know you wanted a new jacket,” he says outof the blue, “wanna go get one?”

“Right now?” You ask, confused. He’s right,you’d said that, but today is- today is not such a good day. Terushima’swatching every emotion flash across your face with a practiced focus, but hesimply takes your hand and pulls you closer.

“Yeah. Let’s go. Leather, right?”

“I- yeah, a leather one would be nice.”

He grins, and a corner of a sharp canine pokesout from under his upper lip. “Good. I know exactly where to go.”

His motorcycle fits his character like a glove,and although you’re wearing decidedly not cool looking clothes, the confidentglance he shoots you before he revs up lets you believe for a second thatyou’re right where you should be. Your arms squeeze his waist, as usual, anyless would be dangerous for this breakneck speed, and you don’t mention a wordabout how his jacket is tailored. It’ll probably cost you an arm- and it does, whenthe very proper looking man takes your measurements for a slightly impropergarment- but there’s yet to be a moment where Terushima’s stopped touching you.The soft imprints of his fingers chase away whatever fastidiousness youmight’ve had at the little numbers of the worn measuring tape, and the ticklesof touch keep you on your toes- glancing here and there, and Terushima dancesaround you like a ghost, ready to haunt your fears better than they haunt you.

If you’d been asked what the attendant lookedlike, you would be hard pressed for an answer that isn’t a guess. Blonde hair-that’s Terushima’s, long fingers? That’s also Terushima’s. A warm smile, andwithout a doubt you know that’s Terushima’s. You’re left alone by the sofas fora rare moment, and you dare to flutter your eyes shut for a second and imaginea world without shape; you’re nothing, you’ve no boundaries except for whereTerushima’s mapping them with his fingers. A hand on your shoulder, around yourarm, over your shoulders, against the small of your back- he’s there right now,a chin resting on your head and he reaches out to stop you from pulling yourwallet out when you’re welcomed back to reality with a smart, handwrittenreceipt.

It almost throws him off you when you tiltbackwards to stare at him in surprise.

He cuts in before you can- “I’m doing this,” heinsists, pushing your knuckles back into your pocket. “I’m taller and strongerthan you, I’d like to see you try and stop me.”

“I’m not going to fightyou,” you say exasperatedly, “but Shuuji, you can’t be ridiculous about this.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see theattendant quietly slide out of view. Then Terushima’s back, filling up yourvision and seeking out your eyes with a worrying fervour. “This isn’t beingridiculous, okay? I got this, and it’s for you.”

“It… it’s a lot.” You start to feel a littledizzy just from thinking about the numbers. “You should save up your money, foryou stuff.”

“Like what, retirement at thirty? C’mon.” Hepushes himself into your space and smiles his crooked smile at you with thosewicked teeth. “I just want to get you something. It’s time I reminded you thatI’m here for you, even if you don’t wanna talk about it or you forget sometimeswhen you spend too much time in your head. Yeah?”

A lot of answers try their lot in your mind.You know perfectly well what he’s trying to do, and even if you didn’t, youcan’t deny warmth that’s streaming so solidly through your body as if theelixir of life. There’s a small possibility that it’s a spur of the momentdecision, a result of a poor day, but never in your life have you seen yourfriend, or any man for that matter, seem so sure about anything before.Although Terushima’s never been one for regret, this is something different.

This is inevitability. As if a mere mortal likeyourself could push aside the goodwill of something with the brightness of eightand a half suns. You pull out both your hands in surrender and frown at himwith a frown you don’t mean at all.

“Fine, you win. But don’t think this is thelast you’ll hear about this.”

“Alright, alright.” Like sorcery, theshopkeeper’s back at his station and Terushima’s holding out a card you mostcertainly didn’t catch him take out. The sound of the receipt getting printedmasks his reach for your hand with his, and you watch enthusiastically asTerushima attempts to replicate his signature with his left hand.

He looks like an idiot, that much you can tellfrom the owner’s expression, and you daresay that your linked hands look kindadumb too. Terushima walks out the shop looking like he’s just won a war, andyou’re probably smiling like a lunatic, and the two of you most likely looklike idiots to everyone else.

That’s okay. Terushima doesn’t lead you back tohis bike, but keeps on walking. He doesn’t even turn to look or ask if you’reokay with what he’s just done, simply: “feel like frozen yogurt?”

“Always,” you tell him, in the middle ofNovember. Terushima grins, the tilt in his head betraying the fact that heknows exactly what you’re thinking, but says nothing.

There isn’t a single step where he isn’t stuckto you, apologizing wordlessly for getting a frozen dessert on a chilly day.Yet, pressed up against you, you can’t possibly catch a glimpse at your ownreflection with him blocking the way of endless window panes, and all you endup seeing is how silly the two of you appear- his huge frame and most of youobstructed by it. He swings around so you’re facing the open street instead,and cars are too fast to catch yourself in.

You’re okay with that, and so is he.

Now that you’re, well, older, you’d think thatyou’d be able to, if not everything, control some things in yourlife. Like your daily routine, for example, or how long you use your phone forat night, or whether or not you’re finally going to send that email that you’vebeen avoiding for weeks now. Okay, those are slightly more important things.But matters like whether or not you have a good enough facebook profile pic, orwhether you should cave in and get a snapchat account- surely,peer pressure’s kinda hard when it’s literally just you in a studio apartment,right?

That’s what makes the taste in your mouth thatextra side of bitter, like you vomited in your mouth three days ago and hadn’tdeigned to brush your teeth. You don’t even have an instagram, sowhy the fuck are you on it?

Plus, honestly right now, you can’t give lessof a shit how you got onto this hell-site, because that’s not important. Yourprofile picture isn’t important. Validating yourself in the eyes of your peergroup has never been very important- as least, you try to keep it that way.

It’s hard, sometimes. When it’s three in themorning and you’re alone with blankets just slightly too thick and you’reeither sweating or freezing, and when the only light that’s emitting is fromthe stupid photo app on your phone and the huge, pale green shadow you makeagainst your modern, unpainted walls. Paradise from someone else’s camera andsomeone else’s ocean villa is less enchanting than it’s instagram filter.Scroll down two or three, and you see your friends looking ravishing in theirgraduate gowns, their postgraduate diplomas fluttering in the gentleCalifornian breeze, or perhaps, if that’s not pleasing enough, there’s alwaysthe lovely ‘first day of work’ photos in swanky high rises. One look at their pencilskirts and heels and you can almost hear the sound of stilettos cracklingagainst polished marble in the late evenings.

Oho. Success has a sound, alright. It soundslike that stupid voice in your head telling you to look while you can, becauseyou aren’t going to see the Bahamas in a bikini (so small it makes you looklike a whale, by the way) any fucking time soon.

Blip. Wearily,like you’ve looked away in the first place, you sort of, fold into your phonelike someone does a meringue and click on the notification.

You’re still up. [Akaashi Keiji03:32]

Yeah, well, so is he. What a night owl. ‘Owl’,heh.

You’ve recently cut your nails, so no matterhow hard you tap your unrealistic, online keyboard, it makes next to no sound.Stripped even of your figurative, finger stiletto heels, and you watch as thepads of your fingers make soft, squishy noises against the oiled glass.

I’m going to call you. You have read receiptsturned on, by the way. [Akaashi Keiji 03:35]

Exiting your text messages altogether, you giveup on your half-assed reply and wonder why you even bothered in the firstplace. Plus, even with the pretty well stated warning that you’re about to geta phone call, you still flinch into your pillow pile when your phone screamsbloody murder, too loud for the empty room and your thoughts.

“Hey,” you say into the receiver. Veryoriginal, much eloquent.

Akaashi, of course, doesn’t beat around thebush.

“Three AM is not so good a time to be lookingat pictures of the beach.”

“It’s not just anybeach.”

“Sorry,” Keiji says, sounding possibly theleast sorry he’s ever been in his twenty plus years of existence, “is it theBahamas or Koh Samui?”

“Maldives. I think it’s one of those ‘I workedhard!’ getaways. Doesn’t seem like a honeymoon, to be honest.”

“Too many pink drinks, too few rose petals. Youcan always tell.”

You pull a pillow out from under your mountainand shove it underneath your knees. Time to sit back, relax, and enjoy the shitshow that is your life on the phone, and one can’t do that without proper backsupport. Maybe you’d start saving for a memory foam mattress instead of thischeap IKEA shit. Oh right, the catch being that if you probably don’t haveenough money for a vacation, you probably don’t have the money for a SealyPosturpedic. Who the fuck needs income, anyway.

“You’re taking too long to think.” Keiji knows.Keiji always knows. He should start a business, only that youcan’t pay the bills. “Where did you go off to?”

The odd thing is, it’s never occurred to youthat not talking to Akaashi at odd bits of the night is a way to live. It’snever occurred to you that the two of you would be anything else, either.

“How inept I am. At pretty much everything.”

“Oh,” he half sighs, half says, “you’re more thandiplomas, more than jobs. You know that.”

“Yeah, I’ve promised you that I’ll do my best,and I have, but there’s gotta be a cutoff point, you know?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe I’m not a special snowflake. I’mnot some untapped talent that I’ve never bothered to exploit- I’m just what Iam.”

“You believe that where you’re at right now isthe best you can do.”

“I-” your sentence starts to unravel right whenyou’re about to say it, and you unleash a torrid wail into your cushions whereit’ll never see the light of day. Akaashi stays silent on the other end andwaits patiently for you. “Yeah. Like, even if I worked my fucking ass off, I’dnever finish two degrees at Oxford in five years. I can’t beat genius!”

“And sometimes it’s not just academia, right?Sometimes it’s anything you choose to do.”

Keiji alwaysknows.

“So what’s the point?”

“I don’t know,” you say miserably. “I can’teven look away from the stupid instagram photos because I’m a masochist,apparently.”

“I can’t say that I’m the expert at any ofthis,” Keiji answers you quietly, “but we talked about this before, and do youremember what we came up with? That there’s more to life than being the best?There’s more to life than being better, you can be okay with just being happy. And thatisn’t failing to live.”

“So, being okay with mediocrity.”

Akaashi huffs a laugh out, turning into staticwhen it reaches you. “Don’t twist my words, moron. You know exactly what Imean.”

Akaashi’s always been different. The one andonly different in your life, where all you can see are rivalries, and he’s justtranscended that. He’s parallel, on his own path, at his own speed, andalthough this guy is somehow first in his goddamn medical internship, there’snot a speck in you that can possibly revolt. Akaashi isn’t the type to postpictures of his certificates on instagram. He’s the type to go home at 1am,after an eighteen hour workday and call you at three in the morning because youneed to be called, and manage to say exactly the things you need to hear.

These people shouldn’t exist, seriously. Andeven if they did- and they do- you don’t deserve them. Not your miserable, dulllittle ass moping around in bedsheets you can’t really afford, thinking youhave it so bad.

“We agreed it wouldn’t be easy,” Keiji’s voicegently shakes you out from your quicksand, “so I’m reminding you. Everyone’sgot their limits, but after knowing you for so long, I think this isn’t yourlimit. This isn’t all you can do. You have to remember that.”

“Is this a professional diagnosis?”

“Yeah,” he’s giggling (chuckling? You likegiggling more) and it makes you giggle too, “as a bullshit specialist. I’mmaking you laugh now, so I’m doing alright.”

“Well,” you say as you finally start to leanback and stare at the ceiling, “I was sitting here being super mopey andmiserable earlier. So miserable that I couldn’t even cry. An actual pile ofshit.”

“It’s part of the medication. You get to bemiserable, and each time you’re a pile of shit, you get closer to being better.”

“Be my family doctor, Keiji.”

He’s laughing too hard to sound tired now, butyou’ve been counting the minutes in your head this whole time, and he’s givingyou all these happy, tingly feelings so you’re gonna pay him back. A bit of it,at least.

“It’s almost four,” you tell him, “you shouldgo to sleep.”

“Will you?”

“Yeah,” you grin wanly even though he can’t seeyou, “I’ll sleep and you sleep. Deal?”

“Deal,” and the exhaustion leaks back into him.You made a good call. “Goodnight, and get off that damn site.”

Akaashi doesn’t wait for your goodnight (henever does, because it’s always a chain that lasts another half hour), andhangs up. You let the phone fall loosely from your hands that misses your facenarrowly, and close your eyes.

Too tired for misery,and too tired for instagram, you say fuck it to charging your phone and beginto count your sheep.

[thedeviljudges]

“So what if we move things around in your office?”

Liam pauses, throwing a skeptical look at Veronica as she adjusts a few books on the shelf across the room. They’ve toppled over onto their sides due to the extra space on the shelf, but with lithe fingers assisting, they’re right back where they initially rested.

“You mean spending time undoing everything I’ve done to make this room appear professional?”

Incredulity blossoms across Veronica’s brow like Liam’s just lied through his teeth.

“I think you mean keeping the same setting you’ve had in here since you moved in,” she corrects. “And you’ve been complaining about stuffiness. I think it’s time for a change.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Liam lets out a sigh and settles back into the leather of his chair. Veronica’s not wrong to some extent. Work’s been busier than ever, and being stuck in his office for hours finalizing business deals and contracts has left him to his wit’s end. A break would be nice, but Liam knows better than to complain because it could be worse, and he’d rather not think of what that worse might actually entail.

“’m afraid something like that would have to wait anyway,” he murmurs, tone dropping like he’s letting out all of the fight within him - that fight being resentment towards his schedule and the fact that nowhere in there is a set time for him and his bed. Sleep’s always been elusive, but Liam thinks he’s been up for nearly two days straight.

And besides that, he misses Veronica the most.

In the meantime, Liam glances forlornly at the stack of papers on his desk. The pen he’d been using sits on top of them, a pinnacle of success and progress he’s made through each signature that’s been dotted across numerous lines. Vaguely, Liam thinks he can feel his hand ache from overuse.

“We’ll find the time,” Veronica says softly. She’s leaning against the edge of the bookcase before she pushes off of it. Light on her feet, her shoes make no distinct sound even though she’s chosen boots over heels today. Liam’s mind absently flickers through a memory of watching her dress every morning, sitting at the edge of their bed and slipping her feet onto soles that would carry her throughout the day. It’s so normal, such a routine at this point, but Liam’s fallen in love with the simplicity of them coexisting together.

When he blinks, Veronica’s there with a kind smile, looking down at him with a look she reserves only for the two of them. Liam feels that feeling he gets in his chest, the one that bubbles and flips and reminds him that every time he’s near his partner, he’s lucky. Liam’s the lucky one.

And god, he’s missed her.

“C’mere,” he practically pleads, gently tugging Veronica down onto his lap. Liam buries his face into the crook of her neck, inhaling the gentle sent of clean skin and perfume she must’ve put on this morning. Immediately, he feels her fingers dancing at the nape of his neck, a soothing touch that drains away any tension Liam knew was beginning to build up within his body.

“You should come home.”

The statement is simple enough, and Liam’s first reaction is to argue. He’s slept on the couch in his office plenty of times, but lately it’s become of the bane of his existence.

But now with Veronica so close and the gentle touch she thinks he deserves, all of his reasonings to oppose her demand die on his tongue. How can he argue with such a simple request? Liam’s never wanted home to feel more tangible than in this moment right now.

“Okay,” he whispers, pulling back to catch the brown of Veronica’s eyes. “I don’t know how I’ll do it, but I’ll finish the rest tomorrow.”

Veronica nods, and that’s most likely not in agreement but more of an assessment that Liam has given her the answer she wanted, maybe even needed, to hear.

“Good,” she replies, ready to slip away from Liam’s grasp. She’ll probably head back to her desk to gather her things before leaving the office without Liam, and it’s with that thought Liam’s guilt hangs over his head.

The thing is, it’s not like Veronica’s complained of his absence. This is the first time in their relationship the company’s been this busy - which isn’t to say they normally aren’t, but at least it’s never an influx of interest from consumers back to back. Of course the company he works for is pleased, and Liam’s pleased, and well, everyone is pleased, but it did mean taking on a few more after-office hours to prepare paperwork and meetings with other department heads.

So, Veronica knows it’s not his fault; she’s not said a word, and rather be angry about not seeing each other as much, she’s understanding to a degree that Liam knows he can’t keep this up for much longer.

“Let me take you home,” he says before she completely pulls away from him. Liam ignores the flutter of paper on his desk to watch Veronica’s face pull a select set of thoughts before settling on curiosity.

“You don’t want to stay and finish?”

Rather than answer, Liam sits up straight, fingers gently squeezing at Veronica’s side as if she’s an anchor in a sea of letters and office furniture. Liam gently taps the line of her jaw with his free hand before leaning in and pressing his lips against hers.

His gesture isn’t subtle, not with the two of them here alone, but he waits for her to move, to curl into his action by pressing up against him with a longing Liam hopes won’t ever be replicated in the future.

Veronica’s the first to pull back, eyes a little brighter and chest heavier until she seeks enough breath. She hums quietly and nods, finally shifting away from Liam to toy with her skirt given its ridden up a few inches above her knees. Once she’s done, she holds her hand out for Liam, a silent request for him to take it and follow her.

“We’ll get something to eat on the way home then,” she says, the arch of her brow pointedly telling Liam that she knows he skipped lunch to sit in his office.

Sheepishly, Liam takes her hand, curling his fingers in between hers. He thinks he ought to feel the tension slide right off his shoulders, but he’s surprised to find that there’s none there at all. Maybe that has to do with Veronica’s presence the moment she stepped into his office a few minutes ago, aimed at tackling the overall stress littering his second home.

Together they leave Liam’s office, him trailing behind just a few paces and admiring the fact that despite Liam’s rough appearance, it never ceases to amaze him that Veronica’s clearly put together in all the ways he will never be. She’s on time, and she dresses beautifully, and generally, she takes time out for herself often enough that Liam thinks he should take a page out of her book. But he’s used to stress and long hours and relationships that were more like flings than they were serious, and he tries not to blame himself for not being who he ought to be for Veronica.

Then again, if he said as much out loud, she’d tell him he worries too much, and she likes him the way he is just fine. After all, she hadn’t spent months pining over a man she didn’t know.

“I love you,” he hears himself say, a surprise that isn’t bad. He means those words every time he says them, loves the way they feel warm and light on his tongue.

They walk in silence until they reach the elevators, and Liam’s never bothered when Veronica keeps him waiting. More often than not, it’s worth it, and just as they step onto the elevator to take them down to the first floor, Veronica shuffles closer to Liam and smiles. “I love you, too.”

-

Liam’s break turns into a full-fledged weekend off. It’s no surprise, however, given Veronica’s persuasive when she wants to be and that thing with her tongue is, well, Liam clears his throat before opening his office door and flipping on the light.

While his office has a beautiful view of the city, letting streams of sunlight into his stuffy office, it takes a moment for Liam’s eyes to adjust to the room.

And then maybe a little bit longer than a minute because when he looks around, everything is out of place.

Everything’s been moved around - his bookshelf, his table, the couch, the desk. It’s all been rearranged, looking just as neat and professional as it had been before except the layout is different.

Liam cautiously walks to his desk, removing his jacket and draping it over the back of his chair. It’s then that he notices the post-it note. It’s taped to the front of the computer screen on his desk, yellow with black ink scribbled across the page. Liam pulls it off the desktop only to rub the pad of his thumb over the text.

Veronica’s signed it like the superstar she is along with leaving a smiley face that winks back at him knowingly.

Unconsciously, Liam smiles before returning the note, leaving it on the edge of the screen where it won’t hinder his vision. It’ll serve as a reminder that Veronica still surprises him, and that always makes Liam happy.

Looking around the room again, Liam already feels better. It’s new despite the furniture being familiar, but he’ll have to learn where to walk and not stub his toe, and he’ll have space to walk in front of the windows when he needs a view of life other than his own.

“Sometimes I hate how right you are,” he says to himself. Liam knows he’d be saying it to Veronica if she were in at the moment, but even though she’s not, Liam realizes he probably wouldn’t have to say a word anyway.

Veronica already knows, and just like always, it’s taken Liam a little longer to catch up. And either way, Liam’s not complaining; he’s definitely okay with that.

[creepypasta-fictions]

The Teacher (pt. 1)

“Breaking news: Another body has just been found 15 miles from the local police station, in the marshes. The young boy’s spine was fractured, and his legs had been bound together. Upon examination of the crime scene and the body, police and forensics have found no evidence whatsoever in this case, much like the previous 5 victims. It appears as though we have a very meticulous serial killer operating in our county, who continues to baffle police every time he strikes. A public warning must be issued before we get the chance to find another body-“

Susan sighed, switching off the TV. She yawned and stretched her weary legs, deciding it was time for her to go to bed. Her eyelids were already becoming heavy, and she had been watching TV for a few hours. She was particularly focusing her TV on criminal programs, and things law related, as she was only two days away from starting her law degree. She was really excited about it, since it was a passion of hers; she just so happened to turn on the news late night when the broadcasters on CNN were talking about a serial killer on the loose, which just so happened to be relevant to the 18-year-old. She trudged up to bed, brushed her teeth and climbed inside.

But it was always at the back of her mind (as it would be if there was a serial killer in your community) that in her tranquil, peaceful and almost boringly ordinary city of Cambridge, Massachusetts, 6 people had been found dead with patterns, but no explanation. She shrugged it off, she was far too preoccupied with her upcoming course to focus on something she had seen on CNN. After all, it was often accused of being ‘fake news’. Susan allowed herself a good nights sleep as she knew it would be mandatory if she was going to do well.

***

“Susan!” “Amy!” The two best friends charged towards each other pushing frantically through the overpopulated halls of Harvard University. They had finally been reunited as they had not seen each other since last semester of high school ended. “How have you been all summer?” Amy asked with a huge grin on her face. When she smiled, she flashed her pearly white teeth. Susan shrugged. “Eh, I’ve been doing ok. Really bored, though. I’ve missed school,” Amy sighed, rolling her eyes. “Susan Higginson, you’re always missing school! You’ve always got to be doing something practical, like reading a book or watching a murder documentary, like would it kill you to get outside and live a little, even if it was only once in a while?” She wrapped her long, tanned arm around Susan’s shoulder as they began walking down the corridor. Susan rolled her eyes back at Amy. “Oh what, you mean like YOU, Amy Parker?” She said sarcastically; as she and her best friend were literally polar opposite. They always had been, ever since they had met in 6th grade. Back then, Susan was a recluse, with braces and round glasses which she still wore to this day. She always maintained the same hairstyle, too; her straw-blonde pigtails tied tightly up with rubber bands, ending just past her shoulders. In fact, as far as attire went, Susan had managed to maintain the same aesthetic she had in sixth grade; the “nerd” or “loner” as she had been previously described. A backpack full of novels or crime magazines, textbooks and binders, that was all Susan felt as though she needed in life. Amy Parker, on the other hand, was a flamboyant “sass queen” as many of her friends described her. She was a beautiful woman, bursting with confidence and a sense of humour, not to mention her looks were quite something. With long shiny brunette locks, an hourglass figure and piercing blue crystals for eyes, Amy’s contagious good vibes that radiated off of her from the sun, allowed her to befriend anyone she wanted. She made sure to be a part of everyone’s friendship circle, even the loners, like Susan. In fact, she had always had an outstanding friendship with Susan. With Susan’s intelligence and Amy’s consistent exhuberance, they were a dynamic duo.

“So what have you chosen to study?” Susan asked Amy as they began walking. “Are you gonna call me a copycat again if I tell you I chose law?” Susan burst out laughing. “Aims, you don’t have to follow me everywhere you go. You should follow your own dreams and ambitions. You even told me that you wouldn’t ever go near that “geeky stuff” as you put it.” Amy rolled her eyes. “I know, but I changed my mind. Don’t get me wrong, I still think it’s kinda geeky, and I’d much rather be doing business studies and textiles, but like you said, I’m following my dreams. And the law teacher IS the man of my dreams,” “For fucks sake Amy, you don’t choose a course at fucking Harvard University just cause you think the teacher is hot! Think about your career and studies!” “Listen here sweetie, there’s time for that. And it’s also time for you to get your head out of those criminal magazines. We’re only 18, we’ve got plenty of time to spare!” “The course is extremely difficult,” Susan warned. Amy punched her lightly on the shoulder in a playful manner. “Oh don’t get me started with the lectures, Susan, I know you’re way smarter than me, your results from your finals prove that much, but do you have to rub it in my face all the time? Why don’t you have a boyfriend, again?” “Because I’m not interested in that sort of thing. I’m more interested in progress in life. We need to get jobs and earn money for ourselves; we can’t expect to just find a random guy who will do everything for us, and pay for everything. That’s not how the world works Amy.” “Ok you can stop now Susan. I get why you’re lonely,” “Oh, shut up!” “But I’m not kidding; this law teacher is smoking!”

***

Susan, Amy and the rest of the law class sat down at their desks in their new classroom. Looking around the room, Susan was able to identify several posters with well-known serial killers on there, as well as court hierarchies, and a lot of things generally to do with criminal law. The teacher’s desk was fronted by a crooked wooden chair, which looked like a rocking chair. The desk itself was filled to the brim with papers; poking out drawers here and there. And then he entered the room. Amy shook Susan’s shoulder in excitement, her long pastel pink nails digging into her friend. Long and slow footsteps penetrated the awkward silence, as a pair of pointy black leather shoes appeared. They were noticeably large; almost a third longer than the average human male foot. They also curled upwards slightly, giving him the appearance of having curly toes. His legs were so long and thin; he looked as though he was walking on stilts. Although despite his long legs, his abnormally large feet still appeared to be disproportionately long. A very long black jacket, almost like a cloak, swung just below his knees. This really gave an indication of how tall he was; he was easily around 6’5, maybe even taller. A crooked, pale, skeletal hand with nails bitten down past the skin, reached for the registration book. Susan couldn’t see very well underneath the “cloak” he was wearing, however it seemed as though he was wearing a tuxedo and a black silk tie underneath. He sure takes his job seriously, she thought. When the man turned around to face the class, Susan was taken aback by how creepy his face looked, much more creepy than his strange enough body shape. He was pale enough to have been painted, his ears were so huge and elf-esqué that he looked like a cross between Mr Spock, the joker, and David Bowie. His eyes were a peculiar shape and colour too, an unusual bright emerald colour, and they were cat shaped too. All of these strange features were accompanied by shoulder length jet black hair and a large, crooked nose. What the hell, were the three words that were going through Susan’s mind as her eyes flickered between lovestruck Amy and this mysterious gothic man. This couldn’t have been the teacher Amy was on about, no, no, no, but her face gave it all away. How odd; he was the complete opposite of her usual type of guy, (well, what Susan had come to know over the years). Yet without looking too far around the room, it was clear that this man had a certain charisma about him, that seemed to attract all the young women in the room. The gaze that Amy was holding towards him, was replicated by all the other girls in the room, except Susan. From her perspective, when he entered the room, a gust of chilly air entered with him, blowing right into her face. And it sent a shiver down her spine.

“Hello, students…” The even more sinister voice boomed throughout the classroom. It took a lot of people’s ears by surprise. It was the lowest voice Susan swore she had ever heard. It was so deep, she felt the floor vibrate with each syllable. He let the “s” on the end of “students” trail a little, so it almost sounded like a hissing noise. Every single vibe he seemed to give was just of a villain. And the girls, especially Amy, gushed over it. He was the mysterious “bad guy” teacher of Harvard University. “My name is Mr Blackburn, and I am your lecturer for this law class. Welcome to Harvard. Shall we begin our first lesson?” “Oh yes please, sir. Let’s get right in to it,” Amy giggled out loud. The whole class, including Mr Blackburn and Susan, turned to face her with the dirtiest “what the fuck” looks on their faces. Although of course Mr Blackburn’s face was the worst. “Excuse me, miss?” He snapped half-heartedly. “Amy, it’s Amy Parker, sir,” she giggled. Her face was pink now; but Susan knew it was for the wrong reason. She could sense some serious tension going on between the two of them. The lecturer cleared his throat. “Well, excuse me, Ms Parker, didn’t your first elementary school teacher tell you not to call out in class?” Amy raised her eyebrows in shock. In response, the lecturer raised one eyebrow in an extremely unnerving fashion. Now that he was practically leaning over their desk, Susan felt the sweat trickle from the back of her neck, and for a much different reason than Amy. She looked around. The whole class were staring at Amy, most of them stifling giggles. But everyone flinched back into reality when the lecturer snapped his fingers abruptly, marching towards the front of the class once more.

“Now class, this is criminal law, and so we are going to start off by talking about mens rea when it comes to murder. Would anyone care to tell me the meaning of the term “mens rea”?” Susan sighed in relief; she knew the answer to this question. However, she was beaten to it, as Amy’s hand shot up before everyone else in the class. Mr Blackburn stared starstruck Amy straight into the eyes. “Yes, Ms Parker? Would you like to tell the class what mens rea means?” “Oh, um… well you see, sir, there’s been a lot of murders happening around here lately, in Cambridge, and I was wondering if that would be a good topic to discuss first-“ Amy was interrupted by the loud slamming of a crooked white hand on Mr Blackburn’s desk. “Excuse me, Ms Parker, but I am the teacher here. Therefore, I am entitled to direct my students, not the other way around. Would anyone else care to help Ms Parker out, as her mind is clearly somewhere else this morning?” “You’re an idiot,” Susan whispered to Amy, before sticking her hand up. Mr Blackburn pointed right at her. She was terrified that she might stutter and he might be abrupt with her just like he was with Amy. She hated that so much. “Um, mens rea is the psychological aspect of murder. Actus reus is the guilty act, accompanied with mens rea, which is the guilty mind. Put these two together, and you can charge a defendant with murder however proving mens rea is extremely difficult, whether it be direct intention, oblique intention, or subjective recklessness or negligence,” As soon as Susan finished her last shaky sentence, the teacher broke out into a devilish grin, revealing his rotten fangs for teeth. “Well done, Ms…” “Ms Higginson.” Susan stuttered out. “Well done, Ms Higginson.” The teacher marvelled, but it was in more of a sarcastic tone, possibly used to mock Amy. Amy leaned over to Susan and hissed in her ear, “You’re such a swot!”

***

It had been two weeks since Susan and Amy had arrived at Harvard university to study law. During which time, you’d expect the students to get to know their teacher at least a little bit, but not in this case, unfortunately. About 90% of all conversations between Susan and Amy were solely focused on Mr Blackburn. Susan would talk about how ‘creepy’ he was, or pass remarks about his strange behaviour in class, why he chose to call out Amy at every given moment. She found it very peculiar that Amy still hadn’t taken the hint that the teacher didn’t reciprocate her feelings. In fact, he was completely cold towards her. How blind could she be, Susan thought. She tried to drop subtle hints and insinuations to Amy that she was no longer in high school, and this wasn’t a ‘teacher crush’ love story; this was a genuinely weird teacher with some hang-ups, and a low tolerance for unintelligent pupils. More importantly though, she began wondering why he shut down the subject every single time a mention of the recent murder spree in Cambridge was mentioned. Although she tried her best to shrug it off that the case wasn’t too widely known, and he didn’t have enough knowledge in order to deal with that kind of thing. Right now, her priority was calming Amy down.

***

'Breaking news: A 7th victim has been found; 19-year-old Aidan Anderson. The body was dumped in a nearby cavern amongst some rocks. The killer appears to have used a similar technique in committing this crime that we have seen in the past; including bondage, severing of the spinal cord, and some form of intoxicstion. so it’s definitely the same killer, according to forensic pathologists. What’s difficult to tell is really how he killed that victim, as the spine is servered, although they all appear to have been strangled and intoxicated with a unique sense of musky perfume. No evidence linking anyone to these crimes is yet to have been found.’

***

“Would anyone in the class care to give us an example of the difference between oblique intention and subjective recklessness?” Mr Blackburn’s demonic eyes scanned the classroom for any volunteers. There were none, besides Amy, however he did not even glance in her direction.

“Mr Blackburn, sir, that serial killer that’s currently on the loose sounds like he’s pretty reckless!”

The teachers eyes glowered at Amy, who was no longer giggling. The stare was so chilling, it was as though he had the eyes of a snake. “Ms Parker, murder is not funny. It is a serious crime that must not be confused with recklessness. And how many times do I have to call you out for making unnecessary comments in class!” His gaze softened as he turned towards Susan. He flashed his creepy grin, the one she hated the most, she almost had an aneurism.

“Ms Higginson, do you have anything relevant to say on the subject of recklessness manslaughter?”

Susan cleared her throat awkwardly. “Recklessness is about unjustifiable risk taking. Oblique intention is either intention to cause bodily harm, not in the case of murder, or when the defendant knows it’s a virtual certainty that their actions will cause the death or serious harm to their victim.”

“Thank you, Ms Higginson. Perhaps your notes can be of use to Ms Parker, correct? Would you mind copying them up for her?”

“Oh, I can do that myself sir,”

“Susan will make a better job of it.” The teacher snapped.

Amy was silenced.

***

The two were seated in the library, and Amy was copying Susan’s notes up from the lesson.

“Susie, I don’t understand why he hates me so much? I was just trying to impress him and have a sense of humour!”

“Well maybe he’s not the 'sense-of-humour kind of guy that he LOOKS like!” Susan rolled her eyes at Amy.

“Sarcasm isn’t funny.” Amy snapped sternly.

“And you getting a grump on over one stupid fucking teacher isn’t funny either. Especially when you know deep down you try way too hard to impress him.”

Amy raised her brows. “I do?”

Susan nodded. “Look, you’ve always wanted me to be honest with you, right?”

“Right.”

“Then I suggest you stop immediately with the 'unnecessary comments’ as he describes, in his lessons. He’s a fucking weirdo anyway. What do you see in him, you know he’s way too old for you. Not to mention he’s actually hideous!”

“Shh! Not so loud! And yeah, I know Susie, but he’s just got this aura about him, and I’ve never found that in anyone else before.”

“You sure that’s not just because he’s a creepy vampire looking ass?”

“I get it, Susan, he’s not your type! But why should that stop me from having a sense of humour.”

“You may joke about it but in all seriousness what if it was your family-” Susan was cut off by Amy springing up aggressively in a tantrum from her chair and throwing the notes in her face.

“What the hell, Amy?!”

“You stop right there! You can be so annoying at times. Keep your notes; I’m going!” And with that she marched out, leaving Susan completely dumbfounded.

***

It had been three days since the dispute between Susan and Amy. Susan couldn’t stop thinking about it. She was growing extremely worried. The observant 18-year-old had noticed he seemed to have a pretty big influence on a lot of people, almost everyone in the class. In fact, every single girl that had been gushing over him in the past 2 and a half weeks (mind you that was the entire class with the exception of Susan) , he had shut down in some way or another. Was she the only one who saw the creepiness in him? Oddly enough, you’d think a shitty teacher like that who didn’t seem to care for the interests of his students, would completely out you off of the subject in which you were studying. However, with Susan, it was the opposite. With each passing day, she was becoming more and more intrigued with the concept of 'Actus Reus’ and 'Mens Rea’ in criminal law. It was as if she delved into the mind of a real lawyer, and that boosted her low confidence slightly, which had been pretty shitty especially since she had her dispute with Amy. Bored with her essay, she switched on the TV.

'Breaking news: The killer has struck yet again, still managing to retain his anonymity. Not a fingerprint to be found. The victim has been identified as Nicole Partington, a law student at Harvard University who was tragically struck down by what appears to be a crow bar, strangled, and then poisoned to death. All these clues point to the same person. If anyone has any concerns or clues in which might help us catch this killer, public helplines have been open 24/7 and the police encourage all to come forward with new information in this case.“

With a shaky hand and even shakier breath, Susan switched off the TV. In complete and utter shock, she dropped the remote to the floor. Nicole Partington was in her class at law; she had seen her merely 6 hours ago, heading off down an alleyway to go home after her law lesson. She had been very helpful that particular lesson, volunteering to help out Mr Blackburn, but of course, being shut down. More importantly, though, she was one of Amy’s best friends. Susan wondered if Amy had heard about this, and if so, how she was handling it. The next thing she knew, she was grabbing her jacket and car keys, running to her car, and speeding down to Amy’s house.

***

Knock knock knock

Sighing, Amy swung open the door. She was faced with a very distrsssed looking Susan. After looking her up and down, and recognising that she had most likely rushed here, she stepped aside. When the two sat down on the sofa, they sat in silence for about a minute, before Susan plucked up the courage to say something.

"Nicole…” she choked out. “Nicky Partington,”

“My friend from law class. What about her?”

“She’s dead,” Susan stuttered, biting back tears.

“No she’s not. I saw her today in law. She was really enthusiastic and motivated, I don’t understand… she can’t be dead. She’s my best friend…”

“Amy, I thought I was your best friend.” Susan croaked.

“Well I thought the same thing,” Amy replied. “This can’t be real!” Tears rolled down her cheeks, and Susan pulled her into her side. Amy rested her head on Susan’s chest. Her heart was beating almost as fast as her own.

“I saw it on the news. I saw her walking down an alleyway on her way home from University,”

“Where did she go?”

“She disappeared off before I had the chance to watch anything happen. Apparently her body was found within the next hour.”

“What the hell is going on!” Amy yelled out loud, standing up.

“I don’t know, none of us do, but we should figure something out-”

Amy shook her head. “No! NO, Susan. We shouldn’t 'figure something out’ because there’s nothing we can do! What if it’s you next! This guy seems to be targeting law students! I told you yesterday to stop playing detective,”

“But the police aren’t having any luck. And like you said, what if it’s one of us next?”

“They’ll get him, surely. They have to,” Amy was shaking now.

“That’s what we’d all like to think,” Susan said as she walked towards the door.

HEADS UP: I hope you enjoyed part 1 of 'The Teacher'. I've got some ideas for Part 2, but it's not set in stone yet, and I don't have a draft for it, meaning it could be a few more days at least until it's published. If any of you would like to give me ideas or prompts for how you'd like to see the story map out, all ideas are welcome and most reasonable ones considered.

Thanks for reading!

-Talia