#i hope he gets the maximum sentence

[strxnged]

one of the guys who bullied me in elementary school is facing serious assault charges. i have no words

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 01

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

Grimshade Sanatorium, an isolated island of Blackridge in southern Canada.

It had been six long hours by plane from your city, three hours by boat, and now an hour and a half crammed into a private car with closed windows, traveling along a bumpy road that bordered a cliff as it climbed the hill. Your heart threatened to leap out of your chest at any moment, and your hands were sweating so much that they alternated between hot and cold.

You adjusted your glasses on the bridge of your nose after checking the map for the eighth time, dividing your attention between the aged paper in your fingers and the fog outside that made it impossible to figure out where you were. From what you could decipher, Grimshade Sanatorium was at the top of a hill, while the rest of the island was shrouded in dark, untamed vegetation. There was a single small town miles away from your lodging, and reaching it seemed daunting given the path ahead.

At that moment, you hoped you wouldn’t need anything from it anytime soon.

When you chose psychiatry as your specialization, you never imagined how difficult it would be to find a job in the field, especially as a newly graduated professional. It was tough for reputable clinics to give you a vote of confidence, given your youth and limited experience beyond mandatory internships and extracurricular activities in college.

Everything changed when a letter from Grimshade Sanatorium arrived—a glimmer of hope. You had applied to so many places you’d forgotten about that one. They sent a notice on vintage paper, resembling a direct invitation from Hogwarts, which you found amusing yet intriguing due to the details.

They were looking for a psychiatrist for the ward housing inmates awaiting their final sentences—many of them serving their time as residents. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned, especially after researching Grimshade and discovering it functioned like a maximum-security prison for the most dangerous, mentally unstable criminals.

“This is where the road ends for cars, I’m afraid. You’ll have to continue on foot,” the driver said over his shoulder, turning to look at you in the back seat.

Your slightly wide-eyed gaze shifted between the dark dirt road ahead and his drooping eyes beneath his cap. You didn’t want to let on that you felt a faint shiver running up your spine.

“I don’t know how to get there alone,” you said, trying to mask the panic in your voice. “Okay, I have a map, but what are the chances it won’t confuse me? Is there somewhere I can get Wi-Fi or better cell service to use GPS?”

Rebert—that’s how he introduced himself—merely furrowed his brows and shook his head briefly, as if the words that had left your lips were absurd.

“With all due respect, miss, but a cellphone on Blackridge Island is the most useless device you could own. There’s no signal tower; we barely manage to watch TV or get news from the outside world,” he chuckled.

“What do you mean?” you asked, frowning as you adjusted yourself in the seat. “How do people communicate here?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Probably through letters and carrier pigeons, like a century ago.

“I need to ask one more thing. If I need to go into town, how can I call a taxi or get transportation?”

“When you get to this very intersection, you’ll see cars like mine heading toward the town. Since you’re a Grimshade employee, you’ll have unrestricted access with your ID badge. Just pay attention to the schedules and days of the week; town visits are limited to avoid coinciding with the arrival of new inmates.”

“They seem very strict about security,” you said, flexing your lips in mild surprise.

“Given the abominable creatures they house there, perhaps their measures aren’t strict enough. Strict is how I chain my dog to a post to keep him from running away. Those killers shouldn’t even have the privilege of eating and sleeping in that place,” Rebert said with a tone of contempt that left you slightly uncomfortable.

You hated when people spoke about patients that way, no matter who they were. But your beliefs and values didn’t matter much now.

“Well...” You cleared your throat, grabbing your coat and bag from the seat beside you, slinging it over your shoulder. “Thanks for the ride and the tips, Rebert.”

“Not at all, miss.”

You hauled your suitcase out of the trunk, grunting at its weight, and dragged it toward the narrower stone path. In the distance, you heard Rebert’s car pulling away, its tires crunching against the gravel. Ahead, you could make out the mansion after a steep climb, with old tree branches and dry leaves forming an archway over the path.

The journey was silent, with nothing but the sounds of nature—the raspy chirping of birds—accompanied by the soft rush of water from the cracked concrete fountain decorating the front of the sanatorium as you crossed its gates. You walked slowly around it, grimacing as you noted the general state of neglect on the facade.

The circular driveway around the fountain had cracked and darkened tiles, and the mansion’s paint was as old as the building itself, appearing white under layers of creeping vines and cracks that altered its color. You couldn’t help wrinkling your nose at the sight, the chirping of birds replaced by the distant clang of heavy metal and muffled screams as you approached.

“You must be the new doctor!” A cheerful male voice addressed you from behind, startling you as you turned fully. “I’m Travis Rune, head psychiatrist of the custody ward. I’ve been assigned to welcome you to Grimshade!”

For a moment, you considered refusing the hand he extended toward you. He could’ve arrived a little earlier and helped you carry your heavy suitcase up the hill. On the other hand, the blond man with perfectly aligned hair and broad shoulders seemed far too pleasant to snub.

“Thank you! Have you been here long, Dr. Rune?” you asked, prompting a smile as Travis gestured with his chin for you to follow him inside.

“Please, call me Travis. We’re colleagues now.” He smiled, looking at you over his square glasses, winking one strikingly blue eye.

“That’s precisely why I prefer to keep things formal,” you said without intending to sound rude, though the words slipped out as you continued assessing the mansion’s interior.

A grand staircase led to the second floor, where nurses bustled about, and various patients were being moved from one place to another—some restrained, others not. Passing by a woman banging her head against the staircase railing, Travis led you upstairs, signaling to another staff member to take care of your suitcase.

“We’ve divided Grimshade into wings and levels. You’ll identify them by the bracelets on each patient’s wrist,” he explained as you moved down the corridor, ignoring the shouting coming from one of the consulting rooms. “Level One: green bracelet. Elderly patients abandoned by their families in our asylum. Their needs are managed by the nursing staff, so you won’t have contact with them.”

You absorbed the information, looking from side to side, thinking that abandoning a family member in a place like this was the ultimate proof of someone’s character.

"Level two: yellow wristbands. Patients of random age groups with mild mental disorders also abandoned by their families, or severe cases requiring institutionalization. They are monitored by the mental health team and have a monthly consultation with me for medication adjustments."

"So, they pay to be here?" Perhaps it was a naïve question, but you needed to know.

"Their families pay an annual fee and cover the costs of keeping them here. Unless it's a custody patient, we don’t treat anyone for free, if that’s what you’re wondering."

If they had so many patients and all of them paid to be here, why keep the sanatorium in the state of an ancient asylum? You wondered as you walked past a leak dripping water from the ceiling onto your hair.

"Understood, Dr. Rune."

He seemed quite young.

Okay, he was definitely good-looking and had a pleasant way of speaking. The age gap between you and him couldn’t have been more than two years. He was definitely the kind of guy you might have had a crush on in university, without the slightest reciprocation given the countless other, more interesting options he probably had. Not that you were particularly extroverted or social, especially when it came to interacting with men.

Locking yourself up at home with your face buried in books might not have been the best idea after all.

"Last but not least, level three: red wristbands. Custody patients awaiting trial or serving sentences at the sanatorium. We use treatment to extract information that can assist authorities and contribute to investigations."

He pointed toward a consultation room where a man in a dress shirt was speaking to a girl with her head down.

"Because these are highly dangerous criminals who can’t coexist with other patients, we keep them in a separate wing, which we call the Hidden."

Dr. Rune turned the next corner, and you followed him. As you passed through the doors and descended the stairs leading to the outside, the cold hit your face, and it was impossible not to cross your arms, trying to pull your sleeves further down.

You thought the scenery couldn’t get any worse, but with each step, it became darker. As you passed through gates and two guards, it felt like stepping into a TV prison show, walking along a corridor of iron cells.

A strong stench burned your nostrils, and the screams of patients mixed with the sound of something hitting the iron were enough to make your ears ring.

"This place is the reason you’re here. Our last professional resigned, and we urgently needed to fill the position before the next evaluation cycle started," Travis shrugged as he walked.

Your confidence dropped by a few percentage points upon realizing that your hiring was out of sheer desperation. Fine, you’d deal with that later.

"They resigned?" you asked, raising an eyebrow, dodging a stream of urine aimed in your direction by a patient. "Not exactly motivating to hear that on the first day."

"It’s a tough ward; it’s not for everyone." He smiled, and you hesitated immediately. "Besides the patient files you’ll handle, you’ll need to prepare for a new detainee arriving soon."

"A new detainee?" For the first time, your question sounded genuinely intrigued.

"He’s being tried for a brutal murder. There’s little information about the case, like his motivation or even confirmation that he did it. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened, and the judge concluded he’s not mentally sound." Travis rolled his eyes. "They dump any trash here, and it’s up to us to sort through it. Along the way, we see if we can help at all."

He was definitely fed up with this job.

"So, let me guess... you think I can make him talk?" you asked, playing with a hint of innocence as you watched Travis stop in the corridor.

"I don’t think someone as inexperienced as you can go that far, no offense." He spoke with a touch of sarcasm. "We just want you to follow protocol with him, and I’ll handle the rest."

Something prickled at the back of your neck at the way he dismissed your years of study as absolutely nothing just because your resume wasn’t as extensive as his. Your hands curled into fists, your fingers pressing into your palms, and you took a deep breath before responding.

"Of course, Dr. Rune."

The tour of the Hidden was over, and you were exhausted. Travis left you at the door of your small room with its jammed window and dusty ceiling fan. Before leaving, he emphasized the importance of being well-rested to receive the new patient the next day. After your shower, you wanted to call your mother and let her know you had arrived safely on the island after hours of travel, but without any signal, no matter where you moved in the room, this mission was impossible. Tossing the phone onto your pillow, you promised yourself you’d give her an update as soon as you had a break and could visit the town.

With a tired sigh, you sat at the desk next to the bed, drying your hair with a towel while flipping through patient files. You weren’t sleepy yet, and without the entertainment of the internet, all you could do was work.

Patient File 1: Ash A., 39 years old - Admission: June 2019 Preliminary Diagnosis: Severe psychopathy; dissociative disorder.

History: Ash was admitted after being declared legally insane during the trial for a series of brutal murders. He worked as a taxidermist, and his obsession with preserving "human perfection" led him to conduct grotesque experiments on his victims, all meticulously chosen. He claimed he was "saving" their souls by preserving them in an "immortal" form. During initial sessions, he displayed a complete lack of remorse and a disturbingly detailed recounting of his actions. Current State: Apathetic during interactions, except when discussing his “art.” Shows no signs of rehabilitation or acknowledgment of the atrocities committed.

You raised your eyebrows and jotted down notes in your notebook before moving to the next file.

Patient File 2: Mariene G., 27 years old - Admission: October 2021 Preliminary Diagnosis: Schizoaffective disorder with violent tendencies.

History: Mariene was found in a state of shock next to the body of her older brother, stabbed 23 times. Apparently, she believed he was a demonic entity trying to steal her soul. According to family testimony, Mariene began exhibiting paranoid behavior months earlier, hearing voices instructing her to protect herself "at all costs." In one interview, she stated she "had no choice" and that "his eyes burned like embers."

Current State: Alternates between periods of lucidity and paranoia. Aggressive during confrontations, requiring constant supervision.

“Mariene is a pretty name…” you murmured, assessing the photo of the woman with blonde eyebrows.

Patient File 3: Brady P., 52 years old - Admission Date: January 2020

Preliminary Diagnosis: Antisocial personality disorder; extreme persecution mania.

History: Brady was a former financial executive who believed he was being pursued by a "secret society" responsible for monitoring his every move and manipulating his life. This paranoia culminated in a public attack at a shopping mall, where Brady set fire to three stores and stabbed two security guards, claiming they were "infiltrators." He maintains that each act was a measure of self-preservation against an invisible enemy.

Current State: Rarely sleeps, claiming that "they will find him" if he closes his eyes. Displays consistent delusions despite intensive medication.

With the third file finished, you exhaled sharply, letting your lips vibrate, imagining what could have driven the previous psychiatrist to resign, leaving this position open for you.

Patient File 4: Noah S., 24 years old - Admission Date: February 2024

Preliminary Diagnosis: Psychogenic catatonia associated with borderline personality disorder and severe dissociative episodes.

History: Noah was found at dawn in a grove near the university campus, kneeling beneath a large tree. Above him hung the mutilated body of his ex-girlfriend, Rachel E., 23 years old, suspended by her ankles and bearing signs of extreme violence: deep cuts marked her skin, symbols carved into her torso, and her frozen expression suggested a slow and painful death.

Noah was covered in blood, both his own and Rachel’s. When approached by police, he remained motionless, staring blankly at her hanging body. Initial investigations revealed the two had been seen together the night before at a rival fraternity party where, according to witnesses, a heated argument occurred. The circumstances of the crime raised questions of premeditation and symbolic rituals, but Noah never provided an explanation. From the moment of his capture, Noah had not spoken a single word. Extensive psychiatric evaluations concluded that his muteness and apathy were not conscious choices but the result of a profound dissociative state combined with severe trauma. During the trial, his inert posture and lack of defense led to an insanity plea and his transfer to Grimshade Sanitarium.

Current State: Noah remains in complete silence, minimally interacting with his surroundings. Nurses’ reports mention he is often found staring into space for hours, particularly near windows or trees. His only movements thus far have been sudden bursts of rage when provoked.

Closing the file, the feeling lingered — a deep chill seemed to originate from the center of your chest, raising the hair on your arms. Noah’s face in the photograph seemed almost alive, his intense, furrowed gaze carrying something impossible to name. For a moment, you wondered what it would be like to stand face-to-face with someone harboring such silence and horror within.

But your curiosity wouldn’t have to last long — you would meet him tomorrow.

The day began with an unusual restlessness. The hot water from the shower didn’t dissipate the cold that seemed to settle in your nape, and Noah’s face from the photograph lingered like a shadow, even with your eyes closed. It was as though the intensity of his gaze was imprinted on your mind, and more than once, you caught yourself trying to divert your thoughts — unsuccessfully — while instinctively clutching your thighs.

The tattoos — intricate and dark — covering his neck and peeking from the collar of his shirt didn’t help, drawing attention to themselves. Something about that man disturbed you more than any other patient you had encountered, and the feeling only grew as you prepared, choosing an outfit that projected professionalism, though a hint of nervousness threatened to show.

Descending to reception, you found Dr. Rune waiting with a calm smile and a hot coffee. You thanked him, holding the cup with both hands, trying to savor the warmth as a fleeting comfort. Walking together toward the outside, he explained some logistical details, but his words soon faded as a growing noise filled the corridor.

Crossing the main entrance doors, you stopped abruptly, startled by the scene unfolding before you. Journalists crowded like a compact swarm, camera flashes firing in rapid succession, and visibly overwhelmed security guards struggling to contain the horde. It was a chaotic visual and auditory assault, intensifying with each passing second.

“I should’ve warned you,” Travis murmured beside you, noting your expression. “Not only is his case infamous, but Noah comes from a very influential family. The owners of Blackridge, basically. They have fortune, power... and apparently no hurry to help their precious son.”

“They’re not trying to prove his innocence?” you asked innocently.

“All signs point to them wanting to stay out of the case due to the exposure. We’re in the isolated area, but Blackridge’s noble district is so conservative it’s believed that land still exists in a time capsule that hasn’t evolved.”

“That sounds... complicated.”

“Just another piece of gossip about a random patient.”

The information landed heavily, given Travis’s mocking tone, and you tried to ignore him.

“They won’t back off anytime soon,” Rune commented, his eyes scanning the commotion with a weary expression. “Be prepared — this will complicate things inside as well. Friends of mine at the penitentiary said this guy has an ego to match.”

The chaos ahead seemed to swell with the arrival of the convoy. You barely had time to process everything — the blinding flashes, the cacophony of voices shouting questions — when the door of the central car opened. Two guards stepped out first, taking rigid positions, before pulling Noah out.

He emerged with a surprising posture. There was no resistance in his movements, but neither was there submission. With his chin raised, his face remained expressionless, his eyes fixed on an undefined point on the horizon, avoiding the cameras with a determination that seemed almost practiced. The tattoos, now more visible, climbed along the side of his neck and hinted beneath the collar of his gray shirt, creating an almost hypnotic contrast against his pale skin.

Noah seemed unperturbed, untouchable, as though the swarm of journalists and flashes were nothing more than a breeze around him. But then, something shifted. His firm steps faltered for an instant, almost imperceptibly, and he stopped abruptly.

That’s when you realized: he was looking directly at you.

The air around you seemed to freeze under the weight of his gaze, as overwhelming as in the photograph, but now there was something more — an intensity that seemed to pierce through you, as if examining something far beyond what others could see. His eyes were a blend of ice and fire, fixed on you with such deliberate focus that your stomach involuntarily tightened.

The moment lasted only seconds but felt like an eternity. One of the guards touched Noah’s shoulder impatiently, and he resumed walking as if nothing had happened. Yet, the impact of that brief exchange lingered.

“He usually doesn’t react to anything,” Travis remarked beside you, his voice low but tinged with curiosity. “That was... strange.”

Strange.

The word felt insufficient to describe what you had just experienced. As Noah was led inside, you remained frozen, trying to understand why that fleeting instant made your skin tingle, as though something inevitable was about to happen.

You were in the asylum’s forest, each step swallowed by the oppressive silence, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves beneath your feet. The air was dense, almost suffocating, and you knew you weren’t alone. Something—or someone—was behind you.

Your breaths were shallow and quick, every fiber of your being urging you to run, yet your legs felt rooted to the ground. Then, you heard it.

A whisper, far too close, as though it came from inside your mind:

“Run.”

The word was a command, and you obeyed without hesitation. Your body lunged forward, crashing through trees and brush with an urgency that felt primal. But the ground seemed to fight against you, each step more laborious than the last. Heat built between your thighs—confusing, strange—mixing with the adrenaline surging down your spine.

When the sound of footsteps behind you intensified, the adrenaline peaked. You could no longer think, only run, but you knew it was futile. He was too close.

Suddenly, something yanked your hair with brutal force, jerking you backward. A scream tore from your lips as your back collided with the rough surface of a tree. The pain of bark scraping against your exposed skin was eclipsed by his presence—a towering, menacing shadow.

His face was obscured, hidden in darkness, but the patterns on his neck were unmistakable. You recognized the intricate lines of tattoos that had haunted your thoughts all day. The broad shoulders and the strength with which he gripped your jaw confirmed your deepest fear.

It was Noah.

He tilted his head, studying you with a terrifying calm. The sound of his breathing was heavy, almost animalistic. Before you could react, he pressed his body against yours, pinning you between the tree and his overwhelming presence.

The heat pulsing between your thighs became unbearable, tangled in terror and tension. You tried to speak, but the words lodged in your throat as he gripped your neck with a possessive firmness, his fingers digging into your skin.

And then, like a violent wave, you woke up.

Your heart pounded against your ribs, breaths coming in ragged gasps, and cold sweat drenched your skin. The darkness of your room was suffocating, though not as much as the weight of that dream. It wasn’t merely fear—it was something deeply visceral, almost tangible, making your skin crawl and your entire body rebel against what you had just experienced.

That man was going to drive you insane.

[engie-ivy]

(December time! Festive fics! Trigger warning: mentions of assault, but nothing graphic. Happy ending though🙂)

1257 words.

When his friends are forced to spend Christmas without Sirius, all they can do is hope for a Christmas miracle.

Until You're Home Again

It’s Gonna Be a Cold Cold Christmas - Dana Scallon

“Hello love,” Remus leans over and kisses Sirius’ cheek. “It's cold outside. You would be freezing, stubbornly insisting on still wearing that leather jacket of yours.”

He takes off his coat and hangs it over the chair, rubbing his hands together to get some warmth in them. Before he sits down, he trails his fingers gently across Sirius’ cheek.

“Oh, before I forget.” He rummages through his coat pocket. “Mary baked you a batch of your favourite cookies. I'll just put them here beside you, so you can eat them when… when you can, okay, love?” His hand trembles slightly as he places the box on Sirius’ bedside table.

“Christmas is coming up soon, you know? I haven't put up the tree this year.” He chuckles. “I can just imagine how you would scold me for my lack of Christmas cheer, wouldn't you, love?”

The only response he gets is the steady beep of the machine.

Lily slides into the chair across from Remus and passes over a hot chocolate. “How was he today?”

Remus shrugs, fiddling with the lid of his cup. “The same, I guess. At least it's not worse, but it's not… better either.”

Lily sighs. “I'm sorry. And any news on the upcoming trial?”

“Our lawyer has suggested postponing,” Remus replies, still staring at his cup. “She says that if we wait, maybe we can charge them with murder instead of attempted murder or aggravated assault.” He swallows. “And I want them to get the maximum sentence, of course I do, but…” He looks up and meets Lily's eyes. “I don't want to lose him. I can't… Oh god, I can't lose him, Lily.” His voice breaks towards the end.

A determined look appears on Lily's face. “She's a lawyer, not a doctor! Whatever she has to say about Sirius waking up or not doesn't matter!”

Remus averts his eyes again. “The doctors aren't giving me much hope either. All they're saying is that they had hoped Sirius would've shown more signs of consciousness by now.”

Lily reaches over and squeezes Remus’ hand. “You should come over to our place after visiting hours tomorrow. It's Christmas Day, and we're all getting together.”

“I don't know, Lils,” Remus replies. “I'm not really in the mood for a celebration.”

“Remus John Lupin,” Lily says sternly. “If you think that we're all merrily going to be singing Christmas carols around the Christmas tree while Sirius is in the hospital in such a state you are sorely mistaken!” She lowers her voice. “We're all going to be miserable. We just figured we could be miserable together.”

“I'm sorry, Lily,” Remus says. “Of course you're not…” He shakes his head. “I'm sorry, and I'd love to come over tomorrow.”

Lily smiles at him. “And who knows, maybe we'll get a Christmas miracle.”

1 year later

“Oi! Those cookies are for tonight!” Mary snatches the box away.

“Awww, come on, Mary,” Sirius pouts. “Last year I wasn't able to eat any. I have to make up for lost time.”

“Sirius Orion Black. Are you using what happened to you as a way to get cookies?”

“It depends,” Sirius says. “Is it working?”

“Dammit, yes, it is.” Mary hands him back the box.

James and Lily come out of the kitchen, just as Marlene and Dorcas arrive. “Dinner is in the oven,” James says. “And should be ready within half an hour.”

“Marls, look!” Sirius says, as Marlene kisses his cheek to greet him. He lifts up his right arm almost over his head. “I almost have full range of motion back in my arm!”

“That's amazing!” Marlene beams at him. “All your hard work in physical therapy is really paying off!”

“And I went to the supermarket on my own yesterday,” Sirius adds.

“Mate, I'm so proud of you!” James places a hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he smiles at him even brighter than Marlene.

Sirius huffs. “You two saving lives in the Emergency Room on a daily basis, acting all proud just because I went to a supermarket.”

“Our jobs have nothing to do with how hard you've been working in exposure therapy,” James says sternly. “What we do for a living doesn't take anything away from your hard-earned progress.”

“Yes,” Marlene agrees. “You're actually facing your fears, which is the most difficult thing anyone can do.”

“And he's not the only one,” Lily whispers, looking at Remus.

Remus bites his lip, because she isn't wrong. Remus has been having… not the easiest time himself.

Sirius needs to learn by exposure that it's safe for him to go outside on his own and he doesn't have to be afraid, and it won't be at all helpful for his progress if his boyfriend would prefer to lock him up inside a room where nothing bad can ever happen to him ever again. Sirius is working very hard in exposure therapy, and the last thing Remus wants is to make it more difficult for him by adding his own worries. Just like Sirius, Remus needs to learn nothing bad is going to happen when Sirius goes out on his own.

But then again, Remus didn't think anything bad was going to happen when Sirius went out for a run that one morning.

“This looks wonderful, James,” Fabian and Gideon say in unison, looking at the table covered with food.

Lily nudges James. “Make a toast, honey.”

Mary looks around the room threateningly, making Peter cower. “My make-up is on point today, so no one dare make me cry.”

James chuckles. “I'll keep it short then. Here's to Christmas Eve all together as it should be!”

Everyone holds up their glasses. “To Christmas Eve all together!”

But before they can all start to eat, Remus scrapes his throat and gets to his feet. “I actually have something to say as well.”

“I'm warning you, Lupin…” Mary says with a glare.

“Last year, I thought I was never going to spend Christmas with you ever again,” Remus speaks, turning to Sirius, who is, of course, sitting next to him. “And that made me realize I never want to spend Christmas without you ever again. Apparently, never leaving you out of my sight for a single moment is considered ‘unhealthy’ according to my therapist. So, since I can't glue myself to your side all day, at least I want to come home to you at the end of the day. Always.” Remus drops down to one knee and pulls out a square box from his inner pocket. He flips it open, displaying an elegant, silver ring. “Sirius Orion Black. Will you marry me?”

“Oh my god.” Sirius presses his hands to his mouth as tears well up in his eyes. “Rem…Really? I mean, are you sure?” He takes one of Remus’ hands in his own, the tears now streaming down his face. “I know I like to show how much better I'm doing, but the truth is, I'm still such a mess. Gods, Rem, I can barely go outside by myself! Are you sure you want to be dealing with all of that?”

“One hundred percent,” Remus replies instantly, though his voice is a little choked by the emotions. “Everything. Forever.”

Sirius searches Remus’ eyes for a moment. “Yes,” he then says. “Yes. Please, yes.” He lets himself fall forward into Remus’ arms.

“Damn you, Remus Lupin,” Mary sobs, mascara streaks running down her cheeks.

“Sorry,” Remus says, but he actually isn't sorry at all. Not with his Christmas miracle in his arms.

[fungifanart]

And I'll Keep On Dancing

Characters: Male reader, Zayne

CW: Heart problems

Word count: 642

Notes: Greetings Love and Deepspace fandom. I come bearing a gift. I hope it is to your liking. (@ameleii / @leichor get behind me)

-----------------------------------------------------

Considering the consistent tardiness of a certain regular patient, Zayne's learned to have low expectations for the rest of them, but, of course, this doesn't stop his current patient from surprising him by arriving 20 minutes early.

Having already gotten his exam equipment ready, he tells the receptionist to send the patient up.

After another couple minutes, in walks, slightly unsteadily, a man not too much younger than Zayne who carefully sits across from the doctor.

"Y/n L/n." Zayne says while skimming over the man's medical records, "Here for a checkup after a mild heart attack."

"T-that's right." The other man says while fidgeting, "I guess I went too hard when I was practicing my dance routine for an upcoming performance, so...here we are."

"I see." Zayne says, "Your records say that you have no history of heart problems or conditions, so this may be an isolated incident. However, we still need to check for abnormalities and I have some medicines to prescribe you regardless." He finishes while picking up his first tool.

After the tests are done, Zayne begins writing down the results in silence, which is then broken by the other man clearing his throat.

"So, uh, doctor?" He asks hesitantly, drawing Zayne's attention, "Do you know how long it'll take for my heart to recover?"

Setting his clipboard down, Zayne turns towards the other man, "Fortunately, the side effects of the heart attack are light enough that it should only take a maximum of 3 weeks to fully heal, provided that you don't exert yourself beyond walking and climbing up stairs.”

He begins turning away upon finishing his sentence, thinking his assessment would prove satisfactory, but then his patient's distressed voice fills the room.

"WH-- Three weeks?! That's such a long time! How am I supposed to get ready for my dance performance if I can't even practice for three whole weeks???" Y/n exclaims with his hands on his head.

Feeling frustrated, Zayne turns back towards his patient, "First, I said a MAXIMUM of three weeks. Meaning there's a possibility that you'll be healed before then. Second, I fail to comprehend your obsession with something as frivolous as dancing."

With an offended gasp, the other man quickly goes on the offensive, "Ex-CUSE me, doctor, but A) it's my JOB to make this performance look good and B) have you NEVER experienced the magic of a well-executed dance performance? I can't deprive that of the people who paid money to see it!"

"I have not, nor do I have any interest in such things." Zayne replies bluntly while going back to writing his notes.

"Tch, I'll bet you're fun at parties, Dr. Killjoy." The other man says with puffed-out cheeks, causing the doctor's hand to stumble slightly.

"Killjoy...?" Zayne says as the lead on his pencil snaps.

"You heard me. There's not a drop of whimsy or wonder in that soul of yours, is there?" Y/n says while crossing his arms at him.

"Hmph, and you think watching a dance performance could give me this 'whimsy' you're so fond of?" Zayne asks while brushing the lead pieces off his clipboard dismissively.

"I do, actually." Y/n says while puffing out his chest, "Once my heart's recovered, you can come to my performance, gain a new perspective on life and tell me your thoughts afterwards!"

"You say that like I'd take the time out of my busy schedule for that in the first place." Zayne responds curtly.

"Aww, is someone afwaid of twying something new?" The other man says mockingly.

Not one to be looked down on, Zayne relents, "Very well. I'll go along with this little delusion of yours, if only to prove that such things don't have as much influence as you seem to think."

"Heh, it's a date, then." The man says triumphantly.

[mayleaorlaith]

His Favorite Tutoring Sessions

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Description: James didn’t like the idea of a tutor but maybe you weren’t so bad as he thought.

Wordcount: 2400+ words

Warnings: bickering. fluff.

Author’s note: This is my first request and I really loved this idea. The idea is based on the request of @ames1stuff. I hope you like it, love.

“A tutor?” Sirius exclaimed, laughing. He was doubled over and holding tight to the couch. There were many things Sirius found funny in life, but James needing a tutor would make the top of his list.

“It’s not that bad.”

Remus tried to soothe the wound but James wasn’t having any of it. “Not that bad? I don’t want a tutor. I don’t need one.”

“Well if they appointed you one that means you do, buddy.”

Sirius always made the situation a little worse as he patted James on the back.

“Look at it on the bright side, she might be cute. Or he.”

“Shut up,” James grumbled and dropped himself on the couch next to Sirius. “Tomorrow is the first lesson or class?”

“You even need a tutor to tutor you about tutoring.” All his friend offered was laughter and jokes while to James it wasn’t a joke. He pushed Sirius off the couch and claimed it for himself. His arms are over his eyes.

“I am not going. I can get help from Remus, Right?”

From the look of his friend James should have known the answer was no, and it would stay no until James Potter was deemed hopeless to teach.

You could turn to the clock as many times as you wanted but the truth was, James Potter was late. Not just a little late but over thirty minutes late. He had reached the maximum of time you would waste on people.

With a sigh, you grabbed all books and papers that were scattered on the table.

You might have already left if it weren’t for your name being mentioned.

“I am James Potter.”

It took a second for you to turn around. Swallowing the annoyance you feel when looking at him. You had known James Potter, the boy that always pulled pranks with his mates. “You are late.”

“I know I’m-”

“Thirty minutes late,” you snapped at him and dropped down in the chair. This would be the second time you would occupy it and you wanted to make it quick. It was never a good start to be late but when they were thirty minutes late you were left with the feeling of disdain.

James didn’t finish his sentence. He just sat down, grumbling under his breath in order for you to miss it and watched you. Even when you raised your eyebrows at him he still watched you.

You sighed again and pushed your own books to him. “Next time bring something. No, next time don’t waste my time.”

“You sound mad,” he said in response, leaning back in the chair.

He jumped slightly at your dry laugh. The book was no longer in front of him as you pulled it back. “If you want to fail why didn’t you just say so?”

All he could do was watch you gather your things and watch you walk away. The screeching of your chair bought the attention of other students to the two of you and he hated that they witnessed this fiasco.

He cursed under his breath and quickly hurried after you.“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“You didn’t.”

“It feels like I did.”

“I’m not offended, I’m annoyed,” you stated and turned to him, “but that might not be something you usually pay attention to.”

James simply rolled his eyes and pulled the closest two chairs back. “Please?”

You weren’t sure if it was actually pity you felt for the boy or if you simply caved because of the shy smile he gave you but you sat down and opened your books again.

You really hoped the third time would be the charm.

If there was one thing you had learned from time it was that James Potter had a tendency to arrive late.

You promised yourself to leave after thirty minutes and this time the shy smile wouldn’t help him. The first fifteen minutes you kept telling yourself it wouldn’t be like last time. That James Potter truly wanted to be tutored in order to pass, but as minutes pass you also told yourself how stupid that now looked.

When twenty-five minutes had passed you were grabbing your things.

It was official, James Potter wasn’t worthy of your time if all he did was waste it.

“I know that look, you gave it to me yesterday.”

You hadn’t expected him to show up. The little jump made that clear. You even dropped some of the papers that you had in your hands.

“So you decided to show up?” You snapped at him.

James still took his seat, like he wasn’t almost a half hour late again.

“Are you always late for tutoring?” You asked him when you looked down at him.

James watched you as you still stood before him. He noted how you didn’t take a seat, how you didn’t put your books down.

“Is there anything I can do to make the situation better?” He pulled a sweet smile this time and it would have made you cave the first time but not the second time.

You laughed at him, dropping your books and letting the sound carry through the library. James shrank into himself. He wanted to hide behind the stacks of paper but you were holding them all.

“Maybe come on time. That would be a start, but I am not tutoring you today. You can come back in two days when our next session is scheduled.”

“But I need help now,” James tried as he rushed out of the chair.

You didn’t give in this time. You just looked at him and picked up your books. “You should have thought of that before you wasted my time, again.”

Sirius knew the moment James returned he had somehow made you angry at him. He already laughed before James had to explain everything.

“Yeah, keep on laughing. I am the laughing stock today,” James grumbled when he dropped onto the couch, “you laugh while I go get some new friends.”

“You are always so dramatic. Now, tell me, what did you do?”

He only groaned. James wanted to sink further into the couch, till nobody could find him again. “I was late.”

“That ain’t so bad. Just say you are sorry and really need this.”

James shook his head and turned to Sirius. “I was thirty minutes late. Twice.”

He waited for his friend’s reaction. he expected laughter and jokes, but nothing came from Sirius. Nothing but silence filled the room and came on James like a thick blanket waiting to suffocate him. he shouldn’t care that he made you mad at him, he barely knew you. He didn’t do it on purpose and that made him hate it.

You only tried to help him and he treated you and your help like something he can cast away and retrieve when he saw fit. Of course, you were mad at him, he should be mad at himself. He already was mad at himself without knowing what this felt like.

Disappointment, sadness, injustice. Everything James felt now was not something he liked and he had to agree with you. He should have given everything more thought.

“I’m here, I’m on time.” You jumped in your seat when James Potter stood hunched over the table. “Please tell me I’m on time.”

He looked like he ran a mile, and had to escape some teacher but he was in fact on time. “Yes, you are.”

He dropped himself on the chair next to you and took a book out of his bag.

You couldn’t help but watch with confusion as he then proceeded to take out a feather.

“Who are you and what have you done to James Potter?” you asked him with a laugh.

“Has nobody ever told you that I am a master in being excellent in everything?”

“If we forget about our first two meetings, I still wouldn’t believe that,” you said with a smile and took out your books too. You had kept them in your bag just in case but he had surprised you in the end. “I think we should start on page 394.”

You were impressed by James. There wasn’t much comparison to previous encounters but still, he exceeded expectations. He wasn’t your best student and he lost concentration quickly but he did make it fun.

When you had everything in your hands James turned to you. He wore a kind smile this time when he grasped your attention, “thank you, for helping me. I know I haven’t said that before.”

“It’s no problem. I think you will be just fine for the next test, all you need is just a little more tutoring.”

“Nobody needs this much tutoring,” Sirius said as he watched James sit on the wooden chair next to you.

He flipped the pages over while his attention wasn’t on them at all. Remus too could see he was doing things without a mind on it.

“That boy has been getting tutored by her for over two months now. He already passed. You can’t tell me he is doing this to learn. Yeah, learn how to actually get the girl.” Sirius laughed at his own words, still watching his friend

“You think he needs a little help, don’t you?” Remus turned to Sirius who watched the two with a devious smirk on his lips.

“Maybe just a little.”

They waited close to the library, all for James Potter to finish his tutoring session. The moment he was close to them Sirius spoke up, grasping his attention.

“She doesn’t do dates, James. Not once this year or any other year,” Sirius said as he pushed himself off the wall, “couldn’t you find someone easier?”

James jumped up. “No need to scare me, man.”

Sirius shook his head and watched you go, already rounding the corner out of everybody’s sight.

“James, you might want a great plan to agree on a date if you like her,” Remus said softly and placed his hand on his friend’s shoulder. He squeezed him softly for encouragement.

“What gave it away?”

“You. Nobody needs this much tutoring when they already passed. You look at her so long I’m surprised she didn’t notice it yet.”

James nodded. His friends were right, he knew that. He had told you he wanted more tutoring for other subjects, all to extend his time with you. He even had you agree to more sessions in a week. James was desperate to spend more time with you and it was only a matter of time for the boys to notice.

“I’m gonna make her go on a date with me, and if she doesn’t like me after that then that is fine. But I’d be damned if I didn’t try.”

James Potter managed to come on time for his tutoring session. In fact, he was never late again. It truly was the third time a charm.

“You got it?”

He hummed at your question, his eyes focussed on you, not your explanation but just you.

“James?” You waved your hand in front of him until he snapped out of his trance. “You good?”

“Yes, sorry. I was on a different planet I think.”

He could already hit his own head at the answer. Another planet? How dumb could he sound? But your giggle made brightened his mood instantly. Like the sun was the only planet he was on and he didn’t mind if he burned on it.

He didn’t mind the burn. He didn’t mind the answer. he didn’t mind if you told him no and didn’t want to see him again. The only thing he minded is if he didn’t try.

“I got a proposition,” he told you and sat straight in his chair.

Your eyes scanned his face for a sliver of information but there was nothing on his face that gave you an answer. You had to hear it from him.

“I had a test last week and any day now I will receive my results. If I end up being the best of the class I want to take you on a date.”

He said it like a man that had nothing to lose. Like the smile you gave him was his reward, it even felt like it when you shook your head smiling like a mad woman.

You had to give it to James, you had never had this proposition before. The chances of James actually ending up highest were slim. He still made mistakes every time you tutored him, he always asked for more time. But a part of you did hope for a good result.

Maybe because of that, you agreed so easily. Because no matter what outcome you would like it either way. A date, or him needing to spend more time with you. There truly was no downside in his little proposition.

“Okay, but if you don’t have the highest, you have to bring me my favorite candy at every other tutoring session.”

James smiled, he wouldn’t mind that at all.

You waited patiently for James to arrive. The courtyard was almost entirely empty except for some other students.

When he showed up he waved a piece of parchment in the air. A look of pure happiness on his face that instantly lit up your own. You knew what that piece of paper would tell you. James Potter was not so hopeless to teach as you first thought he was. He had surprised you in the way you liked it most.

“Look what I have,” he told you and held his score in front of you.

“I am so proud of you.”

When James pulled the paper away he could see the meaning the words held. You were proud of him, of his accomplishments. He almost felt sorry for making you think he still needed tutoring but he didn’t. He liked seeing you proud, especially when it was at him.

“I believe you owe me a date.”

“I do, but that also comes with a confession,” you told him with a smile. There was no need to fear what you would say next, he made all your past doubts vanish from the face of the earth. “I would have gone on a date with you even if you didn’t.”

James wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to him, beaming down at you.

“Then I will confess something too. I didn’t need those extra lessons. I just needed to spend some time with my favorite tutor.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. “I am your only tutor.”

James tightened his arm around you, pulling you in until there was barely any space between you two.

“Exactly, why do you think that is?” he asked with that stupid lovely smile.

[theknightmarket]

i saw a post a while ago of someone begging for a damien x da fanfic based on i can see you by taylor swift and i haven't been able to get it out of my head since 😭

"I'll be waiting."

In which Damien and the DA are forced to sneak around despite holding the keys to the kingdom. TW: none Pages: 25 - Words: 10,000

[Requests: OPEN]

Even though you were roommates, you and Damien didn’t really know each other at the beginning of your tenure at university. You knew of each other, you knew that someone else slept in the same room as you, but you didn’t hold conversations. The maximum number of words you had exchanged in one interaction was a question about a fire drill, and, even then, it was less an exchange and more a statement of fact and an agreement. Needless to say, it wasn’t indicative of a budding friendship meant to last a lifetime.

In the present moment, you were sitting in your lecture hall, hoping that the wooden pew wouldn’t do any more damage to your spine than it already had. The need to listen to your professor’s monologue was nestled somewhere deeper in the back of your mind, but you weren’t overly worried about missing something. Half of your class were asleep, and the other half were on the way there. A seven o’clock talk on the differences between tort law and contract law wasn’t the most riveting thing out there, after all, and you found yourself glancing around the room to avoid knocking out then and there.

Your gaze landed on just the man you had been thinking of earlier. Damien was sitting on the opposite side of the lecture hall, head in his hand and a distant look glazing his eyes. Whatever was on his mind, it wasn’t optimistic. Had you been paying more attention to him when you were in your dorm at the same time, you might have known, but you hadn’t, so you didn’t. Your best guess was the mountain of work your class had been assigned over the weekend, mostly because that was the thing plaguing your own thoughts.

That mountain only grew as the class dragged on. New packets of questions to attempt and fail at, new chapters of your textbook to muddle through late at night until your eyes inevitably give up on you, new test dates to dread because working on your current subjects sucked up all the energy that you had so that you had none left over for revising the old stuff. In summary, you had half a mind to leave the hall and never step foot back onto campus again.

Fortunately for your education, it was only half a mind, and the logic center of your brain firmly reminded you that it was a bad idea. That left you silently thinking up ways to keep yourself sane before the clock hands finally ticked to eight-thirty and everyone scattered like rats before the professor had finished his last sentence.

You were one of the last to pack up, your limbs flailing about ineffectively. It seemed that the effects of too little sleep and too much coffee were working against you at the same time. Brain foggy and body energized, the only solution you could manage to come up with was a quick walk around the grounds. Autonomous but physically tiring.

It was as you were stumbling towards the old wooden doors of the lecture hall that you saw Damien headed in the same direction. You would have thought he would rush off amongst the other fellow students – what with his tendency to spend every waking moment at the library – but there he was, slow on the draw and lagging behind.

Something must have really been bothering him.

From your place a few rows away from him, you watched as he struggled with the door. It was a difficult thing to get open, and it was awkward to be the first person there because then you’d have an audience. It was always best to be in the middle of the pack, able to walk through without having to shove the whole weight of your body against it.

You unconsciously grimaced at the thought of doing that yourself when you’d get there after Damien had already gone through. At least no one would be there to see you and the door could be as uncooperative as it wanted, though in your state that might have ended with there being no door at all. Your grimace deepened with the thought of explaining that, too.

Except the possibility was wiped from your mind when you caught sight of Damien still standing at the doorway – or, more specifically, in the doorway. One of his arms kept his satchel close to his side while the other was stretched out to keep the door open. Briefly, you made eye contact with him.

He blinked.

You blinked.

And then you realized that he was holding the door open for you, so you tossed yourself over one of the pews and dashed to meet him. Knowing how heavy that door was made your arm ache in sympathy, and you didn’t want to make him wait longer than he already had been.

“Thank you,” you managed to get out in between light huffs. A law degree was not an easy thing to schedule an exercise routine around. You could only hope it wasn’t obvious.

If Damien did notice, he didn’t say anything. The only thing that came out of his mouth was a soft, “Of course,” before he was walking down the hallway. Although his manners might have played a part in it going unmentioned, you weren’t about shoot yourself in the foot by bringing it up. 

The ensuing silence was only slightly better. The corridor wasn’t long, but it was a misfortunate feature of life that walking beside someone without talking made time pass infinitely slower. This was especially so given your complicated relationship with the man whom you had fallen into step with. Were you supposed to strike up a conversation? It could only be surface level – something about the weather or the work or the campus – so was it worth it? You only had a minute before you’d be separating, anyway, which meant there was no real reason to get stressed about it even though you already were, and you could have been using that time you were worrying to actually talk to him, but there was a slim chance of him continuing the conversation, which would only make the interaction more awkward, and could you even call it an interaction—

“After you.”

You were torn out of your thoughts by Damien once again holding the door open for you. This time, it wasn’t the stubborn mule of the lecture hall’s door, but the exit to the entire building. You held back from glancing over your shoulder to confirm that you had actually crossed the entire hallway, and, rather, you shot him a small smile and ducked out into the fresh air. In your peripheral, you saw him return it with a nod.

You waited for him to close the door behind himself, figuring that it would be rude to leave without a goodbye, even though you weren’t certain what it was that you would be leaving. That, and you were planning to walk in the opposite direction of him, no matter what. The route you were planning on taking for your little equilibrium session was a circle around campus, after all, which meant it hardly mattered which way you went.

What surprised you was the fact that Damien didn’t make to leave when the click of the door signaled it was safely closed. Instead, he stayed put to say, “I’ll be seeing you tonight, then?”

Unprepared for the assumption, your grip on the strap of your bag tightened momentarily, and you swallowed before replying, “Yeah, you will.” It felt too stale to leave it at that, and you felt the impulse to continue. “Are you heading to the library?”

He hummed in affirmation. “I’ll be back late, so leave a note on the door if you’ll be asleep so I don’t wake you.”

“Will do.”

That felt a better place to end it, so you took a step on the brick path round the campus. Damien appeared to have no objections, and there was a small part of you that swore you saw him sigh in relief. You were in the same boat, though, and you forced yourself to give him a small wave that he returned before you were walking as casually as you could past the building’s wall and out of his line of sight.

There were only two thoughts in your mind. The first was that the last five minutes had been absolute torture. The second was a spark of horror at the idea of seeing him later that evening that made you stifle a groan.

You liked Damien. He was nice. But the fault didn’t lie with him, no, it was with you.

During the class debates, the pretend court cases, the mock bar exams, you paraded the personality of a charismatic litigator who knew the loopholes of a law like the back of their hand and could argue a client out of triple homicide with sixteen eyewitnesses and their head left at the crime scene. Only, the façade was a crime in and of itself because you stole it from the people you learned from. Nothing about it was yours, and it didn’t carry over to the outside world. Being able to prepare yourself propped up your confidence, leaving you in shambles when it fell. Case in point, Damien now knew you were an awkward mess, and there was a voice in the back of your mind that told you it was best to ask for a room transfer, or, to be safe, a university transfer.

At the side of the path, you spied a bench and rushed over to it. The walk had been an objective failure so far. The only thing it had managed to do was flip the states of your body and mind around; aches were developing behind your knees and your thoughts were bouncing around your skull like a ping-pong tournament. Not even mashing the heels of your hands into your eyes did the trick in getting them to shut up.

Sighing, you pushed up your jacket’s sleeve to inspect your watch. Only fifteen minutes had passed, and you had five hours to kill until your next lecture rolled around. Your muddled brain offered to return to your dorm and attempt preparation for the next test. It was poor, given that there was a seventy-five percent chance that nothing would take, but it was the best, and only, idea you had, so you would have to make do.

You sent a wistful glance towards the scenery, and then forced yourself to your feet to make the journey back to the sleeping quarters. You wished you were able to spend more time outside, but motivation was a cruel mistress and never struck when you were comfortable. Instead, she favored the unforgiving rigidity of your desk chair and the stuffy air that came with a window that didn’t quite open all the way. 

It was only after the last time you pulled an all-nighter that you understood why.

With dread settling into your heart, you realized that was going to be your future, so you hastened yourself in order to give yourself as much a chance of getting sleep as possible. You mulled over a plan in your head as you snaked between two buildings, worked your way across the stretch of grass, and clambered up the stairs to your dorm room. Solidifying your first goal of getting an hour of pure study in, you fished your key out from a pocket of your bag and then pushed it into the lock.

A frown pulled at the corners of your mouth when you realized the key wouldn’t turn. Pulling it out and retrying didn’t work, but you found that you didn’t need it in the first place. A lightning strike of fear flashed down your spine when the realization dawned on you that the door was simply not locked.

Explanations cut off questions in the shadowy corners of your mind, but they were to be replaced by more concerns like some mental hydra. You barely managed a deep breath to steel your nerves before you brought the door handle down and pushed inwards.

“Oh!” you yelped in surprise. Undignified, yes, but warranted considering that the man before you had told you he’d be in the library, not at his desk in your shared dorm.

A nervous grin spread on Damien���s face, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but you were the one to turn beet red with embarrassment.

“Damn, I’m sorry,” you hurried to say as you closed the door behind you with more force than necessary, “I- I thought- well, you told me, you know, you’d be the library, I just didn’t expect you to be—” you noticed how loud you were being and made an effort to soften your voice, “—here.”

You didn’t know whether his laughter was a good sign or bad one, but some of your fears were quelled when you risked meeting his eyes. They held no offence, only a slight bit of amusement at your expense that you could have done without.

“No, no, I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” He put his hands up in a gesture of acceptance of guilt. In his fingers, he twirled a pen that looked well-used, if the few spots of ink and bite marks were anything to go by.

You waved off his words with the hand that hadn’t slung your bag onto your desk and begun digging through it for your books. All manner of textbooks and lined pages were spread across the actual surface, but the notes that you needed were somewhere in the depths of your bag. Admittedly, you weren’t the most organized person, and you began to regret not nurturing the skill at the ten second mark of searching.

You cursed under your breath as you pulled open pockets and spread apart any files that might have contained a trace of it. This is what you got for trusting future-you to figure it out, when you knew damn well that they were just as bad as past-you at sorting.

“Are you,” you slowed down at the sound of Damien’s voice, if only to hear him better over the rustling of sheets, “are you alright?”

“Yeah, no, I’m just… looking for something.”

“I can see that.” Then came the scrape of a chair against wood, and then the light from the window was blocked out by him getting to his feet. “What do you need?”

You didn’t answer immediately, too focused on working open the little tear in the bag’s wall that tended to swallow the smaller pieces of paper, but when there was nothing in it save for random stationary, you stilled your hands. A single huff permeated the air as you offhandedly said, “My notes from the cohabitation contract lecture.”

How you managed to lose them, you had no clue; the only places where you ever took anything out of your bag were your dorm and the lecture hall, which only made it more concerning. If you had left it in one of the pews, then it was at the janitor’s mercy, but there was only a slightly better chance of finding it amongst your loose documents on your desk. That meant you either had to waste more time on a search through your textbooks for the relevant section or hope to wing it in the test, and neither appealed to you.

“Are these what you need?”

Your head snapped up at the sound of Damien’s voice breaking your concentration, and then it snapped to the side to see the open notebook that he had placed in the single empty space on your desk. You momentarily considered that he had found your notes, unknowingly knocked to the floor or some other likely scenario that made you look like an idiot, but you quickly noticed that it wasn’t your handwriting nor your book.

He looked almost bashful as he drew his hand away to straighten the lapels of his jacket, and, despite your attempts, he refused to make eye contact with you while he explained, “I copy my notes out into a separate book after the lectures.” A blush was rising on his face like the tide. “It helps me to consolidate information.” It crept from his cheeks to the bridge of his nose to his ears. “And having multiples means I’m less likely to, well, lose them.” It was though you could feel the heat emanating from where you were standing.

Considering how kind he’d been today, you decided to step in before he drove himself into a fever. “Thank you,” you said, slipping a blank sheet from your pile, “do you mind if I make my own copy?”

“Go right ahead.”

A genuine, non-nervous smile spread over your lips, and he was quick to follow suit. Good, he didn’t deserve to be so anxious, and you didn’t want to feed into it when there were much more daunting things to be worrying about.

You dropped into your seat and uncapped a pen, tossing over your shoulder, “You’ve been a lifesaver today, Damien. Really, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”

“It’s not a problem. I’m just glad to have been in the right place at the right time.”

That made you stop mid-sentence to ask, “Why are you here? You said you were going to the library.”

With your back to him, you weren’t able to see the blush that he had fought down struggle back up with a vengeance. He didn’t like being caught out, even when it hadn’t technically been a lie.

“Oh, I was, but I got there and found out that it will be shut for the rest of the week. A sign on the door said the lower levels were flooded due to a burst pipe, so the whole building has been closed.”

You hissed in sympathy at both the thought of those wrecked books and Damien’s tone of disappointment. You didn’t spend much time there yourself, but you knew a lot of other students and some faculty considered it like a second home, your dormmate included. Hopefully, it would be in full working order when they reopened, but, in the meantime, you didn’t want him getting upset about it. You’d seen many emotions on Damien late at night – annoyance, elation, a near constant wash of fatigue – but distress was not one that suited him.

“I guess you’ll just have to put up with me for the next week,” you tried to joke.

To your relief, you heard a chuckle.

“What a terrible punishment.” His chair squeaked as he collapsed into it. “I’ll have to request a room divider.”

“I’m not that bad. Not bad enough to warrant a physical structure built in the middle of our room, anyway. Besides, I think you should be paying more attention to the upcoming test.”

“Please don’t remind me. I’m ignoring it as long as I can.”

As mentioned before, you liked Damien, and that opinion hadn’t changed – if anything, your opinion of him had improved from having more interactions in the last hour than you had your entire year of sharing a dorm – but neither had you, and you tended to show your affection through needless teasing and relentless mischief for your own amusement. Therefore, your copy of Damien’s notes was abandoned on the table as you spun around in your chair to look at him.

“We have five days to prepare for writing three essays in two and a half hours without break.”

“No.”

“It’s on the relationship between the legal profession privilege and the legal disciplinary practice, and the obligations of attorneys for their clients as organizations and individuals.”

“Stop it.”

“It’s also taking place at eight o’clock at night because the people who make the schedules hate us specifically.”

“You are awful, and I am considering wading through the flood to get away from you.”

In an attempt to contain your chuckles at Damien’s deadpan expression, you feigned offence and gasped as dramatically as you could stomach. “You don’t mean that.”

He didn’t even blink. “Don’t test me.”

“Speaking of which…”

He tipped his head into the back of his chair and let out one final groan that launched you into a bout of laughter. Despite his theatrics, he didn’t last long before he was joining you with a surprisingly deep sound that seemed to vibrate your very bones, like the chiming of bells inside a church. You quite liked it, in fact, and you were slightly disappointed when you both trailed off into a long, albeit comfortable, silence. You also noticed that your sympathy about the state of the library had waned – if you were going to be under permanent stress, it was pleasant to hang around someone in a similar situation. Besides, what was wrong with enjoying it while it lasted? You were only going to be forced together for the next week, and it wasn’t as though it was going to have any permanent circumstances.

Right?

The sound of books clattering to the ground was one you steadfastly ignored as Damien nudged you into leaning against your desk with the weight of his body. His hands rested on either side of your waist, one absentmindedly rubbing circles that you could feel even through the layers of your uniform, while yours caressed his jawline to guide him closer. The only parts of you that weren’t touching were your mouths, but that was quickly rectified with a light tug on Damien’s tie. Immediately, your senses were doused by everything about him – the smell of his cologne, the sound of his breathing, the taste of his lips.

This wasn’t your first kiss, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You found yourselves in this kind of situation regularly; sneaking a moment together in your dorm right before you had to rush off to class. All too often did one of Damien’s hands trail up from your side to card through your hair in a move that he had perfected, much to your chagrin given how weak it made you feel. He was aware of that, too, and you were sure it was half the reason he did it in such a risky position.

You caught a glimpse of your watch as you parted for breath, but you pushed it to the side in order to focus on diving back in. Damien accepted your silent proposition eagerly. 

The logical part of your brain tried to bring the image back to your attention because it was clear evidence that you were going to be late to class if you continued on your current endeavor. Both you and Damien had ten minutes to make a fifteen-minute journey from your dorm room to your lecture hall, so if you stopped immediately and booked it with your bags, you would get in without drawing much attention.

The emotional part of your brain wanted you to take this opportunity to bring Damien impossibly closer and melt into his embrace. A safe feeling of comfort and care enveloped you when you were with him, and willingly putting an end to it felt like a national offence. The press of his fingers and the swipe of his tongue against your lower lip teased a possibility that you wanted so badly to let happen.

However, no matter how much you cursed your law degree in that moment, you were forced to cut it short with a press to Damien’s chest. He acquiesced with only slight resistance, but he shot you a look of confusion with a furrowed brow and concern swimming in his eyes.

“We have to get to class.”

He huffed and snuck a kiss to your cheek. His mouth positioned next to your ear, you reigned in a shiver as he whispered, “Do we have to, though?”

Your breathy, “Yes,” wasn’t any more convincing than the look in your eyes, but he shifted back on his feet nevertheless, just far enough to make you immediately regret creating that space.

A puff of air battered against the nape of your neck. Ever the cuddler, Damien buried himself between your collarbone and your shoulder, slotting perfectly into the dip. There was no question about his stance on leaving, but you knew it was the responsible option to attend the lecture – you knew, but you didn’t have to like knowing.

In a bout of movement much like pulling a tooth, you twisted in Damien’s hold and slipped off the desk. If you had thought much more about it, you would have stayed on that desk until graduation, and those puppy-dog eyes gave you half a mind to jump back on.

“Come on,” you muttered, plucking your jacket from the chair, “we need to get going.”

You watched Damien right himself out of the corner of your eye. First was reknotting his tie, next was adjusting his cuffs, and, as you expected, was the flattening of his hair with a comb to get it just so. When there was little trace of recent events, he turned to you, your bag in hand. “We’ll come back, though, right?”

“Of course, it’s our dorm, after all.”

“You know that’s not what I’m talking about, my little monster.”

You exchanged a grin as you took the strap from his hands, and, slinging it over your shoulder, you tried to fight back the flare of red on your face. You didn’t say anything, but he must have gotten the idea from you proceeding to slightly tighten his tie closer to his collar.

You waited for Damien to get his own bag, then opened the door and locked it behind you when you were both in the corridor. One more glance at your watch meant you barely registered the click before you were off to the races – calculations ran through your head, possible shortcuts you could take to save the extra second, all manner of obstacles that would be best to avoid like the club members who stood outside the gymnasium – and, all the while, as you sprinted to the end of the hallway and down the flights of stairs, you hoped Damien was behind you. Every sharp corner you took, you fought the urge to move your head that inch further to look back at him, and the thought before choosing another direction was centered around grabbing his hand to bring him to your side.

But you couldn’t. You stayed staring forward and your hand remained empty throughout your journey across the campus grounds because they were the campus grounds; you weren’t in your dorm anymore, you weren’t alone anymore. Clumps of people meandered along the pathways that you pushed through, each with a pair of eyes that could catch you in the act.

As if fate were playing a cruel trick, the two of you dashed past a couple walking the edges of the flowerbeds. First-years, hand in hand, lovesick grins on their faces and eyes only for the other. Free. 

Regretfully but inevitably, your thoughts turned spiteful. Why wasn’t it a risk for them, why did expectations fall on your couple, a relationship forced underground, instead of them? 

Your thoughts turned guilty. Why hadn’t you interacted with Damien at the beginning of your year, why didn’t you try harder when it was easy? 

Your thoughts turned to an acceptance supposed to only come at the end of grief. This was how it was, and you were going to be late to class.

Huffing and puffing, you and Damien slid to a stop at the lecture hall door. Fixing your outfits after that moment alone was a moot point because rushing through the halls had done much worse for your state. Besides, you were going to draw attention anyway because, if the emptiness of the hallway was anything to go by, your classmates were in the room already. 

It was just you and Damien.

You exchanged a brief smile that was marred only by the reminder of the rarity of this situation.

“You go in first,” he said, nodding towards the door.

“Okay—” you settled your shoulder against the wood but didn’t apply any force so that you could whisper, “I’ll see you after class.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

And, with that dramatic goodbye that felt as though it suited one of the drama departments’ plays, you pushed through the door, grimaced at the alarm of creaking, and scurried to your seat before the professor could call you out for your lateness.

Sitting by yourself on one of the benches never used to be so disappointing. During your first few lectures, you had actually preferred the space. You used to pray under your breath when someone new entered the room, and then curse even quieter when they sat down next to you. You enjoyed being able to spread your equipment out, and elbows jammed into your side or knees edging slightly too close to you set off the fight or flight instinct in you.

That changed when your relationship with Damien began; the two of you would enter the hall as a pair, laughing over your jokes all the way to your seats, making bets on the number of times the professor would reference his divorce as you removed the materials from your bags. At the time, it was the highlight of college career – in the present, where you were shifting to get comfortable on the unyielding wooden pew, it was a memory you cherished in the silence and chill of the room.

No matter how much time you spent with Damien, no matter how much joy you got out of every interaction with him, no matter how much you loved him, you were both at risk every time you demonstrated those feelings. You saw the way your professor squinted at your bouts of laughter, and you saw the subtle shake of their head as you walked out hand in hand. You used to think you could handle it – it didn’t matter if anyone liked you as long as they stayed unbiased, and you would gladly trade a positive relationship for the better one you had with Damien. The problem didn’t lie with the staff themselves, no, the problem was with who they spoke to. Specifically, Damien’s family.

While you had officially flown the nest the moment you were accepted into the university, Damien was another story entirely; being the prodigal son of the definition of ‘upper-class’ meant that his leash was pulled tighter than a horse. He was trotted around like one, too, whenever he found himself back at home during the holidays. Every social event was used as an excuse to network, and the children of anyone who attended were little more than bartering chips.

Had your relationship started at the beginning of your studies, you might have gotten away with it, managed to slip under the radar and carried out your days in uninterrupted bliss. However, certain recent family events meant that all eyes were on Damien, and his parents circled above him like hawks, because God forbid both of the Whitacre children went astray. They would have been the laughingstock of the city if the golden boy went courting a commoner after their darling daughter ran off with that actor – and that was a fate worse than death for them.

As a result, Damien was given no leeway, and so neither was your relationship. You couldn’t afford to take the risk of public affection, you couldn’t afford to take the risk of public anything. For all your professors and Damien’s family knew, you were roommates, and that was all there was to it.

But you knew. There was never any doubt in your mind about your feelings for one another. You loved Damien, and Damien loved you. Your heart raced every time he looked your way, and those milliseconds of eye contact showed you unquestionable peace. You both understood the situation you were in, and you were there regardless. Loving the other in private was just what it took to be able to love, and you were willing to stick with him, despite the pain of walking into rooms alone.

Nevertheless, you did have to choke back a laugh when the creak of the door broke through the lecture like a shot from a gun.

“Mr. Whitacre, you are late!”

And the vicious red that spread across his face at getting caught let the laughter win as it overwhelmed you. Damien could only spare a faux-threatening glare your way and a mouthed ‘you little monster’ before he threw himself onto the closest bench, trying to keep his head and blush down. You supposed there were some benefits to turning up separately, after all.

Your rushing through the halls of the law offices sounded like a tap dance to the people milling about at the edges. It was a gait very specific to you, and anyone who had been there for more than a few days knew what it meant. The first thing was that you were very busy, but the second thing was that you were very nervous. There would be days when you had a full schedule – meetings and cases and trials and investigations – but that would produce a one-two-one-two clicking noise of your dress shoes. Sometimes you would have only a few important events, which would fill the building with a skittering pulse. Now, however, at nine forty-five in the morning, it was a frantic rhythm that initially appeared to skip beats and combine steps, but it repeated every couple of doors to create a false sense of chaos and rationale.

Nearly everyone that you passed knew that today would be a stressful time for you, but not one of them knew why, until you got further into the labyrinth of offices. The rooms of assistant district attorneys were gathered here, and they were in a similar state to you. Questions of how prepared everyone was punctured the air, calls for an estimated time of arrival split the little silence there was left over, and the only source of calm was from the district attorney himself.

You tried your best to avoid the hurricane of panic that swelled where the group stood. You skirted around the edges, trying to get to your own office without someone asking anything of you. The documents in your grip were of greater concern than the temperature of the water cooler, though nothing could top the thought that reigned supreme over your mind as you rounded the corner.

There were only three people who had a key to your office. Yourself, the district attorney, and Damien – and, considering that you had already seen your boss, Damien was supposed to still be in the city hall, and you were yourself, you had no clue who was pushing open your door and walking inside without your permission.

You quickened your pace, disregarding the rest of the prosecutors and beelining it towards your door. There were important cases in there, you couldn’t afford to let a member of the public see them withyour permission, let alone accidentally. You would be in serious trouble, and that was not something you could afford today. Really, you should have been excited, but this security issue was top priority; you could get demoted, you could lose your job entirely if someone off the streets, unknown to anyone there, completely random and without knowledge—

The mayor.

It was the mayor who was standing in your office.

Damien was standing in the middle of the room without having broken in because he had a key that you had given to him personally.

There was no need to worry.

“Good morning, Mr. Mayor,” you greeted, nodding slowly.

“Good morning to you, too,” he said in response, tone as welcoming as the rest of his interactions with the public.

You placed a hand on your door’s handle. “What brings you to my office?”

“I have a meeting with the district attorney in half an hour, and I have some questions that I feel would be better answered before it begins.”

Your blinds were already down from the night before, so all you had to do was push the door closed, register the click, and turn back to Damien.

For a moment, the two of you waited, staring at each other as you ran through the checklist in your mind. Everything was as it should have been, with you inside your office and the public outside.

It took just a second longer for your façade to fracture like ice on a lake – the crack spread across your lips, bringing a grin from ear to ear, while Damien took the few feet forward to bridge the gap. He left his cane leaning against the desk, and his steps placed just him in front of you, but he threw his arms around your waist to tug you closer.

Face to face, barely enough space for you to freely breathe, you couldn’t help but laugh airily.

“What are you really doing here?” you whispered, noting how the corners of his eyes crinkled at your voice.

“I know, I know.” His tone showed that you had much the same effect on him as he did you, and you didn’t miss him glancing down at your lips. He tried to redirect his focus to speaking, but the little huffs in between his words made it obvious it wasn’t working. “I’m early. I just… had to see you – before we got into legalities.”

As much as you should have reprimanded him for showing up before his scheduled appointment, you simply didn’t have it in you. Instead, you laid your hands on his shoulders, padded by his suit for the sake of the meeting, and leaned forward to swipe your mouth against his.

It was a sweet, gentle, infinitely too short kiss. Some part of you wanted to take the day off and drag him back to your apartment to savor the time you had available, but you were at work. You both were.

That was always the problem. After graduation, you were thrust into the world of work unceremoniously. No grace period, no gap year, no moment to spend together before you were once again in the public eye, except, this time, with more of a strain. Now, it wasn’t just Damien’s parents circling above: it was also the press, your bosses, the expectations of adulthood to get settled down but with no leeway to get to know someone. It was supposed to be a business transaction, not a relationship, and that wasn’t what either of you wanted.

So, once again, your relationship went underground. You shared glances in the hallway, clipped greetings over the meeting table, nods at exits and entrances – but, when you were alone, you made every second count in the dim lighting of candles, only the moon and stars knowing your secrets.

It was times like these that you never anticipated, when both of your schedules aligned just so, and Damien was able to surprise you right when you least expected it.

You supposed he had never truly escaped the manners of his aristocratic upbringing; he looked embarrassed to have shown his cards, his grip on your waist tightening and a redness spreading to the tips of his ears. You couldn’t have that, no matter how much you once would have teased him for it.

Pressing a risky kiss to his cheek, you muttered a quick, “Thank you for coming.” You then pulled out the closest chair from the desk before rounding to your side, doing the same so that you could fall into it. With the blinds closed and door shut, you had the freedom to be laxer in every way, not only with your affection.

“The office is nervous, you know,” you commented, tugging open one of the drawers.

“The whole office?”

You hummed. “Everyone except the DA.” Fishing around in the depths of your mess, you pulled out items you had meant to sort out later – ‘later’ being two to twenty working days.

Damien watched you do it from across your desk. Even after all these years, you hadn’t perfected the art of organization, and he found himself barely containing his laughter at your gradually increasing franticness. He’d give you a chance to realize, see if you could figure it out on your own, before he dusted off his shining armor.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen the district attorney in a panic.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him exhibit any emotion—” You unfolded a notepad but came back empty, “—I guess that’s what it takes to be a district attorney.”

“Now don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? There isn’t a lot of room for feelings when you’re supposed to be completely objective.”

“I think there’s plenty of room.”

In glancing up to respond, you caught sight of something that Damien held out towards you, and, with a bashful smile, you took it. However, it wasn’t only the fact that he had given you exactly what you were struggling to find – the meeting summary and checklist – but the affection he looked at you with. Nestled beneath the amusement and restraint for teasing was a certain glint that made you flush from your cheeks to your neck. It was something you often saw, but, being simultaneously faced with your future, you were granted a sense of calm that only came in the soft spots between your work, and you wondered, briefly, if he were right.

But even though you doubted your love for Damien would ever fade, that wasn’t the only problem that faced you.

A knock sounded at your office door, cracking the bubble you had created.

Instantly, you shot up from your seat, while Damien pushed back his seat to follow suit in a much more sensible manner, grasping the top of his cane in the process. You willed the color in your face to disappear as you wrapped your hand around the handle and pulled.

Behind it was one of the other prosecutors in the office, and, behind them, was the DA talking to a secretary. Everyone else had vacated the area, likely to the meeting room where you were supposed to be.

They opened their mouth to tell you just that but stopped short at the sight of Damien standing in front of your desk.

“Mr. Mayor!” came their gasp, and you watched as their spine straightened like a soldier called to attention.

“Good morning, prosecutor.” Ever the humble gentleman, Damien nodded at the newcomer and stepped forward to shake your hand. A single movement up and down was all that was allowed before he was striding out of your office and towards the meeting room.

You counted yourself lucky that the persecutor hadn’t questioned you as to why the Mayor of Los Angeles was in your office before his appointment, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth, so you snatched your keys from your pocket, ushered them out the way, and locked the door behind you.

You and the persecutor walked in rhythm next to each other, as if on parade, down to your shared destination. You were a few seconds behind Damien, but at every corner he took, you saw the heel of his shoe raise in a step and then disappear behind the wall. This was the precedent set all the way to the room, until you were outside the door that he had just entered.

“Are you not coming in?” the prosecutor asked, looking at you with curiosity but no suspicion.

You shook your head. It was your turn to wait outside, so that time could give you a better divide than distance could – give you a better chance of staying secret. These precautions were less necessary now, but neither you nor Damien were willing to take that risk.

With a light shrug, they pushed open the door and went in, letting it drift closed behind them. You just barely caught sight of Damien through the steadily waning crack.

One second. Two seconds. Three. Four. You counted each breathe in and out. Thirty seemed enough. With the final burst of air caught in your throat, you stepped through the veil.

There was no punishment for showing up slightly later now. You weren’t students sneaking around behind their college’s backs anymore, liable to be yelled at if something held them up in the corridor or prevented them from arriving at nine on the dot. You were adults. But, again, there was the matter of adult responsibilities and expectations of the public for the both of you.

Over the course of the meeting – which was on some business that the Mayor’s re-election campaign had with the legal branch of Los Angeles – you sent many a glance towards Damien. Anytime that he wasn’t speaking, he was sat up in his chair, listening attentively and even jotting down a few notes for his personal use. You were situated at one of the corners, and he was at the head opposite you, meaning that you had one hell of a time trying to be subtle. Luckily, you had done this many, many, many times before. When he was speaking, it was easy because – as much as you liked to tease him – manners weren’t unheard of to you. When someone else took the lead, however, you only managed to catch glimpses before you were forced to redirect your attention. You were working. You needed to pay attention.

As soon as the meeting started to slow, matters set aside for the follow-up session next week, you scribbled down the rest of the notes, frantically trying to create shorthand in the moment so that you could finish quicker. You felt every second drip by like a broken faucet, the unhurried march of time seeming to choose to make your life harder. Your fingers tapping on the table matched its pace.

“Very good, Mr. Mayor,” the DA said, rising from his seat to shake Damien’s hand.

You punctuated the end of your written word.

“Thank you for attending this meeting.”

You capped your fountain pen.

“We look forward to working with you in the future.”

The moment that the DA’s hand disconnected from Damien’s, you shot up from your chair alongside the rest of the prosecutors. You knew you had to wait to talk to him, but being the only one sitting would have been unprofessional. Waiting there awkwardly was just the same, so you busied yourself with sorting through your paper, tearing the most important piece out, until the room had mostly been vacated after shaking Damien’s hand.

When you were the last two people remaining, everyone having filed out, you stepped in front of him. In your behavior, there was nothing unusual. The two of you were what everyone saw: a prosecutor and the mayor. While one title held more status, your being in the same room alone was nothing to gawk at.

Much like when you had left your office, you clasped Damien’s hand with all the formal respect you could muster and shook it. He played along with an almost mechanical lift, his cane planted on the ground keeping him perfectly balanced and still. A silent goodbye and an exit to follow.

But before you let go, both of you took the too brief moment you had been gifted and made eye contact. In his, you saw the waves of affection stirring beneath the surface of the color, that shade that glinted like syrup in the light of the office window and was shaded by the feeling of twilight itself. In yours, he saw a crackle of flame that threatened to consume the whites but was kept at bay by the sheen of calm spread from one corner to the other. In both, you each saw love and devotion neither would ever part with.

He took a step back, and your hand returned to your side.

“Good day, Mr. Mayor.”

With a nod and a smile, you made sure that you had everything with you and then returned to your office. Although Damien had returned the actions, he was only able to keep the latter up for however long it took for the door to close. Meetings were tiring, but you made the longer ones worth it. He only wished he were able to get more time with you during them, sit just a chair closer, joke about the comments made afterward. Like how you did back in university post-lecture, whether that was from the professor or the Dean.

That period obviously wasn’t all smooth sailing. The secrecy he could have done without, but you were together, and that was enough. Now?

He turned to look at the door and sighed. Trying to revive the past was a fool’s errand, he knew that, but it didn’t stop him instinctively moving to worry the stick of his cane between his hands.

His eyebrows furrowed and the corner of his mouth dropped as he stopped himself short. Instead, he opened his hand, the one you had shaken before your departure, and looked curiously at the little piece of paper that you had left behind.

“Oh, my little monster,” he muttered to himself, trailing off only as his attention was stolen by the note.

You had folded it up into a neat square – sometimes he marveled at how disjointed your organization skills were – but the message was short anyway. ‘My house. Seven. Dinner.’ 

If someone, a prosecutor, a secretary, the DA himself, were to notice Damien leaving the meeting room with a grin stretched from one side of his face to the other, none of them would have raised an eyebrow, nor would they have connected it to you leaving at five o’clock on the dot with a smile much similar to his seemingly inseparable from your lips.

The knock at your front door startled you from staring straight at the stove. You had been waiting for it to explode, for flames to lick at the edges of the metal door, but nothing of the sort had happened so far. No, luckily, you had managed to make it to Damien’s arrival, right as the clock ticked to seven o’clock. Knowing him, even after years of being in a relationship, he had been waiting outside for fifteen minutes. Too many decades of training to be a gentleman prevented him for breaking decorum for the smallest things, and daring to timidly announce his presence a brazen minute early was one of them.

You took your attention off the stove for long enough to rush to the front door, swing it open, and practically drag Damien inside. The leaping of his eyebrows to his hairline was entertainment enough, but you were quickly distracted by the mental image of your stove melting. It pushed you to drop him into a dining chair and jump back to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I haven’t set the table yet,” you called back through the doorway. You weren’t going to expand on why, not because it was out of laziness, but because you really didn’t want him to know about your half-hour battle with your sink.

As you searched for your gloves, you heard him respond, “It’s not a problem.” A moment passed in which you found and slipped them on before you barely picked up him muttering, “In fact, if I remember correctly…”

It was out of the corner of your eye that you saw Damien emerge from the dining room and head straight to the cutlery drawer. He held two placemats and coasters to his side, cane grasped in his hand, and pulled the drawer open to retrieve the knives and forks.

“You don’t need to do that,” came your protests, but they fell on deaf ears. He took them regardless and marched back to the table to set it up. You, being preoccupied with the hot tray you had pulled out of the oven, were powerless to stop him or the affectionate tut that escaped you. The most you were able to do was push the food onto a rack and say, “I thought you were supposed to be the guest.”

“And I thought you just cooked a whole meal—” He ducked back into the kitchen, “—so I should be helping you prepare.”

He wouldn’t admit the real reason why he was so eager to do something; he loved you and wanted to make things easier on you in any way that he could, but there was also a part of him that was so pitifully nervous at the prospect of having dinner together that he had to keep moving. This was not a common occurrence. In fact, he was certain you had sat through more meetings than meals together, and it was a sad inevitability that your letters drifted towards more pressing matters, even in private correspondence.

His heart pounded against his chest like a trapped bird, and the audible thump was its song that he hoped only he could hear. Stopped at the table to make sure everything was in place, he tried to put out the fire growing beneath his skin by shedding his jacket and rolling up his sleeves. There were few times he wore anything different to his suit or made alterations to it.

On your part, there were also few times that you saw these alterations, and the sight of Damien’s exposed forearms through the dining room doorway made you grip the two plates of food just ever so slightly tighter.

Still, you managed to keep your nerves intact long enough for the both of you to settle down at the table, sitting across from each other with the meal you had somehow made without burning the house down. Really, you were quite proud of yourself, but it wasn’t the thing that held most of your attention.

“Thank you for inviting me tonight,” Damien said, looking straight at you.

“Thank you for agreeing to it. I—” You took a deep breath in, “— I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” His shoulders dropped with the admittance, and your own accentuated grin dropped into a much more comfortable smile. “I can’t tell you how giddy I was when you slipped me that note.”

“How else was I supposed to ask you? I don’t trust your secretary.”

That last bit was, technically, untrue, so far as to say you didn’t trust her any less than anyone else when it came to your relationship with Damien. Regardless, it didn’t stop him from fiddling with his cuffs as he averted his eyes from yours.

Quietly, almost as though his words were the biggest secret in the room, he muttered, “We could always arrange some meetings.”

“What, so we can go over the best way to style your hair that doesn’t differentiate you from the working class?”

You followed it up with a chuckle, but Damien didn’t follow. Instead, he burned a hole into one of the paintings on the wall, a completely unassuming one that had been there for the past few years. If that hadn’t raised questions in you, the tops of his ears turning red would have done it.

“Not as such.”

You thought for a moment and then let out a faux-affronted gasp. “Mr. Mayor, you’re not suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you?”

The very concept of fake meetings coming from a man as honest as Damien made you want to explode with laughter. Mayor Damien Whitacre? The man who put a little tree on his desk because he didn’t leave his office even during the holidays? That Damien Whitacre was thinking of boldly betraying the integrity of his job?

“While I do try to stay humble,” he began with a roll of his eyes, “I must admit I thought I’d be given more leeway once I became the mayor.”

“But you know why you haven’t.”

He paused.

Your suspicions grew.

“Do I?”

“Yes. We both do.”

His eyes snapped back to yours. “What if we changed that?”

While you tried to prevent your frown, you weren’t able to recover from your shock before it was bending the edges of your lips. “I never took you for the ignorance is bliss kind of man.”

“It wouldn’t be ignorance, per say, just…” Damien’s eyes drifted off to the side, glancing out the window into the pitch black of the night. “What if we pretended it didn’t matter. It does, of course, God knows it does or else we would be much further along by now.”

With a quirk of an eyebrow, you silently asked what that meant, and in a tilt of his head, he silently answered dates, a proposal, marriage, a family. His gaze never wavered from yours.

“And what happens if it goes wrong? If someone makes us acknowledge that it does matter?”

“There is nothing wrong with us loving each other.”

You hated arguing like this because you didn’t know what you were actually arguing about, but you also didn’t know if clarifying would be any better. The pressure of your teeth grinding against each other only served to make you more unsure. You had so many problems acting against you, you couldn’t afford to become one of them.

“We can’t lose our jobs,” you said, “I have aspirations, and I know damn well that you love being the mayor too much to let it go.”

“I love you more.”

Slowly, painfully slowly, you brought your hands together under your chin, as if to give you time to prepare for your own words. “You can’t.”

“Alright.” A moment of silence. You hoped it wasn’t mourning. “I understand.”

Maybe if you were talking to another man, someone else who hadn’t gone through what you had together, you would have been right. He might have been getting up to gather whatever miscellaneous trinkets he had left scattered around your house throughout the years. He might have been searching for his key to your office. He might have walked straight out the door.

But Damien was not ‘another man’. He was him, and the only reason he was getting up was to round the table to kneel in front of you.

“But what if we make it so they can’t get rid of us?”

You could have made a joke – something about that being a dictatorship and how you didn’t know if that could apply to a city – but you held your tongue because there was a spark of hope in Damien’s voice, a little optimism that made your eyes widen, which you would be damned if you washed away. “What do you mean?”

“I know that we can’t do anything right now. I’m up for re-election, and you’re not the district attorney yet, we don’t have a leg to stand on. But if we were able to get such approval from our colleagues and the public that they can’t remove us from our stations, we could relax.”

You both knew what he meant by ‘relax’, the dates, the proposal, the marriage, the family, but you also both knew that it would be difficult – and even that was an understatement, it would be a nightmare to balance opinions of people while making tough choices. Your future wasn’t destinated to be easy for you – if it were, you wouldn’t be sitting in the house where you lived alone – but, then again, neither was your past. To expect it all handed to you on a silver platter would be a rejection of what made you you. The struggle, the strife, the sleepless nights stressing over every little detail your mind could supply you with.

When you were at university, you had made a promise that you would stick by Damien, and you weren’t about to give up now. Not when you had come this far, not when the man himself was looking at you as if all the joy in the world had been presented to him wrapped with a bow, not when you loved him and he loved you.

“We’ll try.”

“We’ll try?”

You nodded. 

“We’ll try.”

You didn’t have enough time to move even if you wanted to before Damien launched himself forward and collected you in his embrace. From this position, his hand on your jaw guided you down into a kiss that was laced with the excitement of a brand-new start. An agreement to try. You’d try. And you’d do it. As he leaned in closer and you brought your fingers through the hair near the nape of his neck, you thought that this might just work. He made relaxing sound easy, and, while you knew that was optimistic, the passion shared between the two of you had you thinking it wasn’t as outlandish as you once believed.

No more waiting.

[Thank you so much for this request! Since you mentioned another poster, I went and tracked them down so, @marinecanary, this is the one that I messaged about! Could I have technically just zoomed in on them as the DA and mayor? Probably. Should I have? Probably. Did I? Nope :D! Again, thanks for requesting, and I hope you've enjoyed reading this!

...also I didn't want to go into anything mature since nothing was requested specifically but uhhhhh. I do love Damien]

[offender42085]

Post 1356

Philip Carl Pomper, Florida inmate J48575, born 1977, incarceration intake August 2013 at age 35, sentenced to life

Murder, Sexual Battery

Pomper, who killed a man in 2007 and was finally identified in 2012, five years after the murder, and in July 2013 was sentence to life in prison.

Assistant State Attorney Jacquelyn Roys, who argued forcefully for the maximum sentence. Pomper had accepted a plea agreement on June 20, 2013.. He entered a no-contest plea to one count of second-degree murder, and the state agreed to a sentencing range of 35 years to life in prison.

He offered no testimony or statements to the court in his defense.

Through witness statements and a recorded interview of Pomper by St. Johns County Sheriff's Office detective Robert Dean, the details of the murder came out.

Pomper and his girlfriend at the time, Paige Bush, were driving around - for no reason either of them could remember - in the early morning hours of Jan. 28, 2007.

With Pomper at the wheel, armed with a handgun he said he had recently purchased, the couple happened upon the victim, Clark McWhorter. He was walking alone on a deserted stretch of State Road A1A in northern St. Johns County. It was raining and he apparently thought Pomper, who made a U-turn so that his vehicle was on the same side of the street, was going to offer him a ride.

But when McWhorter leaned in the passenger side window to speak to the driver, Pomper stretched his arm across the car in front of Bush and pointed the gun at McWhorter. Before the man could get away from the car, Pomper fired a bullet into McWhorter's face and then drove off.

Although he didn't speak at the hearing, Pomper's recollection of the events as told to Dean in the June 20, 2012, interview was quite similar to that of Bush.

The main difference was that Pomper said Bush urged him on when he asked her if they should go scare McWhorter, a man neither of them knew.

In her testimony at the sentencing hearing, Bush said she was in an abusive relationship with Pomper and was afraid that if anyone was going to be shot, it would be her.

"That night, he said, 'Someone's going to die,'" Bush said. "I knew a year before a girl had been killed near Guana River. I was thinking that would be me."

Bush said she tried to get the authorities onto Pomper without him realizing she had tipped them off. She was the only witness to the crime, and she was afraid Pomper would hurt her or a member of her family if she told the police. She even called Crimestoppers to report that he had weapons illegally. She said her hope was that investigators would seize the murder weapon from him and realize it was used in McWhorter's killing.

Pomper was arrested but not for a murder and was soon out of jail. Some time later - Bush and Pomper gave different time frames - the relationship between Pomper and Bush ended.

Later in 2007, Pomper got back together with ex-girlfriend Jennifer Pomper, with whom he had a daughter. They were married in 2009.

However, there was trouble, and Pomper was accused of child molestation.

Pomper was only linked to the murder after his wife, recalling a claim that he had once killed a man, decided to contact Bush. They eventually told investigators everything they knew about the murder of McWhorter, a case that had stalled for more than five years without a suspect.

When Dean finally arrested and interviewed Pomper, he was able to establish the details of the crime because Pomper quickly waived his Miranda rights and confessed.

What no one really discerned was a reason for the crime.

"I don't know why," Pomper said in his interview with Dean. "I was trying to show off. I was trying to scare the guy."

Although he showed little emotion during the sentencing hearing, Pomper clearly struggled while trying to explain his actions to Dean, often burying his face in his folded arms.

"I'm not that kind of person," Pomper said in the interview. "I tried to kill myself afterwards with the gun.

"I don't know what kind of person he (McWhorter) was. He could have been a good man for all I know."

The state had plenty of testimony that McWhorter was a good man and that he should not have died the way he did.

"You're sentencing a dangerous man," Roys said in closing. "The state's position is Mr. Pomper deserves nothing less than life (in prison)."

Defense attorney Raymond Warren agreed that Pomper's crime was senseless, but he said the defendant's cooperation should be taken into account.

"He never backed down and tried to be evasive with the detective," Warren said. "He did come clean and we're asking you to sentence him to 35 years concurrent (with the sentence from Duval County)."

The Judge asked Pomper one last time if he wanted to address the court before issuing the sentence. Pomper again declined and the Judge sentenced him to life in prison.

4v

[mulletmitsuya]

Tokyo revengers groupchat (almost everyone, good timeline)

Warnings: swearing, suggestive, shenanigans

Desc: Takemitchy does his weekly check up (on his friends)

Takemitchy: hi everyone❗

Izana: shut up

Takemitchy: ahaha😆😅

Takemitchy: still as hostile as always Izana-kun😂😂😂

Takemitchy: how's everyone doing?

Izana: good if you would shut up

Mikey: leave babygirl alone and let him type his silly sentences Izana 😋

Izana: ...?

Draken: he's married

Mikey: Hina literally said i could call him that🙄

Hina: uhm, not really but it's fine i don't mind Ken-kun😅

Emma: Mikey😐

Emma: get out of Takemitchy and Hina's business

Mikey: stop trying to gatekeep them😒

Mikey: this is discrimination against single people

Rindou: and homosexuals

Rindou: Mitsuya, Hakkai, Ran, you etc

Rindou: praying for y'all

Ran: why is my name always in your mouth

Ran: and you're single 😒

Rindou: by choice🙌

Hakkai: no it's cause of the way you act

Rindou: how do i act?? cool, that's how, tf

Angry: dude, you act like someone who never received love from their parents

Angry: sorry

Smiley: don't apologize after insulting someone lil bro

Smiley: own that shit ❗💯😁

Inupi: can i leave

Mikey: you're very welcome to, actually

Inupi: i think i will stay, actually

Takemitchy: no one leaves guys😂

Baji: damn, can y'all shut the fuck up, i'm studying

Rindou: mute the chat, bozo

Angry: who calls people bozo man :/

Rindou: do you have an issue with me?

Rindou: let's settle this with our bodies

Smiley: 🤨

Angry: no thank you, i don't want to have sex with you

Rindou: you're pissing me off cause you know i meant a fight 😐

Mikey: you didn't word it that way at all

Rindou: no one was talking to you

Rindou: you will never find love and are doomed to watch the ones you love move on and be happy without you

Rindou: how bout them apples

Mikey: bro???

Draken: oddly specific

Rindou: yk what's oddly specific is that big ass forehead you have on you

Rindou: maximum cranium capacity

Rindou: bro thinks he's megamind

Rindou: idk why someone who walks around with one third of their hair is speaking to me rn

Emma: don't be mean😕

Emma: i think his head is proportionate :((

Kazutora: you made it worse

Draken: i didn't even say anything, this was complete unprovoked and now i'm pissed off

Mochi: Rindou stfu

Ran: Rindou chill out

Rindou: maybe chill with your alcohol addiction

Ran: no

Izana: Rindou shut up

Rindou: ...😒

Takemitchy: ok change of topic😂 what r u studying Baji-kun?

Baji: Sawcon

Draken: what's Sawcon?

Baji: Sawcon deez nuts lmao

Draken: yeah i'm done

Kazutora: he's studying Vet

Mitsuya: what's Vet?

Kazutora: being a Vet, duh 🙄

Mitsuya: can you tell me genuinely how the fuck i was supposed to assume that

Baji: Mitsuya just admit you're stupid bro

Mitsuya: k

Mitsuya: i hope you fail the year

Baji: jokes on you, i did

Mitsuya: oh

Mitsuya: my bad

Mikey: 💀

Chifuyu: better luck next year Baji-san

Ran: haven't you said that for the past 6 years

Baji: i have dementia, it's really hard to understand things ok😐

Kazutora: *diabetes

Chifuyu: ...guys

Ran: i chuckled

Smiley: are y'all trolling

Smiley: no way you guys r this fucking stupid

Angry: what are you even trying to say?

Draken: i think he means he's dyslexic

Baji: dyslexic on deez nuts lmao

Draken: i'll fucking kill you

Angry: we should be nice to each other sometimes

Angry: just a thought

Rindou: now that i'm thinking about it

Rindou: you give me autistic vibes

Angry: i'm not that good at painting or drawing but thanks Rindou😠❤👍

Angry: wait ☹️

[peachymilkandcream]

Hi! Can you do another modern au where Evelyn is imprisoned for a crime she didn't do and Levi is the warden who likes to torment his prisoners?

Jailbird|Levi x Evelyn AU

(A/N: Interesting idea Anon! We've all seen Levi abusing his power and taking it out on those weaker than him so this fits right into his personality. Honestly, I might leave this a little open ended and you can tell me, a part two, or, a full series? I definitely could see a full series coming out of this request. Let me know what you think in my asks, messages, and replies! Thanks for the request and I hope you enjoy!)

WARNINGS: implied noncon/dubcon, big age difference, kidnapping, slavery, violence, power imbalance, implied somnophilia, forced pregnancies, mind breaking, yandere behaviour, yandere themes, forced exhibitionism, sexual coercion, blackmail, misogyny, sex trafficking, etc.

================================================

Evelyn stalked around her cell feeling utterly dejected. She thought she would've been a free woman by now, but instead she was just rotting behind these bars because no one could trust the courts to actually deliver justice. She hadn't done anything wrong but now she was framed for fraud and was forced to spend the next two years of her life in this box.

That's what she got for being the scape goat for a crypto scam, even though one of her close friends Eren assured her that crypto was the investing strategy of the future.

That friendship was over.

It could be worse, there were much more serious charges she could've been convicted for, with much worse sentences. But still, two years of her life would be put on hold and now she would have a permanent record as a felon because once again the government protected the rich while letting the poor rot in the gutter.

A bang on the bars startled her out of her thoughts. "Enough of that pacing, it's driving me insane."

Evelyn looked up at the warden, his cane still poised to strike the bars again if she didn't obey. Levi Ackerman had a reputation for being a stickler for the rules and an asshole, she'd heard it before. He had to be transferred from a maximum security prison because his methods of disciplining the more rowdy and violent inmates ended up with severe injuries and several attempted lawsuits. They figured more docile and less threatening prisoners would suit his fragile temper.

Just her luck. Best to keep on his relatively good side to avoid making her life even more of a hell than it was. Although she did think it was odd that a man ran a women's prison with all women working under him, probably some chauvinistic stance regarding women's places in society. What an asshole.

"Right. Sorry."

"You're new, I saw that you'd just been transferred here. Evelyn, correct?"

"Yes, that's me."

"I thought it would be best if I came and introduced myself properly, considering you and I are going to get to know each other quite well in the time you're here."

Evelyn swallows, the thought of that causing more than just a ripple of fear. "Thank you for taking the time-"

"Don't flatter yourself, it's merely a formality. I don't understand why women like you end up here anyway. None of you little cunts would be in this situation if you just abided by the rules that have been so painstakingly set out for you."

She was right, he was an asshole. "And what kind of rules are those?" She barely concealed the animosity in her voice.

"Getting your base education so you're not stupid, marry, spread your legs, and then repopulate the earth."

Evelyn frowned, she had a feeling this is what he'd be like, but seriously, the guy really did suck. "Not all women want that lifestyle sir, and prisoner or not I'd appreciate it if you didn't make those comments to me."

He scoffs. "Cocky bitch." In an instant he reaches through and grabs her jumpsuit, pulling her hard against the bars, her feet on their tiptoes as he brings her up to his level. "Listen here you little shit, I don't give a damn what you want or don't want. For the next two years you're mine to do with as I please. You're seen as less of a human now, a drain on the system, it's my job to rehabilitate you and that's to be done however the hell I see fit. It's in your best interest to sit down and shut the fuck up and listen to all the lessons I'm taking my precious time to teach you. If you're lucky you'll leave here a little less useless. Understood?"

She wants to argue back, wants to spit in his face and tell him to go to hell. But the way he was gripping her collar was choking off her air supply, making it impossible to do anything but nod pathetically until he put her down, gasping for air.

"That's more like it. You think you can defy me and get away with it? You're in for a rude awakening girl, and you'll be thanking me for it in the end." His eyes rake over her, so slowly, menacingly, she shivers. "Enjoy your stay here."

[emilija04acer]

Jayvik list (pt3)

This fandom writes amazing summaries, I am so jealous.

I'm sorry for not writing something more than just giving you a list but I can not save this post for some reason. I may update this post later and add my thoughts.

I’m sorry for the lack of links but I was unable to make them accessible. This app really didn’t want me to post this…

Luckily for me those writers did an amazing job and I don’t need to add anything.

I hope you enjoy it!

>♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️<

Children of the astra by Hadesboy

In this forsaken place of a world, Viktor had to find a place where he could keep himself safe, just like Jayce had to learn how to adapt in society. Because they would never fit, they carved their own place and that room was just that.

Vamp x Ware AU

It comes easy to me by AliceBlackwood

Jayce gradually comes to understand that he's falling for Viktor, while Viktor slowly realizes there's more to life than his past and his work.

198,440 words and still ongoing

Your Name by ObscuredByClouds

The first time Jayce wakes up in the body of a Zaunite teenager, he thinks it’s just a dream. A vivid dream, but a dream, nonetheless. When it happens again, he faces the fact that it is really happening. Sometimes he wakes up in a body that is not his own. And someone wakes up in his body in return.

Jayce quickly learns that he can communicate with the boy taking over his body by leaving notes, and little messages on his skin for him to find when they switch back.

Slowly, they get to know each other and fall in love as they live out the other’s life and find they have more in common than they would have thought, coming from opposing cities.

It isn’t until Jayce realizes they are living in different times, that he is faced with the challenge of saving the love of his life from a terrible fate that threatens to separate them forever.

Based on the movie: Your Name (2016)

Like it’s the First Time by isitcrow

Alternate Universe where hextech is never created due to Jayce not seeing the magic that saved him. Therefore, not getting the aspiration of creating it.

Instead he just becomes a normal scientist alongside Viktor.

That is until he has a weird dream about his lab partner and him in space together.

See You on the Flip Side by Twyrewolf

After an experiment gone wrong, Jayce finds himself with a version of his partner who he can't even begin to recognize... and Viktor is trapped in a different version of reality with a Jayce just as alien to him.

With My Calamitous Love And Insurmountable Grief by laliabriel

“Step away from the ledge, Jayce,” Viktor commands, his third hand powering down as he becomes desolate, merely a machine and nothing else.

But the runes in his crown are quivering, flashing multicolor lights that reflect at Jayce’s feet, as if trying to reach him, distraught.

“Stop this madness,” Jayce says, voice unwavering as he gestures behind himself to the horrors taking place at their feet. “Or I jump.”

Or: Jayce tries a different, more desperate approach to get Viktor back.

If it were anyone else by widowspeaker

Viktor seems a little off today, he looks even more exhausted than usual and keeps….snuffling? Will he ever possess the ability to rest unless he physically collapses??

4.5k fanfic about Jayce worrying over and looking after his stubborn lab partner.

You may be entitled to financial compensation by oncetherelivedaboy

They tell him he’s dying, that there is no cure or treatment, no options but to make him comfortable to try to treat the symptoms and pain, and then they keep him from his work for another week in the hospital. They have given him six months as the maximum, six months to get his affairs in order, six months to finish his life’s work.

Viktor wonders if it might be worth it to tell him, at least it’s unlikely the embarrassment will kill him before he drowns in his own blood. Only after a death sentence could he even consider it, but he also knows that Jayce might not come back at all if he were to tell him, that he might leave and that Viktor might not even be promised these final months with him. Better to have this, he thinks, the promise of this moment, than to risk losing it all for only a possibility of more.

***Please note that this fic was started before season 2 came out. I will continue updating this story after the airing of Season 2, however it was not outlined with the context of Season 2 and diverges heavily from it's events.***

Sympathetic Magic by wrylers

“Hextech was imminent; harnessing the power of the Arcane was so close he could taste it. Now the walls were blank besides the remnants of debris, schematics removed for evidence, and tables cleared of all number of tools and artifacts. Now all that was left was rubble and his shattered dreams.

The most glaring symbol of Jayce Talis’ ruin was the hole blasted in the side of the building, cool air wafting through. Jayce approached it and couldn’t bring himself to look at the ruddy stain on the ground as he stepped over the fallen beams. It wasn’t really his fault, it really wasn’t.”

This will mainly focus on the dynamic between Viktor and Jayce in an alternate universe where Hextech was never invented. There will be occasional snippets of other characters and happenings in Piltover/Zaun to pad out the world.

Absence by iksvolforb

“So sensitive,” Viktor ponders, his expression steeled with a layer of confidence and intrigue Jayce has only ever seen in the lab. An expression shown only when he was concentrating. Exposed only when he was invested. Available only when he was ready to do anything it took to find the solution.

Jayce has to stop his head from lulling back when Viktor suddenly drags his hand slowly down his chest.

---

or, Viktor doesn't show up to the lab and Jayce goes to check that he's ok.

Time Travel FIcs>

Anything to keep you safe by Anonymous

“Time heals all wounds…” she then said softly.

Jayce finally looked up, an idea sparking in his mind as he stared at her with an intensity that surprised even himself.

Time.

Maybe… just maybe… there was a way.

Or alternatively:

After the attack on the council Jayce loses Viktor in the explosion. Now back in time, a week before progress day, Jayce is determined to do anything to keep Viktor alive and save.

A Warning by themorningsun

"[...] Even so, Jayce more often than not still tries to persuade him by pretending to forget something in their lab and coming back not long after leaving just to try to make Viktor at least take a nap. For that reason — and also for the lack of sleep which made him not pay attention to what was happening outside the lab, not even the bright light that shone in the hallway behind him which he attributed to a broken lamp — he didn’t find it strange when the door behind him opened and Jayce spoke with a soft voice.

“Viktor?” He spoke quietly and if Viktor was paying more attention to him he would notice the slight desperation in it as well. [...]"

or: Season 2 Jayce goes back in time and meets season 1 Viktor and decides to warn him about the future instead of killing him (after being gay of course)

To Mend a Butterfly by allcapsbee

Jayce wakes up in an alternate universe. Viktor doesn't.

Dangerous Theories by Shattering

"Jayce would never hurt him, would have no reason to, so Viktor is not afraid. Even if he maybe should be, because clearly something is going on right now and perhaps he should rapidly figure out what in order to avoid the previously unforeseen circumstance of Jayce blowing his head off with Hextech."

When Jayce asks to be sent back, his broken mind ends up taking a little detour further into the past. Viktor, weary from tirelessly working on Hextech, has his sleep rudely interrupted.

Stitched Back Together, It Seems by ticketytockety

Viktor and Jayce have fallen asleep at the lab again. However, ever since Jayce woke up, he's only been acting strange and Viktor can't understand why. He looks the same. Sounds the same. What's his problem?

Sweet Fics>

knowledge (and all of its consequences) by Folie_a_duex

He’s familiar with the space Viktor takes up, standing next to him by the blackboard or sitting down at the tables. He knows how Viktor will shuffle underneath Jayce’s arm to correct a mistake in his maths, or rewrite a messy theory while Jayce prattles on about the next steps. He knows the surprising sturdiness of Viktor’s cane, as it smacks at his ankles when Jayce doesn’t make room fast enough.

Viktor is no stranger to Jayce.

~~~

This is just 23k of Jayce being hopelessly in love with Viktor. That's it. That's the fic.

Lean on me by Ben_Phantomhive

Viktor had let slip that all his treatments and mobility aids were becoming an economic problem, so Jayce takes it upon himself to build, at least, the brace needed for his leg.

Kiss me like one of your Zaun Boys by setbet

“They’re making out in the lab.”

“Yeah, they do that a lot.”

“But they’re not boyfriends?”

“We don’t talk about it.”

The first time Viktor kissed Jayce, it was a quick peck on the cheek, followed by a casual conversation. The next time it's on the lips, but then it's back to talk about formulas. Jayce concludes it must be a cultural thing, and also starts to kiss Viktor back. Everybody else is confused.

A story of two friends kissing each other, who are definitely not boyfriends.

Or Viktor uses Jace's lack of knowledge about the Undercity to kiss him.

Draw Me Like One of Your Piltie Girls by draconabraxas

Jayce never considered himself to be good at drawing, but he was determined to make himself good at drawing Viktor.

(based on the League client interactive game where they show Jayce’s journal and he has a doodle of Viktor in it)

I'm Dumbstruck When You're Tender by forest_roses

Jayce has always been this… casually affectionate, Viktor supposes? It started small, a hand on Viktor’s shoulder, a brush of fingers as Jayce takes a piece of chalk from him, and grew into full hugs or Jayce’s arm around Viktor. It’s not constant, but it is common, and Viktor does not know what to make of it.

Or, five times Jayce "unthinkingly" touches Viktor and two times he does it with purpose.

When the gears stop by Chicken_in_kfc

After Viktor collapses from the overwork in the lab, Jayce is forced to intervene. Together, they begin the slow process of recovery and rebuilding trust.

Stubborn by calamitoustide

Jayce saw it coming. No matter what Viktor argued, Jayce heard the sniffles coming from the other side of the lab, and how Viktor’s eyes began to softly drift closed while he tried to focus on reading. Viktor has been suppressing his coughs and telling Jayce he was hearing things when he thought to bring it up, then he’d stay late that night just to “prove” he was perfectly fine. Viktor might be very stubborn and refuse to admit he’s getting a cold, but Jayce saw it coming.

or Viktor is sick and absolutely refuses to admit it Jayce has his work made out for him to actually make sure he rests

Bridge of Progress by Macachist

An AU where Jayce and Viktor realize the importance of their friendship and partnership. A fic filled with gentle kisses, tenderness, and a love that expands all universes. Together, as always, in every universe.

Fun fics>

Viktor Vs Claw Machines by ElliHOT

Spite everyones knowing that claw machines are rigged against their favor, they continue to be the most profitable and popular with any person of any background.

This includes one brilliant mind of Viktor.

Pictures of you. (Who me?) by GlassCupid

Viktor was NOT snooping. He didn't do that. He was a distinguished scientist and renowned in his field. It's just that the deifying drawings in Jayce's lab book looked an awful lot like him.

AKA, biblically accurate Viktor makes fun of Jayce (It's his love language).

How was I supposed to know? by GlassCupid

Viktor is having a late night at the lab with a couple drinks until he swears he sees someone outside the window.

Please I just want to write funny little stories about them omg I love jayvik.

A Study In Love by oweenie (milkchonker)

When my fellow man wants to read some jealous Jayce, I provide. Might go somewhere more, might not, we shall see!

Who the hell is Mikhail? by Zelkumy

Jayce remembers when it all began, remembers when the ugly feeling of uneasiness and weariness and something more he couldn't quite place carved its way into his heart; remembers when Viktor started to come to the lab later and leave earlier, and it all came from the same cause, or in this case, the same name:

Mikhail.

or;

Viktor starts disappearing from the lab to spend time with someone mysterious named Mikhail. Jayce does not have a good feeling about it.

Santa Baby by blossombubble

For the first time in his life, Christmas sceptic Viktor finds himself wanting to sit on Santa’s lap.

OR

Viktor never thought he’d meet his future husband cosplaying as Santa for charity.

envy, the mind killer by chicandcheesy

“Okay, you’re definitely jealous. Viktor, come on. Mel and I were just talking about council stuff—boring, political nonsense. You know that’s not my thing.”

“And yet,” Viktor says, raising a brow, “you seem to enjoy her company. Perhaps I should start wearing gold jewelry and speaking politics to get your attention.” He's not being serious of course, but presses on anyway. “It would suit me, no?”

“Well, you’d look pretty good in gold, but . . .”

“Do not test me, Jayce."

—

Viktor grows jealous of Mel and Jayce's friendship. Jayce is confused, but willing to show his loyalty.

The Defender and The Machine Herald by Jayvik_eheh

Jayce and Viktor- well, the Machine Herald; have scheduled fights every week. They don't WANT to fight each other but words aren't their strong suit and emotions need to be expressed. Besides it would be weird to be seen being nice to each other after slandering each other to everyone they know. They don't fight to kill of course, that would ruin the fun.

In other words; Jayce and Viktor fight and cuss each other out by day and write love letters they hide in boxes in their closets by night.

Hangovers And Heartstrings by serenityity

Jayce gets piss-drunk at an academy event and accidentally confesses his love for Viktor. (and Viktor has to take care of him)

__________________

“I’ll have you know, I’m just being polite. Networking, you know? It’s what keeps the lights on in our lab.”

Viktor’s smile deepened, his sharp gaze softening just slightly. “Ah, yes. Piltover’s golden boy, sacrificing himself for the greater good. Truly, you are a hero of the modern age.”

Jayce chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” Viktor replied, his tone almost playful, “you keep inviting me to these events.”

two chapters, first chapter angst, second chapter fluff thank you for reading jaybe or jaybe not.

Jayvik in a New world>

The Threshold by Harrowdeon

At first, there is only light, blue and blinding hot. This is the end, Jayce knows, even as the seconds stretch on and on and on. This is the end, and he will never know if what he has done has saved anybody except Viktor.

And maybe, in the end, that’s all that matters.

Or: The afterlife, and what it means to become one with the Arcane

when the war quiets down, strike up the band by phiresong

"Professor Talis!" A young man strides towards them, Academy-crest pin gleaming on his jacket. A student, then. Jayce raises his hand in greeting but the kid breezes right past him and stops a respectable distance from Viktor's chair.

"I tried to sign up for your class this semester, but the waitlist was miles long," the kid gushed, "I read your latest paper. It's brilliant! Is there any way--"

---

Viktor and Jayce end up in a new world. In the middle of their honeymoon. There's a lot to figure out.

Viktor s Lastname>

Counselor Talis' Husband [jayvik] by meiibo_sai

– And your companion is..? What 's your name, young man? – He pointed to the shorter one between the two of them. Only for a few centimeters, he would like to say in advance.

– It’s Viktor. – He responds in a monotonous tone.

– Just Viktor..? – The man friendly reaches him his hand.

– It’s Talis as well. – Jayce affirms, with that fucking smile on his lips.

Viktor’s eyes widened in a way that was impossible not to notice his shock. He felt his cheeks heating up instantly, even more when he heard that mischievous chuckle coming from him, delighted on how he had left his poor beloved lab partner.

– Y-yes, yes. V-Viktor Talis. Nice to meet you. – He shakes the man’s hand, trying not to appear nervous.

– Oh, you two are married? How beautiful! Young love sure is contagious. – The pompous man gave a friendly smile.

– Yes. We are married, yes. Isn’t that right, honey?

Jayce felt Viktor’s gaze burning him alive. He knew exactly what he meant. Maybe not with so vulgar words that he certainly wouldn’t say often, but his golden eyes clearly screamed a  “you are so fucked up tonight”.

Viktor by afuneralpyre

In which Viktor doesn't have a last name, and Jayce fixes it. Somehow.

Is it gay to give your last name to your science partner?

Фамилия by russianxpunk

Viktor didn't tell Jayce his last name. Jayce needs one.

It was obvious to him, everyone has a last name, you're born with it. And yet, it was something he still had to discover about Viktor, one of the many things he still had to discover about him.

or

Viktor opens himself up to Jayce because a simple question doesn't have a simple answer, not with them.

Modern AU>

Sweater Weather by dreamersreality

Jayce Talis very nearly self-implodes after waking up from a wet dream. But instead of it being about the girl he’s already gone on two dates with, it’s about the boy in his AP physics class he’s one hundred percent sure hates him.

Lean on Me by dawnstruck

It’s been half a year now since his marriage to Mel fell apart and Jayce became a stay-at-home dad. A little less than that, since he offered Viktor the empty guest room, just to make juggling work and child-rearing overall easier.

It’s a question of convenience, really. Jayce gets to take care of his daughter, but he also has someone to watch her when he needs to run errands, to play with her next door while Jayce is in a conference call with their sponsors.

And if Mae gets a little confused about how many daddies she has… or if Jayce is in denial about what kind of partner he wants Viktor to be… Well. They’re going to figure it out eventually.

Explicit>

A Critical Zaunite Experience by Cherry_Sofa_729

“Yes, well- I am eager to leave.”

“Why?”

“If you must know- I plan to visit the undercity tonight.”

“Oh! Like meeting up with friends?”

“Not exactly. I am going to see a prostitute.”

Jayce spat out his coffee all over his papers.

Or: Jayce somehow ends up at a brothel with his work colleague. They quickly turn to much more than just work colleagues.

A Quick Proposition by pieckswoman

Viktor is shocked when Mel visits him in the middle of the night to talk about Jayce. Turns out, Viktor is in for a night of a lot of surprises (and realisations).

In the After by queercatfan

After waking up in a new reality, Jayce and Viktor must process their own survival.

Of Champagne and Unspoken Confessions by twobros_chillinginahottub

“Viktor,” he said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. That was enough to finally get the other to look up from his scattered papers. “Come with me. I want people to see the other half of HexTech.” He gave Viktor that small, damnably charming grin. “I want people to see my partner.”

Viktor’s stomach dropped. Excitement and hope were quickly stomped out by logic and reason. Business partner. They were business partners. Nothing more. But the idiotic fantasy was enough to weaken his resolve. “Fine,” he sighed, hiding his smile as the other whooped in his victory.

-----

The boys go to a councilor party. Viktor gets drunk and says more than he plans to. Featuring: Jayce being jealous. Also Viktor being jealous. They're both very jealous and gay and pining.

better than sex by illuila

“There appear to be some rumors floating around that you and I are more than just partners.”

Jayce’s face paled. “What kind of rumors?”

Viktor cocked his head. Something between a smile and a scowl tugged at his lips, “That we’re fucking, Jayce.”

these lower desires by acestyx

“Lying is futile…Jayce. I can see what you want.” Viktor dragged his hand down Jayce’s torso and he hated himself for arching into the touch. “…what you need.”

Jayce panted, nostrils flaring. “I don’t—I’m not—” The hand trailing down his body skirted across his stomach and Jayce sucked in a breath.

Viktor’s eyebrows drew together, his face twisting into almost a frown. “This want. These…lower desires. I no longer have need for.”

“However,” Viktor pushed his palm into Jayce’s crotch. A pitiful whimper fell from his lips. His face burned. His legs shook, on fire. Everything was so warm. Only Viktor surrounded him. “It would be cruel of me…to leave you like this.”

-

A more...erotic rewrite of the Jayvik fight scene in S2 Episode 8 bc what was that Arcane writers-

The Harald and the Defender by sc0rpiflow3r

“You’ve always wanted to cure what you thought were weaknesses. Your leg. Your disease. But you were never broken, Viktor. There is beauty in imperfection. They made you who you are. An inseparable piece of everything, I admired about you.”

Two brilliant minds, one dream, and a war that tore them apart. Worry not, this is a love story.

you got me feelin' hella good by kanedasbike

Jayce needs to unwind, away from the madding crowd that are his coworkers. He goes to the one colleague he trusts most to seek out some good, under-the-radar nightlife.

(AKA: Viktor plots on Jayce, who sees the trap and runs right in. Then they deal with what comes after.)

Patience by GenGonGinGun

Viktor leaned back on his hands. He gave an appraising look at his work. The collar sat tight around Jayce’s neck, white and red in Talis colours, the only piece of fabric covering the top half of his body. His formal trousers remained in place, and Viktor’s eyes lingered for a moment over the tent that had formed within them. Maybe later he would let Jayce fuck him stupid, but for now he had plans.

(Or, Jayce is desperate for a taste, and Viktor is mean.)

the afterglow of us by parrylarry

Viktor expected to be torn apart and killed as he and Jayce disappeared into the white hot light of the cosmos. Instead, he finds himself alive, in a new dimension where he can start fresh, with Jayce by his side. For the first time, Viktor comes to truly understand what it feels like to be loved and cherished by Jayce. They now have an eternity together to explore this newly intimate side of their relationship, that has long since shifted from just partners to... Something else, and something lovely.

more than a symbol of the house by mothergrub

He's built like a brick house, a solid wall of muscle from foraging his own ideas by a fire. He is tan, full of the sun in his skin, in his eyes, in his teeth, even his fingernails–

Ah.

Viktor loves to watch Jayce work.

Delaying the Inevitable by akirakiraki

Viktor extends his hand, not to harm, but as a welcoming gesture. As if to ask Jayce to take it.

"I wish to show you the limits of your flesh. The feebleness of all that you experience. To drive my way into you and control your senses, bodily. So that when we are one, when you join me in the vast sea of consciousness, I can pry it from your memories - our memories - and show you the strength of what awaits you by contrast."

Jayce squints, more confused than accusatory.

“You want to torture me?”

"Worse."

--

Before Jayce joins the Glorious Evolution, Viktor offers him an ultimatum. Jayce accepts, hoping to delay the inevitable.

Not for any other reason.

Like Real People Do by EmpressKink

He tugged at the soft blanket around his shoulders, gathering it in his lap and burying his face in the fabric. It was cruel that he could still smell Jayce’s cologne on the blanket mixed with the ashy scent of the forge that must’ve been stuck to his clothes, and deeper underneath it all, that distinct musky scent that was just Jayce. Viktor could pick every note distinctly. Green tea leaves, burnt cocoa, and sweet cherries.

or:

Viktor misses Jayce after having left him, so he goes to visit him in the lab in middle of the night and things escalate.

[inkinmyheartandonthepage]

The Spell On You

Day 18 of flufftober and the prompt is Bewitched! I hope you enjoy and you can read it here on Ao3.

“Oh no you don’t,” Chimney demanded, following Buck up the stairs to the station loft. “You’re not getting away with this.”

“Chim, it’s no big deal,” Buck huffed, heading towards the kitchen island.

“It is!” Chimney cried out and Buck can picture him throwing his hands up in the air. “You didn’t even blink when that witch said you had been bewitched!”

Their last called had been called out to one L.A’s most well-known spell shops. A few customers had ignored the warnings on the pre-made spells and had set them off in the store resulting in them backfiring and a fight breaking out. The owner of the store who had tried to stop the fight had been shoved through ones of the display cases and the 118 had been called to help get her out.

Buck had been the one cutting away the metal frame when Daisy (the owner) had turned to him, eyes going wide.

“Oh. You’re – you have a – there’s – you’re bewitched!” Daisy had stammered.

Buck had chuckled, ignoring the way his team had just stopped and stared at him.

“I’m so sorry,” Daisy apologised with a wince. “That was so unprofessional of me. I – I apologise.”

“I think you’ve earned a pass,” Buck had said with a smile. “Besides, I already know I do.”

“Well, since you’re rescuing me, I could help you out,” Daisy had offered. “Help you remove it.”

“No need. I know how to remove it,” Buck had said. The metal casing came away and Buck shifted it out of the way. “There you go Hen, Chim.”

That had snapped Hen and Chimney out of their staring, and they had moved to help Daisy. Eddie and Bobby had stared at him a beat longer before they too focused on Daisy and getting the shop secured. The conversation had been put to rest as they cleared the scene and made their way back to the firehouse. Or so Buck had thought, but really, he should have known that Chimney wouldn’t have let it go.

Buck reached the fridge and pulled out five bottles of water. He closed the fridge door with his hip and placed the bottles on the counter. He handed one to Chimney, who took it without opening it, and picked up one for himself, leaving the last three for Eddie, Hen and Bobby who were making their way over to them.

“Does Maddie know?” Chimney demanded with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, she knows.” Buck rolled his eyes. “And look, it really isn’t that big of deal.”

“Buck,” Hen said carefully. “To bewitch someone, to put a spell or a curse on them, takes some serious magic.”

“I know,” Buck said, giving a shrug. “But I’m telling you it’s not a big deal. I’ve had it since I was a kid –“

“You were a kid,” Eddie snapped, striding forward, face looking thunderous.

Buck snapped his mouth shut, instantly regretting opening his mouth. This was the reason why Buck never said anything. Bewitching anyone was against the law but to do that on a child was particularly cruel. Those who had been found to do so were stripped of their magic and were to serve three consecutive life sentences in a maximum prison.

“Buck.” Bobby’s face was grave, his voice heavy with so much grief that it made Buck’s eye’s sting.

“I’m fine,” Buck insisted, giving them all a pleading look. “Please, just drop it.”

“Buck, the longer you are bewitched, the stronger the spell gets.” Hen’s voice shook as she explained. “And if you’ve had this since you were kid…” her voice trailed off as the implication set in.

“Look, I really appreciate that you are all worried. I am,” Buck said, looking around at the team that had become his family. His heart lurched at their (unnecessary) protectiveness. “But I promise you I’m fine. I know what this is, I know how to break it, I just haven’t been able to yet. Please, trust me.”

Bobby, Eddie, Chimney and Hen all shared a look with one another, and Buck tried really hard not to bristle at it. He knew they were concerned, and they had every right to be, but it wasn’t as dark as their thoughts were thinking.

“I’m not stupid,” Buck continued when they said nothing. “I know what it means, I’m the one who has been living with it since I was five. So just trust me that I know more about this then you do and that I’m handling it.”

“Okay,” Bobby said but Buck could hear the reluctance in his voice. “We trust you, Buck. But just remember that you aren’t alone. We are family. We’re all here for you, no matter what. If you need help, you have it. Don’t forget that.”

Buck swallowed around the lump in his throat and blinked against the sting of tears. “I know. Thank you.” He gave them a watery smile before he cleared his throat. “Can – can I help you with lunch, Cap?”

“I’d like that,” Bobby said, coming around the kitchen island.

Buck tried not to flinch when Eddie made a noise in the back of his throat, storming off down towards the stairs. Hen gave him an apologetic look before following Eddie.

“How about Mac n’ Cheese?” Bobby asked, already reaching for a baking pan.

Buck perked up. “Really?”

Bobby smiled, all soft and fond. “If you would like.”

Chimney muttered something about playing favourites before wandering away to throw himself down on the couch, turning on the TV.

Buck allowed himself to get lost in cooking with Bobby. It was one of his favourite things to do and he really appreciated the older man taking Buck under his wing and teaching him. That didn’t stop Buck from looking to the loft stairs every few minutes to see if Eddie would return.

Eddie didn’t return until they had finished cooking. He quietly took a seat beside Buck and while he didn’t say anything, not even looking Buck in the eye. It made Buck’s chest ache and he wished he hadn’t opened his stupid mouth. Eddie did silently press his knee against Buck’s, a small sign to show that he wasn’t ignoring Buck, but they would be talking about all of this later, not that Buck really wanted to.

They managed to eat before another call came in and the rest of the shift was spent out in the field. When they made it back to the station, B-Shift had already arrived and was moving about the station.

As they changed into their civilian clothes, Buck could feel Hen, Chimney’s, and Eddie’s stares at his back. There was no visible sign of his bewitchment on his skin, not in the way they were thinking. He finished dressing quickly, grabbing his duffel bag, and slinging it over his shoulder.

“See you guys’ next shift,” Buck smiled at them before he ducked out of the locker room.

It was wishful thinking that Eddie wouldn’t catch up with him.

“Hey. Want to come back to mine?” Eddie asked, falling into step with him. “Chris has a new game that he wants to show you.”

Buck would love nothing more to than to go back to the Diaz home and spend time with his favourite people but there was someone he needed to speak to first.

“I can’t,” Buck said apologetically.

Eddie’s jaw clenched, huffing a breath out of his nose. “Why?”

“I – I have plans,” Buck said, hand tightening around his duffel bags strap. “But – but how about I come over tomorrow? Cook you guy’s breakfast?”

Eddie searched Buck’s face and Buck tried not to flush under the piercing gaze. Finally, his best friend’s shoulders slumped.

“Okay. Tomorrow. Promise you’ll be there,” Eddie said.

“Promise,” Buck nodded. “I’ll see you and Chris bright and early.”

Eddie nodded before he reached out and took Buck’s wrist, squeezing it firmly. “Call if you need anything. Any time.”

Buck pulse skittered under Eddie’s touch, stomach fluttering as his magic reacted to the touch. “I will. Ed’s, I really am okay. I promise.”

Eddie let out a breath. “Your definition of okay often varies from everyone else’s.”

Buck took a step closer to Eddie, bringing up a hand to rest on his shoulder. “Ed’s, I was fine before you guys knew. That doesn’t change now that you do. I promise you, I’m not about to drop dead.”

Eddie sighed. “That’s really not as reassuring as you think.”

“Trust me,” Buck pleaded quietly, squeezing Eddie’s shoulder.

“I do,” Eddie promised, voice soft. “I do.”

Buck let out a little sigh of relief. “Then I’ll see you tomorrow morning, for breakfast.”

Eddie nodded, giving Buck a soft, almost sad, smile. “See you tomorrow morning.”

Buck squeezed Eddie’s shoulder one last time before letting his hand drop and strode towards his jeep. As he got in his car and pulled away, he could feel Eddie watching him, even when he could no longer see him.

~*~

Eddie couldn’t stop thinking about it. Even after Chris had long gone to bed, Eddie had simply stayed on the couch, his mind going over what Buck had said back at that firehouse.

Somebody had bewitched him when he had only been five years old.

It made him feel sick to the stomach.

Eddie picked up his phone, staring at the photo that filled his screen. There were no new notifications, but Eddie expected that since it was nearly three in the morning. He hadn’t heard from Buck since he had left the station. Eddie had longed to message, to go over and drag Buck back to his house where he and Chris could wrap him up in a blanket and keep him safe.

But Buck had plans and Eddie had tried really hard to respect that. It hadn’t stopped him from messaging Hen, Bobby, and Chimney about it. None of them had known that Buck had been bewitched. Whatever the curse was, he had hidden it well.

When the sun rose, Eddie gave up on sleep and slipped out of bed. He took a shower and got dressed before heading to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He drank it and was in the process of making another when he heard the front door open and then close.

A few moments later and Buck was entering his kitchen, a nervous smile on his face with his sister Maddie right behind him.

“Morning,” Buck greeted. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind Maddie joining us?”

Eddie shook his head, pushing away his surprise and giving Maddie a smile. “Of course not. Morning, Maddie. Coffee?”

“Please,” Maddie smiled.

“Chris up yet?” Buck asked.

Eddie snorted as he grabbed two more mugs from the cupboard. “Not this early.”

“Right,” Buck chuckled.

Eddie poured two more coffees, handing them to the Buckley siblings and gestured towards the kitchen table. They took a seat and Eddie’s nerves returned full force when Maddie and Buck shared a significant look. 

“Uh, before I start breakfast, maybe we could talk,” Buck said, shifting nervously in his seat.

Eddie swallowed thickly. “Sure.”

Across the table, Maddie took Buck’s hand in hers, giving it a squeeze. She gave him a nod and Buck gave her one back before he looked to Eddie.

“We’re going to tell everyone,” Buck said. “About how I got bewitched but I, uh, thought you should know first.”

“It was me,” Maddie said quietly. “I bewitched Buck.”

It took all of Eddie’s military training not to fall out of his chair.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Buck rushed to say.

“It was,” Maddie insisted.

“It was an accident,” Buck protested.

“And I haven’t used magic since,” Maddie assured Eddie.

“You could,” Buck said. “It really was just an accident and it was probably my fault any way –“

“Buck, it was never your fault,” Maddie insisted. “You were five.”

“I probably moved or something –“

“Stop,” Eddie interrupted, putting a hand up to stop the conversation he was sure the two would have had many time before. The siblings fell silent, shifting guiltily in their chairs. Eddie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Explain, please.”

“It was an accident,” Buck said firmly, shooting Maddie a look.

Maddie sighed. “When Buck was five, all he wanted was a puppy. Our parents…they weren’t bad people…”

“Just bad parents,” Buck finished.

“I’m nine years older than Buck,” Maddie said. “And it was the holidays, and I was seeing my friends all the time and I just wanted to give him one. So, I thought I would make him a magical one.” Maddie gave a helpless shrug. “I found a spell and well, it was going well until I think my intentions got a little twisted halfway through.”

“And you ended up bewitching him instead,” Eddie finished, looking at Buck.

Buck beamed. “I got my dog.”

Maddie sighed, shaking her head. “I bewitched you into a dog.”

“Occasionally,” Buck said to Eddie. “It’s really not as bad as Maddie is making out to be.”

Eddie’s mind spun. “Wait – you bewitched him into a dog?”

“Not at first,” Maddie winced. “But as Buck got older, so did the curse.”

“I guess Hen and Chimney’s jokes about me being a Golden Retriever aren’t really that far off base,” Buck grinned sheepishly.

“You can shift?” Eddie stared at Buck, eyes wide.

Buck and Maddie shared a look before looking back to Eddie. “Sometimes.”

Eddie shook his head, rubbing a hand across his face. “Okay. That’s…okay.”

“We’ve never told anyone,” Buck said. “Not even our parents know. Maddie, she could have gone to jail for this, and it was just a mistake. And It’s not harming me at all. I just get a little fluffy sometimes.”

Maddi snorted, falling into giggles while Eddie just stared at Buck.

“A little fluffy,” Eddie said weakly.

“How about I start breakfast,” Maddie said, standing up. She brushed a hand over Buck’s shoulder’s as she passed him and then did the same to Eddie.

Under the table, Buck knocked his knee against Eddie’s. “You okay?”

“Me?” Eddie asked, eyebrow rising high on his forehead.

“You look a little…” Buck made a face.

Eddie shoved him. “Dick.”

Buck laughed, a smile lighting up his face. He knocked his knee against Eddie’s again but this time he didn’t pull away.

Eddie traced his eyes over Buck. He didn’t seem or look any different than he had a week ago, before Eddie had known about the bewitchment. He still looked as beautiful as always and he was still the same kind-hearted, generous, wonderful man he always was.

“You said at the station,” Eddie started slowly. “That you knew how to break it.”

Buck huffed a chuckle. “Yeah, I do. Fourteen-year-old Maddie had high hopes for my romantic life.”

Maddie squawked from the stove. “I still do.”

“You’re romantic life?” Eddie frowned.

“Fourteen-year-old Maddie just wanted me to meet someone who would love me unconditionally like a puppy does and seal it with true loves kiss,” Buck grinned at his sister.

Maddie’s cheeks were pink as she mock glared at her brother. “Not exactly that but along those lines. And in my defence, I had just seen my first Heath Ledger movie. I thought I was going to marry him.”

Eddie bit back his smile, ducking his head so she wouldn’t catch him. She still did, smacking him on the shoulder lightly with a spatula.

“Like you didn’t have celebrity crushes at fourteen,” She huffed, moving back to the stove. “Besides, I’m not worried about Buck finding his true love.”

“Me either,” Buck said softly, hooking his ankle around Eddie’s under the table.

Eddie swallowed around the soft look Buck was giving him. His cheeks were dusted pink, and he was giving Eddie that shy smile that made Eddie’s insides twist and his heart thrum faster. His mouth went a little dry and everywhere Buck was touching him felt like it was on fire. His cheeks flushed hot, and he knew they were going pink, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not with the way Buck was looking at him right now.

Stomach twisting with butterflies, heart hammering in his chest, Eddie choked out, “Oh?”

Buck just smiled. “Yeah. Whenever they’re ready.”

With his mouth dry, Eddie gave Buck a shaky nod. And Buck just smiled brightly in return, rubbing his ankle against Eddie’s. Buck drummed his fingers on the table before he stood up, his smile still on Eddie.

“I’ll get Chris up. Don’t want him missing out on Maddie’s breakfast.”

Eddie watched him leave, blowing out a breath as Buck left the room. He turned to look at Maddie who was already watching him with a knowing smile.

“You couldn’t have just bought him the puppy?” Eddie asked, deadpanned.

“With my allowance? No way,” Maddie said. “Besides, I knew he would find you and Chris.”

Eddie blinked. “Just how powerful are you?”

Maddie gave a secretive smile. “Chris likes his bacon extra crispy, right?”

Eddie nodded and Maddie turned back to the stove where the scent of bacon was filling the kitchen. He shook his head, listening to the sounds of Chris’s joyous “BUCK!” and the sound of his laughter following.

He allowed himself to smile, warmth filling his chest. This isn’t how he expected this morning to go (but perhaps Maddie had known) or to learn that it had been Buck’s sister who had accidently bewitched him, but hope flowed through Eddie. He and Buck had been building towards something for a long time now and maybe, finally, they were ready to take that next step in the family they had built together.

[lundenloves]

that’ll do, johnny

This was a request, put in via submission. “Soap x soulmate au? Any au” I ran with my words a little here, I find it easy to write for Soap as he’s dead fun. Hope I proved this man worthy of the hype he deserves. Happy reading, kids.

↳ no warnings | gn!reader | 1.1k

good ‘ol johnny boy. apologise in advance for the scots words, they’re pretty self explanatory if you read between the lines. wain is a child.

At the end of the day.

You and Soap, or Johnny rather, were joined at the fucking hip. That duo who always showed up together, never apart for as long as they could help. It’d been that way since childhood, rainy days in Paisley after his parents had moved back down to the central belt. Pushing and chasing one another around the dull streets, name calling and loud laughs all the way through till late adolescence. Absolutely fuck-all came between you aside from his burning love for Rangers and yours for Celtic.

Match days were a fight, no doubt.

When he joined the Army it pissed you off. You’d known he was going to, christ, it’s all he’d yapped on about till he was old enough. But saying that last goodbye to him selfishly kicked up a storm in your stomach, willingly forgetting to recognise it was all he’d ever wanted. His dream, if you will.

But he wrote you letters, regardless of your sour faced send-off. Letters you’d dampened with tears, allowing the ink to run free across the page, now barely legible. His handwriting was barely legible anyway, but the tears certainly didn’t help.

Didn’t stop you from stashing them into a box under your bed though. An Adidas shoe box titled: ‘Fucker.’ You never were one for warmth.

And over time that box filled with all sorts of shite. His letters, patches, some photos — fuck even a few sticks and random fabrics he’d sent in envelopes with loads of ‘ha ha ha’s’ written on the back. When he got home you’d showed him said box and he still laughed with himself at the sticks.

“Got that in Azerbaijan, I mind picking them up.” His voice would rise in pitch, defending his past self.

Not that he had anything to defend. You’re the one that kept them.

Different story when he’d found the letters. Fuck, that was a day and a half. “You kept these aye?” He’d skimmed through the crumpled paper, “Greetin’ on them too.” A nudge of your shoulder

And that right there was the hour your friendship had transcended into something more. The whole hour actually, feelings were shared and truths came out. Johnny knew. Of course he knew. But you confirming his thoughts felt like getting into bed after a long day. Banging.

After that his deployments were all a routine. You’d cry, hate him for a maximum of a week for leaving you behind in the shithole that was Glasgow, receive a letter and then miss him. Repeat.

Above all else though, you were soulmates and that was absolutely undeniable. Finishing one another’s sentences, laughing until your sides hurt, speaking in silence by exchanging looks across rooms and dining tables. You’d even share your work gossip with him any chance you got, and he’d match your drama with his own, forever the menace even in such a serious profession. Additionally, letting you test your chances against wrestling him from time to time. Never did let you win though.

“That’d be you cheating.” He’d say as his arms pinned you down, “You’re no even tryin’ are you?”

Windup. Merchant.

“How’d they even let you in, you’re a big wain.” You’d frown at him, attempting to kick his stomach only resulting in a grapple to the floor.

“They let me in ‘cos i’m class.”

There wasn’t anything specific about Johnny that made you love him. It was a mix of everything, time included as you’d convinced yourself it was love from the ripe old age of thirteen. And actually, so did he. Whether it was a platonic love he’d recognised or something more — he told you all the time. Forever the emotional soul, Johnny. “I love you, y’know, kid.” Even though you were the same age. “You’re the one darlin’, marriage!” All slurred whenever you’d picked him up from a drunken night out, allowing him to crash in your bed.

He was a softy, really.

Again. Not that it was a secret.

You loved the way his eyes turned soft whenever listening to you, always finding yours in a room full of people. The hand he instinctively placed on your lower back when walking you through a crowd. His dirty cackle. The smile he produced enough to cover for both of you, the story-teller in him and the proud compliments he gracefully gave you in public.

But Johnny loved even more about yourself.

He loved your attitude and the way you stood up for yourself. ‘Bite n Fight’ as he liked to call it. He loved your eyes and how expressive they were, your brows that never failed to host a frown you weren’t even aware of. Each and every one of your habits, ones he’d always take for granted before leaving for months at a time. Your gorgeous smile and that dip on your bottom lip that was only reserved for his. Your roaming hands, the way they wandered up toward his hair whenever you’d kiss him deeply, pulling at the roots lightly but still tight enough to provoke a growl from him.

He just loved you.

So that night last Summer when he’d finally got down on one knee and fumbled his way through a speech, making himself (and you) laugh in the process. It was fucking emotional. “I ‘adn’t prepared one.” He’d smile with his teeth together, lifting his shoulders up toward his neck in laughter. “Yes or no. Christ, my knee can’t handle this.”

“Yeah. Yes, obviously yes.” You waved your hands in a gesture for him to stand up, laughing loudly into the night sky when he had lifted you up and kissed all over your neck.

Soulmates were an odd concept.

You never thought you’d meet yours, not until Johnny had stuck around and practically taught you the definition of the word over years. Landing the MacTavish name and unlocking endless boring stories about his family history and the clan.

Although, you’d be lying to say you didn’t enjoy the way his face lit up when telling you about it all. As if you weren’t Scottish yourself, and hadn’t heard his stories over a hundred times.

“You’re no even listening, mate.” He’d quirk a brow, stretching over the table to bosh your flat palms with his own.

“Don’t fuckin’ mate me. And I do listen, thanks. All Highland and…” You’d drag out the last letter before a long pause. “Stuff.”

“Yer a minx.” He’d push a hand through your hair to purposely mess it and wind you up, receiving a smack to his still outstretched palm. Loud laugh filling the room as well as your heart.

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[rreskk]

Can you please write sub trevor x dom reader/inmate having a conjugal vist (mommy issues, readers batshit)

Hey! I love this idea but I found it difficult to come up with a tactical set of headcanons. I changed it around so Trevor was the inmate and I made the reader feed onto this motherly figure, but in a more firm and strict way. I hope you don't mind! Feel free to ask anything else.

HEADCANONS: conjugal visit with Trevor

He got arrested. It surprised you that he hadn’t of been caught earlier. How you found out? A phone-call regarding his arrest since you were his only emergency number. Why he was arrested? Not from all the grand thefts auto, not from all the meth he had cooked, not from any of his murders. He got arrested for public indecency.

 Luckily his sentence was reasonably short (maximum of a few months), but the amount of conjugal visits were short. You weren’t allowed to come visit in the first month as his behaviour was “unacceptable”, which would only mean he’s either assaulted someone, or assaulted himself.

However, you were finally aloud in the private room where he sat, legs jiggling around, body uneasy due to the withdrawal of drugs and his overall twitchiness. He sees you and immediately starts bribing you with imaginary cash to help him get out, but you raised your finger, and he went dead silent.

You started yelling, lecturing, screaming at him for being this “stupid” and “sick” man. He sat there and took it all with a bitter face. He was never a fan of disrespect but he knew you couldn’t be disrespected. So he kept his mouth shut and waited. Every once in a while he’d beg to differ until the room went quiet and you said what you wanted to say.

“It’s nice to see you too” He’d sarcastically say before rambling on about the cops and why they are such pigs, and how he wouldn’t of been arrested if they weren’t “invading” his privacy and breaking the human rights offences.

You disrupted him and asked about the phone schedules for when you could next call. He says in a week, you go get up, but he holds you back.

“Don’t go.” He’d beg a lot.

“I don’t know why I even came.” “I wanted you to come.” Trevor would hiss in a hostile but clingy tone as he’d tug you closer, forcing you to sit back down where he looked into your eyes and begged you, once again, to stay for another 5 minutes.

You could tell he was vulnerable since he spoke in this slow and deep voice that threatened to break. He’d try and talk about you and your day, hoping to form some sort of affectionate conversation where he can receive the love he “believes” to have “deserved.”

The visit ended as the guard showed you out and Trevor watched you leave, his body slumped and face riddled with misery.

Until he gets out, you could only deal with his heart-sob stories over the phone where he pleads for you to love him, expressing that boyish need of a maternal comfort.

[voxofthevoid]

Shibuya Swap Wednesday #10 😶

I'm still on Part 3: 94k, 17 chapters, and counting. But I think Part 3 will be done with two, maximum three, chapters, and then it's Part 4 with alt!Satoru/alt!Yuuji. I think this fic is gonna end up being some 25 chapters of wall-to-wall porn with a few chapters of conversations and feels. I hope whoever's into goyuu in fucking 2026 will enjoy it.

For now, have a blowjob:

“I thought you were a good boy.” Gojou does stop then, pouting about it. It’s terrible and terribly pretty. “But here you are, leaving me high and dry.”

What’re you even—” It hits Yuuji mid-sentence, and he looks down. Their torsos are flush together, so he can’t see anything, but he can sure feel it. “Oh, that.”

“You don’t sound very impressed.” The pout worsens, comical now. “Ouch.”

Yuuji’s torn between rolling his eyes and kissing the pout away.

Novelty wins.

He has no regrets, not when he can taste how Gojou’s mouth eases into a smile right against his lips.

“Put me down, sensei,” Yuuji says without pulling away.

“But I like you here.”

“You’ll like me on my knees too.”

Gojou makes a strangled noise, and that’s worth the spike of what the fuck am I saying. It’s a bold claim. Yuuji’s done this exactly once, and the dick was…non-standard.

But no one’s ever accused Yuuji of not swinging for the fences.

He fists a hand in Gojou’s hair, tugging his head back. It’s not very gentle, but Yuuji’s the one paying the price because his body howls at the way Gojou’s lashes flutter, sweeping delicately over pink-stained cheeks. His eyes gleam like blue coals, and the longer Yuuji stares, the more he feels like they’ll flare into flames and burn him up.

Yuuji gives the hair another tug anyway. Gojou’s lips tremble, making a noise that’s not a name but something close to it.

“Down, sensei,” Yuuji says sternly.

“Bossy,” Gojou replies, but it’s delightfully breathless, and his response is immediate, the hands holding Yuuji up loosening and then falling limply to the side.

Yuuji tightens his legs around Gojou on instinct, holding himself up. His fingers sink deeper into a thickly muscled shoulder, and his other hand tightens in Gojou’s hair, meaner than he wants to be, but Gojou just lets out a hot, ragged breath, everything about his mouth begging for some teeth. Yuuji can’t help giving it to him, bending down despite his precarious position to kiss Gojou on his pretty, pink mouth, and it’s a clumsy affair, Yuuji more focused on keeping his balance than any kind of technique, but he still takes his time pulling back, sucking Gojou’s lip into his mouth and keeping it there, trapped between teeth and sweetened with tongue.

He doesn’t let go until a few seconds after his feet find the ground, Gojou’s head yanked down by the lip caught in Yuuji’s mouth.

Gojou’s hands return to Yuuji, gripping his forearms with a gentleness that scorches the skin.

Yuuji kisses him again, just once, close-lipped and hungry, and drops to his knees.

Gojou makes that same strangled noise. He’s still holding Yuuji’s arms.

“Let go, sensei,” Yuuji tells him, tugging lightly.

Gojou blinks, his eyes flitting from Yuuji’s face to his forearms. He lets go, prying his fingers off one by one, and the hands are back on Yuuji the next moment, one sliding into his hair and the other resting on his shoulders. There’s barely any pressure, but Yuuji can still feel their weight, heavy enough to leaden his bones.

It’s not a bad feeling.

He tries to ground himself with that touch while he tries to get at Gojou’s dick. The jacket keeps getting in the way, too long and unwieldy, and it’s not that Yuuji needs to see the fly to unzip it, but he really wants to. His head is a slurry of fears and wants, more good than bad. He yanks the jacket up to pin it to Gojou’s own stomach, and then there’s a lot less hiding just how affected Gojou is—everything Yuuji felt earlier gleaming in front of his eyes.

He cups the bulge, spreading his fingers over it. Even like this, it feels hot. Touching it like this feels nice and dirty both, like the sweetest and filthiest thing Yuuji’s done at the same time.

Gojou is very still.

Yuuji’s tempted to look up but doesn’t, opening the fly instead. It’s more cloth under it, except Gojou’s underwear is soft and fine, and his cock looks like it’s about to poke a hole through it. It’s already so wet.

Yuuji rescues the underwear and nearly gets his eye poked out for his trouble.

“Woah,” he gasps, flinching back. Then he sees just what sprang out. “Wow.”

There’s another strangled noise from Gojou, distinctly amused this time.

“What?” Yuuji asks defensively, scowling up at Gojou and trying to ignore the new heat on his face. “It’s pretty!”

“Thank you,” Gojou says, his voice strained like he’s muffling laughter. “I’d have hated to disappoint you.”

Yuuji does roll his eyes this time. “Like you were ever worried about that. Look at this thing.”

“I’d rather look at you.”

That just makes Yuuji’s face burn even hotter, and he drags his eyes away from the searing sincerity on Gojou’s face. And the flushed curve of his cock doesn’t kill the heat, but it changes it, making it hotter and hungrier, and for a moment, Yuuji just stares at it, drinking it in the way he wasn’t allowed to that morning.

It suits Gojou, from the size to the color.

The head is the same blush pink of Gojou’s lips, and the way it gleams wetly with a generous coat of precome is like a dirtier version of how Gojou’s mouth shines with gloss or spit or worse. And it’s long—long enough that Yuuji presses his legs closer together at the memory of how Satoru’s dick looked straining against his cage. He can’t imagine all this being wrapped up in unforgiving metal like that, but that’s exactly what the other Yuuji did to Satoru.

Yuuji drags his mind away from that line of thought; he’s had a lot of practice with that these last few days.

He curls a hand just under the head. It’s hot, silky. The foreskin moves with liquid smoothness when Yuuji gives it a tentative stroke, and the head doesn’t get any wetter, but what’s already there makes Yuuji’s mouth water and throat dry out at the same time. It’s weirdly thrilling, this mix of anticipation and dread.

He takes Gojou into his mouth, eyes wide open.

Precome coats his tongue. It doesn’t have much of a taste. Just bland wetness, maybe a little sweet. He wonders if that’s because of all the sweets Gojou eats.

He swallows, the head still weighing down his tongue. There’s a lot more to take, and he tries, slowly swallowing Gojou centimeter by centimeter, and there’s a memory in his mouth of flesh caged in metal, but right now, it’s just flesh, heavy and hot all the way through, and Yuuji stops with the head prodding the back of his throat, not triggering the gag reflex he lacks but still kind of strange. Satoru didn’t get this far; he couldn’t. And a part of Yuuji misses the weird sting of metal on his tongue.

Or maybe he just misses the boy.

He closes his eyes and sucks, swallowing his own spit mixed with Gojou’s mess.

Gojou’s nails scrape his scalp, gathering a fistful of hair. It pulls a little, but Gojou doesn’t do anything else as Yuuji figures out how to suck a cock that’s bigger and fuller than the last one he put in his mouth. He keeps getting distracted by the differences. Gojou’s pleasantly solid, filling Yuuji’s mouth and digging into its insides when he sucks, but there was something heady about the way Satoru fit into his mouth, lying on his tongue all sweet and easy. And despite his aching sympathy, Yuuji liked how it looked straining wetly against the cage, both flesh and metal shiny with spit.

Something compels him to draw back and say, “This is pretty different.”

Gojou’s hand tightens in his hair, just for a moment. “Oh?”

Yuuji looks up, forcing down a shiver when he finds blue eyes gone two shades darker, still gleaming with their own fire. “Y-yeah. He was all locked up.”

“Locked up,” Gojou echoes faintly, blinking once.

“A cage,” Yuuji clarifies. “Mostly metal in my mouth. It wasn’t bad though. I liked it. Not that I don’t like this! You taste good.”

“Thanks,” Gojou says, but it sounds absent. He’s staring at Yuuji like he’s never seen him before, and that could be concerning, but Yuuji feels weirdly…powerful.

He licks his lips, his spent cock throbbing when Gojou’s eyes follow the motion shamelessly.

“Hey, Gojou-sensei,” he asks, “do you like that kinda thing too?”

His cock twitches in Yuuji’s grip.

“Huh,” says Yuuji. “Guess you do.”

“You were right, Yuuji,” Gojou says, almost before Yuuji’s done speaking. “I do like you on your knees. But I’m gonna have to ask you to get up and fuck me now.”

[shallowbreaths]

This is Mary Vincent, she is the biggest badass alive! At 15 she was attacked, brutal raped, hit in the head with a hammer, she had her arms hacked off with a hatchet, and was then thrown off a cliff by the side of the freeway to die. Her survival story is the shit! She says she heard a voice telling her to keep moving or else others would die, so without arms she managed to pack mud into the wounds so she wouldn’t bleed to death, and then she proceeded to scale the cliff with no arms!! She was completely naked, she had severe head trauma, no arms, and they say she had lost 50% of the blood in her body. After scaling the cliff (which she says took her most of a day), she then walked 3 miles before seeing a car with two men that slowed down, but after getting a good look at her they sped off. To which this badass woman said, “I looked terrifying, I don’t hold it against them at all.” Needless to say, she survived. Before allowing herself to even pass out though, she demanded a sketch artist and provided such detail that the monster’s friend saw it on the news and immediately knew it was him and turned him in. Then she testified against the man, and he somehow managed to whisper to her, “if it takes me the rest of my life I’m going to finish what I started.” Oh yeah, btw, it was HIM that released that detail!

Her family could only talk about how it effected them, it was as if they didn’t realize that it was effecting her too. So she was homeless for a while and she obviously had trouble making and maintaining any meaningful relationships. Her attacker got charged with a long list of crimes and got the maximum sentence at the time…. 14 years! He was released for good behavior after 8!!!!

He then tried to sue her after his release, (as one does after brutally raping someone and then cutting their arms off), but the court threw it out. He then moved to Florida where he was an “upstanding member of the community, and great neighbor.” His neighbors said things like, “of course we didn’t like what he’d done, but life goes on.” Yuck! I know this is shocking, but the asshole killed again and a witness saw it. The police arrived at his house and he was covered in blood still. He tried telling some BS story. The woman he killed (a mother of 3) wasn’t highly thought of because she was a sex worker, that’s one reason why they are so often killed, it’s easier to get away with. SOOOO, Florida asked Mary if she’d face the monster again in order to testify to the man’s nature. This badass said, “Hell yes” and flew down. I really hope she whispered to him, “I’m here to finish what I started.” He was convicted again and put on death row. Unfortunately, God got him with cancer before Florida got to finish his story.

This isn’t about him though, he was a disgusting creep that doesn’t deserve a name. This is about Mary fucking Vincent, the biggest badass of all time. Because of this story, there are now laws instituting mandatory life sentences for certain violent crimes. This is about a woman who uses her experience to help teenagers who are sexually assaulted, even though she STILL suffers from such terrible nightmares that she has woken up trying to escape with such violence that she has literally broken bones doing it several times. This is about the woman who went on to have two sons who she says gave a clear and definite reason to keep going. This is about a girl who at 15 says she couldn’t draw a straight line but grew up to be an artist with no arms, who fashions her own custom prosthetics in order to do the things she wants to do.

I’ve never met this woman, but she is one of my heroes! She is magnificent. Fuck that loser who wound up rotting in a cell alone, it could have been a car crash or a tree falling that caused that damage, he is a gross and barely necessary tool that lead to forging something truly amazing. What she has done, overcome, and made from the pieces is so fucking incredible that she should inspire us all. She was NOT disposable, but how easily she could have been. All she had to do was close her eyes at the bottom of that cliff and go to sleep. I’ll bet she could have quit on herself a million times over the years since 1978, but Mary Vincent doesn’t quit. She took the unimaginable and turned it into art. She IS art!

In Mary’s own words, “This is the third phase of my life since that awful day. I went from victim, to survivor, to artist.” Hell yeah you did Mary!

[giggly-squiggily]

HIIII <33333 HOPE YOUR DAY IS AS GOOD AS YOU ARE

Can I PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE have a ler!Rohan x gn reader (male preferably) romantic pairing

With the sentence starter "wait that's actually a cute idea, lemme test it"

{Puffs are now CLOSED!}

Have I mentioned how much I love Rohan? My darling man, he is so great!!! I've gotcha covered, anon! Also; all readers I write are gender neutral for inclusivity! Thanks for understanding! :3 (Also as of posting this today was Thanksgiving in the states so I had to bring back hand Turkeys lols)

“Hm, turkeys.” You mused outloud looking over Rohan’s shoulder, admiring the handprints across his sketchbook.

“...I’m sorry, what?” He blinked, only just processing what you were saying. “These are handprints for a murder mystery story I’m writing- how did you get turkeys?”

“You never did that thing in school? The hand turkeys?” At his stare, you reached into your pocket and searched up the nostalgic activity. “In grade school, the teacher would paint our hands and have us push them against a piece of paper! Then we’d decorate the print and make it look like a turkey!” You turned your phone to him, watching his eyes light up in understanding. “Cute huh?”

“Hm..that is a very cute idea. Here, let me test it.” You didn’t get a chance to respond before he took your hand in his, pulling you into a seat. “Hold still.”

“What- Ah! Aheahhahah, Rohan!” You yelped when he took a paintbrush, coating your hand in thick black ink. “Hohohold on, it tihihihickles!”

“Must have been quite the event for you when you were a kid.” He smirked at your cute reaction, making sure to coat every inch of your hand for maximum print. The entire time, you were squirming in your seat, giggling up a storm. “There- now we put it in the paper..?”

Nodding, you pressed your hand flat into the open space on his sketchbook, jumping a few times to really make it stick. After a moment, you pulled your hand away, revealing a rather nice hand. “It worked!”

“Hm. So it did- but it doesn’t quite resemble what you showed me..” Rohan furrowed his brow, tilting his head. You laughed, understanding what he meant.

“Usually we use different colors on the fingers for the wings, and brown for the body.” Your eyes caught a series of colored inks from below his desk then. “Like those!”

“Perfect. Let’s try again. You have a spare hand.” Rohan grinned, making you flush and giggle with anticipation. This was going to be a very giggly project.