#WERE NOT GOIJF THERE

[othercrossee]

Fuck u me and luca wedding NOW

[rodolfoparras]

Lowkey forgot i blog revealed... anyways thinking of bratty logan jealous of u taking a call =p

You and him are holding each other closely as you lay in bed, him choosing to be the big spoon despite being much smaller than you, and you aren't paying as much attention to him as he'd like. Usually, you'd have your hand in his hair and scratch at his scalp, but you'd been on your phone for the past ten or so minutes and he was getting annoyed by the lack of attention.

So, he began trying to earn it from you. He pressed languid, open-mouthed kisses to your neck as he tried to peer over your body to see what you were holding to more importance than him, but gave up after a few minutes of nothing.

"What're you even doing?" Logan muttered out roughly, earning a hum from you.

"Working things out with my boss. Issue came up, we think it's the new hire's fault but he's pissed at me," you explained, showing Logan the long conversation you were having.

Logan groaned. "Pay attention to me, asshole," he scowled.

Logan bit at your neck. He pressed hickeys and bit down on your pulse points, tongue running over your pulse points and practically scenting you.

"Logan, quit."

"No."

You scoffed and frowned as your boss rang your phone to call. "I have to take this call. Keep quiet."

Logan turned over in the bed and you had felt bad, but he didn't care that you needed to get this done. As you focused on the call, you didn't even notice Logan had turned back... until you felt your boxers being tugged down. You shot an angry look over at Logan, but he only grinned lopsidedly and took your soft cock in his hands.

Logan rubbed you to half-mast and then took you in his mouth. You choked back a gasp and continued the call.

"Y-Yes, I know I was the last to document it, but I wasn't the last to... to handle it," you stammered out as you grasped Logan's hair roughly and helped him swallow you whole. You muted the call, ignoring your ranting boss.

"You fucking slut. You want my boss to hear us? I thought you didn't like sharing," you spat. Logan moaned needily while he choked on your cock, drizzling lube on your free hand's fingers and pumping them.

He blinked up at you with defiance in his eyes, rutting against your leg like a bitch in heat. You pulled him off your now-hard dick and motioned for him to let you prep him.

With just one finger in his tight heat, Logan bit down on his hand as to not squeal. You unmuted as you pushed your index in and out of his asshole and talked to your boss. After three fingers, Logan was breaking and healing his fingers so that he wouldn't make noise, but the second you muted he groaned out, "Fuck me, please, oh—right there, please!"

(Ummm i was gonna finish this but i wanna take a nap so pretend i wrote the rest where he rides you on call 😭😭 maybe ill finish another time)

-faggotblvd, AKA wolverine pussyfucker

I AM GOIJF TO GO FUCKING INSANE WHAT DO YOU MEAN BREAKING AND HEALING HIS FIBGEFS TO KEEP QUIET TTHIS IS THE ABSOLUTE BEST THING IVE RRAD RODAY

[softshouyous-archive]

shsjskssks im so happy oh my god???

[cant-think-of-anything]

hdnndskdnzmn

I think I might be scared of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid

*Jumps in at the last possible second of alestember to post the most horrid fan fiction I've ever written* Missed me?

Anyways this is day 3 angst for @alastair-appreciation-month I wrote today out of spite and bad ideas. I just finished this, its not edited, might be the worse writting I've ever done but its cool. This fict is dedicated to @cant-think-of-anything who is partly to blame for the ending and my friend who liked my private story when i posted hot girls spend their fridays writting patricide ily

Timeline? We dont know her. Sense? Also no. Just sit back and enjoy and maaaaayyybe dont look too much into it :)

TW. Patricide. Blood. Murder. Alcohol. Drinking (if you find any other let me know)

There was a dead body at his feet, the truth ran like a rampant beast through Alastair's every thought. His torn clothes left him kneeling against the bricks of the floor, rough surface burying itself into his bare skin. He tried to move his arm to get them away from the dripping water running through his hair and half-blinded sight, but they stubbornly remained raised where they were. 

It ought to hurt,  but his body didn't register it. Alastair could barely feel anything other than the crushing weight of his reality. False strength shattered as he refused to look away from his immediate view, where the body lay further into the dead-end street it had taken its last breath in.

Rain met blood on the side of the road, on the edges of his clothes, and at the tip of the stained glass, he held close. The blood it had initially been painted with wasn't his own, but he had held on to it so tight by now both mingled into the same scarlet. He attempted to stop himself from squeezing the edges so tightly, but every time the truth fell on him again he only hardened his grasp. Every reminder threatened to leave him unable to tether himself to this earth by anything except his own pain. It felt like he was watching the scene from afar rather than living it. Or perhaps it was all a dream, a vile twisted representation of his anger tormenting Alastair into insanity. The alternative seemed soothing as opposed to the truth of the evening, there wasn't anything taking him away from the situation. Miracles were low and scarce and nightmares could only last so long.  

He knew today would go wrong. It was always how things ended when his father was involved.  Elias's letter arrived a few weeks prior, announcing he, and he alone would be coming to Paris in a few weeks and hoped for an opportunity to see him. It all sounded harmless, most of his acquaintances rejoiced on the news he´d get to see his father upon asking who´s correspondence had come in. Alastair put all his efforts into seeming at the very least content. Pretending happiness proved quite the effort compared to the familiarity of anger, but he´d have to make do. He always did. That didn't mean in the privacy of his own room he didn't stare at the letter and ponder if burning it could make his father desist of the idea of ever coming at all. Maybe he could claim it got lost and ignore any summons until his father left France.The idea proved Alastair was slowly losing it, Elias knew exactly where he was staying. If he wanted an audience he could find him. Itd be foolish to think he could avoid him and Alastair liked to consider he wasn't as idiotic to feed into the idealism of his half-arsed plan. 

By the time the days to his arrival dropped into the single digit, he began to truly feel dread. The kind he was slowly losing the ability to hide. Having Charles confront him on why he seemed so jumpy all the sudden was enough to decide he needed to get control of himself. Fear was for the weak, and he´d trained his backbone to be made of steel. Elias' letter had only requested one meeting and that's all he'd give, but he wouldn't let his father cost him the life he was finally beginning to make for himself. Alastair never replied, confirming his agreement to seeing Elias, one last desperate attempt to hold some of the control he was losing, but there was no use. On the third day of his father's visit he woke to find him waiting on the institute's door. 

Part of him was glad to see he managed to make it without causing any issues Alastair needed to later fix, not enough to drown out the exhaustion brought just by the thought of spending an entire day with him, but he tried to hold on to the relief as he made his way towards him.  They both greeted each other with similar weariness, nothing too obvious as to raise suspicions, but enough to remind Alastair where exactly he sat in his father's eyes. There was some attempt at an awkward embrace, he swore his limbs felt like they´d be set on fire afterward, and left without much of a word. No attempts of conversation stuck during their time together. Pleasantries out of the way, there was nothing Elias appeared to want to say to his son, which suited Alastair just fine, there was nothing he wanted to say to him either. However, it did raise the question of why he´d been so insistent to seek him out at all. To walk in silence? He kept feeling Elias stare at him from the corner of his eyes as if studying him under the Parisian sunlight. Eyes narrowed, brows pushed together, it made Alastair wonder if it been so long that Elias forgot what he looked like. Or if maybe all the alcohol he must have consumed in his absence had helped in the process. 

He wasn't stupid enough to believe his mother's claims. Whenever she wrote, she tried her best to make it seem Elias had tamed the intensity of his drinking while he was away. Sona never outright wrote about the issue, that would involve acknowledging there was an issue to begin with, but he knew how to read her hidden messages. Assurances she might as well have made to the wind. Alastair assumed she felt sorry for him. Wanted to at least afford him a few more months without the burdens of his father's sickness. The gesture was appreciated, to an extent he felt touched by what his mother was trying to do. It didn't erase the fact it was too late. He already knew enough to never believe her. Yet, he wasn't sure Elias's drinking was the root of the strange way he acted today. There was something far more aware going on behind his light eyes. But Alastair was tired and wanted to get this visit over with, He kept his thoughts to himself until his father finally tired of his company. 

They parted ways upon reaching the institute and Elias refused to tell Alastair where exactly he was staying. So close to finally being done with this day Alastair didn't consider asking for more details, fearing trying to coerce any information Elias didn't want to give would only cause him to invade into his life longer. He watched him leave and almost felt guilt from the relief that fell through his bones. There would be a time he needed to return into his father's hold, but today was not that day. It would be long until he worried about Elias again. 

That night Alastair slept well for the first time in weeks. The last time he would in years. There was indescribable happiness flowing through him the next, a phenomenon purely driven by the absence of worry. He should have known it wouldn't last. That night as he began to finish his work and retire for what was left of the evening, someone called his name. One of the other residents of the institute stared at him through a wide grin, telling Alastair how hilarious his father's jokes were. The first thing he noticed was that his acquaintance was without a shadow of a doubt, drunk. Giggling at the sound of his own voice and a certain stumble to the steady rhythm of his feet. Alastair knew he needn't ask where he'd seen his father, but he still did. So much talk of being smarter than his desire yet he still hoped the man wouldn't reply to what he knew he would. 

The bar was only a ten-minute walk. From the information he got, Elias had just recently gotten there. Still tame enough to make jokes, present himself as charming. Make people pass off his drinking as nothing outside the ordinary. Alastair refused to acknowledge the loud thump his heart gave with every step he took. He rejected thinking about this entire ordeal in its entirety. He'd just do what he always did and then forget. Pretend it never happened. Let it fade into the other thousand memories just like tonight. 

The situation was worse than he expected, the effort it took to finally drag him away from the bar wasn't the one Alastair thought it'd be. Had it been the break? Did just a few months of freedom break his ability to do this? By the time he finally managed to get Elias outside he was left thinking in his sixteen years of life he hadn't suffered a night as difficult as today since he first began at ten years old. Elias was never glad to see him in this state, his image only represented one thing, leaving the bottle. But his hatred always stemmed from his separation with alcohol, not Alastair himself. Yeah, he'd scream some insults and do some damage, but Alastair knew it was never about him. For it to be he'd have to care for him more than the bottle. However, today he looked at his son with hatred indifference couldn't bring. Insults were sharper, harsher, looking for a way to tear through him. 

Elias kept on shouting, and Alastair could feel his patience slowly fading. He didn't know where Elias was staying, and any attempt to get him to inform would only end in disaster. He was alone, in the middle of a foreign country, and the only person he could perhaps ask for help was the last one he'd want seeing him like this. In the middle of his spiraling thoughts, he walked them into an abandoned corridor, hoping this would give him more time to think. Come up with anything resembling a plan. 

Upon moving them Elias got angrier, his struggle to free himself from Alastair's grasp stronger. He barely managed to remain tied to Elias's free wrist, a now empty bottle he refused to let go off occupying the other. When he managed to get them into the dead-end street he could no longer handle Elias, his anger took over him and began to fall into the carefully laid traps he now realized his father was setting. 

Alastair couldn't have guessed how long they both stayed arguing against each other. Alastair could barely recall when he stopped insulting him and began insulting his mother. His memories were scarce and rare but he could still recall Elias saying he wasn't his son. He would never be. The shock of it all made Alastair drop his firm hold, and the next thing he knew he was pinned against a wall, Elias whispering over and over again about how much he wanted to stop it. Stop seeing his face. Coherence to his words faded the closer he got with a knife he took off his shirt pocket. 

He didn't know what happened first, the knife digging into his cheek or the bottle smashing into his father's head. Suddenly his father fell to the floor, the bottle smashed into a thousand little pieces scouring around the street and the knife dropped at his feet. There were a few stains of blood. Not as big as the one pulling around his father. He bent down to pick a piece of glass, his body moving like a puppet on strings, and stared at his reflection. Who stared back at him was a killer of his own making. 

It was pathetic really, all this time attempting to convince himself there were scraps of goodness within him only for this to show his true nature. Time passed and there he remained, questioning if it'd just be easier to take the glass and finish his father's job. Once the thrill expired and the full weight of his actions set in he began to bring it forward, and forward. He thinks the only thing that managed to stop him was thinking death would be too kind of a fate for him. 

An invisibility rune allowed him to escape before mundanes found what he'd done. He ran through the streets of Paris to the only place he actually knew how to get to. Everyone was asleep by now, the only sounds from the city life outside of the church's walls. He swallowed in before stepping, his legs unable to stop shaking. The only reason he was here was to find a way to escape the city before his father's body was found. With his death all the debts Elias gained along his illness would be left with his family. He needed to set those right. Life do whatever it wanted with him afterward once he knew his family was taken care of. 

He tried to be as careful as possible when entering, making no noise as he managed to reach his room. What he hadn't counted on was his lover awaiting on the other side. 

¨Alastair where have you been? I´ve been-¨

Charles's entire face fell when he finally caught sight of him. Alastair probably looked like he'd been through hell. The cut on his face still burned while his hand was ruined from squeezing the glass. He could also guess there was blood all over his clothing. Alastair reached for the door and closed it shut. 

¨What is going on¨ Charles demanded. When he faced him he realized for once in his life he could pretend. Hide how much his life was screwed. 

¨I need your help¨ he settled on replying ¨I need to get out of the city¨

¨Not until you tell me what's going on¨ the other man's voice grew impatient, weary ¨Alastair what did you do¨

At his silence he asked again, this time more demanding ¨What did you do¨ 

¨Something I can never come back from¨ he moved past Charles and began to clear his desk ¨I cannot, I will not speak about it. You best believe I am doing you a favor by doing so. I just need to leave. Tonight. When the truth comes out you can make some lie of why I am no longer here. Claim I escaped, claim I had decided to leave previous to the event already, you are the smartest man I know I´m sure you can come up with something¨

At that moment he felt Charles's hands turn him, forcing him to meet his eyes. With the memory of arms to his shoulders still fresh he couldn't help but flinch ¨Have you gone mad?¨

Yes, he wanted to shout. Yes, I  have ¨Charles I have never asked anything of you. I am asking now. Please. Just let me do this¨

For the first time in his life, he couldn't read his lover's face. Maybe it was his panicked state, but the silence threatened to kill him as Charles pondered his options. 

¨You do not have to leave tonight, I´ll help you in the morning¨ he finally said, his words low and defeated ¨But if this is truly the last night I will ever see you. Then we must not let it go to waste¨

When Charles kissed him there was nothing Alastair could do but return his advance. There was no denying his only salvation

—--

When he awoke the first thing he registered was darkness, and his inability to raise his hand. He struggled against whatever kept them held beneath him, the low light now helping to out in context his surroundings. It was the institute's sanctuary, or so he assumed based on the style of the floor the moonlight illuminated. There were also voices, they were far enough to sound disoriented but still there. He recognized one in an instant. 

¨I have no idea what he´s done¨ Charles's voice said ¨ but as head of the institute, I thought it best to contact you before anything escalated¨

¨You made the right call, now do we interrogate him by the mortal sword when he awakes¨

¨No no,¨ Alastair couldn't help but notice how his voice ´raised its pitch ¨ the truth of his deeds will come out eventually¨

¨What do you suggest we do in the meantime ¨

¨Perhaps he could remain in the silent city, alone until we figure out how to proceed. There he can await proper punishment without causing disturbances. I think itd be best for morale to keep this issue between us. I  can handle his family if it comes to it¨

¨Do you think they'd come looking?¨

¨No, that's why I am most confident in my ability to properly handle the¨

There was something both of them were saying, but all three understood. They could make Alastair disappear if so they desired 

And so they did. For almost two years. 

Then he began hearing voices in his head, only to realize they weren't in his head at all 

What a ride huh? Also theres a lot thats not explained in page because Alastair doesnt know but I want to showcase in case its confusing. So this fict is going off the Alastair Verlac theory where Alastair isnt Elias son and the reason Elias was in Paris was because he found out Alastair may not be his son. He wasnt actually gonna kill Alastair but kept seeing Sonas ex face in him so in his drunken state he wanted to stop seeing it so yeah you get the rest. Would have Elias killed him? Thats up for interpratation. Also the reason Charles didnt want Alastair going under mortal sword was because he didnt want him potentially saying anything about their relationship. This was part one to an entire alastair villain au i will never write but hey i left the window open. If you guess who the voice is you get head pat