#i cross referenced many things to make sure this is her but let me know if im wrong

[fuckabledragonoftheday]

Today's fuckable dragon of the day is...

MIAO YING from TOTAL WAR: WARHAMMER 3

[double--hh]

I Think it's Gonna Rain When I Die

An unofficial addition to the Serial Killer! Francis AU!!

AU belongs to our beloved SK Francis Anon 🔪

TW: Referenced/Implied PTSD attacks, implied/referenced abuse, SK! Francis is an entire tw on his own, possessive behavior, execution via electrocution, Francis loves Nacha and tolerates Ana 👍

The police officer escorted her to the stand alone table, there sat her father… no, he lost the right to that title.

There sat Francis.

Clean shaven, sullen eyes, and ruffled and slightly matted hair. There were two guards against the back wall waiting for anything to happen. Anastacha bit the sides of her tongue as she made eye-contact with him, her expression unchanging as Francis recognized her.

He laughed a breath out and took a pained one back in, “Anastacha! My baby girl, oh look at you! You have your mother’s nose, her hair too, even-”

“Hello Francis.”

Francis pouts and cocks his head, “Mmm, that's no way to greet your father, young lady.”

She held back a snide remark and she sat down, placing her hands on the table folded, she felt her eyes twitch, “How's prison treating you? You look like shit.”

Francis threw an exaggerated hand to his chest, “Oh how hurtful, Annie-” He gets really close to the window separating them, “It's been… stifling, sweetie… 15 fucking years without my wife and child…” His eyes drone around behind her, “Where is Nacha, sweetie? Unless if you two are doin’ a one on o-”

“She didn't come. Nobody came. It's just me.”

She blinked slowly, no signs of emotion from her.

Francis furrowed his eyebrows, humming, “Hmm, surely she’s just sleeping out in the car, Annie, oh I just know your mother misses me like I miss her!” He giggles, tapping his fingers on the table, the chains making a scraping noise on the wood.

Anastacha snorts and cracks a smile, she pulls a box of cigarettes out and lights one up, “What’s so funny sweetie- ugh, y’know how bad those things are for a little girl like you, Anastacha.”

She takes a drag from it, “Y’think mom misses you, Francis? Yeah, whatever, buddy… I do understand where you're comin’ from, feeling like you're the only one who can protect your mother from your own father.”

She bites the end of her cigarette, feeling her heart strain, “You know how many sleepless nights I've gotten after you got arrested? Having to hear mom cry herself to sleep and have mental breakdowns all because of you, Francis, huh? Do you know how many times I've had to convince my own mother that it’s safe to be alone in a room with another man, hell, another person that isn't me?! Oh my god.”

She buries her face in her hands, scrunching her bangs, rubbing her eyes with her palms and mutters out, “You fucking ruined our lives.” Slamming her hands down on the table, Anastacha looks at him dead in the eyes, not a single glint of light sparkled in her eyes anymore, they’re bloodshot, her eyebags even more noticeable.

Francis frowns, crossing his arms, “Sweetie, you know damn well what kinda people are out there, I was tryna protect you and your mother from the scum of the Earth and those fucking man made pests. And what did youse do? Get me arrested after all I've done for your ungrateful ass and your darling, sweet mother.”

Anastacha rolls her eyes, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Francis let an annoyed breath out, but collected himself, “So… tell me what you’ve been up to, sweetie.” He flashes her a phony smile.

“I’m a Victim’s Advocate. I'm running my own organization, helping get folks out of domestic situations.” She tugs on her purple bow around her collar, “It's… very rewarding. Mom and dad are real proud of me.”

Francis’ eyebrows raised and his eyes widened, “G-good for you, sweetie, but- I-I’m right here and this is my first time hearing about this! Why'd you say-”

“Oh, yeah, mom’s seein’ someone.”

She watched as Francis slammed his hands on the table and stood up, the chair falling back, “WHO IS HE?! TELL ME. SHE KNOWS GODDAMN WELL THAT SHE BELONGS TO ME AND ME ONLY.” The two guards approached him and pulled him back, Anastacha leans back into her chair, taking a drag, blowing smoke from her nose.

Francis magages to calm down just enough so his vision isn't red anymore, but still feeling his blood boil and his mind race.

“Anastacha Lynn Mosses. You better fucking tell me who this bastard is.”

The guards were about to take him away till Anastacha spoke up and yelled, “Jeez Louise! Boys, calm down! Francis, pay attention.” She snaps her fingers to get his attention.

She reaches into her pocket for her wallet and opens it up, she smiles as she takes her driver's license and a polaroid out. She placed both items flush against the window, “Here 'go, Franny boy.”

Francis broke out of the guard's grasp and got his face close to the window.

He wished what he was looking at was a sick prank his little girl was pulling on her.

On the left was the polaroid, it was his Nacha in the foreground dressed in a long sleeved and puffy wedding gown. Behind her was Angus, in a dark purple tuxedo, holding her waist with one hand and his cane with the other. His vision focused in and out when he slowly rolled his eyes to Anastacha’s license and he felt his heart sink deeper than his first night alone without his family when he read her name.

Anastacha Lynn Mikaelys-Ciprianni.

His eyes pinholed as he looked dead at Anastacha, who was smiling as sweetly as ever.

That motherfucker stole his family from him.

Anastacha softly sighs as she puts her items away back into her wallet.

You could hear a pin drop how quiet it was… till Francis hit the plexiglass window, with his fists, cracking with all of his might. Anastacha jumped putting her hands up, watching the guards pull him back to his room while he was screaming obscenities to her, her mother, and especially her father. She cupped a hand next to her mouth and yelled, “So long, and thanks for all of the fish!”

She chuckles as the door slams shut, she can still hear the dead-beat yell, she turns to the officer that escorted her in, “I'm so sorry you folks had to deal with him for so long.” She reached into her pocket and gives him a stack of her business cards, “Leave ‘em by the sign in desk, y’never know what's going on with a person just by looking at ‘em.” He nodded and escorted her to the next room to watch Francis’ execution…

~

…It went as grizzly as one could go, Anastacha and her police escort were the only ones in the theater when it happened. He looked away while she watched it all go down, never faltering. Even when the vertigo of the electricity flashed her eyes never moved from Francis as she watched the remainder of life leave his body...

~

Afterwards, she left the prison, it was late at night, night life was just getting started, but she was not interested in the slightest. As she lit up another cigarette, she felt a drop of rain hit her nose.

She looked up and saw rain clouds moving in, “Mmm… peculiar… didn't know he had a soul…”

She continued walking until she found a vacant and illuminated phone booth. She entered before the rain started pouring down, the droplets making music on the glass walls. After putting 15 cents in, she slumped against the cooling wall, smoking, looking at people scuttling for cover, waiting for the caller to pick up.

“Ugh, hello? Ciprianni residents, Nacha speaking…”

“Hey mom, it's Anastacha.”

She heard her mother move excitedly on the other end, shaking Angus awake.

“Ana! Hija! How are you?! Are you okay? Did anything happen?! Do you need us to drive over?!”

Anastacha laughed, “No, mom! I'm good, I'm fine, it was very…” She looked for the words as she heard her father speak faint but very tired Italian in the background, “I feel like I closed a large chapter in my life and I’m… glad I went.”

She clears her throat as she hears Angus take the phone, “Ciao, sweetheart, I heard what you said, ‘m happy you decided to go, I’m so proud of you Anne… shit, Nacha, cara mia, what time is it?”

Anastacha huffs, checking her watch, “It's only midnight-thirty, dad!”

Angus groans as both Nacha and Anastacha giggles, “Alright, alright, I’ll let the oldies sleep, I just wanted to let y'all know that I'm outta there and I'm doing good.”

“That's great, hija, you go out and enjoy the night! Don't drink too much!”

“Yes, and remember to aim for the throat and ears if you can! And if you brought your pistol or brass knuckles even better!”

Anastacha heard her mom smack him on the shoulder and he laughed, “Ciao, Anna, you be safe and take care of yourself, mom and I love you-”

Nacha yoinked the phone, “Love you hija! Please come and visit us soon! We always have the guest room open for you!”

Anastacha puts her cigarette out with her dress shoes and smiles, “I love you guys too, when this next case is cleared up I’ll drive over to see y'all before you guys move again, good night!”

They both wish her goodnight and she hangs up. She unlatches the phone booth and exits, the rain is now a drizzle.

Sighing, she decided to take her folks advice and enjoys the evening to the fullest, starting her a new chapter in her life.

~

[poledancingdinos]

A Chip Off The Old Block

Word count: 6636

Summary: Parker Syverson and his friends have planned what is supposed to be an unforgettable weekend in New York City to celebrate their high school graduation and their first steps into adulthood. Unfortunately for Parker, the universe seems to have planned a cruel reminder to be careful what you wish for.

Warnings: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Abuse of Authority, Hospitalization, Probable Medical and Police Inaccuracies, Implied/Referenced Sex, Past Violence, Past Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Wrongful Accusations

A/N: This is a sort of spin-off story to You've Got Me Hooked featuring Sy and Riley's son Parker. For the most part, this is original fiction except for the Sy cameo. I watch way too many police and medical drams so please forgive the major inaccuracies.

You've Got Me Hooked - Masterlist

Masterlist

“I don’t like it,” Sy grumbled as he handed Riley a large frying pan.

“So you’ve said,” she answered, drying the clean pan with a dish towel.

Less than thirty seconds went by before he spoke again. “I don’t fuckin’ like it, Ri.”

“I know. But he’s eighteen and legally an adult. ‘Not liking it’ is not a good enough reason to force him to stay home instead of going on a weekend trip with his friends.”

“Exactly, he’s eighteen.” Sy pulled the stopper out of the bottom of the sink, letting the soapy water drain with a whir as he began putting away the pile of clean dishes. “What the hell is there for an eighteen-year-old to do in New York other than get himself in trouble?” Sy paused, pointing a plastic spatula at Riley. “He’s not goin’ to fuckin’ art museums, I can tell ya that.”

Had their nicely renovated kitchen not had soft closing cabinets, Riley was sure each door would have been slamming as he worked.

“You know why he’s going. They have tickets to a show at Madison Square Garden.”

Sy scoffed, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, and he’s not gonna do any other stupid shit on his first weekend of freedom.”

Riley bit her lips, holding back a giggle. She was pretty sure he didn’t realize that he was pouting like a toddler and she was not going to make things worse by pointing it out. Even if she found it terribly cute coming from her big beefy husband.

Draping the towel over the handle of the stove, Riley stepped into Sy’s space and clasped her hands around his neck. His arms automatically found their way around her waist, holding her against him as he met her gaze.

“It hurts me too, you know. Seeing our boy all grown up. But he’s going to college in the fall, we gotta let him go sooner or later.”

“I vote later.”

Riley gave Sy a fond smile, raking her fingers through the greying hair at his nape and pulling him down for a soft kiss. Her attempt at distraction was interrupted by a voice calling her name from the top of the stairs.

“Mama! What happened to the laundry I put in the dryer?”

“Legally an adult but he’s still askin’ his mama where to find clean underwear,” Sy muttered under his breath.

Riley pinched Sy’s side, escaping his hold to go retrieve the laundry she’d been folding up in their bedroom.

When Sy had mentioned to Jared—read ranted—that Parker was going off to New York unsupervised, Jared had suggested none too subtly that he and Riley should take the weekend to catch up on some adult fun of their own. He’d originally flipped Jared off and told him they didn’t have any catching up to do but he was beginning to think maybe his best friend knew from experience that staying distracted was the best way to survive the weekend without worrying himself into a heart attack.

Following the flow of the crowds, Parker and Sadie made their way through the stadium corridors. Their friends had been practically vibrating with excitement in the hotel room and had left first with the promise that the couple would be right behind them but one thing had led to another and they arrived only in time for the first act rather than the opening of the doors.

“Parker! Have a beer man.”

When they reached the others, a plastic cup was extended towards Parker but he didn’t take it.

“Na, I’m good. Let’s go inside.”

There were security guards everywhere and though they likely had better things to worry about than verify that the concession workers had checked everyone’s ID, Parker was not inclined to risk getting kicked out for what looked like warm, flat beer.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be a pussy.”

“If not needin’ beer to have fun makes me a pussy then I’ll accept the title any day.”

Parker put his arm around his girlfriend, pulling her closer into his side. He didn’t like being called a small town boy but he sure felt like one at that moment. His father had been taking him to football games since he was a kid but somehow it felt different when the average age of the crowd seemed to have been slashed in half. The show hadn’t even started and people were already stumbling around.

“I’ll take it.”

Snatching the cup, Sadie brought it to her lips and chugged.

“Woah, are ya sure you should be doin’ that?” Parker asked but made no move to physically stop her.

“We don’t have time to sit and chat,” she answered, tossing the empty cup in a nearby trash can. “We need to get out there before the floor is completely full and we’re stuck at the back.”

After pushing their way closer to the front, they spent the rest of the night singing and dancing along with the music. The girls made friends with a group of locals who invited them all to an afterparty at a nearby hotel. Apparently the hotel was owned by one of their father’s and they had access to an entire suite.

Once again, Parker felt out of his depth. Only people in movies had parents who owned entire hotel chains and allowed their kids to throw parties in penthouse suites. Right?

Wrong.

As it turned out, The Suite Life was indeed a reality for some. He’d googled it on the way over. The suite was five-thousand square feet, had eighteen foot windows and a damn gym but only three beds. What was the point of such a big place if it couldn’t host more than six people? Flex how rich you were to as many temporary guests as possible apparently.

The private elevator to the suite opened to reveal that the after party was already in full swing.

“Oh. My. God.”

“This place is amazing! Holy shiet!”

Sadie dragged Parker out into the throng of people, the others following close behind.

“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen. If you’re looking for something stronger, I’d check the gym. That’s usually where the boys like to set up their pharmacy.”

Parker looked around the suite in stunned silence. There was what appeared to be a reading nook on the second floor where a DJ booth had been set up with some lights, giving the whole place the same rave-like vibe as the concert venue had had.

Following the others to the kitchen, Parker kept a tight hold on his girl’s hand. By his side, he noticed Will doing the same. There was a bowl of punch on the counter as well as an open bottle of champagne but he led Sadie to the fridge instead.

Their options were limited to bottles of soda, beer and a few cans of malt beverages. Not trusting that the plastic bottles hadn’t been tampered with, he lifted up a can of beer and a hard lemonade. Sadie chose the hard lemonade, while Will declined both and Laura took the beer. As the girls toasted their weekend away, Parker pulled Will closer.

“We give ‘em an hour then we’re out of here.”

“Agreed.”

Once the girls finished their drinks, they all went to the makeshift dance floor. Sadie wiggled her hips to the beat as she walked ahead of Parker. Tugging on her hand, he spun her around before plastering his chest against her back. With his girl pressed against him and a bright smile on her face, Parker was able to let go and enjoy himself.

Parker’s dancing skills had scored him a lot of points with the girls throughout his high school years. He had no formal training or anything but his mother often danced around the house as she did chores which had led to him copying her almost as soon as he could walk. On more than one occasion, he’d watched as his father joined her, admiring the way it always made his mother light up.

Growing up with parents who weren’t shy about PDA was the bane of his existence as a child. Then when he met Sadie, well, he suddenly understood everything. He understood not wanting to let her go for even a second. He understood wanting to kiss her any time, any place just because. He understood agreeing to absolutely anything that would make her happy.

When Rob and Pete found their way back a little while later, their eyes much redder than when they had wandered off, Parker and Will announced that it was time to call it a night. Getting everyone into the elevator felt a little like herding cats but they eventually made it down to the lobby.

“Let’s go get pizza!” Pete exclaimed, way too loud, already pulling his phone out to find a restaurant.

“Bro,” Parker groaned, “I just wanna get back to our hotel.”

Their reasonably priced hotel—well, as reasonable as you can find in Manhattan—that didn’t have crystal chandeliers, massive penthouse suites or doormen dressed like Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramirez.

They’d had a late night in their hotel room then had gotten up only a few hours after to take advantage of the continental breakfast before it was too late. He was more than ready to sleep off all the excitement of the evening.

His objection, however, fell on deaf ears. The mere mention of pizza turned his hungry friends into a bunch of squawking seagulls. He had no desire to make yet another pit stop but if he insisted that they all go back now they would only escalate from squawking to pecking and before he knew it they would be sneaking out to satisfy their munchies anyway.

“I’m with Parker on this one, guys,” Sadie admitted, stifling a yawn. That was enough to make up Parker’s mind.

“We’ll meet ya back there,” he announced. Will was more than capable of keeping the guys in line. Besides, once they ate their weight in pizza, they would more than likely just fall asleep on the ride back.

“Suit yourself,” Pete said with a shrug, suggesting a place a short walk away and leading the others outside like a man on a mission.

Parker got to work looking up the best way to get back to their hotel. Turning to Sadie, he opened his mouth to read out their options but closed it again with a frown when he noticed how pale she was.

“Babe, you okay?” he asked, pushing a stray strand of hair from her face.

She closed her eyes, swallowing once before nodding. “I think I just got too hot in there.”

If she was feeling hot the twenty-minute bus ride back was not going to be of any help. 

“You wanna just walk?” Parker looked down at his phone again. It would only take five minutes more and they would be walking along the bus route if she happened to feel better along the way.

“Yeah, I think I need the fresh air.”

As soon as the cool breeze hit her overheated skin, Sadie let out a small sigh.

“Better?”

“Much.”

They’d only made it one block before Parker started to get worried again. Sadie was quiet, leaning more and more of her weight on him. It wasn’t until she tripped over her own feet and narrowly avoided face-planting onto the sidewalk that he knew with one-hundred percent certainty that something was amiss.

“Babe, what’s wrong?”

“I—” she wobbled, leaning against the nearby building for support. “I think m’gonna be sick.”

She bent over at the waist, retching a few times but only coughed up a bit of bile. As far as Parker was aware, she’d only had two drinks the entire evening and it had been several hours since their pre-concert meal.

When he pulled her hair away from her face, Sadie’s skin was clammy yet cool to the touch which made Parker think that maybe she was more than just a little overheated. Looking around, he spotted a bodega at the corner.

“Can ya walk?” He needed to get Sadie a bottle of water or a sport’s drink but he was not going to just let her wait on the street.

She lifted her unfocused gaze towards his, trying to take a step only to stumble again. Parker bent down, slipping an arm around her waist and supporting her weight as they slowly made their way forward. They were a few feet from the door when two policemen exited the shop, stopping short as they saw them.

“Miss, are you okay?”

“I dunno what’s goin’ on, she just started feelin’ sick all of the sudden.”

The two cops exchanged a glance and one of them gave a barely there nod before calling for an ambulance on his radio.

“Miss, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Sadie opened her mouth as if to answer but before she could say anything, her legs gave out from under her.

“Sadie!”

Both cops lunged forward, helping catch her weight and lowering her onto the ground. They called her name but she was out cold. One of the men lowered his head, checking for signs that she was still breathing.

Parker was frozen in place, holding her hand and not knowing what to do when he heard the whoop-whoop of sirens as an ambulance pulled up to the curb.

“She lost consciousness right in front of us. Heart rate and breathing are present but slow.”

The paramedics knelt by her side, checking her vitals as the cops recited what they knew.

“Kid, you with her?”

Parker snapped out of his trance, looking at the paramedic who’d asked him the question.

“Yeah. She’s my girlfriend.”

“What’s her name?” he asked, putting a blood pressure cuff on one arm and heart rate monitor on her other hand.

“Sadie.”

“What did Sadie take?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to him,” one of the cops snapped. “It’s past one in the morning and she’s stumbling down the street. What did she take?”

“Nothing, I swear.” He was fairly sure that two beers over six hours wouldn’t cause whatever was going on and he didn’t want Sadie to get in trouble.

Parker was forced to let go of her hand and step back as the paramedics lifted Sadie onto a gurney.

“We can waste our time running blood tests at the hospital to figure out what she took or you can help her out by telling us now.”

“She didn’t take anything! We— We were walkin’ back to the hotel. She said she wanted fresh air. I think she got dehydrated and overheated.”

As they began rolling Sadie to the ambulance, Parker automatically followed but he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.

“Woah, you’re not going anywhere.”

“What? No, I have to go with her!”

“It’s okay,” the paramedic said to the cop. “We’re taking her to Saint-Thomas. Maybe the ride will jog his memory.”

The entire drive was a blur. Sadie didn’t wake up but the paramedic mostly seemed to be monitoring her rather than scrambling to treat her so that had to be a good sign. He asked Parker again about Sadie taking any drugs but when Parker told him that she’d had two drinks at most he seemed to finally believe his answer and put in an IV to give her fluids.

Once at the hospital, he was forced to stay in the waiting room while the doctors took Sadie back. The cops had followed the ambulance and took a moment to speak to the paramedics after they handed Sadie off to the ER team. Two more cops, a man and a woman, joined them shortly after going straight towards the information desk.

“We have a few more questions for you.”

Parker lifted his head from his hands, straightening up in his chair.

“I don’t know anything more than I did before.”

Both men stood in front of him, one with his hands on his belt and the other holding a notepad and a pen.

“Let’s start with your name,” the cop on his right said, ignoring Parker’s statement.

“Parker.”

“Your full name,” the one on his left barked.

“Parker Maddox Syverson.”

“How old are you?”

Parker continued to answer irrelevant questions until the other two cops came his way, along with a nurse. For a second he thought he was going to get news on Sadie’s condition but that hope was soon shattered.

“Sir, I need you to come with me.”

“What happened? Did she wake up?”

“We need to take you back to draw some blood.” 

“I don’t understand…” Did they think that drawing his blood was going to help them find out what was wrong with Sadie?

“You don’t have to understand,” the man Parker was now thinking of as ‘bad cop’ said. “Suspicion of internal possession, you don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Parker looked between the nurse and the wall of police officers.

“It means you smell like a distillery and you’re not twenty-one. You’re looking at charges for minor-in-possession.”

With four cops staring back at him, Parker didn’t argue. He had no idea if any of what they said was true or if he was really obligated to give a blood sample but at least he knew the results would be zero.

‘Good cop’ and ‘bad cop’ followed him into the area where the nurse made him sit. His heart raced as she wrapped a band around his arm and disinfected the skin at the crook of his elbow. There was a pinch as she inserted the needle and within thirty seconds she was taping a cotton ball over the microscopic wound.

“Make sure we get a copy over at the PD when it’s in. His and Miss Wilson’s.”

Realizing that the others were probably back at the hotel by now and wondering where they were, Parker looked around for a pay phone. There were signs all over the waiting room indicating that they weren’t supposed to use their cells so he made his way towards the exit only to be stopped by ‘good cop’ standing by the door.

“Going somewhere?”

“I just need to make a call.”

“It can wait.”

“Look,” Parker snapped, finally losing his patience, “our friends are probably wonderin’ where we are. I just need to let ‘em know where we are and what’s goin’ on.”

“You’ll get to make a phone call once we get to the station,” said a voice from behind him. Parker turned to find ‘bad cop’ glaring at him. Not that he’d really stopped glaring since he first saw Parker. “Preliminary tox was positive for roofies. They’ll do a full panel on her blood.”

“What? No, that can’t be right.”

“Mmh hmm. Save it.”

And just like that, a set of handcuffs was being snapped around his wrists and his rights were being recited. All he could think as he was led to the car was that maybe his dad had been right. There was nothing for him to do in NYC other than get in trouble.

Arthur was not accustomed to getting middle of the night phone calls so when his cell rang at three in the morning, he scrambled to find it before the voicemail picked up.

“H’llo?” He cleared his throat, trying to sound more awake than he felt. “Hello?”

“Uncle Arthur?”

The moniker caught his attention immediately, causing him to sit up.

“Parker?”

“I think I’m in trouble.”

With an order not to say another word until he got to the station, Arthur hung up and dug through his closet for a suit. He was by no means well versed in criminal defense but he was going to fake it long enough to get all the facts and that included looking the part.

“Honey?” Arthur turned towards his wife while he finished adjusting his belt. “Where are you going?” she asked over her shoulder.

“I need to go help my nephew,” he informed her, taking the jacket off the hanger and slipping it on.

Rolling over, she readjusted her pillow. “Parker?”

“Yeah,” he placed a kiss on her cheek. “Go back to sleep. I’ll call when I know something.”

Arthur had kept in touch with his sister over the years but they hadn’t spent much time together. He’d only seen Parker once every two years or so but he’d made a promise when Parker was born and he was not going to turn his back on him the one and only time he’d asked for help.

Once in his car, he called the police station back and informed them that he was on his way. With a nearly hour-long drive ahead of him, Arthur didn’t want them getting impatient and going back in to see if Parker had changed his mind about waiting for a lawyer before answering any questions.

He found his nephew in an interview room, elbows resting on the table and his head in his hands. The sound of the door opening didn’t elicit any reaction and, for a moment, Arthur wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

“Parker?”

His head jerked up, obvious relief flashing across his face. He had dark circles under his eyes which were red-rimmed and brimming with tears.

“They won’t tell me if she’s okay.”

It was very telling of Parker’s character that his first question was about Sadie and not about the fact that he was currently sitting in an interrogation room. Unfortunately, Arthur didn’t have any information about her condition other than the few pieces of information that were relevant to the current investigation.

Arthur sat in the chair by Parker’s side. “I’d say that, in this case, no news is good news.”

He didn’t need to know that, if her condition had deteriorated, the accusations would be much worse.

“What have you told them?”

Once Arthur was brought up to speed, the detective joined them in the interview room.

“Didn’t take you long to get a lawyer,” he said, dropping a file on the table. “Surprising considering you’re from out of state.”

“Can we focus on clearing my client of these absurd accusations?”

He was not going to let the detective get Parker riled up. Being scared and tired was already a bad combo for an interrogation, he was not planning to add angry and frustrated into the mix.

“How do you know Sadie Wilson?”

“She’s his girlfriend,” Arthur answered.

“So you knew her before tonight?”

“Yes, he did.”

The detective shot an annoyed glance at Arthur, opening the file and sliding a plastic evidence bag across the table.

“Why did you have her ID and debit card in your pocket?”

Parker whispered the answer to Arthur who relayed it to the detective. “They went to a concert at Madison Square Garden. Sadie didn’t want to carry a bag or wallet around so she asked my client to keep them.”

“She couldn’t carry two little cards on her own?”

“Her dress didn’t have pockets,” Parker said, thankfully keeping his words to the minimum.

“Seems to me like the sort of thing you would do when you’re trying to hide a victim’s identity. Or take away their means of getting away.”

Or, if they used a little bit of common sense instead of trying to provoke a reaction, they would notice that the driver’s license clearly indicated that she was from Georgia and that it would be highly unlikely for Parker to just stumble on a potential victim who also happens to be from his home state.

The detective asked another series of questions about the evening, starting from when they arrived at the arena. Eventually, Arthur was able to have him stop questioning Parker and Sadie’s relationship by telling him to look through Parker’s phone. His partner, who must have been watching from outside, brought the phone in to have Parker unlock it.

After scrolling through Parker’s Instagram, which included a few short videos from the concert that, thankfully, did not feature any alcohol being consumed, they moved on to the latter part of the evening.

“Did Sadie have anything to drink at the party?”

“She had a can of something from the fridge when they first arrived. My client did not see her have any other food or drinks.”

“See, that’s where things don’t make sense.” The detective leaned forward on the table with a smug expression that clearly indicated he thought he had the upper hand. “Roofies start acting fast. By your own admission, you were with her all night. You’re saying you didn’t see her get drugged minutes before you left the party together. Makes me think that’s because you’re the one who drugged her.”

“Was there a question somewhere in there? Because all I’m hearing is a bunch of speculation and twisting of facts to fit whatever narrative you’re convinced has happened.”

“You drugged her didn’t you?” the other detective pressed.

“No, I—”

“Parker, don’t answer that.”

“Either it was you,” he continued, ignoring Arthur’s protests, “or you saw who did it which makes you complicit. Tell us the truth.”

“I went to the bathroom!” Parker snapped, slamming his fist down on the table before he could stop himself. “It was just before we left but she was with four of our friends.” He looked at each of the detectives then at his uncle. “I thought she would be safe. I was worried as soon as we saw how big the party was but I didn’t want the girls to be disappointed so I figured we’d give it an hour then go back to the hotel. I held her hand the whole time, I never took my eyes off her, the drink she had was from a sealed can.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, his voice coming out in a whisper. “I did everything I could think of.”

It killed Arthur that he couldn’t so much as put his hand on Parker’s shoulder as a small comfort. By the looks on the detectives’ faces, he didn’t think they would appreciate such a gesture.

“This is an unfortunate incident but my client is not to blame for it. Considering the lack of evidence, there’s no reason to detain him any further and keep him from going to his girlfriend’s bedside.”

“We are not going to release him. There’s still the matter of minor-in-possession.”

“My client didn’t consume any alcohol.”

“We’ll see when we get the results back won’t we.”

“Or you could have him take a breathalyzer which would give you the same result in seconds instead of hours and release him right now.”

It took another hour before they reluctantly released Parker without any charges. With a blood alcohol count of zero and no drugs or alcohol found on or around him, there was not a single shred of evidence for them to cling to. They hadn’t actually placed him under arrest, only detained him, so it was simply a question of returning his belongings before walking out as a free man.

“I’m sure you want to get back to the hospital but I think you need a shower first.”

There was no argument there. He stank of stale beer and sweat and he was pretty sure his wavy hair looked crazy from running his hands through it all night.

While they drove, Parker charged his phone and returned the numerous missed calls from Will. To his surprise, he’d actually stayed up waiting for them to get back and answered on the first ring. He was relieved to know that the others were all okay and had gotten back safely. Until then, he hadn’t actually considered that maybe one of them had been drugged too.

After the fastest shower in history, Arthur helped pack up their luggage. They didn’t know what they were going to find once they got to the hospital and it was best if they didn’t have to rush back to vacate the room in time for checkout.

“Do you know which hospital she was taken to?” Arthur asked when they got back in the car.

“Saint-Thomas.”

Arthur nodded, putting the car in drive and pulling onto the road. Of course, this was New York so they stopped only a few seconds later. Beside him, Parker was nervously tapping his fingers on the door. The longer they stayed still, the louder tapping became.

“Saint-Thomas is where you were born,” Arthur remarked, breaking the relative silence but didn’t get so much as a glance in return.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You didn’t know that?”

“I mean,” Parker shrugged, “I knew I was born in New York but I didn’t know which hospital.”

That made sense. People rarely talked about which hospital they were born in. Especially when that hospital was out of state. It wasn’t exactly a thrilling topic of conversation but it was the first thing that had come to mind.

“Your dad looked about ready to gut me that day.”

That made his nephew’s hand freeze.

“Wait, you were there?”

Neither of his parents had ever mentioned that piece of information. Although, Parker didn’t exactly ask follow up questions when his birth story was brought up. All he knew was that his mother narrowly avoided a C-section and would likely have had one if he hadn’t been so early. Still, he knew his mother didn’t speak to his grandparents and he only had a handful of memories of Arthur which made this discovery all the more unexpected.

“Total fluke,” Arthur said honestly. “I was there for work and was on my way out when I heard a baby start to cry. You can imagine my surprise when I looked up to find my sister holding a not-so-tiny baby in her arms. I hadn’t seen her in years at that point so Sy had no idea who I was. He just came back to the room, saw Riley in tears and instantly went into protective mode.”

“Yeah, he does that.”

“By the sounds of it, so do you.” Arthur looked over at Parker, wanting him to see the sincerity in his eyes. “Sometimes, you do everything right and bad things still happen. You did everything you possibly could to keep her safe short of dragging her into the bathroom with you. She’ll come out of this with a nasty hangover, maybe a bit of trauma or anxiety but your actions tonight kept it from getting worse.”

“I didn’t do shit. The timing of us leaving right after she got roofied was just a coincidence.”

“Maybe, but you were completely sober. Your focus was on taking care of her and making sure she had a good time. I don’t want to think how things could have turned out if you’d been too drunk to notice something was wrong.”

They were silent for the rest of the ride as Parker stared out the window. When they finally made it to the hospital, Parker was afraid they wouldn’t let him see Sadie because he wasn’t technically family. As it turned out, it was the officers standing guard that he had to worry about. Even after confirming he’d been released without charges, they hadn’t wanted to let him see Sadie without an officer present but the head nurse told them that they were to remain in the waiting room until they were called.

It seemed that Sadie had woken up asking for Parker and refused to comply with the officers or nurses until she knew where he was. When she learned he’d been taken into custody, she made it clear that she would only speak to her doctors privately and would not agree to any tests that were requested by the police.

Apparently the officers had tried to convince the hospital staff to do a rape kit while she was still unconscious and they had told them in no uncertain terms that there was no urgency to do so without obtaining prior consent. After that the nurses had been extra vigilant and were more than happy to run interference whenever they tried to speak to her alone.

As soon as the head nurse led him behind the curtain surrounding her bed, Sadie sat up, opening her arms for a hug which he gladly provided.

“I’m so sorry!”

“What? No! I should be the one apologizin’ to you.”

“You got arrested because of me,” she sobbed into his neck. “I told ‘em. I told the doctors that ya didn’t do anything. It was my fault. When we were gettin’ ready to leave, someone offered us another drink but Will said no for all of us. One of the guys made a joke about him bein’ the fun police and snuck me a shot while he wasn’t lookin’. I didn’t even think.”

After a lot of apologizing from both sides, the doctor came back and did another check of Sadie’s vitals. Luckily, other than some fluids and a safe place to rest, Sadie hadn’t needed any medical treatments and was ready to be released. The doctor said that she had been dehydrated which had likely made her initial reaction to the roofies more severe but that vomiting so soon after ingestion had prevented her from fully absorbing the drug.

The officers did try one last time to ask Sadie a few questions but Arthur simply handed over a business card and told them that if they chose to further continue their investigation, any communications should go through him. 

Parker had feared that they would try to charge Sadie with the same minor-in-possession charges as they had for him but Arthur seemed to think they wouldn’t due to the ‘good samaritan’ laws. Apparently, if you called 9-1-1 to seek help for yourself or someone else in the event of an overdose, that law protected you from being charged with possession. Even for minors who consumed alcohol. One exception to the law as intentional harm which would have applied to Parker if he had really been the one to drug Sadie.

The rest of the day was spent with Arthur and his family. After a round of hugs from their friends, Sadie said she wasn’t feeling up for their planned day of sightseeing so they agreed to instead meet at the airport before their flight home.

His aunt had insisted on making the couple a big spread for brunch which they eagerly accepted. Though they’d both been hungry, Sadie had seemed a little concerned about getting anything from the hotel’s continental breakfast before they drove out to the suburbs.

The previous night’s events were an experience that neither of them was going to forget about any time soon.

When Parker made it home after dropping Sadie off, his father was outside working on his mama’s car. If he knew anything about the man, his choice to do car maintenance at ten pm was deliberate. He either wanted to know the second Parker got home or he was hoping to have a word just the two of them.

They’d had to call Sadie’s parents before leaving the hospital since she was on their insurance but Parker had been hoping to avoid telling his parents anything until he was home to explain in person. It seemed someone had ruined that plan and given them a heads up. His money was on his uncle Arthur.

Knowing there was no point in trying to put off his suffering, Parker got out of the car and walked straight towards his father.

“Hi Pop.”

Sy didn’t move from where he was bent over the motor. “Hey kid. Hand me that wrench will ya?”

Having worked on cars since he was old enough to see over the hood on a step stool, he didn’t need to ask which tool his father was referring to. As he handed over the wrench, Parker tried to read his expression but the ex-military captain’s face was decidedly blank.

“Are ya mad?”

“What do ya think I’ve got to be mad about?”

There was no way that was a serious question. Surely this had to be the lead up to some sort of ‘I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed’ speech.

“Doin’ the exact opposite of everything ya wanted me to do?” His answer came out with more snark than he’d intended but his father seemed to give him a pass on the attitude and remained annoyingly cool.

“And what exactly would that be?”

“I dunno, gettin’ arrested, havin’ to call Uncle Arthur to bail me out, Sadie endin’ up in the hospital… You didn’t even want me to go in the first place.”

His father gave a slow nod, glancing over at Parker with a raised eyebrow. “Did any of that happen ‘cause you were doin’ something wrong?”

“I—”

He’d been about to say yes and list exactly which of his father’s life lessons he’d broken but he couldn’t actually think of one. It wasn’t like he was prohibited from going to parties, his parents just didn’t want him drinking under age which he hadn’t done. And he hadn’t done anything to merit getting arrested, that had just sort of happened as a consequence of Sadie being drugged.

“I guess not,” he mumbled, his gaze falling to the ground.

Sy closed the hood with a slam, grabbing a rag to clean off his hands.

“Before me and your mama started datin’, back when we were just livin’ together, she had a close call with some guy lookin’ to take advantage.”

Parker looked up, worry evident in his eyes. “What do you mean by close call?”

This was the first Parker had ever heard about his mother being in harm’s way. They’d never told him about Riley’s old job or the events that transpired right before she and Sy got together. Though he still didn’t need to know the details, Sy felt that sharing at least some of it would help break through the black cloud that currently hung over his son.

“The guy knocked her around but she got away before he could do anything else.”

Sy’s jaw clenched as he remembered finding Riley in her car, half naked with a fresh bruise forming on her cheek. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before letting it out slowly. It was a good thing he’d never bumped into that fucker on the street.

“I can’t tell ya how many times I wondered what might have happened if I’d done something differently. Wondered if it was somehow my fault that she took the job that put her in that guy’s sights or that I should have been there to protect her.”

Sy shot Parker a look that was clearly meant to say ‘sound familiar’.

“That guilt you’re feelin’, it ain’t yours to carry. You didn’t do this to her.”

Parker swallowed the lump in his throat, willing himself not to break down in front of the man who’d raised him even when he took a step forward and held him by his nape the way he used to when he was a child.

“This wasn’t your fault, son. I know it. Your mama knows it. Sadie’s parents know it. I just hope you start believin’ it sooner rather than later ‘cause if all ya see every time ya look at her is what could have happened, neither of you are ever gonna be able to heal from it.”

Releasing a shaky sigh, Parker nodded in acceptance. His father pulled him into a tight hug before leading him inside where he received an even more bone-crushing embrace from his mother. He wasn’t going to complain. After the weekend he’d had, it was comforting to know he had the best family in the world.

[4townie]

Road to 4☆TOWN

part 31 | part 32 | part 33 | part 34 | part 35 | part 36 | part 37 | part 38

Warning: Strong language

Robaire read over the half finished lyrics to the song he’d been working on, finding himself completely stumped. His pity party was interrupted by the doorbell. Robaire rushed to the door. “Jan—” He frowned. “Oh. Hey, Aaron.”

“Hey.” Z leaned on the doorframe. “I know it’s been a while since we’ve spoken, but T tells me you’re really into that girl from the hotel.”

“I mean, if you ever picked up a magazine, he wouldn’t have to tell you.” Robaire rolled his eyes. “But yeah. I am. What of it?”

Aaron held up his Polaroid camera. “I’ve got photos to show you.” He stepped inside. “Your girl…she’s got long legs, pineapple hair, wears lots of mini skirts. Amirite?”

“Uh, yeah.” Robaire looked at him in confusion. “How do you remember all that? You only saw her once.”

“I cross referenced with one of those magazines I never pick up.” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “She looked familiar when I saw her. I wasn’t sure at first, but now I am.”

“Sure of what? When did you see her?” Robaire asked.

“Olivia’s staying with us while my parents are in Aruba. She insisted we take her and Tae to the park to feed the ducks.” Aaron handed him the Polaroids. “That’s when I spotted her.”

Robaire shifted through the pictures. He could clearly see Janelle smiling and holding hands with some other guy, but he couldn’t believe his eyes. “She’s still seeing him…?” He felt a pang in his chest. “I thought…I thought he broke her heart. I thought I was the one healing her.”

“Hate to be the bearer of bad news.” Aaron shrugged. “We tried to tell you she was bad for you, man. Everyone could see it but you.”

“That’s not really helping.” Robaire shot him a glare. “I just…” he sighed and plopped onto the couch. “I thought I had a good thing going here. But this whole time I really was just a sucker. I was always her second choice.”

Aaron’s eyes shifted awkwardly. “Isn’t Jesse the one you usually go to with these problems?”

“UGH, what am I supposed to tell Jesse?” Robaire groaned. “I was being such a jerk to him but he was right all along. And my parents…” He faceplanted into a couch pillow. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to face anyone. I just feel like a total fool. How could she play me like this?”

Aaron looked between Robaire and the door, debating whether or not he should just leave him to his feelings. He sighed and sat on the floor beside him. “Listen, I get it. You must’ve been excited to have a life outside of 4☆TOWN. You just wanted us all to be happy and support you.” He shook his head. “I know it sucks a lot, but it’s not your fault.”

“It’s definitely my fault.” Robaire said quietly. “It was spelled out for me so many times but I chose to ignore it.” He stared at the photos. “Last time we spoke, we got into an argument. She told me she couldn’t be with another liar and yet…she’s the one lying to me. And here I was writing her a love song, trying to figure out how to make it up to her and she just—…” He scoffed and tossed the photos aside. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Well, I’m not gonna tell you this isn’t stupid cuz that’d be a lie.” Aaron admitted.

“Wow, thanks.” Robaire rolled his eyes. “I’m pouring my heart out to you and you tell me I’m stupid.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Aaron narrowed his eyes. “I was going to say that even though you were being dumb, you can’t victim blame. She was manipulative and she played with your feelings and she knew exactly what she was doing. That’s a pretty fucked up thing to do to someone.” He looked over at Robaire, who was busy staring at a picture of Janelle sadly. Aaron sighed and got up. “You can stay here and feel sorry for yourself. And you can forgive her and look past it if you want. But the Robaire I know, the same jackass that stood up to our manager to protect Jesse, wouldn’t let someone like this win a fight. He’s too strong for that.” He shrugged before letting himself out.

Robaire shook his head when he was alone again. “I wish I knew where that guy was right now.”

[missr3n3]

Augusnippets Day 20

homemade meal/quenched thirst/favorite treats

Cut Down the Altar TW: referenced bombing word count: 436 @augusnippets

[03/10/2011]

Madeline thought she had a solid plan for handling the second anniversary of the Big Day, a day which set everyone’s nerves on edge. Especially a certain Cael devil.

But Madeline planned ahead. General cooking advice was acquired from Leah. Her schedule was cleared. She even pitched in to help Isaac tidy the apartment while Leah was working and Josh was at his counseling appointment.

Admittedly, her motive wasn’t entirely altruistic.

“So, are you gonna ask me for something now?” Isaac sighed, flopping onto the freshly made daybed. “Or do you want me to play 20 questions until I guess right?”

“Geez, was I that obvious?” Madeline anxiously rubbed at her shoulder. “Okay… It's, um, a question about Josh.”

“No way, for real?” Isaac teased. “Never would have guessed in a million years.”

“Shut up!” Madeline squeaked. “Are you going to help me out or not?”

“Alright, alright,” Isaac giggled. “I'll be nice. Shoot.”

“So… You know how cagey he is, right? Like, even if you try to prod, he never likes talking about himself. Particularly when it comes to things he likes.”

“Do you need his favorite color for balloons or something?”

“Not quite,” Madeline sighed as she sat cross-legged on her bed. “More like, if he has any favorite comfort foods. Since I know his upbringing was all over the place, I wasn't sure-”

“Oh! That's easy,” Isaac replied, sitting up to meet Madeline's curious eyes. “His Aunt Jude had a really good Mac and Cheese recipe. You're in luck, because he showed little ol' me how to make it.”

“Josh showed you how to make something food related?” Madeline raised an eyebrow.

“I mean he had the recipe written down, and I had to remind him to follow the instructions exactly because he kept burning the damn thing.”

“Ah.” Madeline was hardly a stranger to Josh's impatience when it came to cooking. It was almost impressive how adamant he was that setting temperatures higher would always cook food faster, no matter how many times he was corrected by peers and reality. “So… can you walk me through it?”

“Sure, if you don't mind a quick trip to the grocery store.”

“Damn, something smells really good,” Josh muttered as he entered the apartment, clearly exhausted from his session. Madeline could hardly hide her grin.

“Yeah, I… I'm making dinner today,” Madeline muttered. Josh leaned against the entryway, eyebrow raised. “It's mac and cheese.”

“Aunt Jude's Mac and Cheese,” Isaac elaborated as he finished tuning his guitar.

“Oh… Really?” Madeline let herself softly smile.

“Yeah. It'll be ready in a few minutes.”

“…Thank you.”

[crayistic]

I needed to come somewhere to rant.... so here it is. Critical role Campaign 3 Episode 77 spoilers ahead so please don't read if your not wanting spoilers.

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First of all want to say the episode was brilliant, in terms of the story and the hopefully future animation for sure. However I have so many issues.... I have seen alot of people and shippers getting g happy about the fact thatAshton kissed Fearne... and saying things like he is being the barbarian and is wanting to be the one to take the pain and damage... so on and so forth and I couldn't disagree with this more.

First of all, from a players perspective... i know there is trust and love between the crit cast and they are all about support and aftercare... but thus choice by ashton as a player with other players made me feel quite uncomfortable. It was such a horrible place to put Ashley in and it was easy enough to see how angry and how rediculous most of the cast thought the choice was. Not only that but Matt himself making comments about how he gave them clear warnings. It would jave been less painful for others if he had let Fearne take the shard (or gave her some support or time to think about it for herself) that put her and the others through what he did. He knew how risky it was and he was very prerered to die, so anyone saying he was doing it for his friends? Like what... how? Because the pain of losing someone and having to carry that with you, when you also played a part in it MAJORLY out weights phitjcal pain. Then chockyness with the end result when it was all fluke and luck. If it wasn't for fearnes spell and randomly swaping the ring with chet... yes these are all great story points but I do think he crossed the line alittle.

Now the missed opportunity for the story. Mat wad clearly setting up the emperor and empress, giving them clear signs and opportunities to gain power for two of the bells hells. Now what? Will ashton be completely OP, and how is that fair to the other characters. Mat is now going to have to find away to limit him and again yes, the game is about the players, not everything goes to plan and things can change in an instant but again I do think there are lines. If he had died, there is a big change Ashley would have blamed herself for saying she didn't want the shard (however i also think she was influenced by Tals persistent pushing and comments for him to have it). I was really looking forward to seeing what it would be like to have two of them tighed to eachother by ancient power and what that would mean for them. Not to mention how stressed and upset she was at the table, I get that shit can happen in game but when another player is doing it to you without any type of warning for over 40 mins of play... it seemed abit messed up.

Moving into the shipping aspect of things. I'm a lover of romance in d&d and I had a forst class ticket aboard the Imogen/Laudna and the Fearne/Ashton boat. I was looking forward to being able to see Fearnes vulnerable side. She is usually so ladeda about flirting, intimacy and so on but this... this was kind of gross and it almost felt like she was being used and manipulated. While this could have been tal not recognising fearne was going down that path for ashton and him rushing to implement things last moment or whatever was going on... it just felt wrong.

Out of nowhere he's calling her hot after she's referencing him saying he wants a sister... and the horrible thing is you can tell she has feelings for him because ots almost like she is to wrapped up in the slight attention that she doesn't even see how he's acting. Saying she's hot while lased in the request to lie to all of their friends, aid him in doing something stupid, very much from the begning never planning on fearne having the shard... saying how he trusts her more?... It felt like love bombing to confuse her and get her to do what he wanted. Her returning his hot comment and running away... there was no recognition to how she doesn't normally act like that... what did it mean and so on, he just sat back and made a cocky comment

Then the whole thing, grabbing her and kissing her right before it happened. He actually made a comment saying to just do it because it will never happen again and it's the only one she gets. Like imagin if you actually loved or was falling fir someone... it felt like she was nothing but a tool and none of the others would do it for him because it was fucking STUPID but fearne also wouldn't have done it to any oof the others... so what's the difference? Well maybe ots the fact she has feelings for him. The people saying he wanted to do it to take the pain over his friends... I just don't get it. His actions were nothing but selfish. Doing something so crazy and actually telling people to heal him. Saying he needed this like having one shard wasn't enough. Putting fearne in that position, someone he clearly knows cares for him more than a friend and she had to stand there and watch him fucking shatter into pieces and come back... nearly dying over and over and worst of all at the aid of her own hands. Now I don't see how they could have any chance of a romance because he kicked it in the ass before it even began... or he doesn't even see her that way and did completely use her... because if it was the only kiss she was getting... then why do it unlessbyour trying to love bomb her?...

It was all abit twisted and fucked uo to me and I really don't know how to actually feel about the whole thing... definitely the most controversial point of bells hells to me. Oh man what I would give to be a fly in the wall after that. The following pics sums up my emotional roller coaster through that ep....

[carmillatism]

since ao3 is down: carmilla fic @drcarmillaappreciationweek

Sometimes A Mom Is Just A Goth Vampire Lesbian From Outer Space And That's Okay

For Dr. Carmilla Appreciation Week: Mom Monday

trigger warnings for implied/referenced child abuse and neglect, implied/referenced parental abuse, and light self-hatred

note: i will be posting this (and other fanfics for this week) on ao3 once it is up and working again. just don't want to wait any longer for this fic. first time posting a fic on tumblr as well, just so it's known.

fic under the cut

"So, how was your mother?"

"Oh, starting with the hard-hitting questions, huh?" She crosses her legs, then uncrosses them. She scooches around on the chair before giving up. She stares.

"I mean there's no other way to start it, is there? You didn't give me much to work with, so…" Carmilla narrows her eyes.

"Watch it. Just because you're giving me therapy, doesn't mean you get to be disrespectful." She tries to add a hint of humor to her voice because she knows she doesn't mean it. Really. …Well, she kind of does. It's weird. That's why she's in therapy.

She sighs before leaning back in her chair, folding into herself. "Well, I guess she was fine. She wasn't as bad as my father; that's for sure."

"I'm not going to ask you about your father as we aren't here for that, don't worry, but you said 'not as bad'. What does that mean?"

She sighs, frowning slightly. She really was going to divulge this information to a stranger then. "She wasn't actively bad, really. She just allowed so many things to pass. She never really tried to stop anyone from doing anything. She was so passive, so easily used by people who just wanted to hurt her- her kids- me. She wasn't good in that way."

"And that passive response can be just as bad as the people who actively hurt you." She cringes at that.

"I wouldn't say that…"

"Oh, okay. How come?"

She pauses, thinking about the question. Well, she did help her sometimes. …Sometimes. "She… um, well, she helped me on occasion. She taught me how to take care of myself, make food. She sometimes helped me with my studies."

"So, the bare minimum?" The question is innocent and she knows they're trying to help, but that statement snaps something in her. The very fragile dam of emotions she built about that topic crumbles. It was never that strong anyways.

She always knew what her mother did wasn't the best. That was why she was here for the Gods' sake. But she hadn't ever thought about it in that way. Her mom had barely done the bare minimum and yet she still praised her so much… She did the bare minimum and much worse so often that Carmilla just felt like she had to praise her just for doing something… kind, that she should do. She praised her for doing what all mothers should do for their children.

She couldn't stop it. She felt tears beginning to swell in her eyes. A few started to leak out. She grabbed a few tissues from the tissue box laying on the table next to her.

"I never really thought about it in that way, but… yes. If that. She did the bare minimum sometimes, and other times- most times- she didn't. She just let me get hurt and let my father hurt me with not a care in the world. And she never really apologized, more so made it about herself than anything else. She didn't focus on me that much, and if she did, it was because I messed up somehow."

Her therapist looks down at their paper before scribbling on a pad resting in their lap. Tears are streaming down her face, but she's surprisingly calm. It was almost relieving to get this out.

"And this… you mentioned that you wanted to talk about being a mom…?" Her head perks up at that and she stares at them for a moment. Did she write that down…? Oh. Right. Curse her past, emotionally volatile self.

"Oh, I guess. It's just I was wondering about how I am as a mother. I try to help a lot; I do. But sometimes it just doesn't come out right. I feel like I make situations worse when I try to help." She cringes and looks down at her hands folded in her lap.

"And what do you do to help them?"

She thinks for a second. There was a lot, she thought. Maybe… too much? She should probably mention the things she did that usually made her Mechanisms worse, though.

"Well, a lot of times I would think their mechanisms were acting up and making them feel bad, so I'd take them to the lab and get them the help they needed."

Her therapist frowns, writing something down on their paper. She closes her eyes for a moment, breathing in deeply. This is a safe space for her to talk about herself. She won't be judged. …But even so, she couldn't stop herself from judging her own words that came from out of her mouth.

Her therapist looks down at their clipboard, tapping their pen against it, thinking. "And what did you do to help?"

She frowns, thinks. Was it really helping? Did she actually help them? Or was what she did something that only made them worse? "I would usually perform surgery on them…" Her therapist seems to have to hold back a reaction. "I'd get to the root of the problem, their mechanism, and make sure it was all up to date and working well."

Her therapist hums thoughtfully, and she stiffens before relaxing. Her therapist leans a bit forward, chin in hand. "And were their… mechanisms really the problem?"

She stops at that. Were they? She had always thought that it had to have been something with the mechanisms that were making them feel bad. They usually worked just fine, but they were still experimental tech that hadn't been used before. She just always assumed that it had to be that. The mechanisms are the clear reason, so what else could it be?

"I mean, yeah." She stops. Well, actually, a lot of times when she'd knock them out, get into their mechanism, they would be just fine, running smoothly. So if it wasn't the mechanism then what was it?

The therapist takes her silence as a cue to add, "Did there seem to be a common throughline for why they needed help? What signs were there?

"Well… they seemed okay at first. Usually right after they were mechanized there was understandable fear and confusion, but they'd soon come to find a routine. They grew comfortable on the ship. I'd take them in to check on them, their mechanisms. I think it was only after that they seemed to get worse. Did I scare them about their mechanisms too much? Did I make them worried? They always seemed so scared and worried, sometimes defensive."

Her therapist just continued to look at her, a sad look on their face. Did she say something wrong? No. No. The therapist wouldn't judge her for that. She was just judging herself too harshly.

"I mean they would usually be fine before I took them back. I'd watch them from the other room, and they would seem fine. They would talk, play games and music, and destroy stuff sometimes." She thinks fondly about those memories before continuing. "And then when I would walk into the room with the news that I needed to double check their mechanism, that's when they would get scared. They'd always back away, beg me not to take them back. I can't believe I scared them so much about their own mechanisms." She looks up to the therapist to see if they have anything to add. They just stare at her before motioning for her to continue. She does. "But… well, even when I didn't bring up surgeries, treatment, or their mechanisms, they would get scared like that often. Almost all the time. It was always when…"

Her hand flies to her mouth before she can utter the next part. A noise between a strangled yell and a cry parts her lips and she instinctively pushes her hand harder against her mouth to stop it from getting out.

Her therapist smiles sadly, nodding just slightly.

She… was the problem. They were always scared when she walked in. They were always fine right before. They always got scared when she entered. They were scared of… her.

That… she can't believe she could do something like that, make her own kids so scared of her. That was… insane. She thinks morbidly to herself that it's almost as insane as making people immortal. It was insane just as much as it was true. Her therapist had only confirmed it.

"How could I… How did I never realize?"

Her therapist looks at her hard for a moment, and she thinks she can truly see them for the first time. She's actually focused on who they are. They're a real, living person that she's just spilt her guts to. "People can get stuck in their own head sometimes. They think what they're doing is the right thing because that's all they've ever known." Tissues barely made a dent in the tears streaming down her face. They were silent, however. Acceptance could hurt just as much as any pain. "You can think you're doing the right thing, but the right thing for one person can be the wrong thing for another. Kind of like the opposite version of 'one's man treasure can be another man's trash'."

So that's why they always seemed so scared. It was her. They were scared of her. She thought she was helping them with those surgeries, with mechanizing them in the first place, but she wasn't… She had never even thought she could be the problem.

"How could I be so bad…?" Her body was a coiled wire. A coiled wire, ready to be let go and lash out at anything and everything. But, well, not anything nor everything. She just wanted to lash out at herself.

How could she fix this? This wasn't something you fixed with a handsaw, anesthetic, and some morphine.

"It's hard. It's hard to know what you're doing, especially when you never had a good example to begin with." Oh. Oh that- That makes sense. "What you did was bad-" She cringes at that but nods. It was. "-but bad things happen and people do those bad things. But that doesn't always make them bad people. Even if they were once bad, they don't have to stay that way. It's not up to you to decide if they forgive you, but you can, either way, decide to be a better person." Oh. That was nice. She… She could be better. She had all of eternity to make things better. She could do that. She could, at least, make things better than they once were. That was a promise.

"I… Thank you. Thank you very much."

Her therapist nods. "Of course. It will take time, but you can become better. You can do it for them. Just… give them time and space right now. Rushing into it will just make things worse. And… don't be scared to reach out to help on how to become better. People are working every day to better themselves. I'm sure there's many people who would respect your endeavors and could provide advice. People do fucked up things, but that doesn't have to mean they're fucked up people."

That was… Maybe she understood why people went to therapy.

Her tears had stopped rolling, thankfully having stopped before she got to the end of the tissue box. She was… glad she went here. It was a lot to hear that she hadn't been as good a mother as she had thought she tried to be, but it was nice to have confirmation that she could get better. She could do better. So much better. She could be a better mom.

She smiles and nods at her therapist and they smile back.

And… since the session was coming to a close, she could ask the therapist a question. Maybe for a little more comfort. Mostly just because she was interested. Damn that cat curiosity killed.

"Do you think the mechanisms see me as their mom?"

The therapist thinks for a second. Yeah. From what I know, I would say so." They stop, then, contemplating something. "I don't think of you as my mom, though." Oh, WHAT? Come the fuck on.

She frowns before arching a brow at that, staring him down. "...Marius, now, why would you say that?"

Marius shifts in his seat uncomfortable, clipboard still in hand, but he has stopped tapping his hand. Carmilla laughs to herself and thinks they're more weary of the gun they have on their hip, now.

"Well, I mean, you just really didn't make me like the rest, you know? You didn't make Tim, Raph or me." Marius looks at her and Carmilla looks anywhere but him, just to rile him up some more.

She looks to her left then right before pursing her lips at him, looking slightly disappointed. Marius sighs and runs a hand through his hair. They seem to want to throw their hands up in the air, before thinking better of it.

"Doc, come on. You're more like a family friend than anyone else. You're like someone who pops in sometimes to see what's going on." Carmilla feigns anger at that, and Marius sighs even deeper this time, resting their head against their hand.

"Oh, so I'm just a family friend, am I? I make almost all of you, and I'm just a family friend. I see how it is, Marius." She hangs her head downcast and sniffles a bit for emphasis.

Marius closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in deep thought. They open their eyes again, and level a stare at Carmilla. "Carmilla, it's just that Raph was more the one that made me and I still don't know you that well. Like, the others are definitely your kids, but I'm- we're- just not." Carmilla notices that whilst exasperated, he doesn't seem to be stressed, moreso playing along with her. But either way, it is nice to hear where the two of them stood in reference to her. She still didn't know the two that well.

"That's docteur to you, Marius." Marius gives an exasperated sound before finally throwing his hands in the air, clipboard flying to the floor. "And, I mean, would you consider Raphaella your mom?"

"What? No!" Marius' face has turned into a grimace. He looks somewhat sick.

Carmilla hides a smile, trying to keep the conversation as serious as possible. She arches a suspicious eyebrow. "Well, then, being made by someone obviously doesn't make them your mom."

"Well-" She cuts them off.

"So me creating you obviously doesn't matter here. I think it should be more about the fact that I take care of all of you and make sure your mechanisms are working just fine. Plus, I cook for you and help you when you're feeling down. And! I do that all in a motherly way." Carmilla looks proud of herself. Marius looks… confused. "So why are you so hesitant to call me mom when it's clear that's what I am to you?" She was actually a bit curious at the answer.

"Hey! This was supposed to be a therapy session for you, not me! Also, wouldn't this break some type of rule in therapy if I was treating my mom since you 'are' my mom?" He's really against calling her his mom. Interesting. Either way, Carmilla isn't worried. She'll make them see she's their mom soon.

"You're not an actual therapist, Marius. If you were, you wouldn't be giving out therapy on a ship in the middle of nowhere. You'd have a license and some of your therapy sessions wouldn't include se-"

"Hey! Low blow! You don't always need a license from some big industry to be able to do something." He's red in the face but laughing good-naturedly, and Carmilla allows herself a giggle.

"You quite literally need a license to be a therapist, Marius." Marius rolls their eyes at that.

"Oh, well, I guess that means you aren't a doctor anymore because your license surely has been taken away after breaking the hippocratic oath so many times."

Carmilla's mouth drops open and she has to stop herself from blurting out a laugh. Yeah, she could get used to this Marius kid.

"Oh, Marius, you're grounded for like 3 years now."

Now it's time for Marius' jaw to drop. He stares at her, bug eyed. "You literally can't do that! You're not my mom!"

"You may not see me as your mom, Marius, but that doesn't make me any less a mom in general, so I can most definitely ground you."

"How can you even ground me on a ship, light-years away from any planet?" Marius actually looks somewhat worried.

She thinks on that for a second and then says, "You're going to be stuck in your room for 3 years, then."

"TIM!"

Dr. Carmilla glares at Marius, tapping her foot against the floor. Of course Marius has to try and use someone else to support his bullshit claim. Can't back it up on his own. She hears Tim running towards them and rolls her eyes when she sees Tim pop his head in through the door frame.

"Uh, what's up?" She asks, before looking between Dr. Carmilla sitting in an armchair and Marius holding a clipboard, glasses on his forehead, and wearing clothes that seem more business casual than his normal outfit. This was some type of therapy session then. Tim looks behind him before looking back in the room, furrowing his brows and squinting slightly. "...If you're having a therapy session, I can just… leave…" She starts backing up, seeming to not want any part in whatever Carmilla and Marius were doing.

Marius holds up a hand out to stop Tim. "No, no, nope. The therapy session is over and I need to ask you a question." Carmila sighs, looking between Tim and Marius. Marius always had to cause a scene (which was another reason why they were her kid).

Tim comes back to the door frame, but steps a bit back and out of the way, apparently scared of what he's about to be asked. Marius would either want her to come practice some type of fucked up form of therapy, or pretend he was a Baron. Which Marius really seemed to think he was even though it was obvious to Tim that Marius didn't even know where Britain was in the first place. And Carmilla, she would probably just stare at her eyes. For a long time. A long long time.

"Uh, ask away, then-"

Marius barely allows Tim to get their sentence out before asking, "Would you say Dr. Carmilla is my mom?"

Whatever she was expecting, that was not it. Why are they wondering about the schematics of moms…? Why couldn't they just be normal and murder people? Why talk when you can… oh, she doesn't know, explode a couple planets.

"Tim." Her head snaps to Marius and her goggles zoom in on their face. He looks… serious? Well, as serious as Marius could be.

"I mean I don't really know how to answer that-"

"Tim, just answer their question so this conversation can end." Carmilla just stares at him, tired.

"Uh, well, probably not, then." Carmilla exclaims and Tim cuts her off before she can say anything. "I mean! You didn't really make him nor have you been around him for that long, so…" Tim stops, thinking for a moment, tapping their chin for added effect. "I guess you're more like a stepmother."

"A STEPMOTHER?" Carmilla yells and Tim shrugs. Marius is laughing, doubled over.

"You know, she has a point, Doc." Marius says through tears of laughter.

"A POINT? I'LL SHOW YOU A POINT, MARIUS VON RAUM-"

"HEY. CAN YOU GUYS SHUT IT? SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO GET AN OLD-ASS TV THEY LOOTED TO WORK PROPERLY." Jonny's muffled yells can be heard from the common rooms.

They all shut up, looking between each other, barely keeping back laughs. And then they're all in hysterics: cackling, sobbing, hiccupping, rolling over themselves as they try to gain any semblance of control over their bodies. But they just can't stop, the absurdity of the conversation– the situation– making them lose it.

And Carmilla, there, in that moment, as she's shaking from laughing so hard, realizes something. Maybe Mom was less about the title, itself, and more about the experience the word describes.

[jack-kellys]

Détective au + afterlife au for the ask game!!

what's quite funny about this ask is that it became a ghost hunting/destroying storyline and then maybe two hours into writing the snippet i got a ghost hunting au + something else ask. more for me!!

i have a lot but u can send me more randomized aus!

okay SO! recently i saw this 8 episode show called lockwood & co on netflix (originally a book series) and it was sort of a weird first season to follow without the lingo and historical context of the world so basically this is an au adjacent to that concept. inspired by, if you will. one thing that's important is that young ppl lowkey function as living tools to listen to, see, or feel ghosts' energy. so they are tasked with destroying ghosts. without further ado here's a 1.6k word scene of a one-shot idea i'll finish eventually!

–––

Sarah and David stood at the door together, the eerie home where their research had brought them. A haunted item, some music box, had been being bought and sold across the city, only leaving haunting incidents in its wake. It wasn’t hard for the spirit within to free itself with all that travel and the likely lack of protection the music box had undergone. David had tracked the hauntings, cross-referenced with recent black market sales, and estimated the next location via finding the latest buyer’s home. Sarah had surmised the threat level based on the hauntings (the deaths; there had been ten recent ones of hypothermia, which could only mean a ghost’s touch), finding police reports and tapping their forensics friend Finch to properly place what kind of threat they’d be dealing with. 

And now, armed with iron bullets, chest plates, and lined gloves among other things, Sarah tried the doorknob. Unlocked. 

The twins shared a look, David nodding and fingering his pistol as Sarah carefully opened the door.

An iron blade poked into David’s throat, both siblings freezing in place. After a moment, David groaned.

Holding the sword was ex-detective Jack Kelly, who looked about as shocked as David had been. His two brothers-in-arms, Charlie and Anthony, flanked his sides with their own weapons drawn. 

“Who gave you this case?” Jack demanded in a whisper, while Sarah scoffed. 

“Who gave you this case?” she countered. “You’re not registered detectives anymore, Kelly. You can’t be here.”

“And somehow, we were here first,” Anthony grinned. “If we cracked it better and quicker than you, then I think we gotta be the right people to be here.”

“Too many of us’ll make us dead a lot faster, so you guys should go,” Charlie nodded. “We got it covered.”

David scowled, guiding Jack’s iron away from his neck with a finger.

“Not a chance in hell,” he muttered, marching past all of them. “Follow me.”

After a moment of hesitation, he heard footsteps behind him, and his own grew more sure. 

The old hardwood of the house barely creaked under their feet, careful of the noise they made as they were essentially breaking and entering– it was the buyer’s property, and David wasn’t sure if the man was home or not. Essentially, all they had to do was secure the music box and get it to their detective agency, to determine if it should be stored or if it was safer to destroy it. Spirits were mostly tied to objects, and since these specific hauntings had been within a short radius of the box, it had to be the spirit’s physical connection. But where in the house the box could be was another matter. 

David’s hand found his sister’s, letting her take it and closing his eyes. Listening.

“Right,” he heard Jack drawl out. “The spirit gonna give us directions?”

“You know it doesn’t work that way,” David sighed, “or I’d be calling you an empath.”

“He does love his crystals,” Charlie teased, and David heard a small rustling between the two brothers, likely from Jack pushing the other.

“Quiet,” he said softly, suddenly, a small sound at the back of his head. Mechanical, a trill of gears tapping and moving to his left. He drifted toward it, allowing Sarah to guide his steps. The sound moved forward, between his eyes now as the noise of it came more into focus. It wasn’t tinny, wasn’t machine-like despite the ticking and tapping of it. He felt his feet hit the stairs, and cautiously started up them.

“What are you hearing?” Sarah whispered, resting her other hand on David’s back.

“It’s fluid,” he murmured, “as much as a music box can be, anyway. Guessing it’s because of the spirit’s post-life being attached- or… combined with it.”

“I’d rather fight a ghost than a box, so let’s not hope ‘combined’,” Anthony muttered behind him. Jack stifled a laugh, before letting out another one. David heard the railing’s wood creak, maybe a hand tightening around it.

“Wasn’t that funny, Jack,” Anthony said. “Now you’re just patronizing me.”

“I know, you’re not that-” Another giggle broke it off, what sounded like a hand slapping over Jack’s mouth as they made it to the top of the stairs. The fluid sound grew louder in David’s ears. Melodic, bright, and pretty, a swirling tune that tried to make David smile.

His eyes flew open with a small gasp, squeezing Sarah’s hand.

“Something’s wrong,” he murmured. “The spirit sounds too strong, we have to find that box- we have to find out if the buyer’s still- …alive.”

His gaze had landed on Jack, hunched over the banisher with his shoulders shaking as his brothers tried to get him to look at them.

“Jack,” Sarah hissed, “what do you feel?”

“Come on,” Charlie encouraged, rubbing Jack’s back. “Jackie, you’re okay, come on.”

“It’s- kind of…” Jack started, falling into a strained batch of giggles again. He lifted his head, fingers pressed to his temples and pained look on his face while a smile resided on his lips. He shook his head, laughing again. “Very.. happy. It’s happy, that kinda bubbly ecstatic feeling? You should…” 

Jack grinned, lopsided and loose, and David stepped back. They had to get him out of here.

“You should check- on the buyer,” he laughed, curling into himself. “You should- oh, man, you should–hahaha–check on the buyer…” 

“Fuck. Fuck,” Sarah breathed, hand on her sword. “Charlie, stay with Jack. You two, with me.”

David nodded, glancing at Anthony before casting his gaze at Jack once again. The boy couldn’t hold it in anymore, wheezing with delirious laughter as Charlie leaned against the bannister with his iron cane at the ready. David tore his eyes away, running after Sarah.

The noise, the music was present in David’s ears now without him even trying to concentrate, loud and repeating and quite beautiful. He gripped his forehead between his index finger and thumb, trying to silence it while he drew his pistol. Sarah kicked open the bedroom door, and the pretty music faded away from him. 

“Oh, shit,” Anthony sighed out, crossing over to the bed. A body laid there, with skin chilled and lips blued and eyes grayed. “Well, there’s our buyer. How’d Jack know by a feeling?”

“And why would a ghost in a music box be happy to kill?” Sarah frowned. “Spirits don’t often know they’re killing others, that’s…”

And then noise as a whole left completely, David’s eyes falling on an object on the dresser as the world fell into static silence. It was ornate, rectangular, with run-down gold moldings on its edges and glossed rose along its top and sides. He stepped towards it, wanting to investigate the rest of it. Look at it, look into it. Wanting to open it, wanting to hear it again, so pretty and soft...

“-avid!”

He winced at the surge of live sounds- walls creaking, Sarah’s voice, her feet on the carpet, the clink of Anthony’s pistols in their holsters. Something was in his hands, rectangular, and he could hear Jack’s laughter shriek in amusement from down the hall.

“Don’t open it,” she was saying, her eyes wide. Anthony was still by the bed, hands by his hips, fingers spread. “David. Don’t. Just give it to me.”

David’s gaze dropped to what was in his hands, the pretty music box occupying his vision again. All he had to do was tug his finger towards himself, and he’d hear the song again. That was all he had to do. 

“No,” he said suddenly, though his grip tightened on it.

“No?” Anthony scoffed, shifting on his feet a bit- a more active stance. “For the know-it-all, you sure are stupid. Drop it, Jacobs. Now.”

“All we have to do is get it in the iron sack,” Sarah said softly, shooting Anthony a look. “David, just let go, and I’ll put it in. Don’t listen to whatever you’re hearing–”

“I’m not hearing anything,” he interjected. “I can’t hear it, it’s in my head, Saz, so if I just- if I open it then it could counter it–”

“No way,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “It’s like Charlie said. The more of us there are the easier we wind up dead, so don’t try shit to make that true.”

“But what if- if it could counter what Jack’s going through too?” David tried. “He’s sick with it, it’s contained in him right now, right? If we open it, we can release it.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying right now,” Sarah said, her voice the material of her weapon. David watched her hands take hold of the box in his grasp. “You’re not in your right mind, Ach. Let go.”

“Once it’s open, we can put it in the bag,” David scoffed. “That’ll make sure the spirit stays trapped and Jack and I will be fixed-”

She tugged it, like they were seven years old again, and David tugged it back.

“Jesus christ,” Anthony muttered. Swiftly, he pulled out a pistol, David glancing up to see the circular, hollow barrel of it.

“You’re insane,” David scoffed. 

“That’d be you,” Anthony sneered. “Drop it.”

“Fine.”

David raised his hands over his head, and the box went flying behind him. 

Sarah shoved him aside, Anthony raced around the bed, and David watched as it hit the ground.

A bright, tinkling sound filled the room as Anthony drew both his guns and Sarah raised her sword, both stepping back as a flickering shape rose into the air. David’s brain felt noisy, but… grounded. Clearer, feeling a bit sick though present. 

“She’s in a fuckin’ tutu,” Anthony sputtered out, eyes wide. David didn’t have the clearest sight when it came to spirits’ physical forms, only a flicking outline. “She’s a dancer, and… she’s smiling.”

And Jack’s laughing hadn’t stopped.

[twstchaos]

“im making gyros, anyone want”

I wanted domestic Idia X Kore, so I made myself domestic Idia X Kore with a heaping side of me craving gyros.

Characters: Kore Meraki (OC) and Idia Shroud

Word Count: 1,659

I referenced a lamb gyro recipe for this fic and you can check it out here~

I am opening up writing requests and am willing to write pretty much anything within reason.

Please enjoy~

~~~

Kore laid out the various ingredients over the kitchen counter, additionally taking into the count the collection of spices stored in the cupboards. She picked up her phone to check if anyone responded to her text. Nothing.

“Guess, I’ll just make for myself…” she mumbled to herself, sliding back to the recipe tab. Kore read the directions to herself before starting. As if by instinct, she pulled upon the oven door, checking if it was empty before preheating.

“I–I would like one…”

Kore spun around to see Idia standing in the doorway, twiddling his thumbs.

“Alright, you could’ve just told me in the chat, though.”

He shook his head.

“I also wanna maybe help you.”

“You? Wanting to help me cook?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Who are you and what have you done with my dorm leader?” Kore teased.

“Oh hush, I’ll let you know that I passed the Master Chef course.” Idia crossed his arms over his chest and huffed.

“And I’m so proud of you for doing so~” Kore laughed. “But sure, you can help. The recipe is on my phone, and I just preheated the oven.”

Idia nodded as he picked up her phone, nearly dropping it after the screen lit up, revealing her wallpaper. No matter how many times he has seen the picture of Kore kissing his cheek, he still gets butterflies in his stomach.

“Didya read it yet?”

Idia jumped when he saw Kore standing in front of him.

“Ack, not yet.” He quickly unlocked her phone and skimmed through the recipe. He tilted his head to the side as he read the ingredients list. “Hm? You don’t usually use lamb.”

“Wanted to try something new,” she responded with a shrug. “Okay, so Mister Master Chef, what’s the next step?”

Idia read over the recipe again, then he looked over the counter. “You didn’t set up the pan.”

Kore smiled at him. “Good eye.” She dug in one of the bottom cupboards for a suitable loaf pan. Then, per the recipe, she lined it with aluminum foil. “Alright, what’s next~?”

Idia reread the recipe to himself again. “It says to mix the ground lamb, grated red onion, and all the herbs and spices together in a bowl.”

Kore placed a large mixing bowl on to the clear part of the counter, then she plucked a red onion from the dish of various vegetables.

“I still don’t understand why it’s called a ‘red’ onion when it’s purple.” Idia commented, watching as Kore removed the red skin, discarding it into the brown paper bag.

Kore chuckled as she brought out the grater from a cupboard. “Did you actually want an answer to that or are you just saying things?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know miss ‘historically, there was no such thing as purple, so they used other colors to describe it’.”

“Good to know that you do listen to my historical rants.” Kore grated the onion into tiny pieces.

Idia cautiously eyed the sharp metallic surface and her fingers. As her fingers dipped nervously close to the edge, he winced as if his own fingers were sliced.

Kore watched him out of the corner of her eye.

“Don’t worry, I won’t slice myself.” She placed the half-grated onion on the cutting board, then she turned towards him, placing a soft kiss on his lips. “Plus, I have you to care for me if I do.”

His hair flashed pink as he hid his blush in the crook of her neck. “Stop,” he whined. Kore giggled, hugging him closer.

“Well, this looks like enough ‘redness’ for this recipe.” She teased, letting Idia go to return back to cooking. He fumbled with his girlfriend’s phone to look over the recipe again.

“...and all the herbs and spices…could have specified what they meant by ‘herbs and spices’,” complained the Ignihyde dorm leader.

“That usually means that you can use any seasoning blend.” Kore grabbed two plastic bottles and two shakers from another cupboard. “So, we could use this for the ‘herbs and spices’ and some salt, pepper, and garlic powder.” She placed the four containers on to the counter then grabbed a knife from the block and sliced open the plastic wrap and plopped the raw lamb into the metallic mixing bowl.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Kore held out the dish filled with the grated onion to Idia.

“Uh, sure.” He took the dish from her and dropped its contents into the bowl and turned back to Kore. She was busying herself with measuring out the seasonings into smaller dishes.

“Go ahead and add ‘em in while I finish measuring out the rest.” And he did, piling the emptied dishes in a neat tower in the sink. Kore added in the last of the seasonings before returning the bottles and shakers back into the cupboards.

Idia cringed as he recalled the next step in the recipe and his experience during the Master Chef program.

“Ugh, I don’t wanna touch the raw meat,” he whined, pushing Kore towards the bowl.

“Fine, you big baby, I’ll mix it.” She rolled her eyes, digging through a drawer for a pair of gloves. Kore slipped the gloves on and began to squish the ingredients, mixing the raw lamb, grated onion, and seasonings together.

Idia watched in silence as she mixed the food. His arms snaked their way around her waist and his chin rested on her shoulder. Kore chuckled, leaning her head against his.

“This feels nice,” she said as she continued to mix. “Very domestic.”

“Yeah,” Idia agreed, hugging her tighter.

Once the ingredients were sufficiently mixed, Kore pulled the loaf pan closer, sliding in the mix. She hummed to herself as she flattened the meat to fit snugly into the pan. Still with Idia attached to her, Kore rolled her eyes as she dragged him towards the oven.

“Idia, you gotta let go.”

“Nah.” He squeezed tighter. Kore sighed as she pulled open the oven door and slid in the loaf pan. She turned around in his arms, facing his front and wrapping her arms around his neck.

“Now we wait half an hour for the meat to cook. Have any suggestions on how we should spend our time?” Kore teased, pulling his head closer, their lips nearly touching.

“I have one…” Idia mumbled while slowly closing the space between them.

“And I have another one.” She smirked, pulling away. “Prepping the toppings.” In response, Idia pouted with a huff. To which, Kore chuckled.

“Alright, one kiss, then prep.” She gave him a kiss before turning back towards the strewn about ingredients. Idia finally let go of his beloved, taking his place next to her to attempt to help prepare the toppings.

“So, what do we need to do?” asked Idia, carefully following Kore’s actions and pulling a random knife out of the knife block.

“Well, first, we gotta grab you another knife, because that’s the good bread knife.” Kore took the knife from him, slipped it back into its respective slot, and pulled out another, smaller in size with a serrated blade. “This one is mainly for slicing up veggies, so that’s what you’ll be in charge of.”

Idia nodded as the knife along with a wooden cutting board, two tomatoes, and the remaining half of the red onion were laid out in front of him. He picked up the knife in his left and awkwardly held down a tomato with his right. Slowly, Idia began to saw into the red flesh.

“Don’t forget, you’re dicing that, so make four slices.” Kore reminded, watching as he cut into the tomato. Idia painstakingly slowly sliced the tomato into four uneven slices. She then instructed him to cut up the slices in a grid pattern. The first clump of diced tomatoes came out wonky but as he sliced up the other three, his technique improved. With a confident smirk, Idia slid the diced up tomatoes to the side and began work on the second with much neater cuts.

Idia giggled, satisfied with his accomplishment. “I did it.”

“Good job.” She moved the diced tomatoes off of the cutting board and into a small bowl. “Now, let's see how you handle the onion.”

Idia glanced beside her and noticed that the head of lettuce that once sat in front of her was now completely deconstructed and shredded in a plastic bag next to his bowl of diced tomatoes. He wondered to himself how she was able to get that done so quickly.

“So, how do I cut this? Also diced?” He grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser and wiped the tomato juice off of the knife.

“The recipe calls for sliced, but you can dice ‘em if you want to. I’m fine with either.”

With an eager smile, Idia held down the onion and prepared to dice.

“Dicing onions is different from dicing tomatoes.” Idia stopped, just barely breaking the skin.

“To dice an onion, y’see that weird rooty bit? That’s the root, face the tip of the knife towards it and cut vertically.” He did as Kore told her, the cuts coming out wonky and uneven.

“Alright, hold the onion tight and carefully cut horizontally into it.” Idia was hesitant. He awkwardly held the onion, doing his best to avoid slicing into his fingers.

“Now, face your knife parallel to the root and chop to the root.” Idia watched as after each slice, the onion fell into tiny bits till all that was left was the diced up onion and the root end in his hand.

“Congrats, you now know how to dice a tomato and an onion,” Kore said with a smile. She checked the timer for the lamb on her phone. “Hmm, we still have a lot of time before the meat is done.” Kore smirked, hugging his waist and pulling him closer. “Wanna circle back to your idea to pass the time?”

[violetjedisylveon]

Ready Now

Eda Raises Two Gods AU Chapter 20🎉

Summary: Enzo goes to their first therapy session.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings: therapy happens and there's some referenced trauma

A/N: in all honesty this chapter's first ~1200 words of set up and gushing over cute animals, ~1300 words of basically just the DSM-5 on PTSD, and then ~1500 of Enzo and Gailine (also King but ngl I forgot he was there for the majority of the chapter til the end) getting snacks.

Also I made a short video of some napping swamp kitties!

Eda Raises Two Gods AU Masterpost

____________________________________________________________________________________________

Enzo held onto Mama's hand tightly and ducked under her cloak as they approached the office. They felt safe with the soft fabric all around them, it was kinda like Papa’s fluffy fur. The owl lady paused at the door and glanced down at them.

“Are you still feeling okay, starshine?” Eda asked them softly.

“I don't know… but I think I'm ready now.” They said.

She just smiled at him and opened the door.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, they felt a little less nervous.

The space could only be described as peaceful, there were plants placed or growing everywhere, and lots of little waterfalls. The desk up front had a waterfall built into it that led to a little pool full of tiny water plants at the bottom.

A spider demon was busily typing away at the front desk. The top set of eyes glanced at them before she fully looked away from whatever she was busy doing.

“Hello, welcome to The Garden House, are you here for your first appointment?” She asked cheerfully.

“Yes, Clawthorne, I'm here for my kid’s first appointment.” Eda said.

It always filled Enzo with a special, bubbly kind of warmth when Eda called them her kid.

“Wonderful, you can take a seat and I'll let Miss Margay know you're here. She'll be with you quickly.” She told them.

Eda nodded to the demon and guided them over to an isolated pair of chairs by a small fountain. Once they were sitting, Nibs slithered out of her travel tube and curled around their arm. He gave them a few chin scratches and held her close to their chest, letting their purr rumble through his body.

They took another look around the waiting room. There was a shelf built into the front desk with some of those stuffed animals on it, and a couple of blankets with a sign saying something about them. He tugged Mama’s sleeve and pointed to the sign.

“What's that say?” They asked in a whisper.

Eda glanced over and squinted at the sign.

“Those are for sale, Saethrith makes them herself.” She told them.

“Who's Saethrith?”

“Her.” Eda pointed to the spider at the front desk.

“Oh.”

Enzo fiddled their fingers for a moment until Mama spoke up again.

“You can go check them out if you want starshine, she doesn't bite.”

Enzo glanced between the busy spider and Eda uncertainly.

“She won't be mad at me for bothering her?” He asked quietly.

“Nah, spiders are great at multitasking.” Eda said, giving them a light pat on the head.

He giggled and glanced towards the shelf again. Nibs hissed in their ear to go for it.

“Are you sure she won't be mad?” They asked.

“Yep.” She nodded and gave the a slight nudge towards the desk.

“Besides, she's been watching us the whole time, she knows you're coming.” She added.

Sure enough, Enzo glanced back just in time to catch one set of eyes flick away from them.

“Um… okay…” they mumbled and walked across the room to the desk.

They knelt by the shelf and started looking through the many soft things sitting there. He was keenly aware of the eyes on them, Saethrith kept looking away before they could really catch her watching them. She was trying to hide a laugh or smile.

“Which is your favorite?” She suddenly asked.

Enzo looked up and saw her leaning over the counter with her head resting in one of her hands, they could still hear one of her other hands working. Mama was right, spiders do multitask good.

“Uh… I like this one.” Enzo held up the stuffed toy that looked like a chubby long tailed bunny with a tiny mushroom on its head, a little cape of leaves and a happy sleepy face.

“Oh yeah, Bun Bun’s a good one.” She said while nodding.

“Bun Bun?” They echoed.

“I give each design names for inventory purposes, plus it's fun, and that one's named after a buddy of mine.” She explained.

“Oh.” Enzo nodded.

Their sister did that.

Her system was very complex. She would get really upset when the others dropped things on her without warning, or went through it without asking. Enzo had tried to help her, but they never really understood it either.

“Hey, wanna see Bun Bun’s best friend?” Saethrith’s voice shook them out of their thoughts.

“Huh?”

Saethrith chuckled and reached over into the shelf, grabbing another toy and showing it to him.

It looked like a fluffy pink cloud.

“This is Cotton. She's a spider sheep.” Saethrith said.

“She looks fluffy.” They said.

“She's so fluffy, you have no idea how fluffy she is. She's great for cuddles at night and she likes to sleep right on top of me with Bun Bun on her back.” Saethrith giggled.

“Wait, are these real?” Enzo asked.

“Yeah! They're my Bondlings! I usually bring them in but they had to go to the vet today, so my cousin is watching them for me” Saethrith said excitedly.

She grabbed her scroll with one of her other hands, showing him a picture of her with a fluffy pink sheep and the chubby bunny cuddling.

“Aww!” Enzo gushed.

“I know right? I based these two off of them, Cotton loves to snuggle with them. Bun Bun likes it too.” Saethrith told them, showing them another picture of all the fluffy little things cuddling together.

“That's so adorable! Why is it so cute?!” They exclaimed, smooshing their own cheeks as they looked at the adorableness.

“I don't know but it's adorable.” Saethrith said.

One of the doors suddenly opened and a vampire walked out, Saethrith sat up and went back over to the desk.

“Are you ready to pay, Mx. Philyra?” Saethrith asked.

“Yes.” They said.

Enzo tuned Saethrith out and focused on the vampire, they hadn't seen one in a long time, they hadn't been anywhere in a long time but still. This vampire looked oddly witch-like, even more than the normal witch-like vampires. They didn't have the bat ears or the little horns. The heavily tinted sunglasses were familiar. Vampires had very sensitive eyes.

Then they spotted a familiar pendant. A concealment stone to make them look more like a normal witch. They'd seen it before, vampires used it when they didn't want to be bothered.

They shrugged and kept playing with the cute little toys.

The door opened again and a Dhampir walked out on crutches. The dhampir girl looked a lot like her parent, the top half of her hair was a pinkish gray, the bottom half was dark, two toned hair was pretty common for vampires and dhampirs.

There was something off about the way she was walking, she was heavily favoring her right leg and using crutches despite nothing being wrong with either of her legs. One of them was giving off a weird sound. They flicked their concealed ears and listened closer to the soft clinking and humming coming from her leg. She noticed them staring and they quickly looked away.

The vampire and dhampir left together.

“Alright, Miss Margay will be with you in a few minutes.” Saethrith told them.

Enzo nodded and put the toys back on the shelf then sat down next to Eda again.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Gailine's mom came out.

“Hello Enzo, I'm so glad to see you here.” She greeted him nicely.

“Would you like to come back?” She asked them.

They glanced up at Mama for permission. She gave them a steady nod and ruffled up their hair.

He still held her hand as they followed Clover into the meeting rooms.

There was a big open room setup with lots of books, toys and games, and there were a few kids playing and reading in the room. They walked past it down a hallway with lots of doors, some were shut, some were open and empty and some had people doing work in them.

Everything was colored nice blues and greens and soft pastels.

It felt nice.

Clover guided them into a room near the end of the hall. One of the walls was only a few feet tall, the rest was a massive open window that overlooked the garden outside, the adjacent wall had a large circular window and a bunch of bookshelves underneath it. A desk sat in front of the bookshelves, there was a little playspace on the other side of the room, lots of toys and books and fun stuff, there was one of those standing painting things near the window. The ceiling was one big window.

And there were plants absolutely everywhere.

The room smelled like a cool afternoon in a forest or a meadow.

Clover sat at the desk and motioned for them to sit in the chairs across from her.

The chair was soft and had little flowers woven into the fabric.

They fiddled with their fingers while Clover did whatever she was doing.

“You're doing great starshine.” Eda whispered.

They smiled at her. Nibs nuzzled their cheek and purred softly.

“From what Edalyn has told me, you can't read or write, is that right?” Clover asked gently.

“Uh yeah, that's right.” Enzo nodded.

“Is that going to cause a problem?” They wondered.

“No, I have lots of patients who can't.” Clover said.

She set a stack of papers to the side of her desk and turned to them.

“Now, I know it's not the easiest thing to talk about,” she paused and glanced at Mama for a second, “especially when important people are present. So how would you like to do this?” She said.

“Uh, how does it normally happen?” he asked.

“There's usually some yes or no system, sometimes patients want their parents to leave because they don't want to worry them, but I think you'll benefit more from your mom being here.” Clover said.

“I do have a method that lots of patients like.” She opened a drawer in her desk and set a big, shiny box on the desk.

“It's the Yes-No box.” She said, pushing it over to them.

It had three big holes in the top for something, one was outlined in green, one was blue and the middle one was purple. Clover set a bin of shiny little balls next to the box.

“Here's how this works, I'll ask you a question, and you'll drop a marble into the green or blue side, blue means no, green means yes, purple is maybe or not sure. You can put it under your seat and answer without anyone seeing you.” She explained.

Enzo nodded, that sounded okay.

I trust Mama, but I don't want her to be sad. She always gets sad when I talk about stuff.

“Does that sound good Enzo?” Clover asked.

“Y-yeah… that's good.” They said.

The ocelat gave them a warm smile.

“Then we can get started, but we can take a break anytime you need.” She told him.

Enzo nodded again and set the box under their seat. He took the bin of marbles and sat them in their lap. The marbles were cool and smooth.

Clover had a paper on the desk in front of her.

“Are you ready?” She asked.

“Yes.” Enzo grabbed Mama's offered hand.

“Have you ever been exposed to actual or threatened death, serious injury or sexual violence in one or more of the following ways; have you directly experienced death, serious injury or sexual violence?”she asked.

Enzo squeezed Eda's hand and dropped a marble into the green hole. It clinked when it hit the bottom.

“Have you ever witnessed death, serious injury or sexual violence in person as it happened to others?”

Blue blood splattered across the ground flashed through their mind, they flinched and dropped another marble into the green side.

“Have you ever learned of death, serious injury or sexual violence occuring to a close family member or close friend?”

Another marble went into the green box.

“Have you experienced repeated or extreme exposure to aversive details of these traumatic events?”

They hesitated over the green hole before they dropped it into the purple one.

“Have you ever had one or more of the following intrusive symptoms associated with the traumatic events, beginning after they occurred; recurrent, involuntary and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic events?”

Green hole.

“Recurrent distressing dreams where the content and or affect of the dream are related to the traumatic events?”

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The marbles went in for the next three questions.

“Do you persistently avoid stimuli associated with the traumatic events, such as avoiding memories, thoughts or feelings about or closely associated with the events?”

Clink

“Do you avoid external reminders, such as people, places, activities, objects and situations that make you think about the traumatic events?”

They dropped another marble into green.

Clover put her paper down.

“You're doing great so far, do you want to take a break?” she asked.

Enzo shook their head.

“Alright, if you're sure.” Clover said.

“Do you have trouble remembering important parts of the traumatic experience?”

They dropped a marble into the middle hole, they weren't quite sure since they tried so hard to not think about it.

“Do you have negative beliefs about yourself, the world or others? Does the world feel unsafe, do you feel like you can't trust anyone?”

Everything felt unsafe since Papa.

Another marble in the green hole.

“Do you blame yourself for what happened?”

Enzo's head snapped up, meeting a concerned two toned gaze.

How is that even a question? It is my fault! It's all my fault!-

“Starshine?”

They glanced at Eda, she looked upset again.

“Are you okay there kiddo? You kinda froze up on us.” She explained.

“I'm fine.” They told her.

“If you are here, you're anything but fine.” Clover said.

“Do you want to stop?” She asked again, more seriously this time.

“No.”

The feline demon narrowed her eyes.

“Do you have a persistent negative emotional state, such as fear, anger, horror, guilt or shame?”

Blue hole.

“Do you have  a diminished interest in activities?”

Blue.

“Do you have feelings of detachment or estrangement from others?”

Blue.

“Are you unable to experience positive emotions?”

Blue.

“Do you have irritable behavior and angry outbursts with little to no provocation?”

Blue.

“Do you have reckless or self destructive behavior?”

Blue.

“Are you hyper vigilant?”

Green.

“Do you have exaggerated startle responses?”

They were really jumpy all the time…

Green.

“Do you have problems with concentration?”

Green.

“Do you have sleep disturbances, trouble falling, staying asleep or restless sleep?”

Green.

“Do these disturbances cause significant distress or impairment of other important areas of functioning?”

Green.

“Are these disturbances coming from medicines?”

Blue.

“Do you experience depersonalization or derealization?”

“What're those?” Enzo asked.

“Depersonalization is feeling detached from your body or thoughts, like you're watching it all. Derealization is experiencing the world as unreal, dreamlike, distant or distorted.” Clover explained.

“Oh… I don't think either of those happen.” They said.

“Well then, that's the last question I have for you.” Clover said, setting her papers down on her desk.

“R-really? That was it?” He wondered.

“Yes, you've given me everything I need from you, now I'm going to talk with your mom, you and your brother can go to the garden or the playroom. Gailine should be somewhere here, she's been itching to play again.” She told him.

Enzo glanced at Eda. Mama smiled at them, ruffling up their hair.

“Go ahead and have some fun, you've done great today, starshine.” She said.

“We've also got some treats, Mx. Lyn is always cooking something up. Gailine can take you to the kitchen.” Clover added.

King woke from his nap at the mention of treats. He scrambled out of Eda's lap, flopping onto the ground in his attempts to get tasty treats faster.

“Treat! Treat! King wan treat!” He cheered.

“Is it okay if we have some?” They asked.

“Course kiddo, just don't let King make himself sick.” Mama said.

“I won't! Thanks Mama!” Enzo swore.

“Treat!!!” King shouted, scampering out the door.

Enzo chased after their gluttonous little brother.

“King! Slow down! You don't know where you're going!” They shouted.

King ran all the way to the playroom, skidding to a stop at the sight of all the new toys. The other kids that had been here before were gone now, the sun was significantly lower than before. It was mid afternoon when they went in, now the shadows were long as the sun slowly lowered to the horizon.

“Eso!” King chirped, tugging at his pants.

They glanced down, King pointed to the toys.

“Play?” He asked, his tail wagging.

“I thought you wanted treats.” Enzo said.

“But wanna play!” King whined.

“We can get treats and play.” they explained.

“Oh, are you guys getting treats?” Gailine’s voice came from above.

The ocelat was in some weird tube thing attached to the ceiling, peering down at them from an opening. She grabbed onto a rope near the opening, flinging herself out of the tube and onto a carpeted strip of the wall, she slid down with her claws dug into the wall carpet and made a surprisingly clean landing.

“That was insane!” Enzo shouted.

“Thank you.” Gailine said smugly.

Enzo glowered at the feline.

“I didn't mean it as a compliment.”

“I know.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“So do you wanna get some snacks?” She asked.

“Snack!” King screeched.

“Yeah! C'mon I'll show you the kitchen!” Gailine said.

She took their hand, half dragging, half leading them to the kitchen.

The kitchen was a cozy space with drawers and cabinets everywhere, cooking utensils, pots and pans hung from the ceiling and the whole room was painted a warm yellowy orange. There were a couple of ovens against one wall and a big oven in the farthest wall.

“Whoa, this is cool.” Enzo said, looking around the kitchen in awe.

“Yeah, Mam made Mama put in a kitchen when she started staying out super late working on stuff and not eating. Sometimes she comes down to check that Mama's eaten something since she forgets to a lot. One of my aunties came and designed it, she makes the coolest stuff. Mx. Lyn uses it the most. They bake the best treats.” Gailine said.

“Mx. Lyn! Can we get a snack?!” Gailine shouted into the kitchen.

“Can't we just go in?” Enzo asked, noting how she was standing just behind the kitchen’s tile floor.

“Mama says I can't go in without permission cause I'll burn myself again.” she said casually.

“Oh, that makes sense.” Enzo nodded.

“Kitten? Who's that you got with you?” A pale yellow face peered around the corner, fuzzy antennas swaying with the movement.

Their big, dark eyes landed on him and they smiled, setting down whatever they were doing to fly over to them.

They didn't look like any bee demon he'd ever seen before. They had the two big main eyes, but lacked the trio of small forehead eyes, and they had the usual four wings, creating a dull buzz as they hovered above the ground.

Their tail was the biggest difference, they had a long thick, hooked tail that ended in a barb, instead of the shorter rounded abdomen. Their lower half looked less like a bee demon's and more witch-like.

They giggled at his staring.

“Is this the new friend you've been telling me about?” They asked Gailine.

“Yeah! This is Enzo Clawthorne! They're my best friend!” Gailine proclaimed proudly, squeezing them with a tight side hug.

“Best friend”? I'm her best friend? Enzo wondered, glancing at Gailine with mild confusion.

They'd gotten her into a lot of trouble, probably caused a lot of problems… she still called them her best friend.

“Well it's very nice to finally put a face to the name.” Mx. Lyn said happily.

“y-yes! Nice to meet you too.” Enzo said hurriedly.

The bee(?) demon giggled again, buzzing back over to Gailine, ruffling her hair up with one set of hands.

“What snack do you kids want?” They asked.

“Oh, can we get some Boiling Lava Cakes, Blood Cupcakes, and Blossom Bat Fruit cobbler please.” Gailine requested politely.

Mx. Lyn frowned down at Gailine.

“Why so many sweets? Did something happen today?” Mx. Lyn asked.

“Enzo had their first meeting with Mama. His mama and mine are talking now.” Gailine explained before quickly adding “Mama said we could get some.”

“I guess I have to believe you this time.” Mx. Lyn said.

“You should, cause I'm not lying.” Gailine huffed.

“Does the little guy want anything?” They asked him, gesturing towards King.

“He likes red stuff that makes a mess, and meat.” Enzo said.

“Think he'd like a blood sausage?” they suggested.

“Probably, he's not very picky.” Enzo shrugged.

“I'll get that started for you three.” Mx. Lyn said, disappearing back into the kitchen with a happy buzz.

“They're really nice, right?” Gailine prompted them.

“Yeah… they look a little funny, I thought bee demons had-”

“Big butts?” Gailine guessed.

They stared at her.

“Uh… yeah, that.” They nodded.

“Oh they do. Mx. Lyn is just half scorpion demon. Miss Sae jokes that their top half is a bee, and their bottom half is a scorpion.” She said.

“That's cool!” Enzo said.

“Sometimes hybrids have issues that make it harder to live. Sometimes they make it. Sometimes they don't and they suffer. It's not good to let them suffer, so we intervene.”

“I thought we weren't supposed to do that.”

“Yes, we aren't supposed to intervene and change things, but these are cases where the end result is inevitable, and we can speed up inevitable things to end suffering.”

“Does that make sense, Nova?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“Good, I'm sure it will make more sense once you're older. Our job is to preserve and protect all creatures.”

“Then why don't we just fix it?”

“Nova, we do what we can for them, but sometimes there's nothing that can be done. We don't change things like that. This is just the less happy side of our duty.”

“Oh. So there's really nothing we can do for them?”

“Sadly not, that is just part of existence, some things don't work out no matter what you do.”

Enzo shook their head, stubbornly shoving the ancient voice away.

“Does Mx. Lyn have any issues from that?” they asked.

“Huh? Oh, no, I don't think so. They act more like a bee than a scorpion.” Gailine said.

“Oh. That's good.” Enzo said.

“Isn't your mama a hybrid too? Does she have issues?” Gailine asked, turning her bright orange eyes onto them.

“Yeah, she is… and she does have problems…” Enzo admitted.

“Just don't tell anyone, I don't think Mama wants people to know.” They added.

Gailine snickered.

“Pinkie swear.” She said, offering her pinkie.

Enzo smiled and locked fingers with her. “Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye.” Gailine swore seriously.

“Did you see Miss Sae’s toys up front?” She asked after they unhooked pinkies.

“Yeah, I like the bunny and the sheep the best.” Enzo gushed.

“Bun Bun and Cotton are super cute in person, and they're so fluffy!” Gailine squealed.

“You're so lucky you get to see them so much.” Enzo said.

“Yeah, but Mx. Lyn gets to hang out with them all the time, so they're the real lucky one.” Gailine sighed.

“Why does Mx. Lyn gets to see them so much?” They asked.

“Cause they and Miss Sae live together. I think they love each other. That's what Mam and Mama said when I asked about the kissing thing they do.” Gailine explained.

“Do your moms not kiss much?” Enzo asked.

“No, they don't love each other like other parents do. They're friends. They cuddle cause we're ocelats and we like to do that.” She chirped.

“Miss Sae and Mx. Lyn kiss a lot.” She giggled, dropping her voice low.

“How many times do they do it?” Enzo asked, whispering as well.

“They do it whenever they see each other.” Gailine squealed.

“What are you two whispering about?” Mx. Lyn asked, standing over the pair of children.

“Nothing.” Gailine said innocently.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Kitten.” Mx. Lyn sighed good naturedly.

They held out cute little food baskets for each of them.

“I want you kids to eat the lunches I made before you eat your sweets. You'll make yourselves sick otherwise.” They said sternly.

“We will!” Gailine shouted, already dragging him towards the garden door by the kitchen.

“C'mon! I wanna show you my favorite pond! It looks the coolest at this time of day!” Gailine told them enthusiastically.

“Okay!” Enzo laughed.

They eagerly ran into the big, calm garden, laughing and playing with King and Gailine as she led them to the pond.

Despite the lightness in their chest, something stirred deep in the dark part of their mind.

You lied.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

[ask-hannah-blog]

Yeah, I've been doing some research these past couple of days on what happened with all those transformations on Halloween, and as conspiracy nut crazy as it's gonna sound, I feel like the number of people who got influenced into changing other people wasn't just some coincidence. I mean, it's one thing for a bunch of random people to get changed on Halloween, but how come only the people who were at risk of succumbing to those changes were targeted? I looked around on the social media accounts of people who got changed and had no latent mental changes and none of those people were hit by waves of randos egging them on. You can draw your own conclusions, but so far this is what my investigation has led me to believe. Of course, that's before considering the increased Clown sightings that night. I cross-referenced the amount of reported Clown Flu victims in areas that had a considerable amount of clowns roaming around, and even if all of those reported cases suddenly went full clown at the same time, and there were also clowns from unreported infections, that still wouldn't account for how many clowns were seen worldwide. Of course, costume transformations play into that number as well but even after adding that potential group of people, there were still way more clowns sighted all around the world than even that. I don't think they're TF victims, not like you or most other people anyhow. I think Gimmick was planning something, from his cell. And on Halloween, his gang orchestrated whatever was, right under our noses. Who knows how many more people fell victim to their transformations because of lunatics like him or that TF Committee? I don't trust this one bit, I'd sleep with one eye open if I were you. Forces are out there and they're trying to make our world fall into chaos. Watch yourselves.

Okay let’s just get this out of the way. This message is crazy. I discourage people from seeking connections where there are none.

But…

There is something weird going on. More cases keep popping up and Gimmick has been in jail for a month.

I keep thinking about Cassidy. She was so sure she caught her flu from another clown. And I thought she was pretty convincing.

I don’t want to get anyone harassed. But if anyone spots a clown fitting her description or has encountered her before let me know.

[forgottenstarlightwishes]

A loud clatter startled the Cherub from his snack. "She must have dove right to the one I just sent her!" He chirped as he fluttered over to the table and opened the letter.

"Oh, my!" He gasped, holding out the letter out, seeing the speed and change of slant Coronis' handwriting had taken. Was his little invite really that exciting to her? She didn't specify if it was today, but something...but his gut told him it was indeed today, and that she probably had flown out the door to go to this, "Beedle and Bairn cafe..." Warbie pulled out an old map out of Pride and dusty phone book as well and started to look for this cafe that Coronis had mentioned. He could have used his phone, but reception and results were sometimes spotty and directions were downright awful, so the old school ways he went. Luckily for him, as a messenger cherub, he had a keen sense of direction and had already somewhat gotten one point of the Pentagram down already, doing some odd jobs that he had found in the newspaper. Mostly delivery, as his usual. Something about not trusting a thing called VoxTech Drones.

"Here it is. " cross referencing the address in the book and the spot on the map. "It's not too far!" He hummed brightly and quickly packed all his things away and was out the door. "Oh wait. You need to match." He said coming to a grinding halt before taking off, he looked back and gave his wings a hard flap, and the bright pastel blue suddenly darkened to match the rest of him. "There we go." He said clutching to his bag and took off.

The organization of Hell was much more Chaotic than Heaven. In Heaven things were laid out to which streets were organized and the buildings had carried a unifying theme. But here in Hell the only thing that matched were perhaps the color scheme of red, black, purple, and neon. Otherwise the buildings were often placed as though they were simply filling a spot that was left vacant and streets would meander with desire paths. "Hey Bird Kid!" growled a stall keeper that spooked Warbie. He turned around and was met with the gaze of 3 pairs of red eyes on a grey and white splattered reptilian skull face. "Aren't you the kid that flies around delivering things?" "Uh....sometimes yes?" "Well good! Here!" He said pulling out an envelope with this triple forked tail, and held it up towards him, "I need this delivered before Friday." "Oh! uhm I'm not currently accepting pack-" The man let out a loud growl and the spots on his tail began to flicker dangerously, "Uh! Yes Sure! Before Friday! I'll take that!" Warbie said snatching the envelope and placing it into his bag and pulled out a small receipt book hand out the receipt to him. The man took the slip and smiled, "Cheaper than the Post. Very Nice. Get me a scale from the fella you deliver it to, as proof. Here Kid." He said holding out a set of bills. Warbie nodded at the instructions and took the fold of bills with a nervous thanks, "You .... wouldn't happen to know where Beedle and Bairn do you?" "Beedle and Bairn? Oh yeah, its two blocks that way. You can't miss it. its a real swanky place. You got a job there?" Warbie smiled nervously, "Mn, sort of???" he lied, "Grabbing a menu for someone. They don't use their phone." Oh that didn't feel too good, but being Hell he learned the first week he could not afford to be truthful 100% of the time. "Oh! Well get me one too! Lets see if I can make a drink that matches theirs!" He chuckled and waved the bird away. 2 blocks and there it was. The stall keeper wasn't wrong, you couldn't miss it. Unlike many of the other shop fronts this one was much more inviting with its decor and the clientele was definitely of a different financial status. He quickly stuffed a menu into his pack and he opened one, nervously looking at what was offered and ....at the prices. "Oh...its not....too bad." He said it would leave a slight dent in his wallet, but it wouldn't leave him in the red. He stuffed the second menu into his pack and stepped in a small little chirp.

"Can I help you little one?" Asked one of the waitresses, "I'm ....uh...Waiting for someone?"

"Name of your party?"

"Oh uhm......Miss. Coronis?" He squeaked unsure if that was the correct way. It wasn't like he was ever invited to popular sit down cafes in Heaven.

It was beginning to occur to Coronis that she might have been...overly informal in her last letter.

That's something you should write to someone you're friends with, not a stranger- She fussed over it during tea. She was able to drink by herself for once, sitting safe in her room from the bickering going on downstairs, and paired with a favorite book. The shadowbox was enjoyed during very private moments, but she was cautious never to leave it out to be found. -who's to say Mr. Reed will even want to tell me?

Clank!

The book snapped shut and she brightened at once to see the letter canister drop onto her desk. Nevermind!!!

She tripped several times over her pillow and blanket in her scramble to get the letter. Opening it, she was initially disappointed to see a few lines. Until she started reading them that is.

Visit?!

He's inviting her to visit?!

She hesitated, looking to the door.

Her parents were still arguing. They might continue to argue until dinner. Did she dare try to leave now, and risk attracting their attention?

.....I go out sometimes. They don't have to know. She fretted, chewing on her finger a little. I'll just....ask the chauffer to drop me off and they'll be none the wiser. I'll ask him to tell them I'm going out for dinner. It doesn't have to be long. It's only a visit.

Yet the fear of how they'd react to this new flight of fancy...the same way they react to all the others, worried her immensely. Even as she picked up a pen, she feared not being able to keep her engagement.

Dear Mr. Reed, I'd be honored to come by for a brief visit. If it's not too forward, there is a very suitable cafe called Beedle and Bairn in the Ring of Pride that would be nice to visit. I appreciate your generous invitation and look forward to seeing you in person. Yours affably, Coronis

The letter was sent. She took a deep breath-

And ventured downstairs.

_______

The driver was meticulous in answering the call for an outing. The car was called for, and the lady climbed in, setting off for the cafe in question. And in a bit of anxiousness over popping in so suddenly, Coronis had asked him to make a detour for a tin of cookies and a fresh can of fancy tea leaves (something called rooibos???).

She felt confident that the gift might smooth over any awkwardness over the sudden meeting, but she was still mortified at what her own awkwardness might bring. Mr. Reed had been perfectly accommodating and kind thus far, but his patience might be tested if her usual social skills were put to the test.

Good grief it's only a visit to a teahouse. It's...it's nothing major- Though whether these thoughts worked to coax Coronis to a less frantic state was questionable. -and Mr. Reed will be more than able to ask me to go if he's uncomfortable.

But eventually, the car did stop.

Okay. Okay. She took deep breaths in and out. Don't stay too long. Offer him the gift, listen to what he has to say, and try to read the room for Satan's sake. She drilled herself in on the proper etiquette. And for crying out loud, don't be weird!!

She stepped out from the car. Took one more deep breath.

And entered the cafe.

[juneknight]

obsessed || 2

Part One

About this: college au. dorm room!marc/fem!reader. Oral sex (f receiving) No I don't edit or proofread my works, thanks for asking!

Immersivity: reader is given no overt physical description and no name. Details about her figure/body could be assumed based on the fact that she wears a pair of Marc's stollen pajama pants. It is referenced that she comes from a sex-negative household. Any further details which hinder your immersive experience are welcome to be pointed out to me.

-

That’s how he gets you sitting ramrod straight on the center cushion of the couch, knees pressed so tightly together that not even the holy ghost could come between them, both hands covering your face. Marc sits cross legged at your feet, laughing at you. With your eyes covered, he can let his face relax from its cold, neutral expression into one of mesmerized fondness. You have that effect on him. You melt him into something liquid and soft. 

God, he’s a fucking idiot. It’s hard enough living with you now; how is he meant to go on the way things have been once he’s had a taste of you? How is he supposed to listen to you gargle in the bathroom knowing he’s had his mouth on you? His excuse—being pent up and craving pussy—is thin enough for him to see through. Marc’s been jerking off plenty enough at night (and in the shower, and anytime you’re in class and he has the dorm room to himself), and he’s had a handful of opportunities that could have opened the door for sex though he hadn’t followed through with them.

Because he wants you. 

“Come on,” he says, tapping your shin. His eyes linger on the way his pajama pants fit you. You don’t even fucking know what it does to him to see you prancing around in his clothes. With your eyes covered, he feels safe enough to reach down and palm his cock which is aching beneath the denim of his jeans. The little bit of friction helps and hurts all at once. “Spread ‘em.” 

“I’m shy,” you bark at him. 

The naivete would be a turn off if he didn’t know you better. In the majority of situations, you’re far from inexperienced, and he has never known you to be shy in the classroom or at parties. But after many nights similar to this (spent talking about anything and everything), he knows that you grew up in a household where sex was viewed very particularly. Those long-ingrained doctrines have been difficult to unlearn, no matter how much you want to. 

“Hey,” he says. “Just be honest with me. Don’t say yes just because you think I want to. If you don’t want to, then I don’t want to.” 

You lower your hands. “It’s not that I don’t want…to. I’m just scared.” 

Scared. Marc tends to have that effect on people; he’s been told that he’s too deadpan, too intense, too cold. You aren’t the only one holding on to a less than stellar childhood. Even though you had skirted a safe perimeter around him for the first few days you’d shared classes together, you’d been quick to see something in him that others hadn’t. Something that Marc didn’t even see in himself. Always though the fear comes creeping in, the fear that you’re afraid of him. 

He has to know—whether it hurts or not, he has to know. “What are you scared of, baby? Me? Me…accidentally hurting you like that last guy did?”

“No,” you rush to assure him. His shoulders lower but jaw remains tight. He isn’t sure if he believes you. “I know that you wouldn’t hurt me. And you’re probably a lot more careful than that other guy was. I guess I just…don’t know what you’re getting out of it. What if you think I’m disgusting?” 

“I literally spent fifteen minutes earlier waxing poetry about eating pussy. If you think I’m not going to thoroughly enjoy myself, then you’re wrong, and for what it’s worth—you could never disgust me.” Honest, too honest, Marc, some voice warns from the back of his mind. He lifts one hand to let it rest below your knee, gently clasping your shin. “If you want it, I want it. Let me make this good for you.” 

You let out a shaky sigh. His heart pounds when, marginally, your knees begin to open. Marc lets his thumb drift down from the top of your knee down and inward, breaching the newly open space and rubbing your leg softly through the flannel pajama pants. “Okay. What should I do?”

“You should probably take your pants off.” Then, he thinks about it. “No, wait, just stand up. Let me take them off of you.” 

Then you’re standing, calves pressed against the couch cushions when Marc doesn’t move back to give you any room. He’s eye level with the crotch of your pajamas. Glancing up at you, he’s surprised to see your eyes already on him, wide and unblinking, staring down at him with something akin to amazement. The moment is almost enough to make his head spin. Here he is, on his knees for you, about to undress you and put his mouth on you. 

His hands come up and rest at your waist, thumbing at your hips until he sinks his fingertips over and beneath the waistband of the pajama pants. He lets his fingers brush against the top elastic band of your panties and you shiver above him. 

And god help him. God help him because—

“Remember when I said that when a woman is really wet, you can smell her?” he rasps, pulling his thumb free to trace a vertical line from the waistband down towards the top of your mound, stopping just centimeters above where your clit must be. Feeling like he’s about to be torn apart, Marc leans in and nuzzles against the crotch of your pants. He inhales sharply the smell of you. The smell of you wet for him. “Fuck, I love it. Fuck, fuck. Can I take these off?” 

You nod, but that isn’t the enthusiasm he wants. 

“Can you say it?” 

You clear your throat. “Yes. You can take them off.” 

With all the care of handling crystal, he peels them from your hips and slips them down your thighs, eyes tracing the newly exposed skin before zeroing in on your panties. They are a pale lilac, cute and sensible compared to some of the other pairs he’s seen in the laundry hamper on the rare occasion that he lifts the lid to put his own clothes inside. He clenches his jaw trying to hold himself back from leaning in and pulling your panties down with his fucking teeth. Gentler than he feels, he guides your hips back until you sit heavily on the couch. With care, he slips the pants off of your feet and brushes them aside, kneeling up onto his knees and then resting back on his heels. 

“Open up,” he murmurs, staring at your cloth-covered cunt. “Spread your legs for me.” 

You do. As soon as your knees spread just a few handbreadths apart, Marc groans, a punched-out sound. The crotch of your panties are soaked a darker purple, clinging to your cunt so that his eyes can just barely trace your folds. 

“Holy fuck, look at you,” he says. “You’re so fucking wet, aren’t you? Look at this.” 

Both of your hands fly up to cover your eyes. He makes an unhappy sound in the back of his throat. You crack open your fingers an inch so you can look down at his raised brow. “Don’t hide from me. I want to see your face. It will help me know if I’m doing something wrong. Or something right.”

Fighting what must be your instinctual urge to hide, you lower your hands to your sides and clench them into tight fists. You’re being so brave for him, for yourself. Marc drags his palms up and down the sides of your calves, relishing the cool softness of your skin and trying to ease your tense muscles. 

“Tell me what he did wrong,” Marc says, breath fanning across your bare thighs. “How did it hurt? I don’t want to do anything that might hurt you.” 

“‘m sensitive,” you grumble. 

Marc breathes a laugh. “Yeah, it’s your pussy, I bet it’s sensitive. How sensitive, though? Was it too much when he was using his tongue? Or was he using his teeth?”

“The tongue was fine,” you say, speaking about it the way you might a mediocre appetizer you’ve been served at a restaurant. Marc holds his jealousy in a tightly closed fist. Now isn’t the time to be jealous of some young boy who couldn’t even make you feel good. Now is Marc’s turn.  “But he—oh my god, I hate you, I can’t say this shit out loud Marc.” 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, unable to help leaning in to press the softest kiss against your knee. Your chest hitches at the contact, a movement his eyes track but his mind doesn’t understand.

“He was…”

“Was…” 

“Sucking on me. On my clit. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if I wasn’t so anxious. If I was turned on like, at all.” 

“Consider it noted,” Marc says, refusing to pat his own back by pointing out how turned on you seem right now. Then with gentle pressure (to give you plenty a chance to refuse him) he coaxes you to spread your thighs wide and then wider. 

“Shouldn’t I take off my underwear?” you ask.

“Not if you might be too sensitive,” says Marc. “Come here. Slouch down.” 

You shift around, but not nearly low enough for his liking. So he slips his hands beneath you, cupping your ass and pulling until your cunt is at the edge of the couch, inches from his waiting mouth. The squeal you give has him pursing his lips to keep from laughing. His strength always seems to surprise you.

Gazing up at you, he waits for you to nod before he turns his head and lays a soft kiss on the tender skin inside your thigh. Above him, you exhale shakily. The feeling of your skin beneath his lips has his head buzzing. He begins dragging his mouth upwards, his kisses growing ever-more open mouthed until he is blatantly tasting your skin. His eyes flicker shut as he inhales noisily, the scent of your arousal making his cock twitch. He switches thighs. 

A sound slips through the back of your throat, something high and breathy. A whine. Marc’s eyes flash open at the sound, flickering all across your face for any hint of pain. But he doesn’t find it. If anything, you look fucked out: mouth parted, eyes heavy lidded. He hasn’t even fucking touched you.

I can do this, he thinks. I can make you feel good.

He softly sucks blood to the surface of your skin until you can’t seem to sit still, thighs tensing beneath his mouth. When he opens his eyes, your panties are even wetter. Enough teasing the both of you, he thinks. He shifts and drags the tip of his curved nose up the seam of your clothed cunt, nudging so softly against the apex.

“Oh my god,” you mutter above him, sounding about as wrecked as some of his past partners did when he was already finished with them.

He’s losing it. He can feel it, the threads of his control fraying beneath the sharp edges of his desire for you. Never does he think that he wouldn’t be able to stop if you asked him to or if you gave any indication that you weren’t enthusiastically enjoying his work, but he wants to make sure that you know you’re in control. You’re in control of him, no matter how consumed he appears. 

“If you want me to stop, you say the fucking word okay?” he rasps. His lips brush against your underwear and come away faintly sticky with slick. He doesn’t even let himself lick it from his lips, not yet. “And if I’m not stopping fast enough for your liking, gouge my goddamn eyes out, you hear me?” 

He waits until you give a frantic bob of your head. Then he licks the flat of his tongue up the soaked crotch of your panties. It’s hard to tell who groans loudest. You taste good. His jaw aches the way it does when he sucks on something sweet, mouth salivating. He laps at you again and again, careful not to be too forceful. Your thighs clench tight around his head and he has to pull them away and pin them open wide to the couch so that he can move the way he wants to. 

“Is—am I—” Marc begrudgingly opens his eyes to see you struggling to speak. He struggles to keep his gaze on you. The taste of you in his mouth, the feel of your warm skin beneath his hands, the serenity of this moment all has his eyes wanting to roll back. It takes a herculean effort to pull his mouth from you, to lay his head on your thigh taking deep breaths through his nose while waiting for you to collect your thoughts. You finally manage to ask: “Am I—gross?”

Marc blinks. “Are you gross? Baby who the hell hurt you?”

It’s your turn to blink down at him. “What?”

“Who in the fuck has put you so deep inside your head that you can’t see I’m sixty seconds away from cumming in my pants because you taste so fucking good? Because you smell so fucking good? Because you sound so fucking good? You know what. Don’t answer that—” Marc reaches backwards towards the coffee table, finding the flier he’d written on earlier: HOMETOWN DICK is scrawled there. He slaps it on the couch cushion beside you along with the capless pen. “—write it down if you can and I’ll get to them later.”

He lets saliva pool on his tongue before his next lick of you. Between his spit and your own slick, your thighs are wet and sticky, panties soaked. He can’t help but reach up to tug upwards at the waistband just a bit, just so the fabric rides up flush against your pussy so he can see every last curve and fold of you. The stimulation of the fabric must feel good because you whine—honest to god whine, your pelvis giving the most adorable little arches as you try to decide whether to press into the stimulation or press away from it so that his hand draws the fabric against you tighter. 

Marc has to let go to keep your thighs spread as they try to creep in closer to his ears. His eyes are shut as he laps at you with long, firm strokes, alternating directions, doing his best to be gentle in case you’re as sensitive as you think. Periodically he glances up to make sure you’re okay, and that is when he notices the way your hands are clenched into fists, shaking with the force you’re using to keep them still. He reaches out. Your fingers are cool beneath his, and at the first touch, your hand opens up, blossoming like a flower so he can lace your fingers together. He smiles against your pussy—he hadn’t intended to hold hands, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to turn it down. 

“Put your hands in my hair,” he says. He gently shakes his head from side to side letting the flat of his tongue rub against your clit. Your gasp makes your chest heave, fingers clamping down around his. Fuck, yes. You just need something you can pull on. “C’me on, baby, you can get rough with me.” 

Your eyes are wet, wide as you shakily move your hands to his hair. The feel of your fingers in his curls is divine. His lashes flutter. “Yeah?” you breathe. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“Hurt me, baby, I love it, okay?” 

You tug a little. His cock jerks where it’s still confined in denim. “But what if you need to breathe?” 

“Don’t care,” he says. “Drown me in your pussy, I do not fucking care. Okay?” 

“Ma-arc,” you whine, thighs spasming. “God Marc, please—” 

He groans, pausing to lap at your thighs, to clean up the mess he’s making. “Please what, baby? I’ll give you anything, just ask for it.” 

“Just—don’t stop, please—” 

And he doesn’t. He has no plans to. Not when his scalp is alight with the way you pull at every new movement of his tongue, not when you’re so fucking vocal, whining his name and little pleas and nonsensical strings of words that will forever echo in his brain. He doesn’t know how you manage to touch yourself so quietly at night when you think he’s asleep, when the only indications he gets that you’re touching yourself at all are the little shifts of the bed, the way you hold your breath before you cum, and (sometimes, on nights when you must be really, really worked up) the occasional wet sound of your fingers slipping over your clit.

“Marc, ‘m gonna cum,” you gasp. 

Marc’s heart stutters in his chest. He finds one of his hands lowering, aching to press a finger or two inside of you so that he can feel the clench of your pussy when he pushes you over the edge. But that’s just another good reason why he left your panties on; the last thing he needs is to push your boundaries in the heat of the moment, to lose his head and maybe take a liberty that would hurt you. He lets his thumb press against your soaked panties though, notching itself against your entrance even through the fabric. His jaw aches, legs numb from where he’s kneeling on them, but nothing could stop him now. Nothing. 

He focuses on the aching little knot of your clit, letting his tongue rasp over it until your back bows off of the couch, your breath stuttering and then stopping altogether the way he’s already so familiar with. Your fingers spasm in his hair, nearly losing your grip and then you’re pulling him closer, his nose pressed into your pubic bone, thighs shivering and shaking while you give a short cry. 

You came. You are cumming. Because of him. For him. He can feel the way your entrance spasms beneath the firm press of his thumb, and he lets himself imagine how that would feel around his cock. There’s no harm in just thinking about it. If thinking it were a sin, Marc’s soul would be lost long ago. 

Just as he expects you to come down, he finds you doing the opposite. 

“Don’t stop, don’t don’t, please, I can cum again—can I? Please—” 

Marc lets out a broken moan, nodding his head. Fuck it does things to him, hearing you beg, hearing you ask him for permission, like he has more of a say when you cum than you do. But you are pushing him back suddenly, and he jerks away as if he has been burned, eyes wide—had he had a time-slip? Had he missed something, some indication that you really wanted him to stop and not continue?

But all you do is shift your hips up, hooking your thumbs in the waistband of your panties and wrenching them down over your thighs, knees, tossing them to the side. He pulls his eyes away from where he’s dying to let them rest so that he can look at your face: damp at your temples, lips swollen from biting them. Your chest is heaving, and out of the corner of his eye he sees your hands clutch into fists again, suddenly anxious, exposed—

Exposed for him. Because you wanted to be. Because you chose to be. 

Marc lets his eyes fall, takes in your swollen pussy, slick with your own cum, and not to get fucking philosophical, but he’s pretty sure that it’s going to change his life. He wants it. He wants his mouth on it. He finds himself being drawn in like your pussy is a fucking siren and he’s ready to dash his ship on the fucking rocks just to drown in it happily. He barely manages to stop himself at the last moment.

“Can I?” he rasps. 

“Please,” you groan. 

He swipes his tongue from your entrance to your clit. Your taste is so much more concentrated like this, a little salt and a little sweet. He can’t help but press his tongue inside you as deep as your pussy will allow, his head nearly spinning when he feels the way you clench down softly, like you’re trying to keep him inside you. Then there is a sharp tug of his hair as you drag him back upwards a fraction. 

“My clit, please, pleasepleaseplease—” 

His eyes nearly roll. Fuck, he loves when you’re a little bossy. He loves when you’re confident, loves to see you chasing what feels good without letting your insecurities get in the way. He takes your clit between his lips and sucks sweetly, letting his tongue flicker over it. Only a few moments have passed since your last orgasm, and it’s clear that you’re heading towards another with the way your nails dig into his scalp, your breaths coming more and more stuttered. Beneath your breath, all you can repeat is fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuck. 

This time when you cum, you shriek. The volume of it clearly surprises you because it sends you into trilling peels of laughter that have him grinning even as he struggles to focus on prolonging your pleasure, letting his teeth graze over you just to see the way your laughter cuts off and your back arches, a gasp pulled from deep within your chest. 

“Holy fuck, Marc,” you gasp wetly. “Oh my god. I want to go for a third. Can I?” 

“Fuck, you’re one of those girls,” he laughs breathily. “And you thought you were too sensitive. Yeah, baby. Three for three sounds good.” 

This time his jaw just can’t keep up. You don’t seem to mind when braces a hand against your lower tummy and lets his thumb rub the slick little nub. The exhaustion of your all-nighter has clearly caught up to the both of you. He nearly loses himself watching the way your thighs go lax, utterly relaxed in your pleasure. Your head tilts on your neck like you can’t keep it up straight. Your lashes rest against your cheeks as you breathe out his name and ask so fucking sweetly, would you put a finger in me?

“Need something to clench down on?” Marc wonders, resting his head on your thigh. “Is your poor little pussy empty?” 

“Uh-huh,” is all you can whisper back. “Feels good to have someth’n inside when I cum.” 

“I’ll bet it does,” he whispers back. Gently, so gently, he eases a finger into you. You’re burning hot, slick and soft. Your orgasms have you so relaxed around him, he immediately knows that you could take another of his fingers. Two seems to offer you the stretch you want, because your shoulders sag in relief, walls clenching around him. 

When you cum for the last time, Marc gets to feel it. Wrung dry as you are, your pussy does nothing but give soft little spasms around his fingers as he flexes them and rubs the slick textured walls inside you. Your thighs twitch, a low whine rising in the back of your throat as he overstimulates you. But he can’t help it. He wants every last moment of your pleasure. He wants to commit every moment to memory in case this is all he ever gets from you, in case after graduation you move away and it’s all he has left of you. 

When Marc pulls his fingers free, he doesn’t hesitate to tuck them into his mouth and suck them clean. Your eyes are shut, head reclining back against the couch, thighs still spread as far as he forced them open. Your poor pussy looks so sensitive, so fucked out and fucked open by him. 

The need rises up in him, a tsunami wave that blocks out the sun. He’s been ignoring his cock for so long—during what is without question the most amazing sexual experience of his life, no less—and now the desperation becomes almost a frenzy. He has to get to the bathroom so that he can jerk off, posthaste. He doesn’t care if it’s improper, doesn’t care if it’s all too obvious to you what he’s doing. 

Marc stumbles away from you on his knees, palms hitting the floor to keep himself balanced. He catches sight of his fingers, still wet from where he had sucked them clean, and a sound slips from the back of his throat: high and desperate. The little movement he’s made has brushed his cock against the denim and pushed him incrementally closer to that edge. 

“Marc?” 

The bathroom is right there—

“Marc—” 

—he can see it, see the door cracked open, see the silly little night light you put in there, the one that keeps him from constantly banging his hip on the sharp edge of the sink—

“Marc.” 

He has stopped his forward movement, he realizes. He has fallen to one elbow, his other hand fumbling at the button of his jeans, but his fingers are clumsy and exhausted and shaking with how badly he needs to cum, so he just says fuck it, just reaches down and rubs himself over the denim. The attention after so much neglect has him gasping wetly. He let himself lower the last few inches until he is laying on the floor, lets himself tip onto his back until he is looking up at the cheap fluorescent lighting doing his to jerk himself off through the restrictive denim—

And he sees you, sitting upright on the couch with your eyes on him, face slack. 

Yeah, he cums. Right then, looking at you, at the haze in your eyes and the hair plastered to your forehead. He cums so hard his eyes roll back, cums so hard that it hurts, cums so hard that he knows a little piece of his soul slips out of his body and will forever rest there in Dorm Room E12. There will be a monument there, useless though no less momentous for it, like Plymouth Rock or the Liberty Bell. It will let future generations know that this is where Marc Spector saw God. 

He lays there on the floor panting. Slowly your face comes into view above him. You’ve tugged your pants back on. 

“Are you…okay?” you ask. 

He holds up his thumb. 

The smile you give him is wobbly, and the next ten minutes the two of you spend cleaning up the apartment (after Marc ducks into the bathroom and changes his pants, thanks) are painful with how quiet you are. When you crawl into bed, you pull the blankets up so high that all he can see is your hair, facing the wall.

Maybe he should have known that this would happen. Common sense could have forewarned him that eating out your best friend might lead to some internal conflict. While it was happening, he would have told himself that no matter the consequences, it was worth it, but now he isn’t sure. He crosses to his bed, sheds his shirt, and is just about to slip between the sheets when he sees it: a neat little folded square of pale purple fabric, tucked just beneath the edge of his pillow. He pulls your panties free and clutches them in one fist, heart pounding. It had to have been an accident—except it couldn’t have been. You must not have done it on purpose—but then how could you have done it at all? He brings them up to his face and smells the scent of your slick. They’re still damp, for fuck’s sake. 

“Here lies Marc Spector,” he mutters. He tucks the panties beneath his pillow, mind already spinning about the implication of them. Already determined that he’ll give them back when they’re pried from his cold dead hands. Just as he pulls the sheets over himself, he sees the glow of the sun strike the wall through the window with the broken slat blinds. He plans to watch the sunlight move across the wall as it rises, but falls asleep within an instant.

[clareguilty]

Gabriel Reyes/reader, a/b/o and The Works™

this is the third kinktober prompt for this year!!!

Gabriel Reyes/fem!reader | a/b/o, marking, biting, praise, all that jazz Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~3000

Jack Morrison was getting another medal.

It was everyone’s favorite joke at high command. It seemed like no one wanted to implement any serious policy or sign an actual resolution in favor of giving the golden boy of the Omnic Crisis another fancy award.

So Jack had been stressing himself out all week trying to write an acceptance speech that wasn’t passive aggressive, and you spent too long picking out a formal gown, and Gabe had sat on Reinhardt’s desk laughing and stuffing his face with carbs and fruit because his rut was due next week.

Jack took the teasing in stride and managed to come up with a speech that wouldn’t outright offend the Prime Minster of Russia. Everyone piled into the jet to Moscow with a garment bag and a carryon and a strong cup of coffee at four am the day before the banquet.

This was normal for you. In a world after the omnic crisis, head of Overwatch’s reparations department and mated to the commander of Blackwatch. You found yourself flown across the world dozens of times a year for negotiations and assemblies and ceremonies.

You and Gabe strapped in next to each other on the jet. “I haven’t seen the dress you picked out,” he nodded his head to the garment bag.

“I guess it will just be a surprise,” you purred.

He grinned and leaned in to kiss you.

“It’s too early for this,” Ana groaned from across the aisle. Gabe shot her a toothy smile and made sure to nip at the shell of your ear. You smacked his leg and shoved him back into his own seat.

The hotel was a beautiful historic waterfront building just across the bridge from the Kremlin in the heart of the city. The five of you piled out of the black SUV that had escorted you from the airstrip and made your way inside.

The hotel manager greeted you as well as an official from the Kremlin. Jack was the main recipient of ass kissing and pleasantries, so you simply smiled and nodded and shook hands wherever necessary.

The suite was entirely too big and fancy for a two night’s stay. You and Gabe poked around for a bit, but there were no fun secrets. You took the sitting room, and Gabe set up at the desk in the bedroom as you both buckled down on your work for the day. Gabe had operatives in Bolivia he needed to check in with, and you had a meeting with representatives in London.

He found you a few hours later slumped in the armchair with your head in your hands.

“They still being stubborn?” he asked.

“They won’t budge on anything,” you groaned.

“Change into something casual. Let’s go out for a little bit.” He was already in a hoodie and dark jeans, beanie sticking out of the back pocket.

You nodded and went to find a sweater.

Gabe’s impromptu date night in Moscow turned out to be a lot of fun. Ana and Reinhardt came to meet you at a bar for a little bit, and the two of you wandered around the city until sundown.

The next day was more meetings and frustration until you had to get ready for the banquet. You and Gabe slipped past each other in and out of the bathroom as you showered and shaved and styled your hair and perfumed and moisturized.

You shimmied into the dress half an hour before the car was due to pick you up. It was slim and black, sleeveless with one band that crossed over your collarbone and shoulder. You frowned when you realized it covered your matebite, but it wasn’t a big deal.

Gabe grinned salaciously as he zipped you up, unable to resist leaning down and nuzzling into your neck. “Cool it.” You shoved him off with a giggle. “I have to make it through a whole ceremony and dinner.”

He pulled on his jacket and the two of you made your way downstairs to wait for the car.

For some reason, the event coordinators split you into three cars. Jack rode by himself, you and Gabe in one car, and Ana and Reinhardt in the last. They looked intimidating in their dress uniforms, and you felt kind of ditzy in your sexy cocktail dress next to three enormous well decorated Overwatch officers.

The ceremony was only slightly dull, and you clapped at all the right spots and pinched Gabe when he looked like he was zoning out too much.

Dinner was much more enjoyable. You had been seated with people you knew from other events and assemblies, so conversation flowed well. A string ensemble played and a few people got up to dance or mingle once they cleared their plates. You caught sight of a British Parliament member speaking with a small group of tuxedoed men, and Gabe saw the determination in your eyes. 

“Go get him, sweetheart,” he kissed your cheek and pushed you towards the Lord. You excused yourself quickly and approached the older gentleman ready to push for your negotiations to take center stage in the Palace of Westminster.

The poor Lord was not expecting to be accosted by you at a banquet, but graciously listened as you explained your struggles in negotiating reparations in London.

“You’ve got some real fire in you,” one of the tuxedoes remarked as you shook the Lord’s hand and he scampered away sufficiently cowed. He had an American accent and shiny hair. He reeked of confidence and you knew it was a combination of his nationality and his status as an Alpha.

You cocked your head nonchalantly. “Takes a lot of persistence to get anything done in Parliament.” You knew he was probably referencing the fact that you, a tiny omega, had just approached a government official and demanded that he push for your cause, but you brushed it off. Most of the time people were respectful, but you still ran into pushback every now and then because of your status.

The American laughed, tossing his head back. “And wit to match!” A waiter came by with champagne and he snatched a glass to press into your hands. “What’s your name?” he asked, placing a hand on your back and guiding you back into the crowd of tuxes.

You tensed under his touch. This wasn’t your Alpha. It was extraordinarily rude to touch anyone without permission, especially an omega. But still, you had to be polite, so you introduced yourself.

“If you ever need any help getting through to politicians, you should give me a call. I’m on the UN Peace Council, you know? I was appointed during the crisis.” That information was probably supposed to impress you. It probably would have if you were anyone else.

You nodded politely, taking a tiny sip of champagne and glancing over your shoulder to look for Gabe. You had your own gripes with the UN peace council. Jack and Gabe butted heads with them nearly every other week.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you smiled, attempting to turn and address the other men.

“Here,” the American pulled out his phone. “Let me get your number. Maybe we could meet up for drinks before we both leave Moscow?”

“Oh,” you found your escape. “I left my phone back at my table.” You turned to make your way back to Gabe and Ana, but the UN asshole grabbed your arm. You knew exactly what this was. This guy probably didn’t run into many omegas in professional settings, and he thought you would just go along with everything he said because he was some big shot Alpha.

Laughable. You were a high ranking member of Overwatch. A diplomat. The mate of Gabriel Fucking Reyes.

“Just put your number in and I’ll text you,” he insisted. You struggled out of his grasp and shot him the sternest look you could manage.

He laughed again. “I love how feisty you are!”

Clearly, everyone in the vicinity was also uncomfortable with the exchange. This was not the time nor the place to be asserting dominance over an omega.

Your blood boiled. You didn’t want to make a scene at Jack’s reception -- though he probably would have loved it -- but you were seriously about to deck this guy.

“Cariña,” a familiar voice washed over you and the effect was immediate. You leaned back into Gabe’s chest, taking a deep breath to slow your heart rate. “Jack was looking for you. He wanted to introduce you to someone.”

The American Alpha puffed his chest out, clearly ready to challenge until he took one look at Gabe.

“Commander Reyes,” he greeted. All of the bravado and pushiness was gone in an instant.

“Hello.” Gabe was stiff, clearly trying to hold his tongue. His arms snaked around your waist and he leaned in to whisper in your ear. 

“Would you hate me if we left right now?”

“Absolutely not,” you spun in his embrace so you could look up at him. His expression was stoic as always, but you could see the tension and the anger in his eyes.

You didn’t even look back as Gabe walked you to the table to collect your things. It was a little rude to leave without saying goodbye to anyone, and you weren’t sure if Jack had actually wanted to introduce you to someone, but Gabe looked ready to tear someone’s head off.

He stopped caring about decency the moment the car door closed.

There wasn’t a lot of room to maneuver considering how enormous your mate was in the tiny sedan backseat, but he pinned you to the leather seats and kissed you like his life depended on it. You wound your fingers into his curls, gasping as his hands slid under your skirt and up your thighs. The driver coughed, and you giggled at the slow whir of the partition motor giving the two of you some privacy.

“I can’t believe he touched you,” Gabe snarled.

You shivered both at the possessive edge in his voice and the disgusting memory of the other Alpha’s hand on your arm.

“Make me forget about him,” you whispered, hooking your leg around his hips.

He rose to the challenge. Super soldier strength shredded your lace underwear, dress hiked up around your hips. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, trailing up your thigh at a torturously slow pace. He had barely sucked a mark into the skin when the car stopped. A glance out the tinted window showed that you were back at the hotel.

“Thank you!” you called to the driver in your terrible russian accent as you yanked your dress back down and teetered on your heels on the pavement. Gabe half carried you with an arm around your waist as you breezed through the lobby to the elevator.

The elevator was another brief attempt to continue. You managed to get Gabe’s jacket and shirt open before the door slid open and you were staggering down the hall.

He dragged you into the bedroom, pinning you to the bed on your stomach so he could yank down the zipper on your dress. He couldn’t keep his lips away from your neck. The moment your matebite was uncovered he dragged his teeth over the mark. A shiver ran all the way down your spine.

“You’re never covering this up again,” he growled, rutting against your hips clumsily. “I want everyone to see that you belong to me.”

The words made your stomach flip. You wriggled your way around onto your back, pushing your dress over your hips and to the floor. “You’re going to hit your rut early.”

He didn’t seem fazed. “I’ll just fuck you until we have to leave for the flight.”

You figured Ana, Jack, and Reinhardt wouldn’t appreciate Gabe in the throes of his rut on the flight back to base tomorrow, but they had probably experienced it before. You could only imagine how bad he was back during the crisis. The thought only made you wetter.

He must have sense the spike in arousal, because he settled more of his weight on top of you. “What are you thinking about?” he demanded.

“You. During the crisis. Alpha Commander Gabriel Reyes.” You trailed a finger down his chest. “Were your ruts worse than they are now?”

He smirked. “They’ve gotten worse again since meeting you.”

You pulled him in for a kiss, mustering the last of your coordination to get Gabe undressed. He made sure you were laid out comfortably on the bed -- grabbing a few pillows to place under your hips and head -- before sinking all the way inside you to the swell of his knot.

Gabe always fit inside you so well. The perfect stretch. And he filled you so deep when he knotted you. You knew that his ruts could get intense, and you would probably be exhausted and sore by the end of it. Still, you had been mated for a few years now, so you had figured out how to manage.

“You feel so good.” You closed your eyes and lost yourself in the situation.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’m going to knot you so good.” He rocked forward, teasing you with the stretch.

“Please,” you begged, nails scratching at the shaved hair at the back of his head.

He shuddered and set an impossible pace as he began to fuck you. Sometimes you forgot that you weren’t just mated to an Alpha, but to a super soldier. No one else could fuck you like he did.

“You want my knot? Want me to breed you full? Want me to remind you who you belong to?” His words were low against you skin as he kissed along your neck. One of his hands was rubbing your clit, the other holding your thighs open so he could reach deep inside you with every thrust.

“Yours,” you gasped. “I’m yours.”

His teeth found the unmarked skin of your neck, just above your collarbone -- opposite the side of where your matebite was. The skin was practically electrified, especially when Gabe was fucking you like this. He didn’t bite down, but the sensation alone was enough to have you coming on his cock.

“Fuck,” he growled. “That was so good for me, baby. You’re so perfect.”

“Do it,” you begged. “Bite me. Please.” It was a little unorthodox. Normally couples only exchanged one bite. A bite on both sides was usually the sign of a triad or a pack. But you had just been touched by another alpha and Gabe was fucking you so good and you wanted him in every way possible.

He blinked, trying to think through the haze of his rut. “You want that?” He didn’t even wait for you to respond. The thought alone had him spilling inside of you, and he pulled you onto his knot. His teeth found that same patch of sensitive, unmarked skin, and he bit down just as he locked inside of you.

Nothing felt better than coming to the sensation of being claimed. It was the strongest orgasm you had ever experienced.

“Fuck you’re perfect. My perfect little omega. You wear my marks so well. Everyone is going to know exactly who you belong too.”

You couldn’t respond. Too busy marking Gabe’s chest with hickeys and lovebites. He was too massive for you to reach his neck, but you would make do. You were still coming down off the intense rush of endorphins, and everything was a little fuzzy and felt just a little too good too much too fast. You had come twice in less than the span of a minute, and Gabe was only just getting started.

He soothed the aching bite, holding you close as you were locked together. His knot probably wouldn’t go down for a while, but he was less riled up than before now that he had satisfied himself somewhat.

“I love you,” he kissed the top of your head, rolling so you could lay on his chest.

“I-” You cut yourself off, blushed, and buried your face in his pecs. You would happily die there.

“Yes?” He was curious now. You weren’t usually shy with him.

“I’ve been working on something. It’s super embarrassing.” You didn’t look up.

He lifted your head, forcing you to meet his eyes. “What’s embarrassing? I just dragged you out of a dinner party at the Kremlin so I could fuck you. I think I’m the more embarrassing of the two fo us.”

You laughed and kissed his chest right above his heart. Mustering all of your courage, you found your voice:

“Te amo. Me encanta pertenecer a ti. Tú eres mi mayor alegría.”

Your accent was decent, but you had no clue if your grammar was correct. The words were unfamiliar and clumsy, even though you had practiced them a hundred times. Spanish was not a language you were familiar with, but you knew that Gabe had grown up hearing it. You wanted to try and learn for him.

He understood immediately what you were tying to say, and you could feel the rumble of his laughter beneath you.

“Don’t laugh at me!” you whined, smacking him lightly on the side.

“I’m sorry,” he grabbed your hand, running his thumb over your knuckles. “It was very sweet. I love you too.”

“I need a lot more practice,” you pouted.

He petted your hair, staring at you with a dopey, lovestruck expression. “I can’t believe you let me bite you again.”

You shrugged, feeling the pull and ache of the new mark in the motion. “We can let one of them fade.”

He smirked. “What if I like you like this?”

You bared your own teeth. “Can I return the favor?”

You weren’t expecting to rile him up, but the words were enough to make his cock twitch inside of you. “Fuck,” he groaned. “You good to go again?”

You nodded, pushing up to a seat so you could ride him. He grabbed your hips, holding tightly as you slowly rocked against him. You knew the pace was probably no where near what he needed, but you wanted to take your time.

He didn’t give you the opportunity, rolling to pin you beneath him again and dragging your hips up to his. “You wanna bite me? You better earn it.”

[zodiyack]

Niffler’s New Discovery

Requested by anon: May I request a the youngest Shelby sister x Newt Scamander story? The Shelby sister is nothing like her siblings. She’s shy, reads books like they’re oxygen, loves animals, and doesn’t drink, smoke, or anything like that. She doesn’t even swear, she’s so pure. She also loves his animals. And Tommy acts like her father but she loves her brother very much. Same as her other brothers. They find out she’s dating him and get all overprotective. Sorry if this is too specific. I just love the idea of a Shelby sister who’s nothing like her siblings. Because most of the Shelby reader fics always have them smoking and all that. Which they are fun to read, but it’s nice to see something different. Feel free to pick the Scenario. :)

Pairing: Newt Scamander x Female!Shelby!Innocent!Reader

Warnings: Swearing (not from reader ofc :)) slight suggestiveness (also not from reader), fluff, ✨m a g i c✨

Words: 1,303

Summary: (See Request...also I thought the gif was cute, so anon, I based it off the gif kinda)

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace-writes, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it, @simonsbluee, @sebastianstanslefteyebrow, @marquelapage, @stuckysslag, @psychkunox​, @i-love-superhero​

Masterlist | Fantastic Beasts (AWTFT) Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

At first, they had no problem keeping their relationship hidden from her overly protective family, but the troublemaker Newt constantly had to chase down and return to his case was the thing that exposed them. The bloody Niffler just loved things that shined. Who could blame it though? It was it’s nature.

Just as it was the Shelby brothers nature to react the way they did. Violent, perhaps, but of their nature. Their possessive, over the top protective, shitty, big brother, nature.

And it all started, one late afternoon...

The older Shelby trio, not counting Ada with her age advance over John, returned home after a nice night out at the pub. Sure, the sun hadn’t set yet, but Pol wanted them to return home a little earlier today for a family meeting. The meeting included everyone, minus the innocent angel whom the Shelbys called their sister.

It was the perfect time to have Newt over. The perfect time to explore the secret world hidden inside his little brief case. If only they knew the pesky Niffler had been waiting.

“Are you sure they won’t suspect anything of my presence?” Newt hesitated, one foot hovering above the wooden flooring of Y/n’s bedroom, the other resting on the rooftop outside her window.

She ushered him in the rest of the way, making sure to lock her door after checking that no one was around. “Positive. Family meetings take a while, so we’re good on time. How about you? Are you sure this is good with the council?”

He had a guilt-ridden look across his face as he looked around. “There are some things the council doesn’t have to know.” A nervous laugh rumbled in his throat before he cleared it and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Uh huh... Well, just promise me that you won’t get into any serious trouble for this, alright Newton?” The blushing hufflepuff gave his lover a quick nod, as well as a smile in return for the little peck she placed upon his cheek, pinkening his skin further down his neck- it was no surprise that Newt was terribly new to receiving affection from anything other than his beasts that resided in his case.

“S-shall we be going?” He broke the tension, gesturing to the case in front of them.

“Boys.” Polly stopped the bickering that had started up between John and Tommy, her eyes drifting toward the ceiling, the trios’ following. “Your sister’s been awfully quiet.”

John cackled, “Oh no, maybe she snuck out, went to have a quick fuck with some guy off the streets, didn’t she Pol?” His rather sarcastic tone suggested his knowledge that the referenced behavior was most certainly unlike his little sister, but the immaturity of John Shelby simply couldn’t resist making a joke.

Polly, however, was in no mood for John’s incessant kidding. Her hand met the back of his head, a disapproving furrow of her brows telling him to stop talking. “I’m being serious, you idiot. It’s more quiet than usual.”

“And what about it, Pol?” Tommy spoke after taking a drag from his cigarette, an eyebrow quirked.

“If she really does have a boy up there, he better pray he’s out the window by the time we get up there.”

Tommy’s brow, lowered after asking Polly how she’d respond, lifted back once again. “There’s no God for him to pray to, Arthur. The boy is fucked, plain and simple.”

“In more ways than one.”

John’s childish cackles were hushed into silence, a slap sounding throughout the room prior to their ceasing. A hand rubbing the back of his head, John glared at his aunt, yet continued the discussion of what to do with Y/n nonetheless.

The past ten minutes had been spent trying to block off any and all exists for the pesky little Niffler. Each time it attempted to escape the bedroom, Y/n or Newt were quick to block it off. It amazed Y/n how many places the little creature could scurry off through. Unfortunately, with their wild-goose-chase, footsteps turned to stomps...well, really running, but downstairs it was more likely to sound aggressive, such as the hard thud of a Blinder’s boot on the floor of the Garrison.

It was inevitable; the possibility of being caught, but the fact seemed to slip their minds as they both tried to corner the Niffler, as well as capture it once more. Every shiny thing, ranging from jewelry to bullet casings, or things that caught her eye, made into décor (gifted from her brothers, as she would never touch a gun unless need be) were being stolen as the creature evaded capture.

Newt shot Y/n a sorry look each time one of her belongings were snatched up by the Niffler. It touched her heart, truly, it did, but now was not the time to swoon. Y/n froze as the Niffler wandered over to a bottle. Wine? Champagne? She didn’t know; Y/n never drank- the bottle was a gift from her sister in law, which she couldn’t turn down without upsetting her, so it soon became another...decoration.

Atop the bottle was shimmery, gold-like, wrapping. Of course it caught the mischievous little shine-thief’s eye. It pulled and pulled, Y/n and Newt made eye contact as the uneasy feeling in their guts mirrored, until POP!

The door broke open with a loud bang, Arthur standing confused before getting both a Niffler and a cork to the space between his brows. While Y/n flinched, Newt only looked away in shame.

“What. The. Literal. Fuck. Was. That?” John gapped. His usual remark would be to poke fun, but he too was in great shock, he couldn’t even think of anything humorous.

“A- ...A Niffler.” Newt stuttered. His rather shy demeanor was rarely common around Y/n, so she new he was slightly uncomfortable the second his hand lifted to itch the back of his neck as his eyes found interest in the floorboards.

“Did I fuckin’ ask you?” John narrowed his eyes at the timid wizard.

It was unusual for Y/n to get angry, but the unjustness of John’s attitude toward her lover didn’t sit well with her. “Leave him alone!”

Now there was more to be shocked about. “I- what?”

“You heard me, John. You, Arthur, and Thomas. Leave Newt alone. He didn’t mean for this to happen, so he shouldn’t be harassed by you three. Want to question him? Have Pol do it, but the second you come to my room and bully my lover is the second you cross the line.”

Tommy, amused, let out a little chuckle as he raised his eyebrows.

“Something funny to you, Thomas? ‘Cause I don’t think any of us are laughing.”

 “No, sister, nothing is of humor to me.” He muttered despite dawning a lopsided smirk. Tommy looked at his brothers and nodded his head toward the stairs before walking away. Although he was leaving, he never said he wouldn’t poke at the boy some more. Now just wasn’t worth it; he was already shaking in his boots as it is.

“Tommy- where- where’re you goin’?” John did a double take, following shortly after.

Arthur rubbed the red spot where he’d been nailed by the creature and it’s new favorite possession, proved by it cuddling the cork close to it’s body on the floor where it had landed after hitting Arthur. He excused himself politely before walking in the same direction as his brothers, still rubbing at his soon-to-be-bruising injury all the way down.

Newt took the opportunity to grab the niffler and tickle Y/n’s possessions from his tummy before running over and tucking him in the case. The anger faded from Y/n’s eyes as she watched her lover. “It looks as though the Niffler has discovered something new.” Newt chuckled lightly, easing up slowly.

“New indeed.”

[ghostwritcr]

at his question, first she sighs, then shrugs loosely 'i don't know... more than eight weeks, for sure -- but exactly how long only depends on cole.' her jaw tightens as she realizes how long it'll take for him to come back, and it may take even longer... sure didn't hurt to look at mason, but she needed to remind herself he was there to skate, and nothing else -- therefore she pushed back her thoughts about how something else could come of their time together on ice. but she didn't date her skating partners, nor hockey players -- and mason looked like a goddamn greek god, but he was both. she didn't really know what kind of reaction to expect from him, but sure wasn't that, as she frowns her brows in confusion, not quite getting what he meant by that 'yeah... that guy. but what exactly do you mean? you two know each other?' from that she also didn't know what to expect, given cole could be quite the one you either loved or you hated -- no in between. still, allison would bet all her chips they had some kind of beef -- cole had a big ego, but so did most hockey players, so it sure could have sparked something. she scoffs at his words, but there's somewhat of a smirk as she taunts 'i don't know about that. guess it's up to how good you can be figure skating, 'cause seems to me you two are quite the same when it comes to big ego.' tho cole sure was much worse -- and he was nowhere as near as hot as mason for her to look past the annoyance of that. besides, it may have started roughly between her and mason, but deep down she knew the two of them could get on quite well once they aligned their paces -- and not only ice-wise. she low-key liked the challenge of picking on his grumpiness, as well as she did find that bickering of theirs interesting and perhaps even a bit hot. 'besides, cole is one of my best friends, so we spend a lot of time together off the ice anyway.' she shrugs, dismissing it with one hand. doesn't even crosses her mind mason is asking that for any reason other than making small talk. cannot help but let out a big laugh at his drama -- and also at how rocky his spin was. she loses no time on retorting 'firstly -- my dad is many things, but one he is not, is unfair. i don't know what got you into the eye of this hurricane, but i'm sure you deserve it. secondly -- making your life a living hell? excuse me, but if it's anyone's hell, it's mine. i didn't do anything to deserve it! oh, and lastly... if you call this hell, i've got bad news for you big guy...' she scoffs, mischievous smirk fitting her gaze 'because this is me being nice -- i haven't even started showing how much of a bitch i can be if you wanna make this difficult.' she bets it won't come down to that, but she can't resist warning him just to see what his reaction would be -- could also bet it'd be just as feisty and hot. her brows arch up and so do the sides of her lips at his claim 'oh, yeah, i know there's always an exception... but i'm not naive to think that's the case. and did you seriously just referenced my dad as voldemort?' she asks while trying to contain a laugh. on her mind, she calls bullshit on the special occasion excuse, but she chooses picking on the other part 'with the boys, but not only the boys.' tho that and imagining him hitting on girls make her realize perhaps it's not just the free buzz that got her so interested in the party. 'keep me locked? why would he need to do that when i'm such a good girl?' gaze meets his as she gives him her most innocent look -- a facade her dad really believed in, oblivious to how much a menace she could be -- as if him calling her love didn't give her goosebumps. she shrugs at him, and just for the tease she goes against his expectancy 'it's somewhere to begin, right? i mean, doesn't what we're doing here also requires trust?' she plays that card with a sweet check-mate smile on her lips. she wants to roll her eye at him and boo him for being so stiff, but his wink melts her attitude away in a smirk as she teases 'what's next? gonna ask his permission to have my hand?'

sighing, she ends up giving in 'fine. you push from there, i push from here, then.' still, allison being allison, it wouldn't be a surprise if she showed there uninvited and against her father's will, as she remarks 'but if this goes south, then good luck trying to catch me and throw me out of your party, mason.' might not be what she really meant by that, but her mind goes straight to how hot it'd be to have him chasing and catching her... what could perhaps even end in between sheets. she pushes her fantasies aside just as she feels her cheeks warming up, having him come so fast after her at that moment surely not helping it go away. she's glad when he brings them back to what reunited them there: practicing. nodding, she takes the lead 'alright, then. we already know you can get me pretty high on the air, so the next thing is keeping me there while skating in a straight line. imma need you to put your hands on my waist, and when i jump, you lift me and hold me there. steady, try to keep your balance, alright? remember it's not all about strength. let's start trying to keep it for 3 seconds, and then we go on from there, okay?' she asks, delicate hands reaching his and placing them on her waist as she tries not to focus on his grip, his viciously intoxicating scent or how little space is left between them. 'you ready?' she asks quietly, dark dovey gaze looking up at him as she tries to concentrate in what she needs to teach him instead of on himself.

the injury of her figure skating partner sounded severe, even though mason wouldn't be able to tell her what a lasso lift was. when the hockey coach told him about it, it seemed like the last thing on the list of priorities. the athlete had been furious that he had to do this in the first place. all the details after that seemed irrelevant at the time. "okay, so how long will you need me for?" he watched her demonstrative motions on the ice. it seemed like she was born to perform. "longer than eight weeks — i assume?" perhaps his reaction was coldhearted as he showed no compassion to this cole guy, and more so to his own burden, but then again allison didn't seem particularly upset either. at the same time, no reply seemed like a better option than sucks for him. the dark haired male was more than ready to move on to the next topic when she mentioned cole's last name and the connection to the ice rink. "that guy? are you for real?" a scoff escaped his mouth as he slightly shook his head, critical of the person they were talking about. this cole, regularly went to the hockey parties even though he couldn't possibly have anything in common with the team. they couldn't really reject his presence. most of the time, mason just tried to avoid him and the times he couldn't there may have been mention of figure skating, but it never seemed relevant enough to remember. especially not at a party. "sounds like besides that you have to train with me now — you won't miss him too much. am i right?" the hockey player wasn't sure why he wanted the reassurance that cole larsen wasn't in the way of anything mason would not try. he had to respect the daughter of the man who had helped him so much in his career and even on a personal level. the truth was that he owed a lot to the man and probably wouldn't be where was today without him. therefore, needless to say, he wouldn't actually let something happen to allison. not on purpose at least. he still had no idea what he was doing, but he liked to get her reaction nonetheless. "your dad is already making my life a living hell." mason threw his arms wide in referral to their current situation and actually did a three and sixty-degree turn on the ice to emphasize it. not that it was anything as smooth and elegant as her motions, but he still knew how to skate. once he was back in position bright green hues went to the half smirk on her lips and he wondered if she knew how smooth she was with it. how it had him try not to lose focus and drift off with the thought of kissing her. a thought he forced himself to push away. "not all hockey players are the same you know. some of us don't wanna get shitfaced drunk all the time and most importantly, some us don't want any trouble with you know who." if mason invited her without his say-so, who knew what the next punishment would be. it wasn't something he wanted to find out, not when he didn't need the extra pressure of her being there. "your dad knows it's a special occasion. drinks with the boys — maybe he can keep you locked in the house all weekend but not us, love." allison did make a good argument. she was surprisingly skilled with getting her way or so it seemed and if mason trusted her, he would have perhaps considered an alliance. "if i tell you i'm not a snitch, would that really make you trust me?" the brunet doubted it would work like that and his suspicious glance confirmed that. "the offer stays, allie. you can't bargain your way in with me, but if i'm right about you — i'm sure you can convince him somehow. perhaps don't mention it's a party." with a quick wink, it was his turn to smirk as he closed the distance between them while skating. the hockey player probably had the upper hand when it came to speed, but there was a lot still for him to learn and patience wasn't his greatest talent. "let's start with some of your simple tricks?"