#he burnt a lot of bridges before he left

[viric-dreams]

I think one of Jones’ most interesting relationships is between him and the vicar of his church. He’s without question the person Jones is most open with. The man’s known him since his first days in London, connected through the prison’s priest. Especially in those early days, Jones was not in the best state, adjusting to a very sudden and jarring change both physically and mentally, and the vicar had offered him a supporting arm in getting back on his feet and reintegrating into polite society. Jones is incredibly cautious about revealing the extent of what troubles him, but in the early days he was in a far worse position to be able to mask it. The vicar offered support however he could and did not press or question. To this day, that’s made him one of the most important people Jones has. The pair of them are long since on first name basis, and Jones’ visits are more often than not social ones, though he does often come to him for spiritual guidance.

In the months that he was being blackmailed and convinced that the Game was trying to sweep him off of the board, he had spoken to the vicar, had spent many evenings with him. He couldn’t be entirely forthright (the truth of his profession will always hang as a secret between them), and he deeply fears the spiritual and earthly repercussions of revealing to someone the extent of what he feels is ‘wrong’ with him, his most troubled thoughts and feelings. But he’s broached the subject as far as he dares to, come to him seeking some sort of advice or guidance.

Jones knows perfectly well he had no right to snap at the man. It was his attitude, his stress, his own moral failing that had led those venomous words lurking just under the surface to slip free from his mouth. And worse yet, the vicar knew, knew that he’d lost control and lashed out. He wasn’t truly angry, hadn’t even properly banished him. Simply told him to leave until he’d gotten his temper in check. The shame of it pouring benzine on that fire. He couldn’t go back. And with that door slammed shut on his way out his already atrophied social circle narrowed even more. Shortly after, he’d left for the surface, desperate to put some distance between himself and all of the mistakes and discomforts up until that point.

Which is perhaps not the wisest move, when weeks before he’d told the vicar should he disappear without warning to contact those closest to him and deliver the personal effects he’d set aside for them.

It’s one of many relationships Jones is going to have to work to salvage when he eventually returns.

[commsroom]

eiffel returning to earth and encountering people and places and things that he's known so closely for years - that some part of him might even instinctively feel he should recognize - but without the ability to consciously remember them vs. lovelace returning to earth and seeing all those familiar things and knowing them, and knowing how they've changed in her absence, but being unable to shake the part of her that keeps telling her she's seeing them for the first time. how both of these could be used as an exploration of trauma, and returning to a place (that hasn't changed at all; that's changed too much) that you no longer fit into; that rubs up against the changed shape of your life in raw and uncomfortable places.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

”why are you so good at that?”

his caress is gentle. tender, steady, secure; and practiced, you can tell, just from the instant relief you feel — the vivid care in how his fingertips smooth along your skin. 

suguru presses his thumbs into the bridge of your nose, right beneath your forehead, big palms cupping your face. they’re warm, calloused, but still somehow so soft — massaging you gently. the pads of his fingers trail upwards, rubbing soothing little circles against your temples. as if he’s memorized every patch of skin, seen the very inside of your skull. as if he knows exactly where to apply pressure to make the sharp jolts of pain go away. 

and it’s working. the room you’re in is dimly lit, illuminated only by the vermilion rays of the setting sun, bleeding in through the gap between the opened shoji screens. a faint, summery scent accompanies them; like burnt roses, or a salty ocean breeze, not enough to rouse the nausea in your throat. it’s quiet. all you can hear is the soft humming of your lover, and your own relieved breaths, pulled out by his skillful hands. his pointer fingers pinch between your brows, and another one follows. the sweetest little sigh. 

”am i?” his voice is soft, even more so than usual, as if the slightest noise could disrupt your peace. a smile is knit between the vowels. ”i’m glad.”

he sounds a little tired. it’s been a long day for both of you, so it’s no surprise. when you finally got back home, the inside of your skull was tormented by a persistent ache, and suguru was blinking with fatigue — though he still insisted on doing this. lying you down on his lap, like a fragile doll, crossing his legs to give you enough space to rest comfortably; the back of your head finding respite on his thigh, senses enveloped by the silk of his robes, smelling lightly of cherry blossoms and sandalwood. comfy.

and, after only a couple minutes of his loving treatment, the ache began to dull. sweet relief seeping into your nerves.

he reminds you to take deep breaths, watching intently as the contours of your face fall back into a state of tranquility. whenever he shifts, the tatami mats beneath him rustle, and your muddled mind sways like the rocking of a boat; slight, but still enough to coax a wince from out your throat, a tiny spark of pain blooming between your sinuses, followed by a murmured apology from the man above you. 

a hum buzzes in his throat. you hear it, eyes still shut, waiting for him to answer your question. and he does, of course — so weak to you, always, your voice the key to his locked-up heart.

”back in high school…” he starts, diligently continuing the facial massage, comforting circles rubbed into your skin. ”... my best friend got migraines often.” 

a soft groan slips from out your parted lips, when he pushes against a certain spot — locating the pressure points like brushing specks of dust from off his clothing. effortless. 

”ah,” you click your tongue, melting into his touch. turning into a boneless puddle, cradled in his lap, comfy as can be. ”your mysterious bestie, huh?”

it’s not the first you’ve heard of this best friend. suguru’s mentioned him before, though only in passing, in whispers, comments he hopes will sound absentminded. they never do — because suguru says the word friend like it’s a prayer. 

(that explains it, though. no wonder it feels so good; it is practiced. should you feel jealous?

well, maybe. but you mostly think it’s kind of sweet.)

before you can think of what you’re saying, the words have left your lips. they tumble out like little pizzicato drops, spoken casually, matter-of-factly. a tiny chirp of a thing.

”you must have loved him a lot.”

…

silence.

for just a moment, the thumbs pressing against your skin halt — just for a second, but enough to notice, and suddenly you feel a little like the air has been sucked out of the room.

even with your eyes closed, you know suguru’s smile is nowhere to be seen. 

it’s funny, how well you’ve come to know him. how you’ve learned to memorize every expression you’ve ever seen him make, any signs of distress or discomfort. he does this thing with his eyes, sometimes — a thin kind of concealment, when you shuffle a little too close for his comfort. figuratively speaking, because you’re almost certain he’d let you crawl under his skin if you asked. but sometimes you twist the key to his heart a little too abruptly, and his eyes of gold and ochre shift in the light, honey clogging the interior of his cornea. something sickly-sweet. something he’s kept locked up for a long time.

a nostalgia so palpable it breaks your heart just to look at it.

you don’t want to open your eyes. you don’t want to see the kind of face he’s making right now. you don’t want to know if he’s pursing his lips, or furrowing his brows, just because of your carelessly chosen words — you know his old best friend is a sensitive subject. gosh, you’re stupid. 

stupid, stupid, stupid.

(why can’t you ever just read the room?)

blindly, you stumble for something to say, parting your lips. desperate to change the topic, to save him from this suffocating silence.

— but then suguru breaks it.

”yeah.”

when your eyes flutter open, he’s looking out into the garden. watching the sun, as it sinks beneath the mountains, lips curved up into a small smile.

”i suppose i did.”

…

you take a moment to look at him. the bridge of his nose, the firm lines of his jaw — the slightest tremble of the muscle. and those eyes, set afire by the final rays of the setting sun, burned to ash. filled with… something. not regret.

just longing.

suddenly, the pads of his fingers are dancing along your skin again; gliding down to pinch your nose. it makes you yelp, a tiny squeak.

and then he’s looking at you. 

”but i love you more,” he croons, a little tilt of his head that make his bangs move like a black curtain. eyes swirling with humour, something syrupy and teasing, awfully fond. ”my little dove.”

before you know it, your cheeks are blossoming with warmth; the branches of your lips curling up into a shy smile. his attention is a little too much to bear, so you wriggle out of his grasp — turning around to press your face into his stomach. his sleeves cast a curtain around you, a protective veil, but it’s not long until you’re being coaxed back into your original position.

”ah ah,” he tuts, chiding you lovingly; a coo in the back of his throat. ”none of that. let me take care of you.”

all you can do is groan, meekly, squeezing your eyes shut. suguru only chuckles, cupping your cheeks and continuing to apply pressure on your forehead and nose, large warm palms against your chilled skin — unwilling to let you escape his pampering.

the sun sets eventually. but he keeps you on his lap until the headache has faded entirely, until your eyelids have dragged you into a deep slumber, until tiny snores are seeping from your parted lips. until the moon has pulled itself into the night sky above you.

somehow, even on the brink of exhaustion, you manage to feel his warm lips against your forehead; hear the muffled murmur against your skin.

”sweet dreams, my darling,” comes a whisper, deep and silky, coaxing you further into the cradle of sleep. his thumb smooths along your cheekbone, down to the curve of your jaw — a trail of warmth. ”come back to me soon, won’t you?”

he smiles. you feel it, that soft upward curve, a blissed out sensation drowning you in white noise. the space inside your mind is free of pain, filled only with thoughts of him, the lines of his fingers burning patterns into your skin. one final kiss pressed between your brows, and then he’s pulling away; curling his arms under your knees and hoisting you up. into his steady arms, his robes shielding you from the soft glow of the stars.

”… don’t dawdle in dreamland for too long.”

the whisper goes unheard. fast asleep, suguru can only gaze at you, drinking in the serenity on your features. trying not to remember a boy with blue eyes — the similar expression he wore once his migraines had begun to fade.

he shakes his head, and carries you towards the bedroom. safe and sound in his embrace.

[jeongsoob]

heartsick avenue —⋆˚࿔ 𝐧𝐫

➸ fic for the birthday boy and dancing prodigy himself! 🤍 ʚɞ pairing: nishimura riki x fem!reader ʚɞ word count: ʚɞ genre: slight to mid angst, fluff ʚɞ tags: exes to ? ʚɞ synopsis: Is it normal to celebrate your ex's birthday? Probably not. But that doesn't mean you shouldn't, and it definitely doesn't mean you still have feelings for him.

Lighting the candles on Riki's cake, you feel the intense, accusatory stares of Jake and Sunghoon behind you in the tiny kitchen. Your apartment is filled with Riki's closest friends and family, but two of them decided to stick around by your side to be as judgemental as ever.

In any other situation, you know Riki would be celebrating his birthday somewhere else. But it's you, and it's him, and it just feels right, despite all of the people wondering what is wrong with the two of you. The breakup was five months ago. Sure, there's cordial, but then there's off-putting denial.

"You're really going all out for him, you know," Jake comments, taking a free piece of garlic bread and stuffing it in his mouth.

"I would assume she's his girlfriend or something. Right, Jaeyun?" Sunghoon asks, sarcastically.

"Exactly! I was thinking the same thing."

"Can you guys just hush and keep eating? It's not like that," you admonish them. With the final candle lit, you feel successful that the cake is perfect and exactly to Riki's specifications.

Yes, you were his girlfriend, once upon a time. But that didn't mean you had to stop caring about him, especially when the breakup didn't end with any bridges burnt or sour feelings involved.

What was so wrong with wanting to celebrate someone who still meant a lot to you?

Sure, your friends told you trying to stay casually involved with each other as friends was not a good idea. It would only keep residual feelings in your heart and lingering disappointment in the air, but it didn't feel that way. It hurt more to be without him at all than with him but not in a romantic way.

Everyone's else's opinions didn't matter anyway. All that did was having his presence in your life any way you could.

Sunghoon turns out the lights as you begin singing "Happy Birthday," the rest of the partygoers following in your lead. You look directly at Riki as you set the cake down in front of him, your heart in your mouth as the final lines of the song ring out in your living room.

You know it was the right choice for the two of you to part ways, the decision amicable and made without anger or pain. His career was his focus right now, as was yours, despite the strong feelings that lingered.

Yet, why does your heart still clench every time you stare into his eyes and see the corners of his lips turn up? Why does he still handle you and every interaction you've had since the breakup with the same level of care he held when he was yours?

"Happy birthday, Nishi," you say with a smile, the expression equal parts real and fake. "Don't forget to make a wish!"

He blows out the candles the second after you tell him to. The people surrounding him clap when the smoke billows into the air, but all Riki can do is keep his gaze on you.

"You gonna tell me what you wished for?" You ask, covering another dirty dish with soap.

"The whole point is that you don't tell anyone or it won't come true, remember?" Riki smirks as you hand him the plate you've just cleaned. He rubs it with a hand towel vigorously, making sure it's spotless before it goes in the cabinet.

He's always been a neat freak, making sure things are in the correct order and place before he feels content. His quirks still make you laugh to this day, although they used to drive you crazy in the early weeks of your relationship.

"I was just curious is all," you say. "I didn't expect you to stay after everyone left. Shouldn't the birthday boy be drinking with his friends? Attending some after party  or whatever Hee was going on about?"

Riki chuckles. "Nah. I'd rather be here with you anyway."

Your heart cracks into small pieces. How could something so offhand from his mouth hit you like a shotgun barrel to the chest? It was easy to have a light conversation with him, but nothing to this caliber. Anything with a slight tinge of romantic undertones was not a territory you wanted to go back to again. It was too easy to fall into, and you fear you may never recover if you go back to that headspace.

The fragments in your chest are similar to the ones from the mug in your sink. It's chipped at the handle in a deep ridge. You barely remember the sound piercing the air, too lost in your thoughts to recognize the slipup.

"Shit," Riki exclaims, "are you okay?" There's no blood in the sink from his viewpoint, but he inspects your hand anyway to make sure you're not injured.

"I think you should go," you respond, the words coming out before you can stop them.

"Hey, look at me." He turns you to face him, saying your name with concern as he puts both hands to your face. "What's wrong?"

"We can't do this, Riki," you whisper, choking on the beginnings of a sob in your throat. "You can't say things like that, and you can't touch me like this. Not anymore." You remove his touch from your skin and walk to the bathroom, hoping he doesn't follow.

Like Riki can read your mind, he respects the space you clearly need and departs quietly. Little does he know, all you want is to pull him closer.

The December air bites through your thick coat as you tread the sidewalk to your apartment. Of course, you had to spend another late night in the office, your boss unrelenting even on the cusp of the holiday season. At the same time, it’s nice to be distracted by work, documents and timesheets taking your mind off the disaster of Riki’s birthday a week ago.

Speak of the fucking devil.

The man himself is sitting on the steps leading up to your apartment building, He has his hands tightly knit together to keep them warm, his attire doing nothing to provide the heat he needs. In denim jeans and a baseball shirt with a faux leather jacket, you’d think he had no intentions of stopping by tonight.

It makes you wonder how long he’s been sitting and waiting for you to arrive home.

“Nishi? What are you doing here?” You ask, clearly puzzled. You step closer to him, noticing the redness of his face from the chilly climate. The least he can do is find a warmer coat if he plans on going somewhere, on purpose or not.

“I had to see you.”

You force the butterflies down, not letting them flutter much harder than necessary. “What for? You could’ve called or texted.”

“I didn’t get to tell you what I wished for on my birthday.”

You can’t fight the chuckle that comes out of your mouth. “Yeah, because you said if you did you-”

In a millisecond, Riki is standing in front of you with his lips firmly pressed to yours. The kiss is rushed and clumsy, but the next few that follow are smooth and desperate. Your mitted hands press to his neck as his arms wrap around your waist, the urge to hold each other unavoidable.

When you part, Riki smiles like the world is a shade brighter because of you. “Last week, I wished to find the courage to do that again. And tell you how lost I’ve been without you.”

A sad laugh escapes your throat as a tear also forms in your eye. “I haven’t gone anywhere.”

“But it’s different. You know it is. And I want to go back to how it was before.”

You stutter, unsure what to say to that response. Did he think it could work again, in spite of all the things that made you agree to separate in the first place? “What about your job, and–”

“All that matters to me is us. Everything else is background noise.”

You whimper before connecting his mouth to yours again, his words and his touch melting you to the bone until you acquiesce to his plea. How could you say no to him, your bestest friend?And it feels so right to be in this place with him again that there’s nowhere else you want to be, as his friend and his lover.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss @pars-ley @lovetaroandtaemin @wonwovy @hursheys @slytherinshua @hyperdramas

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kstrucknet @k-films @kvanity-main @moadiarynet @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

This is the freebie of all freebies. Write whatever you want whenever you want how often you want. Save this in your inbox or post it, I do not mind either way. I always love to see what you write, doesnt really matter what :)

You look the man in front of you up and down and don't bother to keep your lip from curling, "No."

"Come on baby," he purred, stepping closer, reaching out to straighten your jacket, forcing contact. He screams of lust. Of the need to dominate and control. He sees what a lot of men see when they look at you.

A fragile little doll. A breakable little girl. A lost little lamb. Someone who just needs a daddy. A protector. Easy prey.

"Touch me," you warn, "and you'll forget to sit before you take a shit." You don't bother to specify whether or not it'll be because you'll mindfuck him until he bashes his head against a wall to make it stop or because Batman, Nightwing, or any number of the other heroes in the vicinity right now will curb stomp him until he's a blithering idiot.

His eyes are lifeless. Like a puppet's. And when his hand closes around your wrist his skin is hot and dry. It feels like crepe paper left in the sun and he reeks of burnt sugar. Target. Suspect.

So before you carry out your promise, you ping Cass. Trusting her to alert Bruce. You might not QUITE be able to mindfuck him into oblivion but NO ONE was ever going to prey on you again. And as he pull you close to his chest, it was immensely satisfying to make him piss his pants in the alley, writhing in wordless unhinged terror as you skipped your new black velvet boots neatly out of the puddle.

"Hn."

"Interesting way to make new friends, Changeling," Clark observed, surveying the scene. Trying not to react to the fact that you look a little too pleased with yourself.

"I did tell him not to touch me," you inform them, watching dispassionately as his sobs turned to vomiting.

"Can you let up before he aspirates things into his lungs," Bruce sighed. At least it was focused rage. And at least he'd probably cooperate as long as they didn't leave him alone in a room with you. That was... something.

And while you don't reply, at least not verbally, he can tell that you comply. Mostly because the man stops writhing and starts gibbering. "Shut up," Batman said rolling his eyes, watching Clark grab him by the back of his coat. "Just tell us what we wanna know or we'll let her do it again. Harder."

"Okay, Okay, Jesus," he protested, "I didn't know I thought she was kidding!" He looked at you and your lip curled reflexively making him flinch. "Everyone always said you were just a joke."

"Let's go," Superman said, "This drug is gonna kill-"

"Anything you wanna know! Just don't let her do it, please!" he pleaded, letting himself be lead away.

"What did you say to him?" Bruce asked, watching Clark load him into a transport where Jason and Dick were loading some others that had been rounded up.

"That if he touched me he'd forget to sit when he took a shit. Granted, I didn't say how."

"Vulgar."

"What was I supposed to do? Scream?"

"Just don't make anyone else piss themselves," Bruce sighed.

"Then don't let Stephanie pick the outfits. She dressed us like sexworkers not nuns and people keep taking liberties. It's gross."

"Point." Bruce admitted. "Point taken." He pinched the bridge of his nose and not for the first time, he just wanted all of you to be little again. You were 19 now. Still a kid. But he wondered if he'd ever stop seeing you as a little girl in his head. Because as Cass took you to the next location and he went to help Stephanie, it took an absurd amount of self-control not to call after you to put on a jacket or something.

[daddy-dotcom]

Twice Baked

Summary: Two batches of brownies were made: one with laced with "maryjane," and one without. Unfortunately, the wrong ones end up in the hands (and mouths) of the BAU. Requested by my lovely mutual @swaggysagiewagie <3

Words: 1,050

Rating/Warnings: M- Drugs (marijuana), canon typical mentions of violence, fluff :)

____________________________________________

I don’t normally make it a habit of putting illegal substances in my baked goods. I actually don’t make it a habit of using illegal substances at all, given the FBI’s random drug screenings. But when my college roommate called me in a panic at 11 pm because she had already burnt 3 batches of her attempted “special” brownies, I knew I had no choice but to help her. It was her boyfriend’s birthday tomorrow and he specifically requested the dessert, so we spent the entire night baking our asses off. While I was busy baking the weed brownies, I thought it might be nice to bake some regular ones to take to work. I was extremely careful not to mix them up. I even marked the pan without the weed brownies with a red sharpie so that I wouldn’t mix them up in the morning. But after such a late night, I was in such a hurry the next morning that I hadn’t even noticed that the only pan left in the kitchen was a batch of pot brownies. And of course, I grabbed the pan without a second thought, and dropped them off in the break room, unaware of what was to come of my little mix up.

As the team trickled in and out of the break room to get their morning coffees, they each helped themselves to a brownie under the impression that it was just another one of my delicious baked treats. It wasn’t until Penelope called us all in to the meeting room for a debrief that I noticed something was off.

“LETS GET STARTED BECAUSE WE HAVE A LOT TO COVER PEOPLE” Penelope said in a much louder voice and with a much quicker pace than usual.

“Ourfirstvictimisa32yearoldpoliceofficerandwasfoundstrangledinhercar,aaaaaandoursecondvictimwas40yearsoldandalsoapoliceofficerandOH MY GOD WE’RE NEXT” she said.

That was odd, even for Penelope.

Just then, I could hear Spencer in the seat next to me trying to stifle his giggles.

“we’re gonna die,” he said, as if that was the funniest thing in the world. “I’ve died before it is not fun,” he said between laughs.

Oh no....

It hit me just then that Penelope and Spencer's behavior was no accident, this was a result of my delicious handiwork. I can't believe I actually mixed them up.

Of course I mixed them up.

I was up so late and as luck would have it, I brought the goddamn weed brownies into Quantico.

"Calm down mama, nobody's dying alright," Morgan said. I could tell he had some brownies too because he was talking incredibly slow and he was leaned all the way back in his chair.

"Morgan's right everybody just be cooooool." I'm guessing Prentiss also had some, but she was so relaxed that it seemed like this wasn't the first time she and Morgan have been high.

"JJ you alright?" Morgan asked. She had her head down on the desk and seemed like she was sound asleep.

"OHMYGOD SHE'S DEAD TOO" Garcia yelled.

"Shhhhh it's okay babygirl," Morgan cooed as he wrapped Garcia in an embrace.

"Oh god," I said, pinching the bridge of my nose in both embarrassment and defeat.

"What's going on?" Hotch asked, standing in the doorway and staring in confusion.

"Nothing boss man just hanging around" said Emily.

I knew I had to come clean to Hotch about the brownies. "Sir, I can explain" I said, feeling more embarrassed than ever. "I helped a friend make some brownies that were laced with...a certain substance, and I decided to make a regular batch for the team, but in my haste this morning I must've mixed them up."

“Yes! The brownies! You made them (Y/N)!?” Spencer asked bewildered, “that must be why they were soooo gooood.”

I could feel his hand moving to touch the exposed skin under my skirt, and while I should have immediately swatted his hand away, I let him linger for just a moment.

“Spencer, you’re high, you all need to chill out before we can get back to work” I said as I gently brushed his hand away.

“Can I give you a kiss?” he asked with a pout, completely ignoring what I had just said

“No!I mean….yes. Maybe? But not right now!”

"No one is going to do any work until they are no longer high. I can brief them on the plane once they sober up. As for you, (Y/N), I'd like to speak with you in my office."

Oh no, this was it, I was most likely going to get fired.

"(Y/N), I'll make this brief. I realize this was most likely a mistake on your part. That said, you still drugged our team members with a substance that is illegal in several states. However, given that it's technically legal in ours, I am only going temporarily suspend you from work for the duration of the case."

"I wanted to apologize again sir, I never wanted to cause anyone harm or distract them from work."

"I know (Y/N), just be grateful I'm not reporting any of you or requiring you all to get drug tested."

I nodded profusely and walked out of Hotch's office before he could change his mind. As I rounded the corner, I bumped right into Spencer's chest. He couldn't help but giggle some more as we collided.

"Sorry Spence, not just about bumping into you but also the whole weed brownie thing."

"It's okay (Y/N)," he said as his giggles subsided,"I reeaaaalllyyyy liked those brownies."

Seeing Spencer in this state, I couldn't help but laugh too. "I'll make you some normal ones sometime, Spencie," I said, playfully punching him in the arm.

".....soooo can I still give you that kiss?" he said, gently brushing my arm. He slowly leaned in with his eyes closed, but I couldn't help but smile as I put my index finger to his lips.

"Hotch kinda 'grounded' me at the moment, but I'll let you give me as many kisses as you want when you get back," I said with a wink.

I may have risked losing my job in the process, but I'd bake weed brownies all over again if I knew that it would cause my work crush to finally make a move.

______________________________________

AN: Thank you for all the love on Bang My Line. It really motivated me to write more so here’s my second criminal minds 1shot. Get added to the tag list for my next fic The Visit. Hope y’all enjoy <3

[flowerbetweenfangs]

Cream Filling: Chapter Four

CW: There is discussion of an abusive relationship. The MC also remembers the lovebombing stage. Nothing is on screen, so to speak.

This is part of an ongoing series. You can read the previous part here!

Thick sheets of snow covered the streets, the grey sky plunging the world outside into early darkness. Streetlights flicked on, bathing everything in amber light. Despite the lack of sunlight, the sidewalks and strip were empty. 

“Full moon,” Horac commented. “Everyone who’s got half a brain is already at home.” 

“Magic rituals, werewolves running around, and everyone who needs it is charging their charms.” Wrecks shrugged, before yawning. 

“All the wildlife around my home is being so noisy right now. I barely got any sleep last night.” He rubbed his main eyes. 

Elle went to touch her protective charm, but only felt the spider. Right. She’d left stone at home, right on the windowsill so the rays of the moon would charge it with protective magic. Her neck felt naked without it. 

A blast of cold air hit her. Shivering, she rubbed her arms as a man in a large coat shuffled in, clutching papers. His face was wound in scarves, hiding his face. Without a word, he came to the front counter and set the pile down, without looking at Elle. His fingerless gloves showed his nails were thick and opaque, slightly longer than normal, and tapering to a point. 

His hand rested on the counter, and the papers shuffled again. 

Looking down, Elle realized it was a job application he was presenting to her. Before she could ask him any questions, he shuffled away, pulling his patchy coat tighter around himself went to the door, holding it open as a gaggle of goblins came in. 

Quickly, she snatched up the application and put it into a manilla envelope along with the rest. Runes appeared on the tab at the top, before the papers vanished in a puff of smoke. 

“Welcome to Ramses!” She called out, having to lean over the counter to look the new customers in the eye. They were a small group of regulars, and she gave them her best smile. 

Once the café closed, Elle tried to not lament the small pile of tips on the counter. At least with her favor, it meant that the debts she’s acquired would be a lot less cumbersome in the next couple of weeks. Still, she felt a pang of anxiety as she picked up the bills and stuffed them into her wallet. 

“Attention residents.” A voice crackled over an old ham radio, the dials twisting to try and get a signal. Elle jumped, putting a hand over her chest as her heart hammered. 

“Moonrise is in three hours!” The voice continued, followed by feedback. Wrecks yelled, covering his ears and scuttling to the kitchen.

 “We advise all non-magical residents to please be indoors before then.” The crackling lessened. “All those afflicted with lycanthropy please proceed to safe areas. Those who plan on performing rituals, please refrain from doing so unless you are being supervised by a professional…” 

As more warnings and advisories warbled on, Elle rubbed her ears. 

“You alright, Rookie?” Horac asked, going to the radio and attempting to adjust the volume, before yelping as a bolt of magic hit his fingers. Waving his hand, he sucked on his finger and glowered at the machine. 

“Does it do that every full moon?” She winced, hoping it would stop soon. 

“Yeah. But we’re normally out by then.” Horac shrugged, then looked at the empty café. “But we have to have one for safety standards.” 

Sighing, Elle went to the back and clocked out. 

Wrecks parted with a polite farewell, before scampering up the side of the café. Silky strands quickly froze as he spun, but that seemed to be the goal because the drider was using them as a bridge. 

Hopefully, this one wouldn’t be burnt down. 

Going to her car, Elle shivered. Snow was starting to come down heavy again, clinging to her clothes and hair. The old clunker was already covered in a foot of snow. She unlocked the door and pulled, having to yank harder than normal to free it from the ice. 

After scraping off her windows, she sat in the driver’s seat. Her breath was foggy. Taking the key, she stuck it in the ignition. Turning it, she felt her heart drop when the engine stalled. 

No. She was just starting to claw her way out of debt. She could not have this happen now! Turning the key again, she held her breath as the engine sputtered, but nothing more. 

Why today of all days? Trying to keep her breathing steady, she rubbed the steering wheel. Whispering a few affirmations, she tried to will the car into starting. 

There was a rap on the window. Turning, she saw Horac standing right outside. 

“Need a jump?” He looked pointedly at the front of her car. 

“My savior!” She called out, opening the door and popping her trunk. 

Once she got out the jumper cables, Horac repositioned his truck. It was probably older than her clunker, but obviously better taken care of. There was a wax finish on it, catching the streetlight and looking lovely. The tires were new, windows all but sparkling. If it wasn’t for the snow and some slush, it would have looked like it rolled off a vintage vehicle lot. 

And when it started, the engine purred. 

Elle wondered if he was the type to stay in the garage after dark, polishing the metal meticulously. And if he winced every time her car squealed to life. 

Once she’d opened the hood, Elle rubbed her hands together and stared at the vehicles. The Boarman fiddled with the cables, before standing next to her. Without realizing it, she scooted closer to him, feeling his body heat. 

Sighing, he slipped off his coat and put it over Elle’s shoulders. Whatever it was made of was heavy, nearly making her knees buckle. She pulled it closed, adjusting her stance to stay upright. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Elle asked. 

“It’s not too bad.” He assured her. “I’ve dealt with a lot worse.” He fiddled with his key ring. “You want me to unlock the café so you can wait inside while your battery charges?” 

With a sigh, Elle shook her head. “Don’t worry about it, there should be enough juice for me to get home.” The thought of her getting stuck on the highway on the trip back made her shiver. To be out on the full moon, without a protective charm. Shaking her head, Elle walked to her car and rubbed the roof, giving it a few more affirmations. 

After a few more minutes, Elle slipped into the car and took in a deep breath. Turning the key, she winced when the car sputtered, before dying again. Sighing, she hit her forehead against the steering wheel, feeling ready to burst into tears. 

Come on… Not today of all days. 

“Want to call your insurance?” 

Biting her lip, Elle avoided the Boarman’s eyes.

“... You have insurance, right?” 

When she didn’t respond, Horac mumbled something, running a hand down his face and rolling his eyes. Sighing, he looked away and at the businesses turning their lights out and covering their windows. 

“Then again, I don’t think there are any places open because of the full moon.” 

Looking at his truck, Horac jerked his head toward it. “Come on. I’ll take you home.” 

“It’s a half-hour drive!” Elle protested. “And you’ll be in the Leviathan district!” 

“Alternative: Leave my coworker stranded on the full moon. She gets bitten by a werewolf or worse.” Horac took the cables off and put them back in her trunk. “A ride service is going to be more expensive, but if that’s what you’re more comfortable with.” 

Elle wasn’t so sure the pittance in her wallet would cover the gas money the truck would need, let alone for a ride service or taxi.

“Well…” 

“I should be able to make it back with plenty of daylight to spare,” Horac assured her. 

Looking at her car, Elle slipped in and gave it one more try, but the engine only clicked. 

Pulling out the tips, she peeled off one bill for herself and passed the rest to him. “I know that thing’s gotta be a gas guzzler.” 

Rolling his eyes, Horac sighed and helped her into the truck, before starting it. They drove through the strip in silence as more snow fell. 

“I knew that thing was going to crap out on your eventually.” Horac sighed. “I could always hear it before seeing it.” 

Elle felt her cheeks burn. “It was all I had.” She swallowed hard. “I… Lived in it for a few months before I got the job at Ramses.” 

Horac’s shoulders squared, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. 

“Damn.” His tusks wiggled. “I… Don’t mean to pry, but has your ex been bothering you again?” 

Shaking her head, Elle looked down at her phone. “No. I used my favor to make sure that he’d been taken care of.” 

“Any word on that?” 

“No, but it’s only been two days.” Elle sucked in a breath, looking at the burn on her wrist. It still perfectly resembled a pair of lips. Heat rushed through her, the memory of Ash’s lips on her skin fresh. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” Horac said, reaching over like he was going to clap her on the shoulder. His hand hovered, before returning to the wheel “Ash, if nothing else, knows how to leave his customers satisfied.” 

The silence that followed was stifling. Horac fumbled for the radio, finally managing to turn on a classic rock station. 

They were about to get onto the highway when traffic started to bottleneck. Elle inhaled sharply, seeing all the cars ahead of them. 

“Rookie.” Horac’s voice was calm. “This may put you in an awkward spot. And I’m sorry.” 

Her eyes didn’t leave the road. There were a few vehicles that had slid off and flipped over. A few of the occupants were camped out on the shoulders, bundled up against the cold and chatting with police officers or on their phones. Despite this, another car flew past them in the merging lane. 

Unable to stop, it slid, rear wheels spinning as the driver tried to get traction again. 

If it was this bad now, how would it be after Horac dropped her off? Sure, his truck was better suited for the conditions, but the other drivers…

“Horac. How far away do you live?” 

“About twenty minutes from here, other direction.” He said, eyes not leaving the road. Another car spun out, and he winced. 

“I would… Feel really bad if you drove back in this.” Elle swallowed. “I… Don’t have anyone at home that needs me. If it’s easier, I can just crash on your couch tonight?” 

Horac visibly relaxed. “I didn’t want to make it awkward and just offer it to you. But it beats driving home in this.” He craned his neck and nodded. 

“Let me get off at this exit.” Flipping on his blinker, Horac inched forward and then eased out of the traffic. 

Elle kept a death grip on the handle above the window. 

“Will, uh, your kids be there?” 

“No.” Horace’s eyes narrowed and he began to ease up the ramp. “It’s their week with mom.” He let out his breath when they managed to get onto a level surface. “We switch off every Friday.” 

Once they were back in the district limits, the ride went a lot smoother.

“They’re safe?” 

“Yes.” He exhaled sharply. “The safest they can be.” 

They drove in silence again, the music filling the void. Buildings began to become sparse, long snowy fields taking over. She stared at them, seeing a few dead stalks of plants. Farmland? She frowned. 

Horac kept his speed low, so the twenty minutes turned into thirty before they came upon an iron gate. Elle blinked rapidly, trying to hide her confusion. To her shock, the gate didn’t look like it surrounded a community, but a long sprawling driveway. 

With a grunt, Horac opened the door and stepped out of the truck, physically opening the gate. It squealed noisily, making Elle grit her teeth, hands clapping over her ears. Once it was open, Horac looked back at her. The gate trembled slightly in his grip, but he kept it lifted. 

“Think you can scooch it up a little bit for me?” He beckoned her. 

Looking at the driver’s seat, Elle bit her lip. Unbuckling her seatbelt, she slid into the driver’s seat. With a white-knuckled grip, she shifted the gears and slowly edged the truck forward, hearing the roar of the engine as she stomped onto the gas. The vehicle lurched forward, and Elle quickly slammed on the brakes, chest hitting the steering wheel. 

Horac winced and kept his head down as he waved her forward. 

Much softer, Elle pressed on the gas. The wheels spun, spraying snow behind the bed of the truck, but the vehicle slowly rolled forward, finally passing the threshold. Slamming on the brakes again, she threw the gearshift into park and all but jumped into the passenger seat again as the gate squealed behind her. 

Horac got back into the truck with a sigh. 

“Well, you didn’t wreck it, so that’s a good start.”

They drove up the winding driveway, a house slowly coming into view. It was a two-story ranch, with a screened-in front porch. An old tire swing hung on a large tree in front, children’s toys covering the yard, half-buried in snow. Remnants of a garden were poking from behind a stone ring.

“It’s been in the family for years,” Horac explained as they parked. “Didn’t have the heart to sell it.” 

Stepping out of the truck, Elle shouldered her purse. The snow continued to come down in large flakes, leaving the area blindingly white. As they entered through the garage, she could feel the pressure of a second threshold spring up. 

Flipping on the lights, Horac opened the door, letting her go first. 

They entered a living room. Despite the toys in the front yard, the inside was spotless, things tucked away cleanly into totes or baskets, blankets on the back of an expensive-looking couch, and an old tv set. 

“Wow.” Elle fidgeted with her purse. “I had no idea.” 

“It’s an inheritance.” Horace shrugged, before going to the kitchen. “Er… I hope you don’t mind tv dinners. It’s all I got that’s human-friendly. I normally eat out when my kids are here. I, uh… Don’t really like cooking when I’m not working, you know?” 

“Sure!” Elle’s stomach grumbled. At this rate, she was ready to start chewing on anything solid. 

Next to the couch was a nightstand with a lamp. A silvery rectangle was next to it, showing cracked glass across the middle. 

Leaning down, she flipped on the lamp, illuminating a picture in a frame. It showed a dark-haired girl, maybe two or three, holding a newborn wrapped in a blanket. Her smile was big but didn’t reach her eyes. The crack covered a person reflected in the mirror, obscuring the picture taker. 

They were all human. 

Staring a moment longer, Elle finally pulled away when the floors creaked. Horac had gone down the hall, his shoulder scraping against the walls. 

Come to think of it, she’d never asked about his kids, and the Boarman never indulged information beyond that he had them or had to leave early to take care of something pertaining to them. 

Slipping off her coat, Elle looked down at her uniform. It was going to be uncomfortable sitting in it all night, but it was better than sliding off the road or being stranded. Pulling out her phone, she texted Wrecks that she and Horac had gotten back and were safe, reminding him to be careful. 

Heavy footsteps brought her back. 

There was a shirt and pair of shorts over Horac’s arm, judging by the size, it wouldn’t even fit over his head. 

“You don’t have to take it, but,” Horac shrugged, tossing over the clothes. “I can’t imagine the maid outfit is terribly comfortable.” 

Staring at the shirt, Elle saw it was the same pink as the ticket for “Temptation”. When she unfolded it, the club’s name was printed across the chest, a pair of crimson lips under it. 

“Old shirt,” Horac said sheepishly. 

“Were you in middle school?” Elle held it up to him. Even if they could get it over his head, it would probably rip at his shoulders. She wasn’t too read up on the anatomy of Boarmen. 

“I-” Horac shook his head. “It was a while ago.” 

Elle felt a twinge of guilt, knowing it would be unwise to press further. Holding the clothes to her chest, she ducked into the nearest room. 

There were twin beds on opposite walls, a closet between them. Each one had a trunk at a foot of it. The headboard on the right said “Isabella” the one on the right said “Jolie”. The walls were covered with children’s drawings, from markers to crayons. 

Isabella seemed to be the older one, showing more pictures. There was a drawing, showing a family of four, showing a dark-haired woman next to the girls, and a fair-haired man on the end. 

“Daddy, Mommy, Me, Jolie.” 

Elle stared at them, feeling a sudden pang in her chest. 

Slipping on the clothes, Elle folded up her uniform and sighed. 

When she came out, the shirt almost came to her knees, and the shorts down to her calves. The tie at the waist had to be looped around her hips to keep them from sliding down. 

Horac was fiddling with a dial on the television, hooking it up to his laptop and managing to get a show streaming. An old black and white movie flickered across the screen. There were two sad-looking tv dinners on the coffee table, which Elle ate. It was better than nothing, making the rumbling in her stomach lessen. 

They sat on opposite sides of the couch, the silence deafening. 

“I was thinking about breaking out some of my old bourbon,” Horac finally said. “But if you’re not comfortable, I-” 

“I haven’t been out drinking in years.” Elle almost laughed out loud. “I… Could never afford to.” She scratched the back of her head nervously. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to talk about how broke I am all the time.” 

Horac shrugged. “I mean, you can’t help it.” He faced her.  “But… You have drank before, right?” 

“Oh, yeah!” Elle reassured him. “But it was like… Sneaking drinks from the older patrons of the academy I went to-” Her mouth closed, and she sighed. “It was a different time.” 

Horac got up and went to the kitchen, glasses and bottles clinking. When he came back, he unscrewed the lid and poured them both a glass, his much taller and larger than hers, topping it off with cola. 

A large ball of ice floated in the alcohol, fizzy clinging to it. 

Picking up the cup, Elle gave a smile. 

“To breaking old bonds,” Horac said, gently clinking his glass to hers. “May yours go smoother than mine.” The hem of his shirt hiked up, showing the twisted and knobby scar on his abdomen. 

Averting her eyes, Elle tried to not stare. 

Taking a drink, Elle winced at the taste but managed to gulp down the liquid. Eyes watering, she sniffed and wiped her nose. Setting the glass down, she took in a deep breath and pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“You’re supposed to go slow.” Horac teased, before taking a sip of his own drink and setting it down, and filling Elle’s glass with water. “Only drink as much as you want to. If you just want water, it’s fine. And if you want me to stop drinking, just tell me.” 

He drank another glass, switching the movie to an old tv show. His eyes were focused on the screen, but she could see him staring at her out of the corner of them. 

Nursing the water, she thought about the drawing, then the photograph. Genetics of interspecies relationships escaped her. Sure, there were cambions, dhampirs, and holsteins, but purely human children? “So… What happened to you?” 

“Hm?” 

“I saw… A picture in your daughter’s room. A family drawing. It uh… Didn’t look like a Boarman in the “dad” spot.” She felt bad about prodding, but she had to know. 

Horac was silent for a moment, running a thumb over the rim of his glass. His jaw clenched and unclenched before he sighed, topping off the drink with another round of bourbon. 

“It’s a bit of a sore subject, but I feel like you should know since you’re dealing with Asmodeus.” 

“What?” She tried to not look too baffled. 

“Some of us get a demon’s Favor. Some of us get their Ire.” Horac explained, staring at the credits as they rolled across the screen. 

“When I worked for Temptation, I was a good employee. A bunch of customers liked me, so did the workers. But I also wasn’t afraid to jump in and break things up when they got out of hand. It didn’t happen enough, but it was enough to justify keeping me around. I loved my wife. Loved my kids.” His tongue flitted across his lips. 

“The succubus who had a thing for me, she was something else. Ash encouraged her because he… Has a way of thinking that doesn’t really match up with mine.” He frowned, the pause following extended. 

“You don’t need to know the details of my screw-up.” Another drink, the glass filling with more bourbon and considerably less cola.

“But I messed up big time and got involved with shit I shouldn’t have been.” His shoulders sagged, shame darkening his features. 

“If you know anything about Concubi, they can get really attached to regular… “customers”.” He added air quotes around the last word.

“Anyway, she shot her shot, wanting more. Then didn’t take it well when I rejected her.” He winced. “I deserved it. Honestly, I should have had a lot more happen.” He finished his drink, setting down the glass. 

“Ramses approached me while I was in the hospital. And offered me a job as a cook. It was different, it was new. Fresh start. And I knew I could keep myself and my family safe.” He swallowed, eyes watery. “And I knew that once word had gotten around about the “incident” I would have a hard time finding anything else to do to make a living.”  

“So, I agreed. I went to turn in my two weeks. Asmodeus took my resignation as betrayal, so he twisted my body and changed it. Ash kept him from going any further than that. That man is a demon, but he’s at least able to see both sides of things. That’s the reason I didn’t throw him out the second he walked into the café.” 

Elle stared at him, her eyes wide. She picked up her glass and gulped it down, the rush of cold clearing her head. 

“My wife wasn’t an idiot but trusted me. The Club wound up sending a bunch of pictures to our home. My… actions had broken down the threshold enough for them to be able to cross.” Inhaling sharply, Horac squeezed his eyes shut. 

“The only solace I have is that the girls didn’t see them. Isabella doesn’t really remember what I used to look like, but she knows I’m… Different now. Jolie was a baby, so she’s only known this-” He waved a hand in front of his snout. 

“-as how I look.”  

Elle put a hand on his arm, giving it a light squeeze. He snorted, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry.” She said softly, before letting him go and scooting away to the other side of the couch.

“I’m lucky.” Horac insisted. “They could have gone after my family. I’ll take something like this a thousand times if it means they’re safe.” 

He jerked his head toward her. 

“What about you?” 

Tit for tat. She almost felt guilty. He’d been so open with her about something that obviously hurt him, especially something that made him look… Less than perfect. 

Judging by how much he’d drunk, he wanted to forget. Horac seemed a little more buzzed, although his speech hadn’t begun to slur, and he seemed sharp. 

“I was eighteen.” Elle’s heart began to pound at the memory. The story had been told so many times, but each time she began, it was like her skin was being flayed open for everyone to see. 

***

“If you summon this, there’s no telling what would happen!” 

“Thousands of people summons demons every day.” Elodie swatted at the air. “And they’re doing just fine.” She looked at the symbols in the circle. “Besides, they have to do something before they can even do anything to you. Just gotta be smart about it.” 

She looked at the frightened faces of her old friends. Years had worn away the features, making them all fuzzy. There were infernal runes and symbols for various sins over their faces, obscuring them further. 

“I’m tired of living like this.” Scratching at her neck, Elodie finished touching up the last rune. “If this doesn’t work, I’ll go to the Beezelbub district and hit up the Vampires. I heard Plasma is supposed to be a safe Feeder Club.” 

Of course, the rumors about ‘blood bags’ were vile. Vampiric saliva could be addicting, leaving the human unable to go the recommended six weeks between feedings. The pay would get lower and lower, and three would bind the biter and bloody together, too big of a risk.

She looked at the circle on the floor once more. It looked close enough to the ones from the blogs she’d been consulting. 

“Now, you just need a bit of blood.” Elle paused, looking down at the components. “Whoever’s we use will be the one keeping this all in check.” 

“Why not yours?” 

“Hey!” She protested, feeling a rush of excitement and fear. “You sure about that? That means I’m gonna have all the power.” 

“You’re the one who knows the most about this.” 

Elodie huffed, scowling at the circle. “Still.” 

She flexed her fingers. Looking at the ritual knife, she picked it up, holding the handle tightly. No one moved to stop her. Either they were frozen with fear or had complete confidence. She wasn’t sure which one was better. 

Nodding, she began to head to the center of the circle, hearing a few gasps. 

“Last chance to back out,” She warned, eyeing the faces of her friends. 

No one moved. 

Taking the blade, Elle lifted her skirt and ran it along the outside of her thigh, chanting in the infernal language. It was harsh on her throat, like gargling nails. As crimson flowed from her leg to the central symbol, the lines began to glow. 

Air stirred, candle flames flickering. The energy began to shift, loud crackling making everyone jump. Elodie could feel the pressure and heat building but didn’t stop chanting. 

“Servant of Mammon, I command you to come to me!”  

A candle erupted. Then another. And soon the flames had become infernal pillars, faces flickering in the fire. Legions of screams began to add to the crackling, the heat becoming unbearable. Sweat poured into Elle’s mouth, but she didn’t stop chanting. 

Screams filled the air as the candles were dropped, and the room was vacated. Flames caught on the curtains. 

Stopping her chanting, Elodie ran out of the circle and began to stamp on the fires. Luckily, they hadn’t spread too much, but there was enough ash in the room to leave her clothes covered with them. Glaring at the closed doors, she crossed her arms. 

The petty part of her wanted to wait and see if any came back to check if she was alright. But she figured it wouldn’t end well. The Headmasters were likely already being informed of the ritual and that there was something on the loose the students couldn’t control. 

At least she could clean up the room before they got into more trouble. Or worse, someone with even less sense would try and do the ritual again and crack open a Hellmouth. 

She knelt to pick up the candles when a wave of heat rolled over her, the room suddenly bathed in crimson light. Whirling around, she saw a naked man sitting where her blood had spilled. 

Aside from the flesh-colored horns poking from his brow, he looked completely human. Inhaling sharply, Elodie felt a rush of scents hit her nose. Honey. Pine. Chocolate. Mint. The seemed to shift on a dime, images flashing in front of her. 

Honey poured in tea to sweeten it. A pine forest in the summer. A box of chocolates was passed to her by a classmate (who had the demon’s face for some reason). And the mint of someone’s breath as they leaned in to kiss her. 

Covering her mouth and nose, Elle coughed loudly, trying to clear her head and keep her eyes above the demon’s waist. 

A noise alerted him. Slowly, the stranger stood, a whip-like tail swishing behind him. Raking fingers through wavy hair, he opened his mouth to speak but paused. 

Doors burst open and in came the teachers and caretakers, shouting out binding spells and slapping charms on the walls to seal off the room. 

“Elodie Shepard! What were you thinking?” 

The demon vanished in a puff of pink smoke. 

As the room was blocked off, Elodie winced as she was grabbed by the arm and hauled off. 

“Well?” Headmistress Blackstone stared at Elodie from across her desk. “You’re lucky the spell didn’t work. Or who knows what you could have brought here.” 

Elle opened her mouth about to say it had, in fact, worked. But then she thought better of it and closed it. 

Blackstone spread polaroids taken from the scene across the desk. Despite the anger in her voice, the older woman’s brows quirked up, obviously impressed. 

“I know you’re kicking me out next week.” Elodie tried to keep her voice calm, despite the burning on her leg. “Because I haven’t shown any particular skills. Nothing to justify keeping me past adulthood.” 

“So,” Blackstone steepled her fingers. “Was this supposed to impress?” She shook her head, “Because the Guardians will have to be notified, and that room will have to be sealed off to prevent anything further from happening. Anyone who needed that room will be denied it for at least a month.” 

“It was supposed to give me a chance before I got thrown out with nothing.” Elodie shook her head. “You’ll never get it.” 

Sighing, Blackstone pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m sorry, Miss Shepard. We tried to raise you right, even letting you stay past the cutoff date for a couple of gap years while we tried to finesse a proper higher education for you. But between your subpar test results, your need to skirt the rules, and the number of times you’ve been caught on grounds with boys-” 

“It takes two to tango!” 

“I know, Miss Shepard, but you have a… Habit. You’ve been caught no less than six times with four different boys. The woods. In the bathrooms. Even in the library where you were supposed to be studying! One of those boys had parents who donate to the school. They threatened to pull their funding because they thought we were neglecting his education.” 

Elodie scowled and looked out the window. “I bet if my parents were rich, you’d let it slide. But because I’m a foundling brat-” 

“There are a lot more with half your talent who work twice as hard,” Blackstone warned. “People who have gone through a lot more than just parental abandonment. You have to stop assuming people who aren’t blindly praising you are out to get you.” 

“This incident would have been the last straw, even if we had a reason to keep you here, this cannot be overlooked.” Blackstone pointed to one of the photos. “What were you planning on doing with this particular demon?” 

“A demon of Mammon can get you material goods.” Elodie shrugged. “Figured if I was going to be left with nothing, I could at least get myself something to help me live until I could get something to sustain myself.” 

“Well, you need to brush up on your runes.” She waved the photo. “ This is a symbol of Asmodeus, not Mammon.” 

“...Oh.” Elodie shifted uncomfortably. That explained a few things. 

They stared at one another in silence. Elodie shook her head, before standing up. 

“I’ll go collect my things.” 

Blackstone raised her hand, magic crackling in the air. Elodie plunked back down in the chair. 

“You’re never to take up the title of Mage, used magic generated of your own power, or use the academy for any reference in any career endeavors.” The Headmistress sniffed. “I hope this stunt was worth it.” 

As Elodie packed up her belongings, which wasn’t much, she noticed her friends were giving her a wide berth. A change of clothes and a few toiletries that could fit in a small backpack were all she had left in the world. 

If they hadn’t run… They’d probably be joining her on the street tonight instead of next week. 

Once she was off the property, the squeak of the iron gate loud in the night, she finally started to cry. She let out the tears,  before sniffing and wiping her eyes. Fanning herself, she managed to pull out a map without stumbling. 

This was it. She was on her own now. 

Staring at the map, she stood under a bus shelter, letting the dim amber of the streetlight illuminate the twisting lines of the map. Wind buffetted Elodie, threatening to rip the paper from her hands. Gripping it tightly, she grit her teeth and sucked in a breath. 

The cycling scents hit her nose again. Peppermint. Pumpkin. Fresh bread. Coffee. 

The smell of a city square during the holidays. Autumn gatherings with pastries. A bakery in the summer. A cafe in the spring. 

Jerking her head up, she stumbled back. The demon was standing across the street, now dressed in a uniform from the academy. It was too small for him, the buttons straining and pantlegs baring his ankles. 

“Oh! Now you show up!” Elodie snapped. 

“Sorry about that.” His voice made her breath catch. Each syllable seized her heart, and the map slipped from her hand.

“Adrian Ashborn.” The Power of his name crackled in the air. 

Ashborn. So Blackstone had been right. He was a Demon of Asmodeus. 

The faces in the flame came back. Were they other Concubi trying to break through the veil?  

“I was trying to summon a demon from Mammon , not Asmodeus.” Elodie rubbed her face. “You were a mistake, I’m sorry.” 

He was suddenly in front of her, their faces close enough for breath to mingle. 

“Gah!” She flinched away from him. 

“Don’t do that!” She rubbed her brow. The smells were starting to worm their way in, and she wanted to bury her face in his chest and just rest there. 

No, that was how they trapped people, focus!  

“Go away.” 

“I can’t do that.” He said, a matter of factly, keeping pace with her as she started to walk. “You summoned me, so you have to dismiss me.” 

“I’m not a mage anymore.” Elodie looked over her shoulders to check for cars. “They took all my magic, you must have felt the power holding you drain.” 

“You bound me with your blood, not power.” 

Elodie let out another groan, which seemed to amuse Adrian. His smirk would have been punchable on any other face. She still wanted to hit him, but she felt more restrained than normal. 

“They really sent you out here with nothing, huh?” 

“Can’t afford to keep feeding and housing me without a return.” Elodie sniffed, trying to flag down a passing car. “Barely managed to scrape by on my final exams to keep me. If I’d passed them this year, I’d be there until twenty-six.” 

They sped up, hitting a puddle of mud and spraying her. Stepping away from the road, she looked towed the lightening sky, ready to scream. 

They finally came to a rest stop, and Elodie ducked into the bathroom. Adrian started to follow her, but she swatted him in the chest, pointing to the sign. 

“Ladies only.” 

Inside, she scrubbed off the worst of the mud but was still covered with it. Changing her clothes, she stuffed the damp clothes in her backpack. At least she had that. 

When she came out, Adrian all but tackled her. He seized her arms, the touch sending a bolt through her. She barely managed to clench her jaw before a loud moan came out. 

“I got us a ride.” He jerked his head toward a van, where a bunch of men in flannel waved them over. 

“There’s a motel about three miles from here.” He explained. “They’re on their way to the nearby Hunting Grounds.” 

Werewolves. Blinking, Elodie sputtered. 

The pack was a polite, if talkative, bunch. They had filled up all the seats, but there was room on the floor of the van to sit, so she did. Adrian sat next to her.

Elodie was glad she didn’t have to say anything, although being in close proximity with Adrian was making her head spin. The scents, the warmth of his skin, the way the sun seemed to hit him just right. 

“Sucks that you’re in such a tight spot, but we’ve all been there.” The pack leader remarked, “It’s not much, but we’ll cover your first night so you can at least sleep somewhere warm while you try and get your bearings.” 

“Thank you.” Adrian smiled, and there was a collective inhale as everyone quickly averted their eyes. “Parents were a lot less accepting than you were.” 

Elodie tried to not roll her eyes. Of course, he’d go that route. Two lovebirds from different species in an unforgiving world. She felt guilty for lying, but she also didn’t want to be kicked out of somewhere twice in less than a day. 

“Just gotta find your people.” One of the wolves said. “It’ll get better, trust me.” 

The wolves let Adrian cover up with one of their blankets, but by the time they were at the motel, his skin was already blistered and peeling. The clerk took one look at them and about fainted, but quickly passed over the key as Elodie yanked him back into the room. 

“They weren’t kidding about you guys not being able to handle the sun.” Elodie winced, scouring the bathroom for a first aid kit. 

“I’ll heal up eventually.” Adrian watched her from the bed, which of course there was only one of. “You’re quite resistant.” 

“Huh?” She paused, looking at the pitiful bar of soap and toiletries they had. Sighing, she began to check the closet. 

“To my charms.” That damn smirk was back. 

“Oh. I feel them.” Elodie rolled her eyes. “But I’m ignoring it, like a random person screaming on the crosswalk.” 

“Ah. Explains your irritability. Ow!” He swatted at her backpack when it hit his face. When it fell, small red lines opened on his face and began to bleed. 

“Look.” His voice dropped a few octaves, freezing Elodie in place. “I have a proposition for you.” Taking a tissue from the box on the nightstand, he dabbed as the blood. “I can’t be sent back until I fulfill a contract, and you seem to be in a bit of a bind.” 

“I may be an incubus, but all that means is that I get my power a certain way. I might not have Mammon as my Prince but…” He squeezed the tissue tightly, the veins on his hand popping out. When he opened it, there were gold coins in his palm. 

Elodie stared at it, eyes wide. Licking her lips, she dared a few steps closer. 

“I think we can come to some sort of agreement.” He palmed the gold and stuck it in his pocket, the motion betraying his erection. 

“Good to know Demons are pigs just like their human counterparts.” Elodie snapped, turning away and scoffing. “I’m many things, but I don’t-” 

“It’s literally how I sustain myself, Dear. Do you shame a vampire for feeding on blood? Or a human for eating meat or vegetables? A spider for eating a fly?” 

Sighing, Elodie nodded. It was in his nature, and he couldn't help it. Not to mention he was probably in pain from the sunburn. He hadn’t asked to be summoned. And she’d yanked him into this mess. 

Turning to face him again, she rubbed her thigh nervously. 

“Just one contract, and you’ll go away?” 

“Of course.” The corner of his lip tugged up. “If that’s what you want.” 

Her lips parted as she tried to come up with the words, but nothing came out. 

“For one, I would like to not be reminded of Hell, so if you could be so kind as to assist me with my burns.” 

Swallowing, Elodie gestured to the empty closet behind her. “There’s uh… Not any aloe or anything like that.” 

“As I said, we sustain ourselves on a very specific sin.” He flexed his fingers, “Unless you’d rather me wait around until nightfall and go looking for someone else.” Leaning over, he put his ear to the door. “I can hear the hotel staff moving around, I’m certain there’s someone among them that wouldn’t mind a quick fuck in exchange for-” 

He yelped as Elodie slammed him against the headboard, arms clutching the too-tight shirt. Buttons popped off, rolling on the floor. 

“You are not going to abandon me after all I just went through!” She snapped, before realizing she was digging her nails into his skin. Blood had soaked into the fabric. Red smeared on her fingers, and she let him go. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Adrian assured her. “I love a woman who can kick my ass.” 

Rolling her eyes, Elodie slid off the bed, sitting at the foot of it. 

Adrian placed a hand on her thigh, right over the wound from the ritual knife. The touch was light, but it felt like he’d stuck a blade into the wound. Wincing, she pulled away, but his fingers lingered on her skin. 

“Why’d you cut there instead of your palm? Would have been a lot easier to control where your blood dropped in the circle.” 

“Not as many nerve endings. And I wanted to make sure I could hold onto the knife if you got wily.” Although her friends running and breaking the circle had made that pretty much impossible. 

“And if you’d cut here.” His fingers slid to her inner thigh, making her breath hitch. “You would have cut the femoral artery and bled out before the people who sealed off the room got there.” 

The touch was light, but Elodie could feel herself starting to quiver. Adrian inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The blisters on his hands and fingers began to heal, the skin becoming smooth and whole again. 

“You may not be able to use magic made by your own power, Miss Elodie Shepard.” The energy of her name crackled in the air, making her heart skip a beat. 

“But I can promise you, if you allow me this, I will make sure that you are taken care of.” The tip of his finger brushed against the cotton of her panties. 

Elodie’s back arched, a shuddering breath escaping from her lips. The finger between her legs stayed, before Adrian’s hand began to travel up more, slipping past the fabric. A soft moan escaped him as he found the soaking folds. 

She fell back onto the bed, her skirt hiking up as her legs spread. The burns were gone from Adrian’s arm, and more were vanishing before her very eyes. Adrian’s fingers pumped in and out of her, his free hand sliding up and slipping under her shirt. It slowly rose up, exposing her midriff and bra to him. His nails traced over her breasts, covering her in gooseflesh. 

The hand went behind her shoulders, unhooking her bra with surprising precision. Leaning down, he took the cups between his mouth and yanked it off. 

Running his tongue over her nipples, he put it between his lips and began to suck. His finger circled her other breast, nail tracing over the erect tip. Between that and the fingers pumping in and out of her, it was almost too much to bear. 

She just wanted to come. But… Then what would happen? Panting, Elodie stared up at the ceiling, the soft moans getting louder and louder. 

“You held yourself together pretty well.” He rose up to straddle her. Taking his finger out, he brought it to his lips. It was shimmering with wetness. 

“But now that I know it’s there…” 

Opening his mouth, he began to suck it. A moan went through him as he shuddered, brushing his erection against her panties. When he pulled back, there was a wet spot on his crotch. 

“You’re not going to be able to hide it from me anymore.” He ground his hips into her, his smile widening as she let out a few whimpers, before clapping her hand over her mouth. How thin were the walls of this place? 

The noises made him chuckle, the blisters receding from his cheeks and jaw. Did anything related to sex give him power? 

“It’s taking all my self-control not to tear these off you right now.” He hooked a thumb under her waistband, slipping her underwear off and flinging it to the side. “When I get you some more clothes, I’ll make sure to do just that.” 

Grabbing the hem of her skirt, he roughly pulled it off, the seams popping. 

Putting a leg over his shoulder, he began to kiss down (up?) Elodie’s calf, the back of her knee, then thigh. His tongue circled her inner thigh, then slowly traveled up. His fingers parted her lower lips, breath rolling over the soaking folds. 

Elodie clutched the blanket, biting her lip. 

Adrian began to lick, hands wrapping around her thighs and placing her knees on his shoulders. Elodie yelped, legs crossing at the nape of his neck. The motion pushed him further into her, and he groaned. His teeth grazed her, revealing they were slightly sharper than a human’s, but not enough to be fangs. 

He plunged deeper, rolling his jaw and moaning, pulling back with a gasp and swirling his tongue around her clit. Elle moaned, rocking her hips against his face as her legs began to shake. The noises of pleasure only encouraged him further, and he continued to lick and suck at her clit, fingers plunging into her, thrusting back and forth. 

When he pulled his face off to breathe, he licked his lips and brushed up the fluid into his mouth, sucking his fingers with a moan. 

“Way better than aloe.” He panted, the burns now gone. Fumbling, he managed to unbutton the shirt and shrugged it off. 

Unbuttoning the pants, he let them slide down to his thighs, his cock hard and dribbling. Taking some of the fluid still on his chin, Adrian stroked himself, panting as he made eye contact with Elodie. Black and white rippled in his sclera. 

Pushing her leg up, Adrian lined himself up, damp head brushing against her wetness. Elodie’s breath hitched, feeling herself clench. He noticed, brows coming together in confusion. 

He put a finger on her clit, and began to circle it, grinding his hips against her, using her wetness to lube his shaft and head up. Biting his lip, he stared down at her, slowly starting to smile as she let out more pants of pleasure. 

As he continued to stimulate, he lined himself up again, her breath hitching as she shifted, opening her legs wider. She could see wetness on his fingers and her thighs. 

“You’re something else, Elodie,” Adrian said, his voice barely above a whisper. Shifting his hips, he slid inside her. “I can tell this is going to be the start of something amazing.” 

It was like a barrier had been broken, something inside her unraveling. Back arching, Elodie screamed as she saw every color of the rainbow, her vision blurring. Eyes watering, she felt her voice start to give out as her perception of the world started to slip away, only sensations of pleasure filling her mind. 

Adrian’s fingers laced with hers and he pinned them on either side of her head. His legs pushed hers apart and he began to thrust, hilting himself inside with each movement. 

Elodie could see various runes and symbols, feeling the contract starting to form. It was like manacles were forming around her wrists, pinning her to the bed. 

He released her, tangling his fingers in her hair and pressing her lips to his. As he continued to thrust, his tongue plunged into her mouth. Closing her eyes, she let the sensation take over. The runes and symbols seemed even more vivid than before. 

Wait… Those are infernal… 

Their tongues twined, and his moans reverberated in her ears, vibrating through her entire being, his heart thundering in his ribcage, the raising and lowering of his chest. Heats mingled, going from pleasantly warm to an inferno of pleasure. 

He’s been writing the contract the entire time? 

Adrian finally pulled back, gasping for air. His grip on Elodie’s hair tightened, keeping her head down on the bed. His skin glistened with sweat, his whole body heaving with exertion. 

Wait, go back, what does it say? 

Grabbing her hips, Adrian raised them, thrusting deeper than before. She could feel his hip bones with how hard he slammed into her, making her squeak and lock her legs around him. Smiling, he shifted and spread her out over his shaft, then started to rub her clit again. 

All thoughts and symbols began to fade away. 

Elodie yelped, feeling the pleasure ripple through her body, then crest as she clenched. 

Letting out a groan of pleasure, Adrian shuddered, his cock twitching. Panting, he pulled out, white strands spurting onto her stomach. 

“Well, I’d say that was…” His eyes narrowed as he lifted her hip. “What the Hell?” 

“W-what’s wrong?” Elodie sputtered, legs shaking too hard to move.

“You’re still twitching. You okay?” 

Nodding, Elodie fell back with a sigh, covering her eyes. He’d have to learn to not scare the bejeesus out of her next time. 

Wait… Why was she thinking about a next time? This was supposed to be a one-time thing. Panting, she turned on her side. Fumbling with the air conditioner, she turned it on full blast, letting the cool air roll over her. 

Then, her stomach heaved. Springing up from the bed, she rushed to the toilet, her legs giving out just when she reached it. 

Retching, she felt her stomach empty itself. The pleasure that filled her body started to turn into a pattern of throbbing and dull aches. 

Fingers went through her hair. Adrian clutched it in a knot at the back of her head, tight enough to hold it back, but loose enough not to make the headache worse. The cycling scents started again, but now they were making Elodie’s body shake and eyes water. 

“Sorry. Should have told you about this. It’s a bit of a hangover.” Adrian sat on the rim of the tub, leaning down and pressing his lips to her shoulder. Wincing, Elodie jerked away from his touch. “Humans aren’t… Too terribly used to the sensations.” 

He looked hurt, but it was hard to tell how much out of the corner of her eye. 

When Elodie finished, Adrian flushed the toilet, putting a damp rag to her forehead. Then, he picked her up and carried her out of the bathroom. 

The hotel room had gone from a barely furnished space, to something out of a luxury suite. The bed was taller, the comforter fluffier and embroidered with a scene from hell. A demon (that could be said to resemble Elodie) reclined in a pool, being fed some sort of fruit by a pair of naked men. Setting her down, Adrian smiled. 

The backpack she’d come in with was now a trunk, so full of clothing that the lid couldn’t close. Adrian pulled out a silk robe and passed it over to Elodie, and she slipped it on. He pulled out a matching one and tied it, but it did little to hide his growing erection. 

The mini-fridge that came with the room was now filled with champagne and chocolates. The nightstand was now filled with money and jewelry. 

“It’s a start,” Adrian confessed. “I’m not a servant of Mammon, but…” 

***

“It’s always good until it isn’t,” Elle said, sighing. 

“Making a contract that you couldn’t even read.” Horac shook his head and sighed. “Damn. I knew demons were sneaky, but that seems low, even for a Hell Dweller.” 

“It was my own damn fault.” Elle looked at her drink. Even if she hadn’t gone into all the details, they were still fresh. Concubi preyed on sensation, so encounters with them were near impossible to forget. 

“If I hadn’t tried to summon a demon, none of this would have happened.” Her hand went to her thigh. The scar had long since faded, but she could see it in her mind’s eye, still slick with blood. 

“But ‘maybe’, ‘shoulda’, ‘coulda’, ‘woulda’ gets tiring after a while.” She had gotten past the point of self-pity. It was why she’d started this new life. Why she’d gone into so much debt to escape him. And why she was finally going to leave the past where it belonged. Behind. 

“What will you do when he’s gone?” Horac asked. 

The question gave her pause. She’s spent so long focusing on getting out from under the rock it never really occurred to her what “later” would entail. 

“I don’t know. I never really had a plan outside of ‘get away’ and ‘pay off my debts’.” The original plan was to work as a mage. Then it was to survive with Adrian. Then it was to get away with Adrian…” She frowned. “I kind of just went along with what felt right at the time. Because…” Her hands closed on the empty air. 

“...It felt right?” Horac finished for her. 

She stifled a laugh. “Not as profound as I could have hoped.” She shrugged. “Until I know my next move, I’ll just keep doing what I’ve been doing.” 

Taking the tv dinners and glasses, Horac cleared off the table. He managed to find an old phone charger Elle could use. Once she’d gotten it plugged in, she set up a makeshift bed on the couch. 

Horac shuffled off to his bedroom, where Elle could hear him talking on the phone, likely to his daughters. Despite it all, he had people who cared about him. 

She thought about Wrecks and Ramses. Now she could add the Boarman to the list of people she considered her friends. 

Staring at the shadows on the ceiling, Elle laced her fingers over her stomach. Closing her eyes, she settled in, pulling the blankets up to her chin and trying to snatch a bit of sleep before the morning. 

Next part here!

[lace-coffin]

HII!! Dude I wanna marry your writing like ?? 😍🥹 but could I possibly get a nsfw thing with a male reader x asa Emory, but the male reader refuses to do anything and just keeps messing a lot of stuff up and like causes a lot of trouble for asa and almost kills one of his bugs (on accident)? And they kind of just go and hide until Asa finally finds them and catches them for punishment ?

How would Asa Emory punish a bratty s/o for hiding from punishment? (Nsfw)

Asa Emory x Bratty!Male!reader

(Reader can be read as cis or trans/gnc!)

Requests are open!

(I typically try to get to requests in a few days to a week <3)

Thank you so much for the kind words! I really appreciate it and I hope u enjoy this! Mwah!

Tw for power dynamics/power exchange, spiders, sexual content, sub/dom, general asa emory stuff

You were really getting on Asa’s last nerve and that was even before today. He loved you, he did, cherished you even, you’re his special little pet, but man were you on thin ice recently.

Recently you seemed hellbent on causing as many issues as you can for asa, being incredibly stubborn about even the most basic orders, at this rate Asa swears he’s going to burst a blood vessel. He’d only asked you to clean up after yourself, dumbly he left you alone in the kitchen under the guise of making a quick snack (well not completely alone, the camera’s were always watching, easy for Asa flip up on his phone and check in on you)

Unsurprisingly Asa came back to a mess, it was probably naive on his part to even allow you to prepare food on your own with the way you’ve been acting up recently, but really?

“Think I messed up the instructions, my bad” you drawl lazily as your head is hung over the back of one of the dining room chairs. Behind you in the kitchenette area the microwave has been left wide open, the inside looking worse for ware and that’s being kind. Food is splattered and stuck to every surface inside the microwave from where it burst, the ‘food’ in question (calling this abomination “food” is generous) lays burnt and smoking, somehow still frozen on the inside and burnt on the outside.

“What the hell did you do?” Asa lets out a defeated sigh, pinching the bridge of his slightly hooked nose.“I’ll make you a snack ok? Just clean the mess first, pet.” You finally look over his way, eyes meeting his dark ones, challenging in a way you know will rile him up. “I don’t think I will..” you respond feigning nonchalance. In reality you can already practically feel the wave of excitement teeming under your skin, knowing how much trouble you’re going to be in.

It seems counterintuitive really, you’re here under your master and things go well if you behave for him yet you deliberately wind him up until he boils over and leaves you sore and breathless. You never were one to have conformist tastes you guess.

Asa clenches as unclenches his fists a few times before continuing. “Clean this up now. I’m not sure why you thought that was a request and not an order, maybe your stupid puppy brain can’t comprehend it. Clean it now and do it properly or come here so I can show you what happens when you’re being a brat. Regardless you’re cleaning it one way or another so you may aswell choose to be a good boy.” Asa tries to keep a level head, despite your best efforts to infuriate him.

The room hangs in silence again as you continue to stare him down, dumb bratty smile painted on your face, oh he’s going to hate this. You can’t wait.

Instead of gracing him with a response you bolt, not unlike his tarantulas when startled.

You almost can’t hear the pissed of rumble he lets out over the sound of your own laughter, skidding down the hallway and around corners. This becomes a lot less amusing as you crash into the ornate dark stained cabinet that houses the enclosure to your masters prized tarantula. You only have time to make a face of pure horror as the glass enclosure shatters against the floor.

Punishment now thrown to the back of your thoughts and the least of your worries you move slowly towards the tarantula as not to startle it worse. Poor bramble is now under a side table and disorientated thanks to you, skittering away under there in fear when the tank fell. (You defiantly named bramble after finding Asa hadn’t named him, appalled. Asa rolled his eyes but eventually started calling it the chosen name in time, he can’t say no to you.)

You slowly prompt bramble onto your hand, letting him plod his way onto you with his chubby legs. You frantically give him a look over, making sure nothing is broken or damaged, he seems to be in perfect health still, just a little shaken. You let out a deep sigh of relief and walk him over to one of the temporary hospital tanks, thinking it will be best for him to stay there until his own tank is replaced for now.

You turn from the tank and meet Asa’s stunned eyes, your not sure wether he’s angry or impressed at your quick thinking with bramble.

“Sorry…I’m sorry sir” you say quietly, upset that you put bramble in danger with your recklessness.

You whip around and sprint off down the haul again, not wanting to face the consequences of your actions so soon. You bunker down under the master bedrooms bed, not an amazing plan you know but it’s the first place your brain came up with in the moment.

The imposing figure trudges after you down the haul, shattered glass from the tank crunching under his heavy boots. He’s pretty sure he knows where you are. You’re an incredibly smart boy when you want to be, not particularly smart at hiding though unfortunately.

The door creaks open and you see your masters boots appear In front of the bed, you wince in anticipation. The yelling never comes.

“I’m not angry pet if that’s what you’re worried about. What happened with Bramble was an accident and you looked after him exceedingly well afterwards. However between that and the kitchen you aren’t getting out of this punishment. You may come out on your own or I will drag you, your choice.”

You think it over for a moment, you know what ever is going to happen once you come out is going to suck. Might as well go out with a bang right? “Get fucked”

“That’s what I guessed, such a pretty thing with such a foul mouth” he shakes his head.

Suddenly you let out an undignified scream as strong gloved hands rip you from under the bed by your leg. You’re slung over his broad shoulder and taken back to your room.

Asa stands you in the middle of the room and closes/locks the door, he turns back to you with a stern face. “Hands” he orders, moving behind you. holding out his palm expectantly. You give a little huff but extend your arms behind you. Asa grabs your wrists firmly and handcuffs them behind your back. tight enough to let the metal bite into you if you squirm too much but not enough to cause damage. Usually he’s a fan of intricate rope work in these situations but he doesn’t have the patience after your performance earlier. He gives a tug on the cuffs and enjoys the groan it pulls out of you.

Asa circles back around you like a vulture, waiting for you to be at your most vulnerable to strike, now face to face and forced to look into the deep inky eyes In front of you. A black nitrile gloved hand strokes over your hair gently. “See? You can be a good boy when you want to be” Asa gives a your cheek two soft patronising pats.

“Down.” He snaps his gloved fingers and points to the floor, this is a basic command you know off by heart, not that you intend on letting it be easy.

You stare Asa down for a few moments, he looks incredibly unimpressed and steely. Before you can even get a smart retort out of your mouth your hair is gripped roughly, your face pulled towards Asa’s. “If you know what’s good for you, you will do what you’re told” he sneers, you yelp in pain as you’re forced to your knees by your hair. “Much better”

Now you’re situated on the wooden floor he reaches to slip his belt from the loops, a dumb horny grin spread on your face. “Aww look at you puppy. you don’t even know what’s about to happen but you’re practically dumb just thinking about my cock aren’t you?” Asa removes the garments on his bottom half and sits on the edge of the bed, legs spread. “Come. You know what to do.”

The way you scramble between his legs is almost pathetic, so eager to get yourself attached to his cock anyway you can. Asa lets out a deep groan of content as you press a little kiss to the head, looking up at him through your lashes. “This is all your good for hm? Looking pretty on a dick?”

You giggle and continue, slowly taking him into your throat, just as your gag reflex starts to kick in he grabs the back of your head, slamming you down onto the last inch of his leaking cock. Your eyes go wide as you struggle, now unable to push him away for air because of the handcuffs. Asa looks down at you with a sick grin as he enjoys your struggling. “Did you forget this was a punishment, mutt? You think you’re going to cause me problems all day and just get to suck my cock as a reward? You must be dumber than I thought.” He chuckles above you.

Wrenching your head back he lets you up for air, loving how ruined you look already, face ruddy and eyes teary, excess saliva connecting to his dick in a string. “Don’t look at me like that, you knew this was coming slut.” You’re pulled back onto his dick until every last inch is so deep In your throat you’re practically breathing it. Asa lets you adjust for a moment before guiding you back and forth, starting off slow as you get used to it but working up to a brutal pace, balls slapping your chin with a lewd sound. After a few minutes of rough treatment Asa finishes, not bothering to alert you first, you don’t deserve it right now.

Asa’s gloved hands press into your scalp as you take all his seed down your throat, not wanting to waste a drop. Once you think you’ve gotten it all you pop off his cock with an exhausted glazed over look. Your master gazes over you fondly, holding your chin with his thumb. “Open up, let me make sure you didn’t waste any” Asa lets out a pleased noise after inspecting your mouth. “Good boy”

You practically vibrate with need, it’s not lost on Asa the way you’ve been wiggling and clenching your thighs together as you gagged on his dick, he knows how impatient you are and how bad he makes you need it. With a final look that says “don’t disappoint me” Asa frees your hands, rubbing over the red marks left behind from your struggle.

“Want me to touch you, puppy?” You nod eagerly, palming yourself over your jeans. “Ah” Asa swats your hand away. “No touching unless I say so, don’t forgot your place. Now, undress and close your eyes for me.” You send him a questioning look but do as requested, throwing your clothes aside for now and wrenching your eyes shut.

You hiss in relief as he finally touches you, wetness already pooling from your need, keening into his hand, loving the attention after waiting so long. You hear something clink and flinch a little, a toy maybe? You make a small noise of complaint as the cold metal touches you. Asa slaps your thigh in retaliation. “Be good” a beat passes as he finishes whatever he’s doing. You look down in suspense only to be instantly mortified. A chastity device sits mockingly around you. (Chastity belt if afab or cock cage if amab < 3 )

“But I- I was good i-“ Asa presses a warm hand to your mouth, cutting your sentence short. “This is the rest of your punishment, did you really think I would get you off after how you’ve been acting?”

Asa grips your chin again, tearing your glare away from the toy you’re essentially trying to burn a hole in with your mind. “What do we say?” He asks sternly, rubbing a hand between your caged legs and making you whine. “Thank you sir”

“You’re welcome, cricket”

[awkwardandeccentric]

I’ve written before about how I think Stolas self-sabotages and I think another example is lending the grimoire to Blitzø.

Tw for suicidal ideation, abusive familial dynamics.

Think about it. He could get in a lot of trouble by letting an imp handle his grimoire. Yet, here he is lending it out to not only an imp, but that imp’s employees and hellhound child. They’re not even subtle about it! It’s in the commercial. It’s in the Sinstagram photos. Octavia knows where to find the grimoire when she sneaks out. Blitzø told Striker on their first meeting. No one is taking keeping this quiet seriously, not even the guy who could get seriously fucked by this getting out.

My guess? He wants it to get out.

A lot of us with brains who are telling us to kill ourselves self-sabotage. We isolate from friends. We pick up terrible coping mechanisms. We intentionally put ourselves in triggering situations. I think what Stolas is subconsciously, as I don’t think he’s actually consciously thinking any of this, is that he wants an out of his very abusive dynamic but doesn’t want to be the one to pack up and leave.

I can’t blame him for that. My dad left two abusive marriages and I saw the toll it took on him. He aged decades in a matter of months. He lost most of his friends. He had to start over in a brand new state. He doesn’t work in his chosen field anymore and he doesn’t particularly like the job he has. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

I think Stolas wants the choice to live or die to be made for him. Leaving an abusive marriage is terrifying. Leaving an abusive marriage in an abusive cult is even worse. He has no money-making prospects, no home outside the one he inherited from his father, no support system, he burnt the one bridge he had, and he may never see Octavia again. But what if the decision was made for him? What if the higher ups found out about their little secret and made the decision to kill him? He never has to tell anyone anything about what Paimon did to him, or Stella, or anyone else. He doesn’t have to own the fact that he was abused for nearly 40 years and without a precautionary heir being quite literally forced upon him, he could have had a life he actually enjoyed.

I think his survival instincts are kicking in just enough that he’s not personally broadcasting any of this (he gets pissed in Truthseekers about Blitzø inadvertently revealing the existence of demons) but he also wants to be caught just enough that he’s not really drilling in the importance of keeping this quiet, or what could actually happen to him if the big bosses find out (and granted, we don’t actually know what’ll happen to him. He might be killed, or exiled, or become a sexual sacrifice. We won’t know for a while. But he does).

Or he did feel that way. But then he took his life back, thanks partially to Blitzø for giving him just a taste of what fighting for what he wants can bring him. Except now it’s too late. After fighting tooth and nail for the ability to make a single choice for the first time, it will be made for him.

Be careful what you wish for.

[bonefall]

How close was Bramblestar to accepting Hawkfrost's deal in this? Since isn't it Mothwing who intervenes and it's only then when Bramblestar makes his choice to fight Hawkfrost.

He was considering it. But not much differently from canon. If left to his own devices, he would have hesitated for about the same amount of time before deciding killing his leader was too far.

See like... BB!Bramblestar means a lot to me in that he didn't have to become what he did. He will lie and let others take the fall for him, blame everyone else for his own faults, but he MINDS being a bad person. He's capable of love and kindness, occasionally says something very wise, and can display compassion...

But he doesn't. He might not cross a threshold into killing someone for power, but he'll still abuse and control his mate. He'll disown his kids on learning he was lied to, and is too proud to apologize and the bridge becomes too burnt to even try. He CAN be better, GOD he's SO close to it.

But he never does. And... you can't do anything about that.

But in THAT moment, it matters. He hesitates, but still jumps to Firestar's defense. Mothwing moved quicker, and he's ashamed of that.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for not letting an autistic kid join my group?

Okaayy this requires a LOT of backstory so bear with me on this.

I am 16F and the kid in question is 16M. I shall call him Tyler. I've known Tyler for like 3 years, never really been friends with him but he has been in my classes many times. Tyler is very blatantly autistic, which means it's very easy for people to pick on him. Other kids will be dicks to him and rile him up because they think it's funny. I am also nd but am quite good at masking so I don't get picked on but I am still a loner. Y'know the stereotypical quiet kid. Last detail to note about Tyler, he never does any of the classwork. Every time I have been in class with him he has just watched youtube on his laptop and will not do the work unless a teacher forces him to. This is important to note for my first major encounter with Tyler when I was 13.

There was a group project and everyone had to pick a partner to do a presentation, standard school stuff you get the gist. Me and Tyler ended up being the last ones left so we got paired together. The problem was that he did not pull his own weight. I had to sit with him and slowly walk him through the stuff we had to do for the project. Then I told him I would do X part of the project and he would do Y part of the project. He agreed and I went to work on it. The next day I asked if he had done anything, he hadn't. I sympathized with this because I also have executive dysfunction and very much struggle with completing things so I told him it was fine, he just had to work on it today and to send it to me once he was done. So I got home and waited for him to send me his part of the project but of course, it never came. So I ended up having to do literally EVERYTHING myself at the last minute. I went to the computer room to finish it at break time and lo and behold who do I see but Tyler in the computer room watching youtube. I gave him a firm telling off because I was hella pissed that while I was stressing out trying to do a group project by myself he was doing fuck all. He obviously felt bad but I was still rather pissed. So on the day of the presentation I did something admittedly very petty in that I forced him to do his part in the presentation despite him never seeing the presentation before. So he obviously struggled a lot. But that was that and I was quite certain I didn't want to work with him again. Flash forwards a bit, he tries to sit with me. I don't want to be an ass so I let him. The thing is that he was completely clueless about all the work so I ended up having to be like a surrogate teacher, walking him through everything. Again. The thing is, I couldn't get my own work done if I was stuck being Tyler's tutor. I was like "Fuck this. I'm not his teacher! I'm not even getting paid for this!!" So I started actively avoiding sitting with him so I could actually get shit done and he seemed to get the hint.

Now, to the present. He happens to be in the same class as me and asked if he could be in my group and I ignored him. I felt bad about it but I did not want to be handholding this kid. He seems to be actively trying to get my attention and trying to interact with me but I am just not interested. Especially since he seems to think that doing things like flicking water at me or slamming doors in my face is a good way to get my attention. I've tried to make it very clear I don't like this behaviour but he keeps doing it. In the most recent incident he randomly poked my back when I was crouching down to pick something up. I really hate being touched so I snapped at him but I feel guilty about it now. I feel like I could've handled it better because he clearly doesn't pick up emotional cues very well. And clearly he's just lonely, which I get but I feel he burnt this bridge a while ago and is just blasting the remains with a flamethrower.

So tumblr, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[deathlooksgoodonyou-if]

AAAAAAAHHH!!! Just found your If and I can already say that I can feel myself bitting at the bars of my cell, this is SO GOOD!

I'm already obsessed about so many different parts of this story and the demo hasn't even come out yet!! So I'm going to do what my little heart and messed up brain can and word vomit about my little fucked up MC!

So, you said they had a rough upbringing and that their situationship with Jules was also not healthy, so I did the sane thing and started projecting on them!

My little guy, my baby boy Kyrin, is absolutely not coping well and he mostly decides that any mean thoughts or emotions that surface are nothing important and immediately bottles them up for another day, month, year. They will never let anyone see under their mask because, well, why would anyone need to know? They like this version of him, so no matter how many things he has to say or thinks, they won't ever see the light of day.

And he does his best to seem like a well adjusted member of society, he even makes some friends (which to him is an epic win!!), and then he meets Jules.

And sadly, for everyone involved, it seems they match each other's freak.

Kyrin and Jules share something in common. Love is strange and scary for them, never having felt this strongly about anyone before, they have no idea how to handle it.

Kyrin, completely fumbling this whole new human experience, loves too hard and too bright. He wants Jules to like them, to spend time with them, to get any shred of attention from them as he can. And he doesn't even understand why.

Jules, of course also doesn't understand this love thing, and is in result scared by it.

The obvious happens.

It's when Jules begins dating another person that Kyrin's mask breaks. Years of anger, grief and a thousand other things finally breaking the camel's back.

Things get messy. Kyrin is angry. Jules is angry. They can't find a middle ground. Bridges are burnt.

And then Jules is murdered.

Kyrin is left alone, mask broken and a whole lot of emotions to sort through for the first time in a long time.

At this point, in the present, Kyrin is less of a wet cat and more of a feral stray kitten. Scared, angry and functioning entirely on his fight or flight mode.

With everything going on, he will absolutely choose to close himself off from others, feeling terrified of being so vulnerable and with so much in his plate that putting on his mask is near impossible at this point.

I have ideas of what I want his story to be, no pressure to add anything of this of course.

His main arc would be obviously getting his shit together and finally figuring himself out as a person but that's going to be pushed far back on the line of things to care about with the whole murderer on the lose and the incarnation of his grief, loss and self hate coming to haunt him.

For romance, it'll be a real hit or miss as the only one I can see him even willingly getting close is Mia and that is mostly because of the whole 'She will hurt you' part. After Jules passing, Kyrin absolutely doesn't believe they can or should be loved and that train of thought will only be reinforced by the new mean Jules in his head.

Of course, this is a big maybe because if that sanity stat does what is says, and by god I hope it does (little guy so fucked up that he is taking control of the narrative!!), then Kyrin will either kill someone or himself before the story ends. I want that stat as low as it can go!

Either way, this is going to be a really messy ride with an even messier ending and I can't wait for it!

kyrin is such a gorgeous, gorgeous name! He gives off major "I confuse instinct for desire. Isn't bite also touch?" vibes. 😭😭

I love it when people talk about their MCs in my asks. It helps me understand what y'all want and write them better. 🫶

[zarkishere]

Pls.. Mire on the callander boys.. Pls.. I love the way u characferize them i NEEEDDDD more headcanons feom you🤩

HELLLL YEAHGJHFH YUIPPEEEE I LOVE YAPPING ABOUT THEM !!!

Mac nd Davey hcs time LETSGOOOO

i'm not sure i ever explained their scars in my character sheet soo...i'll explain those first :3 _______

- Neck -

back then, my hc was that they joined the gang because they were nearly hanged, but Dutch swooped in at the last second to save them, and ever since that they clung to him like sad puppies. I’ve changed my mind about how they joined a lot, I don't really have a real 'this is how they joined the gang' thought in my head rn sooo...i guess now I just think that scar comes from 'they're lil bitches, they've dodged hanging by a thread before for SURE' - Arms -

Davey has a scar on his left forearm that I just labeled 'burnt' which is kind of funny to me...he got it trying to sneak food from the pot too early and got spooked when someone called for him. He jerked his arm away and YEOCH!! dumb dumb idiot.

Mac's scar is from an explosion...dumb dumb idiot x2 - Legs -

Bro (Davey) got plenty of scars on his knees from falling as a kid. I imagine they were really energetic and probably went fishing along the rocky shore, leading to quite a few owchies.

The scar near his knee is from a gunshot wound; someone tried to take him out and shot him there to keep him from escaping (he's stupid and ran out of bullets). Luckily, Mac saved him before he could take a bullet to the forehead <3

then...the matching beartrap scars....they're just stupid that's all HASJHASJHAS <3 - Stomach -

Mac has a few on his lower stomach, cause uhmmm…someone really wanted him dead !! stabbed him a few times. it a miracle he lived, really.

__________ Other HC'S : -------------

Their parents weren't particularly abusive (in fact, they were quite lovely), but they were 1800's nuclear family, so you can imagine Mac and Davey got a good few good smacks every now and then. It's no surprise Mac has anger issues, given he's the older brother. He got it worse than Davey. Davey does not remember ever getting hit, or anything bad happening in fact, and since Mac refuses to tell him anything bad from their childhood, Davey isn't consciously aware about it. His unconscious knows, though. not the kind of thing you'd forget. Whenever Dutch raises his voice, the brothers can feel themselves grow tense..

Davey really loved his mom, like a lot. Not a momma's boy, but she always patched him up (trouble child lol) and spent time with him whenever Mac left with their dad... He's scared of thinking of her, 'cause what if he's forgotten her face? her voice?

Mac (used to) love his dad! spent all the time he could with him, and since Mr.Callander REALLY wanted Mac to be just like him, he taught Mac everything he could. What a shame that Mac became such a disappointment, no? He looks at himself in the mirror and sees his father, telling him he'd better keep himself in line.

Mac and Davey really liked fishing--not with a fishing pole, but with nets! they used to do so as kids, this tiny river that only really had smaller fish...

Davey really likes getting the bridge of his nose caressed. He NEVER told anyone, since it's really embarrassing, but...Mac knows. Of course he does, he's the one that figured it out. Davey was just a little baby when he did. Cute little baby David Callander sleeping on a rug, Mac sitting right next to him softly caressing his nose with the pad of his index finger.... Davey doesn't remember that, but Mac could swear it happened just yesterday.

They lived on the streets since their parents died, robbing and fighting folk until they were nearing their 26th birthday, and they managed to escape Scotland (they were already very wanted men). They sneaked on a boat, unaware of where it was headed, just hoping it'd be better than their old home... Mac still grieves their parents old house, even if they never went near it again after they died.

Since the brothers lived on economy of war pretty much their whole life, they're REALLY cheap about most things...they're the kind of people to check out 10 shops just to see which one's the cheapest. That is if they choose to pay at all...

_____

Alright that's all HASHJKASHJAS i have more but i thought this was long enough :) i love them so much yippeee I MISS THEMMM NOOOOOO (blows up)

[synintheraven]

✵pairing: sihtric kjartansson x fem!reader

✵summary: the journey to Tamworth/Mercia begins, Sihtric and reader explore the land as he becomes slightly more approachable.

✵tw: mentions of violence/kills, nothing really :p

✵word count: 1,3k

characters info | part one | part two

We left at first light, riding slowly as we followed the river and the sun emerged from the sea. The green, muddy waters of East Anglia glimmered with the weak light of the morning and the wind brushed the reeds growing in our way, promising a bright day.

But we were soon to leave East Anglia and cross into Mercian territory. Where the small islands covered by the changing tide would be replaced by lush hills and large farm lands; for Grantebridge’s territory was vast and covered by orange-coloured trees, with a handful of churches and poorly fortified villages scattered throughout its higher ground.

—Right there, where the hills are greener, that’s Mercia. —He explained, riding by my side as he pointed his finger towards the Monastery’s tower, hiding behind trees in the far distance. —And we’re to cross it to its northern border, to the Ragnarsson’s camp in Tamworth.

I sensed Sihtric’s mood was different that autumnal morning. Seeing as the fresh wind blew on his face and swept the fur cape over his shoulders, making sure to keep pace with my horse as he stayed close to me. —Have you been there before? —I asked.

—We sailed to Mercia when we heard Danes were attacking King Burgred’s fortress, but we didn’t stay long enough to participate in their war. —He explained with a frown, probably remembering that journey.

—Why not? —I said as his eyes searched for mine, puzzled. —You could’ve taken a lot of plunder from a Mercian King.

—It wasn’t our fight. —He took a deep breath then let out a sigh. —We came here to escape Harald’s ambition and Halfdan’s pointless appetite for war, not to terrorize Saxon kings.

—What are you fighting for then, Dane? —I emphasised the word Dane, aware of how unlikely it was for a Dane to follow Norse lords blindly.

Sihtric took a few moments to answer, watching the heron birds resting along the river’s edge and the smoke filling the sky over the nearby villages, his hands holding the reins tightly as the sun reflected on his silver rings. —I’m fighting for Yggr, and for a spot of land where we can make our own lives. —He said with a hint of doubt in his calming voice, thoughtful.

—So, are you really going to follow Yggr as your Jarl forevermore? Or are you to set sail to unclaimed lands and become a Lord yourself?

—I will follow him, —He paused to look at me again, ever proud of his own words. —but should the Nornir decide I am to be a Lord, then so it will be. 

We had reached a crumbling round tower, surrounded by dried trees and yellow grass. Yet it wasn’t the work of Roman giants, its muddy bricks suggesting the damp weather and time had destroyed the structure way before the Romans arrived.

The fog seemed to have lifted from our position, revealing distant cottages and the small church among reeds that sat on Mercian land. It was a reminder that we had quite a long way to go still, but in two days’ time we would reach Tamworth and join the brothers.

Our mission was to gain their trust and discover their plans for Britain, as we hoped to ensure they would leave East Anglia at peace for Yggr’s small clan; though as long as Wessex riches remained clear of Danes, the Great Army would stay away from our camp.

I watched the old stone bridge crossing the river, the ravens circling above the remains of a burnt farm. Complete disaster taking over the land all the way to the west, to Alfred’s Kingdom. Imagining the green hills, ancient roman walls and clean docks, without a single Danish longship navigating its waters.   

And so I let out a sigh, aware that we would be forced to march against Wessex if we were to convince the sons of Ragnar of our shared ambition.

—What’s on your mind, Stavanger? —Sihtric interrupted, suddenly catching my attention as we crossed the river.

—Wessex. —I lied, still hoping to find the man who killed my family, feeling as if a hole carved itself through my chest as we spoke. —I heard its churches are full of gold and silver, yet no Dane has ever made it close enough to prove it.

—He’s the King, —he added with a smirk, looking away for a moment. —and he’s managed to keep our kin out of his land. You can’t do that without silver, and certainly can’t raise an army with nothing but empty words about Gods. —The tone in his voice had turned deeper as he explained, sensing the worry in his words.

—Have you killed many Saxons?

—Some, —he paused, probably feeling the unease in my voice as well. —but only when it was necessary.

It was the way of our people: to kill for food, shelter, livelihood and our families. But the Saxons saw a group of evil creatures killing anything and everything standing before them, ignoring that some of us weren’t after a hard, wooden throne.

Some of us were fleeing a mad king and others, like me, were only seeking the end of an old story, knowing no other feeling than that of resentment and vengeance.

We had reached a thin muddy road, following the way of the hill in between bushes and dried grass.

The land around us was deserted, with no more than a bunch of trees leading towards Theotford and a few foxes wandering around the yellowish hill. At the highest point, half covered by the fog, lay a marvellous stone structure. But, no longer beside the river, the view from higher ground revealed a long abandoned ruin, another one of the Roman’s great work.

Torn walls, broken columns and muddy tiles with curious patterns; a place once full with life, but now was home to old vases, smudged paintings on the walls and sculptures of Goddesses.

Yet despite the weather’s destruction, the place remained of magnificent beauty and calm, so we allowed the horses to rest as we explored the area.

It surprised me to realize no one had turned such a place into their home, seeing as the curved roof, made of bricks and stone, still protected one of the buildings against the weather.

—I’ve been here before. —Sihtric added as his eyes were fixated on one of the marble sculptures, running his fingers over the cold skin of its stone legs. —Yggr wanted to turn this place into our camp, but the river is quite far from here and we didn’t want to leave some of our crew behind to guard the ship.

—I’m sure you men would’ve enjoyed all these naked women painted on the walls, though many would’ve been easily distracted by them also. —I teased with a smile, making it obvious that I was talking about him too.

—I prefer women of flesh over these stone ladies. —He explained awkwardly, unable to hide his smile while he looked at me. —Yggr couldn’t keep his hands off one of the tall angels near the entrance, said he regretted it wasn’t a real woman. —he raised an eyebrow as he beckoned towards the tall arch, which I guessed was the entrance of the Roman ruin.

—Angels? —I asked intrigued, though in truth I was trying not to let out a laugh, his curved lips giving away that our Jarl probably wasn’t the only one touching the poor statue.

—They have wings like birds and the Christians think they’re holy creatures, apparently. —He explained dismissively.

—So you and Yggr desecrated their divine creature, then.

—No, I didn’t! —He chuckled with a fake frown, taking distance from the statue before us. —I accidentally broke one of its fingers, but Yggr did the inappropriate touching.

—I hope you remain very appropriate with me, then. —I teased jokingly, watching as his broad smile turned into a smirk and his face turned red.

Bonus facts (again)

Grantebridge/scire: modern Cambridge, both Sihtric and reader have to ride through most of the shire to cross into Oxenefordscire (modern Oxford) and later into Ledecestrescire (modern Leicester), where Tamworth is.

[vivienne-writes]

Wrong Flask

Summary: Self-explanatory title, Garreth was supposed to hand you a flask of his Fizzing Whizzbeer, but accidentally gave you firewhisky instead. No smut, just cute fluff.

“One should always be drunk. That's all that matters...But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.” 

― Charles Baudelaire, Paris Spleen

It was a quiet day at Hogwarts, with the sun breaking through the last remnants of a dying storm. The breeze held the first delectable hints of summer as the air grew warmer. After having been cooped up in the castle all week, its residents were eager to laze around the grounds, visit Hogsmeade, or catch a flight on their broomsticks, if only to feel the sun dance on their skin. Consequently, the castle was mostly empty, save for those who prefer the rare solace of a vacant dormitory. Garreth Weasley was one of them. 

He could finally work on his Fizzing Whizzbeer in peace without Leander or Natty constantly chastising him over his shoulder. The cauldron bubbled furiously beside an open window while Garreth carefully fanned the red smoke. He didn't want to mess with the flame, but the last time he let his concoctions fester, all of Gryffindor Tower ended up reeking of spoiled milk and burnt hair. None of his fellow housemates allowed him to sleep there for a week. 

But his potion was just about done. All it needed was the slightest pinch of ground billywig stings. Garreth's hand shook as he held it over the potion's curdling surface. Too much or too little, and months of hard work would be sent down the drain. He rubbed his thumb and forefinger the slightest bit, letting the faintest dust of powder escape his touch, and – POOF!

The potion instantly turned from burgundy red to fuchsia pink, releasing a small sparkling cloud of the same hue. He’d done it! He had finally done it! Garreth did a little celebratory jig, his foot bumping the table and nearly sending the cauldron a-tumbling. 

“She needs to see this,” he muttered excitedly, scooping a generous portion into a silver flask. 

“GARRETH WEASLEY!” 

With a surprised jolt, Garreth quickly emptied his cauldron and vanished any remaining evidence with a mad flourish of his wand before whirling around to come face to face with his aunt. 

“Good morning, Aunt Matilda,” he grinned sheepishly, hoping with all hope she didn’t see him stow the silver flask in his pocket. 

Professor Weasley sighed. “It’s late afternoon already, but I suppose you wouldn’t have noticed. What hare-brained scheme are you up to now, Garreth?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly, his throat bobbing as he swallowed guiltily. 

Rubbing the bridge between her brows, Professor Weasley had half a mind to inquire further. But if the dormitory didn’t smell, and nothing was on fire this time. Perhaps she could let it go. Just this once. “Go join your friends, child, before I change my mind.”

"Yes, ma'am." She didn't need to tell him twice. He was gone before she looked up. By the time Garreth found his fellow fifth years, he had forgotten entirely about the flask in his pocket. 

“Crikey, Weasley’s actually left the castle!” Nellie gaped from where she lounged by the lake, the shade of the tree overhead dancing around her face. 

“Someone pinch me,” smirked Duncan. “Ow! I didn’t mean it literally, Nellie!”

“Where’s Lee?” asked Garreth, ignoring their jabs as he settled on the grass next to Natty. 

She turned the page of her book and, without looking up, replied, "Off on some stupid dare with Sallow and Clopton.” 

“It’s not stupid,” Leander said as he approached, flanked by Sebastian and Everett. Natty looked them up and down, ready to retort, but decided against it. She returned to her book with a dismissive roll of her eyes. 

“What did you lot have him do this time?” asked Garreth. 

Sebastian crossed his arms and leaned against the tree. “We simply tested Prewett’s bravery the old-fashioned way. Steal liquor from the Hog’s head. And wouldn’t you know it? The bastard actually did it.” 

Leander frowned. “You can have a little more faith in me, you know.”

“Did you swipe enough?” The devilish grin on Everett’s face grew slightly. He caught the silver flask before it hit his face. “Yes!”

“Here’s one for you, Gaz.”

Another silver flask landed on Garreth’s lap, and in a blink of an eye, he was back on his feet. The others stared at him in surprise. 

“Shit! I almost forgot!" And just like that, he raced back towards the castle, disappearing in a mad rush of black robes and red hair

“He could’ve at least given it back,” Sebastian muttered with a shake of his head. 

When he found you, Garreth was panting and out of breath. Curse the founders. The astronomy tower didn’t need so many steps! His footsteps were heavy on the wooden staircase, alerting you and Amit to his presence. 

“Garreth?” you asked worriedly. 

He rested his palms on his knees, his lungs gasping for air. “I’ve…finished…it,” he wheezed, fishing out a silver flask from his robes. 

Amit grimaced. “Not again.” He scrolled up his star chart and collected his ink and quill. “We can finish this another time. But I’d rather not be here for this.” Your quizzical eyes followed him as he darted around Garreth and made his swift escape.  

All the better for Garreth. If he was being honest, he enjoyed your company. Alone. He held out the flask invitingly. “It’s my Fizzing Whizzbeer. I promised you’d be the first to try.”

You opened the flask and sniffed it gingerly. It smelled… spicy. “Is it safe?” you glanced up cautiously, giving the flask a tentative swirl. 

Garreth nodded enthusiastically. “Chug it!”

“Well, if you say so…” With a deep breath, you brought the flask to your lips and threw your head back, downing the beverage in one go. Gulp after gulp, it felt like liquid flame setting your body aglow with spicy, smooth warmth. It tasted nothing like the candy that inspired it. But whatever this was, it tasted delicious. Perhaps an acquired taste, but delicious, nonetheless. 

“Well?” Garreth asked, waiting for the levitating to occur. “How is it?”

You blinked. The room began to spin, and you threw a hand out to steady yourself. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. But with your senses dulled, there was no way for you to tell. You just felt funny and warm all over. 

“It feels g-good,” you hiccupped, clutching Garreth’s robes before stumbling into him. 

“Oh no,” his heart sank. “This wasn’t supposed to happen…”

He grabbed the flask from your hand and brought it to his nose. Firewhisky. He accidentally gave you the wrong flask. If his aunt found out, he'd never hear the end of it. Thankfully, she never ventured up this far. And if she did, he could hear her incoming footsteps. 

"I should get you some water," he made to leave, but when he released you, one of your legs buckled. You grabbed onto the nearby steel railing for support, and Garreth cursed. He gently took hold of one of your elbows, his other hand flying to your hip to ease you clumsily onto the floor. "On second thought, let's sit here for a bit, shall we?" 

With a nod, you rested your forehead against the cool railing, savoring the feel of the spring wind that whipped your hair. It felt delicious against the rapidly growing heat of your body. Garreth looked you up and down worriedly with a gnaw of his inner cheek. And when he took in your flushed skin, your closed eyes as you enjoyed the dying sunlight and snappy wind on your serene face, guilt raced through his being before settling heavily on his shoulders. 

With a frustrated sigh, he ran his hands down his face. “What is wrong with me?” he muttered. At the sound of soft chuckling, Garreth looked up to find your eyes fixed on his. 

“You want to know what’s wrong with you, Garreth?” you smiled lazily. “We can start with how careless you can be sometimes.”

“Um… thanks?”

Your smile grew wider. "You're smart but easily distracted. Once an idea gets into your head, you never let it go. Not until you've tried it. It's quite adorable, really."

Exactly how strong was that firewhisky? You were usually less chatty. You've never looked at him this way before, either. Hungry. As if you desired him somehow. His palms began to sweat, and Garreth averted his eyes, fixing them onto the pink and purple skies as the sun’s descent welcomed the twinkle of stars. The last of its beams speared through mountain peaks, bathing everything in the valley with its fiery glow. 

“You’ve got the most beautiful eyes,” you spoke softly now, in a hushed tone that seemed more reverent than shy. “Has anyone ever told you that? Like rustling meadows in the summer.”

At that, Garreth couldn’t stop the bark of laughter. “No. Never,” he replied. “I’m beginning to think you’re flirting with me.”

He meant it as a joke to brush off your comments. But he didn't expect you to retort with, "Have been for a while now, but thanks for noticing." His heart somersaulted before pounding relentlessly against his chest. Did this mean…? "Yes, I've liked you for some time now," you continued, sitting up to watch the sunset. "But you don't seem to like me back. Not in that way, at least. That's another thing wrong with you. You're so terribly dense."

A frown tugged at your lips as you swayed. It wasn't like you to be this honest. But something about that brew made you feel light. Carefree. As if nothing mattered in the world. You could say anything or do anything, and right now, you wanted to tell him how you feel. How you've felt since the day you laid eyes on him… even if he didn't like you back, you've said your piece, consequences be damned. Garreth’s silence should have worried you, but you found you didn’t care. Your nerves sang with that uplifting warmth, and nothing could bother you. Nothing could touch you. 

Until you felt a trembling hand splay over yours, a thumb timidly rubbing your knuckles. Your head snapped up to find Garreth looking pointedly away. But the neck and ears that peeked out from his wild hair had bloomed into a furious blush. And so very faintly, underneath the howling wind that whipped through the tower, you almost didn’t hear him when he said, “I like you too.”

You giggled, blushing furiously as your heart soared. You could’ve ripped it out your chest and chucked it off the tower, and it would’ve flown up with the streaming gale. High, high above the castle towers, into the clouds beyond. 

"I didn't catch that," you teased, soft peals of mirthful laughter escaping your lips as you brought a hand up to your mouth. "Could you repeat that?"

With a sidelong glance, Garreth huffed indignantly. “You heard what I said.”

You shook your head and scooted closer, resting a head on his shoulder. Dizzy from the drink, from the revelation he shared your affections, from his hand that never left yours. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave,” you pouted, batting your lashes at him coquettishly. 

But the pout of your lips pulled the entirety of Garreth’s focus. They were plump and tempting, mere inches away from his. Lips he had spent countless daydreams on, fantasizing the feel of it against his tongue, his teeth. The silence and tension lay thick and heavy, as heavy as the curtain of dusk as night drew ever closer. 

His voice strained but laced with want, cut through the silence as he said, "Earlier, you told me I never let an idea go, not until I've tried it." His throat bobbed as he cupped your face, your skin underneath his fingers tingling with excitement. "I… I want to try kissing you now. May I?"

He shouldn’t have asked. You were inebriated, your inhibitions broken down by the liquid fire churning in your body. But so was he. Drunk off the very scent and sight of you. Drunk off the magnificent eyes that threatened to devour him whole. And he’d let you. He’d let you have him any way you wished, any time you wanted. 

“Yes,” you whispered, leaning closer, his soft breath ghosting your lips as you closed your eyes. Finally, after all this time pining, wanting… you were so close to finally getting a taste…

“Hey Gaz, if you weren’t going to drink that firewhisky, Sallow wanted me to – oh my!” Leander gasped. 

And just like that, his interruption sobered you up like a bucket of ice-cold water. You turned away from Garreth with embarrassment and shame as he got on his feet to hurl the empty flask at Leander's head. 

"Get. Out." He hissed venomously, bristling with equal shades of embarrassment and frustration. His friend always had shit timing, but Garreth was so close! So frustratingly close. Now the moment was ruined. 

Leander stopped the flask in its path with his wand before shoving it inside his pocket. “Trust me, I won’t breathe a word,” he said before he tucked his tail and ran. 

With an exasperated sigh, Garreth pulled you up to your feet. “Let’s get you back. You need food and water.” 

Your heart sank. Did he… did he not want to kiss you anymore? Your downcast eyes fell on your shoes as you refused to look him in the eye until you felt a soft kiss on your temple. You looked up at him questioningly, taking in the furrow of his brows as he anxiously shifted his weight from one leg to the other. 

“I still want to kiss you,” he said, eyes darting to your lips. “But not when you’re drunk.”

“So when?” This was your chance, and you didn’t want to let it go. 

Garreth ran a nervous hand through his hair. "Let me court you the right way. Take you out to Hogsmeade. I do owe you for accidentally getting you drunk."

And with a bright smile, you said, “It’s a date!”

[lovelytayforce]

@playful-level4366 Hey sorry I didn't reply like normal but I knew this wouldn't fit down there, considering how long I thought about this question and how to word it. It's kind of a weird dynamic to explain because it's not just about Tai Lung because he's intrically linked to Shifu and Tigress as an abuser, and in a sense I don't think the fandom wants to go over that with him at all. They believe him to be a victim and nothing else. It's true he's a victim, trust me I agree with a lot of Tai fans on that aspect (Hell, I relate to his need to prove himself and also hating who he is, hoping some magical spell will change all our imperfections but I know it won't...) but also he's a terrible abuser to his own Father and Tigress. And that ruins a lot of their fluffy hcs of a soft family learning to come together because that's too realistic for the fandom perspective and view on him. God, I don't wanna be mean but it always seems like when I see discussions on the character its as if we see two very different sides of a burnt piece of toast and see two different types of images, one skewed more by the lighting than anything. Listen, this isn't me telling other Tai fans they can't have their soft hcs for him go ahead but remember you need to stop blaming other characters for who he is, he choose his path. A person even said I was "too harsh" on Tai Lung after explaining all the horrible things HE DECIDED TO DO, that's not harsh. That's the truth and no one wants to go over it because its uncomfortable and I get it to a point but you all also picked the most uncomfortable characters who mirror our very dreary reality when we close our laptops and see the imperfections of our loved ones and ourselves. Tai Lung is a personification of the favored son in many Kung Fu flicks of the past and even the present, how the Father uplifts them to the light of heaven themselves before they ultimately go too far and let them down whilst ignoring the daughter. aka Sexism in the fam. Neat. You latched onto the man that was not only neglected by his own father but the man who abused his father back, both physically and emotionally TWICE to gain what he wanted because he knew Shifu would never hurt him.

Like I had a whole Tai stan block me for daring to remember this scene of a father with a broken hip crawling to his son and mourning what he allowed him to become. Shifu could have died but he still loved that boy despite everything he did to him and what he would continue to do to him. Like if we wanted real redemption arcs of Tai Lung we would go over how he haunted Shifu's consciousness and led him to close himself off to his next child, Tigress, whom is always left out of the conversation cause no one wants to talk about the woman neglected and abused by her father and older brother. A popular fic even admitted to not even wanting to touch Shifu and Tigress' dynamic, do you see the problem here???? I know many of you may not know or even care but I write fanfic for this fandom focusing on that aspect of Tigress' character along with Shifu, its not always fun and I've probably stumbled and made mistakes but its a story worth telling. Because in the end, Tigress is still alive and so is Shifu! Tai Lung isn't he had his chance and ruined it. Most Tai redemption fics are easily consumable because they don't want to go over the unsavory aspects of Tai Lung's character; The fraud, the continued abuse of his own father because everything he does is to hurt Shifu personally so he can get what he wanted in the end. Po was just another piece to hurt him (Shifu) as stated on the bridge. No, in the end, they want to go over how Shifu hurt him as a child and try to lure Tigress to his side, despite the fact he belittled her when they first met. But you know, how else are we supposed to get hehe bickering siblings. Cause that's easier to consume than realizing she'd want nothing to do with him after hurting her friends and her father. There's just an overall lack of autonomy given to the characters that the movies relish in. The fandom is too scared to allow them to be themselves because pointing the finger at Oogway who allows people to grow at their own pace is easier than realizing; Tai lung and Shifu never listened to him. Like think of a person this week who did exactly what you told em to do? and did they do it? Probably not, people are fucking stubborn. Me, included. People love learning the hard way, that's just the truth! Even toddlers take a min to listen to one task! So, I wouldn't even call it whitewashing, it's this desire to ignore canon to support their own hcs because if they told his actual story all of their concepts would fall apart to the wayside to see, the only true victim in the end, was a woman. Tigress. No one wants to go over that, that's a lot of work, that's a touchy subject but it's why I love these characters, there so raw and horrible which makes their stories compelling enough to stand beside the likes of Seven Samurai. It's that good!! So, to end this all, no they don't. Even Traces of Spring which I still follow because I love the art falls into this safe way of going about telling his story and sidelining the character who mirrors who he could have been, Tigress. Because she's not that cool to them despite the fact she controls herself better than he does. And had the opportunity to be a hero as great as she was if he set aside his selfish, obsession, and toxic views. But you know he's hot to some people, so he's a good boy deep down.

Yup. Uh huh.