#and of course olive hears this and is like 'what the hell's wrong with you' and forces leah to take it down

[simstoyourdismay]

i barely take gameplay pics but currently laughing so hard at baby august realizing the possibility of his imminent death

[p0orbaby]

Capitana

summary: alexia gets sick of your moaning. she shows you who’s boss

warnings: no actual smut but suggestive

a/n: there’s spanish in this, i am not spanish, do with that what you will

word count: 1.2k

-

Dating a footballer is strange.

Not strange bad, but strange different.

Their working days don’t follow your typical nine to five. Time off is sparse and sporadic. Traveling for work is just another Tuesday for them. And not to mention the time that isn’t taken up by playing or training or flying is filled with interviews or photoshoots or, nutritional cooking videos?

It tracks. Just about.

Regardless, all of it means that Alexia is a very busy woman. So busy in fact that when she actually does have days off you’d think they’d be filled with, you don’t know, non football related activities.

Meals out. Trips to the beach. Sleep even!

Though let’s not forget who we’re talking about here. Alexia. Alexia Putellas. La Reína.

A day without football? Not a chance in hell.

Hooray for you!

You’re laying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling going slowly insane as the same clip is played over and over and over again.

It’s your own fault really. With almost three years of being together under your belt, how dare you presume that she’d want to spend time with you on her scheduled free day.

You silly goose!

Sorry no, that’s rude. Of course she wants to spend time with you on her days off. She’s told you as much when she gets home tired and achy from training. Or when your hand traces soothing patterns on her thigh as you drive her home from games.

The thing is, Alexia is football and football is Alexia. It’s not just about being on the pitch for her, and you admire her so much for her commitments.

Though as you’ve said, she’s a very busy woman, but you have needs. Extremely desperate, latent needs that only a certain occupied number eleven can alleviate.

It’s your day off too, after all.

You turn your head to find your girlfriend engrossed in her iPad at the dining table. And gosh isn’t she beautiful, even as she frowns in concentration. Intimidating? A little. Sexy as hell? You pray someone shoots you if you ever say no.

You clear your throat to try and get her attention, and not so much as a flinch. You try to not get offended, but what if you were choking? Would she be too busy ogling her own performance to notice?

You try again a little louder just to make sure.

Luckily for you and your safety she acknowledges the noise this time. You’ll live to see another day.

“Do you need water?”

You turn your lip up slightly at the mild irritation in her voice.

“No, nope, all good.” You say as you sit up properly now to face her fully. She’s not even looking at you. “How about you? Do you want me to get you anything?”

She shakes her head, rewinds the video again and locks in her concentration once more.

Jesus this is like Chinese water torture.

“Ale, you’ve watched that same clip for the past fifteen minutes. Why don’t you take a break?”

Finally she looks over at you, and you almost melt when her eyes meet yours.

“No puedo,” she says as she lifts her glass and eyes you over the rim of it. “I need to know what we did wrong so we can work on it in training tomorrow”

You sigh and roll onto your back again.

“But it’s your day off. Our day off” you explain with a huff. “I thought we could spend some time together”

“We are spending time together, no? We’re in the same room, and we’re having a conversation”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it”

There’s silence for a brief moment before you hear her chair scrape and she starts talking again. “Why don’t we plan something for next week? Antes del campamento?”

An olive branch, you suppose. But you’re in it now, you might as well double down.

“I don’t want your attention next week, Alexia. I want it now. ¿Consíguelo?”

Alexia sets down her iPad, her expression hardening. “You know what? I’ve had enough of this attitude, vale?” she says, her tone firm. “You’re acting like a spoiled brat, expecting me to drop everything for you whenever you want. Well, newsflash, that’s not how relationships work”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at her sharp words. “Excuse me? I’m not the one glued to a screen all day,” you retort, a hint of defensiveness in your voice. “Solo quiero pasar tiempo contigo”

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. “Please, spare me the melodrama,” she replies, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “If you wanted to spend time with me, you wouldn’t be making me feel guilty for wanting to improve my game”

You shake your head in frustration. “Improving your game? You’ve been watching the same clip for the past hour,” you argue, feeling the tension rising between you. A storm on the horizon.

“At least I’m trying to get better,” she fires back, her voice rising in frustration. “What are you doing besides sulking on the couch?”

“I’m not sulking, I’m just tired of being ignored,” you shoot back, your temper flaring. “Is it too much to ask for a little attention from my girlfriend?”

Alexia’s eyes narrow as she reaches her breaking point. “Sabes que? I’ve had it,” she says, her voice low, dangerous even. “If you want my attention so badly, then I’ll give it to you”

Before you can react, she strides over to where you’re sitting, her gaze intense, her eyes dark. Without a word, she grabs your hand and pulls you to your feet, her touch sending electric shocks through your body.

From fear or something else, you’re not quite sure.

“What are you doing?” you manage to stammer out, your heart racing with anticipation.

Without a word, she leads you out of the living room and through the house, her grip firm and commanding around your wrist as you’re dragged behind her.

Your pulse races as she pushes open the bedroom door and shoves you inside. The air crackles with tension as she closes the door behind her, locking it with a decisive click.

“Strip,” she orders, her voice leaving no room for argument. Her eyes bore into yours, daring you to defy her. “Ahora”

You swallow hard, your body tingling as if covered in static. Silently, you begin to undress, feeling her stare burning into your skin as each piece of clothing falls to the floor.

Once you’re completely naked, she steps forward, her presence dominating the room. “On the bed,” she commands, pointing to the mattress with a stern gesture.

You obey, this time without hesitation, feeling a thrill shoot through you at her tone. One you only really hear snippets of when you’re watching her from the stands. Authoritative. Demanding. Sexy as fuck.

As you settle onto the bed, she moves to stand over you, her eyes dark with desire. “Hands above your head,” she orders, her voice a low growl. You comply, raising your hands and intertwining your fingers as she watches you from underneath her lashes.

She moves to straddle you, her touch firm and possessive as she runs her hands over your exposed skin. “You belong to me,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “And tonight, I’m going to remind you of that”

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (14)

She ever thought she would be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and the team face a setback in the investigation. wc: 4.6k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

a/n: This one is a beast. I don't usually write multiple scenes in one part but it seems fitting here.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

SPENCER HATED DRIVING. The feeling of confinement, the cacophony of honking horns, and the ceaseless traffic had always grated on his nerves. Yet his line of work often required him to be the one behind the wheel, and usually, he didn't mind, but now the car's interior seemed to close in on him as if mocking his discomfort.

He wondered whether his detest for driving paled in comparison to the regret consuming him. Or was this anger? Was this anger coursing through his body that had him feeling more uncomfortable than he usually was?

He could feel his knuckles turn white as he clenched the wheel. The anger burned hot within him, directed both outwardly at the situation he had thrust into and inwardly at himself for allowing it to happen. He couldn't understand how he allowed his urge to consume him, leading to actions that inflicted pain upon her.

It was consensual on my part.

If that was true, then why was there regret gnawing him? Why was he still angry at himself? Spencer always prided on self-control, that he could resist any urges and avoid causing any harm. But tonight he had shattered that belief. He had let his defenses crumble and now he had to deal with being the one who painted those bruises on her skin.

The shrill ring of his phone sliced through the heavy silence inside the car, momentarily diverting his thoughts. He glanced at the caller ID on the dashboard's console, seeing a familiar name flash on the screen. With a hesitant sigh, he pressed the answer button.

"Where the hell have you been?" Garcia's voice filled the space, her frustration was palpable even through the speaker.

He gripped the steering wheel a little tighter and cleared his throat before responding, "I got caught up in something."

She let out a sound of frustration. "You can't just disappear like that, Reid, we've been trying to get hold of you."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry," he said, his voice filled with genuine regret. "What's the update?"

"Oliver Walsh is nowhere to be found," a third voice cut in, who Spencer caught on as Hotch's. It seemed they were in the same room. "Morgan and Prentiss are checking his house."

"They found anything yet?"

"There were countless photographs of our witness—candid shots, close-ups, and even pictures taken from a distance."

His chest tightened, his jaw clenched, and his teeth ground together as the anger surged through him. He felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks, his face contorting with the intensity of his emotions. It was as if a fire had ignited within him, each flickering flame fueled by his frustration.

But beneath all that, he could hear the uncertainty in Hotch's voice, the contrast between his usual commanding presence and the hesitant tone in his words.

"What is it?" Spencer asked cautiously.

"The pictures were taken professionally." There was a pause. "There isn't a dark room in his house or any sign that he possesses camera equipment."

There was a momentary silence on the line, broken only by the sound of the road beneath his tires and the occasional distant siren. Spencer took a deep breath. "Do you think he hired someone?"

"Based on his victims, he seems to prefer working alone."

"He could have a hideout," he suggested, his grip on the steering wheel tightened as he navigated through the quiet streets. "Criminals often use secret spaces. It gives them a sense of control over their environment where they feel safe from prying eyes."

Hotch hummed a sound of approval. "Hideout location often has a sentimental value. Garcia, find any places that might be mentioned in his files."

Spencer's ears picked up the distinct clatter of keyboards in the background.

"There's a church where his family used to go to... but it's still open to the public so no... oh, the house he grew up in? No, it was sold a few years ago—wait, I found something." Garcia paused, allowing a brief silence to settle in as the sound of keys clicking continued. "There's an old article mentioning an abandoned warehouse that he and his group of friends used to frequent during their youth, a secluded spot for underage alcohol consumption."

"Where's the location?"

"Give me a minute." Garcia typed away, her fingers dancing across the keyboard, summoning information that surprisingly only took her twenty seconds to retrieve the location. Spencer counted the exact time. "It's not far from here."

Then suddenly, she let out a sudden shriek. "Hotch!" There were footsteps in the background followed by fingers frantically flying across the keyboard. A sound of frustration left her lips not long afterward. "Damn it!"

"What happened?" Spencer asked in an alert. "Did you find something?"

"I-I've been trying to tap his phone, you know, trying to locate him in case he decided to turn it on, and I got a signal before it disappeared again."

Spencer asked, "Can you retrieve the last coordination it located?" At the same time, Hotch cut in with, "Can you trace it back?"

"Hold your horses, boys." With a series of rapid keystrokes, Garcia initiated a deep scan on her laptop. The seconds seemed to stretch as the scanning progress bar advanced before a notification popped up on the screen. The location data had been recovered.

"Oh my god." Her eyes zeroed in on the coordinates, and she quickly cross-referenced them with a map application to get a visual of the area. "It's six miles away from the warehouse."

Hotch wasted no time after receiving the information. "Reid, check the location. I'll coordinate with the tactical unit and dispatch a team of officers to assess the area. JJ and I will meet you there."

"I'm on it."

"I sent you the coordinate," Garcia mentioned, the same time his phone pinged with an alert.

"Don't do anything until we get there," Hotch reminded him. "And Reid?"

He hummed a reply, notifying that he was listening.

"I need you to stay focused."

His eyes flickered over the console. As much as he didn't want to admit it, Hotch's reminder struck a nerve. His words, though well-intentioned, were a stark reminder of the fine line he was walking between his personal struggles and his professional responsibilities. He sat there, and the call quickly cut off before he could even reply.

The noise of the bustling street faded into the background as his thoughts began to spiral, repeating his mentor's words, his expectations of him weighing heavily on his shoulders. Spencer shook his head, trying to ground himself. The case was important, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles jeopardize his work.

He slowly took a steadying breath, forcing himself to compartmentalize, a skill he had honed over years of dealing with high-stress situations, and silently drove toward the coordinate Garcia had sent over.

Y/n hated crying. She despised the way her throat tightened, constricting her voice as if it were trying to strangle the tears before they could escape. The way her chest heaved with each silent sob. Her hatred for the involuntary quiver of her lip and the trembling of her hands was as potent as it was irrational.

The irony wasn't lost on her, when her boss was found lifeless on the floor that day, she had stood strong, her eyes dry, absorbing the shock without a single tear. Yet, here she was, broken by the rejection of a man who had once held a fragment of her heart. It was baffling, the way he had become the chink in her armor, the one who could shatter her composure.

But could she even call that rejection? To be rejected there surely had to be some form of confession and she was one hundred percent sure she hadn't conveyed anything that indicated her affection for him... right?

Use me in any way you like.

She groaned into her pillow. To be fair, that wasn't a confession. And to be fair, he did exactly what she asked for—It just happened that it ended the exact opposite of what she expected.

With swollen eyes and a heavy heart, she finally pushed herself out of bed. The room was shrouded in darkness, with only the faint glow of streetlights seeping through her curtains. As she rose from her tangled sheets, she felt the weight of her emotions as her thoughts went haywire.

She couldn't stand being alone at the moment. Her own thoughts seemed too loud, too suffocating. It felt like the walls were closing in, and every moment alone was just another reminder of how lonely she felt now.

That was why she reached for her phone and dialed Sandy's number, that was why she properly got dressed as she waited for her to arrive, and that was why she quickly rushed over to her front door when she heard the constant knocking. But as the door swung open, an unexpected sight froze her in her tracks.

Standing there with Sandy was Eric wearing a bemused expression. Her mind whirled with a mix of emotions–surprise, confusion, and a hint of embarrassment. She hadn't expected her to bring someone else, and now they were all standing at her doorstep, an unusual trio in the midst of an unanticipated gathering.

Sandy, sensing the tension in the air, was quick to speak up. "Oh, um... I brought company?"

"You brought Eric," she replied, her voice wavering slightly as she tried to mask her surprise.

Eric, ever the easygoing coworker, greeted her with a friendly nod and lifted the plastic bag in his hand. "And I brought Chinese. Hope you don't mind me tagging along."

For a moment, she hesitated, struggling to find her footing. It wasn't that she didn't like him, he was one of her good friends at work, which meant something because most of the men she worked with were chauvinistic, sexist pigs. But she did plan on having an emergency Margarita Night with her friend when she made the call. Although she couldn't find herself to send him away—not when he was looking at her expectantly—so she managed a hesitant smile and stepped aside.

"Come on in then." She tugged the door open. "The more the merrier, I guess."

Eric's eyes studied her distraught face as he walked in. "You okay? You look..."

"Bad?"

"I wouldn't say bad."

"I bet you wouldn't say good either."

He frowned as if trying to choose the right words. "You look stressed," he decided to say. "Everything alright?"

She paused, torn between opening up about her feelings and maintaining a sense of privacy. But in the end, she chose honesty, if only to ease the awkwardness of the situation. "Not really. I don't want to talk about it though." She motioned them into her living room. "What were you guys doing together anyway?"

"Eric has been stopping by at everyone's place in search of Oliver," Sandy responded, already making herself comfortable on the couch. "My place was his recent quest."

Y/n turned to Eric. "You still haven't heard from him?"

He shook his head, a mix of concern and frustration etched on his face. "No, not a word. That's why I decided to put in a missing person's report."

"What?" Sandy chimed in. "When?"

"This afternoon." He settled onto a nearby chair and turned his attention towards Y/n. "I met with Dr. Reid. You remember him, right?"

Remember him? They were here because of him in the first place. "Yeah, I remember him." She then shook her head, dismissing her personal feelings for the time being, and refocusing on the conversation. "You think Oliver's gone missing?"

Eric's concern was palpable as he replied, "His phone is off, his family is unreachable, and his house is empty. I'm starting to get worried."

Sandy's brows furrowed with concern as she leaned forward. "That doesn't sound like Oliver. He wouldn't just disappear without a word."

"That's what I've been trying to say."

She glanced between the two and listened as they continued to discuss the possibilities of his whereabouts. But as they did, Y/n couldn't help but feel that something was off, that there was an air of strangeness and suspicion surrounding his sudden vanishing act.

Her thoughts wandered to the peculiar way Oliver had always been interested in her, and her mind couldn't help but draw a parallel to her own situation, where a serial killer seemed to have an odd fascination with her. The pieces of the puzzle seemed to align themselves in her mind, forming a picture that was both unnerving and hard to accept. It sounded almost silly, like a twisted plot from a suspenseful thriller. It was all too surreal to be true.

She quickly shook her head, trying to dispel the disturbing thoughts, clinging to the hope that her mind was simply playing tricks on her. Because Oliver, her good friend Oliver, wouldn't do something as sinister as murder... right?

Spencer arrived an hour later. A single, isolated warehouse stood in stark contrast to the surrounding desolation, tucked away in a remote corner of the district. He parked his car discreetly before stepping out of the vehicle, his footsteps making a soft crunch on the gravel beneath his feet.

His breath hung in the crisp night air as he scanned the area meticulously, the slightest detail not escaping his analytical gaze. The warehouse stood against the backdrop of a vast, starlit sky, its silhouette imposing and enigmatic. Dim light spilled out from the high windows, casting long shadows that danced eerily on the surrounding ground.

Suddenly, the distant rumble of an approaching engine reached his ears. He turned sharply and was greeted by a convoy of vehicles making their way toward the warehouse. As they drew closer, he recognized the familiar silhouette of his unit chief behind the wheel and JJ seated right beside him.

The vehicles came to a stop, and the officers quickly disembarked, their footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. Hotch approached him, his expression grave but determined. "We need to split into teams. Reid, you take point with me. JJ, coordinate with the other officers and enter from the side."

With a nod from him, the officers sprang into action, fanning out to explore the warehouse thoroughly. Spencer and Hotch approached the building cautiously with a flashlight in one of their hands and their weapons in the other.

The front entrance was partially obscured by a tangle of overgrown weeds and graffiti-covered walls. Spencer stepped closer toward it, his footsteps echoing louder in the silence. He hesitated for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He had faced countless crime scenes and dangerous situations, but there was something about this abandoned warehouse that seemed eerie.

His mind immediately kicked into gear as he followed Hotch into the building. They stealthily moved from one corner to another, examining the objects that had been left behind in this desolate place. Piles of old crates were stacked haphazardly, their contents long removed or forgotten.

They came across a set of stairs that led to an upper level, and without a word, they ascended, their footsteps echoing on the metal steps. Upstairs, the darkness seemed even more suffocating, and the sense of isolation heightened. His flashlight landed on a stack of old files on the floor, their pages yellowed with age. He picked one up and flipped through it, but it appeared to be nothing more than old inventory records.

"There's nothing in here," he whispered. "We should check the other side—"

"Hotch! Reid! Over here!"

JJ's urgent voice alerted them and they both descended the stairs, her voice reverberated through the cavernous space. Spencer stepped into the room down the hall, his flashlight illuminating the scene before him. His steps then faltered, the sight that greeted him sent a shockwave of alarm through his already heightened senses. They had found him. Their suspected Unsub was right where they had predicted.

But he was lying in a pool of blood.

Oliver's unconscious form was a stark contrast against the cold, concrete floor. JJ was already at his side, checking his pulse and issuing urgent commands into her intercom for paramedic assistance. "Stab wounds," she announced to the room. "He's still breathing."

His mind raced as he took in the situation. How had Walsh ended up in this state? Who had inflicted the stab wound? And what had brought him to this remote area?

But his attention was soon drawn to the second startling discovery—the writing on the wall. His flashlight revealed a message scrawled in front of them, seemingly written with blood. He took a step closer, examining the writing carefully. The texture and consistency of the blood suggested it had been written recently.

Proverbs 14:8

Hotch, who entered the room with the rest of the team, observed the scene with a steely resolve. He instructed the officers to secure the area and preserve any potential evidence as paramedics rushed inside. His eyes scanned around him and he noticed Spencer's intense scrutiny of the message on the wall.

Spencer recited the verse as he heard footsteps approaching him from behind. "The wisdom of the prudent is to give thought to their ways, but the folly of fools is deception."

"Any idea what it means?" Hotch asked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Spencer furrowed his brow, his mind racing through possible scenarios. "It's a message to us. The verse underscores the idea that wisdom involves careful consideration of one's actions and beliefs..." And then his voice slowly trailed off. "...while deception can lead to foolishness."

The words hung in the air, its implications weighing heavily on his mind. It was a declaration, a challenge, and a warning all at once. His mind raced to make sense of the situation. Who had written this message? Was this a desperate act from Walsh himself, or was there another player in this dangerous game they had been entangled in?

His stomach dropped.

That was it.

"It's a trap."

His mind then processed the surreal scene before him—the injured suspect, the message scrawled in blood—it was increasingly clear that this wasn't a straightforward apprehension; it was a carefully orchestrated plan, and they were mere pawns in a dangerous game. And as the realization began to grip him, his anxiety surged. There was only one thought in his mind.

With trembling fingers, Spencer pulled out his phone and dialed the number he had kept in his phone but never seemed to use. The seconds felt like an eternity as he anxiously waited for her to pick up. His mind raced with a thousand scenarios, each one more alarming than the last. Hotch stepped closer as he noticed the dread in his eyes.

"Reid."

There was only silence on the other end of the line. She wasn't answering. The fear that had gripped him intensified, and a knot of dread formed in his stomach. He tried again. There was still no answer. His hands began to tremble uncontrollably as he clutched his phone, the device suddenly feeling like an anchor pulling him deeper into a sea of fear.

"Reid."

As panic began to surge, he dialed Officer Anderson's number next. His trembling fingers pressed the buttons, and he held the phone to his ear, there was no response—no ringing, no voicemail, just a disheartening silence. His panic intensified. His chest tightened, and each gasping breath felt insufficient, leaving him feeling suffocated and—

"Reid!"

He exchanged a glance with Hotch. "I-I can't reach her," he said, sounding defeated. His palms grew clammy as he tried to regain control while he leaned against a nearby wall, attempting to steady himself.

JJ stood up and approached him. "Reid, take deep breaths," she urged, her voice calm and reassuring.

Spencer tried to steady his breathing, but his lungs felt constricted, and the air refused to fill them properly. He felt lightheaded, disconnected from reality, as waves of panic washed over him. JJ placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Focus on your breathing," she said, her voice calm and reassuring. "In and out."

But the words struggled to penetrate the fog of panic that had enveloped his mind. His thoughts spiraled into a chaotic mess of fear and helplessness. The walls of the warehouse seemed to close in on him, and he gasped for air.

JJ guided him to a nearby crate. He complied, allowing himself to sit down as his trembling hands found the edge of the crate, fingers gripping tightly as he tried to steady himself. She crouched in front of him, her eyes meeting his.

"Spence, look at me. We're going to find her, but I need you to breathe, okay?" His gaze met hers, and he nodded, albeit shakily. He knew that he couldn't let his panic consume him, not when there was a chance of her being in danger, not when there was a possibility of her being taken away—he quickly shook his head.

The warehouse's oppressive atmosphere seemed to recede as he concentrated on his breath. Spencer became acutely aware of the controlled chaos unfolding around him. Hotch's firm and authoritative voice as he started to make calls, the flashlights dancing over the walls, and the low murmur of voices filling the space. He closed his eyes briefly, attempting to center himself.

But as he waited to regain his composure, the minutes felt like hours, and the fear of losing her weighed heavily on his mind.

Please, let her be safe.

"Y/n!" Sandy's voice called from the other room, prompting her to emerge from the bathroom. "Your phone keeps ringing."

"Can you check who it's from?"

Sandy checked the caller ID and responded, "Unknown caller."

She let out a dismissive sigh and started to head back into the room. "It's probably just spam."

But then, Sandy's voice broke the silence again, this time with a question that hung in the air like a heavy cloud. "This might sound crazy, but do you think Oliver has anything to do with Jamison's death?" Her breath hitched at the unexpected question. She turned to face her friend as she continued, "Just think about it, Oliver went missing right after the murder. Don't you think that's a little suspicious?"

Eric's frown deepened, and he interjected, "Don't say that. He could be in danger for all we know."

"I forgot you're protective over him." Sandy turned toward Y/n, who stood in the middle of the room, caught between their exchange. "Did you know Eric and Oliver grew up together?"

Her frown deepened as she processed her words. "You did?" She asked Eric, her tone marked by surprise.

He shrugged, his casual demeanor unchanged. "We weren't exactly friends. We just grew up in the same community."

She continued to express her curiosity. "Why haven't I heard of this?"

"Because it's not important? Like I said, we weren't even friends."

Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of surprise mixed with a tinge of confusion. "I've known you both for what, two—almost three years now, and neither of you mentioned this?"

Eric dismissed her concern with a simple explanation. "It's not really a secret, though. We just don't talk about it." He then glanced over at Sandy. "I mean, she knows."

"It's really not an interesting topic," her friend agreed. "Why does it matter?"

She found herself grappling with that very question. Why did it matter? Why was this information tugging at her concern more than it probably should? She couldn't quite put her finger on it, but something about this felt unsettling, like a piece of the puzzle that didn't quite fit, and it left her with an unsettling sense of curiosity.

In the end, she decided to let it go, at least for now. She shook her head, dismissing her lingering thoughts. "I... never mind."

She dismissed the topic and left the two to talk as she entered the kitchen, her steps echoing in the quiet space. The room was bathed in the soft glow of the dim overhead light, casting elongated shadows across the countertops.

With a sigh, she made her way to the refrigerator, its white exterior gleaming faintly in the light. As she pulled the door open, a cold gust of air rushed out, ruffling her hair. She bent down and stared into its content. While her unanswered phone calls continued to chime softly in the background, her eyes scanned along the stacks of drink lined across the shelf.

"Do you guys want a refill?" She called out, her voice breaking the silence that had settled in the room.

She waited for a response, only to be met by silence.

"Eric! Sandy! Do you want a refill?"

There was still no answer.

"...Guys?"

It was then she realized the gentle sound of conversation from the other room had stopped, replaced by an eerie quiet that seemed to envelop the entire house. The only sound that persisted was the soft, persistent ringing of her phone in the background. Slowly, she began to stand, her movements deliberate and cautious.

She froze in place, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she heard a sudden sound of something heavy hitting the floor. It echoed through the room, breaking the eerie silence that had enveloped the house.

But it wasn't the thud itself that startled her, it was the deafening silence that followed, as if the very world had gone mute. The absence of any other sound, the stillness that hung in the air, was unnerving. It felt like the calm before a storm, the hush that precedes a revelation, and every instinct in her body screamed at her to be cautious.

Her breathing became shallow, and she strained her ears, hoping to catch any sound that might offer an explanation. "Sandy?" She took a step forward. "Eric?"

She slowly merged from the kitchen, her cautious steps carried her down the narrow hallway that led to the living room. The silence pressed down on her felt like a heavy weight, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards beneath her.

A sense of unease settled over her as she stepped into the living room. At first glance, everything seemed eerily normal. The furniture was in its usual place, the soft glow of the lamps still casted a warm hue across the room. Yet, amidst this apparent calm, her eyes landed on a sight that sent a shock of fear coursing through her veins.

A gasp caught in her throat, because there, on the floor, lay Sandy's unconscious form, her body sprawled in an unnatural position. The room seemed to close in around her as she rushed forward, but before she could even move, she felt a sudden, oppressive presence behind her.

A heavy arm closed around her waist in a tight grip, and another hand pressed firmly against her mouth, muffling any cries of surprise or fear. She struggled, her heart pounding in her chest, as she was pulled backward, away from Sandy's prone figure.

"Hey, hey, don't move." A hushed and urgent voice whispered in her ear. She froze, her heart still pounding, her eyes wide with fear. "Shhh, it's okay. I'm not going to hurt you."

It was in that terrifying moment that she realized a cloth was held over her mouth, and with a gasp, she inadvertently inhaled something that left her world spinning. The room seemed to blur and distort, shadows swirling into a chaotic dance as her body went limp.

The last thing she recalled was the persistent sound of her phone ringing before everything went black.

>> NEXT PART

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[fan-goddess]

Teat of Family Wealth

Authors Note: Short af but I thought of it on my work break. Enjoy the drabble I guess

Taglist: @valeskafics, @omgbrcat @humanpurposes, @watercolorskyy, @blue-serendipity

Warnings: None apart from the occasional swear mixed in. Oh, and probably ooc Michael but who gives a shit?

Felix Catton, is a rich cunt sucking directly of the tit of old familiar wealth, and somehow, he doesn’t even know it.

Though to be fair, you yourself have no idea how you managed to wind up being his friend. Considering that compared to all his other mates, you were probably considered poor. Even though compared to all the non-rich shits in school, you were probably seen as well off.

You’d met Felix on the first day of Oxford, wandering around blindly looking for your introductory class to English. And of course knowing your luck, Felix Catton walked right up to you asking if you were lost, and to your gratitude at the time, you were grateful as he directed you were to go. Even blushing at the fact he insisted on putting his number in your phone, just so you could text him if you ever got lost again.

Though from there, you have no idea what happened. As the next thing you knew, you were trailing along after Felix and hanging out with his friends like some sort of fucking puppy, too afraid to leave the comforts of what it knows and go see the world. You knew you were being absolutely pathetic. A desperate bootlicker practically whining for some sort of attention and validation from someone deemed powerful in this world.

It was probably though why you found it so easy to recognise yourself in Oliver Quick. Another desperate nobody that was all but begging for some attention from the so proclaimed ‘big dogs’ of Oxford.

Though his eyes, those were different from yours. His held a type of longing that was directed only at Felix. Compared to his, your eyes looked like you wanted to kill him.

You don’t know how he met Felix, but by the way he came over to the table in the pub after Felix had called him over was nothing but eager. Oliver had been quick to move, grabbing his drink and practically skipping over. Even though you know you saw someone with him at the table earlier.

“Oh wait are you with anyone?” Felix asked, strangely empathetic as he stared at Oliver. Oliver turned around, and you could clearly see the person he’s just been sitting with in a confusing but funny looking shirt awkwardly waving to him, obviously wondering what the hell happened when he’d gone.

“No, they just left…” Oliver replied, ignoring the poor boy who slowly drops his hand and his head, obviously sad at the sudden loss of his drinking partner and so called friend.

It was so sad to look at, that you move to quickly finish your pint, and stand, offering Oliver your seat as you walk away. You can’t hear if anyone objects. If anything, they probably don’t care about you enough or even at all to even notice.

“Hey! How I roll guy!” You yell, and to your surprise, he actually turns around and gives you a judging glare rivalling even Heras.

“What?” He grunts, his brows furrowed as his eyes rake over your whole body, as if he had the ability to see every one of your insecurities.

You take a deep breathe, oddly nervous. “Oliver Quick is a bootlicking cunt and quite honestly, you deserve a much better friend than that puppy.”

There’s silence between you two, that’s only broken by the odd drunk fuelled talk coming from the direction of the pub, and eventually, by a small hum coming from the guys lips.

“You’re not wrong…” He says, smiling as he no doubt thinks over what you just said. “Though, I suppose the same could be said about you. Don’t you hang desperately on the rich buff arms of your own bff Felix Catton?”

“Felix is as much as my friend as I am friends with my own shit.” You bluntly say, and to your surprise, he begins chuckling, even slowly beginning to physically shake with laughter, while you stand there awkwardly waiting for him to stop.

“Can’t say you’re wrong comparing good old Felix to good old fashioned excrement!” He grins, finally calming down and fixing his glasses which had gone wonky in strangely enthusiastic laughter.

“Wanna grab a pint on me?” You can’t stop yourself from saying it. This guy in front of you, as brought more of a good conversation than any of the people in Felixes friend group ever could. At least this guy laughed at your sense of humour. The others just exchanged awkward looks and fake laughs.

“Sure, why not?” He shrugs, walking in some random direction and leaving you to stand in the path on your own.

“Where are you going?!” You shout, cupping your hand over your mouth while you grin at this unexpected turn of events.

“The pub! First rounds on you bootlicker!” He shouts back, an equal looking grin on his own face that to your surprise, you can’t help but find strangely pretty to look at in this lighting.

“Yeah yeah Roll boy!” You shout, slowly beginning to run after him as he huffs out another low chuckle. Maybe this would be the start of a good friendship? Or maybe this would be your doom? All you knew, is that you really needed to learn this guys name before you buy him his drink.

[bisexualbrainrots]

sooo I was in the shower listening to dua lipa and got this idea. it could follow the kiss probably, but in short: oliver and lou had a fling but fought around november, they’ve been away since then and oliver traveled across the country, lou gets a call around the week he’s back in l.a.

The book wasn’t bad, not at all, but Lou was regretting the spur of the moment purchase of a self-help book. He tried to concentrate, he really did, but his mind kept drifting away to the same reason he bought the book in the first place.

He reached for his phone, about to log onto his Instagram, until he got a call incoming.

He was calling.

Lou cursed under his breath, Why haven’t I blocked his number yet? he thought

Because you still miss it.

Despite the way his body was screaming at him not to answer, he swiped green and put the phone on speaker, the book in his hands as he tried to get back to it.

“Hi”

He rolled his eyes, “And why the fuck are you calling now?”

Lou knew he sounded hostile, But what more could you ask when the last time they talked it was through an unresolved fight? When the asshole didn’t admit he had been in the wrong, when he didn’t want to admit that this pattern was damaging for both of them.

“Well nice to hear from you too Lou, I’m doing good, thanks”

There was no way he was going to concentrate on the damn book if he kept hearing that stupid voice. Lou threw the book on the bed and laid flat on it, feeling the softness of the duvet.

“Oliver I’m not in the mood to entertain whatever this is, What do you want?”

He heard a sigh and something else he couldn’t pick up on, but it didn’t matter to him.

It wasn’t supposed to matter.

“Okay, uh, Lou I was calling to apologize, like actually apologize”

Lou was baffled “And you wanna do this over the phone?”

Oliver scoffed “Hey at least I want to talk, you're the one who cut contact with me”

He ran his hands through his hair, this guy was making him crazy.

It’s true that Lou cut contact with Oliver after their fight, he thought it was the logical step. Who cares if they were sleeping together? Who cares if they’d spent months of their lives, an entire summer, learning all their weak spots and how their bodies moved? Who cares if Lou had ultimately caught feelings for somebody he knew was never going to reciprocate them?

“Yeah, because I thought I could trust you”

There was a silence a little too long, and Lou thought he had hung up.

“I’m sorry, okay? I-I know it was shitty of me to say all those things to you, and, I understand now you were struggling so much it’s just… I’m really sorry Lou”

He bit his lip, his eyes wide shut “You know what’s so fucked up about this?... I had to show you all the things they were saying about me so that you could believe it, a-and you knew about it”

“I didn’t know all of it Lou, I just—”

“You just what? Knew all your co stars were being harassed and did nothing? I get it, it’s not your job to defend me, but I thought that we… that I could be…” Lou sighed, feeling his eyes burn as he fluttered them open “I thought that the fact that we’d been fucking meant something to you”

He heard a hitch in Oliver’s breath and a muttered “Of course it meant something Lou, for fucks’ sake” 

“Then why… forget it, I’ll hang up”

“No! Please, Lou, bloody hell you’re like a mule sometimes” he sounded exasperated, like Lou was the most stubborn person he’d ever met.

Lou blinked “That is not making it any harder for me to hang up, jerk”

He heard a deep breath “Look, after we ended things I did something… I traveled”

Lou frowned “Like abroad? I mean, good for you if that’s—”

“No, not fucking abroad, I… went across states on my van”

Now Lou was confused, a surprised laugh escaped him “You what?”

He could see it though. The mental image of Oliver travelling across the country with a car, his camera and a dream made him smile, which quickly turned into a frown as he realized what he was doing.

“Yeah, I don't know, I just… I wanted to be in with my thoughts for a while” any other day Lou would've rolled his eyes at the phrasing, but right now he was intrigued “And I thought that traveling on a van would be good a-and it was… and so I had time to think, about us”

Lou sat up on his bed, looking intensely at his phone “And?” he asked, elongating the word.

He heard a nervous chuckle “God, I miss you, I miss… this, and I know I was an arse there's no doubt about that, but it's just… I'm really sorry”

Lou clenched his hand around his shirt. It was all so painful still, avoiding Oliver for over a month only helped to bury his feelings, but it was like burying them in sand. And now the ocean was bringing it back to the surface.

“Lou, you there?”

“Y-yeah it's just… shit, I miss you too”

He was a weak man, there's no other explanation for what he was doing. 

Lou knew Oliver was smiling on the other side, he could just feel the corners of his lips curling up and his teeth showing through the phone call. And it was making him feel things.

Things he hadn't allowed himself to feel for weeks.

“If you wanted, maybe we could meet up one day, and have a better conversation than this” Lou nodded, even though Oliver could not see his face. 

“Okay, sure”

He heard Oliver exhale deeply, like he had finally found a bit of peace after all this time. Lou was envious of that. 

“Lou?”

He hummed as a reply, loud enough for him to hear, as he laid back on his bed. His cheek resting on the heel of his hand.

“Don’t you miss it sometimes?”

He frowned, looking intently at his phone “Miss what?”

“My hands on your body”

He heard the record scratch in his brain, feeling a little… offended? Conflicted? Aroused?

Aroused was definitely in there, but his pride was stronger at that moment. 

“Oliver are you serious—” he stopped when heard a groan that made him grip at the bed “What are you– Oliver”

“I’m not really doing anything, just… reminiscing” he pulled his reading glasses up to his head and covered his face with his hands when he heard that voice, the one Oliver did whenever he wanted to get something from him. 

Which always ended up being related to his dick somehow. 

Lou pushed the heels of his hands to his eyes, shaking his head at the ideas that were forming in it, “You cannot just… damn it Oliver, where are you even?” 

Oliver chuckled, now he really wanted to punch him “I’m seated and safe if that answers your question”

“It really does not” he threw a short laugh, letting his hands rest on his belly “... What are you wearing?”

He was just a man in the end, a weak one, but a man nonetheless.

Oliver's soft laugh felt like music to his ears “Just, a simple shirt and sweatpants… nothing under if you were asking yourself that”

“I was not, thank you very much” he sighed, his hands finding their way under his shirt, caressing his happy trail “I do miss it”

“W-what?”

“I… I miss your hands on me, I miss your body and the way you used to say my name, Oli”

He hasn't called him like that in a long time.

“Fuck, Lou… I miss all of that too, I-I really miss all of you it's… fuckin' hell” he heard a hitch in Oliver's voice, and now Lou was definitely wondering what was going on on the other side of the line. 

So he pressed.

“Touch yourself Oli, over your clothes” he heard a whine on the other side and chuckled “Now that's another thing I missed about you, I missed hearing you desperate for it” 

His own hands traveled to his crotch, pressing on it with the heels. His toes curled when he heard a moan come out of Oliver.

“Shit, I… I'm not desperate” he liked to do that, to fight Lou off and bicker until the only thing they could do to shut the other up was with their mouths.

“Sure you aren't”

“W-where are you right now, Lou?” he looked around, appreciating the fact that he was completely alone at the moment. 

“My bed, obviously, I was actually trying to read a book when you called” there was a pause on the other line.

“You have your reading glasses on?” Lou adjusted the glasses and smiled, remembering the times Oliver had seen him with them on. 

“Yup” he said, exaggerating the p sound.

Oliver groaned “God, you look so hot with those glasses, makes me want to…”

Lou smiled as he heard the soft sigh come out of Oliver’s mouth. The younger had a thing for Lou’s glasses and it was sort of endearing. Even though it always ended up with the older’s soul getting sucked through his dick, but it wasn’t something he couldn’t manage. Sometimes he put them on on purpose, just to tease.

Lou took off his shirt, his body heat making the layer of fabric feel uncomfortable “Touch me? Fuck me?” one of his hands went up to his chest, caressing the area.

There was a whimper, and Lou moaned softly at the sound “Fuck, yes, I just… I just want to feel you once again Lou”

“You could if you were here”

Oliver snickered, “Is that an invitation?”

Lou rolled his eyes, smiling playfully “Not unless you find a way to convince me that is a good idea” the thought of the younger coming to his place made him sigh in content, arching his back as he lowered his pyjama pants down to his thighs. His free hand went towards his hard cock, and started to jerk himself off.

“The thought of me inside of you wouldn't be convincing enough?”

He moaned loudly, throwing his head back on his pillows as his hips rolled against his hand, going a little faster at the idea “Oliver… fuck”. The images of the younger lifting his hips to get a better angle and touching every part of his body made him squirm.

“What are you doing right now Lou?” Oliver’s voice reached a new level of deep, making Lou rock his hips with an intensity that made the bed squeak.

“Fucking my fist Oli, I also… I also don't have my shirt on” he cursed under his breath when he heard a needy sound come straight out of Oliver's throat. He smiled knowingly, the fact is that the younger also had an interest in the older's chest, the dozens of bruises he left in the past were proof of it.

“God… grab your pec Lou, do it like I would, c'mon” 

He did so, grabbing one of them with a tight grasp and then kneading it like dough as he stimulated his nipple. 

“Oli… Oliver I don't know if your hand's still over your clothes but pull your dick out, fuck, I want to hear you”

“Lou— shit, ah, okay yeah I'm… fucking hell, I want to be there with you Lou, you have no fucking idea what I'd do to you” a wet sound made Lou's eye roll and bite his lip in a way that made him taste blood, his palm slick as it was being covered with precum.

“I know you’d love to be here Oliver… to have your head between my legs as I fill your throat with me, and you'd… you…” He couldn't find the words, the pleasure making his brain melt out of his ears.

“I’d let you fuck my throat Lou, pull my hair and keep me there until you’re satisfied”

Lou moaned loudly, blabbering a trail of yes yes yes as he stilled his hips up, pumping his cock with a firm grip.

“... Then I'd fill you up, fucking you until you come a second time, fuck, h-how would you want to take me Lou?” Oliver's breathing was agitated, he was close, so close, and Lou was too.

Lou whined “Riding you in reverse, bouncing on your cock while you leave marks up to my shoulders— holy shit, I-I’m gonna come”

“Come for me Lou, c'mon do it baby”

And the pet name does it. He arches his back so much it could snap, and comes in a guttural scream, spilling all over his hand and lower belly as his body spasms. He rides the orgasm wave as he hears the loudest moan come out of Oliver, and milks himself dry. 

“Did you… did you just call me…?” his chest was heaving, body covered in a layer of sweat as he stared at the ceiling, dumbfounded.

“I did, yeah… w-was that okay?” Lou's cheeks blushed. They had never called each other by any pet names, too intimate for the kind of relationship they had. 

He smiled and looked at the phone before taking his leap “Baby… I like it, would you like that I—”

“Call me like that, please” Lou heard Oliver sigh, and it only made his smile grow wider. 

They were idiots.

Lou sat up, leaning towards the nightstand and opening the drawer to take the toilet paper he kept for situations like this. He cleaned himself and giggled as Oliver complained about his cum stained clothes “Hey, you could've taken them off like I did Oli”

He heard a grunt and knew the younger was probably rolling his eyes, “Maybe, but I—” a noise made Lou frown, and he turned off the speaker, pulling their phone towards his ear to listen well, without much success. 

“What was that?” he asked when the younger returned to talk to him..

Oliver chuckled nervously “Oh, just… one of your neighbors”

“What?!” Lou looked out the window as he straightened up, wide-eyed “Where are you?”

“In my van” he sounded embarrassed, and Lou couldn’t really blame him, even though it all felt unbelievable to him.

“Oliver… you've been outside this whole time?”

Oliver chuckled “Can’t seem to stay away, right?”

He laughed, almost hysterically. He couldn't believe the younger had been there this whole time instead of knocking down his door. Though he supposed it made sense, in a weird way that he understood.

He doesn’t think he would’ve dared to knock on Oliver’s door had the tables been turned.

Once he’s calmed he pulled up his pants and walked out of his bedroom “Come in”

“Oh I will, baby” Lou rolled his eyes but laughed softly, shaking his head as he approached his front door.

“Shut up”

And they were back to where they left, tangled bodies and whispers in their ears.

Neither of them knows if the cycle will repeat, or if they’ve found a way to break it. All they know is that they couldn’t stay away from each other for too long.

Not even if they could help it.

read on AO3.

[docholligay]

Choose your own adventure: July

I cna't speak to the quality of it, but I did get this month's DONE. I'm going to be honest with you: I worked really hard at this. I know the transitions are a little wonky and I'm not sure the blocking works, but that's not the point of this exercise and STUFF HAPPENS HERE. 4300 words.

“My client has passed a cognitive test that puts her beyond the understanding of an six year old, Doctor.” 

They might have been a bit too hard on Ollie--Oliver, she supposed--for having the audacity to go to law school and learn how to sound posh. It didn’t mean he was too good for the East End. Aunt Lily and Uncle Clive were bursting with pride. It was only them, she and Parvati and Florrie and Raj, who had decided it was wrong of him. Who picked at him.

“And whatever you may believe, they are capable of parsing reality and imagination,” he looked over his glasses at the doctor, “even in working class London.” 

Right. She definitely owed Oliver an apology. A series of apologies, more like. He was terrifically nervous. He’d half-lied his way to Lena’s side, and severely tested the legitimate half. He was in over his head. 

But wasn’t that the most Oxton thing of all, to be in over your head and plow ahead anyhow? 

The doctor smiled. “Of course. But given the traumatic experience she’s had, Mr. Parekh, it’s reasonable to assume that--and Lena, this happens even to the strongest of people--”

Condescending prick. 

“There might be some level of instability. The mind is a fragile thing. Hallucinations--” 

“I’m not cracked.” She shook her head. “I’m not.” 

“You alright over there?” 

“Hearing and seeing things is a common part of--” 

“Lena.” 

“It ‘appened, and it was real, and I’M NOT INSANE!”

“Well,” Doc leaned over and picked up the knife, “I wasn’t gonna say that, I was gonna say you look like you got off the world a minute. But, okay, you’re not insane. Understood.” 

Lena wiped her face. A thin mist of sweat. She shook out her hands, tried to stop the trembling. She hadn’t thought of that day in years. It came to nothing. He’d been removed from her case shortly after. There wasn’t even a note in her personnel file. No one thought that. No one thinks that. 

“I’m all right.” 

Doc’s eyebrows raised, accompanied by a huff. “Yeah, you look it.”

You’ll feel better when you eat. You’re hungry and tired, is all. You don’t feel it, but you are, I promise. Right. What had she even heard? She hadn’t heard anything, nothing, whatever it was that said to hurt Doc--if it had even said that, she couldn’t remember all that well, it can’t have been that--had just been a memory or something fluttering thorugh her mind. She had a busy mind. Always had. Right, right. This place is safe. There’s nothing to be afraid of here. 

Lena’s eyes flicked upwards to Doc, and she took a deep breath. She rubbed her hands together and offered up a shrug and a smile. 

“Need to eat something. Sorry.” 

Doc cut off the prolonged stare and nodded down to the pot in her hands. 

“Can I interest you in some intensely mediocre soup? Thank god canned food’s salty as it is or we’d be up shit creek. Bland as all hell, still.” 

Lena jumped down off the counter and picked a handful of spoons out of the drawer. 

“Brilliant. As an Englishwoman, I crave disappointment.” 

She looked down at the spoons. All perfectly matched, all with a letter engraved heavily into the end of the handle, all covered in tarnish. She frowned a little at it. Fareeha wouldn’t like it, the spoons looking so dirty, even if it were only tarnish. The last thing she needed right now was to hear another lecture about impressing the representatives of the Kaioh family, as if they hadn’t already decided what they were going to give. As if it weren’t just all a game to see what they could get out of it. 

But Fareeha was still her friend, even if she was aggravating and fussy. This meant a lot to her. Fareeha did a lot for all of them, Lena included. She scrubbed at the bowls of the spoons with the edge of her t-shirt, a few of the bits of greyish-black fading under the effort of her scrub, but a thin veil of tarnish remaining over the silver. The handle would have to stay black as it was, but Lena would do her best for the business end.

She helped Doc gather up everything and headed back to the group, trying to ignore the glint of the knife under the moonlight, and the quiet humming song of something she could not quite identify. 

___

It wasn’t much, but it was dinner, and that would have to be enough for now. If anyone wanted to question us on it, they could damn well get something else themselves. 

“I ask you something?” 

She met her eyes to mine, unwavering and intense even as the fire drew out them out bright. They were nice. I’ve always liked brown eyes. I’ve made a study of the ways they’re different from each other, like people always seem to do with blue eyes. Hers were that sort of russet color, that looks a little reddish when the light hits it just right. 

“I guess.” 

I shrugged, and put another ladle of soup into a bowl, and passed it the whole thing to Minako, who took it from my hands with a strange sort of caress. She stared at me as she walked back over to Haruka, like she wanted to pin me to a mounting box and cut me apart. 

“Where did you come from, exactly?” 

“Montana. It’s in the US, right up by Canada. Yellowstone and all that.” 

“That’s not what I meant.” 

I knew damn well that’s not what she meant, but I’m not used to having the point pressed on me in these sorts of situations. I don’t even know how to handle it. This is the weirdest dream I’ve ever experienced, and the longer I sit here in the house with it, the more real it seems. The more I want to go home. That’s a risk, isn’t it? You fall into a story, and you never want to leave. It builds itself around you, and it tells you the things you want to hear. It’s a horror story. 

I suppose that would make more sense if I was having even the slightest good time. 

Lena shook her head and grinned. “Not trying to be--you’re the only one I don’t know, right? ‘Ere.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket. “This is me girlfriend. Girlfriend, like I’m in school.. Partner sounds odd, though. Rubbish, not to have the right word for ‘er just yet, but I will, and soon. I ‘ope. Emily. I miss ‘er. Funny, innit? ‘aven’t even been gone too long.” 

She didn’t have to tell me who it was. Not that Lena could have known that. A picture of her and Emily, bright-eyed, red-headed, the two of them nestled together under an errant bough of mistletoe in what could only be one of a dozen Christmas markets. Lena’s bright blue and burgundy scarf--her cousin had made it, I knew--was well-loved and pilling, but it looked cozy against the chill, and complemented perfectly Emily’s purple knit beret. They looked so happy. 

“She’s pretty.” 

“Right?” Lena took the phone back from my hand. “Don’t tell ‘er she’s too good-looking for me, even though it’s true. Less she knows, the better.” 

She let out a bark of laughter, which shattered into a million pieces and echoed off every surface in the room. Mina and Haruka turned to look. Fareeha and Angela paid no attention, normal as the peal of the bells of the church down the street. The smile stayed. Whatever weird thing she’d been worried about in the kitchen seemed to have been forgotten in the thought of Emily. 

“So, you ‘ave anyone? Like that?” 

“I’m married, yeah.” 

Lena looked at the fire, thinking for a moment and then letting out a little huff. 

“Right so, I love ‘er. I would do near anything, for ‘er. And she loves me. I want to marry ‘er. I’m proposing in a few months. I want you to know. I want you to know she loves me, and I don’t want ot ‘urt ‘er, and that’s why I’m going to ask you something I don’t really want to ask. Makes me sound mad, it dones, and it will, but I ‘ave to.For Emily.” 

“Do you want my blessing, or--”

She turned back and gave me that same wide-eyed, intense look. 

“Are you ‘ere to kill me? To ‘urt me?” 

Holy shit. I felt a sledgehammer hit my chest, and I desperately looked away from her, trying to take in a deep breath that wouldn’t come. Staring at the shadows thrown on the wall. No, I’m not here to kill you, but you do have to die. Not today. But not that far off, either, if I’m right about where you are in life. I have to take you from Emily, and from Winston, and from your entire family who adores you. Your arc is complete and your death is essential to Fareeha’s larger growth as a person, I hope that comforts you as your body falls apart beneath you. 

I felt a little bit like an asshole. 

I chuckled, though. “Ain’t you supposed to be a big Overwatch agent? What exactly am I gonna do? I’m a writer. No,” I clapped her on the shoulder and squeezed, “I’m not here to kill ya. Not even a little bit. I like you, for starters. I like you a lot. 

“That’s outside of the--you want to know what I’m doing here? I saw a once in a lifetime opportunity to see people I’d been writing about, in a human sense. That’s all. I lucked out, and I know it’s weird as hell, but fuck, hasn’t everything today been? ” 

Lena laughed, rocking back on her heels. “Course. It’s only--never mind! Nothing!” 

I did it. She believed me. She’s not stupid, but I am telling a kind of truth, and that helps. She shook her head, and went to go grab the spoons to distribute so everyone could finally get eating. She stared at them a long while, ran her finger over the deeply carved letter, noticed the glint in the light as she turns them. I wondered where she got those up from. They look brand new. 

She called back to me as she gave Fareeha a spoon. “If I die, it’s me own fault, right?” 

“Sure is!” I called back. 

I am an asshole, after all. 

___

Annoying.

“Boy, Overwatch has a crack culinary team, huh?” Mina’s nose wrinkled as she looked at the soup. “Not that I was expecting much. Leave it to England to make starving look good.” 

Nothing. Lena didn’t even look up at her, busy looking at the spoon in hand, biting her lip as she held it up to the light, bright silver and gleaming in the firelight. Lena just shook her head and put it  down on the table. 

Lena had struck her as having a little more pride in her home, or at the very least firmly being one of those people who would say a million bad things herself, but take it personally if it came from somewhere else. She hadn’t expected the dedicated study of old flatware. 

It was probably some kind of weakness in Mina that made her want so badly to crack open every single person she spent an extended period of time with, but to her mind, it was like being able to see color. If you never had it, you could see how someone would never miss it. There are always plenty of other ways to identify objects. But once you opened that door to Oz, once you had the ability to rifle through people’s minds and see what built them, the level of control you had over any given situation doubled. At worst. 

But she didn’t need it. She kept telling herself that. She’d become like one of those people who’d started usin Door Dash for the deals and now believed it was the only way to exist as a working person. She’d forgotten how to make a sandwich. But intellectually. 

She looked around the room as everyone quietly ate the soup. It wasn’t as bad as Mina had pretended, but it wasn’t good either. Sort of like the general mood of the room. 

Haruka was across from her. Generally an easy read, but was always hard to know exactly when she was going to blow. She was tired and stressed and feeling intimidated by the general strength and athletic prowess in the room. Her ability to run fast and throw herself at a problem was less impressive when the tour guides they had could bench press her, or out manuver her. She hated being bossed around by anyone but Michiru and Mina, anyways. She looked forward to when Haruka’d had enough, it would add some spice to the situation. 

Lena was eating her soup in a way Mina could only describe unnecessarily aggressive, slurping it down and taking another ladleful. Mina watched as she closed her eyes, took deep breath, stretched, and smiled, giving herself a little nod and a quietly mouthed pep talk. Whatever had been bothering her when she had walked in, she had made some decision to sidestep it. 

Fareeha never seemed to wander too far away from Angela. Some of it made sense, because Mina had Touched Angela: Dead parents in one of those character-defining sort of tragedies, workaholic, haunted by the people she couldn’t save, all that shit. If she wanted to get to Fareeha, she’d have to get to Angela. 

Doc was leaned against the dark wood of a small series of shelves in the corner, pulling off a bottle of some dark liquor and ….She was nervous about something. More than anyone else here, there was some quality of her that didn’t quite belong. It was almost like Mina was looking at someone who was cut out of a magazine and pasted into the room, the edges of her not quite fitting onto the backdrop. 

And why didn’t the Touch work? 

It had never failed her before. She’d never seen nothing. Sure, a talented Seer could block to some degree, maybe even completely, on their best day. But that was the feeling of a door being shut in her face, not of pawing at the empty air. Not of the darkness. It wasn’t that she blocked her history, it was that she had no history to look at. Even something from outside the Sol System would show her--

Or…

No. 

Minako wasn’t about to think that. In no way could that be the answer. It was a gift, given--no fuck that, it wasn’t a gift, it was a trade. It was a salary. For all the things Mina had been asked and would be asked to give up, for all the tough calls she’d be forced to make, that was the exchange. She could see people’s pasts, she could dive into their feelings, she looked at people the way a watchmaker sprung open the back of a Rolex. 

It couldn’t be gone. The moon couldn’t take it back. The house couldn’t touch it, she’d used it in some Dark Kingdom labyrinths before. No. Impossible. 

Turns out, an impossible thing can still make you sweat. 

She turned to Haruka. Had to call her off first, or she’d just make things worse, and everyone was already careful, already wary. 

“Do me a favor?” 

“Yeah?” She looked up from her unimpressive soup. 

“No matter what happens, stay here. Don’t get mad. Don’t defend me.” 

Haruka looked at her moment, trying to mount some kind of defense against whatever was about to come, her mouth slightly open for the words that would not form themselves into being. She shut it, and then shook her head, resigned.

“I hate it when you say shit like that.” 

“It’ll be fun.” Mina began to stand up. 

“No it won’t. It’s never fun.” She called after her in a stage whisper. “It’s never fun! Minako!” 

Minako walked. No, she didn’t walk. She glided. She swanned. She wheedled her way across the room, delighted with herself, until she stood in front of Lena. She leaned up against the chair and let her breasts just sort of enter Lena’s space. Casually. It wasn’t enough to get any of Lena’s attention, as apparently the fire was so much more than her tits could ever hope to be. 

“Hey.” She cooed, moving to touch Lena’s arm, missing the skin at the last moment from an errant twitch. 

“Yeah?” Lena leaned back and looked up. 

“What are we gonna do about,” Mina sat on the edge of the chair and leaned in, “Sleeping arrangements?” 

Lena stopped for a minute, stared up at Minako, tilted her head neatly to the side, and slipped out of the chair, her back to Mina completely. 

“Few pieces of furniture in ‘ere. You can push the chairs together, make a bed. I’ve done it before, it’s not bad. I’ll take the floor,” she was moving toward Fareeha, she had seen what Mina was doing and didn’t want it. It made Mina angry. It brought out the artist in her. Life was complicated that way. “Rug’s softer than me mattress at ‘ome, I’ll be grand.”

Okay, strike one. No big deal. She was a professional, of course it was going to be harder to get to her than your average idiot in any given bar. 

Mina came up next to her. “I was thinking we all might feel a little less crowded somewhere else. But of course,” she reached her hand toward Lena, brushing the edge of her sweater with her fingertips “I’d feel better if you were with me.” 

Lena dodged, but turned to face her. “Can you not?” 

Big, sad eyes now. Slumped shoulders. “You don’t think I’m pretty.” 

Didn’t work. Lena’s eyes narrowed. 

“I think you’re nineteen, I have someone, not looking to cause an incident, and also, I think you’re lying about wanting anything to do with me like that. Don’t know why, but leave it, alright?” She stepped away from Mina, more forcefully this time, “Fareeha..” 

“I’m tired of you thinking you can order us around!” The time for the seductress was over. It was time for the brat. “We deserve your respect!” 

Fareeha stepped forward. “You have it, Aino-san.” 

“Oh don’t Aino-san ‘er.” Lena chuckled as she perched on the edge of  chair. “Over ‘ere, like she’s on the pull, after me, don’t know what san means, right, but I don’t think it’s that.” 

Mina tried to keep herself from smiling. It was a joke, a little barb meant to annoy Mina, but Mina had been watching. It was a defensive strike. Mina’d been pressing on Lena ever since they’d started this little campaign--for sport, mostly, but she wouldn’t say no if Lena wanted to--and she’d seen that it was finally wearing on her. Whether she was afraid of the dark or irritated by all the logistical issues or just tired and hungry, finally she might have been able to push Lena far enough. 

She thought it would be seduction, but this would work just fine too. Any port in a storm. 

“I’m after you??” Mina grasped at her chest in mock horror. “You’re the one who won’t let us leave! You’re the one who wants to sleep in the same room as me. Are you hoping I’ll strip down? Is that why you built the fire so hot?” 

Fareeha put a hand out. “It is safer here. Commander Oxton is a profession--”

Mina lunged forward to Lena. “Why should we all stay here? What’s the point, why can’t we get separate rooms?” 

Lena leaned toward her. Closing the gap. “To start, it’s freezing, if you ‘aven’t noticed, and it’s easier to keep one room warm. We’ve no idea when this’ll let up. We don’t know what’s round ‘ere, neither. Close up one room, watch your exits.” 

Mina was sick of flying blind. Bring on Door Dash. She had to make Lena touch her. If she couldn’t convince her to do it out of affection, she could almost certainly pull her anger. It was so close, Mina could feel it. Her mind fluttered, ideas running through it like flipping through a book, looking for the passage she remembered. She’d read a little bit about Overwatch before she’d come, hadn’t she? Just keep nipping. It’ll come. 

There was a whisper, something like a touch on her shoulder. A sound Mina had never heard before, in the back of her head, like the echo from the back of a cave. London. Remember the news, on a high rooftop. Remember the shot? You saw it while you were drinking coffee on the train. She will remember it, I assure you. You can win this.

“I just don’t get the point of it all.” She stalled for time, reaching for that image. It began to come into focus. 

“The point of it is that we ‘ave a responsibility to protect you. Protect you. Nothing else, not listening to your bloody whinging, not fulfilling whatever fantasy you have. Just protecting you. I am doing that, alright!?” 

There it is. Stop on this page. A small grin came across Minako’s face as she fired back. 

“What, about as good a job you did protecting Mondatta!?” 

The air went out of the room. Direct hit. Lena’s fists balled up, her teeth gritted, body tensed, a spring off the back leg. Here it came, she was ready to catch it. It would hurt, but all knowledge was got by an inch of pain, at least. Mina closed her eyes.

She felt Lena whoosh by her, narrowly missing her, the thick velvet chair next to Mina falling to the ground. In a show of restraint Mina would not have predicted, she had vented her temper on a chair that had probably seen at least three kings. Lena backed away from Minako, slow, careful steps away as she tugged at the back of her hair. She turned away as Mina watched her eyes flutter from anger to pain. 

“I! --I don’t!” 

Go in for the kill. 

Something animal filled her in that moment. She smelled the blood, and she attacked. Did she even want Lena to hit her, then? It had been like something inside of her, someone inside of her, coming through her, pushing through her, digging into Lena’s flesh. She felt it rush around her, speaking in tongues as she saw Lena shrink before her. 

“Protected him by moving out of the way of the bullet? By saving yourself? Are you proud of the job you did there? Did your family like it, showing the world that the Oxtons are cowards when it comes down to the wire?  Aren’t we all at least so fucking glad your dad never lived to see that! Imagine what he would say to you.”

Lena stood, silent, in the middle of the room. Doc whispered a swear into her whiskey. Everyone was waiting. The stage was clear for her, wasn’t it?

“You should have died that day, and everyone knows it! Everyone!”  

“Mina.” It was Haruka’s voice. 

Haruka had never done this, in all the years they’d known each other: Not when she was picking at Michiru, not when she told usagi to stop crying, not even when she was going after Haruka herself. The single fact of Haruka Tenoh telling Minako Aino, in one word, to stop, that she had gone too far, suddenly filled her with a deep and pervasive shame. Why hadn’t she stopped?

But it was too late. The light was out of Lena’s eyes. She backed toward to door, searching. Lena’s sorrow filled the room like smoke, posioning the air, inescapably squirreling into every crack, into Mina’s lungs. 

Fareeha reached her hand toward Lena’s shoulder. Lena twisted away, her back to the wall.

“It isn’t--”  

“Don’t.”  Her voice was choked; she cleared her throat.  “Please don’t.” 

She ran her hand through her hair, and went through the door, shutting it firmly behind her. Lena had taken neither candle nor match. Her flashlight lay on the table by the fallen velvet chair, its burgundy plush ominous in the firelight and silence. 

Fareeha stood quietly, and turned her eyes to Mina, sharp as a hawk’s. 

“I do not want, or need, your money. I will take you to the airport in the morning.” She pulled her shirt straight. “If I have to walk you there myself.” 

Fareeha picked up the flashlight and the faded blue backpack, leaving the room quickly, her footsteps fading into the darkness. Minako sank into the loveseat, hands folded in her lap, still not quite believing what had happened. She could have done it, of course she could have. But it didn’t feel like she did. 

Angela, a tear running down her face, poured herself some of Doc’s whiksey, taking the bottle straight out of her hand. She stood in front of Mina, shaking, and spat out the words. 

“You. Are so. Cruel! You should know shame.” She stomped to the other end of the roomand flopped into a chair, breathing heavy. 

She wasn’t wrong, all told. It wasn’t necessary to do what she did, and even haruka, sitting next to her, couldn’t even look at her. No one wanted to look at her, because she’d acted like a complete asshole. Lena hadn’t even done anything to her other than not be Touched. Other than be in the wrong place while Mina wondered what was wrong with this house, or with Doc, or both. All that was true. And she was ashamed. 

But Mina thought of one thing, sitting there. 

She hadn’t known Lena’s father was dead. 

Who else is going to find Lena and where are they going?

[starboybutler]

i always find it interesting how people take oliver's obsession with felix as a submissive, "i would do anything for you, and let you do anything to me" type of attitude. i feel as if oliver's obsession towards felix was always very predatory and hungry, wanting to eat felix whole.

while oliver very much trails and clings to felix like a puppy, he only does so because he thinks thats what felix wants-- someone to roll over and follow orders. in reality, it was oliver's somewhat naturally dominant personality that lured him in. he liked that oliver didn't immediately bend to his will.

like in the bike scene, when oliver offers up his bike, felix takes it, because he's used to things like that, but when oliver asks "oh, you wanted me to wheel your bike back?" felix looks a bit taken aback, because of course he wants that- people usually offer it. oliver's questioning is interesting to him-- because no one questions him.

the dorm scene is interesting as well, because people often use this as evidence that felix likes when people are subservient to him. i think that the dorm scene is moreso a pivoting point of their relationship. felix grows agitated when oliver begins cleaning his dorm and calling him filthy, because he cares about what oliver thinks of him.

he doesn't see oliver as one of the people he keeps in his social circle just for the hell of it-- he sees him as a friend, a peer, and to hear oliver openly criticize him for things no one has ever dared to say to his face before hurts him.

in oliver's mind, however, this is evidence that felix doesn't like him as is, and that he wants someone more submissive, so he begins shifting his demeanor to become more pathetic, becoming a charity case for felix. but this newfound submissiveness leads to disaster. oliver blends in with felix's family too well, becoming a 'toy', just like the people he keeps in his circle. felix grows bored of him and his new submissive nature at saltburn, which leads to felix calling his mother.

oliver has always been a hungry, starving, dominant creature by nature. he's craves felix, he yearns to have all of him. he watches, he stalks, like felix is his prey. he only acted submissive and subservient because he thought thats what felix wanted from him, but he was wrong.

[berrypass-de-murdler]

3 - 44 Murder in the Cellar

I facking love spacechicken

They look like an astronaut and an alien

And I just really love drawing Mauve

DON'T READ THE EPISODES WITHOUT READING THE BOOKS!!

Tired and bored of running, the Oxymorons fumble downstairs into the cellar, where the holy bar lurks. They collapse and roll down like Slinkies, and are let in by little bird Cinereous.

CINEREOUS: Damn, you lookin’ fresh outta Hell. Come, ‘ave a drink.

They sit down at a table, ironically looking hungover before they even begin. 

IRRATINO: You know… I have to know, why does the church have a bar underneath it? VERDIGRIS: It is all holy wine. Obviously. Some are blessed and some are cursed. Take a gamble.

Logico shrugs and grabs a bottle. Irratino decides to feel the auras first. 

VERDIGRIS: The owner of this bar is… [looks around] dead. 

Logico chugs a lot of ‘holy’ wine. 

LOGICO: Fine, let’s get this over with.

Tiny Taupe is panicking, because it got itself stuck in a barrel. It’s acting like it can’t see, but… how does it see in the first place? Irratino approaches it and is nearly knocked out.

IRRATINO: Hey, hey… [stabilizes] It’s okay… we’ll get you out. 

Logico sighs, as he knows that this means Irratino is going to be no help during this episode. 

CINEREOUS: Damn, I gotta take a shit.

At least he’s polite enough to do so in a bathroom. He flits up to the door and pulls on the handle with his beak, but can’t do anything. He frantically looks up and down. 

CINEREOUS: Uhh, guys? I dunno how’ta get out! VERDIGRIS: It’s because you’re the smallest person alive. Here.

She pushes on the door, but it doesn’t open. 

VERDIGRIS: Never mind. It’s locked from the outside. IRRATINO: WHY??

Logico and the suspects exchange a look, and they all pound on the door, crying for help. Upstairs, however, the churchgoers are performing another hymn.

MANGO/LAPIS/BROWNSTONE: NEVER GONNA GI- CINEREOUS: Come on!! None of ‘em heard us?? [sits on the ground] Pooey. LOGICO: Well, considering we’re trapped, I might as well take statements. CINEREOUS: Ahhh. As God might’a said, Miss Void-e-gree’s got a pian’a key. VERDIGRIS: I think you’re wrong, and lying about God. 

She suddenly very violently takes him in her grasp. 

CINEREOUS: Eh- eh- c-calm down, woman!

Verdigris opens her mouth to reveal unbeknownst sharp teeth, and puts him halfway down her throat! Logico hates the bird, but this is a bit much. He punches her in the stomach and Cinereous manages to escape, horrified.

VERDIGRIS: …You abuse a godly woman??

She drops to all fours and lets out a catlike yowl, bounding after Logico who has to run as fast as he can! 

Taupe still hasn’t managed to get out of the barrel, and is panicking more hearing everyone fight. 

IRRATINO: Wait! Hold still! I’ve almost got-

Taupe charges for them, and they manage to lunge out of the way. He crashes into the door, shattering the barrel and pushing it over! Cinereous immediately forgets his near-death experience.

CINEREOUS: WE’RE FREED! 

He quickly flies up and far away - no wine is worth getting his head bitten off for.

LOGICO: WAIT A MINUTE!

Logico tramples up the stairs to chase after him. He falls, but Irratino catches him and is faster, and soon, they grab the little prick.

CINEREOUS: ‘EY EY EY! I’m flyin’ ‘ere! LOGICO: You’re also the murderer of the day! CINEREOUS: Look, guy, no ‘yuman’s supposed to get down in our bar, evah! I tried’ta knock ‘im out, but the piano key hit me too, and I got a concussion! I can’t think or pray straight! I don’t even remember what in vino veritas means!

Irratino claps in realization

IRRATINO: Of course! In vino veritas! The truth is in the wine! That’s why there’s a bar under the church! LOGICO: …That’s the big thing we’re taking away here?

They glance up, and see something horrible - Father Mango is discussing with Olive! 

OLIVE: Seen any detective duos around this place… MANGO: They were here, but they left…

Logico and Irratino sigh in relief, but they need to get out fast.

The end! 

Remember when Verdigris went savage in the woods and Logico thought it was part of the Drakonian conspiracy

Yeah she was just hunting

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

[weebsinstash]

*sighs as I add the yandere Batfam to my Blorbo list* do y'all ever have such a genuinely unsatisfying life and childhood you start for whatever reason vicariously living through age regression ideas where you're literally raised by other people

Like imagine you're a superhero/vigilante but you're fairly small time and you've actually bumped into Batman a handful of times and, he actually likes you, your heart is in the right place, and through some wacky villain shenanigans or some Lazarus Pit fuckery, you get zapped by a ray gun or hit wirh a spell or "resurrected wrong" and suddenly Bruce has to deal with a de-aged you, a teenager without their adult memories and aged back to before you developed your skills or your metagene that gave you your powers

And here's Batman already shoving adopted children into his pockets like breadsticks at olive garden "oh no, ANOTHER orphan/kid with a horrible childhood in need of a home? Whatever shall we do. Oh no my hand slipped and I already texted Alfred to prepare a room to stay and oh no my Waynazon shopping list is suddenly full of new furniture and gifts and clothes and i already emailed Dick and Barabaras university so you can get a better education and oh wow just what is going on this is so weird"

Alfred standing by with his dry wit whenever Reader gets hormonal or does typical teenager things "ah yes, yelling 'I hate you' and slamming doors, I definitely didn't have enough of this experience raising you, Master Wayne" but like he adores it really, we all know this man is a caretaker at heart and as someone who 'knew you before' st least through what Bruce has told him, he's happy to help give you a better life

Of course then complications arise whenever Reader gets her memory back (and potentially extremely pissed she was kept as a child and literally no attempts, none, zero, nada, zilch attempts were made to turn her back to normal) and she's like "ok well I'm mentally an adult again but I'm still in a kids body, let's try and turn me back and then I can be a real adult again" and the entire batfamily is just "OR, hear me out, OR. You could stay here though? And if you wanna be a crimefighter you should at least stay with us but like its jusr ao dangerous though what if you got hurt 🥺" IF they let you return to hero work at all but let's be real, if you did, I think Bruce would be so proud to put a little bat symbol or R or whatever on your uniform cause it's like, awwww bonding, everyone's gonna know you're his lil protege 🥰

And imagine Reader goes to confront Bruce about this whole thing and you just start bawling because "was I just such a pathetic loser before that you wanted to change everything about me" and like he did the whole thing with good intentions but, YEAH he did absolutely lie to you and kind of shape you a little for the few years you were "raised" by him and you're standing there with your new clothes and your new haircut and all the hobbies he's paid for and the education he's paid for and all the new things you've learned and can do because he had the resources to give them to you and you're wondering what was so unlikable about you before that he doesnt want you to be that person again, to be the person you've always known and lived your life as

Suffice to say he isn't going to turn you back at all and if you have to "return to your old self" by literally naturally aging back to your "original age" then so be it. You've got an entire mansion filled with your loving 'family' and you're happy and you're healthy and really, maybe you're just being anxious and scared and all it will take is time for you to adjust and see that all of them know what's best. Amd if you never do adjust and you're just kept around anyways, well, it doesn't make much of a difference to them. Hell, maybe they'll find a hero or villain or magic user who can, you know, maybe make you forget all about the life you had before, completely wipe your head until only the Wayne family, your family, is left

Really, Bruce would consider it just to hear you call him 'Dad' again

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 65 - A Sanguine Song

Chapter Summary: At last, the time has come to investigate the Grand Thorm Mausoleum and the secrets that lie within. However, a certain devil takes the opportunity to approach Church and Astarion with a deal they can't refuse. Secrets are revealed, but with that clarity comes consequence.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 340K+ words; Chapters 65/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

Despite being in an ancient, foreboding temple, camp at least feels safe. Church hopes Withers won’t decide to lapse in his protection now of all times as the skeleton stands ever-present at the perimeter. Wryly, the warlock wonders if their guardian is enjoying a bit of relative peace and quiet away from his young charge. Last Church saw, Arabella was back at the inn introducing Thaniel and Oliver to the other tiefling children. They seemed to be having a good time, all things considered.

He can’t quite say the same for themselves. Astarion has barely let him out of his sight amid the ruins, and Church isn’t inclined to do the same. He can barely eat due to his nerves. 

Where the hells is Raphael?

Church knows Astarion is thinking the same thing when he finds the elf in a more remote corner of the ruins.

“Hey,” Church murmurs as he sits beside him upon the crackled marble stairs. The tiefling tilts his head, smiling softly as he offers up his neck in invitation. “Liquid bravery?”

To his surprise, however, Astarion looks almost nauseous.

“I must decline,” he says, far too politely.

“Oh! Of course,” Church says, taken aback as he lets go of his collar. “Something wrong?”

“Where the hells is he?” Astarion grumbles.

“I mean, besides that,” Church says hastily. “What was that look about just now?”

Astarion stews in silence for a long moment.

“Look. If you must know, I haven’t been able to… stomach the idea of feeding upon you ever since… then,” Astarion admits, stilted. 

Church winces. “Oh. Gods, I didn’t even consider that…”

“I’m sure you still taste wonderful,” Astarion says reassuringly. “But when I meditate, all I can see is your bloodied throat and your… beautiful, dead face. Those empty, glassy eyes. And…” 

His voice breaks as he speaks. 

“...I felt your life leave your body, darling. Even in that dazed, feral state. Even though you were revived and fine soon afterwards… you have no idea, do you? No, you wouldn’t have known, being dead and all,” he corrects himself quickly. “I was there for what felt like ages, listening for your heartbeat, begging for you to stop your nonsense and wake up.”

Church’s mouth is dry. “Astarion…”

“I… prayed, you damned fool! To any fucking deity that could reach that forsaken plane. Even to the Raven Queen herself, even to Shar. I thought maybe—”

“—perhaps you shouldn’t have looked to the heavens, little vampling, and instead looked to the hells.”

Church and Astarion leap up as Raphael emerges from a fiery seam in the air, a swagger in his step as he approaches them with that stupid, smug smile.

“What the hells is going on?” Karlach calls into their minds, and Church can hear the clatter of her dropping everything to race over.

“Stop! Stay where you are!” Church orders all of them. “Give us some privacy, alright?”

“What are you doing?” Wyll asks in dismay. “Please, don't tell me that you’re making another deal?”

“This deal is already done,” Astarion tells him flatly. “Now stay. Away.”

Raphael watches them in amusement. 

“Discontentment in the camp, I see,” he chuckles. “No matter. I won’t be long.” He raises an eyebrow knowingly at Astarion and Church’s resentful expressions. “Oh my, did I intrude on something private? Do forgive me, I was under the impression you wanted answers as soon as possible.”

“Well we’re all here, aren’t we?” Astarion says blithely, even though his body and smile is tense. “Do go on.”

Raphael examines his nails.

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” he asks conversationally. “It returns to the hells — to the very point where it last stood before venturing to whichever devil-forsaken plane it died on. In the case of our friend Yurgir, the orthon you so handily dispatched here in the temple of Shar manifested in my House of Hope.

“He returned to me chastened but intact, his wounds healed, his body restored. He thought I would dismember him…” he chuckles. “...but he has his uses. So instead, I am reeducating him.”

“Lovely. Look, we delivered the devil,” Astarion cuts in impatiently. “Now I want what I’m owed.” He raises his chin imperiously. “We had a deal.”

“Indeed we did,” Raphael smiles. “I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours; it’s a rather grim tale, even for my tastes.”

“Stop stalling,” Church says flatly.

“As you wish,” Raphael drawls. “Brace yourself, Astarion — we’re about to unveil your destiny.”

He eyes the two of them. “You may want to sit.”

“We’ll stand, thanks,” Church replies curtly.

“Very well,” Raphael shrugs, and with a snap of fingers he conjures up an ostentatious armchair upon which he drapes himself languidly. 

“As you know already, your precious skin is home to one part of a contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr. In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed — The Rite of Profane Ascension. It promises to be a marvelous ceremony. Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical.

“If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being — the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living. The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.”

Church feels a throb of emotion from Astarion through their tadpoles.

Envy.  

“But the ritual has its price, as all worthwhile things do,” Raphael flourishes a hand towards Astarion. “Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn, if he is to ascend.”

Church can’t help but drift instinctively closer towards Astarion’s side.

“Imagine how he felt, then, when one of those precious spawn simply disappeared into thin air,” Raphael continues, watching in amusement. “The only missing ingredient is Astarion. You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual — your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.”

Is Astarion… trembling? 

“And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that,” Raphael concludes with a flourish. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere.”   

He snaps his fingers and burns away into a wisp of smoke — chair and all.

The Raven Queen breaks her silence. 

“A ritual most foul,” she whispers into Church’s mind. “An undead tyrant, ascending, evolving into a beast beyond measure… you mustn’t let this happen, little bird.”

Church gulps. 

The only missing ingredient is Astarion.

Not if Church has anything to say about it.

Astarion’s shoulders sag slightly as he relaxes, turning towards Church with an unreadable, preoccupied look upon his face.

“Hmm…” he frowns.

“You’re not going back to Cazador,” Church says softly, his mind racing with possibilities. “I won’t let him…”

“Do you think it’s so simple?” Astarion snaps scornfully. 

“It’s never been simple!” Church retorts. “But I know you’ll never be truly free while he lives.”

Astarion grimaces.

“I hate how right you are,” he growls. “I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone even when I was just another wretched toy for him to play with. But if I’m key to this power he craves, he’ll hunt me to the ends of Faerûn.”

He scoffs. “A ‘Vampire Ascendant.’ As if he needed another reason to be the pretentious bastard that he is… but if he can walk in the sun, imagine what other powers he could gain? Even as he is now, he can enthrall beyond those who are his spawn. He can enthrall even you. Just taking away the burn of the sun would make him unstoppable."

Astarion's expression turns pensive. "But if someone else were to steal that power from him…?” 

Church eyes his companion. “What are you saying?”

“He doesn’t deserve that power,” Astarion spits. “But don’t you think I’ve suffered enough? And if there’s a way to ensure my freedom, then I won’t need that tadpole at all. Then… I can protect what’s mine.” He gazes at Church, his eyes earnest and determined. “I can protect you. And you won’t need the Raven Queen or any patron, delightful shadowy powers aside.”

“How would that work though?” Church asks uneasily. “Did you not hear the part about sacrificing souls including yours and your siblings?”

“Yes, well, we don’t know the details of that now do we?” Astarion waves him away. “I’ll need to figure out exactly how I’m involved, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over my siblings. They’re not good people either, darling. They hated me. They did terrible things to survive in Cazador’s name. As for the other souls, well…

“I’d let any number of nameless souls burn if it meant keeping us safe,” he concludes vehemently. 

Church looks at him in disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

“Can’t I? I don’t expect you to understand,” Astarion scoffs. “I haven’t had anything ever since I crawled out of that grave. Nothing but shame and hunger… until you.”

He huffs before taking Church’s hand. “Can you blame me for wanting to fight to protect this? The barest possibility of living beside you in the sun, without fear?”

For all the ferocity of his words, his eyes are so, so soft. Despite the squirm of his stomach, Church can’t help but feel… thrilled?  

No one — not even Tavi — had ever made such a declaration as this. It is likely the elf’s emotional hyperbole in the moment, but all the same, Church’s heart soars. 

“I’m touched,” he murmurs. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright? We don’t know how many souls or whatever devilish stipulations Raphael conveniently neglected to name. And there’s the matter of getting Cazador out of the way too, of course.”

"Indeed," Astarion chuckles. “It’s all wishful thinking while we’re in this tomb.”

He ponders to himself, resolution manifesting upon his face. “Either way, I need to take the fight to him.” He looks up at Church. “And I need you to help me, darling.”

Church squeezes his hand back. “Of course I’ll help. Whatever it takes. We’ll hunt him down and kill him.”

Astarion nods, before pressing a firm kiss to Church’s lips — as if to seal a pact of their own. 

“Thank you,” Astarion murmurs, eyes blazing with determination.

[stranger224]

Kinky Kaptions: Remember

“I’m telling you this chick's tits were out here!” Gary bragged to his buddies as they shared a drink at a local sports bar

“And I’m telling you you are full of shit! That girl you were bragging about being a smoking 11 last week; I looked her up, she is barely a 6” his buddy Andy responded.

“I said she was an 11 when I was drunk! Looking her up sober doesn't count. But that doesn't matter cause the chick I was with the other night was an 11 sober! Her tits were beautiful and her ass, god; I wish I could remember her name.” Gary said. 

His friend Oliver snorted. “Of course you can't, then we could find her and see if you're full of shit!” 

Steve and Pete nodded in agreement. They had heard Gary telling tales of exploits before, and the women were never as hot as he made them sound. 

“Actually he is being quite modest, we did have fun the other night”. A sultry voice added to the conversation. Its owner stepping up to the table. The hottest woman any of the men had ever see casually came into view. Her fiery red hair hung like a waterfall down her back, her breasts full DDs that had been spilling out of her bra, ending in an ass that could stop traffic. She settled that plush rear into Gary’s lap and cheekily took a sip of his beer. Gary for his part felt like a king, the way her soft flesh felt on his lap made him hard so fast he got a head rush. Feeling it jiggled while she got comfortable he was surprised he didnt cum on the spot. She kisses his cheek before continuing “You left out the best part, the blond with the giant rack that gave you a tit job while I was in the shower. Remember?” The memory forming in Gary’s mind, how could he have forgotten?Those tits had been amazing, round, perky, they were obviously implants. But who cared when they were wrapped around his dick?

 A giggle brought him back to reality. A blond strode up to the table, her heels clicking on the polished wood floor of the bar. She leaned over Gary’s head so her massive tits rested on the top of his chair “Yea that totally was fun! She said in a high pitched girly voice. “But not as much fun as the week before I bet. You showed me a picture of that girl, the one with lips so pumped up she could barely talk Member?”

Gary certainly did. It had been the best blow job he had ever had, right in the back of this pub. The guys had bet him he couldn't get that chick's number, but he had sure showed them. She had been pretty, but what she could do with her lips. He almost regretted giving her a fake number. Then again, if he hadn't then he wouldn't have met, what were their names again? The blond and the redhead, hell what was Lip chick’s name? He searched for it but it never appeared. It was a painful flick to the forehead that got him to focus this time. When he focused Lip Chick was at his side. Her beautifully sculpted lips turned into an adorable pouty frown. “If you had gifen me your real number, You would hafe seen what these could really do. but oh well you're lost." She walked up to Pete and settled into his lap with a wet kiss on his cheek. The group ordered another round and relaxed. Gary particularly enjoyed how the Redhead felt on his cock. He hoped he could get the Blond and the Redhead to give a repeat performance. 

A bit later the blond and the redhead started arguing about something Gary hadn’t been paying attention to, only tuning in to hear “Don't get me wrong Red, you have a beautiful ass but this woman Gary and I played with the other week end, I was worried she wouldn't be able to get through the door of my apartment with hips that wide. Member Gare?

Gary’s hand reflexively squeezed Red's meaty thigh as the memory came to him. Him and The Blond had found the Brunette at a club, chatted her up, and brought her home. The memory of his cock squeezing between her soft ass cheeks was overwhelming. She had felt so good that words failed him, particularly when the same brunette settled herself on Andy’s lap “I hear my name. Were you too sluts talking about little old me?” The brunette had a lovely southern drawl that matched with the rugged flannel and khaki shorts she had shoved her oversized curves into. Blondie squealed excitedly, throwing herself into The Brunette’s arms before wrapping her own around the woman’s hip and rear, trying fruitlessly to get her arms all the way around the soft orbs while kissing her aggressively. 

“Get a room you too” Lip Chick said taking a break from her own make out session.

“I actually just came from mine. After a wonderful fuck session with Gary and Olivia there” said the brunette coming up for air to toss Oliver’s hair. Oliver looked confused “Olivia?” 

“Oh no need to hide from us Olivia. We all know how much of a bimbo you are. All those pink slutty outfits you wear. That's how you ended up in a room with Gare bear and me. Gary was mauling those massive tits of yours. While I sat on his face and he ate me out, oh it felt so good you remember right Gary?” 

Gary did. The brunette’s ass was so large he had been afraid it was going to suffocate him. That just made his cock harder. Which had made Olivia scream even louder. She had bounced on him so hard, that her tits had flopped out of the pink wrap top she had been using to conceal a bit of modesty. Lucky she had put it back on before coming down to drink with him and the lads she was such a ditz he half expected her to forget it. He looked at her over the table and saw she was playing with her nipples through the shirt “Oh yea that was hot! God, I'm such a ditz, how could I forget an orgasm that good!” 

“Maybe because you were too busy masturabing to that night you Gary and Steffi over there had a threesome.” Red said. nodding over to Steven who had been quietly enjoying his beer before all of the women had come over. “You had been telling us that Steffi was such a blond she's more of a ditz than you are. Remember Gary?”

Of course Gary did. He remembered thinking this girl was such an idiot it was good thing she had nice tit’s. He also remembered pounding her into such a stupor she hadn't been able to form words for an hour, not that words were really what her mouth was for. That had been the best head he had gotten before he met Lip Chick. For her part, Steffi just sat in her chair, vacant eyes staring off into space, a ribbon of drool on her glossy lips.

Lip Chick stopped making out with Andy for a moment. “Remember the Titty twins Gary? What were their names? Andi and Petra! God those bolt-ons were nice. We had such a wild night!

Gary was starting to get annoyed. Of course he remembered the twins, they were so alike in every way they could be clones of each other. Right down to their massive matching set of tits that they were currently resting on the bar table. Large tumblers of booze wedged into their cleavage. One of them, Andi, Gary thought had resumed making out with Lip Chick. Looking around he saw all of the different bimbos he had slept with recently. “I guess I must be a great lover to pull this many hotties,” he said. As the words left his mouth it was like a record scratched. All eyes looking at him and the voices seemed to be speaking in unison “What are you talking about Gabrielle? We came out tonight because it's girls night, and you because you're our bimbo bestie. Remember?”

[tipsypenguin31]

So I haven’t done AU’s since I was in middle school. When I reached high school I stopped doing them cause I personally don’t care for them. But I had this dream the other night where Mihawk was mad at me and he was scolding  me inside a Taco Bell. Idk. Dreams are fucking weird. So weird that I just had to share it with y’all. 💚

Word Count: 913

TW: There is implied smut. But nothing in graphic detail. 

Summary: 

Mihawk and Amaris had been arguing for the past couple of days. About what exactly? Who the hell knows anymore. 

Hell Taco 

Yesterday it was about him leaving his boots haphazardly outside the coat closet. He just couldn’t bring himself to take the extra few seconds to place them in there.

Then not even an hour later when he changed out of his shirt to go to dinner, instead of throwing it into the hamper, where did he throw it? Right beside the hamper. The lid was wide open. 

Amaris bit her tongue and held her frustration, that was until she walked into the bathroom this morning. 

There in the sink. Was Mihawk’s beard trimmings. Spread about the basin and countertop like confetti. 

She loved that he kept up with his appearance and such. But would it kill him to clean up? 

She begrudgingly cleaned up his mess….again. Then stomped into the living room, where Mihawk was sitting on the couch. The news on the tv, while also reading the news on his phone. 

That was another thing that pissed her off. He was always on that damn phone. 

She was sick of it. So she brought it to his attention. Which led into an argument that led into him storming out of the apartment. 

Sitting at one of the high top tables in front of the window. Amaris sends a text to Mihawk.

*I thought you said to meet you here at 1:30?  Where are you? *  

She hadn’t heard from him the rest of the morning after he walked out. She heard his motorcycle start and heard him pull out of the parking lot. Then at around noon she received his olive branch.

He sent her a text, asking if she was hungry and wanted to grab lunch. Of course, the only way she was going to agree is if she picked the place. 

*Of course. As long as it’s not something nauseating*

*And what do you consider nauseating?*

*You know exactly what I mean, darling.* 

She chuckles. She does know what he means. But she could care less. 

*Be ready in five minutes, i’ll pick you up* 

*No. I’ll walk.*

*Amaris….* 

She didn’t feel like wearing pants and a jacket. The weather was scorching today. Plus the place she wanted to eat at was within walking distance from their apartment. 

*Mihawk. It’s too hot. I really do not want to wear pants today.* 

*I just told you nothing nauseating.* 

*You either agree with Taco bell. Or I can just stay pissed off at home. At least i’ll be in the a/c* She knew she was coming off as a brat to him, when in reality, she was growing more and more irritated with him.  

*Well?*

*Fine. Be there at 1:30. I love you.*

*I love you too.* 

Now here she was. The clock read 2:15 and still no Mihawk. She knew he hadn’t gotten into a wreck, cause if he had she would have gotten an alert. When she goes to send another text to him, she hears him pull into the parking lot. 

About damn time. She gets up from her seat and heads out to meet him. Still sitting on the bike, Mihawk removes his gloves and helmet then runs a hand through his hair. 

“What took you so lo-” He pulls her down to sit on his lap. One arm wrapped around her waist, the other hand holding the back of her neck. He pushes her face in close. Nose to nose. 

“Do you know how badly, I want to take you into that bathroom and have my way with you.” He takes her into a deep, anger filled kiss. 

Amaris lets out a whimper when Mihawk pulls away. 

“I’ll keep having my way with you, well after you’ve cummed.” He drags his lips along her jawline, then down to her neck where alternates from kissing and nipping. 

She was driving him insane. Though he knows he is in the wrong for all the things she was nagging about, that still didn’t warrant the attitude she was giving him. He places one last kiss on her neck before moving back and nipping her earlobe. 

“I won’t stop until I feel your body shake from overstimulation, tears in your eyes and you’re alternating between apologizing and begging for me to stop.” 

Keeping his arm firmly wrapped around her waist. He releases the back of her neck and pulls his face away. 

Amaris looks into his eyes, her lips going into a playful smile. The thought of Mihawk slamming into her up against the wall of the bathroom, her moans and screams being heard by the employees turned her on. 

“Well, I'm glad I wore a sundress today. Though I thought you found this place nauseating?”

In his frustrated state he hadn’t noticed what she was wearing. 

When he looked her over, he saw she was wearing the infamous sundress that she had bought on their trip to Italy last summer. 

“You are making this very difficult to stay frustrated with you, Amaris. You know I cannot control myself when I see you in this dress.” 

The heat in her core explodes at the memories that had occurred after she bought the dress. With a mischievous smile on her face, Amaris leans in close to whisper in his ear. 

“Then don’t…..take me home and have your way with me..” 

She kisses his cheek and then whispers in his ear again

“Afterwards, you’re treating me to a romantic dinner of, Dr. pepper and a quesadilla” 

[dcu-rarepair]

Day 5 Gifts

Eight fantastic Gifts have been released for Day Five! Head to the Collection to check them out, and view the Release Schedule to see what’s in store!

We also have a handy Commenting Guide to help our Giftees with showing their Giftors some love. And now, here’s today’s works: 

people are people (regardless of anything) by anonymous for walkerofthestars

Teen and Up | No Archive Warnings Apply Dick Grayson/Joseph Wilson "He's his mother's son, he's his father's son, and he's beginning to think there's not much of a difference. He takes off with Dick anyways, thrust into a life he never wanted in the first place. He wonders if the like Dick leads is anything like his own."

Midwest Hospitality by anonymous for ramveins

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics Mature | Graphic Depictions of Violence Clark Kent/Slade Wilson When Special Agent Slade Wilson runs afoul of Amanda Waller, he has Task Force X set on him, with his only hope of rescue being the alien invader that he'd been tasked with defeating. And of course it all had to happen right as he was going into heat. When Superman hears a cry for help, of course he'll answer it, even if it turns out the one in need of help had hurt him, before, even tried to kill him. He's Superman, he'll always help. After action comes recovery. After drama comes quiet. And hopefully, after animosity and confusion can come friendship and understanding, and maybe something more.

Fools Who Dared to Dream by anonymous for anotherDeadRobin

Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics | Dystopia | Slavery Teen and Up | No Archive Warnings Apply Apollo/Midnighter/Jason Todd, Apollo/Midnighter Midnighter can't take his eyes off of the omega. It's not just the edge of his rut, looming closer and closer with every passing second. This omega is different.

Watchtower Secrets by anonymous for jerrydoe

Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply Stephanie Brown/Kon-El/Conner Kent The first time Kon saw Stephanie Brown it was when she was Robin. She didn’t even give him the time of day then, but now, he wanted her to give him the time of night too.

Doing Fine by anonymous for st_baroque

General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply Stephanie Brown & Duke Thomas & Jason Todd, Duke Thomas & Jason Todd Jason is having a hell of a morning, but Duke and Stephanie are looking out for him. In more ways than they know.

I (Didn't) Understand by anonymous for redhairgreeneyes

General Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply Hal Jordon (Green Lantern)/Dinah Lance/Oliver Queen Hal doesn't think Dinah and Oliver would want to date him for real. They have to prove him wrong.

FANARTS - Grant/Jason(/Joey) BDSM AU by anonymous for scandalsavage

BDSM Art | Mature | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Jason Todd/Grant Wilson, Jason Todd/Joseph Wilson Small fanart collection and character profiles for a AU setting! A young sub called Jason is gifted to the Wilson Royal Family after a fruitful alliance with the kingdom of the AL Ghul's. Unfortunately for King Slade, the boy is quite a handful. Fortunately for his children, that handful is all theirs to do with as they please.

Dollhouse by anonymous for SuperRobinSmash

No Powers AU Explicit | No Archive Warnings Apply Jonathon Samuel Kent/Kon-El | Conner Kent As his eyes readjusted to the darkness, Jon squeaked. His oldest brother was naked. Barechested, the only thing he had on was a bright blue jockstrap. A jockstrap whose cup already looked to be leaking around the edges. Jon’s mouth went dry. “Like what you see?” Conner asked as Jon’s eyes roamed every inch of his body. 

[charlenasaxen]

Love Story Quotes

“What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?

That she was beautiful. And brilliant.”

“I asked her what the order was, and she replied, smiling, ‘Alphabetical.”

“don’t come first, which for some stupid reason bothers hell out of me, having grown up with the notion that I always had to be number one. Family heritage, don’t you know?”

“I still hadn’t gotten around to reading the first book on the list, an endemic Harvard disease”

“You’re wrong,” I protested. ‘I’m actually smart and poor.’

‘Oh, no, Preppie. I’m smart and poor.”

“What the hell makes you so smart?’ I asked.

‘I wouldn’t go for coffee with you,’ she answered.

‘Listen - I wouldn’t ask you.’

‘That,’ she replied, ‘is what makes you stupid.”

“I got an A minus on the exam, coincidentally the same grade I assigned to Jenny’s legs”

“the Midget Restaurant, a nearby sandwich joint which, despite its name, is not restricted to people of small stature”

“For it is my special albatross to be related to the guy that built Barrett Hall”

“a colossal monument to my family’s money, vanity - and flagrant Harvardism”

“Her handwriting was curious - small sharp little letters with no capitals (who did she think she was, e. e. cummings?)”

“Doesn’t she know who I am?

‘Hey, don’t you know who I am?”

“She looked me straight in the eye and smiled.

‘I like your body,’ she said.”

“I had not despaired of ultimate victory over this snotty Radcliffe bitch.

‘Listen, you snotty Radcliffe bitch”

“I answered casually:

‘Because I’m playing.”

“we were beating Dartmouth 0-0. That is, Davey Johnston and I were about to perforate their nets. The Green bastards sensed this, and began to play rougher.”

“As a kind of noblesse oblige, I have never denied them either”

“It had always been my policy, in pile-ups like this, to lash mightily at anything wearing enemy colors”

“for the moment we were concentrating on beating the shit out of each other”

“Me? What had I done to deserve a penalty?

‘Come on, ref, what’d I do?’

Somehow he wasn’t interested in further dialogue.”

“The crowd booed; several Harvards impugned the vision and integrity of the referees.”

“I looked out onto the ice to give moral support to my colleagues”

“she had disappeared. As I stood up to look further, I was informed that my two-minute sentence was up. I leaped the barrier, back onto the ice.”

“Jenny would hear the big enthusiasm for my presence. So who cares where she is.”

“I had a split second to glance up at the stands to search for Jenny. I did. I saw her. She was there.

The next thing I knew I was on my ass.”

“my ass was on the ice, and I was - Christ! - embarrassed beyond belief.”

“(I had stood up by this time)”

“And the Dartmouth guy I hit was still on his ass. The fans threw programs onto the ice. This really broke Dartmouth’s back. (That’s a metaphor; the defenseman got up when he caught his breath.) We creamed them 7-0.”

“the good old number 7 shirt (I had dreams of them retiring that number; they didn’t)”

“Peeling off the sweaty gear, strutting naked to the supply desk”

“Okay, Jack, I’ll start eating more salt.’

Jesus, was he pleased!”

“I set a new record for getting dressed. I wasn’t even quite dry as I pushed open the center door”

“Did I say you could kiss me?’

‘Sorry. I was carried away.’

‘I wasn’t.”

“it was dark and cold and late. I kissed her again.”

“When we stopped kissing, she was still holding on to my sleeves”

“See, Jenny, you can dish it out, but you can’t take it!’

I would like to have seen the expression on her face, but strategy forbade my looking”

“Hello, animals.’

They responded with appropriate grunts.”

“What does she play with Barrett?’

‘Probably hard to get!”

“The animals were laughing.

‘Gentlemen,’ I announced as I took leave, ‘up yours.”

“Sitting among the Harvard rooters -

but not rooting, of course - was Oliver Barrett III”

“Old Stonyface observed in expressionless silence as the last bit of blood on the face of his only son was stopped”

“why don’t you go out for the boxing team?’

‘Exeter doesn’t have a boxing team, Father.”

“Do you think I fight for your benefit, Father?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say ‘benefit.”

“an extremely busy man with banks to run and so forth, I have taken the time to come up to Cornell for a lousy hockey game”

“an X ray determined that no bones were broken, and then twelve stitches were sewn into my cheek”

“typical of him to suggest the old-fashioned cure for a black eye”

“Thank you, Father,’ I said. ‘The doctor took care of it.’

‘I mean for your stomach, son.”

“How’ve you been, son?’

‘Fine, sir.’

‘Does your face hurt?’

‘No, sir.’

It was beginning to hurt like hell.”

“if I recall - and I try not to”

“He noted that we had lost the title (very sharp of you, Father)”

“I was not about to feed him any Olympic straight lines, so I gave him his quota of ‘Yes sir’s‘ and shut up”

“O.B. III has a way of disparaging me even while uttering laudatory phrases”

“I think the Peace Corps is a fine thing, don’t you?’ he said.

‘Well,’ I replied, ‘it’s certainly better than the War Corps.”

“We were even. I didn’t know what he meant and vice versa. ”

“no objection to your joining the Peace Corps, Oliver.’

‘It’s mutual, sir,’ I replied, matching his own generosity of spirit”

“Do they feel the Peace Corps is relevant to their lives?”

“My father simply likes to drive. Fast. And at that hour of the night in an Aston Martin DBS you can go fast as hell.”

“More significant was the fact that Jenny had been mentioning that she was dating me”

“hoping she would catch sight of me, my bandages, my injuries in toto, and be moved to slam down the receiver and rush to my arms”

“I said that as ominously as I could, sort of implying that I would punch-out any rivals”

“But then she got to read all of Proust on those long bus rides”

“What term do you employ when you speak of your progenitor?’

‘Sonovabitch.’

‘To his face?’ she asked.

‘I never see his face.’

‘He wears a mask?”

“It involves a kind of muscular intimidation as well. I mean, the image of athletic achievement looming down on you. I mean, on me.”

“I told her how I loathed being programmed for the Barrett Tradition”

“I did not like having to deliver x amount of achievement every single term”

“I notice how you hate getting A’s, being All-Ivy - ‘

‘What I hate is that he expects no less!”

“he’s so incredibly blasé when I do come through. I mean he just takes me absolutely for granted.”

“there I got my first inkling of a cultural gap between us”

“I tried to explain that my father was all form and no content”

“If I was, would I be going out with you?’

Back to business as usual.”

“I was afraid of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for the wrong reasons.”

“I just knew I had these feelings. For her.

For all of her.”

“Bullshit. You’re looking at my legs.’

‘Only once in a while. Every chapter.”

“Our first physical encounter was the polar opposite of our first verbal one. It was all so unhurried, so soft, so gentle.”

“the soft one, whose touch was so light and so loving”

“what truly shocked me was my own response. I was gentle, I was tender. Was this the real Oliver Barrett IV?”

“Hey, Oliver, did I tell you that I love you?”

“Ask me now.’

‘Do you love me, Jenny?”

“I don’t just love you …’

Oh, Christ, what was this?

‘I love you very much, Oliver.”

“I love Ray Stratton.

He may not be a genius or a great football player (kind of slow at the snap), but he was always a good roommate and loyal friend.”

“I had heard her play many times, of course, but never with a group or in public. Christ, was I proud.”

“And her face was sad.

‘Ollie, you’re a preppie millionaire, and I’m a social zero.”

“What the hell does that have to do with separate ways? We’re together now, we’re happy.”

“you gotta go back where you belong.”

“What about our marriage?”

“Me. I’m saying it now.’

‘You want to marry me?’

‘Yes.”

“Even the Sonovabitch?’ she asked.

‘Ah, he’s a nice guy. You’ll really like him.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Everybody likes him”

“I suddenly wish my name was Abigail Adams, or Wendy WASP?”

“Jenny succumbed to a last-minute panic.

‘Let’s run,’ she said.

‘Let’s stay and fight,’ I said.

Was either of us joking?”

“Abbott Lawrence Lyman, who had the temerity to go through life, without so much as a Barrett in his middle name!”

“I didn’t know you were related to Sewall Boat House too,’ she said.

‘Yeah. I come from a long line of wood and stone.”

“Ah, hello there.’

Sonovabitch! It was the Sonovabitch.”

“Uh - yes. I suppose not.’

You bet your ass not, Father.”

“And I don’t take that kind of crap even from an Olympic finalist”

“Play ball!’ said I, as kind of a pleasantry”

“Where they exploited the poor for generations,’ added Oliver IV”

“So I brought up a topic.

‘Tell me, Jennifer,’ I inquired. ‘What do you think of the Peace Corps?”

“seemed to be waiting for me to bow down or something. I mean, it’s not Secretary of State, after all!”

“Yes,’ I said without much conviction. ‘Uh - would you pass the sugar, please.”

“I had opened a can of beans. Or, more appropriately, spaghetti sauce.”

“could I face the fact that I wasn’t perfect? Christ, she had already faced my imperfection and her own. Christ, how unworthy I felt!”

“Would you like a clam or an oyster, Jen?’

‘Would you like a punch in the mouth, Preppie?”

“She made a fist and then placed it gently against my cheek. I kissed it”

“eating lunch in the Harvard Club of Boston. (I too fast, if one accepts my father’s estimate.)”

“What irks you most, Father?’

He replied in kind of a whisper. ‘What attracts you most?”

“As opposed to what? A boy? A girl? A mouse? Anyway, I stayed.”

“I will not give you the time of day.’ Who gave a shit if somebody overheard.

‘Father, you don’t know the time of day.”

“After the debacle of introducing Jennifer to her potential in-laws (‘Do I call them outlaws now?’ she asked)”

“He would not question Barretto’s love, since to know Jenny is to love Jenny; it’s a universal truth”

“that the opposite would prevail, at least for the next three years: his daughter would have to support his son-in-law!”

“or even, if Barretto were not my size, punch him out?”

“repeating the answers to all the stupid questions I had asked”

“Are you implying that Harvard Law School has accepted a man who can’t even define ‘okay’?’

‘It’s not a legal term, Jenny.”

“She found the charity in her heart to repeat for the nth time the details of her conversation”

“he’d be happier if I had a few bucks, right?’

‘Wouldn’t you?”

“there were entire families sitting on their porches with apparently nothing better to do this Sunday afternoon than to watch me park”

“He knows,’ she told a whole new group of her fans”

“She took my hand (I was a stranger in paradise)”

“I must have eaten a record quantity of Italian pastries. Afterward I discoursed at some length on which ones I had liked best”

“what of my few and circumspect actions had earned for me that cherished epithet”

“Did I like the right cookies? Was my handshake strong enough?”

“Yes, sir?’

‘Phil.’

‘Yes, Phil, sir?’

‘You’re okay.’

‘Thank you, sir.”

“And you know how I feel about your daughter, sir. And you, sir.’

‘Oliver,’ Jenny interrupted, ‘will you stop babbling”

“can you avoid the profanity? The sonovabitch is a guest!”

“A father’s love is to be cherished and respected. It’s rare.’

‘Especially in my family”

“No, Phil. My father and I have installed a cold line.”

“Hit me, hit me, children. I want to be hit with everything on your minds.”

“On God? On anybody’s God?”

“I asked Jenny how she thought it all went.

‘Okay,’ she said.”

“He and I have had a sort of disagreement.”

“that kind of expressionless expression you have to be a dean to master”

“Very unfortunate. But that’s why I’ve come to you, sir. I’m getting married next month.”

“Jenny - that’s my wife”

“I’m still not gonna kiss my father’s ass so you can get a Barrett Hall for the Law School.’

I heard Dean Thompson mutter, ‘That’s unfair.’

I couldn’t have agreed more.”

“By prior arrangement, I was not introduced as her fiancé, and Jenny wore no ring: this so that none would be offended (too soon) about missing our wedding”

“Phil, who I guess was happy to avoid a discussion of love among the atheists”

“almost moved to tell these types that my presence as their leader decisively proved my theory that an hour in Dillon Field House is worth two in Widener Library”

“The wedding was that Sunday”

“Naturally, Ray Stratton was there, and I also invited Jeremy Nahum, a good friend from the Exeter days”

“Not that Stratton was all that calm! The pair of them stood there, looking tremendously uncomfortable”

“It was a very beautiful thing, and really sold us on the idea”

“very moving, perhaps especially to me, because it was a sonnet by Elizabeth Barrett”

“a kind of prayer for a place to stand and love in for a day, With darkness and the death’ hour rounding it”

“had been hard finding a piece of poetry I could read without blushing”

“I give you my hand!

I give you my love more precious than money, I give you myself”

“Will you give me yourself? will you come travel with me? Shall we stick by each other as long as we live?”

“Jenny and I - ourselves - recited the marriage vows, taking each other, from that day forward, to love and cherish”

“Mr. Timothy Blauvelt pronounced us man and wife”

“Upon reflection, our ‘post-game party’ (as Stratton referred to it) was pretentiously unpretentious”

“a tribute to ‘the greatest Harvard hockey player since the Cleary brothers.”

“argued Phil Cavilleri, pounding his fist on the table. ‘He’s better than all the Clearys put together.”

“I mean, the wet-eyes bit. His, Jenny’s, maybe mine too”

“It was then that the awesome truth started to get to me.

‘Jenny, we’re legally married!”

“Neither. It just means three bucks.”

“Our honeymoon was spent on a yacht and with twenty-one children. That is, I sailed a thirty-six-foot Rhodes from seven in the morning till whenever my passengers had enough, and Jenny was a children’s counselor.”

“I have nailed an imaginary plaque: ‘Oliver and Jenny slept here - when they weren’t making love”

“Jenny and I were nonetheless kind to each other. I simply say ‘kind,’ because I lack the vocabulary to describe what loving and being loved by Jennifer Cavilleri is like. Sorry, I mean Jennifer Barrett.”

“Hey, Ol, why do you think the fire department hasn’t condemned the joint?’ Jenny asked.

‘They’re probably afraid to walk inside”

“I wasn’t married then. Speaking as a married woman, I consider this place to be unsafe at any speed.’

‘What do you intend to do about it?’

‘Speak to my husband,’ she replied. ‘He’ll take care of it.”

“Really? Prove it.’

‘How?’ I asked, inwardly thinking, Oh no, in the street?”

“This is not the official goddamn threshold. Upstairs, you turkey!”

“This didn’t make it easier for me to catch my breath.

‘Are you?’ I could finally say.

‘Hah! Scared you, didn’t I?”

“about two minutes of ‘ho ho ho’s. Miss Whitman thought Jenny was being so witty in her remarks about Barretts having to pay the rent just like other people.”

“I made a few imaginative suggestions about what Miss Whitman could do with her - ho ho ho”

“I gave the whole situation a big think for about two seconds and reached an accurate and succinct conclusion: ‘Shit.”

“That’s pretty eloquent,’ said my wife”

“we were making ends meet”

“my own friends were considerate enough to let us alone. I mean, they didn’t invite us so we wouldn’t have to invite them, if you know what I mean.”

“It’s not,’ argued Jenny, ‘it’s six bucks. You can go without me. I don’t know a thing about football except people shout ‘Hit ‘em again,’ which is what you adore”

“The case is closed,’ I would reply, being after all the husband and head of household”

“I would spend Saturday afternoons with a transistor at my ear, listening to the roar of the fans, who, though geographically but a mile away, were now in another world”

“On the water too?’ she asked.

‘Jocks are jocks,’ I answered, ‘dry or wet.”

“was it merely six dollars that kept me away from the stadium those Saturday afternoons?”

“Okay, so I did glance at it earlier. Maybe it had slipped my mind. I was, after all, in the midst of abstracting”

“Ollie, think,’ she said, her tone kind of pleading now. ‘Sixty goddamn years old. Nothing says he’ll still be around when you’re finally ready for the reconciliation.”

“I couldn’t produce evidence. I mean, I simply knew our son would not resent me, I couldn’t say precisely why.”

“an absolute non sequitur, Jenny then remarked: ‘Your father loves you too, Oliver. He loves you just the way you’ll love Bozo.”

“That is, I tried not to. She was in the same room, after all.”

“That’s what a recent profile in The New York Times said. Goddamn journalism is going downhill nowadays.”

“Had she not been in such an emotional state, I could have explained once again that stones do not bleed”

“For me, Oliver. I’ve never asked you for anything.”

“I knew my glance was so intense, my face so fierce, I was disturbing the whole fucking place. Who cares?

But Jenny wasn’t there.”

“I was running everywhere now, my legs trying to catch up with the pace of my heart”

“If you can be relieved and panicked at the same time, that’s what I was”

“Listen, you bastard,’ he said.

‘Yes, sir?’

‘How goddamn far is Cranston that you can’t come down”

“Inwardly I hoped she had some blunt instrument with which to hit me.

‘Jen?’

‘Ollie?”

“As we undressed, she looked at me reassuringly.

‘I meant what I said, Oliver.’

And that was all.”

“Hey - Harvard Law School! Have you been kicked out?’

‘Guess again, you optimistic bitch”

“jumped immediately into the water. I dove right in after her and the next thing I knew we were both hanging on to the side of the boat and giggling.

‘Hey,’ I said in one of my wittier observations, ‘you went overboard for me.”

“I owe you a helluva lot,’ I said sincerely.

‘Not true, you bastard, not true,’ she answered.

‘Not true?’ I inquired, somewhat surprised.

‘You owe me everything”

“I mean, six courses, plus editing the Law Review, plus the fact that I actually authored an article”

“Christ, Jenny had told me it was ‘incisive, intelligent and really well written.”

[back-and-totheleft]

Stone unturned

WILL Jimeno's initial reaction to his 9/11 experiences being turned into a movie was to say he didn't want to do it. "I couldn't see how Hollywood would take our story and put it on the big screen. I was hesitant about it," he admits.

The story of how Jimeno and fellow police officer John McLoughlin were pulled from the rubble after being buried 20ft below the surface for more than 12 hours is a remarkable one.

But neither felt comfortable when approached about being the focus of a big movie dealing with the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. They were two of only 20 people rescued from beneath the piles of concrete slabs and twisted metal after the Twin Towers collapsed.

Meetings with producers and a screenwriter eased their fears. Then, when he heard that Oliver Stone - controversial director of JFK, Platoon, Nixon, Natural Born Killers and Alexander - was to helm the project, Jimeno realised that this uncompromising director was the right man for the job.

"We knew that this had the potential to be a great film. Whether you love or hate this man - and I love him - he stands up for what he believes in, says Jimeno, joining Stone for the London launch of the movie World Trade Center.

"After we saw the completed version of the film for the first time, I walked out and gave him a big hug and kiss, and told him he'd kept his word to me - he'd done good for America and for the world. I hope people see Oliver as a talented director who believes in something and goes forward with that."

Sergeant John McLoughlin (played on screen by Nicolas Cage) and Jimeno (Michael Pena) were among five men from the Port Authority Police Department who went into the buildings and were trapped when the towers collapsed. Lying injured 20ft below the rubble field, they couldn't see each other but could hear each other and kept each other alive talking about their lives and families until rescue arrived. The film cuts between the trapped men, their families waiting for news and the rescuers.

Stone has received some of the best reviews of an often-stormy career for World Trade Center. "It was a minefield that could have blown up in our face," he admits. "We had political considerations in New York. The producers spent hours and hours having dozens of meetings with all kinds of groups, widows groups, political groups.

"We shot in New York but there were many limitations. And then, of course, technically we depended on Will and John and the rescuers for very complicated technical advice."

Stone was aware that 9/11 events looked just like a movie, remembering that on the day itself people were comparing it to a Jerry Bruckheimer movie, a reference to the producer specialising in big budget action movies.

Making a film like that was precisely what Stone didn't want to do. "I'm sure there could be a Towering Inferno made out of this, they could make a hell of an exciting movie. It would probably be a big popcorn movie," he says.

"But the beauty of this, and the originality of it, was that it was apolitical, a microcosmic story. Going into Noah's Ark with the whole human race getting sucked down and then out of the belly of the whale, so to speak, these two are spit back. Only 20 survivors, a very amazing ratio. And these two had a coherent story."

Stone believes his own combat duty - he served in the US Army Infantry in Vietnam, where he was wounded twice and decorated with the bronze star for valour - was an asset in getting into the minds of McLoughlin and Jimeno. "It's been noted in my work in the past that I've been interested in death states, and in this movie it was a chance to really talk to two men who had been as close to death as most men have ever been in their lives," he explains.

"What brings them back? What is the thing that connects them to the Earth? I choose to believe, and I may be dead wrong, they survived because of metaphysical reasons, not only physical reasons. There's an inner life going on. John had beliefs in family and a faith, and Will was similar, and their helping each other contributed to it. The mind is what kept them alive."

Jimeno also sees Stone's past was a help, seeing a common denominator between a police officer and a military person. "I don't care where you're from in the world, people who've seen combat understand there's a certain honour and a certain obligation to honour those who've lost their lives," he says.

"The McLoughlins and the Jimenos didn't do this film for money or fame. We did this to bring out the story of those that we lost, the strength of our wives and of our rescue workers.

"Oliver gave me his word. I never had a concern after that, knowing that for the man who'd seen combat to do anything different would disgrace those memories and him. I knew he wasn't going to do that."

Stone's satisfied that both survivors and those who died in the tragedy are honoured by the story of McLoughlin and Jimeno. "It's a way of remembering them in a positive way. This is a memorial and the function of a memorial is to remember," he says. "Believe it or not, in America many people have already forgotten 9/11. They're living with the consequences of it, which are nightmarish. They ought to put up a memorial at that place. I hope this will be another form of memorial."

Reliving the many hours they were trapped through the movie recreation was obviously painful for Jimeno and McLoughlin and their families. Seeing the movie for the first time produced "a rollercoaster of emotions," says Jimeno.

"Once you get over seeing regular people like ourselves portrayed on film, you have the emotions of happiness as we were leaving the house. I'd just bought my first house six weeks before the attacks, my wife was pregnant, I had a beautiful little girl and was going to work at, for me, the best job at the Port Authority Police Department in New Jersey.

"Then you get to work and you have fear, you have power, you have pain, you see the loss of life. But at the end of the film we walked out with a lot of honour.

"The most important thing is faith, hope and love. That's when I walked out and gave Oliver a hug and a kiss. I feel bad for anybody who doesn't walk out with those emotions, because then I don't know what you're seeking in life.

"Those things are there. It happened on 9/11, in London, in Spain, in India. I keep using Edmund Burke's quote 'all that is needed for evil to prevail is for good men to stand by and do nothing'.

"There were good men and women on 9/11 - Oliver's showing that. And everybody throughout the world can gain from our experience if they're confronted with a tragedy."

-Steve Pratt, "Stone unturned," The Northern Echo, Sept 30 2006

[sunshineterror]

R gave him one of her best smiles, knowing full well what he was hearing at that moment. She hated it, what she carried around, the devastation she could have caused. Maybe that’s why she ran herself. At least she was more put together this time than the last time Sollux had likely seen her, wearing actual clothing and her hair braided and neat.

Of course, her gaze wandered just a little bit, her fingers fiddling nervously. She was hesitant to ask, even now, but R was always known for extending olive branches. Hell, look at most of her adopted wards. Her relationships even, minus Damon.

“Dirk’s alive, you know,” and suddenly the weight crashed even harder on her chest. It didn’t sit well. It likely never would. Being who she was, it shouldn’t surprise anyone that she kept this information close, especially from H.A.L. She didn’t want to worry him, and she felt like she was protecting him. R was no saint, despite how she carried herself. “I don’t think anyone but Vriska and I are aware. Dave and Ro believe but I doubt they know. He’s done a great job at hiding, flying under the radar, so to speak.”

She twisted the ring on her finger, looking down to admire it for a moment. “…I want to invite everyone to the wedding. We’re all practically family, we grew up together, during the most pivotal time of our lives,” she finally admitted, her tone dropping a little. “I don’t have high hopes, Sollux, don’t get me wrong. I just…” She trailed off, struggling to find the words.

The Mage sat in his living room, a long moment of waiting as he closed his eyes the bright flashes of psionic color illuminating his space for a moment. His legs crossed as he sat on the couch breathing out slowly but surely. He had figured this was coming, since they had been shunted onto R's plans.

He breaths out when he hears the knocking all the small amounts of preparation he could partake in drifted away in that moment, he opened his eyes as the door opened itself, he looked significantly worse for ware, hair having grown long and unkempt, eyes sunken in from a lack of sleep, finally the most obvious feature was the mess that was his apartment standardly. Of course he had taken efforts to clean it for R's arrival, but well he didn't fuss. The Mage glanced towards R's illuminated silhouette in the door frame, it reminded him of the screams even now,, he could still hear them distantly. "... 2o. What awful decii2on am ii tryiing to talk you out of thii2 tiime R?"