#also do you even understand how fucking wicked it is that my period makes me sad enough that i start like

[hungerpunch]

i love how every single month, around the same time, i think something cataclysmic is happening to my mental health and then i realize it's my period. so i probably don't need to be researching like, ketamine clinics, bc i'm fine. every single month this happens. like clockwork, i am gripped by panic over how depressed i suddenly feel. it's routine! and yet i never fucking remember that.

[tan1shere]

Heyy I was wondering if you could do a fic with Ellie x reader when r is on her period. Ellie doesn’t know, but she’s really hormonal, moody, and lashes out at Ellie. Eventually Ellie connects the dots and is really sweet and understanding and R just breaks down in tears saying stuff like she’s a terrible gf etc. R is also in a lot of pain with cramps and just wants to sleep and Ellie is there for her there too. I love your writing!!

You're ok

Ellie Williams x female reader!

A/n: hiii thank you 😊 I'm so glad you enjoy it, this one's just for you nonnie <3 hope you like it !!

Warnings: none really, fluffyness ! Moody reader ? -

Masterlist

Birds were chirping, the sun starting to shine in. You smiled to yourself, this was going to be a good day! Until your legs hit the floor. A wave of blood washes over your uterus. Fuck. No no- was all you could think. You groan, it was always so irregular. It was supposed to come next week. You flop back on the bed, dreading this day already. Curling back up into the sheets. Why today, you planned to do stuff, be productive. It frustrated you how your period could be. Just be normal for God sake.

"Morning baby, I made you some breakfast." You hear your girlfriends voice. You groan in pain, your cramps starting to kick in like crazy, as usual. "Not hungry." Her brows furrow. "Bu-" "I said I'm not hungry." You spit. Her brows furrow more, deciding to leave you alone at your sudden outburst. All you wanted to do was sleep and hope the day speeds up faster.

It infact didn't. The common headache starts, the cramps become more and more. You decided to get up to get some water, moody and annoyed. "You done with whatever this morning was?" "Shut up." You grumble. Exhausted, hair a mess. Her head tilts looking at you in thought. "What it up with you today." You don't reply just wanting to lay in your bed again. She hated seeing you this way. "Hello?" You then go back up the stairs to lay down.

She opens the door a few hours later grabbing a book from the bedside. Noticing you were asleep. She was trying to rack her brain what was bothering you so much, then it clicked. "Period." She whispered. Then her demeanor softens. She felt awful for not noticing. Ellie was smart she pieced it together, she got them too she knows. But she also understood how badly you got yours, especially after you missed last months.

Another hour passes and you're awake again, staring at the ceiling. Your body ached, but your mood certainly changed. You hated how your body made you treat people, your mind all over the place. You look at the clock to check the time. It was way later in the evening. You decided to get up and go see your girlfriend just wanting some comfort after today. But most importantly to apologize, for no real reason as Ellie would say. She was so understanding, always saying that there was no need to apologize. You walk down seeing her watching TV on the couch. "Ells?" You softly say.

Her head turns to look at you. "I'm sorry Ellie, I'm so sorry." - "Hey hey its fine. You're ok." She lifts the blanket. "Come here." And you do, getting under it with her. "Why didn't you tell me when you saw I didn't know yet?" You shrug lightly. "I dunno baby, I'm sorry I've been so awful and evil today." This makes her laugh. "My wicked little moody monster." Your eyes roll with a huge smile. "Youre so silly." Her hand comes in contact with your hair. "How bad have they been?" You sigh and that's enough for her to know that they were bad. "Everything aches." A sad look is present on her features. "I'm sorry angel.

Your body moves closer into her touch loving the warm feeling she gave you. Why couldn't you of just done this, this morning. Instead of lashing out. "Look at me baby." She then says pulling you out if your thoughts. "It's not your fault. It's ok, I understand now, please don't worry about this morning." She saw through you and your mind. You nodded. "We're only human bub." Her soft way made you snuggle into her more. She was truly the best.

"Will you let me take care of you now?" You nod gently. And this makes her smile stick. She loved taking care of you, it filled her with so much joy to be there for the person she loved. "Thank you for being so patient with me." You tell her. She gives you a kiss on the forehead. "I will forever be patient with you, I love you."

"I love you too."

For the rest of that night that's what she did, she made sure you ate. Had something warm on your stomach for the pesky cramps. Ran you a soothing warm bath, for the whole of your aching body. And the cuddliest cuddles to end of a horrible day.

[izzyspussy]

anyway. my memory is envaguened by time and heartbreak, but iirc mickey doesn't have any lines from the time terry walks in to the hookup before the wedding, despite having at least two significant scenes where he is half of the entire cast on screen and the other one (ian) is talking to him with the clear expectation of a worded response, only one of which mickey is a passive character.

all that just to say. fic where mickey is legit psychologically mute during that time. he can't tell ian that he's not okay. he can't tell ian what's going on or what's coming. he can't tell ian that he loves him - or, you know, to shut the fucking hell up. (wait i just remembered he does say "get the fuck off me" or similar when ian tries to embrace him in that scene, but. no he didn't.)

anyway so "selective" mutism is one of those "only happens to children" things and "only happens for a short period of time" things which do not in fact only happen to children and are not in fact guaranteed to never recur when they're apparently Over and actually tend (in my experience) to continue episodically for. um. ever.

so like. just the fic of him experiencing that in that time would be cool enough. but THEN. what if fic where that, and also later mickey is the only person around who can truly empathize with liam. and maybe like the gallaghers can relatively easily recognize and understand much of liam's nonverbal communication, but it's out of familiarity with liam and being well practiced at "hearing" him. so they're all wicked surprised that mickey is just as good at it as they are when he and liam have functionally only just met.

and maybe that's also how ian puts it together, because you know mickey would never bring any of that shit up first. like: that was kind of a long time that he didn't speak huh + sometimes he is silent for hours despite usually having smartass interjections to make even when he's just listening and/or sometimes he cuts off in the middle of saying something for no reason and has to try again after taking a moment + he Gets liam even though he has no clear source of experience with "shy" children = hmm. perhaps oops?

[electronicinfluencerdinosaur]

Just Ramblings of an Old Person

I love Chenford and while I understand the angst for plot and character development …. I just am tired of the love is pain trope. I know they are just realizing their feelings but they both know what they feel. Just fucking do something. Break up with your people you didn’t even care about to ask if they were being protected against Rosalind.

I don’t like the argument of him not being with her because he is her superior officer like a solution doesn’t exist . Can’t one just transfer to another division? I’m sure they want to work together but I’d choose being with the person I love everyday at home rather than at work. And if people talk, I mean he was already married to another officer so what’s the big deal? It’ll hurt her career? Why are you living by the opinions of others? If my promotions are contingent on who I’m with, that’s wild. I understand the notion that there can’t be a conflict of interest. Just eliminate the conflict , have her report to someone else period. Or have them in different shifts. Dude Nolan got a letter of reprimand as a rookie and then a golden ticket and is out here living his best life. He was the king of “it’ll look bad on my record” and is somehow thriving. Must we forget his whole credit score fiasco which not at all his fault (identity theft) he was just a magnet of all things hindering his career. I get the angst of Chen and Bradford. I get they started S1 with Talia warning her about Nolan and dating cops but do we just forget how her storyline ended. Talia’s over developed sense of morality led her to lying on a report about her family and leaving to the ATF. Like I loved her, but her opinion was rooted in hypocrisy and hierarchies of misogyny about relationships and the woman taking the brunt. It’s realistic I know but also incredibly ancient. Lucy is progressive girl tackle the patriarchy .Considering all the show has tried to push about police reform and police community relationships entering the 21st century, which I may think is too Hollywood … you can’t tell me you can’t try to dismantle the patriarchy a bit the way you tackled racism in policing. Why should it reflect bad on Lucy to marry her former TO? Ask yourself this fundamental question, what has she gained from his rank than didn’t come from her hard work? She doesn’t even get promoted without dating him. Her first opportunity to rise is now this UC school. But come on… there would be no conflict of interest. For one we know they’d separate them at work which makes sense. And dude you have an IA dept right you can probably just flag those situations and just establish a protocol. Im not saying go for sleeping with you boss. But he’s a Sargent not Chief. Also like you had a mole in your dept maybe you need to worry more about how that happened. Not to mention Stanton and Erin. Like the ethics of a relationship vs betraying the duty you signed up for are different. And again just make sure they aren’t working in situations where she reports to him.

I’m tired of this idea characters need to suffer to then find happiness and love. For one not all love is pining and angst. Sometimes it can be fully head on and decisive. Speak your truth, use your words, know what you what, you like something say it and go for it, for God’s sake you are police officers. If you are telling me my job is so high risk I might die on the job & I can’t even go home to the person I want out of fear of what others will say …then maybe that job is a one way street to unhappiness. I see Angela and Nyla happy. Why can’t Lucy have that stability? Her love shouldn’t be suffering and pining. This isn’t the Dick Wolf universe of suffering. I’m just saying I get what makes a compelling drama but be more Ted Lasso S1 full of optimism and hope. Be the Abbott Elementary of the procedural cop show world. We don’t always need drama to equate to suffering or John Wick action situations TBH. Character development and plot can develop in the mundane, Especially if you don’t know how many seasons this show will have. Let Tim and Lucy get married and have kids. I’d love to know how a woman like Lucy balances motherhood and her job as a police officer. Give me the cultural differences between Lucy and Tim. She speaks Cantonese right? Give us more depth into her culture, her background. We breezed over Angela being a new mom. Nyla is mom of two and I get we”ll get some arc there but just motherhood and the workforce can be interesting. What about fatherhood and the workforce, the balances of relationships. It’s to me just lazy to default love to pining and angst. It’s so much more. It can be represented in other ways. Take a risk.

On another note, Chris is lovely and all but maybe you could have given her someone that wasn’t an ADA and close to her work as well? Like give her depth, let her go into the world and find a dentist. Lol. I’m just being shady but again stems to the idea Chen could be represented more outside the station. Hell I would have preferred she meet Chris via her parents, some off work situation, just something that shows Lucy outside her job and apartment. Tim makes sense because he is her best friend, the person who saved her, blah blah blah but Chris… my guy did want to lock up a 16 year old without mercy. He may have wanted to save the grand jury folks but my guy works with Del Monte and probably up charges as he needs to. He’s no Wesley.

[misguidedasgardian]

Ari (part 2)

Ari & Sunshine

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Dark!Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader

Summary: You underestimate how much your boyfriend wants to have a family with you, and that mistake will cost you greatly 

Warnings: Dark!Ari, smut, Dub-con, discussions about periods, blood and contraceptives, throwing up, overstimulation (watch out for that ´stache), oral sex (f reciving), non-con, violence, vaginal bleeding, kidnapping, mentions of involuntary imprisonment and cannibalism, all dark themes here. + a special guest 

+18 MINORS DNI

SPOILERS…

reader in this chapter does not have any eating disorders, she is just so distressed and nervous and scared she is just nauseous 

Not betaed, I was so excited to post this is probably riddled with mistakes

Wordcount: 5.3 k

The next time Ari came down to see you he found you curled up in the corner, the door made a loud noise so your eyes were on him, no way you would miss somebody coming in

“Hello Sunshine” he greeted with a soft smile, he had brought a tray with him, “I brought you breakfast, your favorite, pancakes”

“Ari, it’s been a week, would you let me out now?” you asked, standing from your plain sight hiding, walking towards him

“Honey, you know I can’t do that” he muttered with a smile, “You would just run away from me again, you’ll give up on us” you finally reach him on the small table right in the open kitchen, he was setting everything up. Even though you had a functioning kitchen right in your “apartment” he wouldn’t let you cook anything… yet

“Would you blame me?” you asked, he only smiled

“You know I don’t like to talk about this” he said firmly, “Now sit and eat” he demanded, pointing at the seat right in front of him. You did as he pleased, you needed to learn to pick your battles, and fighting him constantly would only lead to your deterioration. You picked up the plastic fork he would give you to eat your meals and sank it into the spongy circle. The sight of syrup made you physically ill, but also did the idea of eating them without anything so you just bathed them in the golden substance.

“So, did you stop bleeding?” he asked casually, you just looked at him in anger. He obviously took your pills, which caused you to go into an early period, 5 days ago. 

You couldn't believe you were so blind. Now that he revealed his true intentions, it all seemed so clear, and how you stupidly missed all the flags. How the fuck you were suposed to think that your boyfriend encouraging you to go to the GYN would be a neon red flag? You only thought he was caring as a boyfriend encouraging you to take that PAP test. Gynecology was a serious issue, and contraceptive pills could be very bad for you, so it made sense. He was older, so he knew better

Now you know he was only… making sure that your “oven” worked, sneaky bastard. 

Ari calling your name pulled you out of you thoughts

“Did you?” you nodded with a meek yes, “Good” he couldn’t hide his smile behind the coffee he took a sip of, “So we can start with the fun part” 

“Ari…” you mumbled, “This isn’t too late, you can let me go…” he only shook his had and chuckled with a wicked grin

“You don’t understand yet, do you?” he asked, mocking you

“What do you want from me Ari?” you asked firmly

“I’m going to knock you up, you are going to give me as many babies as I please, and you are going to be my pretty little housewife” he said, both his hands on the table and a look so intimidating you just wanted to submit only for him to show himself kinder to you

“Why me?” you whispered

“Because I love you sweetheart” he said, smiling gently now, relaxing you, “Since the first time I saw you in that supermarket, I knew you were the one for me” you looked down to the table, where your half eaten pancake laid there, “Let’s start with one baby,” your eyes filled with tears but you pulled through it and continued eating, barely chewing and just swallowing, not being able to feel the flavor. bites of the sugary treat started feeling salty as your tears mingled and fell inside your mouth, poisoning your heart with sorrow. 

“C’mon baby” Ari said softly, leaning above the small table and cleaning your cheeks with his thumb, “You love me too” you just nodded because you did, you were one week shy of celebrating your one year anniversary, and you did love him. That was before he became an unhinged kidnapper with a breeding kink.

You did like it when he gave you those delicious creampies. Ari does have a… copious amount and you were lying if you didn’t say you didn’t enjoy the feeling of his cum dripping out of you even before he spend the best part of an hour trying to fuck it back into you, but it was so much you’ll always end up dripping

“I’ll take these plates upstairs,” you didn’t even realize you had finished your breakfast when Ari appeared right in your peripheral and lifted the plate from the table. It was only when the door locked that you felt incredibly nauseous. You ran to the bathroom and puked all the breakfast you had just consumed. You felt awfully bad, your chest was constricting, your head hurt, and you felt disgusted. You managed to flush the toilet and clean yourself the second before you heard the door again, and you knew what Ari wanted. 

You came out of the bathroom after washing your teeth and he immediately found you with his shiny eyes and that beautiful smile of his… He was truly the devil in disguise, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

“Ready to make a baby, Sunshine?” he purred, meeting halfway towards the bed. He put his arms around you. Leading you to the bed where he laid you gently

“Ari” you begged meekly, “Don't make me do this” it was a feeble attempt for him to let you go and as you expected, he paid you no mind as he grabbed one of the big decorative cushions on the bed and put it under you, rising your hips, and the same time he grabbed the hem of your pants and removed them. He was moving gently, slowly, and with that loving look in his eyes that you recognize from… before

He undressed you and took his time, savoring the moment, you did nothing but caress his arms and face, trying to keep him gentle like that. He placed his big hand on your flected knees and made you part your legs, revealing your pussy to him. You had to admit, you were wet. Ari was so gorgeous, his body so thick and ripped with muscles.And his thick cock had made you feel pleasure you had never felt before, and probably, would never feel again in other hands  

He kissed you deeply before he started coming down your body, jaw, neck, collarbone, chest, passing by your tits and coming down your stomach before he finally reached your sex. You couldn’t help but moan when he started devouring you. It was filthy the noises he made, squelching noises when he also used his fingers on you. Finding that spot that made your eyes turn to the back of your head while one of your hands grabbed him by his thick hair and made him go deeper inside your pussy. 

You cummed all over his face with filthy moans and your twisting body and shaky legs. 

Ari released you licking his lips and looking at you hungrily

“Fuck I love you” he purred. His thick cock twitching and asking for attention, he leaned over you again, kissing you roughly. You could taste yourself on his tongue, and that only turned you on even more. It wasn’t long before you felt his mushroom-like tip prodding at your entrance, teasingly caressing your folds and getting coated in your juices. You moved your hips tesingly, rising the friction, pelading him to fuck you

“Beg me for it” he tried, one of his hands encasing your jaw to make you look at his hungry eyes

“Ari please” you begged

“What?”  he tempted

“Fuck me” you moaned, like a pornstar would, “please, put your fat cock into me” you begged. He smiled and kissed you, only to leave your lips with a trial of saliva still joining you. He wanted to look at your face while he started penetrating you. His length opening you up for him. It had always been a stretch, a burn but it quickly turned into pleasure. nd this time wasn’t this exception

He started a sensual tempo, slowly but sensual, coming in and out of you at a maddening pace. His forehead was against yours and his eyes anchored on your face. You couldn't help but stare back as you moaned wantonly, feeling inside your tight walls very vein, ridge and drag of his cock 

“Fuck Sunshine” he purred, his hand rested on your face. He was truly making love to you, passionately. You felt so good you were going to pass out, you felt like you were flying, but grounded, trapped in his arms. For a second you forgot everything and really focused on him, on the man you loved.

It wasn’t long enough until you were cumming your legs around his waist trying to take him deeper inside you, your arms around his shoulders. When he felt you tightening around him he increased his pace, becoming a wild fucking that only pushed you over the edge, making you cum so hard you lmsot lost it. And he kept his pace kissing you, and then nipping at your neck. His strong arm kept him from crushing you, the veins and muscle twitching with the strength of his movements, making you gasp at his show of pure force. His grunts becoming louder and his movements more sloppily, indicating you he was close to cumming. and he did, he hold you tight, his hand traveling to your hips to make you stay still as he stilled inside you, releasing his seed inside you, making you whimper, feeling so wrong but so good. 

“We cannot let anything go to waste uh?” he muttered, kissing you while keeping still, buried to the hilt inside you. He kissed you all over your face while he waited, and you for a moment let yourself go and enjoyed being with him, even though you knew it was very wrong

“See?” he breathed out in your ear, “How good it can be?” you stood still under him, so the only thing you could do was nod. You had lost yourself in that deep pleasure only he could give you 

And after all of that… you realized one thing

You need to get out of here 

It didn't take you long to come up with a plan… The door had a keypad, so you needed to make sure he would leave it open for you to escape… so you needed to create a distraction, so he would come in, and leave the door open for long enough until you could distract him and make a run for it

It was a simple plan, you would pretend you were injured, screamed and whining on the floor, folded over yourself… hiding a pipe you ripped from under the sink, and when Ari came rushing to help you, you would punch him so hard in the head it will give you the minutes you needed to scape

And it would have gone without a hitch… if it weren't for…the size and strength of your 6´6 and 300 pound boyfriend

“(Y/N)!” Ari yelled your name when as soon as he entered the room he saw you kneeling hugging your stomach near the bed… you had splattered strawberry marmalade on the floor so in first sight it´ll look like blood

He kneeled by your side trying to “help you” and in a sole second, your hand grabbed under the bed the metal bar, and you swing it with all your strength over Ari´s head

But he didn’t fell unconscious like you intended, he grunted, falling on his side grabbing his head, and you didn’t need anymore to ran towards the door, which he did leave open 

He yelled behind you like a war crime, and you knew you had to pull it off or you were going to regret it. So you passed the first door, discovering that it was hidden behind an old cabinet, the same one you saw that day when you were snooping around the basement…. so it was hidden all this time

You couldn't manage to close the door, it was big and heavy, so you ran again, going up the stairs… But you found another door, which when you tried to turn the door knob, it didn't open, it was closed too. you started crying at that point… when you couldn¿t open the door so you heard too late Ari coming for you over the sounds of your cries and wails.

He grabbed you roughly, jerked you off the stairs and dragged you through the basement and through the door again. He threw you roughly to the floor, knocking all the air from your lungs while he closed the heavy door with a loud “CLANK”

“This is what happens when I’m nice to you!” he yelled and you thought he had never yelled at you in that way. He was enraged and unhinged when he grabbed you from the neck, pulled you to your feet and threw you to the bed, so rough you almost bounced out off the mattress, but you didn’t get to since he was on top of you in a second. He grabbed your arms roughly to prevent you from squirming, but you didn’t stop moving, trying to kick him

He turned you, making your face sunk into the mattress, his weight over you. He ripped your cotton shirt and your leggings, leaving you naked under him

“Ari please, you are scaring me!” you screamed, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. Ari was conscious of how big he was so he was very careful to prepare you properly for him. But not this time. He sunk himself into you, splitting you open. You squealed under him, tears falling down on the mattress. You were uncomfortable dry and he didn’t mind as he ripped you open for him, burying himself to the hilt within you. It burn and it hurt, but moving more udner him only made it worse, so you stood stil and let him fuck you. 

His hips snapped against your threatening to break them, the burn inside your abused walls make you whimper and cry, you were feeling like you were getting stabbed in your insides. he grabbed you by the back of your neck, silencing your sobs on the sheets, while his other hand could break your hip, were he had a tight grip on you to kep you still.

“I didn’t” thrust, “Want”, thrust, “To do this”, he grunted as he stilled inside you, “But you had to try to escape didn’t you?” his thick cock inside you felt like it was made of hot alva, the tip of him was kissing your cervix in an uncomfortable way. “You are fucking mine” he gruned, retrieving himself and then starting his sway all over again. But at some point, it stop hurting, you stopped feeling and you thought you lost consciousness because of the crying and the fact he was pushing your head against the bed so hard you had trouble breathing

But everything came back to you once he stopped. He came out of you, and turned you, so you could finally breathe and see him, his face twisted in rage and anger. He grabbed your trembling legs and made you hug his waist with him, now grabbing you by your hips and impaling you on his thick length again, Making you cry even louder.

He started thrusting into you like an enraged animal. He grew tired of your crying, and his hand gripped your throat with an iron grip. Your hands tried to pry him off of you, clawing at his wrist, but he was immovable. You couldn’t breathe

“Oh fuck, your pussy is gripping me so tight right now” he chuckled, and his face was so dark you barely ecognize your loving boyfriend, while he fucked you with beasteality aganist the mattres. When your sight began to tunnel and your lungs burned as much as your poor pussy, he let himself be seated again inside you and spilled his thick seed in your womb. He stood there a couple of minutes, and then he released you slowly and gently, and you could finally breathe. 

He left you there, thrown in the bed and fixed his pants. And you just laid there, falling to the bed on your side, wincing when your legs closed and that made your abused pussy clench, it burned so much it made you whimper 

“You better get used to the idea, wife” he spitted out, “You are fucking mine and you are going to give me a family, wether you liked it or not” you hugged yourself trying not to look at him, “And now… you are going to fucking thank me” he grunted over you, “For giving you this home, and treating you so well”

All he got was a whimper, and tears

“What do you say?” you just looked at him, refusing to speak as you hugged yourself. “I said… What the FUCK do you say?” you hid your face tucking your chin to your chest, trying to hug your legs in a fetal position. He grabbed your face by your cheeks and made you look at him. He looked into your eyes and he seemed like he didn't like what he saw. He released you and left you alone. 

He didn’t visit you for the rest of the day. He left you with hunger on your belly, but you were barely conscious, so it didn’t really matter to you. Even if he served you with your favorite meals, you weren’t going to be able to take a single bite

Your chest felt so tight you could barely breathe, and a sense of desperation started clawing at your throat. You cried until nightfall. And there, naked in your bed you started to feel cold. So you managed to gather your strength. And get dressed.

You could barely walk, it still burned, you felt the ghost of Ari’s huge cock still inside you, burning your insides. You touched the juices oozing out of you, and you found Ari´s cum tainted with a pink tone… Blood… he literally ripped you

You put on a big hoodie and another pair of cotton leggings, and went back to bed, to accommodate under the covers. You found little solace. But at least it was a dreamless sleep.

You awoke with the smell of breakfast in the morning and the noises that indicated that Ari was cooking in the small kitchen. Pancakes, apparently. Which was your favorite breakfast but now it made your stomach turn. 

He catches you looking at him and smiled, as if nothing had happened

“Good morning Sunshine” he said cheerfully, “I’m cooking your favorite” he continued, “And I managed to find that organic syrup you liked so much, I also brought you whipped cream and berries” 

But you didn’t move. You buried yourself deeper in the bed, hiding under the covers. You felt his steps on the hardwood floor, coming for you, but you still didn’t move.

“C’mon silly girl” he invited, still being playful, he tugged at the cover until he revealed your face. Your eyes didn’t meet his, you concentrated on a point in the far wall. But you saw his hand coming to your face so you retreated, wincing and scared of his touch

“Sunshine” he called softly, like he was surprised and hurt at your reaction. You whimpered and looked to hide more under the covers. He started to uncover you, like a little child's game, he chuckled as he tried to find your face under.

But when he finally did, he looked at your face, of complete horror, and worry took a hold of his features. Your eyes were lacking their usual gleam. your mouth became a thin line.

“Sunshine” he called softly, “Good morning” he greeted, his fingers accommodating unruly hairs off your face 

You didn’t answer him, only a whimper managed to form off your throat. Which felt like it was made of splintered glass. Sharp pieces prevent your voice from coming out.

You wanted to speak but the only thing you felt was Ari´s ghost hands over your neck

“Are you not feeling well?” he asked, so nicely, so politely. You’d think he was another person, and not the monster who trapped you here and yesterday raped you until you bled. 

“I’m sorry for yesterday Sunshine” he caressed your face with the tip of his fingers, “But you made me so mad, you hit me, and you tried to destroy this that I’ve been working so hard to get… a home, a family, with you” but again, he got no answer. “Ok, I´ll leave you the pancakes there, ok?” he said gently, “I'll come back and check on you later,” he leaned in and kissed your head. And left

Ai kept coming back, ad found you in the same position

“Sunshine you need to eat baby” he said like he was talking to a child, sitting by your side. He took a long side and went to the kitchen to grab a plate, which he warmed in the microwave and then came back to you. And he fed you, like he would a child, and you ate from him, having no energy to fight him, not wanting to either. After he got a couple of pancakes inside of you, he helped you get out of bed

You were like a lifeless doll, he cleaned you up, and dressed you in a comfortable shirt and booty shorts. Happy with the results, he looked at you with love, fixing your hair

“Would you like to watch a movie?” he asked, and you just nodded. He guided you to sit on the couch and he by your side, he made you cuddle up next to him as he scrolls the smart TV and chose Netflix

“Would you like to see one of those romcoms you like so much?” he asked in your ear, and you nodded. “How about this one, what's your number?” you nodded again and he played it. 

You watched like three movies in total, what you didn’t know then, is this was the start of a very sick rutine you and Ari followed.

He got accustomed to your voluntary muteness, and he would come down to you and help you dress, he would cook for you, (meals you often returned because of your unstable stomach), which Ari didn’t know. He would talk to you about his day on the outside, about some friend you knew he had, and how they also wanted to establish and have company, and you found yourself fearing for their future girlfriends or wives, if they were just as unhinged as Ari. He would constantly look at you with longing. Some days, when you were more responsive, he would even fuck you, gently, slowly, with care, as you were something delicate he didn’t already brake, and he would stay the night holding you, which was weird.

It's been a month, like this, in this strange routine and your silence. You were beginning to feel very sick these days, and you feared thinking you might be pregnant. You looked at the calendar Ari had in the wall to keep track of you, and you realized you were ten days late 

You started crying, hugging your pillow tightly and that's how Ari found you hours later.

You were no longer crying but in a catatonic state on the bed 

“Please” he murmured, his hand caressing your cheek, “Please, just… talk to me” your eyesight fell to the mattress below you, you weren’t able to fulfill his desire, you couldn’t talk to him, you couldn’t even talk to yourself outloud, everytime you tried to, a stone like feeling got trapped in your throat, alongside the feeling of Ari’s own hands around your neck. “Sunshine please” he begged his thumb wiping away the fat tears you didn’t know you were letting out again. You just closed your eyes, not being able to look at him any longer. You wanted to erase his presence from your mind

You heard him sigh 

“I need you to take a pregnancy test sweety” he said gently, “You are late” you just nodded, wanted to get it over with, and Ari helped you get out of the bed and into the bathroom, were he got the test from under the sink

It was negative

So he made you took another one

and it got a negative again 

“A friend is coming,” he said randomly a few days later. You looked at him in wonder, but still didn’t muttered a word, “A Doctor, I want him to check on you” you nodded, “You are not pregnant yet but you are not bleeding, which is weird,” he didn’t give you a lengthier explanation, and you erased completely from your mind this “friend” of Ari would help you in any way

Ari left and when he came back, he came with company, a tall man, with sharp steel blue eyes and dark hair combed back. He was handsome, in a more classic sort of way. But there was something uneasy about him

They brought medical equipment with them

“She lost her period, she stopped bleeding, but she is not pregnant” Ari told him, as they accommodated the equipment near the foot of the bed, where you were seated “I made her take at least 5 tests, and they all come back negative”, his friend wouldn’t keep his eyes off of you, he was analyzing you carefully. He crouch in front of you, his eyes never leaving your form

“This is a sweet girl” he purred, “She isn’t eating”

“She is, I make sure of it” Ari insisted, standing right at the side of the bed, crossing his thick arms over his chest. His friend then grabbed your right hand carefully, and he eyed your fingers, making them dance on his hand

“She is puking everything you give her” he sentenced, and you whimpered nervously

“What?” he asked, upset

“She is losing weight, Levinson” he continued, looking at the whitish marks in your thighs, “she is nervous, scared, and she is not eating, stressed, that might have affected her cycle”

“Still, I want you to take the tests we discussed” they looked at each other and the stranger nodded 

“Ok then” He then stood up and retrieved from a leather bag a pair of medical gloves and even a face mask. You moved uncomfortably, you didn't want this man touching you, especially if they wanted to run “tests” on you that you can only guess where gynecology related. So you flected your arms and your hands seated on the bed, ready to pounce. Ari saw this, that you went going to make this easy for them, so he smiled 

“Do you wanna know what Steve here does for a living?” Ari asked, making you relax your posture, and you were really curious, so you nodded 

“I’m a doctor sweetheart” he answered, smiling shyly, you moved your lips, signaling an “Oh”

“But that’s not all he does” he pressured, “C’mon, tell her” Ari looked excited, but in a sick, ill way, it made you shiver. If he was here you knew he had to be as bad as Ari, as dark as him and a good friend. If you couldn't handle Ari alone, you stood no chance against two of them

“You want to ruin the suspense for her?” his friend then asked, his smile didn’t even trembled

“Yes I do” he encouraged 

“Well then” he purred, his thumb massaging your ankle, where he had grabbed you. “I also keep sweet girls like you in my basement” You whimpered in fear, but you knew if you tried to fight him off it would be worse for you, “But like Ari here, I’m not a keeper” tears fell from your eyes, “I have more than one,” you just trembled in crippling fear, of these two deranged men

“I’m more of a traditional guy” Ari said, winking at you

“I don’t play housewife” he continued, “I have at least three girls at all times locked up in my basement”

“Tell her why,” continued Ari and he just sighed deeply, looking straight at you with his deep blue eyes, really hypnotizing 

“I take parts of their bodies at a time so I can sell their meat” you had an ill need to laugh because for a fraction of a second you thought it was a sick joke. But you quickly realized it wasn’t… so you jumped in fear, trying to create space between him and you, screaming, crying

“Get away from me!” you yelled, the first time you spoke in weeks, sounded raspy, like a broken bagpipe. You crawl back on the bed until your back hits the head of the bed. Ari grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you to them both, you knew better than to try to kick him, so you stood still, still crying but calmer when the only one that was touching you was Ari

“Be good” he demanded, and you tried, you nodded, “Steve is going to examine you… now fucking stay still or I might let him take you,” so you just bit the inside of your cheek as you tried to breathe to keep calm… But couldn’t help the sobs that came out of you as you focused on a point in the ceiling. Ari undressed you, you were wearing a dress that day, so he only removed your panties, and accommodated and spread your legs 

Steve looked inside you, taking samples of your uterine walls and other things you didn’t want to think about. It hurt like hell, but Ari let you squeeze his hand as hard as you could. The exams finished quickly, and soon Steve was taking out his gloves and putting the samples into containers.

Your sobs turned into quiet whimpers but you couldn’t help them. Both men ignored you while they said his goodbyes to each other.

“Well… Ari, if she doesn’t give you children or simply if you get bored, you have my number” Ari just smiled and led his friend out of the basement. He came back soon enough, to find you hugging your legs to your chest, on a fetal position in the bed. Having a sick person like that examine you without your consent was another, deeper king of violation, and it was the most horrific one

Ari sat by your side on the bed, and he caressed your head with care, “Are you going to be good?” you just nodded, “Or else, I’m giving you away to Steve, for him to chop you up and sell your meat”

“No please” you begged, throwing yourself at him,  hugging him tightly, burying your face on his neck, clawing into him like he would let you go, “Please, I’ll do whatever, anything you want Ari please don’t let him take me, please!” you cried, your voice still raspy from all that time with the vow of silence. “Sir, I’ll be good” you promised, “I’ll eat, I’ll take supplements, anything you want please don’t give me to him”. You should have see the smile he drew, while he held you against his chest, and caressed your hair

He would never let Steve get you

Never

But you didn’t need to know that

“You just have to be a good wife, make me a real daddy”

“I will” you promised, “I’m sorry” he kissed your temple sloppily 

“I forgive you sweety” you wouldn’t let him go, scared that if he did, he would come back with his friend, “But no more cold shoulder” you shook your head, “If you do that again I’ll tell steve to remove your vocal cords for real”

“Never, I’m sorry” you whispered, already feeling your throat hoarse 

“I missed you Sunshine” he purred 

Taglist! @paulxruddx @kitty1960 @inlovewithhisblueeyes @hallecarey1

[worminstuff]

mcyts as teachers

in my brain. lol. thisisjustmyopiniondontattakpls

dream smp edition!!!

i got way to carried away HOLY

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Mr.Wastaken - math

he’s that one math teacher dude whos friends with all his students

funky👏tys👏 and👏 button ups👏

somehow teaches everything so everyone understands

the students won’t bully eachother if he bully’s them first.

everyone does their work and then when everyone is done and just chillin, he’ll tell a story or just talk to them

Mr.Blade - english

he’s that english teacher that if you ask the right question they’ll go on a tangent and you’ll get to not do work for like 30 minutes minimum.

Mr.Blade seems mean but is super sweet to his students. (especially the quiet ones)

never makes them do presentations

Mr.Jacobs - history

is 100% best friends with his students.

so many handshakes

Mr.Karl is literally the best dressed teacher there is and is so nice to all his students. he is easy going on grading but is a tad hard on late work.

totally doesn’t sneak off to kiss coach sapnap sometimes

Mr. Quack - spanish

HOLA NIÑOS

gets so hyped with his students.

kahoot kahoot kahoot sm kahoot

Mr.Quacks class is the one everyone hopes they get and constantly looks forward to. thinks like baking spanish food, watching spanish soap operas, and many more fun ways Mr.Quack has thought of to show them different aspects of spanish culture

Mrs. Nihachu - art

the classroom the kids with anxiety sit in during lunch

gives her students hugs whenever they need them

has art her students have made for her all over her classroom walls and desk

drawer full of candy

Coach Sapnap & Coach Punz - PE

LETS GOOOOOOOO

so scary. they are so so scary.

also the sweetest somehow.

the duo is always constantly trying to create new games to keep students active and they work hard to make sure everyone is happy and being included if they want to, or have an alternative if they don’t.

they play in team games like kickball and get HELLA competitive, it makes for a whole lot of fun inside jokes between them and their students.

the smack talk- holy-

Mr.Fundy - furry science- jk. biology

the👏most👏fun👏science👏teacher

every time they have labs he wears a funky lab coat and goggles

his students make fun of him and he loves it

is a tough grader but makes the class easy and makes it a comfy place so kids won’t be scared to ask questions when they need

electives:

Mr.Notfound - engineering

he’s the type of teacher to put up a video on days he’s tired

actually really enjoys bantering with students, and is super lenient with how much they can talk during classes

a lot of his work is hands on so there’s many bits and bobbles around his room and it’s always a mess

“you’ll need the stuff for the soddering machines but i’m not actually sure where they are...”

the students are well aware that class is WAY more fun when Mr.Notfound is in a good mood.

Mr.Wastaken drops by when he has free periods cause he loves to annoy visit Mr.Notfound

Teacher Eret - sociology

his room is the safe space where you go if you need a good hug or a good cry

kids also eat lunch here

memes on da walls and things hanging from the ceiling

talks with his hands and laughs with the students when they mock him and do it when he does

“TEACHER ERET! you will not believe what sarah did!!” “tell me right now!”

Mr.Dude - comp. science

is always asking students how they feel like they’re doing

brings lunches for students he notices not having any

“snack break anyone?” opened drawer full of goldfish

stands in the hallways during passing time so he can watch out for his kiddos and make sure no ones being mean to anyone

high-fives all the time constantly

Mr.Soot - drama

literally so dramatic all the time for no reason

relentless hamilton references

he’s the type of drama teacher to adore his students and have them adore him back. he loves hearing all the unique ideas and loves to watch kids grow into their shell as they take his class

his favorite thing is watching quiet kids learn they love acting and become more confident

students share their own scrips and plays they write and he absolutely melts every time

Mr.Shlatt - political science

the teacher that everyone tries to get mad cause it’s funny

starts arguments between students because he loves to watch kids grow into their opinions and learn to debate with others

teaches them how to win arguments and it blows up in his face cause they start using his tactics against him

Mr. Halo - self defense

no 🚫 swearing 🚫 zone

gives the biggest hugs to kids that seem sad

he teaches in mostly talking ways where he explains everything but he also loves demonstration lessons

he always has kids talking to him about other teachers that may annoy them or have given them a bad grade because Mr.Halo always has their back

Mr.Skeppy - money management

he’s that one teacher that isn’t really close with his students but every once in a while he’ll get a group of kids that he enjoys and it makes the class a lot more fun

pizza party after tests if everyone passes

actually holds meme contests for literally no reason

Mr.H - hospitality

has whiteboard desks in his class cause he is THAT cool

is always asking kids what the drama is atm cause he wants to be in the know

has holiday party’s in class for EVERY holiday. if you have him as a teacher you’ll be celebrating every holiday for however long you have him. he just lives for a good party.

also has a snack drawer

Mr.Frost - horticulture

shelves and shelves of plants. gives his fav students ones to take home

literally the sweetest teacher, every student understands you can not be rude to Mr.Frost it’s just criminal to do so

another huggy teacher. he just loves his kiddos with his whole heart

the least amount of work for a class out of all of them

he’s definitely that teacher thay takes his class outside every chance they get, and the students l o v e it

staff:

Mr.Minecraft -headmaster/principal

he’s the reason the school has like 0 REAL trouble makers.

everyone’s scared of him, but only because they don’t want to disappoint him.

he creates the best rallies and makes school events fantastic

100% dances at school dances sometimes

Mrs.Puffy - councilor

everyone adores her. even other teachers.

she councils Mr.Wastaken when he needs dating advice. *cough cough* Mr.Notfound *cough cough*

literally 3 drawers full of snacks.

is the founder of their schools GCA and it’s the best thing

let’s kids skip class in her office when they have a panic attack or are to anxious to go

had to have a chat with Coach Sapnap because of how many kids were coming from his PE class having panic attacks (he felt really bad, he’s just intense sometimes)

loves to sit in on Mr.Quackitys classes

Teacher callahan - substitute

he subs in sometimes and when students find out Teacher callahan is subbing that day they freak the fuck out

so much kahoot

how can one man start such party’s without speaking a word

terrorizes Mr Wastakens classes when he can and LOVES to pop in on the PE classes especially when they’re doing something wicked fun and he feels like beating sapnap at something

[crackheadgeminibby]

mistakes were made

pairing: chris evans x black!reader

warnings: language, age gap, angst, mentions of sex TW body insecurities and talk of weight gain

word count: 2.9k

i do not consent to my work being copied in any way, shape or form or reposted on any other platform

picture credit: screengrab from "Captain America Dinner Party" on youtube

You finish getting dressed and pick up everything you need to go for a run. As you’re walking down the last steps, you see that Chris is sitting on the couch, working on something on his computer. You come up behind him and softly kiss his temple before saying,

“Hey baby. I just put Emma to sleep and I’m gonna go for a run. Can you just pay attention and make sure she doesn’t wake up, please?”

Chris absentmindedly nods and mutters a “be careful”. You faintly smile and roll your eyes at his unwavering concentration but make sure to turn the volume of the baby monitor all the way up before leaving.

You go out through the garage and smile up at the sky, feeling the heat of the sun warming up your face.

You start to run the route you used to before getting pregnant with your baby girl. Last Sunday, it had been five months since your bundle of joy had been born. As much as you utterly adored her and the experience of carrying your own child, you had not appreciated the effect that the pregnancy had on your body.

On the contrary, most mothers-to-be were described as glowing and full of new energy but while you were pregnant, you always felt like you were about to get a cold and you had put on so much weight that you could barely recognize yourself. You had thought that it was only the pregnancy hormones changing your body that way as you were still very young, but today, five months after giving birth, your body had stayed the same and that certainly was not helping your confidence.

You weren’t sure if Chris had noticed your insecurities that manifested themselves by you eating almost the same meager meals every day and pushing away all sorts of sexual interactions with him. Since he had never mentioned anything or ever seemed frustrated with you, you thought he simply didn’t notice it or just didn't mind it.

Lost in your thoughts, you’re back home before you know it. As you’re entering the garage, you faintly hear Chris’ voice travel through the house all the way to you. Slightly confused, you assume that he must have forgotten to tell you he had an appointment or something, so you make sure to be as silent as possible to not disturb him.

“Bro, I know, it’s fucking crazy. I actually have my own child now.”

You smile softly at his excitement. You’re downing a bottle of water you took from the fridge when your ears perk up at your name coming out of Chris’ mouth.

“Oh, Y/N? Yeah, you know, she’s fine, she's good.”

Tilting your head slightly, you try to understand the sudden shift in Chris’ mood: even from two rooms away, you could feel his energy change.

“No, it’s fine, it’s just that she’s been kind of weird since the baby.”

You frown at hearing Chris say that. He never mentioned anything to you so why the hell was he talking about it with whoever was on the other end of the phone?

“No but like bro, look, it’s like this. I’ll be out all day doing whatever, and then when I come home, she’s all over me, being super clingy and all. Like, she will literally not let me go anywhere. But then, whenever I try to ease the mood into, you know, something more sexual, she just shuts down and says that Emma needs some food or something and she leaves. Then, when she comes back, she’s practically running from me like I have the fucking plague or something!”

As Chris is listening to what the person on the phone is responding, you start to feel a knot in your throat and you know that if you don’t do anything soon, you’re going to be full-on sobbing. As you’re working on your breathing and a plan, you hear Chris say,

“Dude, I literally thought the same thing. I swear. But, when we went for her check-up a little after she gave birth, the doctor said we couldn’t have sex for 6 weeks. It’s been like 20 weeks now!”

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you leave your water bottle on the counter and run back to the garage, as silently as you can. Once in the safety of the garage, tears stream down your face as you let out a sob that brings you to your knees. You let yourself cry for what feels like forever, but you know it must not have been more than 5 minutes.

When you start to calm down, you focus on finding a plan to make sure Chris didn’t know that you were eavesdropping on his phone conversation. You take deep breaths before wiping your face and fixing your appearance as best as you can while using the rear-view mirror of your car.

Once you’re certain that you can’t do anything more, you take a final breath before opening the door and slamming it loud enough for Chris to hear that you’re in the house. As you’re approaching the living room, and thus, the staircase leading to your room, you faintly hear Chris say, “Yeah, man. I’ll talk to you later.”

You pass behind him while keeping your head held high and not giving him a single glance. As you start to climb up the stairs, you see that Chris is turning towards you.

“Hey baby, I didn’t hear you come back. How was your run?”

You take a deep breath before answering as calmly as you can, “Fine. I’m going to take a shower.”

Chris hesitates for a second before responding, “Um, okay, I’ll start dinner then.”

You don’t answer and run up the last couple of stairs as you feel your resolve crumbling. You hurriedly take some random clothes and a towel before locking yourself in the en suite bathroom. As soon as the door is closed, you put your hand over your mouth as a cry escapes you again. You put your clothes and towel on the counter before sitting in front of your bathtub. You don’t know how long you stay there, stifling your cries, but you suddenly hear the doorknob jiggling before a loud knock resonates through the bathroom.

“Y/N? You okay in there? I heard some weird noises.”

You clear your throat as softly as you can before answering, “I’m fine, I just stubbed my toe.” You cringe as your voice breaks halfway through your sentence.

The doorknob jiggles again before you hear, “Are you sure? And why is the door locked? You never lock it.”

“Uh... I'm on my period.”

You roll your eyes at your dumb and illogical excuse but it was going to have to do for now.

Before Chris can say anything else, you start the shower, rapidly take your clothes off and step inside. Both Chris and you knew that when the shower water was on, it was almost impossible to hear anything else in the bathroom.

You spend at least an hour under the scalding water, and you finally get out as you see a glimpse of the time on the bathroom clock: 6:45pm. It was time to start getting Emma ready for bed and you knew that she rarely slept through the night if you weren't the one to put her to bed. Knowing that this meant that nobody in the house would really get any sleep, you reluctantly turn off the shower water and get out of the shower.

As you’re toweling off, you can faintly hear music coming from outside of the bathroom. You put on the clothes you had taken from your room and put them on.

How ironic. You were wearing the same shirt from the first time Chris had told you he loved you. You smile bitterly as you look at the shirt in the mirror and pick up the rest of your things before getting out of the bathroom.

You walk into your shared bedroom with Chris and immediately recognize “Wicked Games” by The Weeknd. You roll your eyes as you remember the time you had told Chris that, for whatever reason, The Weeknd’s 2010s phase could always get you in the mood. You take your time doing your skincare routine before taking care of your workout clothes.

After finishing in your bedroom, you close the door and head to Emma’s room to get her ready for bed. However, you frown confusedly as you see that everything in Emma’s room is clean and organized. Emma is clearly changed, dressed in her nighttime pyjamas, tucked in and soundly asleep while Dodger is snoring in front of her crib. You smile softly. Even before Emma was born, Dodger was extremely protective of her and when she was born, he was practically attached to her hip. Wherever Emma was, Dodger was also there.

You’re watching Emma and Dodger sleep, a seemingly permanent smile on your face when you suddenly feel a hand on your shoulder. You turn around rapidly and slightly jerk away from Chris when he attempts to put a hand on your arm. He frowns slightly before saying,

“I got Emma ready for bed and dinner’s ready downstairs.”

You sigh and walk around Chris before making your way downstairs as you hear his soft footsteps behind you. When you turn the corner to enter the living room, your breath slightly hitches as you see that Chris has set a candlelit dinner table. Chris softly sets his hands on your shoulders and starts to gently massage them as he says,

“I made spaghetti with chicken parm, your favorite. And extra cheese, just how you like it.”

As your resolve starts to crumble, Chris’ words from earlier in the day echo in your mind. The memory makes you instantly tense up and you let out a shaky breath while trying to control your emotions. To take the focus off of you, you sit down and start to serve Chris and yourself some water. You hear Chris sigh loudly before he sits down in front of you. He serves you a hearty serving of pasta with a whole chicken breast before serving himself. Chris looks at you, clearly hesitating to say anything for a couple of seconds while you’re poking at your food before saying,

“So, I thought you would like the chicken parm tonight since you seemed kind of down after your run.”

You let go of your fork, which loudly hits your plate, and put your head in your hands before you say, “Oh my God, Chris, I can’t fucking do this.”

“Woah, Y/N, you can't do what? What's wrong?”, Chris asks, shocked.

“What’s wrong, Christopher, is that I heard you on the phone this afternoon. Talking about how I’m supposedly clingy and never want to have sex with you anymore.”

Chris visibly tenses up as he hears your statement and stammers trying to find an excuse to justify his behavior.

“Wait, I… I can explain.”

You hold your hand up, signifying to Chris that you’re not done.

“First of all, you have absolutely no right to talk to anybody about our sex life without at least asking me first, which you know I would absolutely not agree with. Second of all, you should know by now that if you have any problems with me, you come to me. You don’t go talking to some random person about it behind my back.”

You angrily get up from the table and narrow your eyes at Chris as you continue.

“And third, not that you deserve any justification whatsoever for me not wanting to have sex with you, but I gained weight, Chris. Way too much weight. I find myself fat and gross and I didn’t want you to see my body and think the exact same things I think every single time I see myself in the mirror.”

You sniffle as you realize that you had been crying.

“And you can help yourself to the couch tonight.”

You walk up the stairs and, mindful to not wake Emma up, you softly close your bedroom door. You immediately snuggle into the covers while soft sobs rake through your body. You’re not sure how long you lay there crying but you eventually fall asleep from exhaustion.

You groggily wake up a couple of hours later while the sun is starting to rise as you hear Emma’s cries on the baby monitor. You rub your eyes as you get out of the bed and head over to her room. You take Emma out of her crib and immediately identify that her diaper is full. You feel your headache from crying developing further as you’re changing Emma.

When you’re finished, you take Emma in your arms and bounce her up and down while softly humming to help her fall back asleep with Dodger dutifully following you.

You head downstairs in search of painkillers for your headache while continuing to hum to Emma. While passing through the living room, you can see Chris’ head resting on the couch armrest. As Dodger spots him, he heads over to him and whines softly before setting himself at the end of the couch, prepared to fall back asleep.

You chuckle slightly before downing the painkillers and heading back up to Emma’s room, ready to put her back in bed. You set her down and tuck her in before exhaling softly and heading back to your bedroom.

Your headache and the painkillers had effectively made you exhausted again as you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow.

When you finally wake up for the day, you groan at the faint traces of your headache still present. You look over at your nightstand and see that it’s now 7:30am. You roll your eyes at this. You had barely slept an additional hour.

Figures. You never really slept that well when Chris wasn't in bed with you.

As your senses start to really awaken, you smell some coffee and hear the shower running for a couple of seconds after which, it stops.

Before you know it, Chris walks out of the bathroom, body steaming, with a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. He suddenly stops in his tracks as he realizes you’re awake.

God… Even when he pissed you off, he was still hot as fuck.

He lightly clears his throat before saying, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up. I just wanted to take a shower after my workout.”

You gently shake your head before responding with a raspy voice, “You didn’t wake me, it’s fine.”

Chris nods his head once before tightly smiling. You can feel the tension in the room as Chris stands in front of the bathroom door and looks anywhere but at you. After a couple of seconds, he softly sniffles and croaks, “Y/N, I’m so sorry.”

You sit up in the bed and lean on the headboard as you frown softly. Chris makes his way to you and softly sits on his side of the bed with his head hung. You can see from the various expressions that are passing on his face that he’s trying to find the words to talk to you

“I didn’t really sleep last night because I kept thinking about what you said. And I realized how much of an asshole I was.” He balls up his fists as he shakes his head and continues, “I never should have talked about any of those things with Matt and I’m so sorry that I did. I’m also sorry that I never came to talk to you, like a grown man, and instead just talked about you behind your back.”

Chris hesitantly reaches for your hands and takes them into his when he sees that you’re not negatively reacting to him while tears are dropping on the covers.

“Above all, I’m especially sorry that I ever made you feel like I wasn’t there for you and like you couldn’t come to me. I really didn’t know how you felt about yourself and it breaks my heart that I let you go through this alone when I should have been there to support you after Emma was born."

He shrugs gently before finishing with, "And for what it’s worth, I think you’re as beautiful now as you were while you were pregnant and before you got pregnant.”

Chris looks up at you with red eyes as he waits for you to say something. You open and close your mouth multiple times as you’re trying to find the right words to respond to him.

You finally settle on, “I don’t know that I can forgive you right now, Chris. What you did really hurt me. Like a lot.”

Chris’ head slightly hangs down before you finish with, “However, I don’t think it would be beneficial to our family for us to be apart right now.”

As soon as he hears this, Chris’ head snaps up, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

“I’m gonna need space and time to work through this but I believe that our relationship is stronger than this.”

Chris nods excitedly and bites his bottom lip before asking, “Is it okay if I hug you?”

You lightly nod your head and chuckle slightly as Chris practically throws himself at you. He rests his head in the crook of your neck before whispering “I love you so much, Y/N.”

Without hesitation, you whisper back, “I love you too, Chris.”

If there was something that you knew would never change is that you loved Chris, forever and always.

[t-o-m-hollands]

Chapter eight

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You knew each other as children, before everything changed. Now your paths cross again.

Pairing: Tom and female reader.

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: Violence, kidnapping, one hit to the head. Smut. I mean, it’s a mob!AU so generally just a lot of talking of murder, fighting and violence. THIS IS A +18 STORY. 

Word count: 5k. Sorry, but this is an eventful chapter so got a bit long. I didn’t want it to end in a cliffhanger so I sort of had to go on a bit

An absolute massive thank you to @plantlungs​ for being an amazing editor and for having the patient of a saint and correct all my misplaced commas and confused word choices. 

READ PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

Recap of the story so far: Tom is part of and working himself up in the Firm; the feared London gang. Its leader is a certain Fabien Towner. After an attack on Harrison it’s clear that they have a traitor in their midst who is also working for the rival gang created by a man called Jack Flanagan. While Tom is trying to bring the attacker in for questioning he meets you; his old school love (and unfortunately for him, the daughter of the home secretary who has spent most of his career trying to put an end to organized crime).  After an interesting night where you end up as a witness for a murder Tom essentially has to kidnap you until he knows what to do with you. Ending up deciding to let you live, and in doing so risking his own life, he lies to Fabien about there being no witness to the crime.  

Some time later you and Tom meet again at the club Romantique, as Tom has gone there to negotiate with Jack Flanagan. You go home with Tom that night and the two of you begin an affair. Fabien, finding out about the affair and of who your father is, is delighted, thinking that he can use you as leverage to the home secretary.  

Not many days later Tom is attacked by Flanagan’s gang, and he flees to your house where you patch him up. He tells you of Fabien’s plan, and asks you to work with him in order to bring the traitor in – the only thing that can possibly distract the Firm’s leader from you. You agree to help him.  

***

All you have is your fire

And the place you need to reach

Don't you ever tame your demons

But always keep 'em on a leash

arsonist's lullaby - hozier

***

You wake with a kiss to your forehead. Opening your heavy eyelids, you’re met with a smile, and a pair of sparkling brown eyes.

“Morning” Tom says quietly. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed for the day in his usual suit, hair fixed and the outlining of a gun showing underneath his suit jacket. 

“Good morning,” you respond, voice soft and full of sleep. Sitting up in the soft bed and pulling the sheets around you, you lean closer towards him. Gently you place your hand on his cheek, stroking his skin you feel the faint trace of stubble. He smells of his lemon and cedar soap and faintly of cigarettes. Pressing your lips softly against his other cheek, and then on his jawline,  you whisper against his skin, “Do you really have to go?”

You can tell he’s focusing on his breathing, and as you lean back his dark eyes, glossed over and pupils dilated, are focused on your lips. His own mouth is slightly opened, and he’s leaning in towards you. Just as he’s about to press his lips against yours he murmurs, “Afraid so, darling.” He leans back and winks at you, a devilish smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, angel, I’ll give you everything you want soon enough.”He stands up and moves towards the door. “I’ll be back before you know it, just doing some collecting today; shouldn’t be more than an hour. I’ll come back and we’ll have lunch, yeah?”

He’s leaned against the doorway, hands in suit pockets, the stolen Rolex on his wrist glistening in the early morning light coming in through the window. He’s all wicked smiles and dimples and his eyes are gleaming as he looks at you; sitting in the middle of the bed, white sheets pulled around you and hair loose, your skin kissed by the sun streaming in.

You smile back at him and letting go of the sheets you let them fall around you. Leaning back against your elbows you slowly spread your bent legs; looking at him all the while. He’s got his dark eyes fixated on where your spread legs meet. Slowly walking towards you, like a hunter approaching its prey. Reaching the bed he leans over it, grabs hold of your thighs, and pulls you towards him until he’s pressed up against your naked crotch. Leaning over you, hands resting on either side of your face, he whispers in a low voice against your lips, “Such a devious little temptress, aren’t you?”

He leans back and falls down on his knees. Kissing the soft inside of your thigh he bites the sensitive skin, leaving a wet and burning spot, he blows cold air on it and you shiver. He looks up at you, wicked smile in place and eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You could tempt a saint you know?” he says, voice thick with bewildered wonder as he presses his soft lips against your cunt, before licking up your slit, eagerly. “How’s a poor devil like me supposed to stand a chance?” 

***  

There’s a flickering light above your head and the hallway smells of something rotten. The dark medallion wallpaper and crimson-coloured carpet make it feel like the room is spinning slightly around you. 

You’re just about to carefully lock the door to Tom’s apartment, having decided to go home and change before lunch, when you hear a creaking on the floor behind you. Something like alarm bells go off in your head, and you turn around only to be hit with something heavy and sharp right by your mouth.   

A ringing in your ear, and the whole room seems to change perspective, turn on its side somehow. It takes you a second to realize that it isn’t the room that has fallen; it is you. Something above you moves, but you can’t see clearly, just the outlines of a blurred shadow coming closer and closer and a smell you can’t place but is stronger than the rotten smell of the hallway. And then a wet cloth covers your mouth.

Memories of when you were a child, swimming in the municipal pool, flash before your eyes and you can’t understand why.

Only, just before everything turns dark, does it hit you.  

Chloroform. 

*** 

The first thing your mind registers as you wake is a sore neck. A sore neck and a stinging nose and a back that feels uncomfortably stiff. You try to open your eyes but find the world just as dark as when you had them closed. Trying to move your hands you realize that they have been tied behind the uncomfortable chair you’ve been placed in.  

Panic rises like bile in your throat and you want to scream, but the sound refuses to leave your lips, as if the panic itself is blocking it from leaving. Trying to kick your legs you realize that they too have been bound.  

“She’s awake,” someone mutters behind you and you freeze, heart beating so hard in your chest that it’s hard to hear anything but the blood rushing through your system. “Go tell Jack,” the voice orders, and a pair of heavy footsteps move across the floor and soon a door opens and shuts.  

Laying all your focus on your breathing, trying not to hyperventilate, you try to keep in control of yourself, though you can feel sweat begin to form on your forehead. You feel hyper- aware of your own body, of the rope digging into the fragile skin of your wrists, of the hard chair underneath you, of your own mortality and the dangerous situation you are in. You had been in a situation like this before, in a now very familiar apartment in Mile’s End. But even though you had been frightened then, it is nothing compared to the terror that grips hold of you now.

Soon a door opens, and footsteps move across the floor again.  

“Now boys, is this the way you treat a lady?” A deep voice roars in an Irish brogue. “Have I taught you no manners?” The footsteps move closer and closer until they’re standing behind you.  

“You big lads so scared of a girl you need to tie her up?” You hear how the man fiddles with something, only to realise that he’s untying the rope around your legs. Soon you feel the rope loose; but you are too frightened to even try to move them out of their uncomfortable position.   

“Now unless you think this tied- up wench will overpower me, I suggest you get a fucking move on, yeah?”  the man continues, as he frees your wrists as well.  

No verbal answer follows, just the sound of a dozen of boots moving across the floor until eventually, the door shuts; leaving the room in silence apart from your ragged breaths and rabbit heart; pounding so hard in your chest you’re sure it’s clear for anyone to hear.   

Then there’s a sudden movement by your head and then – you can see again.   

Disoriented you blink into the light. The man, Jack you presume, pulls a chair across the floor, the scraping noise almost alarmingly loud to your panicked senses, and he sits down opposite you. Carefully you move your stiff hands from their position behind your back, slowly moving them to your front and placing them on your knees. 

“There we go,” Jack says in a low, gruff voice that tells of years of smoking.  

 He’s probably in his early fifties, with blond hair that has begun to turn white and a neatly trimmed beard. A long scar is etched across his cheek. Wearing a rather worn grey suit he’s leaned back in his chair, looking relaxed and comfortable; the very opposite to how you are feeling. There’s something both harmless and, at the same time, absolutely terrifying about him. He’s almost disarming in his lack of threats, his slow, low way of talking and the patient, curious way he’s looking at you. You can’t get a read of the man, and that frightens you.  

The room you’re in doesn’t help to make you feel more comfortable. It looks like an abandoned old apartment, wallpapers half torn down and a broken chandelier hanging from the ceiling. It’s dark outside the dirty window, and you wonder for how long you’ve been unconscious. An entire day must have passed since this morning.  

“Now girl, you and I are gonna have a little chat about an old friend of mine,” he starts. 

You don’t respond, waiting for him to reveal his hand before you make up your mind about how to play your cards with this unknown man. 

“Now, child,” he continues, “what do you know of Fabien Towner?” 

You’re taken aback at that. Somehow, subconsciously, you must have assumed that this kidnapping by this evident gangster had something to do with your father and his work as home secretary. That you had been picked out to provide information about a man you had never as much as laid eyes on had not occurred to you.  

“All I know is what’s written in the newspapers.” You answer, only somewhat truthfully, since Tom has told you a few things about the feared London mobster as well.  

“Sweetheart,” he chuckles, a deep, throaty sound, “do I look like the sort of man who reads the papers?” He’s smiling at you, though it seems malignant. You are reminded of a cat, playing with its food before it eats it. “I know better than to believe a word that's written in them,” he adds and grins, “after all, they write that I’m a bad man.”

“But alright then, let’s play that game,” he snaps, and the sudden change from almost playful to deadly serious has your heart faltering in your chest. “What do you know of a young mister Tom Holland, hm?” 

If your heart was faltering in your chest before, it positively stops beating now. Your first instinct is to deny your knowledge of Tom’s existence. To say you’ve never heard that name. But you must keep your head cold, be calm and clever. This man knows very well that you know who Tom is, you were after all attacked when leaving his apartment.  

“Not much,” you say, and your voice is frailer than you’d hoped. “He’s just a man I’ve been seeing”.  

Jack’s hard, blue eyes are fixed on yours. He observes you for a while before saying, “You seemed very cozy with him at Romantique. I’m the owner of that club, I damn well know who frequents it, and what they get up to in it.”

It hits you then, and you want to groan at how slow you’ve been. This is Jack, the Jack Flanagan, the owner of club Romantique and Fabien’s sworn enemy, who has infiltrated the Firm with a traitor. 

“Yes, I met Tom there, but I don’t know anything about Fabien Towner.”  

Jack keeps his intense eyes fixed on you, as if he’s trying to read any slight change in your face. He scratches the roughened skin of his scarred cheek almost absentmindedly. “Come on now, I know how young men work when they’re trying to impress a pretty girl. They boast about how big and bad and ballsy they are. He’s told you about his,” and there’s a slight pause and a wicked grin before he continues, “profession, I presume?”

“All I know is he’s part of the Firm,” you say and sniff, “do you think he’d tell me anything? I’m just some girl he fucks. I don’t think he cares at all about me.” Your voice breaks as you speak, and two tears fall down your cheeks as you lie. They aren’t hard to fabricate in your current state of mind. You need to make him believe that Tom would never spill any secrets to you, because if this man in front of you,; his entire aura shouting of danger, finds any hint of the secrets stuck in your throat he’s bound to beat them out of you. 

“Now that’s not a very nice thing to do,” Jack says in a low voice, and a smile spreads over his lips. “How would you like some revenge?” 

Fear holds such a hard grip on your heart then that you are sure it’s bound to stop beating altogether. “What do you mean?” you ask, trying to hide your terror.  

Jack smiles even wider, and something like a shiver moves up your spine. “You see,” he starts in his broad brogue, “old Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. He’s a, well, I guess you can say a friend of mine. I know him well. I know what makes him tick.” He leans forward, resting his arms on his widespread legs, his intense eyes still fixed on yours. “Now I want him to stop ticking.”

Trying to swallow down the panic you answer in a cool voice, “and how could I possibly help with that?” 

“Like I said, Fabien is not a man of many weaknesses. But he’s got a blind spot when it comes to that lad. I’ve heard the rumours; the Devil’s Boy, that’s what they call him, and that’s the way Fabien sees him. I’ve met Tom, on the night you danced with him in my nightclub in fact. And he's brought up by the devil alright,” he pauses, a grim smile on his face. “In order to get to Fabien, I need to get to the boy. And that’s where you come in, miss. See, Tom is Fabien’s weakness, so I’m gonna need you to become Tom’s weakness.” 

“And how do you expect me to achieve that?” you ask, voice shaking slightly despite all your efforts to keep it under control. You feel like you’re trembling all over, like your very soul is rattling inside of you. Nothing seems real, nothing in this nightmarish scenario or in this strange room; nothing except for those bleak, intense eyes looking at you, and that low, gruff voice speaking of betrayal of the worst kind.  

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Like a little bird. I’m sure you could convince him to stick around, to open up; to trust you. Then all this little bird needs to do is fly to me and sing her song, and I shall see to the rest, and you will have your revenge.” 

You feel ice-cold all over, as if the blood itself in your veins have frozen. “And what kind of song does the bird sing? What is it that you need to know from me?” 

“For now, I just need you to make him trust you. When the time is right, when everything is ready to be set in motion, I shall tell you the plan. What do you say?”  

You don’t know if he’s honestly offering you a choice or not, if he’d even let you live if you refused him, but slowly you nod your head, and the smile grows bigger on his face, and his cold, blue eyes sparkle.   

 “Good,” he says, and rises from his chair. “Now it’s time for this little bird to be set free.” 

*** 

Your legs feel unsteady and unsure underneath you as you make your way up the familiar steps to your house. You can hear the car that dropped you off drive away, but you don’t look back, you don’t ever want to look back again but it feels like you will spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder after this. You feel heavy all over, every limb slowly moving forward underneath the weight, burdened with a terrible secret.   

Letting yourself in, you quietly make your way through the hall, wanting to avoid seeing anyone since that would mean you’d have to explain your split lip and your sore wrists. The skin of your lip pulses uncomfortably. You must have attained the injury this morning as you got attacked outside of Tom’s apartment. 

With quiet feet you move up the stairs to your bedroom, needing only to change your clothes and leave a message for your father to let him know you will be sleeping at a friend’s house for a night or two. You jot the message down in spidery letters, so unlike your normally neat handwriting; your hands refusing to collaborate with you as they keep shaking. You leave the message on your desk, knowing that Mason will find it later and pass the information on to your father. 

You fill the bathtub with water and scented oil, needing to wash the reminders of today off of you before you are ready to face Tom. Quickly ridding yourself out of your dirty dress, you step into the lukewarm water and start the process of scrubbing your skin clean. After having washed up, you change into another dress, feeling great relief in feeling the freshly washed fabric against your skin.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you cannot help but be taken aback at the sight. You have a split and swollen lip, your hair is a mess and your eyes seem bigger than normal; as if you are a frightened animal. Knowing there is nothing to do about the lip you try to smooth your hair, before giving up, deciding instead to pin it up into something a little more respectable.  

In your new dress and hair, you look a little more put together, though your eyes remain frightened.  

Packing a small bag with some essential clothes and hygiene products you creep out of the bedroom, closing the door quietly behind you. Your father’s voice booms out from the library, as he’s speaking on the telephone with someone. Passing the door on your tiptoes, as not to make a sound, a name caught your attention.  

“Yes, Fabien’s boy.” 

You stop dead in your tracks, listening carefully as your father goes on. “He’s been causing uproar in all the underworld. He set fire to a pub in Camden this afternoon, one of Flanagan’s places, and he’s been involved in a dozen fights all over the East End.”

Your breath hitches, but you force yourself to be quiet as your father keeps talking. “No, apparently he’s looking for some woman. A kidnapping they say.” Your father listens as the voice on the other side of the phone speaks before he keeps going. “Yes, of course, but if this means we have another gang war on our hands there needs to be readjustments. 

You walk away, as quickly and quietly as you can, and step back out into the night. Never have you been in such a hurry to find a taxi in your life.

*** 

After having paid the driver, you rush up to Tom’s apartment, all four stairs, never slowing for a moment. You’re not sure of what you’re about to meet in the apartment but as you push the door open and rush inside you are relieved to see the figure of a man standing there.

Only to soon realise that it is not Tom. 

The man is blond, and about the same age as Tom and dressed much the same in a dark suit. One of his arms is wrapped up in bandages. You recognize him as the man who came to pick Tom up the morning after you spent your first night at his place. A friend then, and not a foe. 

He stands up from the sofa when he sees you, and smiles, seemingly relieved. “Thank fuck,” he mutters, moving closer. Standing in front of you, impressive in his length and stature, he observes your wounded face with a frown. 

“Any other injuries?” He asks, voice collected but underneath his calm stature, you think you can sense a wave of anger. 

You shake your head, unsure of what to say. 

He nods, takes a gentle hand on your arm and leads your numb body to the sofa, gesturing for you to sit down. After you have done so he moves across the floor to the phone, his long legs taking wide strides. Dialing in a number he stands there, leaning against the wall, still observing you as he waits for the number to go through.

“Yeah, Harry? It’s Haz,” he says into the phone. “She’s here.”

There’s a loud voice on the other end of the line but you can’t make out what it is saying. “Yeah, yeah, well you need to let him know then, don’t you? Before he causes any more damage.” More silence as he listens to the other man. “No, apart from a split lip she’s unharmed,” and he looks over you again as he speaks, “she looks pretty fucking shaken though so get a fucking move on, yeah?” He hangs up. 

In your wild haze of suffocating numbness, it strikes you how unlike Tom this Haz is, despite your first confusion. His accent is polished and posh despite his attempts to hide it. His back is almost impossibly straight as he’s holding himself upright and his young face looks taut. You wonder how a young man like this ended up within the ranks of the Firm. 

He crouches down in front of you as you sit on the sofa, his knees bent until you are at eye level.  “Have you had anything to eat?” He asks in a soft voice that takes you with surprise. 

“No,” you mumble, only realizing now that it’s the case. But you’ve been so full of terror the entire day you’ve hardly even noticed. Haz has a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he scans you over. 

“Alright,” he sighs and gets up, moving across the room to the kitchen. You keep your eyes ahead, fixated on faded wallpaper in front of you, as you hear clattering and muttered swears coming from the kitchen. 

Some while later Haz is back, a plate of sandwiches in one hand and a steaming mug of tea in the other. “Sorry,” he says, placing it down on the table in front of you, “fucker hasn’t got any milk.” 

You tell him you don’t mind, and thank him for his kindness, before tucking in. Only after having nearly devoured the first sandwich do you fully realize how hungry you’ve been. Haz sits down on the worn leather armchair, leaned forward and resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasped in his lap. It is as if he’s ready to jump into action on the first sign of danger. He watches as you eat. 

“Hungry, ey?” He asks with a smile, as you swallow the last of your sandwich, reaching for the tea. 

“Famished,” you confess. 

For a few moments everything is silent in the darkened room, only lit up by the dim light coming from the kitchen. Outside you hear a car drive by. 

“How did he know of the abduction?” You ask in the end. 

Haz’s mouth tightens into a grimace, as if remembering something unpleasant. “The landlady saw as they carried you out to the car. She recognized you as Tom’s girl and let him know as soon as he came back.”

“How did he take it?” you ask, with reluctance. 

Haz looks away from you, avoids your eyes; the frown on his face growing deeper. “Let’s just say the boy’s got a talent for destruction when he puts his mind to it.”

“Where is he now?” 

“Well, last I heard he was,” he pauses, edits himself in the search for the right word, “he was interrogating someone in Hackney, trying to find a lead of where they took you,” he sighs. And then in a bitter tone, he adds, “I would have gone with him,” another sigh, “but out of combat, unfortunately. So I was put to stay here and wait to see if you’d return. Harry was placed in the pub, much to his indignation; ever the boy of action, while Fabien made Sam and a few others go after Tom. To try and reel him in a little.”

A bang, and then Tom comes crashing through the door. Harrison is on his feet, almost before you’ve registered the sound of the door slamming against the wall, gun in hand and aiming at the man in the hall. When he sees who it is he lowers the weapon and breathes out. 

Your eyes remain fixed on the man striding over to you. It’s like he’s unable to look away from you and as soon as you get within an arm's reach he pulls you towards him. With a hand carefully cupping your chin, he inspects your face, eyes glued to your split lip, a deep frown on his face. 

He turns to Harrison, who just nods at him; the taut frown relaxing and a smile pulling at his lips. “Alright, that’s me done for the night.”

“Harry’s sulking at the pub if you feel like cheering him up,” Tom tells him, still holding onto you. 

Harrison moves to the door, snorts loudly, and says in a voice that sounds done for, “You fucking Holland boys and your goddamn sulking.” And then he’s out, the door closing behind him.

Tom rests his forehead against yours, breathing slowly. “Hi,” he says, voice a quiet whisper. His fingers don’t stop stroking your cheek for a second. Then, “I’m so sorry you got dragged into this.” It’s a savage kind of remorse, real like a physical presence in the room. To think that on this very morning you had laid in bed, wordlessly tempting him into staying there with you for a while.

You should have stayed in that bed forever with him.  

“Is it not your fault,” you tell him, knowing that it’s useless, and true enough, he shakes his head at the idea. 

 A deep sigh escapes him, as if he’s letting out a breath he’s been holding for a long time. You breathe him in, the familiar lemon and cedar soap; the faint trace of smoke. 

“Tonight I’m going to take care of you,” he says, stroking your cheek with his long, ring- clad finger, “gonna make sure that you’re alright.” He presses his lips softly against your temple. “And tomorrow,” he continues, voice hardened steel now, “tomorrow I’m going to take care of him.”

 “No,” you say softly, looking at the floor.  

 Dead silence wills the room for several heartbeats. Then, voice bewildered, “What?”

 He’s leaning away from you, though his big hands are still covering your jawline, your throat. “You can’t go after him,” you say, taking a slow breath, staring at his shoes. Slowly you take in Tom’s appearance for the first time. When he had crashed into the apartment all your attention had been on his face, but now, now you see the state of him. The once white dress shirt he wore this morning is stained with blood and dirt and the sleeve on his jacket has a burn mark. 

Tom pushes your face up to meet his eyes. Reluctantly your eyes follow. “And why can’t I do that?” he asks slowly, through gritted teeth. 

“Because I’m working for him now,” you say, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. For a moment he goes completely still and before he can react you keep going. “He is going after Fabien, he wants to bring him down. He thinks you are Fabien’s weakness, so he’s hired me to become your weakness. He wants to use you against Fabien, and use me against you. I told him yes.” 

Tom lets go of you, takes a step away from you, looks at you with big, wounded eyes. “What have you done?” he asks, sounding almost defeated. 

“I could play this to our advantage, we could -” but he interrupts you with a roar.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? You don’t know these men! You don’t understand what they’re capable of. They’d enjoy murdering you if it comes to that. Jack Flanagan’s the sort of man that would kill over an insult, do you have any fucking idea how badly he’d take a betrayal?” 

“Don’t you understand?” I am working for him now, just as the traitor does. I can find out who it is and once we know, Fabian will kill the traitor and once he is gone he can go after Jack with full force. We can play them against each other, don’t you get it?”

Tom is stunned silent for a moment, thinking over what you’ve said with a horrified expression on his face. “Does he know, does Jack know who your father is?”

You are silent for a long time, biting your lip in worry. “I don’t know. But I think so. I didn’t have to leave my name or address and they still knew where to drop me off.”

Tom looks pale. His eyes big and glossy as he looks at you, shoulders tense as he’s holding himself together. “I see,” he says, trying to remain calm, “so the two most dangerous men in London are aware of your relation to your father and are both more than capable at using that as leverage if needed.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” you whisper.

And he’s in front of you again, holding onto your face, his body pressed tightly against yours, and maybe it’s imagination, but you think you can feel the drumming of his heartbeat underneath his chest; can feel your heart drum back to the beat of his. He’s breathing hard, slowly in and out, and his strong body is rigid, every nerve tense. You know that he’s trying to calm himself down; trying to get a hold of himself and all his fear and anger. Can feel it radiating off his body in waves. 

“I can do this, I can play them against each other.” You don’t know why you are whispering, except that maybe you want to make something in this whole situation gentle, in any way you know how. 

“I don’t like this, angel,” he says, his voice also a whisper, as he breathes slowly through his nose. “I really fucking hate this.”

You know that the road you have begun walking is a dangerous one, no doubt full of menace and doom. But you have chosen your road. “I know,” you whisper back, “but it’s the best shot we’ve got.”

You know, as you stroke his cheek, that you would do anything for him. Because it turns out that you are made up of the kind of never yielding devotion that is bound to end in tragedy, but as you look into his sad, brown eyes, tender as they look at you, you wonder if he isn’t made of the same. 

[nugnthopkns]

i’ll tell you i was wrong if you dance with me

word count: 3.3k

warnings: explicit fem!reader, slightly unhealthy relationship moment (lack of communication), mention of infidelity, cursing, alcohol consumption, a fair bit of angst

recommended listening: fred astaire | adam brock

a/n: communicate with your partners!!! also yeah this is the song from lady bird. it’s a banger

This seriously isn’t happening. 

You never fight with Travis. Communication comes easy between the two of you, but you also make it a priority to talk about your feelings. It keeps things from boiling over; both of you are known to unleash wicked tempers on occasion and have found being direct stops issues from occuring. Arguments still occasionally happen, but they’re typically over trivial things like what movie to watch or where you’re spending the holidays. Travis apparently forgot about the fact you talk to each other about things. 

He’d been upset when he came home from practice, but you were pretty sure he was fine after he woke up from his pre-game nap. Knowing he’s a superstitious person and has a lot of pressure on him to put up points, you had made the choice not to ask about what was bothering him. Throwing off his routine could have detrimental consequences. Tonight's game is tighter than it should have been, but the Flyers come out on top. Travis spends a bit more time in the penalty box than you would have liked, but everyone was getting chippy by the start of the third period. Claude tries to talk to him on the bench but he gets shut down. Whatever Travis was upset about before is still clearly bothering him, and it’s affecting his game. 

You’re following Travis home from the game, and can tell he’s uptight from the way he’s gripping the steering wheel. As you wind through downtown Philadelphia you try and prepare yourself for any bomb that could drop. Chances are that when you reach your apartment things will explode. Maybe it’s nothing; Travis is fine and just wants to be a responsible driver for once. You pull into the free spot beside his car and see him walking towards the elevator, suit jacket balled up and tucked under his arm. This won’t be good. Trying to buy yourself some time, you take the stairs. Seven flights later you arrive outside your door; he left it unlocked, which gives you a sliver of hope things will be fine. 

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” you call into the darkness of the apartment. Your sneakers are left at the door and to retreat towards the bedroom, looking for a sign of life. You find one in the bathroom: the light is on. A gentle push on the door reveals your boyfriend is in the shower and ignoring you. 

“Trav?”

“Yeah,” he huffs, words muffled by him tossing his head back to rinse the shampoo of his hair. Apparently the shower isn’t as relaxing as he had hoped. 

You don’t bother to tread lightly, upset that he’s acting like a child. “You’re being an asshole. I get that you had a bad day, but you can’t take it out on me. I just want to help.”

Travis turns the water off suddenly. “Can’t help if you’re the problem,” he scoffs. 

His statement doesn’t make sense. You’ve done nothing out of the ordinary the past couple of days; nothing that would warrant the behaviour you’re receiving. “What do you mean?”

Shouldering passed you to exit the room, Travis doesn’t bother to respond. You’re beyond frustrated: partners in healthy relationships communicate, not show emotions like grade schoolers. “You’re not giving me the fucking silent treatment Travis. You gotta talk to me.” The bedroom is dark when you enter and you flick the overhead light on to see better.

“You really don’t know?”

“Of course I don’t know,” you seethe. “If I did know we wouldn’t be in this predicament because we’d be solving the issue.”

The glare you receive is sharp enough to cut stone. He pulls on a t-shirt, anger clear in the aggression he does it with. “Why did I have to find out from Carter that you’ve been getting coffee with your TA?”

You’re shocked. In no way is it what he thinks it is. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you sigh, upset that Travis would take someone else’s words at face value and not talk to you about it. 

“I’m dead fucking serious Y/N. You preach communication, but it looks as though you’re the one who hasn’t been doing enough talking.”

The room around you starts to spin. You can’t comprehend what he’s insinuating. “Wait, you think I’m cheating on you?” you ask. There has been a gross miscommunication error somewhere; never in a million years would you think of having an affair.

“I didn’t say that.”

“Well what the fuck did you say?”

Travis tugs at the roots of his hair in frustration. He doesn’t answer immediately, pacing the length of the bed a few times. “I just–” he struggles to articulate his words. “I just said that you’re being a bit hypocritical, don’t you think? You’re standing here yelling at me because I didn’t voice my concerns, but you haven’t been talking to me about what’s going on in your life.” Travis’ tone is sharp, and it stings. 

It’s your turn to show how upset you are. Your hands curl into fists at your side, and you squeeze your nails into your palms before releasing them. “I do tell you what goes on in my life Travis,” your breathing ragged as you try to not lose your cool. “I ran into my TA at the coffee shop yesterday, and he paid for my drink because my card wouldn’t work. Didn’t think it was breaking news, sorry I don’t send you every single fucking life update that happens. What’s gotten into you?”

“You could have been cheating!” 

“But I wasn’t!” you scream, no longing caring about keeping up appearances. You can’t believe Travis would think that. It hurts. “And I never would! You know this”

He turns his back to you, like it pains him to look at you, but you don’t understand why. You're not the one suggesting infidelity. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got to say?” he seethes. 

“That’s all there is to say! There’s nothing to explain, no secret to uncover. I’m not in the wrong here.”

“And you think I am?”

You look at Travis like he has three heads. “Are you serious? You’re the one who’s so fucking upset over a situation that could have happened to literally anyone.” Your tone suggests that you’re exhausted with the conversation, and Travis gets the hint. 

He slinks towards the door, still visibly angry. “I’ll take the couch tonight,” he grits out before tightly gripping the doorknob and shutting the door with more force than needed. 

The bed doesn’t look appealing, full of much happier memories, but fighting with Travis has knocked any and all energy out of you. You gingerly pull back the covers and slip underneath. Tears trickle down your cheek as you toss and turn, trying to fall into some sort of slumber. However, your mind has other ideas, replaying the blowout. You can’t begin to understand why Travis is so bothered by the instance, and more importantly why it caused him to disregard a fundamental part of your relationship. There’s little movement from beyond the door, but you can hear the faint noise of a Johnny Cash record playing from the speakers in the living room. After hours of staring at the ceiling your eyes close and a fitful sleep follows. 

You might have gotten nine hours of sleep, but you wake up feeling exhausted. Fighting with anyone drains you, but fighting with Travis is especially terrible because it rarely happens. There doesn’t seem to be any movement from the other side of the door; maybe he’s still asleep. You refrain from heading into the kitchen, unsure of what will happen if you see him. After nearly twenty minutes you can’t wait any longer to start your day and pad into the main living space. It’s empty: no sign that Travis has been there for many hours. Guess you don’t have to immediately deal with the fallout of last night. 

A post-it note is tacked onto the fridge handle and your heart skips a beat. In Travis’ chicken scratch it reads I’ll see you at the gala tonight. We’ve got media all day and I won’t be back in time for us to go together. There’s no mention of the fight, and you can’t judge from a two sentence note whether or not he’s still pissed off. 

“Fuck,” you groan. “The gala.” Tonight’s the annual Flyers Give Back gala, and you’re expected to be in attendance. It’s not even a charity event; the organization is offering a chance for business men to chat up the players in hopes they continue to donate. You find things like these unbearable and tedious, but Travis does his best to make them enjoyable. Not knowing what page you’re on with him is going to be terrible. There’s a pretty good chance he’ll ignore you if he’s still upset. 

As if someone is reading your mind, the better halves group chat starts to explode. Everyone is chattering excitedly about tonight, and under normal circumstances you’d be excited to see them in such a relaxed setting. It’s been a while you’ve all hung out, but you can’t find yourself to contribute to the conversation. You mute the notifications and do your best to move on with your day. The rest of the morning is spent working on your thesis; mind numbing work that almost makes you forget about everything that happened in the past twenty-four hours. Once you’ve hit an acceptable word count for the day you shutdown your computer and make lunch. 

The grilled cheese sandwich you eat while watching a John Mulaney comedy special fulfills your appetite but doesn’t curb your dread. You decide to call your sister, hoping she can be a welcome distraction. Dialling her number you sink further into the couch cushions, wrapping yourself tightly with a blanket so that only your head is poking out. “What’s up?” she asks, and you hear her shuffle in the background, presumably to move somewhere more private. It isn’t normal for you to call her unannounced. 

You hold it together for approximately two seconds. The tears start and they don’t stop. Every emotion you’ve felt since getting home last night comes to the surface, and before you know it you’re sobbing into the receiver. 

“Woah, slow down,” she says. “Y/N, take some deep breaths.” When your breathing returns to a somewhat regular level she continues speaking. “What happened?”

It takes you nearly twenty minutes to tell the whole story because you’re so distraught. No detail is spared, and you go back much farther than is probably needed. You recount what happened after yesterday’s practice, pretty much the entire game, and the fight that followed. “I just don’t know what brought this on,” you sniffle. “We don’t fight, we talk about things. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at what he insinuated or at the fact he broke a cardinal rule.”

Your sister sighs, and you hear her breath fan in slight annoyance. You’re worked up about something kinda stupid, you know, but you can’t let it slide. “It’s probably a bit of both. So, what are you going to do?”

“What can I do? I know that we need to talk about what happened, but a public event is not the best place to do that. I also can’t not show up or ask Trav to ditch in order to figure this out. We have to be there.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it figured out then.”

You really don’t. “What happens if he ignores me the entire night?”

She laughs and tells you to not to anything stupid, and to take your mind off of things tells you a story about your nephew eating dirt. It does the trick; you’re momentarily distracted and forget about Travis. You talk for a while longer before she has to go. “Miles is crying, will you be okay if I let you go?”

It’s your turn to laugh. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. A glance at the clock tells you it’s time to start getting ready. “I’ve gotta shower and start the process. Beauty is time consuming you know.”

Against your better judgement you open your text messages to see if there’s anything from Travis. His text thread is the same as it was yesterday and you’re disappointed. You had hoped that maybe he’d get bored between interviews and check in. With no new notifications you exit out of the application and pull up a playlist you hope will brighten your mood. The steam from the shower relaxes your tense muscles and warms you up. It’s comforting in the way a cocoon is; you practically have to drag yourself out of the bathtub. 

Your bedroom is cold and doesn’t offer the same respite as the bathroom. The music continues to float in from the hallway, and you allow yourself to get lost in it. It’s been a while since you danced around your room; it worked to cure sadness when you were a teenager. Hopefully the magic hasn’t worn off. You flail your arms, not caring how silly you look since no one is here to see you anyways, and scream along at the top of your lungs. After a few songs you feel better and return to the task at hand. The dress code is labelled as ‘black tie’ on the invitation, but that isn’t what you’re worried about. You own a million dresses for situations like this after being with Travis for so long. You don’t know what he packed to wear, and there’s a decent chance you’ll be pushed together for photos. Clashing colours will look terrible.

A quick glance through his side of the closest leaves you no clues, so you decide to be as literal as possible. Black is a flattering colour and works well with every colour combination. There’s a jumpsuit hanging in the back that catches your eye and you think it’s the perfect choice. After pulling it on you move back into the bathroom to do your hair and makeup. Everything is natural and relaxed; once again for the sake of potential photos. The clock strikes on the hour and you realize it’s time to leave. A pair of heels are slipped on and you order an Uber before locking the apartment and heading to the lobby. You had thought about driving yourself, but on the occasion that things don’t end well with Travis you’ll probably have more than a couple of drinks. 

The entire way to the venue your leg bounces up and down. It’s been years since you’ve been this nervous about being around the team. You’ve been with Travis for a few seasons now, and the organization has become a second family to you. No one is going to know about the fight and you worry they’re going to talk about your solo arrival. The outside of the convention centre is sharply decorated, and your driver lets out a low whistle at the extravagance of it all. “Thank you so much,” you gush, and exit the car. Thankfully no photographers are set up outside, and you dart inside without being seen. 

Once in the main event space, you scan for the bar. There’s no sign of Travis, which should make you more relaxed but doesn’t. What if there was an accident on the way to the venue? You have no idea where he was all or who he came with. Overthinking distracts you from your original goal, leaving you standing aimlessly in the middle of the room. 

“You look like you might need one of these,” Ryanne chuckles, handing you a champagne flute. You gladly accept and down it in two gulps. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, eyes scanning to see if your boyfriend has made an appearance. 

She sees right through your facade of calm and wraps you in a tight hug. “What’s going on?”

For a second time today you explain what happened last night. There’s no judgement from Ryanne as there might have been from your sister because she understands. Dating a professional athlete isn’t easy; things like this happen much more frequently than you’d expect. Perhaps it’s all the time spent apart that makes the occasional lapse in communication so apparent. She listens quietly, full attention on you. To your credit you don’t cry this time, slightly more numb to the situation to due more time passing. It still hurts a tremendous amount. 

“He’ll come around,” Ryanne insists. “TK is a little moronic sometimes, but he’d never jeopardize his relationship with you. You’re quite literally the most important thing in his life.”

 “I know. I’m just upset because the whole thing could have been avoided.”

She offers you a sympathetic smile. “I know.” Ryanne links her arm through yours. “Let’s go find something to snack on.”

You spend most of the night with Ryanne, and occasionally Claude when he can get away from the hot-shot businessmen. Travis eventually came in, flanked by Nolan, but was immediately pulled into the politics of the night. The two of you occasionally sneak glances at each other and you tell he’s uncomfortable. You can only hope it isn’t because of your presence. It’s nearing eleven; the party has become a much more relaxed affair, and the DJ is playing sappy love songs in an attempt to get the media team some good photo ops. An intern asks the Giroux’s if they’ll dance for an instagram story and they both look hesitant. “Go on guys, I’ll be fine,” you reassure. It’s the subtle push they need to enjoy a quiet moment together. 

As if he can sense you’re lonely and feel out of place, Travis approaches you. It’s tentative, like he’s petrified you’ll turn him away, but he comes regardless. Drinks are in each of his hands and he extends one to you. When you don’t take it he sets it on the table behind you. “Hi,” he says sheepishly, fiddling with something in his pocket. 

“Hi Travis.” You’re determined not to let his presence crack your resolve; last night illuminated a big issue and it needed to be dealt with. It’s proving to be difficult because he bumps a shoulder against yours and all you can think of is kissing him senseless. 

The song changes to a Bruce Springsteen ballad, and you recognize it instantly. It played at the coffee shop on your first date with Travis all those years ago. One look at him tells you this isn’t an accident, that he had requested it specifically for the two of you. “Dance with me?”

You sigh deeply, looking him in the eyes. “Trav, this isn’t going to magically fix things.”

“I know, baby, I know,” he pleads. “I fucked up so bad last night because I was being an idiot. I wrote down everything I would do differently if I had a time machine, look.” A hand reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a piece of paper filled with his nearly illegible print. “Just one dance, and then we can go home and talk about it like I should have suggested in the first place. Let me know we’re still okay.”

If you hadn’t been in public you’re sure Travis would have been in tears. It’s not necessarily a good look to cry in front of hundreds of sponsors. He has a reputation as the goofy boy who takes no shit to uphold. “You have a lot of talking ahead of you,” you say, and let him drag you onto the dance floor. Swaying in his arms you realize things are going to be just fine. Travis loves you and you love him; there’s nothing the two of you can’t work through. 

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

taglist: @jamiedrysdales​ @kiedhara​ @tortito​ if you want to be added shoot me an ask :)

[sleepylixie]

1.3k words, Purge! AU, Enemies to (Possibly) Lovers, Beware of swearing

Mastermind! Hyunjin X Fem! Reader​

Music: Ponzona by Purple Kiss, Boca by Dreamcatcher, Double Knot by Stray Kids, Criminal by TAEMIN.

A/N: PART-2 IS HERE WOOP WOOP!! I’m so excited to write more of this, it inspires me so much! ANYWAYS- ONTO THE FIC!

New Dawn Miniseries || Part-1 ||

The Annual Purge: A 24- hour period in which all crimes are legal and emergency services are suspended for the entire period. Government officials designated as “level 10” are fully protected from harm.

March 16th 2021 ( 5 days to the Annual Purge, 2.45 p.m)

The second time you were marched into Hwang Hyunjin’s office, the primary emotion swirling through your mind was not fear or apprehension, but a searing-hot rage. You weren’t dressed in the garb of tattered royalty either- a sleek pencil skirt and blouse adorned your curves, hair pinned in a way befitting of the governor’s daughter. Your teeth were gritted, hands fisted against your sides as you walked the same opulently designed hallways you had focused on not too long ago.

So much for being the future face of the city- it seemed that cavorting with the enemy had now become your only ( rather unfortunate) pastime.

He was dressed exactly the way you remembered 2 nights ago, his suit jacket immaculately pressed and perfectly fitted against the planes of his body. Blonde hair swung gently as he raised his head from work to watch you walk in, his lips once again curling in a frown as his eyes met yours.

The guards who had walked you to the study made their way out of the room, clicking the door shut on their way out. You walked into the study, closer to the table, eyes still narrowed as you matched Hyunjin stare for stare- it was him who looked away, clearing his throat in annoyance.

“Why is it that you insist on barging into places you are not welcome?” He sighed, his annoyed tone only serving to incense you further. It was rare that you were ever this angry, but something about Hwang Hyunjin’s elegant yet brutally infuriating dismissal was all too good at making your blood boil in your veins.

Sliding into the chair opposite his table and crossing your legs, you raised an eyebrow in irreverent challenge, your lips only just concealing the venom you were dying to spit- no, you would sound casual, unassuming instead.

“Are you telling me you have no idea why I’m here, Hwang?”

At that, Hyunjin smiled- a wide, thoughtless grin that would’ve convinced anybody else of his innocence, but not you. It looked like a threatening snarl to you, like he knew exactly why you were here and was, in fact, counting on it-

“Are you telling me I wanted to see you any more than I absolutely have to?” He chuckled and your hands curled into fists against the fabric of your skirt yet again. Oh, this aggravating bastard-

“Are you telling me you had one of your lackeys tail me everywhere for a reason other than that you were curious about me?” You responded, your voice barely, deceptively light, and yes- you finally spotted it. A crack in Hyunjin’s impertinent armour, the same flicker of surprise that had danced across his eyes when you revealed how you got into his stronghold that first time.

“So you caught him after all.” 

“Han Jisung, right?” You picked at your nails, looking for all the world like a woman uncaring. “He told me he was tailing me because you didn’t have enough information to actually kill my father.” 

Hyunjin’s lip curled in derision, expression darkening at your words.

“And here I was, thinking you were here for the sheer pleasure of antagonizing me.”

“I might look like a rich brat, Hwang, but I think I’ve proven to you that I’m more than just that.” 

Hyunjin leaned back, his arms resting on the sides of his chair as he exhaled through his teeth, head cocked to the side as he watched you.

“All you’ve proven to me is that your loyalties are about as solid as your week’s opinions.” He responded evenly, not letting you get a word in edgewise before continuing.

“You sold your father out to us almost too easily. What’s to say you didn’t agree with the way the Faceless handles things and decide to sell us out? Can’t have that now, can we? I value my power in the Faceless much more than I value this...whatever this is with you. I’m sure you understand.”

You swallowed, a chill settling in your veins as he spoke- as much as you were loath to admit it, he did make sense.

“I don’t care what your intentions were, Hwang. I trusted you to handle it yourself, but clearly, you’re missing important information. If you want details, just ask. You do not send people to stalk me.”

“You’re not exactly instilling any sense of confidence or trust in your motives, ma’am.”

“Fucks sake, Hyunjin,” You threw your arms up in exasperation. “I came here that night ready to hand my dad over to you on a silver fucking platter. It was the most difficult decision I’ve ever had to take but this city won’t survive a year without the Purge and the Faceless. I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make sure my father’s plans fall through. No matter what.” You stressed, looking the blonde man in the eye with your last words. 

A stagnant silence passed between the both of you before Hyunjin stood up and you straightened up in your chair, following his movements. He looked down at you, the sunlight from the windows behind him staining his hair burnished gold.

“I think I’d like to set those words in stone, just to be on the safer side.” 

Ten minutes later, you were standing behind Hyunjin, watching as he ushered another young man into the study- one with an aura of intimidation and irreverence identical to Hyunjin’s. It permeated through the whole room almost effortlessly, despite his short stature and unassuming dark hair. 

He grinned at Hyunjin, eyes crinkling as he shook hands with the blond man before he turned to you- it was like the temperature in the room had gone down a couple of degrees despite the late afternoon heat. There was something intensely icy about the way he stared you down like he was scanning your very existence with just his gaze. 

“This is Chris. He’s the...ah, the counsellor. Lawyer, advisor, strategist-”

“Also the previous leader.”

And it all clicked. This Chris character had clearly trained Hyunjin to be his reflection in all ways possible - identical aura, manner of speaking, standing, down to the icy, insolent scrutiny. You held his gaze, nodding in acknowledgement. Steeling your nerves, you willed yourself to think, say something, anything in response-

“Why would you give up your power if you’re clearly still capable of leading?”

Chris’ eyebrows raised, the shadow of a smirk twisting his lips as he turned away from you, leading the way to the table.

“Who said I gave up any power, princess?”

Maybe it was the dark threat the words were laced with, or maybe the words themselves, but something about Chris made your hackles rise, body unconsciously tensing for a fight. It was a struggle to keep your expression neutral as it always was, to keep your body language closed off to a person who seemingly thrived off unconscious conversation cues. 

Chris was dangerous. Maybe even more so than Hyunjin.

As quickly as the moment came, it was gone- Chris cleared his throat, smoothing out his already immaculate suit.

“Hyunjin told me you had details that would help the Governor’s assassination?”

Thoughts raced and eddied in your mind as you looked between Hyunjin and Chris, weighing your options. If this was Hyunjin’s mentor, you were sure he would scent the slightest apprehension from miles away- no point in hesitation now, was there?

“More details than you’ll know what to do with.”

And the identically wicked smiles that graced both men’s faces was a sight to see, a savage look of celebration and sinful glory. Chris pulled a phone out of his pocket, possibly to record your words-

“You have no idea what we can do with details, princess.”

HUUUUUU A ROGUE VILLAINISH BANG CHAN I SCREAM - okay I'm good ( i think) plOT THICKENs!!!!

Taglist: @aliceu​ @decembermoonskz​ @cuokka​ @lavenderbexlatte @straykidsownmysoul @stellarmonsterr @soya-zz @fylithia @bythesunnotbythemoon @luminois @moonlight-hyunjae @melodie-mingi @cotccotc @popisdead @kisskissbanggang @sungieshines @blueprint-han @danyxthirstae01 @leximb1222 @ohmysparkle

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Thank you ror reading! Do let me know what you think! - Elliana

[lizardkingeliot]

So, do those of you currently reading time cast a spell on you (but you won’t forget me) remember that scene in chapter 4 where Quentin shows up for his tutoring session and Eliot says he wants to go to the edge of the campus and manipulate the magic of the wards so they can fly? You know... this one:

Only they never end up making it there because they start bickering the second they leave the library? Well, in the rough draft of this chapter I initially had this scene... ending very differently. And they also weren’t going to fly, they were going to... well. I think I’ll just let y’all read it for yourselves lmao. I think I talked about this a bit on twitter when I was working on the chapter so if it sounds familiar that’s probably why. ANYWAY. I have a ton of deleted scenes from this fic, most of which will never see the light of day, but I woke up this morning with the urge to share at least part of this one so... I guess that’s what I’m going to do.

This is super rough and unedited and honestly not up to my usual standards, but... you know. Rough drafts tend to be that way. It’s also all over the place in terms of tone and where they were at this point in the fic lmao. This might be bordering on crack honestly. Which is why I just scrapped the whole thing and went a different route in the final draft. Anyway. Shutting up now. This is about 2k words so I’m putting most of it under a cut...

—

Trudging across campus two paces behind Eliot, Quentin was stricken by the overwhelming feeling that he was trapped inside a dream. The eerie, quiet campus, lit only by the waning moon and a few dots of light spilling from the various student houses. He looked back over his shoulder, spotting the Cottage in the distance, the dim orange glow of the front bay window swimming in his vision like a boat lost at sea. 

As they approached the outer edge of the grounds, Quentin could feel the magic of the wards, buzzing on the air like insects. Bone-deep reverberations, strains of music swelling from within. He’d never been out this far before. The line where Brakebills ended and the real world began. Where there was nothing but the boat house and the wind. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He breathed in deep, the scent of the Hudson rushing nearby filling his senses as Eliot came to a sudden halt in the dark.

“Here,” Eliot said. Quentin could only just barely make out the shape of his elegant fingers pointing just ahead. “Can you feel the energy? I guess the Naturalists come out here sometimes and use it to light their bongs.” He laughed, a sound that warmed Quentin underneath his jacket at once. “And occasionally singe their own eyebrows off in the process.”

Quentin looked back. They’d come out to a place that the light from the Cottage couldn’t reach. Eliot formed an orb between his hands and pinned it overhead, a grapefruit sized pendant of magic swaying gently in the breeze. He stepped into Quentin’s personal space, giving him the once over. Head-to-toe and back again, settling at last on Quentin’s eyes.

“So,” he said with a smirk. “Cavaleri Animation. My memory of the First Year curriculum is a little hazy, but they’ve dazzled you all with that one already, yes? Turning your marbles into little glass animals, you know the one.”

Quentin nodded. “Yeah, um… but Alice was the only one who could actually get hers to work.”

Swift and warm as a pulse, Eliot’s hand curled around the nape of Quentin’s neck. Heat spreading down the column of his spine like a flame catching a wick. Thumb teasing over burning flesh. Eliot’s lips ghosted over his ear, not quite touching. Still, Quentin swore he could feel his smile. “Well,” he said, soft and dark, “I’m here now. And you’re going to do it. And it’s going to work.”

Quentin’s hand was bunching up the back of Eliot’s cardigan. He didn’t know when that had happened. The hum of the magic was making him dizzy. For a moment, it was impossible to breathe. His body a tight line of tension and desire. Eliot pulled away and Quentin released his hold, staggering a little as he tried to regain some semblance of control.

“Um, okay…” Quentin ran a hand through his hair in a half-hearted attempt at centering himself. “Why, uh—why do we have to do that here? We could have just done that spell in the library.”

“Because,” Eliot said with a tip of his head, “I have a theory.”

“A theory?” Quentin frowned. “You brought me out here for a theory?”

“More of a hypothesis really,” Eliot said with a wave of his hand. “But I think it’s going to work.”

“Great,” Quentin said with an exasperated sigh. “Dicking around with unstable magic in the middle of the night. What could possibly go wrong.”

“Look, it’s going to be fun,” Eliot said with that casual little air of his. “And we probably won’t explode even if I’m wrong. So we really don’t have very much to lose.”

“Okay, I’m—” Quentin threw his hands up. “For fuck’s sake, El, can you just tell me what we’re actually doing out here?”

“We,” Eliot said very slowly, reaching inside his cardigan, pulling a sliver of magenta colored glass out of the pocket of his vest, and looking through it, “are going to tap into all that crazy energy and make your little glass marble friend into a very big animal friend and take it for a spin.” He passed the sliver of glass over to Quentin. “Take a look.”

Quentin stared at Eliot for a very long time before relenting. “You’re actually a crazy person, you know that?”

“I think you mean certified sorcerer genius, but I’ll take it.” He gestured with a nod of his head. “Go on. It’s balls to the wall out here. So much energy we could power a fucking nuclear reactor and I doubt Henry would notice.”

Quentin looked through the glass, moving it from one eye over to the other. At first, it was impossible to make sense of what he was actually seeing. A latticework of stars. Billions of them it seemed, all bumping up against one another in a wild, cosmic dance. A galaxy of intersecting lines and patchwork patterns shimmering like the wings of a dragonfly. And every now and then, a spark. Popping off into the dark like fingers desperate for the night. Quentin handed the glass back to Eliot with a shake of his head.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Don’t be boring, Quentin,” Eliot said. It made Quentin’s chest ache with its normalcy. Like their past couldn’t touch them out here. Like out here with their bad ideas and their wild magic, maybe they could have some hope to start again. “But maybe… maybe don’t make anything that wants to bite our heads off.”

“Okay, so…” Quentin sighed with his whole chest. “To recap: you want to steal unstable magic from the wards of the school where we’re both currently students to make a giant glass animal that hopefully doesn’t swallow us whole so we can… take it for a ride?”

“Yes,” Eliot said, like it was the most obviously brilliant thing in the world. “Don’t make that face with your face. Tell me you’ve never wanted to ride a rhinoceros.”

“We are not riding a rhinoceros, Eliot. Absolutely not.” 

“Well, okay…” Eliot’s hand on his nape again. Heat, fire, a five alarm blaze encircling his neck like a collar. “If you could ride on any animal, real or imaginary—”

“The Cozy Horse,” Quentin said without thinking, heart pounding like hoofbeats trapped inside his chest. “Um… it’s from the Fillory books, uh…”

Eliot laughed softly. “Okay.” His hand slid down to Quentin’s shoulder, gripping it possessively. “Tell me about... the Cozy Horse.”

“Um…” Quentin squeezed his eyes shut, took a breath, shook his head. Eliot’s hand was stroking up and down the expanse of his upper arm and shoulder, making everything go all fuzzy in his brain. “It’s just, uh… it’s this horse that Jane rode on. It’s, uh… really tall. Like a hundred feet. Like a clydesdale on steroids.”

“You won’t ride a rhinoceros but you’re perfectly fine with a horse that’s a hundred feet tall?”

Quentin turned his face upward, trapping himself in Eliot’s gaze. Sinking, flying, falling. Close enough to kiss if he only went up on his toes a little. Tucked inside the safety of his warmth. Quentin wanted to burn, to melt into a puddle at Eliot’s feet and slosh around like muck. “I…” Quentin swallowed. “I don’t think the Cozy Horse would hurt us. It’s basically a giant stuffed animal.”

Eliot grinned, gazing down at Quentin for a long beat before pulling away. “Okay then,” he said, taking a few steps down the path under their feet. “Show me Cozy Horse.”

Quentin reached into his pocket, knelt down, set the marble on the path. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to… harness the magic of the wards.”

Eliot made a circle with his thumb and forefinger, peering through it with one eye. “Just leave that part to me,” he said absently. “Go on. Make your horse. And don’t say you can’t do it. We both know that you can.”

Quentin gazed up the long line of Eliot’s body. Eliot was fully focused on the wards. The sound of night, the crackle of magic. Quentin shivered under his jacket. His hands hovered over the marble, focusing his energy on prepping the glass for transformation with Dempsey's Silent Thermogenesis. Once molten, the marble could be manipulated into almost any shape he could imagine. For the Cozy Horse, Quentin didn’t have much to go on but the memory of a single illustration, and a few lines from The Wandering Dune, but he figured it would probably be simple enough. How hard could it be to imagine a draft horse the size of something straight out of the Cretaceous period?

Quentin twisted the glass under his fingers, so fully focused on his task he almost didn’t notice when Eliot began to move. When, suddenly, through the loop of Eliot’s fingers, a beam of sharp, frenzied magic began to focus on the animal he had half-formed with laser precision.

“You might wanna hurry,” Eliot said. “I don’t know how long I can hold this here.”

Quentin scowled in his direction, looping a bit of the molten glass into the shape of a tail. “You’re shit at communicating, you know that,” he spit, letting the gentle rage rising in his belly fuel his magic. “I thought cooperative magic was supposed to be, I don’t know… cooperative?”

Legs, hooves, the gentle slope of a hulking animal’s back. The wispy tendrils of a mane. Eliot was saying something that might have been a warning. Quentin was too focused on his creation to parse a single one of his words. The magic of the wards cracked like lightning. He could feel it in his hands. Quickly, almost as an afterthought, Quentin gave the beast that had come to life beneath his fingers a shimmering loop around the back of the neck that might have passed for reins if he squinted.

A single hoofbeat on the soft ground. The beam of magic stuttering through Eliot’s fingers died away, and he let out a tremendous sigh.

“Okay so... “ Quentin frowned, eyes flitting from the tiny glass horse up to Eliot’s face. “I don’t think this is going to—”

A flash, a pop, a tremendous wave of heat knocking the air from his lungs. Quentin shoved his body backward off the path and into the grass just as Eliot was running over. Kneeling down, using himself as a makeshift shield as he pushed Quentin further back away from the molten monstrosity shifting and morphing and doubling, tripling, quadrupling in size. A deep rumble, the tinkling of glass. Quentin peered over Eliot’s shoulder, his eyes moving up, up, up, trying to take in what it was he was actually seeing.

The glass horse shook out its mane, rearing up on its hind legs and down again with an earth-trembling thud. The distance from the ground to its shoulder must have been twenty feet. It had no eyes and no mouth, but Quentin swore he could feel its glassy stare boring into him. The light of the orb dangling overhead passed right through the center of its body. For a long moment, everything went perfectly still.

And then Eliot started to laugh. “Holy shit,” he said, his eyes wide as dinner plates when he turned his face to Quentin. “That is a big fucking horse.”

A laugh sputtered out from between Quentin’s lips. “Yeah, um… yeah. Fuck. It really is.”

Eliot’s body pressed right up against Quentin’s body when he turned, and leaned in, so close they were almost kissing. A pulse of heat passed between them. Quentin felt it in his chest like a second heart. “So,” Eliot said, a hand curling around Quentin’s cheek for a fleeting moment before pulling away. “You wanna take her for a spin?”

Quentin felt absolutely out of his mind. Hazy, his body a liminal space. “Yeah,” he said with a short, stuttering burst of laughter. “Yeah, why the fuck not.”

Unreality set in hard as they stood and cautiously approached. Up close, they might as well have been gazing upward at the hulking glass back of a dinosaur. The haphazard reins Quentin had created looped around the beast’s neck like a string of fairy lights. 

“Um…” Quentin laughed, tucking a tuft of hair behind his ear. “How the fuck are we even going to get on this thing?”

Eliot took his hand suddenly, threading their blood-warm fingers together. “Oh, Q,” he said with a full-faced grin, “we’re gonna fucking fly.”

[everything-laito]

damn the brain be out here going BRRRRRR here’s the Laito and Cordelia Analysis (with a little bit of Karl sprinkled in) Part III

wow my fingers are freezing but my brain sure isn't! 

aaaanyways, iiiiiit’s trauma time!!! Am I a productive member of society by writing these analyses? No. Do I gain anything by writing them? Kinda, my brain gets exercised and they’re fun to research for. But if you haven’t read the first part or the second part for some reason (I recommend reading them in order), there they are. 

Once again, trigger warnings still apply; mainly about trauma, isolation, etc 

I’m gonna talk about the trauma and effects it had on Laito and to attempt to extrapolate why he is the way he is. I have a lot of examples I want to go over and stuff to talk about, so I think the trauma part is going to be split between two (or maybe three) parts. I also have a little bit to say about Karlheinz.

As always, big ass rant under the cut! 

Section 6: Neuroplasticity and Trauma

Oh???? More science vernacular??? You BET! Ok, neuroplasticity. I know I’ve talked about it on this blog. But, I seriously doubt that there is a madlad who has read all of my analyses (speaking of which, I should update the master list lmao) and I don’t expect anyone to do that LOL! Anyways, this neurological concept is the ability of neurons to adapt to certain circumstances or stimuli by creating new neurological pathways (through synapses). This basically relates to memory and learning. It’s why we don’t stay the same person as we grow and develop. It’s responsible from mindset changes to response to traumatic events. It plays a huge part in trauma, which is why “repressed memories” occur as well. 

Trauma, taken from Psychology Today, is defined as: 

...the experience of severe psychological distress following any terrible or life-threatening event. Sufferers may develop emotional disturbances such as extreme anxiety, anger, sadness, survivor’s guilt, or PTSD.

It’s a basic definition. And although I’d assume people would know what trauma is already, but knowing the lexical definition of something can be good to know before going into it. 

Obviously, Laito has trauma, there’s literally no refuting that. But, the point I’m getting at, is the reason why he is the way he is today is because of neuroplasticity. As previously stated, we are going to assume the DL vampire brain works similarly or the same as a human brain. So, because of the stress put upon the brain (Cordelia’s actions and Laito’s general upbringing in a stress filled household), Laito’s brain was rewired (neuroplasticity). This section doesn’t really have much new information, but I wanted to give a baseline since there’s many people who don’t know what neuroplasticity is.

Laito’s definitely different than what he was as a kid. He still kind of had his smarts, and might have been  but as we’ve deducted from the first part of this series, he might have been groomed. On top of that, the brain is easily moldable when you’re a child (which is why grooming makes sense for Laito’s case), and continues to snip brain cells off and form new connections. 

Section 7: Little intermission about Karlheinz 

I know I haven’t really talked about Karlheinz yet. So this will be the section that I do it in. I know this part is about Laito’s trauma, but it’s so hard to not just weave other characters into it. Nothing is stand-alone, which is why it was so hard for me to plan this out. I was debating about saving this for another analysis, but I feel like it fits. 

I referenced this in Part II, Section 5 of this analysis series. Basically, Karlheinz throws Laito into the dungeon and locks him up. Not Karlheinz personally, but he ordered someone to do it. We don’t explicitly know why, but there’s several implications. A huge one is that it was part of Karlheinz’ experiment. Before Dark Fate, I was like “wait, so did Karl find out about Laito/Cordelia? And got like jealous or was like ‘nah this shit fucked up no thanks’?” I was really scratching my head on that. But in Dark Fate, you find that Karlheinz knew about Cordelia and Laito, and even really wanted it to happen. Which is all sorts of fucked up. This really put Laito in for a loop. Here’s a scene from Dark Fate: 

Laito: That woman always, always believed in Karlheinz. Laito: She believed he married her because he loved her, wanted her. That’s why she was sure that one day... he will give his love only to her.  Laito: But she was tricked. She wasn’t loved from the start... Laito: -And I’m a victim of this unbelievable mistake... That’s how it is. Laito: I was treated as a vent for her feelings. Yui: ...Laito-kun... Laito: I’m sure he knew that something like this will happen... He is a god after all... Laito: I was hoping that... He just overlooked it up until now... Laito: But... I was naive.  Laito: I was only planned a scapegoat. 

God, when I played this, that just freaking struck me to my core. That’s so awful. Ironically... Karlheinz probably has some high level of emotional intelligence. I don’t believe he could be labeled as a sociopath, considering he has this high level understanding of pathos. He’s not god in a sense that he controls everyone individually himself. He’s so good at manipulation that he basically creates fate itself (whether you believe in it or not). He’s generally intelligent and cunning, and it also just helps with the fact that he’s immortal and can time travel. He knows cause and effect by now, and I believe Lost Eden said something about how he’s done so many different “timelines.” 

The definition of a god in a philosophical sense can be broken down into three words: omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent. More wicked cool jargon! Yay! Here’s what they mean for extra clarification:

Omniscient: All knowing Omnipresent: All seeing Omnipotent: All doing

Sure Karlheinz doesn’t absolutely know everything, nor can see everything, and he definitely has limits to his power, but he has gained knowledge through living for so many years and time traveling; he has familiars which add to the whole “all seeing” part; and he has a lot of power. So basically, in the most semi-”realistic” sense, it would definitely be the closest being to any kind of god.

Karlheinz is probably the reason why Laito himself has such contempt towards religion, and the existence of a god in general. Sure, the boys are like “that shit’s made up by humans” in general, but it would make sense for Laito himself to have that specific hatred. It makes sense that these vampires would be like “oh that’s made up by humans” when they’ve been around forever and have seen multiple religions come and go. (I’m mainly talking about in DL’s lore case, not starting a religious argument; please don’t take it as such––just to clarify)

Section 8: Isolation

Originally, the previous part was going to be about Laito’s isolation being locked up. However, I went off the rails and it turned into that little intermission. This is going to be a shorter section, but I still wanted to talk about, and it will weave into the next section. 

There is no implications about how long Laito was locked up (and tortured) in the dungeon. There’s also no implications about why he was tortured. But torture and isolation puts such stress on the brain that there’s definitely going to be some kind of outcome if persisting for a good period of time. So let’s take a look at what that does to a person. 

Once again, taking this with a grain of salt. I imagine vampires don’t need to rely on social interaction as much as humans do, considering they live forever. But we don’t know. However, throwing Laito into a state of isolation implies that it would be some type of torture or harsh punishment for a vampire, which therefore implies that social interaction is a necessity for emotional function. It’s just sound, inductive logic. 

So now, as for isolation, I’m using this article as reference. It’s a pretty interesting one to read. Here’s another extensive article as well. Basically isolation can cause:

Depression/anxiety

Immune system deficiencies (basically more likely to get physically ill)

Sleep cycle changes (if put underground or with limited natural light)

Hallucinations

Paranoia

Issues with processing information and more susceptible to persuasion/manipulation

We have no clue if Laito’s experience fits all of these. Also, the second one can be crossed out because vampires in DL can’t get physically sick in the way we can. Also, unsure about the sleep cycle stuff considering they are used to being in the dark. Hallucinations and paranoia can’t be crossed off nor proven. 

Being isolated physically and mentally exhausts the mind, which is why it’s also a way of torture. Laito implies that he was tortured with physical devices, but regardless, it’s still stress on the mind. This type of stress definitely goes along with what was mentioned with neuroplasticity and trauma, which also supports the last bullet point: issues processing information and being more susceptible to persuasion/manipulation. Take this flashback from Maniac Prologue in HDB that I used in Part II section 5 (but here’s even more context):

Laito: ーー Let me go!! Let me out of here! Butler: I can’t, young lord. We’ve received strict orders from your father. I am deeply sorry, but please stay put for a while. Laito: What’s the point in having me chained up in here!? Butler: ーーI am very sorry. Laito: Hahahaha…You stupid old man! Do you think that this will make repent!? How foolish! That demon! Has his brain finally rotten from spending too much time with humans!? ー Cordelia appears Cordelia: ー Oh? Laito: …!? Have you come to save me? Cordelia: Oh dear. Ufufu…I’m sorry Laito, that isn’t it. Laito: Eh? Richter: ー Why are you here? Laito: …That’s my line. Cordelia: Okay, okay. No fighting! More importantly, Richter…Come here. Laito: …!? Cordelia: Nnn…Hey, Laito. You are a good boy. Laito: …!! Cordelia: Right, Laito? Laito: Yeah, that’s right. I’m…I’m a good boy after all.  ーー Besides, I’m the type of person who only get more aroused from this kind of thing.

Although I also use this to support the whole Stockholm syndrome point, this could also be supported with the trauma isolation also holds. His mind is being re-molded into the facade he holds. Also, note the whole “do you think this will make me repent?!” part. Just a very interesting thing. The word “repent” implies that there’s something to feel guilty about or the person knows that what they’ve done is bad. It just goes to show that Laito has some part of guilt or moral compass still in tact. 

You can also argue that this scene was when Laito just got locked up, or he’s been here for a while. Either way, he could have also been socially isolated before this too, just hanging around Cordelia like it’s implied when he was a child. Remember the whole not being in bed 9/10 times when he was a child? Yeah, controlled social isolation. We also rarely see Laito with other characters in his flashbacks. I don’t believe we see him with his brothers in any of his flashbacks from what I can recall; he’s usually with Cordelia. Just implies (to me) that he’s around her a lot. And being locked up is also a more extreme case of that, which would mold the brain even more. 

I know that was a LOT to process and read. I sure hope this still is cohesive for you all. I’m pretty bad at organizing this kind of stuff; it’s a bit difficult since it all just goes together. Which, kudos on the writers of DL, because that’s just good writing. I was going to put something about gaslighting in this part, but that might be too long, so I’m going to make that a separate part or include it in the next part. 

If you have any questions, feel free to just put it in the inbox. I’m planning on making the last part of this series answering all the Laito/Cordelia questions I’ve received, or just general questions pertaining to this analysis in general, whether it be tangential questions or clarifying questions. 

Hope you all are still enjoying this ride as much as I am!  -Corn

[lordeasriel]

ATTWN: A Look at Miss Brent

I keep circling around the idea of writing And Then There Were None meta, like a full, proper analysis of the novel, but I just can't settle down on how to do it, cause I do have many thoughts, but I can't seem to organise them in a way it will make sense. But-

I was thinking about Miss Brent today, and she's not exactly a character I have that many thoughts compared to Vera or Armstrong, but she certainly has my interest. What strikes me stronger about her is her complacency, in a way.

Let's look at the novel first: here's this sixty-something woman, a spinster who takes on girls from local charities/orphanages to train them into proper maids or whatever. It's not an unusual thing for that time based on the rest of Christie's novels, it seemed like a common occurrence for the period. At any rate, she's very righteous, uptight, her belief is almost borderline fanatical, she never hesitates over her "innocence" in front of the accusations, and the thing is: she doesn't deny shunning the girl away.

Unlike the others, who remain resilient on their innocence (Lombard the exception cause he literally confessed right away), Miss Brent never denies that she did refuse to help Beatrice. In her own mind, she didn't do anything wrong - and if we're going there, in its fucked up way, she technically didn't do anything wrong. She had no familial attachment to the girl, she didn't have to do anything for her legally speaking; morally, of course, she should have but we don't arrest people for being morally corrupt lmao Let alone death sentence them. *coughs*

But what gets me it's her complacency. You know, I'm blaming this on the windy day, but thinking about her, sitting by herself almost all the time (including when she died), she never does anything. Unlike the others, Vera included considering how Christie often writes the women isolated, Miss Brent never gets involved in either investigating or helping them to find a way out; she just sits and knits and eventually bosses Vera around or say some mean stuff to someone. She doesn't act, which is odd for us as a reader; I mean, if I was in her spot I would have already made a signal for help, even with the bad weather lmao This book heavily traumatised me anyway--

Miss Brent doesn't act, that's my main point. In her head, I suppose she expects some sort of divine intervention, in its way; not a miracle, but you know, she expected her righteousness guaranteed her safety. She sees the other deaths as punishment, she thinks them all guilty, perhaps not the General or Wargrave, but I've no doubt she considers the rest of them wicked and deserving of the punishment, but never herself. She didn't do anything wrong, she has got nothing to feel sorry for. There is a whole section, where Vera asks Miss Brent if she is not afraid or if she simply doesn't mind dying. To which she reacts exactly like I said before, like she was above them all, like death wouldn't come for her.

Now, I will just vaguely go over the show because I think their choice of handling her was an interesting one. I like most of the choices made by show, except the ending which I'll save for another day of ranting, but Miss Brent in the show behaves similarly, but her background gets deeper. For one there was two key things - I say two because I've seen two different interpretations of this - and they were 1) repressed lesbian and 2) predator. Now, these two could coexist with each other, she could have been taking in girls to take advantage of them, but I don't know, I think it would be hard for her to do that always, so I like to think if repressed lesbian was it, then it makes more sense for her crime and her reaction. It would be related to a feeling of betrayal - "I've given you a home, a job, affection and you still went behind my back to be a whore" - and it's something Miss Brent would probably not acknowledge. She was always too religious, too righteous, so Beatrice probably haunted her more in death than she did in life: no one would believe this ragged girl over any accusations - even if there was consent on her part. But that's just beside the point.

What I mean for the show is, they go in a different direction. Miss Brent's reactions over the murders are a little more in line with her religious dynamic for the show: when Tony dies, she makes a little prayer, she worries about Mrs. Rogers state when she sees her passed out (despite the fact she humiliated her earlier over being meek and weak and so on), she has a judgemental attitude towards Vera, but even that comes from a place of almost understanding? She still judges them harshly, but she is a lot less harsh to the ones she consider less harmful (aka she is absolutely distasteful about Lombard, whose crime is easily the worst crime in the show and she thinks so).

Of course, all of her views and beliefs and behaviours are based on her own lifestyle, so she is a bit blind and biased - when Lombard points out about the missionaries crimes in Africa, after she calls him out; or when she states she couldn't imagine crossing paths with a man like him, despite the fact she knows well enough they're all there because they're guilty - so she is bound to hypocrisy every now and again. But her fanaticism from the book is turned into a proper, religious attitude; she does abide by the Bible, she condemns very little her other companions (I mean, she still judges Vera over her youth and her inertia, she judges Armstrong's lack of calm, she judges Lombard because well, because of his Existence™ lmao) She is, of course, judgmental and vain and arrogant, but this is less cartoony and more realistic. More importantly, because her beliefs are much more ingrained in her life, she is afraid. She is genuinely afraid and that is an important, key change that I genuinely like.

Miss Brent has faith, at first, that they will leave the Island, so she stills acts very coldly at first and of course, she still denies her guilt, she still claims she did the right thing and Beatrice caused her own undoing. But, the show pursues the idea that Miss Brent, upon being reminded of the event, starts to feel guilt: when she is praying she hallucinates Beatrice (hallucionation was a choice they did to convey these feelings, but you could just claim that's a memory in her head); and more importantly, before her death - which happens the day after she hallucinates - her demeanor changes entirely. She goes from trying to stay calm and resolute before the tide, to feeling weary. That's important because unlike Book! Emily, she is fully aware she has committed a sin, and now whether that is her neglect of Beatrice's pleas or her own feelings for her, that's beside the point. The point is this woman realises she is very close to meet her maker and the burden of having sinned wears her down.

Miss Brent also adds "It's only wool" when Vera is pouring her coffee (which I had to crop cause Gif size), which is her redirecting her distress to something mundane (in another scene later, Vera mentions how doing the dishes is a mundane task, which she finds soothing. In fact, seeking a sense of normalcy is a recurring theme for the show, but also for the book) and ordinary. Vera, of course, notices her distress over being hunted; she shares the feeling, and I don't want to focus too much on Vera because I'll talk about her eventually later, but this shows how Miss Brent changes drastically.

On their first conversation after the dinner, Vera's impression of Miss Brent is of an uptight, self-righteous, straight-up cruel woman and she avoids her if she can help it, and truth be told, Miss Brent does act very badly and says bad things, Vera is not being touchy about it. So when Vera lays the coffee tray, she is ready to walk away before Miss Brent addresses her (she even makes a dry remark on "There is no milk, I'm afraid", which is meant to spite Miss Brent's earlier attitude over asking for perfect eggs after Mrs Rogers died and so on), and Miss Brent talks so unlike herself, a weariness that makes Vera reconsider and come back, to pour her coffee. She feels sorry for Miss Brent, because she finally cracked like the others; Miss Brent knows now that no amount of faith might defend her from this killer, because this killer has got nothing to do with a justice kill.

She stays seated, knitting again, but when she reaches for the coffee she hesitates. She realises Vera could have poisoned it (before entering the room, since she watches Vera pouring the coffee), and then she puts it down. There is a sense of danger in her, and she has no desire to die, unlike in the book where she so casually just stays behind, unafraid in her own attitude of superiority. I like this change a lot; I think showing her fear before her God enhances her religious mania a lot more, because she truly fears Divine Judgement, because she understands, deep down, that she did a bad thing; maybe not murder - I mean, it wasn't murder after all - but she still did a morally bad thing. If there is a Heaven, it won't be for her.

[deathonyourtongue]

Sanguine Nocturnus | 2

Summary: Even after 2000 years, the world can still surprise you. Pairing: AU!Henry Cavill x OFC Word Count: 3K Warnings: It’s a vampire fic. Death. Blood. Gore. Sex. Horror. Not for the kiddies or the squeamish. I mean it. A/N : Couldn’t leave y’all hanging a week without meeting our main character, now could I?

It was rare that he woke to an empty bed. Rarer still that he woke feeling as though every cell in his body was vibrating. Checking the time on his phone, he sat upright and looked around, keen eyes searching the pitch-black room for any sign of his previous night’s companion. His two dobermans, Phobos and Deimos, marked the spot, the dogs framing the corpse of last night’s entertainment. She’d been a pretty thing, fresh into her 20’s, and still so naive that she’d hung on every word he’d whispered in her ear. 

At least she didn’t die a virgin.

Bending down, he picked her up easily, slinging her over one shoulder as he made his way to the cold room. Too restless to take care of her immediately, he slipped her into one of the five drawers built into the wall and locked the room behind him. By the time he made it back upstairs to shower and dress, her face was already a half-forgotten memory in his mind.

Deciding on an all-black ensemble with a ruby-toned, velvet brocade waistcoat, he showered, dressed and stepped onto the wet cobbles of Rome’s quiet streets, still feeling as though electricity was coursing through him. The moon hung over the Pantheon, looming and casting a reddish glow on all below it.

Feeling none of the restless energy dissipate despite the fresh air, he turned in the direction of the Vatican, needing to take the edge off.

He’d been a customer of the club for years; ever since it opened in fact. Over the thirty years Romulus had been serving the public, the staff had come and gone, but thankfully the owner had stayed the same. Nodding to the man as he came in, the owner automatically motioned for the bartender to set up his drink, knowing his most loyal patron only ever drank one thing; Sanguinem. A blend of wine and other, more secretive ingredients, it was the oldest drink the owner ever kept in stock. The owner had tried it once or twice, always wincing when the metallic taste hit his tongue, always confused by the popularity of the drink among many of his patrons. 

 He sighed as he took a seat at the bar, his blue eyes gazing up at the artwork that adorned the walls. Seldom seen when the club was in full swing, the paintings were recreations of those who had encountered a brutal end. Everyone from Marie Antoinette to Kurt Cobain lined the walls, their images altered to show them post-mortem. Sometimes gruesome and always detailed, each painting was a one-of-one, and if times ever got tough, an easy sell to a discerning collector. 

As the name suggested, Romulus’ atmosphere evoked the age and bloody history of the city it called home. Dim lights, chaise lounges, and arched stone ceilings all lent to the feeling like one were in the catacombs beneath the city. Most nights, the place was flooded with red neon, the gleam of the lights off the dance floor emanating to every other corner of the establishment.

For a Saturday night, the place was oddly vacant, until he remembered that tonight was All Souls’ Day and most of Italy was either in church or in their homes, celebrating the holiday. He had never had much respect for religion, especially Catholicism; as far back as he could remember, the church had been the instigator of more deaths than any other group in the world.

“They can all go fuck themselves,” the patron muttered under his breath before taking his first swig, the bartender giving him a look as though the drinker had just murdered his mother. The owner smiled, knowing the man was referring not to the employees of the club, but to the religious fanatics that kept most of the country in church on a night like this.

“Non è cattolico.” The owner told the bartender, explaining the man’s religious views to the slightly offended man, who nodded in understanding as he connected the cussing to the holiday.

“Non cattolico a tutto.” The patron agreed, his tone low and sharp, his accent different than that of his fellow countrymen.

“Thank you for the drink, old friend.” The man said as he took his final sip, standing to his full height before extending his hand to the owner who shook it happily, his smile filled with the usual wonder that came across his face whenever he observed his patron up close. Although years went by and the world changed, his loyal customer never seemed to age a day. 

No money was ever exchanged, the owner having long ago gifted his patron with a lifetime supply of Sanguinem in exchange for a certain…favor he’d needed done. 

Herminius Calvisius, Henry as he was known these days, had indeed done a few favours for a select few in Italy over the years. Personally, he adored when said favours had to do with the Vatican, for he loved the food there; if you could call it that. 

Food for Henry was not exactly appetizing fare for most others he resembled. Henry's idea of a meal usually consisted of a glass of Merlot followed by a pretty young thing looking for a good time around one of the dark alleys surrounding Vatican City at midnight. He never failed to get a laugh out of the shock that came from the Swiss Guard when they would find the woman the next morning, pale as St. Peter's Basilica, with the exception of two gentle circles in her throat.

 Yes, he was un vampiro, as they liked to call him; a vampire.

Tonight however, the meals would be scarce, and since he was quite selective of his dinner—despite favouring the occasional streetwalker—Henry found his feet guiding him towards one of the few places where blood was a commodity.

Located just outside the Porta Settimiana, the old villa was vast, and most found it disturbing, in a way they simply couldn’t define. It made the hairs on their arms stand, and quickened their step, but if one were to ask, not a single soul could say why they avoided the piece of history. 

To Henry, it was like gazing on the picture of heaven. 

It was the first place he had deemed worthy enough to call home after he became immortal, and it had yet to lose its value in his eyes. Prying open the gate, which badly needed oiling, Henry smiled as he saw Brutus stand from the front door to greet him.

“Hello, boy. It’s been ages, has it not?” He greeted as he pet the mastiff that eagerly sniffed him for bones.

“None today, boy, my apologies.” Henry’s lips turned downwards at the same time as the dog’s, both spending a few more silent moments together before the large black door of the Italianate house was opened.

Had a human have witnessed the action, their blood would have run cold, for like many of the other houses of the period, the front door of this one was unbelievably heavy, usually taking the strength of two men to open. The hand that gripped it however, was delicate, manicured and thin; precisely the hand belonging to the woman he had come to see.

“Lucrezia, my love, hello.” Truly, being in her presence over the years had provided Henry with a great many memories, and fond ones at that, something which was scant for one such as himself.

“Hello, my little hermit.” She smiled. Others in the Roman coven had always called her grin wicked, but to him, it was beautiful and warm; one of the few smiles that had ever pervaded his dreams, turning nightmares into impish fairy tales.

Lucrezia, as her name would suggest, was also Italian, and although younger than him, she had seen the days when Rome ruled the earth—or what was known of it at the time. She had seen several Caesars come and go, and had been just outside the senate when Julius himself had met his end at the tip of Brutus’ blade.

Her hematite locks descended past her shoulders in loose waves, only serving to accentuate impeccable bone structure, a creamy complexion, and burgundy lips she methodically painted every time she awoke. Henry could tell she was feeling dramatic today, as she was wearing an old Roman gown, given to her by a courtier during the reign of Octavian.

“What’s the occasion, Lucy?” Smiling at the intended reaction he got at the nickname, he did not hesitate to kiss her cheek in pardon.

“I do hate it when you call me that, Henry; Makes me sound like a child.”

Indeed to any onlooker, she might be confused for one, Lucrezia having been made an immortal at the tender age of twenty. He did not know her then, but news of her beauty spread quickly among the covens of the Empire, her likeness drawn on both papyrus and walls alike, so that any who felt the need could gaze upon her visage. Henry smiled, remembering how the portraits did her little justice when he finally gazed upon her in the flesh.

“If you must know however, I had company over just an hour ago, and there’s some very exciting news coming from the coven.”

“Will I have to be there?” Henry rolled his eyes, knowing that any news from the coven could only be one of two things; either there was to be a new celebration, or one of the elders had gone to ground and a new one had been chosen to take his place.

“Hush. I haven’t even told you the news yet. Marius was lovely enough to come and keep me company tonight on such a dreadful holiday, and since he had just been to the house, he was brimming with new gossip that I just had to hear. Apparently, Cassius has decided to sleep, and a new elder will be taking his place. According to Marius, this one is…different.”

“Different how?” Henry asked, his interest piqued despite his detestation for any and all gossip to come out of the coven he had so long ago abandoned in favour of a life less formal.

“Well, first off he’s apparently quite…awe striking, fear-inducing, etcetera. A real Roman sculpture is how Marius described him. And secondly, he’s of the…Greek persuasion, if you will.”

Her grin became even more deviant as the two headed inside towards the parlor, Lucrezia immediately pulling a decanter off a small flame and pouring two glasses of blood so good, the scent alone was enough to make Henry’s head spin.

“A boy lover?” He asked, looking curiously at his companion. It was not uncommon for those of his kind to frolic with their own sex, but among the elders and those next in line, it was a rarity, simply because it was a public imbalance among the sexes of the coven and their kind liked nothing more than to appear egalitarian.

“MAN lover, actually. If Marius was looking at the right man, then apparently our next elder has already found a companion in Fares.” Henry raised his eyebrows, indifferent to the news.

“Where do you find them?” He asked, tipping his glass in reference to the fine liquid he soon after began pouring down his throat.

“Oh, you know…The old money, the papacy, the brothels, the usual.” They shared a laugh, both knowing that no matter what a person’s station in life, their blood did little to hide their history.

“Well, my dear, for someone as young as you, you have fine taste.” And with that, he took a full drink, feeling his body reconstitute in seconds.

“Back to this fledgling, my love, and pay attention. The ceremony is taking place two nights from now, at the house, and yes, you must attend.”

Henry tried to hide his annoyance at the fact that despite severing ties to the house, he was still required to go to such frivolous functions, for the sake of tradition alone. For all he knew, the fledgling was already in power, probably getting the youngest members of the house to do his dirty work for him. 

Above all though, he felt bitter that despite his lack of connection, he had yet again been passed over as elder of the coven. It was not as if he were the youngest of vampires. Over 2,000 years old and plenty educated in the ways of the coven, Henry found it an insult to be passed over time after time; it was one of the many reasons he’d separated himself from their ancient ways. 

“How old is this boy lover and what’s his name?” Henry asked, feigning interest for Lucrezia’s sake, only mildly interested in knowing whether this new elder was an acquaintance or not.

“He is a 26, and his name is...Gab-No! Gregory, from what Marius could gather. Do you know him?”

“Is he Italian?” Henry asked, knowing that the chances of this man being familiar to him would increase tenfold if he was of Roman descent.

“When have you known the elders to ever pick a foreigner as the next in line? Of course he’s Italian.” Lucrezia laughed, thinking Henry foolish for even entertaining the notion.

“Well, there was the time when we put in a Frenchman, temporarily. That didn’t go over too well though.” He reminded her, every member of the coven all too eager to forget that one particular mistake in their history.

“And you said he was my 26? As in, older than me?”

“No. 26, as in he was born yesterday,” Lucrezia’s eyes went wide, her gaze speaking volumes to Henry as she took a sip from her chalice. He, like her, was scandalized that they’d pick someone so young to their ways to be the next leading elder.  

Licking his lips, he tried to remember all the faces he had come across in the last three decades, linking each to a name and finding that none of them matched the one he’d been given.

“Unless my memory deceives me, or he has changed his name, I do not know him.”

“Pity, for I was hoping you’d introduce me.” Lucrezia grinned, a single line of blood falling from the corner of her lips, making her indeed look like a celluloid vampire.

Finishing off her chalice, Lucrezia’s blue-green eyes turned to the night beyond her window, Henry smiling as he sensed where the night would go.

“Everyone’s tripping over themselves, naturally; either in love with his youth and beauty, or wanting to maim Cassius for choosing a fledgling who hasn’t even weaned yet, as far as Marius could tell.”

“It’s little wonder Cassius decreed you--” Lucrezia stopped short, her eyes traveling up and over the lip of her chalice, a devilish smirk exposing her fangs as she waited for Henry’s reaction.

“Decreed me to what, Lucy?” Henry asked with a warning tone, one eyebrow raising as he waited for her to spill the rest of the gossip she’d received second-hand.

“Decreed that you will be his tutor in all things...Vampiric.” Her delicate fingers slipped through the air, creating a ballet all their own and momentarily distracting Henry from his own ire.

“He has no power to do so! Lucrezia, tell me this is another one of your humorless jests!” He finally barked, teeth bared as he stood and began to pace around the room.

“I’m afraid not, my darling. If Marius was correct, the decree came with an ultimatum as well. Come to heel, or…” 

“That pompous bastard. He knows full well what he does. I knew it would be another century of trouble once he rose. Had to get one last kick to the teeth in. I swear, if this is still because I told him his mother was a beautiful as a donkey’s prick, I will have his head while he SLEEPS!”

“Easy, Centurion. It’s generally frowned upon to decapitate an elder nowadays. Come, let us slake your lust elsewhere. I ordered in.” Her smile turned even more secretive as she rang a bell next to the snifter, Lucrezia’s gentle hands pressing Henry towards the area of the parlor that she’d long ago turned into something more closely resembling an Andaruni. 

Slipping her hands into the collar of his jacket, Lucrezia helped Henry undress before allowing him to do the same to her, the sweet tone of her giggle as she spun out of her dress completely dissipating any of the lingering anger Henry felt. When they were both nude and relaxed among the many cushions that separated them from the floor, Lucrezia’s day man sent in a feast. 

“Twins! Lucy, you’ve outdone yourself.” Henry’s eyebrow raised for a very different reason as both he and Lucrezia opened their arms for the two young blondes who had been ushered in, bare, and more than a little tipsy if their footsteps were anything to go by. 

“What did you give them tonight?” Henry questioned with a chuckle, reaching up and catching one of the girls before she could crash headlong into the low table that held a variety of accoutrements for pre and post-dinner. Undeterred, the woman found her way easily into his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she did a sloppy grind of her hips against his hardening shaft.

“Just the usual. Bit of Absinthe, touch of Laudanum for the nerves.”

“I owe you dinner.” Henry smiled as he sank into the girl in his arms, watching as she arched back instinctively against the exquisite pleasure he provided.

Moans filled the air before a deathly silence blanketed the villa, two more souls joining the countless others being prayed for on that sacred night.

[thepaperpanda]

~WHEN THE PARTICLE OF GOD PERMEATES YOU~ || Part II

P̵̪̃ȁ̸̩ȓ̸̜ẗ̶͇́ ̴̓͜1̷̺̽

Summary: Without the past you can't understand the present. You meet Higgs Monaghan on your way. Will he help you find out about your past or will he try to use you for his own purposes?

Warnings: None

Words: 3299

Authors: Cass & Rouge

Days had been passing, and the situation remained unchanged.

You were lurking throughout the camp trying to be as productive as it was only possible, however you didn't have many occasions to help in anything as the others were pushing you aside. You weren't surprised though; you were a newcomer, without a purpose or any special skills, and you quickly became Higgs' favourite, which most of his men didn't approve.

Sometimes, it's enough to survive another day, right?, you'd been thinking to yourself.

"Would you look at that? Our little star is doing nothing as always. Why don't you go and be useful? Sucking Higgs off ain't enough here," one of men said grabbing your shoulder. "Why is he even keeping you here?"

Meanwhile Higgs was away, sitting in his bunker. He was trying to come up with some logical theory of how you ended up where you did. How could this happen that you just woken up with no past? “I’ve got breaking news and it’s about you fucking off of me,” you showed your middle finger to the group of men, and in return your gained few chuckles and some more rambunctious comments. When Higgs was gone, they were making a lot of fun of you, always; you hated every minute in the camp without Man in The Golden Mask.

Meantime, Higgs hummed, studding the map and trying to find the place you could come out from. Bridges was the closest point but it made no fucking seans for them to just leave you out there to die.

After a few more minutes Higgs shrugged. "Ah, fuck it. Time to check upon my kittycat." And with that he was back in the camp as he teleported. After stretching his back he called you. "Y/N! Where is my favourite girl hiding?" You were almost outside the camp, sitting at one of the largest rocks, taking notes and sketching the mountains located on the north. You tried to escape from all of the mean glances and comments. “Hey, you,” one of the guards pointed his laser gun at you. “Higgs is seeking  you in the camp. Move your ass to him.” With a loud sigh escaping your lips you closed the sketchbook and pinned your hair in a ponytail. While walking back to the camp, you were thinking about your purpose, it was pretty frustrating that you didn’t remember anything even after such a long period of time.

Higgs waited with hands crossed on his chest. He gave you a wicked smile as soon as he noticed you approaching. “Ah! Here is my lady with no past. I was getting fucking worried you are gone."

“Me? Gone? I have nowhere to go,” you replied to him with disarming honesty. “Good to see you, you’ve been gone for a longer while...,” you hesitated after saying this as you knew he’ll assume you missed him. Thanks Beach he didn’t realize yet it was all true.

"My cute deflowered sweetheart missed me," Higgs chuckled softly with a wide smile, showing the line of white teeth. "I missed you too and I was away, indeed. I’ve been thinking from where you came and I may have an idea."

Hearing his words you tilted your head aside a little. “Tell me?,” you asked.

"Well, my little, sexy kitten might be Bridges' property. Am not sure yet but I sure will find out!," He said loudly and shrugged. "I even have an idea how I will do it."

While you were listening to his words, your thoughts drifted in some unknown way and when you gathered your attention, you gave him a brief nod. “I see.” A deep sigh left your parted lips as you glared up at him. “Hey, I’ve been wondering whether there's something I can do around the camp, I hate how others are making fun of me and the fact that my only purpose here is to warm your cock up,” you rubbed your temples. “I can do anything, bring packages, clean, whatever.”

He chuckled at your question. It was simply stupid. "You are here to be by my side. To be a good girl," Higgs said, gently touching your cheek. "Tell me who bothered you and I will take care of this." A shiver ran along your spine as he touched your cheek; his tenderness was light like a touch of butterfly wings yet his fingers seemed to burn marks on your face. “Forget about it,” you asked him quickly as you dared to put your palm on top of his.

Higgs laughed and grabbed your waist, pulling you as close as possible. "Listen I know you might have a soft heart but it's all about the example. So? Which of those fuckers did it?," He asked again.

You licked your lips and bit the lower one as you got stressed. “If you truly care for me, leave it. I can handle as I don’t care,” you asked him once again while wrapping arms around his chest and nuzzling your head to him.

He squezzed your waist and smiled. "Kitten. You forgot who I am. No one dares to hurt what's mine, even with stupid insults," Higgs summed up and gently pushed you aside to walk to the group of terrorits. He smiled softly looking at others. "Okay! Listen up, fuckers. Which one of you was brave enough to throw stupid words at my girl?"

“Oh my God,” you whispered under your breath as you realized what was happening. You followed him quickly and stood by his side, swallowing hardly while your sight slipped over all the gathered men.

“It was me,” one of them stepped ahead from the group, keeping his head produly up. “Listen, Higgs, we all know that you’re the most powerful of us but it’s fucking rude to be the only one who gets laid and who’s allowed to have a girl around. Most of us don’t like her presence as all she does is lurking around, no purpose, no skills,” the guy continued to speak. “Would be better if you sent her away or killed her. No one needs her around, except you. You’re not better than any of us.”

Higgs hummed listening to the complaints. Then he walked in the line, from left to right with his hands placed behind his back. "If I can be honest. She is more worthy than any of you here but…," he said slowly, rubbing his chin, "But you, bastards, you all are fucking lucky. IT'S YOUR LUCKY FUCKING DAY! Because instead of killing you all and leaving your bodies at Bridges doorsteps, I will fix what you all are complaining about," Higgs announced and looked at you.

You frowned a little at his words.

“So? Will you send her away?,” the man asked, his eyes and you.

Higgs wrapped his arm around your shoulder, pulling your tightly to his side.

"Oh, Y/N, Y/N... You see, these men here are mad at me because I gave you no duties," he let out a loud sigh, petting your hair. "So, from now on, this lovely lady here is my second in command! You insult her - you insult me and trust me fellas, you don't wanna do that. Thank you for the attention, get back to your fucking duties!," Higgs snorted at the men, kissing your cheek, and then walked away like nothing ever happened.

You almost fainted when he claimed you for his deputy. You felt the piercing glances of his men on you and you already knew it would bring even more troubles. After a second of thinking, you ran after him. “Higgs, I don’t think it’s a good idea, I have like… I mean… I’m not as charismatic as you, I can’t command people,” you tugged on his sleeve to stop him from walking. “They already hate me, now it will escalate,” you shook your head. “Let’s face the truth, I’m no one, I have no idea how to… You know.”

Higgs effortlessly picked you up. "If they will, then they will meet the friendly BTs. You are working with me now. Don't worry, I will handle everything."

To support yourself from falling, you instinctively wrapped legs around his hips and nuzzled to his chest. “Thank you, Higgs. You’re doing so much to me when I did so less in return. I have no idea how some people can call you a terrorist or a bad guy. I wish they could spend at least one day around you and I bet they’d agree with me on the fact you’re not only a great, fearless leader but also a charming, caring man.”

Higgs laughed. "I nuked two towns. I want to end the fucking world. No one else but you would like me, dear," he summed up before placing a soft kiss to your rosy lips.

When the evening came, Higgs was positive about his idea. He had to get into Bridges place and dig through their documents. If you’ve ever been one of them, your documents should be there.

"How do I look, my sexy second in command?," Higgs asked, presenting himself wrapped in an old Bridges uniform. "Let's not foeget about the fucking crown," he joked putting the Bridges hat on.

You two were in Higgs' tent. You were laying on your side on his cot resting head on your hand. "You look fucking handsome, as always," you informed him. "This uniform hugs your ass nicely though," you didn't stop yourself from adding. "Are you sure you won't be to assist you? I'm going to be sad while you'll be gone," you slowly sat on the cot.

" I will do it myself. This can't be hard, there is only one lady as sweet as you. I will find it quickly and before you’ll count to ten - I am going to be fucking back," Higgs said improving the belt. "After that, I will fuck you so hard that the whole camp will hear the second in commend screaming under the leader."

A soft chuckle of yours escaped your mouth as the reaction for his statement. "After your return, I'll just take care of you, make sure you eat and drink and later we will cuddle," you told him while getting up. "And if you'll be a good boy, I'll think of a prize." You walked to him and wrapped your arms around him. "Promise me you'll be careful and won't let them catch you."

 "Sweetheart. I feel so fucking hurt right now! I thought you have more faith in me," Higgs chuckled and squeezed your cheek playfully. "Don't make your sweet little face worried about it. They will never get me."

When he vanished you circled his tent a few times before taking a seat in the corner, just like you did the first day when he found you in the cave.

Getting inside was a child's play. Who would mind a porter wandering the corridors? Of course fucking no one.

The archives were a mix of papers and computer data. Going through the second thing was easy, yet your face didn't flash on any document, and it was fine.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe you weren't Bridges. That would be a fucking relief.

After an hour of digging through papers, Higgs was sitting on the floor with legs crossed. He was reading through one of the folders when the ones he read previously were scattered around him like snow.

The door to the archive slides open and Samuel Bridges stepped in; he had to pick some folders up to deliver them to Lake Knot City. He became suspicious when he spotted a mess and folders laying on the floor. As he stepped further into the long room, he found even more documents scattered everywhere. "You. Who are ya and what are ya doing here?," He asked, his tone cold as he spotted a man sitting in the middle of the room.

Higgs didn't raise his eyes until he was done with the folder he was holding in palms, after reading through it he simply threw it over his shoulder.

"Ah! Sammy boy! It's nice to see you again, sorry but I don't have time for a chit chat. I am looking for something," he shrugged, taking another folder into his hands.

 Sam cringed at the sound of the voice, too familiar. It couldn’t be a coincidence. "Higgs? What the fuck?," He asked in disbelief as he walked closer to the other man. "How did you... Ah, right. You jumped through the Beach," Sam replied himself. "Leave it," he pulled the folder out of Higgs' hands.

"You are a smart boy, ain't ya?," He laughed and in another folder he saw your photo.

"BINGO! Here you are, sweetheart!" Higgs said loudly and jumped back to his feet. "Tell me, Sammy boy, do you know anything about a particular porter? Her name is Y/N?"

Sam blinked, he was getting more confused with every second. "What's your problem, Higgs, have you fallen in love? Ah, right, it's hard to make connections when you don't have a heart," Sam grinned wryly at the other man. "Even if I know, I won't tell you, that's not your business since the day you and the tide has turned. Give it back," Sam yanked the hat off Higgs' head.

Higgs laughed and rolled his eyes, tucking your folder under his suit to make sure Sam won't get it. "Well! To your surprise I fell in love. Just like you. Well! But you’re not in love anymore. I bet that wife of yours was beautiful…," He mocked walking around Sam. "But she was blind for taking a chance on ya."

Sam reacted instantly with aiming his first at Higgs' cheek. "Apologize, you useless fucker, and give me the fucking folder back."

Higgs only laughed at the reaction. "Wife and unborn child. Such a shame, maybe that is why you are so sad and grumpy, and developed this phobia of yours," Higgs laughed playfully. "You know what? I like you, you can keep the cap. I have few from the old, good days. It was nice to see you again, Sammy boi!," Higgs licked the tip of Sam's nose before disappearing.

Sam tried to grab Higgs by his Bridges uniform but he didn't manage. Cursing under his breath he quickly left the archive without picking the folder he came there for; he had to inform Deadman about the situation.

You were dreaming about some crazy ass things like dolphins trying to pull you under water when Higgs returned. You were still sitting in the corner of his tent, knees pulled under your chin, your arms wrapped around them as you were rolled in a ball.

Before entering the tent, Higgs took a brief look at the info about you gathered in the folder he stole. He wasn't sure what to think. After entering the tent he looked at you and chuckled quietly, getting on your level by crouching.  Higgs brushed hair off of your forehead and placed a kiss there. "Ding ding, ding! Honey, I am home. Where is my promised dinner?"

You jolted in place, your muscles twitched and you almost screamed. You opened eyes and for a brief second they were getting used to the light of the lamp. When you saw him crouching next to you, you knelt and wrapped arms around his neck, pulling him into the tight hug. "Higgs! I dreamt they got you! I was so... Scared! You're back! Holy Beach, I was so scared." As you were hugging him he could easily feel the beat of your racing heart, even though your suit. "Let me bring you something. I tried to get you pizza but... I failed."

Higgs hugged you tightly, holding you with both arms. "Well, maybe it's because you slept on the floor. I didn't get these fancy pillows and blankets for nothing," he chuckled, rubbing your back. "It's okay, sugar. I will make Sam deliver us some. Look what I got," he said proudly, showing you the folder.

You shivered. "Is this... Is this mine?," You asked him as you sat on the floor. "Who am I then?," You made puppy eyes and looked right into his.

"You are a porter apparently. Ex now, technically. Good one," Higgs summed up. “Y/N. Working for Bridges for 5 years. Fast and careful with her deliveries, open for contacts with clients as well as fellow porters. Went missing in action. Y/N delivered the assigned package yet never made it back to any of the existing facilities. There were no voidouts that could mean her death. No body nor evidences were ever found. Investigation in that case brought nothing, so Y/N is presumed dead but there's still a slight chance of her being still alive. Signed by: Director Die-Hardman," Higgs ended reading the last note in your folder.

You nodded. "So... They're not looking for me... So, in this situation... I can be whoever I want because I think they wouldn't let me get back..."

"It's not that you are kicked out. I bet that as soon as you would get to any of their places, they would take care of you. They think you are dead but with a possibility of return," he explained. "Y/N? I need to ask you something."

You looked at him like a kid would look at the parent. "Yes?"

"Is this a hoax? I walked into Bridges without problem and then? I get fucking Sam Bridges into the archive. My people were doing their job and you come out of nowhere. You don't know who you are yet you cling to me so suddenly," he said with a frown. "Is this a trap? Did they send you to get inside? To get to me?"

You lowered your head. "Even if they did, I don't remember. I told you many times, I have no idea how I found myself outside, all alone, only with a backpack. I'm clingy because... I...," You started blushing so you got up to take a seat on his cot. "You showed me affection, you offered me your generosity, hospitality... You were kind when no one else was. You took care of me and kinda taught me how to survive in this shit."

Higgs joined you on the coat. "You promise me that the note, and your lack of memory isn't just a way to get to me?"

"I cross my heart," you assured him with a serious tone. "I don't care what you have done and why do they want to get to you but God's my witness I won't tell anyone about you." The fact he even could think about you being a spy hurt you much but you kept a straight face.

"I am sorry for accusing you for anything," Higgs whispered into your ear before pulling you on his lap. “Ya know, gotta be careful about some certain things.”

You nuzzled to the crook of his neck. "It's okay, I understand, I would be suspicious too if I were you."

Higgs smiled, playing with your hair. "My little porter," he said with a smile. "Only mine."

You inhaled his scent, the sweet mix of a masculine musk and warmth of his skin. You placed a kiss to his bearded cheek and brushed your against his shortly after. Your arms wrapped around his chest. "Thank you for all you've done to me, for keeping me safe."

"And I will keep on keeping you safe. Not a single fucking Bridges will ever lie a finger on you again. You will stay with me till the end of the world we know," Higgs said, squeezing you tightly.

A sad sigh escaped your lips. "Till the end."

[the-13th-rose]

Whumptober 2021 Day 5 - Misunderstanding

Universe: Currently unnamed horror crossover

Characters: Annie (oc), The Miner (My Bloody Valentine)

Content warnings: Broken bones, vomit (character is briefly said to have thrown up, but it isn’t addressed again)

All of my writing is intended for a teen audience or older, unless otherwise stated! My writing often contains violence, strong language, and/or horror, so please use your head and don’t read my work if you think you might be triggered by it.

Summary: Annie is a young woman cursed to be eternally pursued by Hunters, various fictional slashers that come from the media Annie has seen in the past. She’s sick of the cycle, and unbeknownst to her, so is one of the Hunters, who she’s led to an abandoned factory. The Hunter, however, doesn’t speak, and Annie isn’t willing to pay attention to his attempts at forming a truce, still fully convinced he’s trying to kill her.

Word count: 2,261

Oh, Annie. Unfortunate Annie, whose mother unwittingly crossed a witch in her youth. Yes, a witch who saw fit to curse not the “crosser” herself, but her future firstborn instead. It was a wicked curse, designed not to go into effect until the firstborn reached her 18th year, so that she could become fully accustomed to a fear-free existence before having it ripped away from her. And the effects of the curse? To spend eternity pursued by monstrous Hunters. Annie found herself unable to die at all unless by the hand of a Hunter, and upon meeting her end at the hands of one, she would awaken in the morning of that same day, forced to re-do the events of the day. On days when a Hunter pursues her, Annie would have to survive its attempts to kill her until the break of the next day, or be forced to continue repeating the day until she managed to survive the encounter. This was Annie’s fate. To never truly know peace, for death to never be a release.

So, understandably, Annie had no patience for these Hunters anymore. She’d taken to a more proactive approach to survival, opting to fight back against the Hunters instead of simply running away or hiding. She wasn’t always successful in besting the Hunters, but her infinite re-dos allowed her to train and improve. By now, she’d become quite adept at fighting off and defeating the Hunters that pursued her. In fact, it had resulted in them leaving her alone for longer periods of time than before. Unfortunately, it had also forced them to get craftier. Annie and the Hunters were locked in a seemingly infinite arms race.

When one of the Hunters decided he’d had enough of the endless cycle as well, he saw befriending the cursed girl as his best option for a chance to break it, and finally stop being tethered to the curse. Unfortunately, he just so happened to be selectively mute, which would no doubt make explaining himself to Annie quite difficult.

Fleeing a pursuing Hunter Annie had designated “The Miner”, she soon found herself in the middle of an abandoned factory. As strange as it might seem, Annie had deliberately fled to this location, in the hopes of having an advantage over the Miner. Since he typically attacked with wide swings of his pickaxe, narrow corridors and paths surrounded by broken-down machinery would surely impede his attempts to attack her.

Panting, Annie paused in the middle of the old work floor. “Man, don’t you guys ever get tired?” She called out to the approaching Miner. “Seriously, though, how do you manage to make keeping up with someone for multiple city blocks look so effortless?”

The Miner stopped in the middle of the floor, mere feet away from Annie. Now that she looked closer, Annie noticed that he actually did appear somewhat winded, slouching a bit and breathing a little heavily through his gas mask.

“Guess you’re only as immortal as me, huh?” Annie quipped. She placed her hands on her hips and tried to make herself appear dangerous. “Well come on, take your best shot! I’m fucking tired, man. I want to go home and sleep, already!”

The Miner shook his head, which confused Annie a little. “...No?” Annie huffed. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Why would you follow me this far if you’re not trying to kill me?”

The Miner took a few steps closer to Annie, which she responded to by backing away and reaching for her survival knife, concealed in her pants pocket. Against a pickaxe, it wouldn’t do much good, but that’s what the tight corridors were for. She just had to make sure she led him into them. It didn’t really register to Annie that the Miner had his signature weapon still upon his belt, rather than holding it out, ready to attack.

What is your deal? Annie wondered, squinting angrily at the Hunter. Oh well. Doesn’t matter. I just have to keep you from giving me a re-do. “Hey, if you’re not going to leave me alone, then keep following me. I want to show you something,” she said to the Hunter, as she walked backwards towards the stairs leading up to an overhead walkway.

The Miner was no fool. At this point, he could tell Annie was trying to trick him. All the same, he had a goal in mind, and whatever half-baked trick Annie had up her sleeve wasn’t going to make him give up and turn away. So, still keeping his hands free of his weapon, a gesture he hoped she’d notice, he followed Annie as she slowly led him onto the walkway.

“That’s right…,” Annie encouraged the Hunter. “Right this way…”

The Miner followed her to the overhead walkway. They were both quite a distance from the factory floor now, surely far enough to cause serious injury if either of them were to fall.

“Miner, I brought paper, so you can talk to me for once,” Annie spoke up at last, rummaging in her pockets. “Get closer so I can give it to you. I can’t just throw it at you, that’d be rude. Besides, I wouldn’t want you to get close if I didn’t trust you, right? That just doesn’t make sense.”

The Miner tilted his head at her words, but admittedly, the idea of being able to actually explain himself to her was too enticing. Sure, it could be a trick, but if need be, he could defend himself. Surely against someone like Annie. And so the Miner walked forward, closer and closer to Annie, until he was right in front of her. He held out one hand, waiting for the paper to be placed into his hand.

Annie rifled through her pocket for a moment, and then, when she thought his guard was at its lowest, she swung outward towards him with her survival knife.

The Miner lunged back, stumbling backwards at first, but quickly catching his footing. As he backed away from her rather reckless knife-swinging, he reached for his pickaxe and held it out in front of Annie to block her knife strikes.

“Come on, you’re just gonna play defense this time?!” Annie snapped, fury burning in her eyes. “What happened to swinging your pick through my face? Into my chest? You could knock me off this walkway, easy! Why won’t you try?! You’re being so weird!!!”

The Miner didn’t change his strategy, merely continuing to step backwards as Annie advanced towards him.

“Come on! I don’t want to be the only one on offense, here! It feels weird!”

Lunging towards him, Annie got in a lucky strike and her knife scraped across the Miner’s fingers. In reacting to this, he dropped his pickaxe onto the floor of the walkway. The weight of the impact must have knocked something loose in the rusted, worn metal, because in the next moment, the panel he stood on fell out from underneath him.

Annie had a split-second of expecting him to hang there in the air for a moment like they do in cartoons. Instead, he fell through instantly. The impact noise his body made against the factory floor made her wince, despite her intentions of harming him.

Annie peered over the walkway’s railing to the floor below.

The Miner was crumpled against the floor, splayed out on his back. His legs were bent horribly out of their proper positions. Even from 20 feet above, she could tell they were totally wrecked. This Hunter wasn’t going anywhere now. At least, not any faster than he could drag himself.

Annie looked behind her, knowing she couldn’t leave the walkway the same way the Miner had. She didn’t want to stay up there, either, considering that the rest of the walkway could easily be just as fragile. So she slowly turned around and gingerly, yet quickly, made her way towards the stairs at the other end of the walkway.

The Miner came back to his senses, having been momentarily dazed by the fall. He tried to sit up, propping his body up with his arms. The pickaxe that had sent him plummeting in the first place was lying a good few feet away. When he tried to move towards it, however, he was met with a wave of sharp agony shooting through his legs. Out of impulse, he let out a scream. He turned to inspect the state of his legs, and...was met with disgustingly wrong angles and a small spot of white through a new hole in his pant leg. Recognizing this as bone, he cried out in shock and frantically lifted his mask just enough to expose his mouth.

Annie heard him retch as she reached the bottom of the steps without incident. She lingered by the bottom of the steps for a moment, unsure if she should get near him to finish him off, despite him not looking like he could possibly put up a fight at this point. She walked over to him as he replaced the gas mask and the noise-amplified breaths resumed, heavy and fast.

“...” Annie kept the hilt of the knife gripped tightly in her hand. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” She called out to him. “Maybe that’ll finally teach you to leave me alone, next time you come back. Why don’t you tell your Hunter buddies about this, get them off my back too, huh?”

Annie raised her knife as she stood beside him, poised for the perfect final stab. But as she looked over him, noticed his body language, and watched him flinch away from her final blow, shutting his eyes, which she was only just now seeing underneath the lenses of his mask. And her grip faltered, until she wound up dropping the knife altogether. “Dammit,” she swore, stamping her foot against the floor in frustration. “I really thought I’d be able to do it this time….I’m not really a killer, am I?”

The Miner shook his head, before slouching over and trying to pull his legs along with him. Merely touching them caused him to throw his head back in pain.

“...I guess this would be more of a mercy thing than self-defense at this point, huh?” Annie muttered, mostly thinking out loud. “...Yeah, so I led you here with the intention of killing you as a way to send a message. But I guess I’m kind of pathetic. At least when you’re pathetic, too. Now I can’t do it.”

“...I also didn’t really have paper.”

At this, the Miner shot her a glare, but quickly returned to flinching over his wounds.

“...I can’t believe I’m saying this but...sorry.” Annie muttered, running her hand through her hair. “...You really were just defending. You totally could have killed me back there, but you didn’t, so...dammit, maybe I misjudged you. At least this time, anyway. Because, like, you have killed me before.”

The Miner shrugged half-heartedly, leaning back on his arms and staring at the ceiling, every now and then squeezing his eyes shut and hissing through his mask.

Annie pulled her phone out of her pocket to check the time. “...11:30 pm?” She slipped it back into her pocket. “Didn’t feel that late…” She shrugged. “Well, at least I’ve only got to survive for 30 more minutes. She eyed the knife at her feet, and the pickaxe lying a little ways away. “...Do you need a weapon to...reset?” It felt incredibly awkward to ask, but he did seem to be in horrible pain.

The Miner shook his head, gesturing first to his legs, and then to Annie’s phone. The answer seemed clear.

“...You guys reset at midnight?” Annie guessed, to which the Miner weakly nodded. “...Still, 30 minutes is a long time with something that bad. Are you sure--?”

The Miner shook his head, and started pulling at his clothes, trying to tear off a strip of fabric.

“...Oh. I guess I can try to patch you up for now.” Annie replied, turning around to search for a first aid kit or some kind of fabric to turn into makeshift bandages. “...My clothes are cleaner,” she muttered, picking up the knife and carefully cutting strips from the hem of her shirt. “There’s not much, it probably won’t really help, but…” She started gingerly wrapping the strips around his legs.

He gave a loud, sudden cry when she touched his legs, and screamed at her attempts to set the bones. It was horribly amateur. Annie clearly didn’t really know what she was doing, but it was better than her trying to kill him again, he figured.

“Um…” Annie would have to admit it didn’t look very good at all. “Well...it’s only 20-something more minutes,” she tried to reassure him.

The Miner groaned, leaning back on his arms again.

“...Sorry, again, for being too dense to realize you weren’t trying to kill me this time…,” Annie sighed. “I’m just so sick of all this. Was...was that what you were trying to tell me? That you’re sick of this, too, and you want to form a truce?”

He threw his hands down against the floor in frustration, then nodded.

“...Guess I’m not as good at reading people as I thought. Well, at least you get to reset after all this. If you really mean it, I’m willing to forget about all the times you killed me...you gonna forget about the whole ‘breaking your legs’ thing?”

The Miner sighed, but nodded slowly and held out a hand for Annie to take.

“Alright. We’ll shake on it.”