#corporate rock still sucks

[king-ludwig-ii]

in work drama updates: the person who outed me is the same person who’s been ratting people out to our supervisor.

This one guy joked about not working out his full two weeks bc he was so excited to leave so they went to management and told them that he straight up said he wasn’t going to show up on his last day so they sent him home half a week early.

Another coworker told them she was in the final round interviews for another job and they also went to management and they ended up firing her the same day

[drgnflyteabox]

red ochre [1]

series masterlist part one -> minium || part two -> woad and weld

pairing: viking goap x fem! nun reader summary: you become the unlikely treasure of two vikings who raid your convent looking for gold w.c: 4.3k tags/warnings: religious themes (DLDR), minor suicidal ideation, mention of viking raids (slavery, violence, death), kidnapping, threats, dubcon bathing + touching, mean simon (ish), established goap, reader is underfed and beaten in the convent (corporal punishment), difficult travel, some food description

Near the coast the wind scratches at you when it blows, full of sand and salt.

Once, you'd imagined this as your calling; committed to asceticism, married to God, serving under the abbess. Enclosed, you find yourself stifled more than devoted, pressing your face to the stone barrier that blocks the convent from the outside world.

Isolation, never being quite full, the slow and steady stripping of your identity. This is your life - hollowed out, like meat sucked from a crab, cracked open and used and hollow.

You couldn't have predicted Christ to be such an inconsiderate husband.

"Girl!" the voice is the crack of a whip in empty air. You don't jump, but the hair on your body raises, the welts on your thighs sting.

"Yes, mother?" you put your chin down to your chest, turning, pressing your back to the wall. Demure, submissive, utterly devoid of fight. And still, her grip finds you hard as iron and rough as the rock you'd just been touching, pulling you hard enough to make your shoulder ache back toward the heavy wood doors of the dormitory.

"You shirk your duties again, child? Leave your sisters to pick up your slack?" you didn't mean to, truly. It's only that you ache so deeply you're afraid you might never recover from the feeling.

"Please forgive me, mother, I lost track of time," you murmur. Your uniform is damp from the spray outside, and you relish in the scent and feel of it. Freedom, that's what it is. "Allow me to make up for-"

"Hush!" spit touches your cheek. You don't wipe it away. "You'll finish the tapestry tonight. No matter how long it takes you."

Desperately, you wish for God to strike you down. If you're there, father. You close your eyes. Please, please kill me now.

He doesn't listen, and the abbess pushes you to supper.

Dark bread, boiled turnips, fish and wine. Average, filling, but you'd hoped for more of the crumbly white cheese from yesterdays supper.

You know not to complain. And truly, you are grateful. With your family, it had been gruel upon gruel, often bear, and rarely flavour. Salt kisses your tongue now, and the wine makes your sore muscles relax.

The monks have it harder; you'd visited them once as a girl with your father to pray, but there was still labour to be done here. Cooking was often your job, as was doing the washing and the tilling for the vegetable garden.

Today sister Colette had assigned you weaving so that you wouldn't be out of practice. The muscles in your back and fingers ached from it already, and dread made your stomach sour to the food you ate at the thought of more work.

Mealtimes were quiet, as required. The other women eat mousily, looking down at their plates and pulling their food apart into small little bites, trying to make it last. Obedience, poverty. How silly it was now that you'd dreamed of this.

"Sister?" a whisper, next to you. Margaret was almost a friend, too pious to really confide in but so kind it was impossible to ignore her. "What were you doing?"

"I felt compelled," you shrug, lips oily from the fish. "I felt confined."

"Oh sister," Margaret pushes her bottom lip out, dark eyebrows pulling up. "You should never feel confined here."

You knew, and yet you did. It was like living in a stone coffin. All the work felt pointless since your heart had strayed from God. Even now, touching Margaret's elbow to comfort her in her worry for you, you're sick to death of even clearing plates.

There was one secret they hadn't found. None of the sisters, not even the abbess, had found your secret booklet.

Paper was more valuable than gold since the church needed so much to copy and produce texts. The writing room at the very top of the convent, where you were so seldomly asked, was full of it and guarded by lock and key.

Over months, you'd scrounged, stealing enough to make a booklet. In it, you felt sustained. Free. Titillated, sometimes, when your hand found its way beneath your soft worn blanket under your shift and you drew indecent drawings of men coming to save you. Of the farmboys from your village.

They were nothing like real art, not so detailed, but they lit inside you a spark of life. Without them, you'd be snuffed out.

Candles line the hallway toward the workroom, where you'll likely spend the rest of the night. It's near the very entrance of the convent, so that visitors may see the sisters hard at work and find reason to donate.

Really, it's a temptation. Those massive doors, ready to open and let you free.

But what could you do, really? If God were a kind man and Christ a good husband, they'd turn you into a horse so that you might run, might feel your hooves beating the earth and the coarse air on your skin.

Regrettably human, you sit to work on the tapestry. Curse the abbess and let the holy father hear your thoughts. This is worse than hell, you think. Your fingers cramp and the chair is hard, flat wood. It's made to be uncomfortable on purpose, everything is. After you finish you only have a thin mattress to look forward to, even thoughts of drawing hunky carpenters doesn't draw you out of the misery that is embroidery in the dark.

Is this string strong enough to hold you, should you hang yourself? You're being dramatic, but you feel you've earned the right.

Footsteps walk down the hall towards you. They're sure, heavy. Maybe sister Catharine, tall and splendid, is coming to release you from torment?

"Hello," you say jovially. Please be sister Catharine.

"Look what we've got here, Ghost," it's a male voice. You freeze. The accent is unfamiliar. Had you missed the visit of a monk, an abbot, a priest? "Darlin' little lass, all by herself."

Shivers overtake you. It hurts to straighten from your hunched position, but you have to do it to see properly.

You come face to face with a skull, towering over you from the doorway.

A scream builds, filling your chest, hanging off the tip of your tongue.

Stopped only by the glint of candlelight against a blade, and the quickness of the another man reaching you.

You shake, all sound stuck in your throat, feeling arms as strong as petrified wood circle your arms and pull you toward the door. The pressure, the scrape of rock against your feet, it's unreal and barely registered against the terror that builds when you look to your left and see the skull, sewn into cloth, with the soft clank of bones hanging from his waist.

His eyes find yours, dead and mellow in the eyesockets, piercing through you. Blood rushes through your ears, deafening you, until you leave the room and reality sets in.

Devils, come to sack the convent.

Who will likely kill you and all your sisters. Even the abbess, with her punishment cane and severe face, doesn't deserve that.

You shriek, finding your voice, twisting like a cat in a bag. Their hands tighten against you, growling orders at you to be still, girl.

It's then that you hear the cries, the crashes. Sounds of chaos, a cacophony of harsh voices and the search of the convent. Some of the women weep, some pray, you scream.

"Hey!" Skull snaps, shaking you hard. "Behave and we won't kill you." You comprehend that, but the animal urge to struggle for your life still has a grip on you.

The other man twists towards you, lips snarling. "Ye want to die, then? I'm not opposed to slitting ye open throat to cunt, if that's what ye prefer."

You still, sag, mouth turning downwards in misery. Sweat sticks to your skin, from fear and exertion.

"Good girl," Skull says.

The nuns have been crowded back into the dining room, cowed and cowering, trembling lambs against the storm of awful armoured men ravaging the sanctity of the space.

Some have already found gold, crosses and busts of saints and reliquaries. The abbess weeps to see the bust of Mother Mary, thrown so roughly to the ground that baby Jesus snaps off.

You watch it all happening, eyes wide, shaking despite yourself. Adrenaline makes your legs cramp in their position, curled, back to back with another sister.

"Cap," a younger man runs up, hands full with an ornate chest. "What'cha think of this one?"

"Lookit this one," the man from earlier is giddy, slapping the young one on the back. He holds St Augustine, gilded in gold and jewels. "Not too shabby, eh, Gaz?"

"Not too shabby at all," Gaz grins back at him, turning towards the third man.

"Good job, boys," he says. He's mustached, tall, steadier and calmer than the rest. A leader, clearly.

It smells of smoke, or blood, but you can't see anyone bleeding.

Maybe that's their natural scent, violence clinging to them cloying like they'd bathed in it before coming.

"Soap," Gaz calls. He's run through the library, tossing shelves to the ground, taking one or two books. Walked through the dormitories, throwing open the chests at the ends of each bed. "Take a look at this one!"

A little booklet. Your booklet, tiny in the hand of the devil.

Anxiety crawls up your spine. There's no way they'd know it was yours, but you're still afraid of another kind of raiding, should they discover your sin.

The men laugh, looking with hungry eyes, glinting, mouths stretched and wet.

Look at the ground, be quiet, be still. You want to survive, you want to draw again and feel the air against your skin. You're scared of these men, huge and muscled as they are.

They wear furs, leather, clinking chainmail, wrapped shoes. Weapons hang by their sides and are clutched firmly in hands, though no nuns nor abbesses have been harmed.

Yet.

"Gold ain't the only treasure, eh?" Soap looks down at you while others use pillowcases for bags, stuffing their bounty inside with loud clangs.

His foot nudges your thigh, and you shift away as much as possible, still looking away, still scared.

Skull comes back. Soap calls him over and calls him Ghost, so you switch the name in your head.

Ghost is big, but he glides through the air.

"See that, Ghost?" Soap nudges him, the way he nudged you. Eyes crazed.

"Mm," Ghost grunts. He hasn't looted, not like the others. Just walked through the halls and gathered one or two other stray nuns shuddering in various corners. "You want 'er?"

You blanch, breath leaving you.

"Can we?" He looks back at you and leans down, thick fingers finding your chin, tilting your face up. "Pretty little hen, so scared, aren't ye?"

"Take 'er."

With Ghosts permission, Soap moves his fingers from your face to the meat of your arms, dragging you up, using your stupor to help him.

"Dinnae worry, hen, we'll take good care of ye," it's not reassuring. You think you feel your knees hitting each other from the force of your shaking. "Awe, don't cry."

Two rivers have sprouted form your eyes, tracking searing hot salt down your cheeks, hands twisting in your habit.

The men regroup. You were right about the mustached man being a leader, and learn his name is Price. He commands them like any armyman you've ever seen, clearly holds a lot of authority.

You're the only nun that's a part of the spoils.

The only one tied with coarse rope around the wrists, chafing, tossed between Soap and Gaz through the convent until you reach those big wooden doors.

Those doors you'd dreamed about opening, those doors that you dread opening now.

"Keep walking," Gaz says. He's mellower than the others, but you'd be a fool to underestimate him.

Or ask him for help.

Reality hasn't set. You're in purgatory, stumbling across the wet grass in just wool socks, growing wetter by the minute from mist and dew. The men hoot and cheer and clank their gold, throwing fists and weapons in the air.

A bloodless victory, unless they change their mind and decide to kill you.

Soap jumps, accidentally pulling you forward in a jerk that brings you to your knees. The tears come back, and the pebbles nearing the beach digging into your knees makes you sob.

"Careful!" Ghost barks. Behind you, he reaches under your armpits and helps you up. His hands are still rough, but he lets go of you quickly to yank the rope out of Soaps hands. It doesn't help that it's still near-pitch outside, not yet morning, hard to see.

"Ach," he rubs a hand behind his head, watching you cry and walk like a deadwoman. "Got a little over-excited, darlin. Forgive me."

"I'll be better to ye, don't worry," he falls in beside you, using a knuckle to brush away your tears.

When you reach the beach, you see a few boats, supplies, but that's all. No camp, nowhere to sleep. Did they jump straight from the boats, marching up the hill to the convent to pillage?

God, they're so big. Warriors. Why just you?

"Right," Price calls them to attention. You're stuck next to Ghost, sniffling, shivering a little, praying mentally for the first time in a long time. Dear God, please help me, please strike these men dead and let me run back up the hill.

You miss what Price says, whispering under your breath with your eyes closed and palms together until Ghost puts his hand on your shoulder and pushes you forward again.

"Walk, then get on the boat," his voice is a growl.

"Dinnae worry," Soap chips in. "We brought meat."

They did - dried fish hangs like your laundry across each boats. The gold is loaded alongside you, stuffed to one side, and you're left trying to avoid the men tossing things in your direction.

Ghost ties your wrists to a wooden loop on the side of the boat.

It was built for this. For prisoners, slaves, taken in conquest.

"Ready?"

"Ready!"

Price shouts, the men answer. It's loud, a cacophony of voices and waves and the scrape of the boat against the sand.

You're going, going, gone. Floating. Adrift. Tied to the side of a viking ship with nothing but your thick, woolen habit and woolen socks. At least they provide some warmth, the air colder over the water.

Eyes look you up and down, not just from the two that took you. Gaz smiles to himself and punches Soap in the thigh, then they play wrestle.

You wonder what will happen to you- are you being taken as a slave? A prize?

The positive side to your time spend as a nun is that you know how to work, and you know that if something awful happens, you could find a way to meet God early and put yourself down.

Blood rushes in your ears again.

You register from somewhere outside of yourself that you're panicking again, caught wanting to run and having nowhere to do it. Tied down.

A hand touches your nape, and you turn with wild eyes and desperation all over your face to Ghost.

"Take a breath," he says, low enough that only you hear it, firm and commanding. "In and out, girl. Do it."

You do, if only to save yourself passing out. In and out, in and out, you breathe.

"That's it," he leans down, brown eyes finding yours. The skull is bleached yellow, old, but you try to ignore it. "You're alright."

"No I'm not," you shock the both of you by speaking, voice high and wavering. "I'm not, you're going to kill me or worse-"

"You think we'd take you just to kill you?"

"You're a heathen, aren't you?" you gasp again, wiping your face on the fabric of your sleeves. "Sister Catharine says heathens sacrifice virgins. Please don't."

He startles you by laughing, a ragged thing ripped from his chest.

"Not gonna sacrifice you, lamb," his hand squeeze your nape, his thumb rubbing the edge of your jaw where he can reach. "Gonna be a long journey, you'd better settle now."

It's hell. You were mistaken before, and you'd do anything now to go back to embroidery. You'd let the abbess cane you bloody, you'd kneel and pray with the passion of Christ himself if it meant you could come off the boat.

The boat, the men. The godforsaken fish, too-salty, not much better than the biscuits Soap insists on feeding you by hand.

"Your hands are tied, pretty lamb, how are ye gonna feed yourself?" He breaks it up, wiping crumbs from your cheeks.

You hope Ghost will step in, but he doesn't. He watches, a specter, still wearing that mask on his face. You wonder if it's because of you, or if he's just like that. Private, hidden. Intimidating.

"Open wide," Soap seems fond of holding your face, squishing your cheeks and puckering your lips. He's extra zealous since catching a sea-bird, keen on making you taste it.

The thought makes your stomach roil, despite being sick of the fish and biscuits. You turn your face, trying to avoid him, whimpering when he squeezes a little too hard.

"Come on, hen," he leans closer. "Fresh meat is good, no?"

"Johnny", Ghost saves you again, finally. Pulls on Johnny's shirt until he's sitting back on his heels. "Let her be."

"Awe, just wanna giv'er my catch, Si," if a heathenish, kidnapping devil could whine and pout like a child, it would look like this.

Horrific, is what it is. You tuck your face into your elbow and close your eyes.

You've been doing that most of the journey, closing your eyes and breathing deeply like Ghost taught you. Or Simon, what you've heard Johnny calling him.

Dread sneaks in every once in a while, wakes you up from fitful sleeps or seizes your ability to speak. Nobody else has spoken to you, not even Gaz who keeps glancing at you. Nobody but Simon and Johnny.

"Here," Simon says. You look up.

In his hand, an apple. Your eyes go wide, prickling, and you look even further up to him.

His eyes reveal nothing. Brown, flat.

"For me?" you ask.

"You see me offering it to anyone else?" from the corner of your eye, Soap is staring at you, smiling.

"I can have it?" an apple. You could dance. Days and days of travel after living in the same town and then the same convent to taken by force on a boar. An apple.

"Take it before I give it to Johnny," he grunts.

Suddenly, you feel a kinship with Eve.

Seasickness luckily doesn't affect you, and the melancholy is kept at bay by the apple. You think of it when you think you can't take anymore, remembering it's sweetness.

Simon becomes the safest person, and often if you feel scared your eyes find him.

When a minor storm rocks the boat, pelting rain, waves beating against the front, you tuck yourself close to his side and let Johnny take your hands into his.

Too easy to lean into them, to accept Johnny wiping your face gently with a cloth and eat fresh fish from Simons fingers. You're exhausted, and Simon doesn't push.

He just remains steadfast against chaos, even when Johnny fights with another one of the men and he has to pull them apart by their shirts.

"Si'down!" he barks, the loudest you've ever heard him. It makes you flinch, hiding again, until he sits heavily down beside you and you scoot as close as possible again.

"Not the smartest, are you?" he looks down. That hurts. You're just scared, is all. "Doesn't matter who's there, you'd cling right to them, wouldn't you?"

No, you want to say. But you just hide your face in your arms and cry again. You want to tell him the apple was special, that you know nobody else has one or got one, but you don't.

Your heart beats hard against your ribcage, that dread coming back again, feeling heavy and small under the weight of your predicament and his judgment.

"He didnae mean it," Johnny croons. He strokes your hair away from your face, thumbs finding your tense brows and smoothing them out. "We know you're a good girl. S'why we took ye."

You sniffle. The rocking of the boat has become both maddening and soothing.

You wonder when this journey will end.

Your clothes are stiff with salt, wetted and dried and re-wetted. Your skin itches, wrists burning, welts unhealed from before when the abbess has caught you sneaking mead.

She had accused you of indulgence, of trying to get drunk. Truthfully, you'd just liked the taste of honey and missed it.

Nuns didn't eat honey, at least not there. Cheese and wine were already over the top, God forbid anyone ate anything sweet. That's why you loved the apple, had held each bite long on your tongue, letting the sugars sit there a moment to savor them.

"Hey," someone nudges you, bringing you out of your half-sleep. Easier to be less conscious, less aware, trying not to feel your anguish and your physical pain. "Come on, get up. We're here."

"Hmm?" You're so tired, hissing and whimpering when your wrists are jostled.

Untied. They're being untired. Your head lifts too quickly, making you dizzy. Gaz is squatting in front of you, holding your leash.

"You awake?" he squints, tilting his head. "You look rough, sorry 'bout that. You good to stand?"

Too many questions. You're forced to lean on him heavily to try to stand. He's as solid as the others, just leaner. Kinder, honestly, as he mostly carries you off the longboat.

Muscles like a new foal, you take a seat on the soft wet sand and slump onto a crate. It's a struggle to walk on solid ground.

Men move around you, dumping and lifting and talking. Less excited than the last time they were on the beach, but there's still a buzz aflutter.

"Can I bring'er up?" Johnny is looking at you, his hand on Simon's forearm. Their affection is the quiet kind, something you only noticed the last couple days of the journey. Small touches, murmurs.

"Go ahead," Simon touches him back, moving towards Price when Johnny comes towards you.

"Awe, lamb," he coos, hauling you up with an arm around his shoulder. His other arm goes to hold your waist, squeezing. "Dinnae worry, I'll get ye in a bath soon 'nough."

He's not lying - after a painful, difficult walk, you make it to a wooden cabin. Looking around, there are a few of similar make, a little town.

"Go on in then, sweet hen," he pushes you just enough for you to shuffle your feet in the door.

Modest wooden furniture greets you, a one-room house with a large bed, fireplace, and table. The rest is beyond you once you spot the tub.

"Sit, let me get it ready for ye."

You nearly fall asleep, or maybe you do, because when you open your eyes Johnny has steaming water filled to halfway in the tub, wooden slats fragrant. He's crumbling a dried flower in as well, humming to himself.

"Alright, s'ready," he helps you up again. Modesty is forgotten, you're too tired and weary to care when he slips the woolen habit off and leaves you in a plain shift, finally untying your wrists. "Pretty girl." He says it under his breath, like he can't help it.

The water is better than the apple. You hiss when it touches your wounds, your sore muscles.

You're tired to your marrow, could weep about it, eyes still opening and closing. Around you, Johnny searches through various bags and chests until he finds a bar of soap.

The soap is better than the water.

"Feels good?" he whispers, dipping his hands in and lathering up. How he's up and about, you have no idea. Even his hands near your bare breasts don't phase you - that's how wiped you are.

"S'good," you mumble. "Thought I ws'gonna die."

"We wouldn't've let that happen, sweet girl. Too precious, our treasure," a kiss, on your shoulder. He rubs the soap on your skin, your arms and down to your fingers, washing them each one by one.

"N'ver want to do that again," and then, because you forget he's your captor. "Please."

The attention is soft, patient. The soap washes away salt and dirt and sweat, even tears when he wipes your face with a rag. This is a second baptism, a better one, with gentle hands massaging your scalp and the barest brush against your nipples.

"Sit up," he pushes you forward, rinses your hair, washes your back while you're there.

The rag swipes over your cunt when he gets there, once, twice, eyes boring into you. Your exhaustion mutes the squeeze of anxiety in your chest, closing your eyes to avoid his gaze.

"Right, all done," he helps you back out and into a long, thin shift.

The bed is soft, so soft, covered in furs and actually stuffed enough to cradle your body. You sink into it immediately, just barely registering the door opening again.

"She asleep?" It's Simon, carrying luggage.

"Aye," Johnny says. You hear them kiss, wondering if they think you're asleep. "Anything else?"

"No," he's gruff, to-the-point. Drops bags in the corner with a clank and a chest by the door with a thud. "She give you trouble?"

"Sweet as a lamb, our girl," he sounds proud.

You open your eyes, one last attempt at self-preservation, and see them looking down at you.

Simon swipes a thumb over your cheek, under your eye, still wearing the skull.

"It's alright, go to sleep," he murmurs. Johnny leans his head on Simons shoulder. "Perfect girl, knew we did good takin' you."

[daydreams-after-dark]

After Hours

Felix; personal assistant | You; Corporate Boss |

You're a corporate boss, he is your personal assistant. You're his boss by day, but after hours his soft dom side gets you weak.

18+ fanfic // (soft dom) Felix + sub reader // vaginal fingering // oral sex (f rec) // toys // handcuffs // vaginal sex// orgasms // declaration of love // sex where someone might see // boss/subordinate relationship

Approx 1.9k words

The moon illuminates your high rise office just enough that you don’t need any additional lighting. Felix can still see everything as he presses the front of your naked body against the glass window of behind your desk. The glass is cold against your skin making you shudder.

“A little cold is it, boss?” your assistant, Felix says. There is a kindness in his voice even though he is whispering. You can feel his hot breath on your exposed neck. He retreats back for a moment and your not sure where he’s gone.

But then you feel him push against the back of your body. He’s naked. You can feel his hard erection against the back of your ass. 

Yes, you both liked to play risky games with each other after hours, happily wandering around naked and "sensually fucking", as Felix likes to call it.

“God Felix you’re so hard.” you gasp as he rubs the head of his cock through your lips, guiding it with one hand. His other hand caresses your ass, sliding it up to follow the curve of your back, and eventually tangling his fingers in your hair.

“It’s all because of you, you know?” He smirks against your neck, and tips your head back to expose more of your skin. "I've wanted you all day." 

A small squeak escapes your lips when he bites your neck hard, but still playfully. 

“Spread your legs a little for me, gorgeous.” He instructs. As always you oblige, stepping your feet apart to allow Felix access your entrance. How can you refuse your Felix. You may be his boss, but the boy makes you melt.

You’re expecting to feel the tip of his glorious dick prodding against you, but Felix is playful and full of unexpected surprises. Instead, he lets go of his cock and snakes his hand between your legs to find your clit.

You let out a long moan as he sucks on your pulse and applies pressure between you legs.

“You’re so wet for me.” He notes.

You lean back against Felix’s strong body and your head rests on his shoulder. He removes the hand in your hair, snaking around to squeeze your breasts. You’re chest is heaving, as you whimper at Felix’s touch. You close your eyes, losing yourself to the sensations. Felix’s hand makes it’s way down your stomach and down between your legs. With two fingers he spreads your lips apart, exposing your clitoris, and allowing the fingers of his other hand more access to deliver concentrated pressure.

“Fuck.” You cry out. You start to writhe against him, whimpering his name over and over as your climax builds. Felix slides his fingers from your clit to your entrance now, pushing two fingers into your pussy. His other hand now taking over working on your clit.

“You look so stunning right now. Like this.” Felix says in awe. 

You can feel the pressure building between your legs, and you start to rock your hips again Felix’s hand. His fingers slide so easily in and out of you. The slick, wet noises from your pussy accompanied with your low moans and sweet whimpers is sending Felix crazy. “I think you’re about to come on my fingers any minute now.” He said. “Can I put another one in?” He said closing his eyes and pressing his lips to your shoulder. 

“Mmm hmm.” You muttered, lost in the pleasure.

Felix pushed a third finger into you making you gasp at the stretch. “Yes yes yes… like that.. yes.” you cry. 

You are held against him, secure and safe, as Felix directs his fingers into your g-spot. He becomes absolutely relentless, not easing up for a moment as you squirm against him. 

“I can feel you’re so close… just let go, love…I’ve got you.” He whispers in your ear.

The pressure inside you explodes, and your legs shake as your orgasm crashes over you. “Yes that’s it…love… good girl… let go. Let go.” He bit his lip as he watches your legs give way, and he wraps an arm around your waist to hold you up. 

Felix doesn’t even let you recover from your orgasm before he’s spun you around, lifting you up and pressing you against the glass. You wrap your legs around his waist and he pushes his cock inside you with a groan.

“Felix… you’re hitting me so deep”. You protest. 

“Oh my God am I hurting you?” He stops and looks at you with concern, but you shake your head. “It’s fucking incredible.” You pant. 

His mouth attacks yours, biting and tugging your lip, then kissing and nibbling your neck. His breathy moans letting you know how much you’re driving him crazy. 

“Arms up.” He says gruffly. You do as he says, raising your arm above your head, and he uses one of his hands to pin your arms against the glass. His other hand supports your ass while he fucks you slow and deep. 

All you can hear is yours and Felix’s heavy, laboured breathing and your wet pussy as his cock moves in and out of you.

Eventually, Felix peels you off the glass and carries you over to your desk, laying you down and thrusting into you a few times before pulling out entirely.

“Felix,” you whined “where are you going?” You close your eyes, your neediness overwhelming you. 

“It’s okay. I’m still here.” His face appears over yours and he kisses you deeply. “I’ve got a surprise… something I want to try. If that’s okay.” He smiles brightly.

You smile back and push a strand of hair out of his face. “Okay.” You say, and he scurries off and switches on a lamp. Then he is back a moment later dangling a pair of black fluffy handcuffs and grinning deviously.

“I want to restrain you.” His grin turns into a cheeky smirk, making your heart melt. 

“Fuck, Felix. Have you had these hiding in your desk drawer all day. You're so bad.” You squint at him.

Felix raises and eyebrow “Yes? And I've been imagining this all day.” He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

“Legs up.” He suddenly demands. A rush of excitement courses through you and you fold your legs up towards your chest.

“Wrists around the back of your thighs, love.” He instructs you to hook your legs over your forearms, and to hold your arms around your thighs. Your feet dangle up around your ears.

“That’s it.” He says as he handcuffs your wrists, securing you in just the way he wants you.

“One more surprise.” Felix then holds up a butt plug with a black fluffy tail attached. “Can you wear this for me?” He asks with a feigned shyness. “I think you’ll look adorable with this in your pretty hole.” His naughty words are arousing you immensely and you nod your head “Yes, Felix… please… I’ll wear that for you. Can you help me put it in?” You coo.

Felix tries his best to hide his eagerness and it makes you bite your lip to try and hide your stupid grin.

You feel the cold metal against your vagina entrance, as Felix gathers your wetness to use as lubricant. “I’m feeling a little impatient,” he meets your eye, “so you’re going to have to take it in one go for me?” He decides. 

You feel a burning stretch as Felix pushes the plug into you in a slow but continuous motion.

You cry out. It hurts for a moment but then the stretch feels incredible. 

Felix stands back and admires you. “Such a pretty little kitty.” He smirks satisfied with his idea.

Then his head disappears and you feel his wet tongue lick a stripe up from your entrance to your  clit.

“Felix! Please just… I need your cock…” you toss your head around in frustration, all you want is for him to be inside you again.

“You want my cock, do you baby?” Felix tries to taunt you, but he’s lining himself up with you in a heartbeat, and sinking back into you.

“God you’re extra tight with that in your ass.” He chokes.

You desperately need to see his face so you try to move your legs slightly to one side as you tilt your neck to look around your legs.

You watch Felix as he watches himself moving in and out of you. His pace is steady. He might have been impatient to be back inside of you, but now he’s where he wants to be he doesn’t want it to end.

He feels so big. He’s pushing into you further than you thought was possible. The stretch feeling more intense too, thanks to the plug up your ass. You were slowly falling apart.

“Please, please… faster.” You whine desperately. 

Felix catches your eyes and smiles. “I’m not in a hurry, sweet-pea”. He’s so cute, but frustrating.

He doesn’t change his pace, just continues the long, slow thrusts, keeping you on the precipice of your second orgasm.

He keeps you there, right on the edge for a good five minutes, until you are sobbing and begging him to take you over. Felix is loving it. You’re so wet for him, responding just the way he likes. The way the tears are running down your cheeks, the way your eyes are unfocused, the way you crying his name. He fucking loves it. And then he’s ready for you to come. A finger lands on your clitoris and his hips snap faster, harder, giving you that friction you need. “That’s it beautiful. Come on my cock.” 

Your orgasm makes you scream, the release the most intense you’ve ever felt before. Your legs shake and your walls clench causing Felix to let out a long growl as he comes inside of you. Your still pulsing around him as his breath slows back to a normal rate.

He pulls out and removes the plug, then releases you from the handcuffs.

“Felix!” You sob as he holds you close. You feel safe in his arms. 

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He soothes. "You did so good, boss babe." he chuckles.

You take your time dressing, kiss each other goodbye. "See you tomorrow, Felix. Don't forget you have a performance review tomorrow." you remind him and head off in the direction of your car.

"Oh, I thought we just had the performance review?" he calls after you.

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @kangnina @itshannjisung @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @newhope8 @weareapackofstrays @queen-in-the-shadows @queenmea604

[squeakintothevoid]

Exmormon thoughts on the Book of Mormon Musical:

The whole thing was spectacularly irreverent

*does some googling* oh its written by the creators of south park, that makes sense

The bright and cheery forced smiles of the missionaries are accurate

The set is amazing, with it looking like an lds temple and everything. The backdrop with the clouds and the planets even looks like the giant murals they have in the temple visitors centers

I love the salt lake city backdrop with the mormon temple right in the middle surrounded by the more obvious corporations like McDonald's and stuff. Did you know the LDS church owns a mall in the same city? It even has a little river going through it

The spooky mormon hell dream sequence was the best thing i've ever witnessed. Especially as somebody who really did get guilt-fueled nightmares, albeit not as theatrical and hellish lol

Seeing the cups of coffee dancing in hell alongside Jeffrey Dahmer and Adolf Hitler was the best, my favorite moment

The song about turning off your uncomfortable/unapproved thoughts was also amazing. The actual phrase commonly used is putting the thought "on your shelf" to set it aside to think about later. There's literally a song they teach to toddlers about never frowning because nobody likes it and making yourself smile instead.

Hearing people crack up about things you used to believe sucks but finally you are surrounded by people who agree that this is ridiculous rather than people who think you are the crazy one for doubting

Mormons don't actually think Jesus was blond but they do think he visited America and most of the art makes him look northern European

Mormons don't really believe in a traditional hell or that Jesus hates you for sinning, but the level of guilt is still the same. Like that might as well be the case because your eternal afterlife is still at stake.

The "I Am Africa" song is so on point. Missionaries go to a foreign country and really do start wearing their traditional clothes and keep speaking the language even after coming home as if they really are part of the culture now

I was not expecting to see punk rock Darth Vader or Yoda or lieutenant Uhura or Sam and Frodo.

When Elder Price said "fuck," that was a blessed moment

I'm so glad I never actually went on a mission and could only relate so much. But that dedication to following all the rules in the missionary handbook is REAL and not even as intense as they portrayed it at times. The religious scrupulosity OCD is like no other. Like it's not unheard of for a missionary to keep working on their mission even if their mom or someone died while they were away.

There are still so many weird things about growing up mormon that they didn't even touch on. Like heaven being an MLM, multiple levels and everything.

Thanks for the read, feel free to ask any questions if you're curious because I like complaining about mormonism lol

[sxfterhearts]

with and without you: a supportive bf!keeho headcannon

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ non-idol!keeho x non-idol!reader ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

♡ genre/warnings: fluff!! reader finds it challenging to navigate a certain social situation (aka: university classmates' reunion), especially without her supportive and understanding boyfriend, keeho. but tldr, she manages just fine on her own :)

♡ word count: 1,836 words

//

after three long, boring hours, your seminar finally came to an end. as you walked out the door, you felt the fatigue set deep into your bones. that, plus the fact that you stayed up last night to finish an assignment, meant you wanted nothing more than to just go home and sleep.

but you knew you couldnt – you and keeho already agreed months in advance to attend your friend’s pre-wedding dinner tonight. and shoot - you checked your phone and realised you were running late

just then, keeho’s notifications popped up. he told you that he was still held up at work (something about waiting for approval from his boss), and will be around half an hour late. the plan was initially to meet up first and head over together, but it seemed like he had to meet you there instead.

you felt yourself shrivel up at the thought of arriving and having to face all those people alone, without keeho – your boyfriend; your rock. but you bit your lip and sucked it up because work was work, and he had no choice

keeho could sense you were apprehensive, but reassured you that he would try to get there as soon as he could, and as always, that he loved you.

you and keeho had been dating for around four years now. you first met at your classes in uni, and went from being friends, to study buddies, to best friends, and naturally, to lovers. the two of you were three years out of school, and stuck together through thick and thin – first jobs, first moves, first promotions, and everything in between.

earlier in the year, you decided to go back to grad school. that meant moving from your hometown to the big smoke - new york. and of course, keeho came with you, easily finding a corporate job in the financial centre of the world

it was hard adjusting though, if you were being truly honest. the big city was filled with people, yet you often felt yourself feeling more alone than ever before.

luckily, you had keeho right by your side. he was there for you when you struggled through early classes and late nights; he was there to cook and make sure you ate your meals on time during exam season, and he was even there to wipe away your tears when you faced hurdles completing your research. keeho, truly, a supportive bf we stan!!!

anyways - point is. you missed your close friends and family back home

but you were lowkey dreading this dinner. having to answer questions like “how are you” and “what are you doing for work or school” repeatedly seemed a bit overwhelming. the dinner was a mini-reunion of some uni classmates - a group of around ten who all took the same classes as you and keeho and mostly stuck together to study, do assignments, practice for interviews, help each other with applications etc.

it wasn’t like you weren’t close, it’s just… you definitely weren’t besties, and let’s just say you weren’t the most social person in the room

keeho was the opposite. your boyfriend was a social butterfly; a classic extrovert. always able to blend into any social setting and talk to anyone about any topic under the sky

you however, took awhile to warm up to people, and even then, you found yourself craving your alone time more than anything. keeho liked to tease you and said you have a small social battery – you just ran out of charge quicker than others (and there’s nothing wrong with that, he’d always remind you)

but with this particular friend group, you always had the sneaking suspicion that they were only keeping you around because you were the nerd; the smart friend. the one everyone wanted to pair up with in a group assignment because they knew you would hard carry the team. the one who everyone approached for study notes in the hopes of performing as well as you did in the finals. the one everyone was jealous of… the one who got used and subsequently thrown away

that was probably why you haven’t spoken to any of them in years, with the exception of keeho ofc, and the bride-to-be, yoonhee

before you knew it, you arrived at the restaurant. yoonhee was always a big fan of italian food, so it was no surprise that she picked one of the finest italian eateries in new york for the dinner

despite your obvious personality differences, yoonhee was one of the only girls in the friend group who actually took the time to get to know you. she was outgoing and outspoken like the other girls, but also had a hardworking, studious side that came out during important events like interviews or exams. she wasn’t a big fan of drinking (like you) and usually accompanied you on the sodas or lemonades at drinking events. importantly, she also shared similar hobbies to you. in particular, she loved reading, and the two of you used to exchange book recommendations in between classes and visited bookshops together

you were genuinely happy that your friend was tying the knot, but as you stood in front of the door, you had to take a few deep breaths to calm your nerves (you tried to hype yourself up: dont be a chicken, y/n! these are just your old classmates. you will be fine)

pushing open the doors, you gave the waiter your name and followed them into the crowded restaurant. the smell of woodfired pizzas and sizzling garlic invaded your senses as they led you towards the back of the restaurant where the group congregated

immediately, yoonhee spotted you and let out an excited squeal. “y/n!!!!” she ran forward to engulf you in a warm hug. “i’m so glad you made it!”

you couldn’t help the smile that worked its way on your lips. her energy was always infectious. “it’s great to see you too, and congratulations!” you replied sincerely, returning her hug. when the two of you pulled away, you handed her your present. “from me and keeho.”

“ooohhhh!” she said teasingly, “you and keeho? you’re still going steady, then?” she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, before accepting your gift. “thank you for this, you didn’t have to.”

you shook your head, “yeah, it’s nothing big. but we hope you’ll like it.” 

“let’s go say hi to the others! you haven’t seen them in awhile, right? oh! and i’ve got to re-introduce you to my fiance!!!!”

you let your friend lead you to the larger group, and thanks to her, you felt yourself ease into the group’s conversation. whilst you still missed having keeho by your side, yoonhee did a great job at helping you navigate social situations, just like when you were back in uni

the food and conversation flowed continuously, and you found yourself actually enjoying yourself. who would’ve thought? you almost forgot why or what you were so concerned about earlier today

and as the current conversation about astronomical rent prices and how impossible it was to live affordably in new york eventually died down, one of them turned to you and asked, “so, y/n. you came alone? are you and keeho…” he trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his question

“intak!” his best friend, jongseob, hissed as he elbowed him in the ribs. 

“actually-” yoonhee began on your behalf,

but you answered, “actually, he’s late. work’s been really busy, so he had to stay back a bit. he should be here soon though.” you replied, with even more confidence than you initially expected. both your answer and your tone left the group pleasantly surprised. this was not the same y/n they knew from university, clearly.

“you’re still together!” another guy, theo, cheered from the edge of the table. theo always liked to claim that he played matchmaker and introduced the two of you, back in the day. “what can i say, i really am the best cupid in the matchmaking business.”

“so, when are you guys getting married?” yoonhee asked with a sly smile. “it’s been, what? four years? surely you’ve talked about it.”

“well actually, we –”

“guys!!!” a familiar voice yelled from behind you, stealing everyone’s attention. keeho sure knew how to make an entrance. “it’s been too long, boys!”

after five minutes of hugging everyone at the table and exchanging pleasantries, keeho finally circled around to you and yoonhee. he took his seat next to you, instinctively resting a warm hand on your waist, and turned to yoonhee, “congratulations! did y/n pass you the gift? you’re gonna love it - we’re the best at gift-giving.”

yoonhee laughed in response. “youre talking it up way too much, yoon keeho. it seems like you haven’t changed at all. and thank you, she did! i can’t wait to open it.”

keeho shook hands with yoonhee’s fiance and exchanged small talk about work, as they were both in the same field. you watched silently as they talked, happy to take the backseat and just listen in, as you usually did with keeho by your side

when the conversation reached a lull, keeho felt your eyes on him, and squeezed your waist in response. “hey.” he said in a low voice, for your ears only. the two of you faced each other and smiled, escaping to your own world. “sorry i was late, it’s been a really busy day.”

“it’s okay…” you trailed off, eyes wandering around the table as you finally realised, “it wasn’t that bad.”

keeho chuckled, “see? you did it. i could tell you were nervous on the phone, but you did it. i’m proud of you.” he leaned forward slightly to press his lips against your hair, as a reward.

“i had help. yoonhee’s great.” you replied sheepishly, eyes downcast as you felt shy 

“yeah but coming to a social gathering after a long day of classes and having to actually interact and talk to people? that’s all you, baby.” keeho countered, wanting to give you credit for your efforts. to many, it didnt seem like a big deal. but he knew you. it’s not easy for you to feel comfortable in these situations, especially when you were alone, or tired. he understood that you needed to recharge by being on your own, and that being around people for too long could be draining.

“i suppose…”

keeho hummed in response, “also,” he tilted your chin so you would look up at him. “i missed you.” he smiled sweetly before capturing your lips in a sweet kiss.

“yah! yoon keeho! y/n! pda is not allowed here! geez, go get a room!” theo teased, causing the table to erupt in laughter

you felt the tips of your ears light up, but it seemed like keeho had other plans. he pulled your chair even closer to him with one hand and shoved the middle finger up with the other; all whilst gliding his lips smoothly against yours

[hellhoundmaggie]

The (purely hypothetical) film adaptation of Stardew Valley should be about Shane fixing up the farm.

Hear me out.

The star can't be the Farmer. I know, I love the Farmer too, she's me, they're you, but it can't be them. Their in-game characterization is just too weak: it has to be, so that you can read the personality you want for the Farmer into them as you play. But you know who is strongly characterized? Who already has a powerful arc that takes him from the depths of despair to the heights of joy and, finally, to a place of growth and lasting change? That's right, our favorite substance abuser, Shane StardewValley. But how to get him involved?

First, we cut the Farmer out of the story almost entirely. We gotta keep them from doing things that would take away our chosen protagonist's agency, and the best way to do that is by not letting them come to the Valley. So the farm still lies abandoned after Grandpa's death, the Farmer is still slaving away in the Joja cubicles. That's fine, Shane's gonna handle it.

So we give him an inciting incident. Shane's still miserable in his soul-sucking retail job, still grieving the loss of his gridball glory and the deaths of Jas' parents, still drinking his life away. But in this version of the story, he's the one who wanders into the ruins of the Community Center. He's just looking for a quiet place to drink away from the judging eyes of the town, but instead he discovers our favorite apple-ly squatters. Seeking answers about his bizarre encounter, he goes to the Wizard, gains the ability to speak with the Junimos, and receives their mission to restore the Community Center.

Shane's skeptical at first. He doesn't believe someone so weak, so pathetic, could possibly do everything the Juminos are asking. But the abandoned farm, just to the north of his house, calls to him. What would it hurt to grow a couple of Parsnips there? It's not like anybody is using it. So he starts building the area out in his free time. He fishes and mines and forages and fights, just like the Farmer would were they there. He gets Robin to build a coop for Charlie and his other beloved chickens, then a barn, then other buildings. He seeks advice and aid from the other townsfolk, building friendships with each of them (and giving each one a chance to show their character). His new hobby leaves him less time for the Saloon, so he drinks much less. As he makes more money from his farm produce, he picks up fewer and fewer shifts at Joja. He's invested in the work he's doing, which he finds far more rewarding and meaningful than stacking boxes all day. He feels strong, that he can take on anything the Valley throws at him. Sometimes he's even happy.

But then comes Morris. Irked that Shane isn't acting like a loyal worker anymore, he investigates his erstwhile employee. When he learns that Shane is farming land that doesn't belong to him, he springs his trap. Out come Joja's lawyers, claiming that the farm really belongs to the corporation. Armed with expensive suits, legal jargon, and reams of official-looking documents, they bulldoze Shane. They'll be generous, they say. As long as Shane cedes the property to them, they won't sue him into the ground. Shane's devastated. The one thing that is giving his life purpose, Joja is taking from him. And he isn't strong enough to stop them.

So here's where Shane's rock-bottom moment happens. Just as in the game, he's overwhelmed with despair, gets drunker than he's been in his life, and contemplates ending it all on the cliffs. But instead of the Farmer stumbling across him, the townsfolk find him. He's their friend and a vital part of their lives now, so when they notice he was missing, they organize a search party. Guided by the Junimos, they quickly discover Shane and carry him to the Clinic together. Because Shane wasn't getting his strength from the farmland, not really. He got it from the life of purpose, connection, and love he was building for himself. A life that improves so many other's lives. That was Shane's true strength all along.

And hey, guess what? Mayor Lewis remembers that Grandpa talked about leaving the farm to their grandchild, and tracks down the true owner -- the Farmer! And it turns out they asked their dear old friend Shane (wink wink, nudge nudge) to fix up their family farm for them. Their claim to the land revealed for the sham it always was, Morris and the Joja lawyers retreat to lick their wounds, and the Farmer comes to the Valley to claim their birthright. Of course, they are happy to keep their dear friend Shane on as a farmhand, where he can continue with all the good work he does for the townsfolk. The Farmer arrives on the very day the Juminos fully restore the Community Center, and everyone celebrates the Farmer's homecoming. But more than that, they celebrate the man who brought the town together: Shane. The End.

[buzzkillers]

WHITE HOUSE DOWN

Pairing: Hobie Brown x Black!Reader

Summary: You and Hobie fuck after he kills the President of the United States: Norman Osborne.

Tags|Warnings: Happy 4th of July (sarcastic), public oral sex, cum facials, enemies to enemies that fuck, exhibitionism, bratty reader, graphic violence, bad British slang, UNEDITED

WC:4k

In under an hour Fascism, Capitalism and President Norman Osborne died in the same way: pathetically and in a roaring beat of gunfire and raging anarchy.

It was so punk metal that Hobie reckoned he could've cried. 

Maybe even let out a blood curdling scream before he joined his mates in celebration; in a fight that continued to roar beyond the thick walls of this stupid building. Of the world's now fallen symbol of false freedom, colonization and white supremacy.

All of it was dead now anyway, all of it was gone. So yeah Hobie reckoned he should’ve cried; maybe he even was crying but he was too pent up on adrenaline and rock and roll to notice. Who fucking knew. Who fucking cared? 

What mattered was that Osborne’s head was detached, that his guitar was covered in guts and brain and enough idiocratic bullshit that it had clattered to the floor. 

His weapon stained against the fancy White House carpet. He didn’t mind though, it added to the decor. You didn’t seem to give a shit either. For you, blood still stained your locs and your lips stayed wrapped around his cock.

And well Hobie didn't follow rules. They were barely a suggestion in his radar. Yet apart of him knew this was off kilter, even for him. Even for Spider Punk. 

Spider Punk, the not-hero and the now killer who instead of killing capitalist and fighting corporate drones was here. Here with black nails that dug into your back and wicks that kissed the skin of your cheek. 

It felt good. 

This reward, you told him as you guided him towards the pigs desk. Your hands already at the buckle of his jeans before you looked up at him; eyes hazy and murderously dark. 

It reminded him of foggy London nights, of polluted air and days where he gasped for his inhaler. Something that tried to be something else. It made Hobe feel triumphant, out of breath.

And yet this was ‘His reward.’ You growled again as if this was normal and you weren't you but something different, something new.

At that, Hobie couldn’t help but laugh. It was a pretty comedy after all, a neat joke as your palm— shaking and slick with sweat wrapped itself around his cock and your knees dug into the floor. The blood stained floor. 

He inhaled sharply, either from the adrenaline or the genuine need to breathe before his smile slipped into something wide, dangerous. You shot a glare at him. 

"Something funny?" You mouthed, as if your eyes weren't muggy, as if there wasn't a revolution going on a wall away. Hobie of course simply looked down at you, his own eyes liquid dark, but alight with adrenaline and fire and everything that made a corporate pig like Osborne underestimate him. 

“Fuck yeah,” he rolled his hips up.

"Everything's a bit funny right now, love" 

Below him, you only scoffed as if what he said wasn’t sick given the circumstances. 

As if this was simply another one of those nights; those long nights where this would be your signal to leave. To keep your distance from Hobie Brown, the Spider Punk with too much venom on his tongue and righteous anger in his every word. But you didn’t, you simply looked at him, calculative, nervous. 

Around them, the war raged on and the sounds of corporate drones getting their ass beat made the floors vibrate. None of them aware of their leader's demise before his team crushed them into dust. Below him you sighed, that gleam still in your eyes. (murky puddles and polluted skylines.)

"Of course you'd make this hard," 

"Can't just let me suck you off and shut up huh, SP?" You muttered, and you see Hobie would respond. There was always an excuse to be barked, a word to be said. But music still thrummed through his veins, the air was singing (screaming) and you were here. 

Not with Osborne. Not in a lab, cooped up but here. 

He smiled. "I'm not known for consistency," 

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you rolled your eyes, "I've heard the speech,” 

"can't be consistent, can't be bought, can't shut up,"

Shut up?

He licked his lips and tasted the metal, the blood. 'Im gettin’ tired of your mouth, boy.’ Osborne had sneered before Hobie broke his face in.

Yeah, he didn't listen to him either. He shrugged his shoulders. "Nah, I don't think so,"

You rolled your eyes. “Spider-”

“Aw, am I ruining your fantasy love?" You cut him a look.

“Catchin me off guard like this, you must’ve planned it, no?”

Your grimace deepened. Which was cute. Very cute. “So you’re just gonna keep talking?” 

“—I mean I'm not against you knowin' your onions and all that, but between you being stuck in your lab and arguing with us who knew you had the time,” he whispered, before your eyes went sharp and your nails dug into his thighs. A warning, that only made his cock hard and his hands crack the lip of the desk. Cute. He thought again.  

So bloody cute that he blinked and his heart raced like a drum, like a rip of his pick against his guitar. 

‘Lay on your back’ you said, ‘drop the guitar.’ and he did.

You had demanded it with a trained nonchalance. Completely unbothered as if he didn't hear the way your lungs sharply inhaled when his guitar separated Osborne's head from his spine. Cartilage, tendons and a thick spinal cord crushed into dust beneath his rebellion before you pounced on him.

You gave him that same look now and it was wicked hot. He couldn't deny it. A fun mix of cheekiness and nerves before you cocked your head and, “You know what, fine,”

In a blink, his back was shoved harder against the desk. His hands twisted into your locs, while your mouth wet, hot and slick like honey, like blood enveloped him, turned him inside out and made him want to curl over and actually cry. 

Not cause it felt good or spectacular or amazing but because it was you. Only cause it was you.

Below him you sucked him off like you had something to prove. Like it was a challenge. It would be a crime to look away. To not match rebellion with rebellion, your hatred with his faux indifference while your lips remained dry, your handwork sloppy and your rhythm off. It was honestly the worst blowjob he’s ever had. 

But you were enthusiastic and you looked up at him as if you expected more. Like Hobie was supposed to fall to his knees and thank you. Of course, a flicker of frustration came out when he gave you the opposite: a slick smile and his eyes wide in wonder.

"Leave it to you too give someone an angry blow job," He cocked his head, "Reckon you’re overthinkin’ it, love?” 

You choked in response. Your mouth off his cock and looking as if you were about to spit on the floor before you paused and Hobie watched you swallow instead. Something hot shot in his core.

“Never,” you sneered as if this was just another part of the battle, your own personal fight.  

Hobie just snickered, a gleam in his eyes even as you went still, embarrassment hot on your face. 

“Yeah that's what I guessed," he whispered, before gloved hands gripped your jaw. Tight and restrictive.

“Quick tip? You’re too rough with it love, let me guess didn’t watch enough videos?”  he teased, before he realized where exactly his dick was.

You gave him a sharp smile, "want to repeat that?" No, not particularly. He rolled his shoulders.

“Slow down,” 

“Where's the rush,” he teased before there was a thump and a scream and oh, he guess they've found the bloke's head. Took them long enough. 

If Hobie remembered how hard he kicked it correctly; The fuckers skull was three rooms away with thick walls and flimsy doors in each of them.

His smile turned giddy, "We all the time in the world," 

"Please tell me you're joking," and there it was again, that look.  That need for order and propriety. Hobie patted your cheek.

"What, getting nervous?" Your eyes shot to the door. To the distant footsteps that only got closer to the currently unlocked room. 

"Hobie,"

"Fine," he shot the hinges up with webbing. It wouldn't last. But you didn't need to know that.

"See? Good,"

Quickly, your shoulders relaxed; your nape warm beneath his hand, prickled and covered in sweat till he gripped it harder, guiding you down until your mouth was on him again. He shuddered. 

“Make it wet,” you looked confused, your eyebrows twitching before your mouth went agape and he felt it. 

Something hot and sticky that dripped down his cock. Your lips were now sheen, a messy mix of precum, sweat and everything that would never normally be in a pretty mouth like that. 

Of course, you still managed to glare at him. And yeah nah, he wasn't gonna think about why that made his mouth dry before he angled his hips up and up until the tip of him was at the rim of your lips; he took a deep breath. 

“Grip the desk for me,” 

You frowned again, harder if that was possible. And Hobie couldn't have that. 

"Wh--" in a blink he's already bullied his thumb passed plush lips and sharp teeth. Expertly, rubbing his painted nails against the soft flesh of your cheek until drool and spit slicked down his wrist and, 

"That's wicked," he whispered.

"You’re so fucking pretty like this," You shot him a look. Your eyes still shakingly looking towards the door. The soldiers have gotten louder, they've must've bursted pass the first room. But Hobie only sighed, unbothered

“Is this why you've been so nice to me lately? Been wanting to give me this," he rambled, his eyes back on yours before his smile melted into a smirk. The last thing Osborne ever saw, before his head rolled down the stairs. 

Now, the funny thing about trying to tell a punk what to do was that you shouldn't actually expect them to listen. Osborne learned that the hard way. But you weren’t like the rest of them. No matter what the team said about you turning your back on your upbringing for the cause. You weren’t like them. Clean and simple. 

It was written in the cracks of your face, in the corners of your eyes. That want for order that battled with the need to rebel and make things right. 

 It's probably why you continued to look at him like that; your eyes slitted, red and angry.

You hated it but you wanted it too. Which meant that it took no effort to grip your jaw, keeping it still as you moved to chop your teeth onto his thumb. Light work. 

But it was another thing to dodge the whistle of your studded fist and the gleam of spikes on your knuckles before they're webbed to the dead Pigs desk. You were smart not to try again. Still your face stayed twisted in anger. 

 Hobie couldn't help but laugh again, all sharp teeth and youthful indignation in his voice. 

“I'm not good with mixed signals love, you hate me, you don't, you want to give me a reward about a job well done and then whine about it,” 

“This is still a reward right?” he whispered, his voice deep and molten. It dragged you into a spell, made you nod.  “Good,”

"Now, why don't we start stickin’ to our words, yeah," you made no room to reply, just continued to look up at him with that fire in your eyes that reminded him of madness, of a man whose body could be found in various parts of this makeshift castle. For the first time, Hobies face went stern, his body hands suddenly on your nape gripping tight. 

"Yeah?" He repeated. 

That madness in your eyes only take a moment to flicker, a moment to wick and out before your face twisted again, "Yeah," 

"There we go," 

You made no room to stop him. As his prodded his cock against your lips again, against that slick heat, hellfire, glory, his reward that was found in the tightens of your throat. "Good," 

He gripped the back of your neck tighter. “There we go,” 

“Breathe through your nose,” Then you squeezed your eyes shut, prepared to choke, for Hobie to bruise your throat, for your jaw to ache while he used you like you prepared to use him. 

Then he hummed, like a thrum of his guitar, like the flutter of a hummingbird. It was your only warning before he brought you down, slow, sluggish. He made you feel the weight of him, the way it pressed against your tongue, expanded your throat. 

You couldn’t help it really, the way your eyes closed. The hazy sensation that made your vision blur. Hobie fucked your throat as if he had all the time in the world. As if a world leader wasn’t rotting in the next room. 

And this would be a great time to joke. For Hobie to make you regret bringing him here and not give the secrets to ruining him but nah, this was better. This was more satisfying. Worth the shock in your eyes as you tried to keep them open. Your cunt not so subtly grinding against his boot. 

“Don't look so surprised love” 

“Let me guess, you expected me to go hard?” he whispered, voice ragged.

“Wanted me to bruise your pretty throat?” He dragged himself out again. Withdrew his hips, until your lips were once again at the tip of him. A thick residue of spit left behind.

Good.

Perfect even.

But below him you struggled to remain composed. Your mind was a fog that thickened, and your ears roared with the music that was Hobie Brown. The sounds of his shockwaves still in the air. On a better day, you'd remain aloof. You'd look at hobie with bored eyes and tell him to do his worse.

Clearly, that day wasn't today.

Your eyes were still closed after all, and the taste of him still stained your throat. You wanted more. You wanted-

His hand tightened on your neck. 

“Now when did I say you could do that?”  You blinked up, teary eyed with more of Hobie’s cock in your mouth than he previously allowed.

Suddenly, your cheeks burned and Hobie watched embarrassment wash over you. Watched you drown in it, in an attempt to cover up the desperate move before you just sat there, unable to go forward, unable to move back.  “Cute,” 

And then he jerked forward, cock hitting your throat until tears brimmed in your eyes and well Hobie was only a man at the end of the day. He unwebbed you, “Use your hands wrap them around me,” 

Quickly, you complied. “Yeah love like that,"

You didn’t need further instruction. You continued the slow tempo he set. And for a moment, it stayed like that: you swallowing him with a sloppy mouth and tears in your eyes, your hands now slick with well, everything. Snot, spit and tears. 

He laughed again, a bit more choked up and bit more delirious as your tongue dragged against the undervein of his cock. Sharp pleasure blinded him, he felt like it was too much, not enough. Like his heart was gonna burst from the adrenaline, the heat. 

For a moment, he craved something on his lips too. Something just as hot and slick and you. He reckoned you'd like that. Want to shut him up with your thighs locked around his head and your cunt slick on his studded tongue. If you were gonna do this, you might as well do it right, do it in the worst way possible while Osborne's corpse rotted in the next room. 

Below him, you gripped him tighter. Suckled your lips at the head of him until he shuddered and groaned. His palms slicked in blood gripping right at your face. If he knew this would be the reaction to winning the war— he'd bring Osborne back to life himself. 

Let you watch him kill him again, again and again if it meant you looked at him like that. Like a drunkard, like the feeling he got when he strummed his guitar just right, just perfectly against his pick. Until you were like this: your lips, tight and harsh. Sucking him off as if it was another fight, your eyes red hot with anger and tears.

He was close.

He couldn’t even be embarrassed, if they knew what a pretty picture you made no regular bloke  would be either before he felt it. That liquid hot build up; like something molten that grew and morphed and dripped in his belly before his thighs trembled, his fist cracked the desk and you looked marvelous. 

He tried to draw away, cause he was proper and raised right but he couldn't get far. Not against someone who looked like they wanted to prove something. You started this for a reason after all. So of course, your hands pressed into his hips, kept him still. Fucking brat.

Before the room became an echo chamber of gasps and whines and— he lurched forward, hands on your shoulders, a sharp cry of your name. 

 The orgasm was just as violent as the murder. It ripped through him and rearranged his insides until it felt painful, overwhelming. Like he was stuck in his own shockwave, pulled at the seams, the points of musical notes at his ears. 

Then he whimpered, sharp and inaudible. But it made your eyes glitter all the same before you pulled off him with a satisfying grin as the violence in him transcended to a soft shudder. 

Both of you didn't talk for a minute. Just let everything settle. Until slowly the world trickled back in and Hobie watched half amused and half delirious as across your face, emotions flickered too fast for him to dissect. 

What he did know was that you were looking at him, at the floor and then randomly at the door. Oh yeah, the goons. He should focus on that, but you were still on your knees, looking pretty and fucked out and well Hobie couldn't help it. He suddenly had the taste for something sweet.

"Up, c’mon" 

You looked at him, leg kneeled. "Fuck you,” you coughed, throat dry. “Where do you think I was doing?"

He shook his head, and with little effort, he towered over you. You looked up at him, eyes wide, lips plush and the corner of your mouth twinkling with beads of white and shit, shit. Hobie did not wait for you to get up. 

In a blur of red white and blue, the two of you switched places. It was like carrying a stack of paper, a bag of groceries before you plopped into the desk; your eyes wide, legs spread and cunt wet through your trousers.

 "Hobie come on—"  

His thumb dug into the seam of your jeans, ripped them in two until you were cunt hit cold air. You dripped on the desk. "Don't be selfish,”

“I thought this was a reward,” And then hobie’s tongue was on you, desperate and hot. 

Studded fingers pressed into your hips, digging,digging and  "Hobie, what-”  Hobie pressed you further into the desk. 

His tongue was slick and sticky against your folds. The pleasure that was white and hot grinded you to a halt. Your brain morphed into mush. You weren't going to last. This, you can admit with a certainty as your thighs wrapped around hobie’s head anyway. 

You looked towards the door, but Hobie with his freakishly long arms gripped your jaw and forced your eyes back on him. Pay attention, they said. Until your eyes went wide, frantic; and your hips fought the battle of jerking away from Hobie and against him while he flicked your clit; his finger prodding against your entrance. 

It's almost embarrassing how fast you came.

Even worse how you tried to hide it. With teeth the bit into your wrist, and moans that you tried to choke down while your hips moved on him with a grind that only made it worst, made it last.

You grunted and swore, the flat palms of your hand slammed into the desk. Once twice and then Hobie got up, looked at you splayed out on Osbornes desk, jeans pooled to your knees, the hairs of your cunt glistening. 

"Good?”

With a gasp, you could only focus on the sound of the door as the screams of soldiers bulged against the doors frames. 

Your blood was pulsing but you couldn’t feel your throat. Couldn’t feel the scratches and bruises that later you won't be able to tell was from Hobie or from the fight. 

The wooden door bent beneath the weight of the army. Before eventually it popped and you threw the spider a smile. 

“Good,”

[momotonescreaming]

Stardew Valley inspired AU where Steve works some boring corporate job for his father and he's absolutely miserable. His father has high expectations for him that he can't ever seem to meet, his mother just fawns under her husband's harsh gaze, and no one at work likes him because he's the bosses son. Doesn't seem to matter that his father doesn't like him much either.

So when he gets a call from their family lawyer, saying his granddads old farm has left legal hell and is officially his, he's very tempted to drop everything and leave. Get out of the city, escape his family, get a fresh start. The only thing holding him back, is his best friend Robin who also lives in the city. She tells him off for letting her hold him back. She'll miss him horribly, but she knows that he wasn't happy working for his father. He just has to promise to send her postcards and letters and to call her as often as he can. As soon as he’s settled she is going to visit and that is a fact Steve, you better get used to it.

Steve puts in his notice at work, cancels the lease on his apartment, and starts packing his things. He buys a trailer to hitch to the back of his Beamer to pack up all his stuff, has a very tearful goodbye with Robin, and drives to the small town of Hawkins.

He spends most of his time that first month getting everything sorted. Gives the house a deep clean, moves in what he bought of his stuff, and figures out what he still needs to buy. Does a check of everything he needs to repair or replace on the farm. Spends a lot of time clearing rocks and overgrown bushes and weeds and trees off of his land. Reads some books and takes some online classes on farming. Is determined to actually make this work.

Eddie has lived in Hawkins since he moved in with his uncle. Always had dreams of moving to the big city and making it big with his band. But for now he's still in Hawkins, working at Thatcher Tire, living with his uncle, trying not to get sucked into small town gossip. It's hard not to though, not when one of the local high school kids starts a rumour you're a cult leader because you run a DnD club and he thinks his girlfriend is cheating on him. It fucking sucked, but Eddie managed to graduate from high school the third time round, and the rumour mill slowly moved on.

Now, all everyone can talk about is the city boy who moved into the old abandoned farm just down the way. Apparently he's very handsome, very single, and looks like he hasn't worked a day in his life. And sue Eddie, he's fucking curious.

The first time Eddie meets the elusive city boy is at the post office, some months after he moved to town. The guy asks for the time, and politely introduces himself as Steve, the guy who's doing up the old farm. And the Hawkins gossips are right - the guy is handsome as hell. Carefully styled swooping brown hair that looks impossibly soft. Tanned skin dotted with moles. A tidy polo shirt that should look dorky but instead just really suits the guy. Fitting tight across his chest and straining against his biceps. For a supposed city boy, the man is unreasonably ripped. Maybe he is meant to be a farmer.

And then once they meet, it’s like the universe is playing a trick on Eddie because he can’t stop bumping into the guy. He sees him jogging through the city and Steve waves at him with a wiggle of his fingers. He sees him hiking through the woods with his new farm dog in training trotting after him happily. They’re in the supermarket at the same time, and they make small talk about food and Steve jokes that his stove is so old it’s like he has to teach himself how to cook all over again. Eddie goes to Merrill’s farm to drop something off for Wayne, and Steve is there, sleeves rolled up, glistening and sweaty, doing odd jobs on for a little extra cash.

A navy blue truck rolls into Thatcher’s one day, sturdy, big, with a small dent in the side. Good kit. And lo and behold Steve steps out. Clad in his usual blue jeans and a tight polo, twirling his keys around his fingers. He asks if there’s room for them to take a look at it, give it a service, or does he need to book in later? And Eddie says he’s free. There’s a lot of other things he needs to do, cars out the back to check over, but Steve is here. And so Eddie take a look at the truck so he has an excuse to talk to Steve. Asks him questions if there’s anything wrong with it, does he need to check anything in particular? And they chat, and Eddie brings up the beemer. Mentions it off handedly — did Steve swap it out for a truck? Something more farm appropriate?

And Steve just tilts his head like a confused puppy. Eddie know’s he has a beemer? And before he can think about it too much, Eddie says of course he does — it’s not every day that a handsome city boy rolls into a town like this in a fancy car like that. And Steve raises an eyebrow. Handsome? he asks. Eddie curses at himself under his breath. He could have pulled the mechanic card, said he keeps an eye out at all the cars in Hawkins. But of course he lost his tongue in front of the pretty stranger. But Steve just says he’ll take the compliment and smiles at Eddie in a way he hadn’t before.

Before it was small town polite — making conversation at the gas station or a smile of acknowledgement. But this is different. This smile is more. And so Eddie blushes, and rolls himself under the truck to hide his blushing cheeks. He thinks he hears Steve chuckle, bit graciously follows when Eddie steers the conversation away from the face he finds him pretty and onto a safer topic — farm.

And Steve sounds so genuinely excited when he talks about it. He finds the physical work really satisfying, he’s looking forward to getting to the point where he can actually plant crops. Wants to get a chicken coop, see how that goes, before he moves onto livestock. He likes the early mornings on the farm where he can watch the sun rise over the fields. He feels himself there on the farm.

Eddie jokes that the early mornings sound awful, he’s a night owl through and through — but the sunrise sounds nice. Steve laughs and says that's fair, he had to start waking up early in high school for swim team practice and now it’s ingrained into him. Handy for the farm now, which is a plus. Eddie admits that he’s been to the farm before — feels weird not too now — that he hopped the fence when he was teen and wandered the fields and the woods, having a smoke and a poke around. Steve is cool about it. The place was abandoned, and he would have done the same when he was young. He’s not as uptight as he looks — he had some semi-wild teen years of his own.

They talk, Eddie looks at the car, and then before he knows it — he’s done. The truck is all good. Runs like a dream. It’s time for Steve to pay and leave. And they’re both loitering in the doorway to the office, and Eddie knows it’s because he’s actually starting to really like the guy. He’s passionate, and kind, and also kind of a bitch which was delightful to find out. He’s handsome as all hell and is a genuine fucking guy. And he doesn’t want him to leave.

He looks over at Steve. Steve, who bites his lip, pink and plump, before looking up at Eddie through his lashes. And sorry if this sounds dumb, but does Eddie want to come visit the farm? Have a look around when it’s not abandoned and overgrown?

Eddie feels his cheeks flush, sees the identical blush now gracing Steve’s cheeks, and says yes. It’s a date.

[i-3at-s0ap]

I've been having some (scattered and unhelpful) thoughts about Nicky being transmasc and how that affects the Nick vs. Narcolas situation, and I thought I'd make a post abt it!

Senseless blabbering under the cut ⚠️

(for the purposes of this post, Nick is pre Meth bay and Glenn's son, Nicolas/Narcolas is post Meth bay and Jodie's son and Nicky is post demon-ification)

Ok! So, I headcanon Nick Close to be transmasc (whether binary or not isn't important rn). The real question is, Is Nicolas also transmasc?

Possibility 1) Nicolas is transmasc. Growing up Jodie's kid, he was exposed to queer people, yes, (I don't think Jodie is transphobic/homophobic or anything) but it would've definitely been a very sanitized, corporate, binary queerness. I think Nicolas would've realized he was trans at a very young age, Idolizing his dad and wishing he could be like him. Realizing he was trans kinda made that fiction seem more reasonable and attainable, so he wouldn't have pushed the feelings down. I think talking to his dad about this would've been a fairly "typical" coming out. Lots of "I love you no matter what" and "this is a big decision but I will support you". Support, but it was also a serious matter.

Nick on the other hand would've grown up with Glenn and (only while he was very young) Morgan. At least in my head, they would've both been pretty down with gender fuckery and playfulness around gender expression and identity. Like Nicolas, Nick would've also realized pretty young, given his parents exposing him to Queer culture and making sure he knew he could be whatever he wanted. When he came out it wasn't ceremonial or anything, and was met with a resounding "fuck yeah! Rock on man".

When Nicky was """created""" these memories coincided and heightened his awareness of the differences in his upbringing and also how he lives now. I'm sure there's some good potential for stories, angst and fics in there.

Possibility 2) Nicolas is a cisgender boy.

Nicolas grows up surrounded by men like his dad, masculine and, in his eyes, perfect. He is constantly trying to be like his dad, and feeling inadequate because of that. Alongside this impossible standard of manhood he is being raised in, he is also having to face the challenges and toxicity of cis boyhood.

As he becomes Nicky, the memories of the playfulness of being raised by Glenn and being trans are mixed with the experience of being surrounded by unachievable toxic masculinity of being Nicolas. Nicky has no idea if he counts as trans or not, being he technically has the body of a cis boy, (something Nick longed for.) He has a very complicated relationship to womanhood and being trans, while also having lived as a cis boy too. Let's face it, at least in my experience cisgender boys are taught to be transphobic, homophobic, racist, ableist and every terrible thing in the book. Although I doubt Nicolas was the worst, he still grew up in a "agree with these terrible 'jokes' or you're out" environment, one that is suffocating and hypnotic to be in. The cognitive dissonance and later guilt he would've experienced upon remembering his life as Nick, as a transmasc, would've been painful at best, downright excruciating at worst. (Kinda a really extreme version of the human experience of doing something wrong then regretting it later.)

In my personal experience, I spent the first 12 years of my life as a cisgender girl, and to be completely honest I had some fucked up opinions on neopronoun users, furries, alt people and people who are nowadays called 'cringe'. It fucking sucks looking back on that even though I've since come out as trans and bi (and am dating a neopronoun user!!!! Hi Leonardodicapriowo!!!!) I still (correctly) feel incredibly guilty about the things I thought and the things I said. (I'm fairly sure I wasn't vocal about my opinions and never really hurt anyone, but you can never know) I also feel like that concept could be explored really interestingly with Nicky.

Idk these thoughts have just been floating around in my head for a while and I thought I'd write em down somewhere!

[contentloadingandstuff]

Fluff Headcanons - Spooky gaming with the genshin characters!

A/N: The fluff version of the Halloween special, and a bit of a new format. I hope you enjoy!

C/W: Modern AU, swearing, game-typical violence.

Alhaitham

This year, Alhaitham wanted something less conventional. Something that would really engage his mind with interesting commentary about society and the world at large, but still retain some of that spooky vibe. 

Cruelty Squad easily caught his attention with its assaulting graphics and interesting premise. It clearly begged for attention, and he was willing to humor it. 

It was precisely what he was looking for, and what an answer it was. Alhaitham had no trouble adjusting to a more corporate mindset.

Alhaitham: The super AI emerges from an extremely pornographic ultra hyper suck and fuck…

Kaveh: Um… What? What are you talking about?

Alhaitham: You don't understand, Kaveh. Everything that surrounds us? It's Gorbino's Quest. The Gorbino's Quest... of life.

Ganyu

The poor little cinnamon roll isn't that much of a horror fan. Violence and death generally unsettles her, but Ganyu still wants to feel some of that holiday spirit. 

After a lengthy deliberation, Ganyu chose Little Nightmares. The graphics are quite pleasing to the eye, it is horror, but not so horrible and violent. At least that's what she heard.

Ganyu: Oh, look! It's a Nome, right? And it's offering me food… How nice of it! Um… Oh n-no! Why would you d-do that?!

Amber

The great outdoors with a horror theme? Count her in!

Amber made sure to avoid spoilers to have the full, unprecedented The Forest experience. The landscape is so serene and peaceful… The freedom of movement, the sounds of nature and the survival elements are so fun and relaxing!

True, there are some hostile people on the island, but they seem harmless enough.

Until the night falls…

Amber: Wait… What's that? That doesn't look human… Did it just birth out… Ew… Yikes! It's coming at me! 

Suffice to say, Amber stuck around until more or less the moment when you have to chop up bodies and make effigies out of the parts.

Beidou

Alcohol, hard rock and murdering demons with big guns is how Beidou plays on Halloween, so she'll gladly hop on Doom Eternal.

There's nothing better than impaling a snake demon's head with its own broken arm, right as the beat drops. 

Beidou: Life has enough undefeatable horrors. Let's just have some fun tonight!

Ningguang

The old ones are the good ones! Ningguang doesn't play a lot of video games, but she did like a few titles back in her younger days. 

On this special occasion, Ningguang got a box of her old possessions to dig through, and found the original Dungeon Keeper on CD. 

Everything is just as she remembered it was. 

Ningguang: Oh, these imps… They are the perfect workers, aren't they? They don't eat, sleep, need vacation, have a social life, and they work harder when you slap them. Ah, if only I had them as my subordinates…

Keqing: *narrows eyes*

Kokomi

Another fan of the retro side of games, Kokomi enjoys a good tactical challenge - developing the ability to conjure small scale plans is as important as improving the grand ones.

Her pick is Myth II: Soulblighter. It’s a brutal, unforgiving RTS with a distinctively dark atmosphere - just perfect for the season at hand.

Even when Halloween comes to a close, Kokomi will find it hard to drop the game. The insanity that is Legendary is quite addictive indeed…

Kokomi: You here… You here… And now the crescendo!

Game: “Move here move there…”

Game: “Catch!”

Game: *explosion*

Game: “Casualty.”

Kokomi: Oh. Change of plans, I guess…

Yae Miko

Upon hearing of the wonderful possibilities for tormenting the other party, Miko didn't hesitate to bring out the Mora for Dead By Daylight and all of its DLC. 

Though it was quite fun at first, the ugly nature of the game soon surfaced. As none of her friends were brave enough to delve into this swamp, she was forced to join up with random people, who frequently threw the games. 

Such a combination was enough to make even such an ancient and wise kitsune lose her absolute cool.

Ei: Why are you crouching behind that tree, Miko?

Miko: The killer has caught one of my teammates, and I will release them by ambushing them with a flashlight! 

Miko: Come on… Now! You didn't expect that, did y- What?? Lightborn?! Again?! Who even plays it nowadays?! Oh, you daft, blind motherf-

Ei: Miko!

Miko: Oh… Hm. Sorry. I got a little carried away. But that's sooo unfair, isn't it? Why would they add a perk that cancels a whole mechanic? I can't believeitthegameissokillersided…

Xiangling

Xiangling absolutely didn't look forward to Halloween, especially with Hu Tao around. She just can't take horror, at all, of any kind, ever. Especially jumpscares.

She still couldn't believe that she agreed to play a horror game, let alone one suggested by the director. The one and only Five Nights At Freddy's at that.

Much to Hu Tao's amusement, she didn't even make it past Night 1. Xiangling was thoroughly spooked, and after being jumpscared once she completely refused to keep playing. 

Seeing Xiangling so terrified made Guoba very upset, and Hu Tao quickly apologized to avoid being roasted by the angry god. 

Hu Tao: So he killed the kids, but then! Their souls escaped their robot prisons and made an old spring lock suit crush him to death! WoOoo~

Xiangling: Ah! Hu Tao! No more! 

Guoba: Nane na! Grr…

Hu Tao: Oh, don't fret little Guoba! I'm just joking!

Zhongli

Morax always had trouble catching up with the latest cultural and technological trends of the humans. Sure, he can use a computer more than well enough, but he finds third and first person video games confusing. The gameplay is most often too fast and rapidly changing for him to be up to speed with it, let alone enjoy it. 

Throughout all of his exponentially long life, nobody was as persistent in including him in the festivities as Hu Tao. She tried to convince Zhongli to play something horror-related, but he was assertive. So, the director decided to find a game that would suit his liking - an indie title. 

Her pick fell on Water Womb World - it's simple mechanically, is quite disturbing and has an interesting concept. 

Much to her surprise, Zhongli thoroughly enjoyed his fifteen minutes with the game, even if he didn't find it very scary.

Zhongli: Ah, I agree with the message of this title. The blind belief in deities can lead to fanaticism, which breeds regress rather than progress. I do think that a more healthy and critical approach to Rex Lapis' rule would be beneficial to our current day society. Especially that the age of gods draws to an end…

Hu Tao: Aiya! Do you have to turn everything into a lecture, Zhongli? You're not my grandpa, are you?

Hu Tao

An avid enjoyer of the spookfest, Hu Tao decided to pick something hitting closer to home this year - Mortuary Assistant.

The gameplay loop feels great! Just like in her line of work, just without the smell. She's having the time of her life preparing the corpse for burial. And hunting the demon. That's also quite cool!

Hu Tao: *hums while wheeling the corpse into the crematory* 

Game: "Are you sure?"

Hu Tao: Yup! I know your tricks more than well. Aiyaya, you could try something more interesting next round! Furnace time~

Game: *sounds of fire and demonic screaming*

Hu Tao: Toodle-oo~

Bennet, Noelle, Fischl, Razor

A few weeks before Halloween, Bennett mentioned a game night, since he couldn't be there in person. Noelle, diligent as ever, picked this up as a cue to start looking for something. 

Luckily for her, Phasmophobia was on a large and affordable discount, so after proposing the idea and organizing a money pool, they all got to proving the existence of ghosts.

Lisa lent Razor her personal computer for the night, on condition that she could take a little peek every now and then at their session without interrupting - and what an amusement it was, as none of them are especially acquainted with horror.

Noelle: "The ghost responds only to people who are alone." Somebody has to go in to talk to it… 

Razor: Razor won't go! Ghost scary!

Bennett: I would go, but with my luck, the ghost will eat me right away…

Fischl: Hmph! Although yes, I, Fischl, The Prinzessin Der Verurteilung and the founder of The Immernatchreich possess the courage to face demons and spawns of darkness alike, I…

Everyone: So you'll go then?

Amy: Um… N-no! You m-misunderstood!

Furina

The Great-And-Grand Archon of Fontaine played and saw every horror game and movie, and never once got scared. Or that's what she claims, at least.

That's why Focalors decided to prove her excellence with a true, dark challenge she could easily overcome, thus proving her gaming capabilities for all to see!

In hindsight, Darkest Dungeon wasn't the best of choices she could have made… It did amuse Monsieur Neuvilette, however. 

Neuvillette: I think you should retreat. Your heroes are close to dying. 

Furina: I appreciate your advice, my dear Iudex, but your worries are misplaced! My Crusader will deal a critical hit, thus ending the pig-man's miserable opposition, and granting us treasure galore! Watch and marvel at my skill!

Game: "A singular strike!"

Furina: Ahaha, see? I told you it would be fine~ Wait… It's not dead yet…?

Game: "Mortality - clarified in a single strike!"

Furina: Um…

Game: "There can be no hope in this hell, no hope at all…"

Game: "And now the true test - hold fast, or expire."

Game: "Those who cover injury find it in no short supply."

Game: "As life ebbs, terrible vistas of emptiness reveal themselves."

Furina: Ret- T-tactical withdrawal! 

Game: "Cornered, trapped, forced to fight on!"

Game: "This is no place for the weak, or the foolhardy."

Game: "More blood soaks the soil, feeding the evil therein."

Game: "Perched at the very precipice of oblivion."

Game: "More dust, more ashes, more disappointment."

Game: "Another life wasted in the pursuit of glory and gold."

Game: "Wounds to be tended. Lessons to be learned."

Neuvillette: Lady Furina, if only you had-

Furina: Silence.

Shenhe

Shenhe never gets scared. The most terrible of monsters or existential terrors are no match for her training and resolve, no matter how unexpected they might be. She might not get scared, but she can get startled, right?

Who else would pose that question but Hu Tao, the mistress of horrors herself? It was always her objective to get some sort of reaction out of the adepti disciple, no matter how insignificant and small it might be. Many things were attempted - scary movies, troubling situations, body horror, cosmic horror, existential horror… But none of them ever worked. Shenhe remained stalwart.

Out of desperation, Hu Tao was forced to reach for the ultimate weapon. The bane of those unprepared. The myth. The legend. The game.

The Scary Maze Game. 

After plugging in an old spare monitor, she invited Shenhe to “test her precision”, and stepped a few safe meters back. 

The monitor ended up skewered with her polearm, but Shenhe did yelp - much to her delight. 

Not all was fun and games though, as Hu Tao got the mother of all lectures from Cloud Retainer. Something about Shenhe’s red ropes breaking, but the director didn’t pay much attention, and just nodded along.

Hu Tao: Heya, Shenhe… You don’t mind the little scare I gave you back on Halloween night, do you…?

Shenhe: Oh? Well, as much as I was upset during the moment, I must admit it was quite… cathartic. I never experienced anything like that. I do not hold any grudge towards you. Actually… Thank you for that, director Hu Tao.

Hu Tao: Phew! And I was here thinking I’ll share the fate of that display!

🎃Happy Halloween!🎃

[thebiggerbear]

Only Ever Holding Onto You - One - Here We Go Again

A/N: This chapter is HUGE. The following chapters should not be nearly as long. I began writing this back in July and at that time, I hadn't watched the rest of the 3rd season of Big Sky so I did a lot of guesswork based on gifs, clips, and posts I had seen on here. So that's why some things might not line up to the show, sorry about that. Also, I completely made up the name of the pharmaceutical company.

This story actually was the gateway to Ghosts so there might be some similar threads you might notice. ;)

And a huge thank you to my beta @rieleatiel! You rock, girl!

Warnings: mentions of animal cruelty, mentions of animal injuries seen by Reader, mentions of kidnapping of minor

Word Count: 13k+

Series Masterlist

Series Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @rieleatiel

“I didn’t do anything wrong!”

You rolled your eyes and made a left onto Washington. “Yeah, yeah. That’s what everyone who breaks into a chem lab says.”

“It’s true,” the man currently sitting handcuffed in your backseat insisted. “It’s the corporation that’s doing something wrong. They’re benefitting from those animals’ pain.”

“Doesn’t give you the right to enter the premises illegally,” you pointed out.

“What they’re doing is illegal,” he scoffed.

You couldn’t exactly argue with that one. When the call came in for a 10-62 and it was advised that the prowler was armed and dangerous, you had immediately rushed to the scene, beaten there by two officers from Helena PD and one deputy from your department. The perp had already been secured and in handcuffs, proclaiming loudly over and over that he was innocent as were the animals he had been trying to set free. Deputy Davis informed you that the only weapon that had been found on the man was a pair of bolt cutters, which had barely made a dent in the cages’ padlocks, never mind were they ever a real threat to anyone on the premises.

After contacting the higher-ups of her employer, an onsite supervisor insisted the company wanted to press any and all charges, maintaining that the animals in their possession had been obtained legally and the accusations against them were baseless. One glance past the woman’s shoulder at the cages of rabbits and cats being wheeled into another area showed that perhaps the man’s claims weren’t as baseless as she said they were. You had to keep yourself from hauling her down to the station on some trumped up charge once you noticed one cat in particular that had half of its fur missing and its side was littered with obvious injection sites. One rabbit even had sutures where an eye should be. 

Unfortunately, you had a job to do and the law needed to be upheld. You insisted on taking the perp, one Martin Webb, into the station yourself. Since Davis had arrived on scene first, Helena PD couldn’t say a peep. That was one thing that hadn’t changed with your transfer here: the good ol’ jurisdiction issue between departments. Although, up in these parts, the Lewis and Clark County Sheriff’s Department and Helena PD did play nicer together than most other places you’d been. As Webb continued to ramble on in the back of your car, you were thankful for that little fact.

When he mentioned for the fifth time that he was doing the right thing, your phone began to ring. One quick glance at the screen showed that it was Deputy Poppernak. Without saying a word, you picked up the call. “What’s shaking, Pepper Snaps?” 

You smirked when you heard the slight huff he let out when you called him the cute little nickname you had come up for him. He knew you did it to tease him good-naturedly but it still exasperated him at times. Truth be told, you had a fondness for the guy even though he did prove to be a bit of a suck-up when you first stepped into the station about six months back. Still he had always been welcoming towards you, took your quirks in stride, and he was a decent cop. That put him under the good list in your book.

“Hey, Y/N. The boss asked for me to give you a call and see if you were on your way back to the station.”

Your eyes practically rolled out of your head. Apparently, the sheriff had forgotten how phones worked along with the knowledge that you were more than capable of doing your job. If Poppernak got exasperated with you at times, your patience could be worn thin by one Beau Arlen on a semi-often basis, and that hadn’t changed with both of you relocating to Big Sky Country.

“Pops, correct me if I’m wrong, but when I radioed in to Madge that I was transporting a suspect back to the station, did I say it in Portuguese? French maybe? Japanese? Or in Gaelic perhaps?” You quipped.

“Uh, no. No, of course not,” Poppernak let out in a nervous chuckle. “It’s just, uh…sorry, one second.” You could hear his muffled voice speaking to someone; it was obvious he had covered the mouthpiece with his hand. You nearly rolled your eyes again, knowing exactly who he was speaking to, and instead chose to glance in your rearview to check on the man in the back. He had still been talking when you picked up the call but he must have gotten the hint when the deputy’s voice filled the car. Now, he sat quietly, staring straight ahead. 

“Okay, sorry about that. Madge was asking me—”

You’d had enough, especially when you heard him using a quieter tone than before. “Cut the crap, I know very well who was asking you something. What does he want and why is he not calling me to ask me himself?”

He laughed nervously again. “Uh, well, he was just—I mean I was just wondering, do you mind stopping by The 1889 and grabbing the usual order on your way in?”

Your jaw tensed. You had a sneaking suspicion of the reason why your boss wasn’t calling you directly and instead was asking his employee to do his dirty work, and it infuriated you.

“If it’s not too much trouble,” Poppernak added meekly.

You forced yourself to remember that he wasn’t the one who your ire should be aimed at. You’d get to that soon enough after you booked your suspect down at the station. You made another quick turn to head in the direction of the coffee shop. “Call the order in. I’ll be there in fifteen to pick it up and they better run it out to me or no dice. In case anyone at that station is too thick-headed to remember, I’m currently transporting a suspect.”

You heard a relieved breath come down the line. “Thanks, Y/N. You’re the—” 

You ended the call before the deputy could finish speaking. Pops knew you weren’t mad at him and knowing him, he’d get right on placing the order at the coffee house you all frequented so the order would be ready in the timeframe you’d given him. 

“Amazing. Animals are being cruelly treated in your own backyard and all you cops can worry about is your coffee order. ‘To protect and serve’...yeah right.”

You shot Webb a glare in your rearview mirror. “You have the right to remain silent, you know. Wouldn’t hurt to exercise it every now and then. Like right now.”

“How can I be silent? Do you have any idea what they’re doing to those animals? Do you have any idea how much pain they’re in? God, you people are heartless!”

“Uh huh.” You brought the car to a stop at a traffic light and took a deep breath. Losing your temper on Webb or Pops or anyone at the station would not help anything, but damn did Beau get on your nerves sometimes with his desire to placate and diffuse things. Most of the time, it was something you heavily respected about him; it was a great quality for a leader to have. At the same time, some people needed to be stood up to, put in their place, and knocked down a few pegs — and that is where you and Beau never saw eye-to-eye. It drove you crazy but you told yourself you would play the long game on this one. Beau knew how you felt. You two had argued about it enough times when it was just you two — but he refused to budge an inch. He believed time would resolve things. Six months was plenty of time in your mind but apparently, he didn’t share that sentiment. So, you did as you always had: you had his back and you followed his lead. It didn’t mean you had to like it sometimes, though. Especially not when—no, you would put it out of your mind for now.

“I’m serious, you saw the animals yourself. Do you really think they’re well cared for like they said? If you only knew the half of it!”

Webb’s rantings broke you out of your reverie. You thought over what he said, remembered the cat with the missing fur, the rabbit with the missing eye, and bit your lip in contemplation. When the light turned green, your mind was made up. “I’m just doing my job, Mr. Webb. And that job doesn’t include looking into the history of this company or what they do with their animals when it comes to testing.”

The man scoffed and you knew your words had been chosen well. “Of course not. Why would you care? I suppose you don’t care that the animals are kept in cages night and day. Not only do they pump chemicals into them consistently but they cause them pain purposely to see if their products work. I guess you also don’t care that this is a common practice for this company, or that they purposely pick up strays from surrounding neighborhoods and have even broken into people’s properties to steal their pets when the shelters and pet stores start to get suspicious! And you’re charging me with breaking and entering? What about them? And I bet you don’t care that they purposely starve these animals for certain experiments and that’s not even…”

You made your way to The 1889, keeping your gaze ahead of you as you maneuvered down the streets, all the while quietly listening and at certain points, trying to remember why you’d chosen to become a cop when it seemed like the odds always remained against you and innocents, humans and animals alike, continued to get hurt by every semblance of heartless assholes on a daily basis.

Deputy Davis, who had beaten you back to the station and waited for you to arrive, led Webb into the station as you followed behind with a tray of coffees and a paper bag full of food. 

Pops immediately hurried over to meet you, a huge grin on his face. “Thanks, Y/N. You really are the best.”

You handed him both the tray and bag, giving him a nod. 

Webb watched the exchange carefully before yelling out, “Yeah, so glad you can sit and enjoy your coffee and donuts while innocent animals are suffering!” The busy hum in the station dimmed slightly as everyone turned to look, but then it resumed when they saw the man responsible for the noisy interruption was in handcuffs.

“I’ll book him,” the deputy next to you insisted.

“Thanks, Davis.” You smiled slightly at the younger man. “I’ll get on the paperwork.”

“Let’s go.” Davis pushed Webb in front of him who kept yelling as he was being moved away.

 You and Pops watched them disappear around the corner and then turned back to one another. “So, where is he?”

Pops’ amiable smile dropped completely and he quickly glanced in the direction of the sheriff’s office. Bingo. “Uh, I think he’s interrogating a suspect right now…”

“Right.” You then moved past him and proceeded right to the location that Pops unintentionally gave away before outright lying to you. The door was shut but that didn’t deter you. Without knocking, you opened the door and barged right in.

Sure enough, there was Beau, sitting in his chair with the infamous Jenny Hoyt perched on the desk to his left, barely a foot of space between them. Of course. Was there ever a moment in the day the undersheriff wasn’t trying to get into the sheriff’s pants? 

The blonde glared at your intrusion and you folded your arms across your chest. You offered a meaningful look to Beau, who at least had the decency to look sheepish.

“Did you always storm into your boss’ office without knocking like this back in Houston or is it only something you do here?” Hoyt snapped.

“Hoyt,” Beau warned.

Ignoring her sniping and ignoring her presence altogether — you leveled your eyes on Beau alone. “We need to talk.”

Beau glanced between you and his undersheriff, looking uncertain, before he gave a simple nod. “Give us the room for a minute,” he directed to the woman next to him. The corner of your lips lifted in the beginning of a smirk; wise choice on his part.

Hoyt transferred her glare to him but got to her feet all the same. She nearly stomped her way out the door, scowling at you the entire time. You stared her down, all too happy to close the door once she vacated the threshold. You seriously could not wait for that woman to take some vacation time; it’d be like your own vacation kicking in at the same time.

You turned around to find Beau watching you, exhaustion showing in the lines of his face a little more prominently than they had a moment ago. “Y/N, I—”

Holding up a hand, you interrupted him before he could plead with you for peace or make excuses like he had so many times before. “Aside from me thinking that it’s downright pathetic that you can’t even make a simple phone call to ask me to pick you up one of your favorite sandwiches because she’s within hearing distance, I have a bigger issue to discuss.”

Beau sat back in his chair, considering you for a moment. “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

You moved closer and took a seat. “The man I just brought in, Martin Webb, the one who’s being booked on a B&E charge from Avuna Pharmaceuticals? Turns out he was not armed like had been initially reported to emergency dispatch. He had a pair of bolt cutters on him that didn’t even work and he was not posing a threat to anybody. But the Avuna reps are insisting he was.”

“Who was first on scene?”

“Davis.”

“Any footage or eyewitness accounts that prove this guy threatened anyone before Davis got there?”

“Eyewitness accounts from paid employees and when we asked for footage after noticing cameras placed all around the lab, we were told that their legal counsel advised that unless we had a warrant, we were wasting our time and suggested we should be focusing on the arrest of the assailant in our custody.”

Beau snorted. “Not suspicious at all and damn ballsy.”

You couldn’t help but shrug. “Big corporation, big money. They’ll do whatever it takes to protect it all.”

He nodded in agreement. “Good point. Alright, let’s let the DA take it from here. For now, just book him and we’ll let the courts battle it out on what charges actually stick.”

You tilted your head at him expectantly. 

“And,” he sighed. “I take it you already knew I’d say that and that’s not why you wanted to discuss it.”

“You know me so well,” you teased, giving him a smirk and sitting on the desk next to him on his right, keeping a polite distance between you. “Something doesn’t smell right with this case. If their response to our request to view their footage wasn’t enough of a red flag, then the fact that they’re looking to throw the book at this guy is. I ran him through the system. His record is relatively clean; he’s an activist, not an ecological terrorist.” You bit your lip. “I saw the animals while they were transporting them,” you said in a quieter tone. “I saw some things that... I think this guy, while a little misguided, is actually on the right track. Something’s off with this whole thing.”

Beau leaned over to place a hand over yours. “Darlin’, I know where you’re going with this and while it pains me to say it, I have to. It’s not our job. You said it yourself: big corporation, big money. This is for the courts. We can’t get involved.” You dropped your gaze to the floor and let out a disappointed breath. You knew as much, had said as much to Webb on the ride over, but it felt wrong for that to be the actual reality. 

You felt Beau brushing his thumb over the back of your hand in tender strokes. It was his way of reassuring you and apologizing at the same time. You couldn’t help but give him a thin-lipped smile. You knew he would do something if he could, but he was right. Unless there was evidence to Webb’s claims of the company illegally obtaining those animals, this was not for you or for the department to get involved in. On the off-chance there was proof, that evidence would need to be transferred to the right agency who handled such cases. Your hands were tied and there was nothing you could do from your position, that fact wouldn’t help you sleep better at night or help you forget what you had seen.

“That being said, I will talk to the DA and see what he can do about the charges. I can’t promise anything but I’ll try,” Beau finished, after seeing your reaction.

You turned your hand over, grabbing onto his, and whispered, “Thank you.”

He returned your smile and squeezed your hand before gently letting go. “And thank you for picking up the order earlier. And for not letting Hoyt bait you into an argument.”

Rolling your eyes and getting to your feet, you made your way to the bulletin board on the far wall to study its contents. “Sometimes I wonder why you even asked me to come here.”

You heard a heavy sigh behind you but you didn’t turn around to look. “You know why I asked you to join me here, Y/N. I need someone who has my back.”

“You have plenty of people here who have your back.” You pulled the paper you were looking for off the board and folded it up. “Especially her. She’d have your back, front, and center if she had anything to say about it.” Slipping the paper into the back pocket of your jeans, you glanced back at Beau to find him glaring in your direction. “Am I wrong?” You challenged.

“I really wish you two would try to get along.”

You scoffed out a laugh. “I’m not the one who throws a temper tantrum every time I walk into a room. That would be the woman whose insufferable ass has been glued to yours for the past six months.”

Beau shook his head. “Why do I even try?”

“Why do you?” You agreed. “And why do you defend her at every given turn when you know she’s the one that has a chip the size of Texas on her shoulder?”

“I told you, she’s been through a lot. With her mom and everything…” Beau waved a hand to indicate there might be more to it than you knew. You didn’t think there was; you had heard about it from practically everyone around here, but you also knew Beau was a good man with a big heart. So while you didn’t excuse away the blatant hostility Hoyt had shown you from the moment you arrived, you knew that your best friend tried to be understanding and his patience was longer than the length of the building you were currently in.

“Right,” you muttered. When you first showed up here, Beau told you everything that went down in the amount of time it took you to be able to secure your transfer. You knew all about Jenny Hoyt, her mom, Cassie Dewell, their interesting history, Denise, Sunny, Buck, and everything that happened with Emily and Carla. As a matter of fact, as soon as Beau called you in a panic over Emily’s being taken, you had told your boss down in Houston, Burke Ellis, that you were done waiting for him to stop dragging his feet and you were out on the first red-eye you could book a seat on. As a matter of fact, that was how you and Cassie first met, and how you first came across Hoyt. 

Beau had rushed over to you the minute he had spied you hurrying into the station, asking for Sheriff Beau Arlen and flustering Madge who had no idea who you were but that the man you said you were here to see was having a personal crisis and wasn’t up for seeing any visitors. You darted past her desk, which had further exasperated her, and you practically jumped into Beau’s open arms. You both hugged each other tightly and he nearly lifted you off the ground.

“Thank you,” he rasped out into your ear. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course.” You ran your fingers soothingly through the hair at the back of his neck. “Where do you need me?”

He had pulled back and it was then that you could see the toll this was taking on him; the fear, worry, and exhaustion were clearly pronounced on his handsome face. “Honestly?” He croaked out. He then grabbed your hand and quickly led you to an office in the back, both of you moving past many shocked onlookers, a 5’6” blonde woman among them who you would later come to know as the biggest pain in your ass in your career thus far. 

You saw the gold lettering on the door stating this was Beau’s office and he slipped you inside before shutting the door and closing the blinds. He pulled you back into his arms, burying his face into your neck. He surprised you a moment later by picking you up and placing you on the corner of his desk, never once moving away from you. You could feel the wetness against your skin and you saw his shoulders shake as he let out a pitiful sob. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he spoke. “I just… My baby girl has been taken by this murderous son of a bitch and I—” He couldn’t even get the rest out and you shushed him, holding him together as best you could while he fell apart, scared out of his mind at what could happen to his daughter. Emily was like a niece to you; you couldn’t even imagine how terrified she must be, let alone how her father must feel. You knew one thing, though: you and Beau would find her and bring her home. In order to do that, however, you needed to keep Beau from breaking completely and re-calibrate his focus.

You had started to press kisses to the side of his head, promising that you both would do everything to get Emily back safe and sound. “I’m here now,” you murmured into his ear. “We made one hell of a team once, this will be no different. We’ll get her back, Beau.” He sniffled and moved back to look at you, nodding. You gave him a tender smile and wiped underneath his eyes before running your hand through his wayward hair (it had grown slightly since the last time you saw him) and stroking his bearded cheek affectionately. “I’ve got you. Always.”

He stared into your eyes for so long as you comforted him that you didn’t notice that he was moving closer until his nose nearly bumped into yours. You didn’t realize that your breathing had picked up or that your heartbeat had accelerated until your lips parted to let out a small puff of air. His green gaze dropped down to your mouth at the action and then you noticed him wet his lips with his tongue. Your own tongue automatically mirrored his and you swore you felt your heart stop when you saw him take it as a green light and start to lean in, closing his eyes. Alarm bells went off in your mind: this was your best friend who was vulnerable due to the situation at hand, seeking comfort from someone familiar to him that he knew he could fully trust; there was an active investigation going on into his daughter’s abduction and you knew you were on a timeclock; every second counted and there was no time to waste. Yet you were frozen, unable to react and unwilling to stop him from taking the solace he needed in you. 

You’d be lying if you said you never imagined your friendship with Beau possibly crossing the line into something more at one point. While he was married, you had never entertained it, but afterwards, there had been that one night… Nothing had ended up happening between you, of course, but it had definitely been a close call. You had attributed it to too much liquor and the need for consolation during a rough time in his life, being more than relieved when he didn’t appear to remember the next morning. So your friendship continued unmarred by any tension or awkwardness. Now…how could you not give him what he clearly needed from you at one of the worst times in his life? 

You had just shut your eyes, making your decision and waiting for impact, when a knock sounded on his door and then it opened, a surprised gasp emitting from the doorway. You both turned to look, seeing a stunned woman standing there who you hadn’t passed by before. Beau let out a stuttered breath but pulled away from you all the same. It left a funny feeling inside your chest, but you told yourself he had made the right decision which prompted sweet relief to flood through your own veins. Nothing should occur between you and Beau right now, not when everything with Emily was going on and emotions were running high. And what if you had let him take comfort in you and it ultimately ruined your friendship? Not to mention he was now your boss. How complicated would that be? Your best friend meant more to you than one moment of throwing the rule book completely out the window. 

The woman worriedly glanced behind her and seemed to relax when she didn’t see who or what she was looking for. She then gave Beau a small smile. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Beau cleared his throat and leaned against the desk, next to you, facing the door. You discreetly ran a hand across his back in reassurance. “It’s fine. What is it, Cass?”

Your eyes widened when you heard the nickname and quickly made the connection. This was Cassie Dewell, the local private investigator Beau had told you about. He had mentioned that they had become close friends since he took the job.

“I just came to tell you that I think I might be able to help with Sunny.”

Beau immediately got to his feet. “You think she’ll tell us where Buck’s taken Emily?”

Cassie shrugged. “It’s worth a shot. She’s been married to the man for years. She may not have known he was a serial killer but she knows everything else there is to know about him. She has to have an idea of some spots he might have gone to that we haven’t come up with yet. And we do have the update about Walter as leverage.”

Running a tired hand down his face, Beau sighed. “Okay. Yeah. Let’s give it a shot.” He glanced your way and you gave him a nod. Then he started, as if he just remembered something. “Sorry. Cassie, I’d like you to meet Y/N Y/L/N. Y/N, this is Cassie Dewell.”

Your head snapped in her direction. “Oh right, you’re the PI from the local agency in town that Em’s been working at.”

Cassie gave you a wave and you studied her, expecting judgment of some kind, yet there was no malice or hostility staring back at you. You had expected such a reaction from her walking in on you and Beau, yet all you could see was curiosity... As well as worry and guilt shadowing her eyes for a moment at the mention of Emily. “Yeah, that would be me. Hey.”

“Y/N’s from Houston.” Beau gestured towards you. “We worked quite a few cases together back in the day.”

Her eyes seemed to light up with recognition which surprised you. “Y/N Y/L/N…I was wondering why that name sounded familiar. You’re one of his former partners, right?”

You quickly exchanged a glance with Beau. “Sort of,” you confirmed.

“She’s transferring here but I asked her to come to help with…Emily…” Beau looked pained as he said the name.

You immediately laid a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you need.”

He gave you a thin-lipped smile and you squeezed him in reassurance. 

“Nice to meet you.” Cassie’s voice pulled you both from the moment.

Your gaze snapped to Cassie’s. “Likewise. So, this Sunny…she’s the owner of the campground, right? Close to where the body of the first victim was found some years ago? And she’s the wife of the suspect?” Beau had told you a little about the case before Avery’s death and Emily’s abduction.

Cassie nodded. “Yeah. I’m hoping she’ll feel up to talking. Beau, I wouldn't ask but…would you mind giving me a hand? It might help shake something loose if we both take a run at her. She’s more familiar with us, and Walter will give us more of a card to play.”

Beau thought it over for a moment. “Agreed. We’ve got to try anything and everything so let’s do it.” Cassie turned to leave when he called out to her, “I’ll be there in a second.”

She nodded and quietly closed the door behind her.

Beau let out a heavy breath and turned to you. “Y/N, I—”

You shot up, standing before him. “No need,” you spoke softly. You took his hand in yours and squeezed reassuringly when you saw his eyes tighten. “Let’s focus on saving your daughter.” You gave him a small smile and he nodded, pulling you into him to place his forehead up against yours. 

“Thank you,” he murmured, closing his eyes. When you felt him relax slightly against you after taking a deep breath, out of instinct, you did something you had never done before, not when you were this close together and it was just the two of you. You pressed a tender kiss to his cheek, right above his beard line, forcing his eyes to snap open, staring right into yours, and he focused intently on you. 

“Let’s go find her and bring her home,” you whispered, stepping back only when he nodded, and turned towards the door. 

“Do you want me to watch the interrogation or do you need me elsewhere?” You asked.

He came to a halt, thinking about it for a moment. “Interrogation.”

You nodded and opened the door, stepping through to see several pairs of eyes land on you. It might have been intimidating to someone else, but to you, it was just par for the course. Beau had warned you about the small town atmosphere compared to the big city one you were accustomed to, so you weren’t surprised in the least when people started talking in hushed tones to one another as you both walked past without a word to anyone. It appeared you and Beau were on the same page: Emily was priority and introductions to your new coworkers would have to wait. 

He led you to a closed door where Cassie stood, waiting. You glanced around to look for the room you would be led to in order to watch the interrogation but didn’t see it. 

“And who’s this?”

You turned to see the blonde woman from earlier, a forced smile on her face and her blue eyes assessing you.

Beau seemed caught off guard for a moment, his focus on getting to Cassie and then taking on Sunny, but he quickly introduced you. “Y/N Y/L/N, Jenny Hoyt.” You gave her a nod and she returned it. “Cassie and I are going to take a run at Sunny, see if maybe she has an idea of a location where Buck may have taken Emily and Denise.”

The blonde’s gaze softened as it landed on Beau. “Of course. If you want, Cassie and I can do it.” You noticed Cassie’s eyes tighten but she stayed quiet as the woman then leaned into Beau a bit, saying softly, “You’ve been through a lot in the last few hours.” You watched as she squeezed Beau’s arm in support. Ah, so this was the infamous Jenny Hoyt you had heard about. The same Hoyt that had given Beau a run for his money when he first took this job and then continued to be a wildcard in the field. The same one who Beau felt the ridiculous need to babysit. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you watched her gazing up at your friend as if he had hung the moon in the night sky but you schooled your features into polite professional interest by the time Beau glanced over at you. 

“I’m good. Actually, Y/N, I’d like you to join us.” Both Cassie and Hoyt turned gaping expressions on you. While this was certainly a twist, you knew Beau wouldn’t be asking if he didn’t have his reasons. Sure enough, he elaborated, “I think a new face might provide the perfect shakeup that we need.” He gave you a meaningful look and like always, you knew exactly what he was thinking.

You gave the group a curt nod. “Sure. Can I see the file real fast so I know what I’m working with?” You held out a hand to Hoyt, assuming that she had Sunny’s file in her hand in expectation of the interrogation, waiting for her to pass it to you.

The blonde glared at you, a hint of suspicion in her eyes, before glancing back at the man. “Beau, maybe we should slow down and think about this for a second. We might only get one shot at this so maybe—”

“Hoyt, my daughter has been kidnapped by a serial killer. She fits his MO to a tee and we need to find her before…” He pressed his lips together tightly before blowing out a breath. “Look, Denise has been taken too, my ex-wife is a mess of tears, Avery is dead, and I’m barely holding it together. Just let me do what I have to do to save my little girl. So give Y/N the damn file.” He spoke the last part through gritted teeth, signifying the end of his patience, and that appeared to shock Hoyt and Cassie. You assumed that this was a new side of Beau that they hadn’t seen before but his daughter’s life was on the line. What did they expect? If he hadn’t said anything, you would have snatched the damn folder out of Hoyt’s hands yourself. Precious time was being wasted with the useless pissing match she seemed intent on engaging in. 

Cassie recovered first. “Jenny.” She gave the blonde an encouraging nod.

Hoyt’s features tightened and her eyes were pure ice as she finally placed the folder into your waiting hand.

“Thanks.” You immediately started scanning the contents. After a minute or so, you felt you had a general understanding of Sunny and her history from the file in addition to things Beau had mentioned to you already. You had more than enough to be able to pull off what he needed you to do. You shut the folder and gave Beau and Cassie a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Cassie opened the door and led the way inside, followed by Beau and then you. Hoyt stared you down as you passed her but you couldn’t be bothered to care. Right now, your priority was the young girl whom you had watched grow up, who you had sat through a blistering hot, cheesy middle school graduation for — all to watch her walk across the stage in a cap and gown. Her life was on the line and you’d make sure she returned to Beau safely no matter what.

You weren’t in there long. You did exactly as Beau had intended for you to do. You teed him and Cassie up very nicely to get what they needed to. Not much time had passed before Sunny admitted she most likely knew where Buck went, especially when Cassie swooped in with the information that her son, Walter, was still alive despite Buck’s attempt to kill him.

Once you left the room, Cassie was intent on finding Sunny’s other son, Cormac, since Beau and Hoyt were going to drive Sunny to the location she had revealed. You were about to offer to do whatever was needed from you when you heard a loud cry erupt to your left. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a woman with dark hair rushing towards you. You barely turned in time for impact when Carla threw herself at you.

You held her as she cried, thanked you for coming, asked you to help find her daughter, mentioned her recently murdered husband, and just overall sobbed. This woman had been through one hell of an ordeal in the last few days. You couldn’t even imagine how torn apart you’d be if this were you, not to mention Carla was one of the most level-headed and toughest women you had ever met in your life. She was definitely tougher than you, and that was saying something considering you had seen some shit in your time. Now, seeing her reduced to tears like this, begging you to help save her little girl, to do whatever you had to in order to bring her baby back home to her…it turned your stomach and only added to the urgency of finding Emily and getting to her before that sick son of a bitch could hurt her. You hoped to hell he hadn’t already. Your stomach turned further at the thought and you could feel an all-too familiar fire that you kept a tight lid on when working cases that involved children… 

You forced yourself to let go of the thought. This was about Emily and her parents, not about you. Ignoring your experience that nagged at you and insisted that, due to the circumstances and the time already passed, there was a likelihood of a bad ending here, you swallowed past the lump forming in your throat and refocused your energy into trying to calm Carla down so you could help find her daughter.

It took Beau peeling her off of you and promising that you both were going to look for Emily right then to calm her slightly. She held onto Beau and you grabbed her hand, ignoring your training yelling at you in your head, and swore you would do everything you could to help bring her daughter back to her. 

“Y/N, Beau, please, you have to save her,” she begged. “Save our daughter!” She threw at Beau before Madge was able to lead her away. Watching her go, your jaw tensed as that fire from earlier threatened to return. You had the desire to find Buck and take the sick bastard down yourself.

Beau turned to you, his green eyes even more haunted than when you had first seen him, and that dulled the fire inside. No matter the anger you felt, it was nothing compared to what he must be feeling. You could only imagine the rage and hopelessness mixed with desperation that was swirling inside of him right now, and you knew exactly what he was thinking because you were thinking it, too. What if you couldn’t keep your promise to Carla? You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts. You wouldn’t think like that; those types of thoughts were useless. You needed to be at your best for him, for Carla, and more importantly, for Emily. Instead, you focused on the positives: you all had a lead right now, two in fact, and that was all that mattered.

You instinctively reached out and cupped his face with your hands, anchoring him as best you could. “Beau, listen to me,” you murmured. “You and Hoyt take Sunny to the spot she told you about. I’ll go with Cassie to find Cormac. Alright?”

He nodded, staring at you, and the movement forced a single tear to shake loose. You wiped it away discreetly before it could be seen and hugged him to you. “Go. Keep your phone on and if you need me, you call me. It’s going to be okay. We’re going to find her,” you whispered into his ear. 

You heard a sniffle in your ear. “Right, we’ll find her.” 

“And we’ll take down this sick son of a bitch,” you promised, pulling back to look him meaningfully in the eye. Come hell or high water, you had his back. 

Nodding again, he gave you a smile that was more of a grimace and placed a hand against your cheek. “Yeah, we will.” You reached up to give his wrist a squeeze.

“Beau.”

Both of you turned to see Hoyt and Cassie watching you curiously along with Madge and a deputy who you would come to find out to be Poppernak.

“We should go,” Hoyt insisted. 

Beau glanced back over at you, quietly clearing his throat and removing his hand. “Yeah.” His gaze snapped over to the other man, as if he had suddenly just had a thought. “Poppernak, get Y/N here a vest before she leaves. Get one for Cassie, too.”

“You got it, boss.” 

Poppernak walked away and Beau swung his head back to you. “You call me the second you get anything from Cormac.” At your nod, he laid a hand on your shoulder and lowered his head slightly to look you right in the eye. “Be careful.”

You couldn’t help but smile and say to him the thing you’d said to him every time he told you this in the past: “Always am.” His features softened the slightest bit at the familiar exchange between you. “Now, let’s go find your daughter and bring her home.”

“Yeah,” he breathed out and gave a sharp nod, what you had always called his game face filling his expression. Squeezing your shoulder, he released you and walked away. You watched him go and sure enough, the blonde’s glare entered your vision when she looked back over her shoulder while walking with him out the door. It was the same suspicious glare you’d been getting from her in the last hour, the same one you couldn’t help but notice when Carla had first launched herself at you. You knew then that whatever her reasons, she was going to be a problem for you. 

“Ready to go?” Cassie asked kindly.

You gave her a small smile. “Yeah. Let’s go get Em back.”

“And Denise,” she added.

“Right. Her, too.”

The both of you grabbed the vests Poppernak held out to you on your way out. 

Cormac had actually proven useful and he had thankfully led you to the correct location Emily was being held in. Beau had been practically inconsolable when he called you before that, thinking Emily had been killed in an explosion. Even though you had seen him at the worst times in his life, and had just seen him breaking down in front of you back at the station, you had never heard the pain that saturated his voice right then. You struggled not to break down in tears yourself. Laughter, football games in the Arlen yard, ice cream runs after particularly tough days at school, you teaching her how to make paella and her mom’s smile when Em proudly insisted she made it all on her own later at dinner that night, rides on the ferris wheel at the fair because her dad was too scared to take her but wouldn’t admit it — the memories of time spent with your favorite teenager assaulted you in rapid succession. You forced yourself to focus on Beau, to keep him from falling to pieces right then and there. You knew that’s why he had immediately called you, before he had to tell Carla. 

You were beyond grateful when a minute or two later someone interrupted your conversation to inform Beau that there was no evidence that Emily was in the explosion. The body they’d found appeared to be male. No Denise and no Emily. You had nearly fallen to your knees in relief right then, and you could only imagine how Beau must have felt. 

And soon enough, you, Cassie, and Cormac located both girls, very much alive, and freed them. Emily had held onto you, her young face streaked with dirt and tears, clearly traumatized from all that had taken place over the last week. It broke your heart to hear her terrified whimpers. When she first saw you, she had cried out your name and once you had her in your arms, she refused to let go of you, which was just fine by you. You were grateful she was alive and appeared to be unharmed, but you secretly wished you could have two minutes alone with Buck, that sick bastard who had done this to her. Hell, you wouldn’t have needed your gun at all. 

Beau and Hoyt showed up just as you were all stepping out into the sun and a huge lump formed in your throat when Emily finally let go of you to run to her dad. Seeing them embracing each other forced tears to run down your cheeks which you quickly wiped away. 

You were grateful to Cassie for that day. Her hunch about Cormac and her personal connection to him had helped get Emily back home safely. Not only had the two of you worked well together in that short span of time, but ever since then, you could see that she was good to Beau, and to Emily. Both Arlens had massive respect for her and you could see why Beau had spoken so highly of her before you came to Helena, and why he insisted on having her back professionally despite her being a private investigator. It was common knowledge that law enforcement didn’t always like having PI’s poking around cases, but Cassie had been given full access and assistance. You now saw why and you were thankful that Beau had such a good friend up here, someone who truly had his interests at heart as well as his daughter’s. And now you were also lucky enough to be able to call her your friend. There were many movie nights at Beau’s that were filled with light-hearted teasing and plenty of laughter since you’d settled into life in Montana.

As for Hoyt…well, things hadn’t really changed on that front. She certainly wasn’t a fan of yours, no two ways about it. 

You had gotten to know Poppernak a bit after you arrived but he was still in suck-up mode, so you decided to turn that to your advantage. It really didn’t take much to get it out of him; Hoyt had a thing for Beau, nothing you already hadn’t caught onto. Hell, she was practically all over him at his movie nights as well as anytime there was a meetup arranged at the local bar; if she wasn’t present for one reason or another, she was calling him constantly, either saying she needed a friend to talk to or it was under the guise of discussing ongoing cases. Beau never got a day off and there wasn’t one day he spent with Emily that didn’t get interrupted by a phone call from Hoyt. There had even been times he’d had to call you and ask you to take Em to a movie or keep her entertained because Carla was out and he had to go help the blonde on what should have been a case that a rookie fresh out of the academy could have handled. The kicker was that this was after what Em had been through, Hoyt knowing full well that Beau needed some time with his daughter after that ordeal. Not even you interrupted them, though both father and daughter had invited you to join them quite a few times.

At one point, you remembered the other thing Poppernak informed you about: rumors were circulating around the department that Beau and Hoyt were involved and had been secretly seeing one another. You knew Beau would have told you if he was seeing anyone, but it was no secret that Hoyt had appointed you as her archnemesis and you didn’t care for her at all. What if the rumors were right and Beau was too embarrassed to tell you? Or what if he thought it might make a bad situation worse? What if he wanted to find what he considered to be the right time to tell you? And if he was indeed seeing her, it would explain the incessant calls, the moon eyes, the distaste she had for you — all of it. The doubt continued to gnaw away at you and you didn’t sleep so well the first few nights after the talk with Poppernak. 

Finally, one day you asked Beau point-blank if anything was going on between him and Hoyt. Once he closed his gaping mouth and put his eyes back into his head, he assured you they were just friends and he was her boss. She had been through some ordeals herself and he was just trying to be there for her, to give her support when she needed it. Nothing more. You knew it was complete and utter bullshit or Beau wouldn’t have been so suddenly interested in the case file on his desk. A case file you knew had been sitting there for the past two days.

There was no way that Beau was ignorant of Hoyt's attraction to him. The woman practically had a flashing neon sign on her forehead every time she looked at him, not to mention she had pulled out all the stops to let him know she was very much interested. Beau was an affectionate person by nature so little touches here and there between you were par for the course with him if you were his best friend, as long as they were welcomed and didn’t cross any lines or make you feel uncomfortable. There wasn’t a single opportunity Hoyt didn’t take to get her hands on Beau or to get those little touches out of him. Of course he knew; he had to. All of this was so blatant, everyone else around them knew, too, hence the rumors swirling around the department. Even Carla knew, as she’d mentioned to you one afternoon, and if you thought you didn’t care for Hoyt, then the former Mrs. Arlen downright despised the woman. People who Beau and Hoyt didn’t know knew, as evidenced by a witness at a crime scene asking to speak to the sheriff’s girlfriend again. Yet, if he was willfully ignoring her consistently throwing herself at him, then there was nothing more you could say. To his credit, you had never seen him return any flirtation or interest, no matter how hard Hoyt was putting herself out there, before or after your conversation with him. 

There were a couple of times you discreetly noticed the hurt in Hoyt’s face when Beau chose to accompany you on a case, if he and Cassie were laughing together, or if he was extra tender with Carla when she would drop by the station to talk about Emily. It quickly became clear that this was more than a crush or some simple attraction; the blonde had serious feelings for your best friend. Knowing Beau the way you did and everything he’d been through the past few years, it shouldn’t surprise you if he was purposely putting blinders on when it came to this topic. Beau had dated some since his divorce, but he wasn’t ready to get serious with anyone. At least that’s what he’d told you time and time again, back in Houston and now here. It had taken him some time to get over his ex-wife and now Emily and his job were his top priorities. While deep down you might have a very tiny trace amount of sympathy for the blonde, Beau was the one who mattered to you in this equation. If Hoyt wanted to keep chasing after her emotionally unavailable boss, then that decision was on her. It wasn’t like Cassie hadn’t warned her, something the PI had mentioned to you one night after a few drinks while you both sat at a table, watching Hoyt pulling Beau onto the dance floor despite his clear reluctance. So if your best friend lived more comfortably in the land of Hoyt-is-just-being-extra-friendly-because-she-appreciates-my-friendship, then who were you to burst that bubble? 

It did bother you tremendously though to see Beau not putting up any kind of boundaries whatsoever with Hoyt even though they were sorely needed. So, in your own subtle way, from time to time, you tried to suggest he put one up… Maybe two. He would humor you and hear you out, but then he’d either pick up the phone the next time she called him on a day off or he’d refuse, saying she was in a fragile state right now and he couldn’t afford to put distance there when she needed his support. After a few instances of this craziness and Hoyt’s attitude with you grew, you stopped being subtle which resulted in arguments that turned into yelling matches, tense silences on the rare ride-along, slammed doors (usually at your place since a slammed door at Beau’s would most likely have knocked that thing over; Pedro’s door was a good replacement though—that thing may be old but it was strong like a tank), refusals to look at one another, crossed arms, and sometimes radio silence for a few days if the disagreement had reached a bad enough point. You were always professional when on the clock and you always resolved things eventually, but this was one sticking point neither of you budged from. You knew Beau was a good man and had a heart of gold, something you loved and respected about him, but he could sure be infuriatingly stubborn at times.    

And while you could admit Hoyt was a decent, hardworking cop, she was also a decent-sized, hardworking pain in your ass. You knew she’d be a problem for you and boy had she been. Her whole thing with the sheriff aside, it was no surprise that the source of her hostility towards you was the man himself, namely your friendship with him. You both were close and even though nothing had ever happened between you, it became clear that the blonde detested any familiarity or affection shown by either of you to each other. You thought it was ridiculous and you refused to change your relationship or how you did things just because she was eager for your friend to look at her the way she had been looking at him. In fact, whenever you were around, she turned her obvious coyness and see-through flirting attempts up a notch. Presently, as of a few weeks ago, Hoyt had taken to physically marking her territory, or what she considered to be hers, like her sitting on Beau’s desk—right next to him. She’d slide in beside him in your usual booth at The Boot Heel or she’d take the chair next to him during movie nights which would force you and Cassie to sprawl on the deck with a blanket, struggling to get comfortable on the hard wooden planks underneath. You fully expected one of these days to walk in on her jumping Beau right there in his office chair, something you hoped to hell you never did because you would never get that sickening image out of your head.

Sure, you had talked with Beau plenty of times about her open hostility. He had begged you to try to make peace which always made you laugh because you were not the intentional catalyst of all of the contention in this situation. 

“I have to make peace. Right,” you muttered, taking a sip of your beer that Beau had offered to you when you arrived at his place a couple of months back.

Beau threw his head back against his chair in disbelief. “I’m just asking you to maybe extend an olive branch. This thing between you two is killing me... And everyone else in the department.”

“Maybe you should tell your undersheriff to, I don’t know, act like an undersheriff?” You ignored Beau’s loud groan and continued. “Isn’t that what she’s supposed to do? Run the department while you’re out? My God, Beau, she can’t even go to the bathroom without your permission. You know that, right?”

“Y/N…”

“You and Em were supposed to go fishing last weekend with Cassie and Kai. I was going to take Carla out for the day to catch up and keep her mind off things while Em was gone. Remember that?”

You ignored Beau rolling his eyes. “Yes,” he begrudgingly admitted.

“And what happened?”

“Y/N, a case dropped. Alright? It happens. When a dead body pops up, I need to know about it.”

“Know about it, yes, not work it.” He turned to meet your unflinching gaze. “No more bullshit, Beau. You didn’t make it to Sheriff by being stupid. You’ve worked in a bigger department before, dealt with way more crime, and overseen a bigger force. All on your own. If this were anyone else, you’d have told them to do their goddamn job by now, or you’d get someone else to fill the spot. You’re making excuses for her and you’re holding her hand like she’s a damn 5 year old.”

Beau dug his teeth into his bottom lip, staring at you in thought. “I told you, she’s been through a lot these past two years.”

“And you haven’t? Cassie hasn’t? Your daughter and her mom? Really?”

He let out a deep breath and sipped from his bottle. “We all have. That’s why when one of us needs a hand, we give it without question. When one of us falls, no matter how often or how long it takes, we help them get back up, every single time.” 

You swallowed the argument on the tip of your tongue and sat back in your chair, staring down at your bottle and playing with the edge of the label. “Okay, Dr. Phil.”

A laugh erupted from the man and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shaking his head. “I’m just saying we all help each other as best we can. If that means she needs help on a few cases, I’ve got her back.”

“I think you and Hoyt have very different ideas of what the word few means.”

“Y/N, if it was you, if it was Cass, I’d do the same thing. You know that. Look, she was there for me when Em was taken.” You did your best to hide your flinch but it must not have been well enough because his hand suddenly covered both of yours. “You all were,” he clarified. “I’m just trying to return the favor.”

“Sounds like you two are a lot closer than either of you let on,” you mentioned quietly.

When he didn’t respond to that, you snuck a glance up at him. His eyes were glued to you but after a minute, he retracted his hand and dropped his gaze to the deck. “We’re friends.”

You felt a weird sensation in your chest, like something fell into the pit of your stomach with those two words. Beau was a very direct person. He looked you in the eye, he shook your hand, and he didn’t bullshit. That meant if he wasn’t looking at you, if he was feeding you this same line of bullshit, you knew that wasn’t the entire truth. You weren’t sure if it hurt because your best friend was lying to you yet again, possibly still not trusting you with the truth, or if it was due to what he’d said. Either way, you refused to look at it too closely, not wanting this feeling to consume you as it seemed intent on doing. It was easier to put distance there in your mind, to tell yourself that Beau Arlen was a grown man and he could make his own decisions. You just wished he’d get involved with someone better suited for him, like Cassie. Granted, Cassie was with Cormac and they seemed happy, but why couldn’t Beau find his own version of Cassie? Someone who wouldn’t interrupt his time with his daughter, who wouldn’t selfishly absorb all of his time off, who didn’t physically embody the definition of clingy, and who wouldn’t treat his best friend like shit day in and day out?        

Honestly, you could care less about what Hoyt thought of you or how she acted towards you. For you, this was all a one-sided issue that Hoyt herself was making. You saw through her bullshit and you didn’t take her crap, and that infuriated the blonde. But what did she expect? After working a short stint in homicide in Manhattan and then with cartels, drug rings, and all sorts of other mess in Houston, very little had the power to intimidate you these days. Certainly not some little Miss Perfect whose work uniform appeared to consist of band t-shirts, leather jackets, and thick long heels as an undersheriff (how did that make for a successful running down of a suspect? seriously), who also batted her eyelashes at her boss and scowled at you from the moment Beau addressed your existence. You’d seen some things in your time and Helena’s runner-up for this Regina George wannabe was a mere speck on the windshield of shit on top of shit. You had no time for it. You just wished sometimes that Beau would stop trying to put it on your shoulders to do something about it, especially when he knew who the real culprit was.

And almost as if he had just heard your thoughts, he hit you with: “I’m asking you if you can be the one to reach out, Y/N, because I know I can rely on you. If I ask her… With Jenny, it’s complicated.”

“Not my problem,” you snapped out, taking another sip and refusing to look at him.

A very tense silence followed for the next few minutes as you both nursed your beers. You half-wondered if this night was going to end in yet another argument about a woman that wasn’t worth wasting a second over. This much disagreement was uncommon for both of you and you hated it. Oh, sure, you’d had your spats over the years but they were pretty minor and easily dissolved. And the silences… Usually, if a silence fell over the both of you, it was comfortable and felt overall peaceful. Not lately, which always seemed to follow a mention of Hoyt in some fashion.

You felt the all-too familiar burning in the corner of your eyes when you had the thought that had been getting louder and louder as more time passed: perhaps your transfer here had been a mistake. You didn’t regret being here to help when Emily was taken, but maybe once she was safely back home, you should have returned to yours. While Beau had made room for you in the department, there wasn’t really a place for you here; as much as you enjoyed spending time with your favorite family and new friends like Cassie, the person you had dropped everything and moved across state lines for was on the other side of a huge chasm that hadn’t been there before his move up north. It was growing every single day and you had no idea how to stop its progress or bridge the gap. You did your job well and deep down, you knew you would be more efficient elsewhere. You settled into the Montanan lifestyle as best you could but you had to admit to yourself that you knew it wasn’t a perfect fit. The more time passed, the more and more you believed your decision to be a mistake. The man you cared most about in this world had called you, told you he needed you, and you jumped without hesitation, not sparing a single thought or even looking to see where you’d land. Were you really that surprised that things were turning out this way? And every single time Hoyt threw hostility your way, it reinforced what you already knew to be true, the very message she had been sending you these past six months: you didn’t belong here. You turned your head to the side to discreetly wipe away a tear that had managed to escape and you took a breath to prevent any more, telling yourself to get it together.  

You waited for your eyes to clear, to push back down the swell of emotions inside you, and took one last sip of your beer. Just as you were about to announce it was time for you to head home and thank him for the drinks, Beau spoke up. “See that?”

You glanced up to where he was pointing and caught the tail end of a shooting star. A small smile formed on your face as you took in the night sky. You had never seen anything like that before. That was one thing you’d give Montana. It was hard to believe but the sky was so different compared to Texas and definitely not the same as New York. Everything up here was so clear and beautiful. Big Sky Country indeed. 

One night you, Beau, and Cassie had taken to trying to pick out as many constellations as you could find on Cassie’s smartphone. You were not completely successful but there were a lot of laughs as you all tried your best and then there had even been a very interesting conversation about UFOs and the possibility of extraterrestrial life. That had been a night for the books, especially when you and Cassie broke out into fits of drunken giggles when you grabbed Beau’s nose and made a weird mix of a boop and honking sound when you all discussed how you would greet aliens should they ever show up but were not hostile towards humanity. Beau had merely rolled his eyes in good humor and promptly cut you and Cassie off for the rest of the night, taking car keys from the both of you.

“A shooting star,” you whispered in amazement. “I think you’re supposed to make a wish on them, right? Did you make one?” You kept searching the sky, hoping to see another one so you could do just that. The other one was too fast and you desperately wanted to wish that things would get better and you could make your new home work like you had in Houston. The thought immediately saddened you when you remembered how a certain Texan and his family had helped in that department. You swallowed the lump back down and kept watching the sky, hoping like hell the universe would help you out just this once. Just one more. You weren’t wanting a meteor shower to suddenly happen of course, though that would be amazing to witness. You made a mental note to yourself to google it later to see when and where you could see one.

“Already did.”

Your brows furrowed at his response and you turned to find him watching you closely, almost as if he was waiting for you to realize what that wish had been. When you did, you scoffed and got to your feet, second shooting star and your wish be damned. “I’m not doing the olive branch thing so you can forget it. Not even some small rock from outer space is going to force me to do that one.” You stretched, feeling slightly more energetic than you had a moment ago, most likely due to the irritation you were currently experiencing. “Well, this has been fun but I should head home. Thanks for the beer.”

A hand pulled the nearly empty bottle out of yours and another dug into your jeans pocket, pulling your keys out before you could react. “Beau, what the— I’m fine.”

“Uh huh. Listen, you know the deal. You need to sober up before you leave.”

“I’m not drunk! I’m not even tipsy!”

Beau shot you a look. “It’s late. There’s a possible ice warning for later tonight. You’re staying.”

“I have work tomorrow!”

“Good thing you have such an understanding boss then, huh?” He gave you a wink which made you roll your eyes and fold your arms across your chest.

“If you’re so worried about my blood alcohol level, maybe don’t serve alcohol when I come over?”

“What, and miss great moments like…” He reached up and grabbed your nose, making the same boop-honking sound you had made weeks ago. 

You pushed his hands away. “First of all, that is not what I sounded like. Secondly, I’m no lightweight. You know that. How many times have I drunk you under the table?”

He lifted a finger and opened his mouth to argue but then thought it over. “Good point.” You gave an approving nod. “But that was one time, in San Antonio.” He was referring to the day trip you had taken so you could visit the Alamo. You had never been and when you mentioned it, he insisted on being your guide. Carla and Emily were supposed to go as well but the latter had gotten sick so her mom stayed home with her. Beau didn’t want to leave Emily and you were willing to reschedule but Carla insisted you both still go. When you visited a bar later on, Beau issued a little friendly drinking competition between the two of you, as long as one of you was still sober enough to drive home. He had been convinced he would emerge victorious; he was wrong. That had been a long ride on the I-10. By the end of the night, Carla had her hands full with two sick people, each having their own trash baskets by their bedsides. It took some time but she eventually forgave you.

You held up two fingers. “Twice actually. You didn’t really think I’d let you forget Austin’s birthday party at that place in downtown Houston, did you?”

The man winced. “Alright, alright. Twice.” You nodded in approval. “Now, all the talk about drinking aside, you did just remind me how my time with people I care about has been interrupted quite a bit lately. Even if you’re set to drive, just stay. We can watch a movie and you can have the bed.”

A part of you wanted to accept but the other part wanted to retreat to your sanctuary, where you could break down in tears or mope around in peace. “I don’t really want to spend another night in the tin can,” you whined. “My bed is so much more comfortable and I feel it calling to me right now…” You glanced longingly in the direction of the road.

Beau’s jaw dropped. “Tin can? Between you and Em, I swear… Why can’t my girl get any respect around here?”

“Because you refer to it as a girl. You know how I feel about that.” Another eye-roll. “Beau Arlen, you keep rolling those eyes of yours at me, they’re going to fall out of your head. You just wait.”

“Sure they will.” He laid an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in closer and giving you a smirk. You couldn’t help but lean into him, hoping to feel that closeness between you again even if it was only physically. “What if I whip out some marshmallows? Whaddya say?”

“Are you really trying to bribe me to spend the night? With a gooey, sugary, yet very deliciously fluffy confectionery treat, no less?”  

“Is it working?”

You shrugged though deep down you knew it was. Marshmallows over a fire were your kryptonite and the son of a bitch knew it. “Tell me you have graham crackers and some chocolate that’s not expired, and you’ve got a deal.”

He beamed at you like a kid seeing wrapped presents under the tree on Christmas morning, making your heart feel a little lighter. How could you say no to that?

A few s’mores and quite a few more beers later, you were snuggled into his side, rapidly falling asleep. He had insisted you sit with him in his chair so you could both huddle under his one blanket for warmth on the cold night. Your drunken giggles may have made a reappearance as he worked to adjust the both of you for maximum blanket coverage but you would never admit to it if ever questioned in open court. You swore you’d buy him a few more blankets, especially when the thought popped into your head that there was a possibility that he and Hoyt had cuddled and done God knew what else under that thing. You’d even tried to wiggle it off of you since the thought took root in your stomach and soured (or maybe that was the beer), but Beau kept tucking it around you and pulling you closer until you finally gave up and settled against him with a sigh. The sound of his heartbeat and his deep voice as he spoke to you lulled you into slumber almost immediately. You thought you felt his lips brush against your forehead and you could have sworn he said something akin to “Definitely came true” but you had practically drunk your weight in beer and you were exhausted from the late hour as well as all of the roiling emotions inside of you so you couldn’t be sure it wasn’t something you dreamt instead. When you woke up with a massive headache the next day, alone in Beau’s bed with the blanket completely wrapped around you while the man snored from the couch, a dream was definitely what you chalked it up to.

And now here you were, yet again, at another impasse over the insufferable pain in your ass named Jenny Hoyt. The woman barely interacted with you, preferring to act like you didn’t exist or to silently glare at you from across the room, and she wasn’t even here, but somehow there she was, always in between the two of you. It really made you miss the old days, back before things went to shit for Beau in Houston. Back when things were a lot less complicated. 

“Davis is booking Webb so I’ll go finish up the paperwork.” You turned to head towards the door.

“Y/N,” Beau sighed, giving you a pleading look.

“Thanks for the talk. I’ll catch you later.” You sent a forced smile his way and slowly spun out the door, closing it behind you. Passing by Poppernak on your way to your desk, you snatched a muffin right out of his hand. 

“Hey! That’s the only blueberry from the bag. Madge got the other.”

“That sucks,” you teased before breaking off a piece of the top and tossing it into your mouth. “I thought you liked chocolate chip, anyway.”

“Nah, not anymore. It gives me bad heartburn,” he confirmed sadly.

You couldn’t help but arch a brow at him. “And blueberry doesn’t?”

He shrugged. “Not as much.”

With a roll of your eyes, you tossed the muffin back at him and he caught it with a bright smile. You slipped the paper out of your back pocket and punched a familiar number into your phone.

“Who are you calling?”

“Your mother, Pepper Snaps.” Poppernak frowned over at you. You couldn’t blame him; you were being a total crankpot. It wasn’t just your recent conversation with Beau or Hoyt’s attitude or even your most recent case. You hated that you had to sit at a desk in the middle of a busy station while Beau and Hoyt got to have their own offices. Normally, you wouldn’t care, but when it came to phone calls or conversations best kept away from prying eyes and overeager ears, it was frustrating. You weren’t a deputy — you had as much authority as Hoyt, and Beau had made that perfectly clear to the department when you started (though you had a different title due to politics and budgetary reasons). Due to lack of room, however, you were forced to share a space with them, your deskmate being Poppernak. Not that you minded but damn the rest of the department could be so nosy sometimes. When you noticed a couple of other deputies watching you, you asked loudly, “Can’t a girl get some privacy around here?” All of them looked away, not willing to enter into yet another glaredown with you. They never emerged victorious in those encounters, even Miller who could be a real jerk when he wanted to be. They had all learned very quickly in your first week that you could hold your own and you could go endless rounds with the best of them. You could stand the heat and before long, it would be your kitchen and they’d be burnt to a goddamn crisp or running for the door. 

“Mind your muffin,” you grumbled to Pops.

When the line connected and the operator asked you who you were trying to contact, you cupped your hand over the mouthpiece and asked for the department you needed. While you were being transferred, Pops arched his eyebrows at you in question since he had overheard you because no damn privacy.

You let out a sigh in resignation and shook your head. “I’m following up on a case. It’s nothing.”

“Sure sounds like something,” Pops said through a mouthful of muffin.

Giving him a look, you sat back in your chair and listened patiently to the public information that substituted what normally would be hold music. You thought back to your ride over to the station and what Webb had said while in the back of your car. You may have pushed the right buttons to get him to open up and say enough to help you make the decision you just made, but you didn’t have any evidence that anything he’d mentioned was the truth. Still, you knew what you saw and you knew what your instincts were telling you. Like Beau said, you couldn’t get involved but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do something.

A few minutes later, after consistently turning Webb’s words over and over in your mind and listening to the same public safety message for the twelfth time, someone finally answered.

“Agent Sanchez? It’s Y/N Y/L/N. Not sure if you remember me from the Carter case last year. How’ve you been?” Carter had been an escaped convict that a manhunt had been on for last year, and it had been an all hands on deck situation. You and your partner had been stuck with Sanchez and this other dickish agent whose name wasn’t even worth remembering, but you and Sanchez had gotten along well enough to help get the job done. In the end, Carter had been apprehended and dumped back in prison thanks to the cooperation and joint efforts of all of the agencies involved.

You made a little small talk and then you got right to the point. “Listen, do you happen to have any contacts in the branch office in Montana? You do? Do you think you could put me in touch? I have a case up here that I think one of their departments might want to take a look at.”

Sanchez gave you the name and number of his contact, told you to keep him updated, and let him know if you needed anything else. He also mentioned you should call him to go for a drink next time you were in town. Remembering the wedding ring he had been sporting, you gave him a vague but polite noncommittal, thanked him, and promptly hung up. You glanced up to find Pops staring at you wide-eyed.

“What?”

He glanced around, seeming unsure, and then leaned in closer. “Does the boss know you’re doing this? Because if Hoyt finds out you’re pulling the Feds into this, she’s going to—”

You held up a hand after you dialed the next number and unfolded the paper from your pocket, looking at the information you needed. “Pops, let me stop you right there. I spoke to the sheriff already about this case. What Hoyt does or doesn’t do, doesn’t concern me, and the same goes for her where I’m concerned. Understood?”

Poppernak shook his head and leaned back. “Okay but it’s your head if she finds out. Just warning you.”

You gave him a wide grin right before the line connected once again. “She can try.”

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this series.

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[planet-crait]

Dig a Little Deeper is up next!

Ohh presentations on what they want to be when they grow up. I don’t think we ever had those in school but Girl Scouts had stuff for that. Wait why does Dev look so annoyed?

Is he like annoyed that he doesn’t necessarily get a “choice” in what he gets to be and has his future decided for him? Am I reading too much into this? Also Dev he’s so short his wittle feet can’t even reach the ground!!

Aww Hazels rock collection is back in play. Oh geologist that’s so cute!

Skateboarding I saw for Winn, politics I didn’t think about but good for them!!! Yep Jasmine will be a singer or wants to be lolz. Ohh yeah cute Jasmine is comfortable asking Dev but it seems to be a sore spot for him. I don’t know he just seems annoyed? But also slipped up and said corporate takeover so hard to say. I also noticed Peri hasn’t been with Dev noticeably like Cosmo and Wanda are with Hazel. Is this a budget thing or just another sign Peri isn’t all that their for Dev?

Oh Hazel lolz. She thinks a cool rock will make her presentation better. I mean their are some pretty dang cool rocks though so she may be onto something there. (I have a piece of petrified wood which okay doesn’t technically fall under geology I uh think BUT ITS SO COOL).

Oh Cosmo, I love that you mishear things I feel this in my soul. Oh Cosmo he still thinks it’s a vacation lolz. Don’t worry I’m sure you’ll get to sunbathe eventually.

Aww Hazel thanking Cosmo and Wanda is so cute. Hazel you’re so sweet. Oh not out of this world. Oh Hazel lolz. Oh they just brought it to her not her to it okay that went better then I thought.

Oh Wanda oops maybe don’t reveal the end of the universe to a ten year old yeah? I adore Cosmo “talking” with his echo Cosmo you continue to be so dang cute.

Oh and the wands got stolen. Thats bad. How do you guys drop them and not immediately go after them? Guys?

Wait wait I thought Cosmo was the one who got buff in that one tv special? Eh girl power I guess? Space geologist lolz.

The signs continue to kill me lolz. 10/10 the very safe exit collapsing is just perfection love it.

The search montage is kind of hilarious and Cosmo listing on and on all the things Hazel will miss got a laugh out of me.

Hazel. Priorities girl.

How are vines growing in a cave? Over lava? I have questions. COSMO AND WANDA YOU CAN FLY?? Oh the show immediately called that out lolz. Aww they decided to carry Hazel safely lolz.

They accuse Hazel of stealing while stealing from Hazel? Really? Hazel knowing more about stuff than the rock monsters lolz.

How is Hazel showing her collection as she’s tied up and falling? They’re falling for a long time lolz, but it worked somehow?

Uh Hazel maybe don’t talk about the species that hasn’t been proven yet? Maybe?

Oh look Peri is here? And Dev isn’t listening to Hazels presentation? I thought they were friends?

To be fair Peri Hazel didn’t wish for the wands to be like that they were stolen lolz. Oof Dev and Peri still fighting that sucks.

I’m sorry I hyper focus on Dev but also he is my son and I want to hug him. Only one more episode til Operation Birthday Takeback someone hold me.

[maturemenoftvandfilms]

The Senator From Texas

Featuring Sen. Ted Cruz

I was now ready to start my plan of seducing the senator from Texas, Ted Cruz, an arrogant, married, hard-drinking former corporate attorney and political commentator. A so-called real “man’s man” who rarely passes up an opportunity to grandstand, to troll the left or deliver right-wing talking points. He’s also my boss, thirty plus years my senior and one of those family men I suspect with a hidden side that his bleach blonde wife and daughters know nothing about. A side that needs to be exposed. That’s where I come in, the trusted aide who can’t keep his eyes off the ever-present VPL in his trousers and who’ll give him the dirty sex his wife won’t/can’t.

Anyway, because some news about his re-election campaign came up that couldn't wait til morning, Ted was at my apartment. He still had on his suit, minus the tie slacks he had on earlier today. And of course he was still wearing his black ostrich “arguing boots.”

After a few minutes going over some paperwork, Ted noticed what I had playing on my laptop nearby. Some straight porn on mute with no plot, just fucking. I wanted the movie to get right to the point quickly. Ted was trying to ignore it, but obviously liked the movie and I noticed he was getting hard. I casually put my hand on his leg and he did not resist as moved down to Joe's crotch.

"What are you doing?" Ted asked as I slowly massaged his dick through his pants which was nice and hard from watching the movie.

"Just relax Ted. I'm not going to hurt you. Feels good doesn't it?"

"Yes but…" The senator's words were choked off by a lump in his throat.

I could tell he didn't know what to make of the situation as I unzipped his pants and took out his stiff cock.

"You like it, don't you Ted?" He didn't reply as he was too busy enjoying me jerking him off.

Making him stand up, I began to slowly lick the lightly dripping dick.

"Oh god, that's good."

I slowly undressed the senator. First, completely removing his pants and underwear. Of course I keeped his boots on. Then moving up, I removed his jacket. God! It was wonderful. I felt a surge of pure power flash through my body as I pulled his shirt off exposing his broad chest and belly. I smiled at his nipples. They were tiny like most straight men's. I found it amusing that his short thick circumcised dick was still rock hard.

"Damn you smell nice." I said as I bent down and took the beautiful head of his dick in my mouth.

He tried not to moan, but my cock sucking skills were too much for him. I deep throated his old cock and he let out a loud, deep moan, the first of many. I tongued the old man's dick shaft until he started moaning continuously.

Fearing that I was going to make him cum, I stopped and placed a wet kiss on Ted's lips. He started to pull away, but I grabbed him behind the head, held him and forced my tongue into the senator's resistant mouth. Slowly, in spite of himself, he started to respond. Weakly at first, but then as I emptied my soul into the kiss he response became almost passionate.

"Let's go to my bedroom.” I told him when I finally pulled my tongue out of his mouth.

As we broke our embrace, Ted was nervous and almost hyperventilating as I pointed him to my bedroom while I stared at his gorgeous body, almost overcome with lust. His ass cheeks were firm and melon shaped, inviting that I slapped his ass as he went past. As I stripped naked, I found it amusing that his short thick circumcised dick was rock hard as he sat down on the edge of bed waiting for me.

Pushing him back onto the bed, parted the senator's legs and started to suck his cock. He started moaning as I tongued and sucked his thick little dick. His moans were music to my ears. I wanted to make Ted scream and beg for more. He wanted him to come back for more again and again as I started licking his balls to see what he liked best. From there I lightly licked between his thighs as a teaser. Ted was squirming now and clutching the bed sheets to keep from screaming out loud.

“Oh, God! That was wonderful,” The senator said, when I stopped and lifted Ted's legs so I could get fully at his ass.

Pushing my mouth against the rose bud of his asshole, I forced my tongue inside his tight old asshole, he practically squealed with pleasure. He started arching his back and bucking when I began to twist and turn my tongue deep inside his asshole. And damn me if he wasn't reaching down and stroking my head as his dick jerked uncontrollably. I knew I was well on my way to completely subjugating the senator as it wouldn't be long before he was my sex slave. Now I thought it was time to completely win Ted over.

"Fuck me Ted. Fuck me just like you fuck your wife." I said as I crawled on the bed onto my stomach without waiting for him to respond.

Ted looked at me for a long moment as I could almost see the gears in his head, debating if he should take things further. But I guess he was being so worked up and the sight of my ass caused him to continue, pausing for a moment to pull a tube of KY from the nightstand. I tensely watched as Ted applied the lubricate to his cock with the expectation of getting fucked exciting me.

“You got a tight hole.” Ted told me as he rubbed some of the KY onto my asshole.

“Please take it easy with me.” I faux begged as Ted slowly mounted me.

I could tell he was suprised at how easily he slip in before he fucked in and out of my tube. Slowly at first but the tightness of my tube soon got to him and he stabbed his cock in and out of me at a furious pace.

"Damn, Ted that's good. I never felt anything so good. Keep going. Keep going." I said to feed the senator's ego.

I wanted him to think he was really good, although he was indeed better than most. I was trying his best to pump up Ted's ego, even though I was really enjoying the fucking that Ted was giving me.

"Let me up on my hands and knees so you can fuck me doggy style. My dick is rubbing against the bed. I might cum in this position." I said as I eased up to a position on my hands and knees as Ted continued to fuck my ass. Still slowly at first.

He pulled out till the head almost slipped out then thrust it smoothly back in, each entry into me made me catch my breath and made my chest tight. His rhythm began to pick up speed and he grunted with pleasure. I gasped out loud with each thrust into me as his grip tightened.

"Damn, your ass is tight and hot. I think I'm gonna cum. I can't hold back." Ted said, thrusting fully into me, digging his fingers into my hips and grunted holding himself deep in me.

He began spraying my insides with his hot cum.

"Yes… Give it to me. Give me your load. Damn, that's good!" I screamed as Ted blew his load up his ass.

As he lay on top of me and we started to relax, I was thinking now he was going to go into a big guilt trip. Not Ted Cruz, he seemed to want more. He seemed to want to extend our lovemaking and see what would happen next. Meanwhile, I was going over in my mind how I was going to hook Ted on fucking and sucking. I had already convinced him that he was the best fucker in town, now the next part was to get him in bed and fuck the cum out of him. Once that happened without him getting scared off he would then belong to me.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Now, being eternally curious, I just have to ask: what DO other monsters think is under my hood? -The River Person

Undertale Sans - He tried all his teenage years to pull the hood to see what's under, but it's like River Person always knows what he's doing. Sans thinks they're just a random eye, seeing everything. Not the weirdest thing he has seen though.

Undertale Papyrus - If Papyrus insists so much on doing all his trips on foot, it's because Sans once said to his five-years-old self that a terrible carnivore monster was hiding under that hood and was eating children who don't do their homework when they're alone. He didn't believe it, of course! But just to be sure, he decided to not take the ferry anymore. Like never. He doesn't want to know.

Undertale Toriel - She assumed over time it's just a very shy monster and respects that. Sure, they are odd and their predictions creep her out, but that would be just rude to ask what's under the hood.

Undertale Asgore - He's pretty sure that monster has been there since the war, so maybe a hiding boss monster who ignores themselves? He tried to get them to live in a house like everyone, but it never worked? Asgore decided not to question it anymore as time passed.

Undertale Undyne - She thinks it's some elaborated robot honestly. No one would do their job 24 hours a day without complaining once or... You know, leaving their boat. She tried several times to see what was under, but like Sans, she never had any chance. She wants to know so bad.

Undertale Alphys - Obviously, some villain stuck in the boat by a spell to prevent him from ever hurting anyone. It's like their redemption arc or something. Or maybe she's just watching a little too much anime, who knows.

Undertale Frisk - They always assumed it was Gaster, but then Gaster showed up and ruined their theory. So then they assumed it was Papyrus hiding because they're the same height, but one day Papyrus showed up to stop them from going on the ferry, so it's not that either. Frisk is still investigating.

Undertale Chara - They're corporeal for sure because Chara punched their guts once after they said they were going to die and that hurt them. Well, they died shortly after so that river person guy was right, but still. Chara hates their guts and doesn't want to know what's hiding there.

Undertale Mettaton - Like Alphys, he always assumed it was a robot created to lead him where he has to go, before realizing everyone can use it. Well, that sucks. He wrote an offensive movie about the river person just because he was angry. In it, he said River Person is a very mysterious charismatic robot that somehow looks exactly like him. Then the robot turns out to be a master ninja in disguise for some reason. Not all movies can be good.

Undertale Gaster - He always assumed the hood was the monster and that there was nothing under it. I mean, there are rock monsters, blanket monsters, and even mouth monsters, why not hood monsters?

Undertale Grillby - He thinks that's an elemental monster of darkness. That would explain why they're here for so long and why they're looking invisible. It's just odd he doesn't feel it as he's supposed to being an elemental monster himself.

Undertale Muffet - Clearly not enough money for her own taste.

Undertale Burgerpants - He thinks the monster is the boat, since it seems alive, and that River Person is just some disguise because the boat monster thinks it's weird just being a boat for a living. He understands. Everyone calls him the burger guy :(

Undertale Flowey - He doesn't know but he never could kill the guy, so he assumed it's a ghost? Maybe the first River Person died and their spirit has been haunting the boat since? He wishes he could destroy them to dissect them.

Undertale Gerson - He thinks that's a random guy working the day and sleepwalking the night, and that's why they're in their boat all day and night. And somehow as old as Asgore for some reason. Maybe some exiled member of the royal family they punished this way.

[written-in-flowers]

Guardian Knight: Pt. 1

Pairing: Arkham!Jason x Wayne!OFC

Genre: Angst, fluff, smut/ lovers to enemies, enemies to lovers

Word Count: 7k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Mia Wayne had been finally getting her life back together after Arkham City. But, when Scarecrow threatens to cover the city in Fear Toxin, it's thrown back into chaos with the appearance of a mysterious figure: The Arkham Knight.

Tags: enemies to lovers, lovers to enemies, kind of a slow burn(?) fem!OC, depictions of violence, kidnapping, mentions of torture, mention of previous kidnapping, PTSD symptoms, lost lovers, past trauma, blood and violence, hurt/comfort, fluff/smut/angst, lots of angst, canon-typical violence, self-reflection, vaginal sex, foreplay, nipple play, all the good sex stuff happens further down the road.

Part 2 >

~~~~~~

Playing a set at Time Bomb is a big deal to small time bands in Gotham City. Not only the most popular rock club in the city, many artists have been “discovered” there. So, Mia and her friends felt more than elated when their manager, Chloe, told them they’d gotten a time slot there. What sweetened it for her was the fact that the manager liked Galaxy’s sound; not because he knew Mia’s last name. Mia couldn’t stand it when club owners and promoters saw her full name and put her on their stage. 

Because being a Wayne means something in Gotham, and she hated that. 

“Dude, that was so awesome!” Renee beamed from inside the van, breathless and still high on adrenaline. Her drumsticks sticking out from her studded belt, the drummer took a seat in the back of the van on top of a case. “Did you feel the crowd’s energy? They loved us!”

“The manager might even have us this weekend,” said the short, skinny woman beside her. Alexa cut her auburn hair to her chin and highlighted it with neon green, which always stood out when she played her bass. “Imagine that,” she knocked at Mia’s shoulder from behind, “A weekend slot at Time Bomb.”

“They said that?” gasped Jude, the driver and guitarist. Her long braids interwoven with pink and blue contrasted with her ebony skin, and her silvery makeup brought out her brown eyes. She made a turn into the street and glanced into the rearview mirror. 

“Chloe told me,” Alexa replied. “She said he really liked our sound, and would be interested in having us again. This could be it! This could be our big break, right?”

“Definitely,” said Renee. “I heard those Soundwave dudes played a few times and then they got signed.”

“Soundwave? Really?” Jude asked, disbelief in her voice. “Those guys suck though. Their lead singer is pitchy and they’re always out of tune.”

“Auto-tune goes a long way these days,” Mia smirked. 

She thought back to the dimly lit club with its orange lights and tiny stage. There’d been no barrier between her and the chaotic energy that filled the room. As she strummed her power chords and sang into the microphone, she felt an instant connection. In the half hour they played, she became one with the audience. They’d come together for that time, to experience the same emotions, and become a single movement. She’d been anxious that people might not react like she hoped; she worried they wouldn’t like their band, Galaxy. But, when she played those first few seconds of their beginning song, the mood instantly picked up. The three years her band had been floating from club to club, putting out demo after demo, finally produced results. She’d always worried she might have to give it up and become a corporate slave like the people at Wayne Enterprises. 

‘No, that’s way too boring for you,’ Bruce’s amused response to this worry came to mind. 

The image of her older brother reminded her of something else. Pulling out her phone, she dialed Alfred’s number and waited for him to pick up. 

“Evening, Amelia,” the posh English accent that brought on a hint of comfort came through the other end, “I’m assuming by the hour you just remembered to call me?”

“Not entirely true,” she responded. “We finished our show a little bit ago, and now we’re gonna go eat at the diner.” Despite being twenty-one and no longer living at home, Mia felt wrong not calling Alfred whenever she went out. Perhaps years under his and Bruce’s constant protection made it a force of habit. “Ah, I wish you’d been there, Alfred. It was amazing. The crowd loved us, and the club manager did too. Chloe said we might get a weekend spot there.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “You and the girls work tremendously hard. It makes me happy to see all those hours are finally paying off.”

“Is that Alfred?” asked Jude from beside her. When Mia nodded, she beamed, “Hey Alfred!”

“Alfred!”

“Hey Al!” 

Alfred chuckled hearing them greet him. “The gang says ‘hi’,” Mia laughed. 

“Give them my best and congratulations,” he replied. “I do hope you do not indulge too much tonight, Amelia. You have an appointment with Dr. Lewis tomorrow.”

“I know,” she said. “I have it on my calendar. Dr. Lewis at noon. I’ll be there. How’s Bruce?”

“Broody as ever.”

“Not what I meant,” she tried putting her true intention behind the phrase. “Just because I don’t live at home doesn’t mean I haven’t noticed when I see him. If anyone should be seeing Lewis, it should be him.”

“You know your brother, Amelia,” he replied. “He’s…He’s not the same. Ever since Arkham City…I think we should discuss this tomorrow at the children’s Halloween party. You shouldn’t ruin your special night with this.” 

“Will he be there?” she asked. “I haven’t seen him in a while. The people at the orphanage would be really happy if he showed up.” 

“I’ll get him to come,” he said. He then tsked, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to let you go, Amelia. Your brother is home.”

“Alright. Love you, Alfred.”

“And you, Amelia.” 

She hung up, and then Jude spoke. “Still not talking to your brother?”

“More like he doesn’t talk to me.”

“Well,” Alexa said, “You guys went through something incredibly traumatic. I can’t imagine he really wants to talk to anyone right now. I wouldn’t either, if I were you guys.”

“But I’m his sister,” she reasoned. “I think if there’s anybody who will get what he’s going through, it’s gonna be me. He wasn’t the only one they threw into Arkham City. He wasn’t…”

He wasn’t the one The Joker kidnapped. Mia flexed her right hand absentmindedly, feeling the tingle of a phantom pain there still. The physical therapist told her she may have them from time to time, but that it is common with traumatic injuries. 

A few weeks after the opening of Arkham City, she and Bruce spoke against the enormous super-prison built in the middle of Gotham. It was meant to keep all the criminals, super-criminals, and run of the mill thugs away from law abiding citizens. Some politicians backed the idea, since they believed it’d help lower crime in Gotham. Yet, her and her brother felt entirely different about it. It’d been one of the few times she’d used her last name to make any sort of change; reporters kept mentioning how “the elusive Amelia Wayne” would be speaking at the press conference. She advocated left and right against the prison, telling people how dangerous and morally wrong it was. Gang leaders and their armies sat in the middle of Gotham, like a pot waiting to boil over, and it put people in danger. This political campaign caused both she and Bruce to be arrested and taken to Arkham City.

Then all hell broke loose. 

“There’s something he’s not telling me,” she continued. “I can tell.”

“What do you think it is?” asked Jude. 

“I’m not sure,” she admitted, “But he hasn’t been the same since we came back. He’s withdrawn, distant and closed off from me. He’s always working and is rarely home, according to Alfred.”

“Again, traumatic event,” repeated Alexa. “It’s a side effect. My dad told me a lot of the political prisoners are in a similar way since coming out. He said that they’re suffering from PTSD. Maybe Bruce has that too, which I wouldn’t blame either of you if you did.”

“Maybe.”

Honestly, Mia could not put into detail what she really believed because nobody knew her brother’s secret identity. The Joker injected her brother with his Titan infected blood, which had nasty symptoms and nearly killed him. He told her he’d gotten the cure in time to save himself, but not the Joker. She recalled his pale face, bluish veins creeping from the sides underneath his cowl. He’d been weaker, she remembered. Yet, he’d still managed to save her despite how the infection crippled him. He tried convincing her that he’d been fully cured and no longer suffered symptoms. Yet, her instincts told her otherwise. 

“How’s your hand?” Jude questioned her as the van continued driving through the busy streets. “It didn’t bother you during the show, right?” 

“Nah, not really,” she replied. “It’s healed up pretty well.” She sighed, “Not being able to play was the worst part of the whole thing. I thought I’d lose my hand forever.”

“Well, they did break pretty much every bone in it.”

“At least one good thing came out of that shitshow,” Renee said. “That Joker dude is dead.” 

“Yeah, there’s at least that.”

But, he’d almost survived. Mia couldn’t believe Bruce considered saving him once again. It became an old song-and-dance between them: Joker commits a crime, Batman puts him in jail, and he breaks out to do it all over again. She understood her brother’s moral code against murder; he wouldn’t be any better than the people he puts away, if he did kill. But, sometimes these criminals deserved it. They ruined so many innocent lives, and always managed to escape justice. True justice. Mia wondered if many murder scared him; meaning if he killed someone, he may never stop. She didn’t want Batman to kill wantonly or torture these criminals. But, is it real justice if they never stay in prison that long? Arkham City might’ve been a “super prison”, but it was a prison. Prison breaks are far too common in Gotham to let one be built in the heart of the city. If she and Bruce hadn’t campaigned against it, chaos would’ve flooded the streets. 

“Let’s forget it,” she dismissed, “And get some food. I’m freaking starving.”

“Me too,” said Renee. “I could destroy a plate of pancakes right now.”

“Pancakes for dinner?” questioned Alexa.

“Haven’t you ever heard of ‘breakfast for dinner’?” 

Mia let her friends debate about breakfast for dinner and watched the city rolling by her window. Gotham City was a city that never slept. It thrived and teemed with life, people always coming and going, businesses always open and the world constantly turning. She preferred the lively place over the quiet tomb of Wayne Manor outside the city limits. She'd wanted to protect Gotham when Arkham City first came about. It was her home, and considering the city's affliction of insane super-criminals walking about, a breakout would've been devastating. Bruce was lucky enough to have his Batman persona, but she had nothing. When she protected Gotham, she did it with her real face and name. 

“...Yeah, but Renee, pancakes are a breakfast food…”

“Ah, that’s just the food industry telling us what to eat…”

While she may have not had the equipment or martial abilities of Batman, she did what she could. She’d helped many political prisoners find shelter in a makeshift shanty town, and managed to fight off thugs for food packages. Mia couldn’t stand by and let people go hungry like that, especially innocent people who happened to know too much. Unfortunately, these acts of kindness blew up in her face when she came across Joker’s thugs posing as political prisoners. She shivered, recalling how one grabbed her roughly by the hair, fingers grasping her black curls by the roots. He’d knocked her out with a single punch, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. When she came to, she was in the Sionis Steel Mill where The Joker stationed his headquarters. 

“Yeah, because everything is a corporate conspiracy, right?” Jude chimed in, smiling at her. “Like when you said the government is flying secret aircrafts above us, sprinkling hallucinogens over the city.”

“They are!” Renee exclaimed. 

They finally reached Miagani Island and her stomach rumbled. She forced herself to focus on dinner rather than what happened when she woke up in the smelting chamber of the steel mill. The painted faces of the Joker’s henchmen mocked her in her nightmares. Their laughter and glee only created dread for her, churning her stomach constantly. They’d originally kept her tied to a chair, where they slapped, punched, degraded and humiliated her. Knuckles broke through skin and crushed bone; cigarette butts tracked up her arms and parts of her chest, and the worst of the worst. One of them took a crowbar to her right hand, smashing it like a piece of glass until the bones splintered and split through skin. She’d never felt pain like it before. Simply moving her fingers pained her for weeks. When they hung her from the ceiling, they only used the left arm. 

“...They were doing government experiments with patients in Arkham Asylum. You know, to use in chemical warfare…” 

It nearly dislodged her arm from her shoulder. She tried keeping herself up to put weight elsewhere, but it only hurt more. They’d slammed their fists into her ribcage, and took pipes to her legs. Mia never once begged for her life. She did not let them see her watery eyes or the winces of pain. In fact, she often spat back insults at them. She knew showing weakness would only encourage them to keep going. Pain burned and throbbed in her entire body, and she wondered when Batman would show up. Arkham City was not very large; it stretched only a few blocks. He’d find her quickly enough, she’d believed. She knew she only needed to outlast her attackers. A cloud of blurry memories rolled over her once again, as it did whenever Arkham City entered her head. Visions of a dark figure appearing out of seemingly nowhere filled her waking moments. Having floated in and out of consciousness, and the dimness of the mill, she never saw their face. 

“...Not gonna lie, I wouldn’t put it past them. Arkham was such a creepy place, and always dirty and gross…”

She tried remembering who exactly saved her that night. Bruce’s face came to mind whenever she recalled the looming figure who lifted her off the ground. It was the only logical explanation she conjured up. To consider the alternative was downright ridiculous and unfathomable to begin with. They’d been strong enough to carry her from the boiling hot smelting chamber to a crawl space between the chamber and another room. Only Bruce would’ve done that for her. When she’d questioned him about it, he told her he’d found her there after tracking her location. He thought she’d somehow managed to crawl there on her own, and hide until it was over. He acted strangely when she mentioned someone saving her; he told her she must’ve imagined it under duress. 

Who were they? 

Why did they save her?

Why keep their identity a secret?

She supposed she’ll never have an answer. 

“...And have you ever looked at a dollar bill? There’s some spooky stuff going on on the dollar bill, man. The pyramid, the eye, the presidents they used,” Renee said, “The illuminati is real, my guy.”

“It is not.”

“It is!”

“Oh thank god, Pauli’s!” Jude interjected, driving onto the diner’s street. “I’m dying, dude.”

“Woah…What happened?”

Mia noticed it first. Several police cars, ambulances, and news cameras sat parked around the small corner diner. A shoot out or a robbery were her first thoughts until they parked in a space right across from the scene. Renee and Alexa squeezed themselves between Jude and Mia to see the bodies being carted out in gurneys. They clawed at anyone who came near them, snarling and snapping their teeth like rabid animals. Others trembled, convulsed, and screamed from their restraints. It frightened her. 

“Gang fight?” Alexa guessed. 

“Nah, they don’t bring out that many cops for a gang fight,” said Jude. 

“Those people look tweaked out,” Renee noted as they watched one man claw at his skin before ambulance workers stopped him. “Maybe it was a bad batch of LSD that got spread around.”

“Or something way worse,” Mia said, dread starting to fill her insides. 

“I’ve been trying to tell you guys,” Renee began, “Government chemicals. They’re slowly killing us-”

“-Not now, Renee,” Jude intervened. 

Mia then noticed one woman stumbling away from the scene. She gasped at the woman’s bloodied clothes and crazed expression. Skinny legs staggered around on the damp pavement, walking right into the middle of ongoing traffic. So preoccupied with other victims, nobody noticed the woman batting at the air and scratching at her own body. Mia noticed how dangerously close cars came to hitting her right before one of them clipped her, causing her to fall to the ground. Instinct propelled Mia to open the door. 

“Mia, where are you going?!” 

She didn’t hear Jude as she dodged honking cars to reach the woman in the middle of the street. Mia gasped at the large wound on the side of her head, likely a result of her fall. Yet, the woman might have put her head on a pillow for all the notice she took. She continued trembling, unable to form a coherent sentence. 

“It’s okay,” Mia told her, trying to steady her bruised and broken hands. Had she been in a fight? “It’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” 

“Ge-g-get-t-t th-the-em of-off me!” she cried, squirming and making her wound worse. “Get them off me! The-They burn, please! Get them off me!”

“Hey, can I get some help over here?!” Mia called people nearby, and saw paramedics pick up their equipment right away. “Don’t worry, you’re gonna be okay,” she reassured her, though the words went unheard. 

Mia saw her skin, sickly pale and marked by scratches and more bruises, and her fear grew. Bloodshot eyes looked around frantically, and the victim screamed when paramedics surrounded her. This is Gotham, and there is only one person she can think of who’d do this. Her first instinct was to hold her breath. 

“Dude, that is insane,” Jude came up beside her first, the both of them watching the medics taking the wounded woman away. “I’ve never seen drugs do that to someone before. Did you see her eyes? Scary stuff.”

“It wasn’t drugs,” Mia said, letting out the breath. “That isn’t anything normal.”

“Biochemical?” she guessed. 

“Something like that,” she agreed. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Pizza?”

“Pizza.”

Mia couldn’t focus on anything else. At Lil’ Pies Pizzeria, she found it hard to enjoy the saucy, cheesy goodness that was a Lil’ Pie’s pizza. Visions of the injured woman flashed through her mind as she idly bit into her first slice. She’d never seen anything like it before. She’d seen people have a bad acid trip or take too much ecstasy, but nothing like what those people suffered. The intention behind this attack was malicious. It was downright evil and chaotic. Gotham has no shortage of super-criminals who came out of the woodwork when Batman first appeared. All dangerous, and each one more ridiculous than the last. The Joker died several months ago, so now a new villain must take his place. She guessed Scarecrow plans to be that new top dog. Bruce was no doubt already working on the case, since he always seems to know things before she does. 

“The place looked torn apart,” Alexa said, washing down a breadstick with a soda. “Like a huge brawl happened in there.”

“Nah, that wasn’t a brawl,” Jude shook her head. “That was a damn slaughterhouse. That lady Mia helped had broken bones and blood all over her, but she didn’t look like she felt it. She was so messed up, it’s like the pain didn’t bother her.”

“Or the toxin seeped in through her skin and made her numb to anything else,” Mia heard herself say before eating more pizza. 

“Toxin?”

“You guys aren’t stupid,” she said. “It was Scarecrow.”

“Which one is that again? I get those guys mixed up,” asked Renee, trying to catch a string of melted cheese in her mouth. 

“He’s the one with a bag on his head,” answered Alexa. “My dad used to ‘treat’ him. He had this thing with, like, chemicals and stuff. He said he could make people do some crazy shit, so I’m not surprised.” 

Mia’s phone buzzed in her pocket while the others continued discussing what they saw. She expected another check-in from Alfred, but was surprised to see Bruce’s name. 

“Who is it?” Jude asked, noticing her pause. 

“It’s my brother…” She answered the call. “Bruce?”

“Are you home?” her brother’s deep, firm voice said in her ear. 

“No, I’m at Lil’ Pies,” she said, suspiciously. “What’s going on, Bruce?” She already knew the answer. 

“Turn on the TV.” 

She looked around for the small television in a corner, and went up to the bar. A breaking news story came up on the television right as the waitress turned up the volume. 

“-Devastating news coming out of Miagani Island tonight. Patrons quietly enjoying their meals suddenly became involved in a nightmarish, bloody attack…”

Along with the report came security footage of inside Pauli’s diner. It was worse than she originally assumed. People tore each other apart like animals, jumping over tables and chairs and violently bashing one another. Mia spotted a glimpse of the woman from the street, who’d slammed a man’s head into a table multiple times before being tackled by someone else. She gasped when she saw gunfire. She’d been about to tell Bruce her suspicions when the broadcast was suddenly cut off. Against a backdrop of black, a man in a ragged hood covering him in shadow came on the screen. Her body froze in place, and she couldn’t look away from him. Scarecrow used to wear a rucksack over his head like a real scarecrow, but now, he didn’t wear one. He’d instead shaved and cut around his lower mouth, resembling cloth instead of skin. It disgusted and terrified her. 

“This demonstration used just five ounces of my latest toxin,” he said, voice rough and scratchy. “Tomorrow, this will seem like child’s play. Gotham, this is your only warning…”

And then it cut off back to the news. Mia felt the instant panic set within the small pizzeria. It thickened the longer people murmured amongst themselves. 

“Bruce,” she said, keeping the shakiness out of her voice, “What do we do?”

“I want you home,” he ordered. “You’re staying in the Batcave until we figure out what he’s up to.”

She shook her head. Her chest tightened at the thought of stepping back into Wayne Manor. She couldn’t go back there. She couldn’t walk through those halls or sit in the rooms without another terrible feeling. Her work with Dr. Lewis is going so well; she doesn’t want to ruin it now by opening old wounds. 

“I can’t,” she said, shaking her head. 

“You can and you will,” Bruce replied. “We don’t know the extent of this toxin or how bad it can be, but if we look at his track record, it’ll get bad. I’ll have Alfred come pick you up, and you’ll come home.” 

“I don’t need to go there. I can go crash with Dick or somebody else in Bludhaven-”

“-That might not be enough,” he said. He paused for a moment, then he said, “Mia, I know why you don’t want to be here. I know it will not be easy for you; it wasn’t easy for me for a long time. But, I don’t want you anywhere else.”

“I can’t go there,” she said, shaking her head. The mere thought of walking back into the mansion made her palms sweat. “I can’t. He’s…He’s all over that place. Everything there reminds me of him. I can’t be there. It’s not good for me to be there.”

“Jason would want you to be safe.”

She swallowed back the lump in her throat. As if her recent traumas did not haunt her enough, now this turned its ugly head at her. She squeezed her eyes shut. She knew he was right, of course. The Batcave is the safest place in Gotham, and whatever toxin Scarecrow concocted won’t penetrate the far away, underground caves. But, the idea of walking into that house and recalling every memory she ever had of Jason Todd made her cry. 

Because, how can you forget your truest love? 

“Alfred will pick you up tomorrow night,” he instructed when she didn’t respond. “Start packing your stuff.” 

Like hell, she would. 

****

“Amelia, please, do not make this difficult. Your brother implores you to come home. You’ll be much safer there.”

As expected, Alfred appeared at her door the following night. She guessed he’d spent the day preparing the house for her arrival, and whatever prevention protocols Bruce put in place. He also mentioned the traffic out of the city being impossible to navigate. She stood in her small bedroom, putting changes of clothes into a black duffle bag to prepare for a long stay in Bludhaven. Jude told her a cousin of hers had rooms for them to stay in, so that is where she wanted to go. 

“I don’t want to go there, Alfred,” she told him, doing her best not to meet his eyes. If she makes eye contact, her guilt will weaken her decision. “I can’t.”

Mia felt him watching her from the doorway, and it made her anxious. He didn’t understand. He most likely thinks she’s being ridiculous and overreacting. To him, Jason’s death happened so long ago. It is a wound that should have healed itself by now, and to behave so stubbornly about going home is childish. She wanted to tell him how every inch of that mansion reminds her of Jason. She wanted to say how she can’t walk past his bedroom door without a ball swelling in her throat. She couldn’t sit in any of the rooms. She couldn’t enjoy the garden or the motorcycles or the cars or anything else. Jason Todd seeped himself into the wood and stone of her family home. He became a ghost that continued to haunt her when she let him. Mia wouldn’t detail those dark nights, when she’d bought a bottle of liquor to drown out the demons screaming in her head. She started packing up her guitar, a fender model painted black and white, into its long case. Even the guitar reminded her of him. 

“Amelia,” Alfred said gently, “I know how difficult Master Todd’s death was on you. He was your first real love. His passing-”

“-He didn’t ‘pass’, Alfred. He didn’t get sick and die. He didn’t get into an accident. He was murdered,” her voice cracked from the strain. “He was tortured and murdered by the Joker.” 

He’d plagued her in the steel mill too. Whenever Joker’s thugs slammed a fist to her face or took a bat to her stomach, she wondered if Jason felt the same pain. Was it worse? Did he hurt as badly? It broke her apart to imagine him in her place, tied to a chair with barbed wire digging into her skin little by little. She flexed her left hand subconsciously, the memory of a crowbar breaking each bone sending shocks through it. She saw it more clearly in the bedroom lights, thin scars slashed around the knuckles and joints on her hand. She shuddered.  

“And that was severely traumatic for you,” he said. “It is something you haven’t completely moved on from; neither has your brother. He feels equally guilty for what happened to Master Todd, and how we’d been too late to save him.”

“We didn’t try hard enough!”

“You know that is not true,” he replied sternly. “All of us exhausted our resources trying to search for him. If we’d caught even a whisper of Master Todd, we would have gone right to him. I know you would have gone running without a second thought. Don’t think I don’t know about you scheming your way onto Arkham Island that night The Joker escaped custody.” 

A pang of guilt hit her chest. In an act of torment, Mia visited Arkham Asylum to search for clues. Her insides told her she’d find the answers she needed there. It’d been during the desperation days, when she couldn’t accept Jason’s death. She’d gone to the institution under the guise of interviewing Dr. Young for a college essay. It was partially true. She’d snuck away from the visitor’s building into the rest of the island disguised as a doctor. Mia recalled her nerves up to the ceiling the entire time she snuck around. Night shift at the island wasn’t as packed, so she moved around relatively easily. Her gut told her she’d find something. She’d find a crumb, a scrap, a little piece to prove her search is not in vain. Mia fooled herself into thinking she could feel Jason through the walls. Her soul could feel his throbbing somewhere beyond the concrete walls. She knew he was alive; she would’ve known if he’d died. Her brain tricked her into believing she’d come upon him in some hidden space, injured but alive. Even when she found nothing, she did not lose hope. Unfortunately for her, Bruce showed up with the Joker that night and dragged her to the dock to be taken home. 

“You put yourself in immense danger to search for Jason,” he continued, his hands on her shoulders to turn her around. “You went to the absolute pits to learn what you could. You talked to the scum of this city, putting yourself at risk because of it. You looked for Jason much longer than any of us. I remember you planning trips to other cities when you thought he might’ve been smuggled out of the city.” He gave her a sad smile, “I know how deeply you loved him. His murder still weighs heavily on your heart, and I understand it is a pain that’ll never go away. But, you must find your way past it. You must find a way to heal and move on.”

“I did move on,” she said, not entirely convinced of herself. “He only crops up in my head sometimes.”

Like in Arkham City, when she imagined him swooping in to rescue her. When her mysterious savior came to her rescue at last, she’d thought it might be him coming back to her. But, that is ridiculous. Jason Todd was dead, and she learned to live with that. Putting her guitar to the side, the vision of a cowl in the shadows swam back into her mind. The gentle way they’d handled her reminded her briefly of Jason, who’d carried her home after she twisted her ankle in the garden. He’d stayed by her side the entire time, treating her like a sick patient instead of a simple sprain. She imagined her knight staying posted near her crawlspace like a sentinel, even if her brother claimed to find nobody else. 

“Which is normal and understandable.” Alfred brought her into his arms, and she let herself be comforted by him. “Ah, you two…you’re more alike than you care to say out loud.”

“Are not,” she scoffed. 

“Are too. I used to tell your mother you’ll both be two sides of the same coin,” he chuckled softly. “Bruce is always the calm and collected one and always has several plans in place for all scenarios. You’re-”

“-A charming rebel with stars in her eyes?” she suggested, doing her best to laugh. 

“A free spirit,” he said. “You move with your instincts and emotions. You’re a compassionate, gentle soul who lives by her own rules.”

Hearing herself be described that way left a strange feeling inside. She gently moved out of Alfred’s embrace, and said, “Thanks, Alfred, but I know what you’re doing.”

“What could you possibly mean by that?” he asked innocently. 

“I’m not going to the manor.”

He stared at her for a moment, then tsked, “Fine, if you insist, I can’t stop you. Let me take you to the evacuation site at least. I want to know you’re safe.”

She waived, knowing to resist is pointless. “Alright, but I’ll be watching you,” she squinted her eyes at him suspiciously, then giggled. 

“As expected.” 

He left her to finish packing, and she took a minute to stare around her apartment. Small, with mismatched furniture in warm tones, Mia liked her one bedroom place. It felt like it belonged to her whereas Wayne Manor belonged to her family. She knew people who’d love to have the last name ‘Wayne’, and have access to floods of wealth. Mia wanted to tell them it’s overrated. Mia didn’t flash her family’s money around like people she used to know. She makes her own money playing gigs and having shifts at the bar down the street. She didn’t want to depend on Bruce or their money. The only times she’d put her “Wayne bucks” to use was the charities she helped out. She gave to homeless shelters, non-profit organizations, hospitals, schools and orphanages. Unlike the elite of Gotham City, she didn’t need to hold press conferences to prove her charitable nature. 

It’s what Jason liked about her. 

Going back to packing, she wondered where her Arkham City Knight might be tonight. They seemed like the type to stick around after everyone evacuated. She couldn’t stop herself from picturing a hooded figure jumping from rooftop to rooftop or speeding down the streets like her brother does. They might be able to help him. Perhaps she may run into them, and she can ask them to aid Bruce. He will need all the help he can get, and her knight proved to be capable of handling tough situations. 

She looked around for her MIDI controller, since she’d hoped to produce some new songs at Jude’s place. She thought it might’ve been on her desk near the computer, but she vaguely remembered moving it. Why did she move it again? Yes, because the band wanted to work in the empty warehouse last week. She’d brought it home, too tired to unpack anything. It must be in the closet. Mia went to her bedroom closet, this time putting her attention on the bottom shelves. Moving through old school books, notebooks, compositions and broken equipment, she couldn’t find any sign of the small box. She’d been about to give up until her fingers brushed something in the far back. Mia put her hand on the top, and pulled it out. Then she wished she hadn’t touched it at all. She had the urge to push the box back into the closet, shut the doors, and forget the entire thing. Mia felt stupid for forgetting about the memory box. She’d put it in the back for a reason: out of sight, out of mind. 

But, she didn’t want to forget him. 

Gingerly, she forced herself to open the plain cardboard box. Hands shaking, she took deep breaths as she looked inside. Photographs, newspaper clippings, and drawings sat on top of a red hoodie. Years of research remained discarded and forgotten in the depths of her closet. Once upon a time, those same papers were pinned to her wall, cluttered her desk and filled her every waking moment. She didn’t have the high technology of Batman or his sidekicks, but she was smart too. She’d spend her free hours putting clues together, seeing the connections and seeking out answers. Mia watched Jason’s death so much each frame became embedded in her brain. The Mia who filled this box had hope. Seeing all of it brought on a new feeling of helplessness. She picked up the first photo she saw. 

She almost cried. Jason Todd, the young scrappy boy Bruce brought in from the street, smiled up at her. They sat on a bench at the Botanical Gardens, both laughing at a joke Jason told. Bruce had taken the picture. He’d insisted on chaperoning their first date and Mia couldn’t have hated him more. She argued that she and Jason were often alone, and nothing happened, but he refused to listen. Black hair swished over his brow, dark blue eyes glinted up at her even now. His laugh and smile became distant memories to her. She thought they'd fade with time, but they hadn't. They came as if she'd seen him moments ago. 

 “No…” she whispered, the bittersweet feeling watering her eyes, “No, I won’t.”

‘Let’s ditch him.’

‘Be serious. He’ll know we’re gone before we’ve gotten to the entrance.’

‘Who said anything about the entrance?’

They’d managed to escape her brother for at least fifteen minutes, and that was all Jason needed. He showed her the special spot where dozens of different types of orchids grew, the sunlight shone through the glass windows on the floral fountain in the center. The flirting instantly became shameless. She’d hoped he might kiss her, but then Bruce appeared and ruined it. Mia never felt anything like the happiness she felt with Jason. A hopeless romantic through and through, he’d blushed a deep red when she first held his hand. He wasn’t very good at poetry, but he’d written one or two just for her. Mia had never been a big book lover or an academic; she found school boring and in the way of her dreams. But, when she met Jason, who loved school and learning, she gave it a try because she wanted him to like her. 

She’d never done anything to make a guy like her before, even if he did see right through her. 

Mia brushed away the tears on her cheeks, tucked the photo back into the box and slid it into its hiding spot. The band would have to go without the digital equipment for now. 

SMASH!

Her heart skipped a beat as her window shattered. The sound of heavy footsteps hitting the floor made her duck back into the closet, shutting the door. Through the closet shutters, she saw several men in red and black camouflage fill her living room. They held military-grade weapons, which looked intimidating. She had no idea who they were, but she had an idea of why they’d come. Fear stiffened her legs, keeping her in place as memories of her last kidnapping came back to her. It couldn’t be happening again. Her eyes stayed on the soldiers as they moved throughout her apartment, unsure of what to do. She tried thinking of how they could’ve gotten into her building without being seen. Then, there was Alfred. What if they’d killed him? He’d been outside waiting on her. Her jaw clenched tightly at the thought. She needed a plan. Any moment, one of them will open the closet door and find her standing there like a statue. Mia scanned her closet for something to use, and then she spotted it. 

On a shelf between old books, a small bear trinket Bruce gave her smiled back at her. A birthday present, Bruce explained the cartoon bear was no ordinary knick knack. With a single smash, a bomb would ignite and cover the area in dense smoke. He said it was for emergencies only, and nothing else. When she throws it, she’s supposed to run out the window and signal him on her phone. Mia carefully moved to the bear, and grasped it in her hand. She still flinched when the closet door flung open, a soldier pointing his gun and flashlight at her. The few seconds he’d blinded her was enough to distract her, and let him take her. 

“Target has been acquired, sir,” the soldier said, squeezing her arm. “Setting up the exit ramp now.”

As two other soldiers unfurled a slide out of her living room window, Mia took advantage of the distraction. In an instant, Mia threw down the porcelain bear, smashing it to pieces instantly. Thick smoke covered the area and she ducked when their guns went off. Immediately she ran towards the door, her nerves hitching into her throat, before she slammed into a wall. No, not a wall. A man. A tall, broad man in full body armor. His grip tight, he held her in place despite her struggle.

“Let me go!” she grunted, trying to pry his hand off her.

The smoke thinned and she saw her captor. Dressed in black plated armor, it reminded her of Batman’s suit except militaristic. His helmet resembled a cowl, though his face remained fully covered and eyes glowing blue behind a screen shield. He had a white diamond outline painted on his chest with a straight line through the middle. She'd never seen it before. She coughed breathing in the smoke and shielded her eyes from the wisps.

Her savior. Her eyes widened when she took in his pointy-eared helmet once more. It couldn’t be anyone else. 

“You…” she breathed. “What are you doing here?”

"Taking you hostage, obviously,” his voice was modulated, disguising it from her.

Too stunned to retort, she let the stranger guide her towards the window. She didn’t understand. This could not be her Arkham City hero. They’d never kidnap her. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did. He turned her around and pressed something into her back. No, this isn’t them. Nerves suddenly shot through her back from the cold steel on her skin; it woke up every sensation in her body. No. This couldn’t be happening again. “Walk,” he commanded, butting her with the barrel of his pistol, “Don’t make this harder on yourself.”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked him. 

“You’ll see. Walk.”

“Where’s Alfred?” she asked, panicked. “What did you do to Alfred?”

“Don’t worry about your butler, Princess. He’s fine.”

She didn’t believe him. She knew fighting back was futile, but she did it anyway. Mia kicked and struggled against the stranger, regardless of his tight grip. She cursed herself as the stranger took her towards the window. Mia felt him zip her wrists together in front of her and stick them on a grappling hook. “I suggest you don’t wriggle,” he said, “If you fall wrong, you’ll break your neck.” 

“Fuck you, creep!” She kicked his shin, though she doubted he felt it as he pushed her from the window. Her body swayed mid-air sliding down an inflated slide onto the ground. More soldiers waited below and picked her up.

 “Alfred!" she screamed as they dragged her to a military truck. Her eyes scanned the street for the familiar Rolls Royce Alfred drove. She spotted it parked in front of her building, but saw no sign of Alfred. "Alfred!" She called to the car, “Alfred! Wake up! Alfred!” 

"What did the Commander say?!” one of the soldiers asked her, throwing her into the backseat. “Shut your mouth before we shut it for you!”

“Kiss my ass, douchebag!” She kicked him hard in the stomach, watching him double over. Laying flat on her back, she wriggled towards the opposite car door. She can’t let them take her. She won’t. She needed to get to Alfred. But, the soldier climbed in to stop her. 

“You bitch!” his fist slammed in her right cheek, pain immediately heating up her face. The inside of her mouth stung and she tasted blood. “Hit me again and I’ll knock your teeth out.”

“Fuck you!” she spat the blood at him, which earned her another hit.

“Little brat-” 

He’d reached for her throat before she slashed her nails across his face. She bucked her hips underneath him, trying to get to the opposite door before the soldier stopped completely. 

“Soldier!” she heard their commander call out, and the man scrambled out of the backseat. “What were my orders?”

“Sir, she resisted-”

“-What were my orders?”

“To leave the target unharmed.”

“And what were you doing just now?”

“I was only trying to subdue her, sir. She’s a fighter.”

“Huh, you have no idea. Ride in the secondary vehicle,” he ordered. He turned over to her, blue eyes glowing in the screen shield, “I don’t think she’ll cause me any trouble, will you, Ms. Wayne?” 

She took a breath, gritting back the ache before saying, “I’m not making any promises.”

He gave an amused huff. He shoved her further into the car and sat beside her. She searched for Alfred’s car from the backseat, doing her best to see any sign of the old man. Once inside, the commander tenderly took hold of her chin to examine her pink cheek. It reminded her of her savior, but this wasn’t them. She must’ve been wrong. Perhaps Bruce did save her. Perhaps her painful haze deluded her senses, and made her see things that weren’t there. Dr. Lewis said it could be a possibility. 

“Does it hurt?” his modulated voice broke her out of her head. 

“Don’t touch me,” she yanked herself from his grasp, and glared at him. “What did you do to Alfred?” she asked him again, more firmly. 

“Alfred is fine,” he told her. “He was not the intended target.”

“No, but he’d try to stop you,” she spat back. “What did you do to him?” 

“We incapacitated him,” he answered, almost annoyed at her inquiry. “He’ll be fine. I can’t say the same for you, though.” 

“I’m not scared of you,” she glared, doing her best to keep up her fearless front. 

“Yeah, you are,” he chuckled. “You’re just good at hiding it.” 

She hated knowing they were right.

~~~~~~

A/N: okay, so this is my first Batman fic ever so any feedback or comments would be appreciated, but even a simple reblog will be good too. Arkham Knight Jason just hits differently, you know? lmao I hope you guys enjoyed this, and keep up with what's next.

[duckprintspress]

Why Query Letters are Good Actually 

Part One of a Two-part series of guest posts by Alec J. Marsh.

Hello, it’s me, Alec. I’m a new editor to Duck Prints Press and the resident corporate shill sellout. I love Duck Prints Press and their ethics (and will write an opinion piece soon on why they rock and you should submit to them). I also…. love traditional publishing. 

I’m sorry! I know this makes me a trend-following sheep. I know it’s a hot take in the indie pub crowd. Traditional publishing absolutely has its flaws, and I could go on at length about them. I’m still aiming to get my novels traditionally published. I want to be able to find my book at a Barnes & Noble and be nominated for a Hugo. Sorry not sorry. 

One of the worst parts of traditional publishing is the arcane hoops you have to jump through to participate. As anyone who has poked querying with a long, tentative stick knows, there are many requirements, and every agent’s website uses slightly different phrasing, and it’s a nightmare to navigate. It’s an extra nightmare if you’re neurodivergent and desperately seeking a clear, simple list of expectations. Unfortunately, the basic requirements are there for a reason. A GOOD reason. Learning the skills required to put together a good query package will serve you well, whether you want a ten-book deal with Tor, to sell hand-stapled zines at the local convention, or anything in between. 

So let’s get into it! 

The first thing you need in any submission process is a query letter. What is a query letter? In short, it’s a 3-5 paragraph essay about your book, yourself, and why a publisher should buy your work (and therefore why an agent should agree to represent you). You need to tell the agent the genre, the plot, and why this book is special. They are excruciating to write, because yes, you need to condense your book down to 300 words, maximum, and sell it at the same time. 

But imagine, for a moment, that you’ve walked into Ye Olde Barnes & Noble. There, on the end cap, is a cool new fantasy book you’ve never heard of. The cover has a sword and a snake on it, and you like swords and snakes. But how is it different from the 20 other books with names like A Court of Swords and Snakes that have come out in the last five years? The first thing you do is pick the book up, turn to the back cover, and read. 

You know what’s on the back cover? 

Paragraph one: In a stunning tour de force, ACOSAS takes you through the glittering world of naga politics… (A teaser sentence)  

Paragraph two: Princess Arya has always wanted to be a dancer. But when the evil northerners attack her kingdom… (A paragraph about the main character and the central conflict of the book) 

Paragraph three: Alec J Marsh lives in the Pacific Northwest and has never seen a snake in the wild. (A biography of the author) 

Guess what you just read? A query letter. In many cases, what’s in the blurb is actually pretty close to the exact query letter the author originally sent to their agent. Yes, really. Sometimes a query letter makes it from agent to editor to publicist to final copy.

They’re that important. 

But Alec, I hear you say, I’m not planning to get trad published! Why do I need to do this? Well, indie and self-published people—you will need to write cover copy for your book. And you’ll almost certainly need to write it yourself. The good and the bad part of self-publishing is that you do everything yourself. Less meddling (good!), but less help (bad!). And here’s the hard truth: absolutely no one will spend a single one of their hard-earned dollars on “sex babes get pounded by space aliens” if the back cover says “lol I suck at summaries, I promise it’s good :)” It’s useless, and it’s disrespectful to the buyer’s time and money. 

And that is why query letters are good, actually, for all writers, and are worth practicing how to create!

So go out there and sell your books, and you’ll accidentally write your query along the way. 

In Installment Two…now that I’ve convinced you that you should write a query letter, I’ll go over how to actually, you know, do that. Coming soon!