#just block them. honestly truly just go and block them all. as many as you can find

[uhbasicallyjustmilex]

i just caught up with my comments over on ao3 and this literally me right now

[cloveroctobers]

act right | Elias “STACK” Moore x black! Reader

A/N: I thought I might dabble in some mess that involves stack idk. This is a toxic moment!!!!! but you definitely have to be if stack is your type…or are you gonna fix him? 😆

Synopsis: in which reader finds it entertaining that stack is back in town and in her face, thinking you’re about to spin the block again. He must have forgotten who tf you are.

WARNINGS: language/minor usage of the N-word, mentions of violence, cheater!stack, side chicks and shit talking, built past relationship, most of reader’s background is based off of Katherine Dunham, & this was honestly a quick write on this cloudy weekend but I hope y’all like it?

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃

It’s truly an art, pretending that you don’t see someone staring at you. There were so many people in the juke joint, many old and new faces that you didn’t mind chatting with, after Annie made you one of the best Bee’s Knees you ever had. You had no doubts about it, considering the two of you had quite the bond especially when it came to events such as these.

Usually you had no issue blending into the room and once comfortable you made effort to socialize. And usually that always ended up with you on the dance floor, you being nicknamed as, “QOD, Queen of Dance,” who always seemed to take the lead once all eyes were on you. There were many years where you were forced to be held back, shield your gift and be what your parents wanted you to be. When they found out that you opened up your own dance school just in your teens, where you spent majority of your time after school instead of helping down at the struggling local newspaper shop, your family couldn’t be more than livid.

Little did they know by you opening up this school, helped contribute to expenses but it also brought on some guilt after your brother was left alone to run the newspaper stand by the trains, which led to him being paralyzed and wheelchair bond for the rest of his life. The hate in this world is a motherfucker and regardless if you were there or not when those events transpired, it still could have happened.

These were the times you were expected to live in.

People don’t understand that some brains can be delayed but that doesn’t mean your brother was a bad person or deserved what he got. He was one of the main ones who was proud to see you dance and told you that you could always be more than what momma and daddy wanted you to be. So? You kept on dancing.

Until you felt hands on your hips, facial hair prickling the side of your neck. His front pressing into the shape of your backside so easily he felt like he belonged there. You halted your movements, hearing his voice over the blues.

“Girl you sure do look good as hell,” he comments trailing his lips up the side of your neck breathing you in, “I’ve been looking around town for you but somehow I knew you’d find your own invitation.”

Your hands touch his and shove them from your body, you spin to face him with fire in your blood. Stack looks the same as you always remembered him, a handsome yet dangerous darkness that you didn’t sign up for.

“I’m not here to support you if that’s what you’re thinkin’,” you go back to swaying your hips and Stack can’t help but to run his tongue over his bottom lip, “I came here to dance.”

Stack laughs lowly, rough like gravel and like the texture of his hands. That same hand runs at his jaw as he watches the way you move without a care in the world, as if it wasn’t easy to gain an audience.

“Is that right?” His hand reaches forward again but even with your eyes closed, you reach out just in time to smack his hand away. Stack hissed with a shake of his hand, “…See you can do all that but you and I both know, you would much prefer to dance on me.”

Your eyes rolled open at that, stopping your movements as you peered over at him underneath the yellow light. Your hand goes right to your hip, where his hand should be but he lost that right. Lost that right when he lied saying you weren’t his first thought when he got to Chicago. You went out there to pursue your dream career whereas he went out there with Smoke to make money and fuck shit up.

That’s not what he intended to do with you.

There was a time where you believed Stack did love you but you would never be someone’s second thought.

A cold smile passes over your full lips, “Oh Elias…you think if I let you dick me down on this ol’ dance floor things will be forgiven? We had our fun in Chi-Town and you had even more with your hussies out there. Even gave one of them the ring that belongs to me and now you want to be in my face thinking shit is sweet? You should go play with Mary who’s over there lookin’ as if she could throw a tornado our way…she always did put up with your fuck shit better than me.”

Stack’s jaw ticked out of frustration. He didn’t need you to bring up old shit right now, not when he was already having a good night with the vibe of success in the air. When he spotted you, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Wouldn’t. He should have known coming over here wouldn’t be easy…something you never were. Stack ignored Smoke who told him, “If you go over there, you might want to Bob to the left since her hook’s always been sharp.”

It wouldn’t be the first time you took your frustration out on somebody. Obviously it wasn’t always the best choice and you knew when to apologize when you knew the person behind your wrath didn’t deserve it.

Elias Moore was a whole another story.

“I don’t give a damn about her right now,” Stack stepped to you but you didn’t flinch just folded your arms with a smirk on your mouth, “I’m talking to your ass. And I know you missed me as much as I missed you, sweetheart.”

“What gave you that idea?” You laugh, “Every call I never returned? I was too busy living life, just like you.”

Stack’s known all about your adventures after Chicago. From Martinique to Jamaica and Trinidad. His gut was telling him then to follow you, he should have followed you all over the world but his ego got the best of him. He even came to a few of the shows, tucked away in the dark corners of the theatre and felt like he was the loudest of applauses. He was sure you could pinpoint him out as you curtesy at the end of the shows, even thought about sending you flowers but felt like that would be doing too much. Especially when you caught him with one of the other dancers in the hallway.

He sniffs, fingers flexing at his sides, “You cant live no damn life without thinkin’ of me.”

There goes that ego again.

A scoff of a laugh flies out of your mouth, hand going to rest against your cheek afterwards as you peek into the anger on his face, just as you would when surveying one of the his drink’s you would always sample first before handing it over to him, much to his annoyance.

“If you really think that then I’m really about to break your heart, boo.” It’s your turn to step even closer to him, “You come and go out of my life as much as you please. What’s the harm in me doing the same?”

His teeth are flashing at you now, gold grill glistening beneath his beautiful smile. “You always did know how to knock a man off his feet.”

Your head tilts to the side, eyes almost glancing around his frame, just knowing what he was referring to. You shot him in the ass after you found out from some friends that he fucked Mary in the back of his car one night. At that point the both of you were just friends but…he should have never shown up and got in the way when you were letting out your frustrations! You claimed you were aiming for his leg once you got back into bed with him weeks later but the both of you knew better.

“And you always knew how to make love hurt.”

Something shifted inside of Stack at your snapping words just then.

It was no secret that stack hurt you.

When he was able to sit alone with his feelings and look back on it all, he knew he fucked up. There were times where he just felt like his brain did more than his heart would allow him. He knew you deserved better but ultimately he felt like nobody else deserved you more than him.

“Whatchu want a sorry?” Stack clasped his hands in front him, guard up, “Will that get you to stop acting so stank and admit that you’re not gonna find anybody that loves you more than me?”

You’re shaking your head now, “Fuck your sorry, Stack. Especially since you think that’s enough. I just wanted you to act right and you never could.”

Your hands softly trail against his chest and his breath hitches, tempted to watch your hands skillfully dance across his broad chest but like he said, he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. That moment of tenderness is brief as you shove him back, actually making him budge.

That makes a cruel smile past over your features, knowing you got him in a trance as you step around him, ready to bump shoulders with him but he side steps you. His hand shoots out to grip your wrist, turning you roughly back to him. He pulls you tight against his frame, making sure you’re nose to nose as you stumble. You’re breathing him in when you want to keep him out.

His mouth is open like he’s got something smart to say but his heart is the soundtrack in his ears instead of the harmonica now.

“If you don’t have anything else to waste my time with, then you best unhand me before I make you a new headline, Elias.” You say into his face, eyes strong and bold on his whiskey hues.

Stack’s grip slackens, very slowly because he still wants to have a hold on you. You’ve always liked your personal space and it took time for you to open up to him just as him with you. Maybe he shouldn’t be holding on if he didn’t know how to do it right or the way that you needed.

Just giving you the inch, you slip out of his touch, that lingers as it glides over your bare back in that low-cut dress. A wink is sent his way, making him twitch and let a sickening grin appear over his own face, although he knew you were far from joking, ready to set it off at any given time just like him—although you claimed to be a changed woman using forms of dance as the best outlet—Stack still knew you even if you thought he wasn’t shit.

You even shoo him away, yelling over the music, “Why don’t you get you one of those sidecars from Annie? Maybe that’ll uplift your spirits because it damn sure won’t be from me.”

And with that being said Stack had to swallow that as he watched you again, slipping through the bodies, dancing with a few on your way by, before finding another stranger to sink your body into. A scowl is on Stack’s face now, as your hips swung left and right while another nigga buried his face in what should be his.

Rightfully.

He promised he wouldn’t cause a scene tonight and he would keep his cool but he remembered faces. That nigga wouldn’t be allowed back in this spot ever again after disrespecting him. Once he was able to get moving again, he tapped one of his boys, pointing out some red dude that had his hands on you for his men to take care of some time tonight.

While he leaned against the bar with Annie giving him a knowing glance which he held his hand up to before she slid him a sidecar—without that decorative shit on the side of the glass she tried to give him last time during one of your birthday parties—Stack couldn’t help but to wonder if you’d ever dance his way again but deep down he already knew the answer.

Yet everybody that knew Stack was aware that he was hardheaded. Once he set his sights on something, he knew how to be persuasive…in his own way. It was his turn to smile behind the rim of the glass as he watched two of his men snatch the red man away from you as you twirled from his grasp, hands up in the air, briefly distracted from their attack.

When you turned back to the missing man, a look of confusion passed over your face before you shrugged, moving through the remaining crowd to plop down next to Sammie, who sported his own guitar lounging by the stage.

Some heartaches you freestyle around, twisting and turning, and some you drink through—and some may just cause you to bleed out.

𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄀𝄁𝄃𝄂𝄂𝄃𝄃𝄃

FIN.

[theemporium]

[4k] things have been a bit rough since luke accidentally confessed more than he ever intended to. as bye week comes to an end, he is all set to bottle his feelings until he could forget about them. as it turns out, talking about your feelings is far more productive. who would have thought?

series masterlist

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Luke Hughes didn’t like being alone, but it was something he got used to pretty early on in his life. 

Despite the age difference not being massive between him and his brothers, Luke learnt early on that he was the one left behind. His mother would always try to squeeze him in, try to get Quinn and Jack and their friends let Luke join in on the fun. He didn’t even mind going last most of the time, he was just glad he got a shot. 

And the older they got, the more that resonated with everything in their lives—not just street hockey games played before dinner with the neighbourhood kids. Quinn was the first one to go to college, to get drafted, to eventually join the NHL. Jack joined months later, after his own draft, completely foregoing college and jumping straight into the deep end. Both of them went forward, achieving the goals they would always whisper to each other when they were young and hopeful and excited for the future. The goals the three of them shared.

Luke was always the last one to have a shot, to reach the milestone. He was always playing catch up and, whilst it wasn’t his favourite thing, he was used to it. He was good at acting like it didn’t bother him.

Luke might take a little longer to get there, but he always got there eventually. He was always sure of himself. 

That sureness was nowhere to be seen when he woke up the next morning and found the apartment completely empty.

At first, he had just assumed you had woken up before him, that maybe you were in the bathroom or in the kitchen or lounging out on the couch. But the eerie silence in the apartment made him second guess himself, made him sit up in his bed and let the sheets pool by his waist as he tried to blink the sleep away from his eyes.

The first time he went around the apartment, he thought he was still dreaming. The second time made him notice that all the little knick-knacks you had left around were gone—your lip balm on the coffee table, your phone charger in the kitchen, your headphones on the counter. The third time was when he truly accepted that you had left, with no note or message or proper goodbye. 

The worst part was that he remembered why as he stumbled through the different rooms, trying to see, on the off chance, if you had just moved your bags from his room. He remembered what he had said, the words he had whispered to you. He remembered and he felt the shame pool in the pit of his stomach, but he still didn’t understand. 

He felt like a child again, aimlessly running and trying to play catch up, except this time he didn’t really know where he was going or what he was trying to catch up to.

It was downright stupid of him to blurt those words out, to throw that confession at you after everything the two of you had done whilst he was half asleep and still reeling in the post-orgasm haze. It wasn’t fair for him to say that to you with no real build up or follow up. 

But it still fucking stung that you ran off. 

It stung that you didn’t try to wake him up and make him explain himself. It stung that you didn’t stay the night and try to at least let him down easily in the morning. It stung that you ran and didn’t look back, not even bothering with a note or any sort of message. 

It stung that Luke had been up for less than an hour and had already messaged and called so many times, just to get absolutely nothing in response. If it weren’t for the fact he could see the messages going through, he would have honestly assumed you had blocked his number. 

Luke Hughes didn’t like being alone and, for the first time in his life, he wasn’t even fucking sure how to hide it.

Maybe it was pathetic to admit—even to himself—but he really was waiting for the whole thing to be a joke. He pinched himself as he managed to scavenge the fridge for breakfast. He pinched himself after he spent far too long in the shower, until his skin was red and hot at the touch. He pinched himself as he sat on the couch, staring aimlessly at whatever sitcom rerun was currently playing. 

He waited for himself to wake up from this twisted dream. He waited for you to message with some sort of explanation, some sort of emergency that forced you to leave. He waited for you to come back, to walk back through the front door and slump into the spot next to him like this was your place too—like you had been acting for the last few days. 

He waited and waited and waited, but nothing ever really changed.

Luke had faced heartbreak before. He was an athlete, there wasn’t a time in his life where he hadn’t faced disappointment, whether it was on the ice with a loss or off the ice with an injury. He knew the feeling well, it was almost like an old friend. 

But this kind of heartbreak was different. 

This kind of heartbreak made him want to curl into himself until everything was magically better. He didn’t like the constant twist in his stomach. He didn’t like the way his head snapped around at every buzz or ping from his phone. He didn’t like the way he felt like a hermit, felt as though he needed to stay until you came back home—to him.

As an athlete, he was used to the negative feelings that would quickly fade and be replaced with determination and pure driven grit to move on, to do better, to win. 

This time, Luke didn’t think he could do that. He didn’t know what he could do. He didn’t know who he could go to. He didn’t even know if he wanted to go to anyone. 

Both brothers were in Toronto, running around with countless media duties and appearances for All-Stars. His friends back in Michigan are all busy with classes and assignments and their hockey season. His teammates are all sprawled on sunny beaches with their phones turned off and their glasses always full. He didn’t even want to imagine having a conversation with his parents right now, to try even explaining everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. 

Luke Hughes was alone and he didn’t know what the fuck to do with himself. 

And it was only the hardwired brain of an athlete that had him getting up, eating and working out every day. It made him feel like a robot, listening to the demands of his body that had been programmed into him since he was a child. He didn’t need to think, just did. His whole body just moved on autopilot. 

The days passed, his phone’s notifications remained empty and Luke Hughes tried to accept the fact that he had truly fucked up one of the best things that had happened to him this season. 

And he had to do it alone.

…

It had been arranged and agreed with the Devils management that Luke and Jack were allowed to fly out to Vancouver earlier than the rest of the team. It was their first game back after the All-Stars break and it made sense for them to monopolise the few days they had before their season continued. 

At the start of the season, Luke was buzzed at the prospect of spending more time with his oldest brother during the season, which they would never usually get to have. Now, it was almost the complete opposite. 

It wasn’t like he wasn’t excited to spend extra time with Quinn, but more so that he wasn’t ready for both brothers to see right through him. 

Because Luke would be a fool to assume his brothers—his bestest fucking friends in the world—wouldn’t pick up on his mood instantly. And that is only if the less-than-enthusiastic responses in the groupchat over the last week or so didn’t give him away first.

Much to his surprise, Quinn and Jack had managed to hold off until the second night before they finally questioned him—which was almost two whole days longer than he really expected. 

Small victories, he guessed. 

“So, are we going to talk about it?” 

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to avoid the topic for as long as he could.

“Talk about what?” He questioned, feigning ignorance as he kept his eyes glued on the random movie that was playing on the tv. He didn’t even remember what Jack picked or what it was about, but suddenly the random A-list actors were far more interesting than the pointed looks he could feel his brothers giving him.

“Luke,” Quinn said in that tone of voice, the same tone their parents used to use on the both of them when they didn’t give Luke a shot at whatever they were doing. 

He let out a small sigh, resisting the urge to visibly recoil. “It’s nothing.” 

“It’s something,” Jack corrected. “You’ve been acting wack for the last week.”

Luke stayed silent.

The silence continued to linger before Quinn spoke up, his voice much softer this time. “You know you can tell us anything, right? We’re your brothers. We’re here for you. We are worried, we just want to help.” 

And the funny thing was that no matter how much Luke wanted to keep his mouth shut, no matter how much he wanted to pretend the last week wasn’t the absolute worst with no one to talk to and no one to confide in, he couldn’t. 

He couldn’t because, no matter what, his brothers would always be his soft spot, the only people on this damn planet that could break through his own stubborn wall he has tried to put up with everyone else since that night.

“I’ve fucked up,” Luke blurted out before he could stop himself, finally turning his head away from the tv screen so he could look at both of his older brothers. 

Quinn’s face remained blank and untelling, just looking at Luke as though he could read every damn thought in his head with that intense, haunted glare of his. Jack, on the other hand, had a more visible reaction as his eyes widened, the concern and alarm written all over his face.

“Okay,” Quinn said slowly. “Have you broken any laws?” 

“I—” Luke paused, frowning a little. “No.” 

“Have you knocked someone up?” 

“No?” Luke answered, the confusion in his voice making it sound more like a question. 

“Then it’s something we can fix together,” Quinn stated, like it was obvious. 

“Wait, fucking roll back,” Luke straightened in his seat, giving his eldest brother a look. “I tell you I fuck up and that’s the first two questions you ask me?” 

“I wanted to know what we were working with,” Quinn said with a shrug. “If you commited a crime, there’s only so much we can do. If you got a girl pregnant, that’s between you two. Everything else though? We can fix it.”

Luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

“Hit us with it,” Jack challenged, looking oddly serious for once. “We can handle it.”

Luke sighed, his chest tightening uncomfortably as he tried to figure out how to word the last week he had. 

Then, in a timid voice, Jack asked, “is it to do with Cherry?” 

Something in Luke’s expression must have answered the question for him because Jack continued. 

“Did you two break up?” 

“I don’t know,” Luke answered honestly. “I don’t even know if we were even together to break up.” 

“Oh,” was all Jack managed to say in response. 

“Tell us what happened, it can’t be that bad,” Quinn spoke up, trying to reassure his youngest brother but it just felt a little patronising instead. 

“You don’t get it,” Luke said helplessly.

“So help us get it,” Quinn retorted.

“I fucked up!” Luke’s voice was louder this time, louder than he intended and loud enough to make both brothers freeze a little. “I fucked it all up and I can’t fix it, okay? No one can fix it.” 

“Bud,” Jack murmured softly. 

“I fucked it,” Luke’s voice cracked a little. After a few moments of silence, he let his eyes close as he muttered out his confession. “I told her I loved her. Or, like, I was falling in love with her.” 

There was a small pause before Jack spoke. “That’s not…that bad.”

“It was just after we slept together,” Luke added. 

“Oh.” 

Quinn cleared his throat, catching Luke’s attention enough for him to slowly blink his eyes open again. “So the timing wasn’t ideal, but it could have been worse. I assume from your moping that she didn’t feel the same way?” 

“I—” Luke frowned a little. “I don’t know. Probably not. I fell asleep after I said it and she was gone the next morning.” 

“Yikes,” Jack muttered under his breath. He winced when Quinn sharply elbowed him.

“It could still be worse—” Quinn started, sounding more like a reassuring captain after a bad period than a brother. 

“It really couldn’t.” 

Quinn sighed, almost sounding patronising again even if he didn’t intend to. Even if he didn’t realise it. “Luke, it’s shit but it’s not the end of the world that you kinda confessed your feelings to a girl after you slept with her.”

It irked something in Luke. It made him act before thinking, blurting out the words before he could take them back.

“It was the first time we slept together.” 

Jack frowned. “Really? But you’ve been seeing her for months.” 

Quinn nodded. “Okay, that makes it a bit more awkward—”

“No, like, that was the first time we ever had sex. That was the first time I ever had sex,” Luke said, his stomach twisting and churning as he finally confessed the secret he swore he was going to take to the grave with him.

“With her?” 

“With anyone.”

Quinn blinked. 

The silence felt suffocating for the few seconds he stared back at his brothers before one of them finally broke it. 

“So you’re telling me,” Jack began. “That I could have been making virgin jokes this whole time and now I’ve missed my chance?” 

Luke opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t find the words to reply.

“Dude,” Quinn sighed.

“What?!” Jack glared, shifting away before Quinn and his pointy elbows could jab him again. “You were thinking the same!” 

“I really wasn’t,” Quinn retorted.

Jack shot him a look.

Quinn sighed. “Okay, I was thinking it a little—” 

“Ha!” 

Luke stared helplessly at his older brothers, watching them bicker back and forth until his brain finally caught up. 

“I can’t believe we missed out on so many good jokes,” Jack said, almost sounding wistful before he turned to finally look at Luke. He froze for a moment before flashing him a sheepish smile. “In a good way, obviously. Like good jokes in a good way.” 

“Uh huh,” Luke deadpanned. 

“Quinn said he wanted to make jokes too!” Jack retorted.

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you guys,” Luke grumbled, feeling the heat burn his cheeks and creep down his neck. He didn’t even want to think about how red his face was right now.

“Hey, it doesn’t mean shit to us. We’d make fun of it the same way we make fun of Jack’s lack of fashion and inability to wear anything but Air Forces,” Quinn assured him. 

“Pot meet kettle,” Jack scoffed. 

“The point is that we don’t care about the fact that you were apparently a virgin until a week ago,” Quinn continued, ignoring the way Jack was currently pouting beside him. “What we care about is the fact you’ve been moping over this girl.” 

“She’s just—” Luke paused, cutting himself off before he let out a sigh. “She gets me, you know?” 

“I’ve seen them talking on the phone, it’s nauseating,” Jack confirmed, nodding his head. “Luke is teaching her to cook.”

Quinn’s nose scrunched. “Luke can cook?” 

“That’s what I said!” 

“Just because I don’t cook for you dipshits doesn’t mean I can’t cook,” Luke pointed out, rolling his eyes at how affronted both boys seemed by the revelation. “The point is that I fucked up things with her and I have no one else to blame but myself.” 

Jack frowned. “Luke—”

“Can we just drop it?” Luke interrupted, snapping a little. “I have spent the last week thinking about it, I’d rather not spend anymore time.” He paused for a short moment before continuing. “Please.” 

Quinn gave him a long look before eventually nodding. “Alright. We’ll drop it.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “But—”

“We’ll drop it because that is what Luke wants,” Quinn stated, staring pointedly at Jack until he sighed and nodded. 

“Okay. We’ll drop it.” 

“Thank you,” Luke murmured, the words laying thick in his throat as he shifted in his spot on the couch before turning back towards the tv screen. “Since when did this chick get powers?” 

Jack let out a noise of complaint. “Don’t even get me started, she has done nothing but whine—” 

…

The game against Vancouver was…certainly a game.

It wasn’t the worst game he had ever played but it was far from his best. But the worst part was that Luke knew no one would have really cared if it was any other game during the season. However, the fact it was against Quinn’s team meant all eyes were on all the Hughes brothers, and he knew his performance was going to be questioned and picked at in the post-game interviews. He also knew there was no chance he nor his brothers would be able to skip media either. 

Luke felt drained by the time the journalists left the locker room, still dressed in most of his gear as he leaned back in the cubicle and let out a heavy sigh. Their plane to Edmonton didn’t leave until tomorrow morning and he already knew his parents would be waiting outside for whatever dinner reservations had been booked. 

But in all honesty, Luke could think of a million other things he wanted to do right now rather than get undressed, shower and change back into his game day suit to sit through a dinner with his parents where he would constantly be on edge about them bringing you up into conversation. They had done it every other time he was on the phone with them since the last Hughesbowl. 

Luke just wanted a few moments where he wasn’t thinking about you or hockey or anything. He just wanted his brain to shut off. 

He hadn’t even noticed someone sitting beside him until their knee nudged his, and even then he kept his eyes closed as he let out a sigh. “I told you Quinn was gonna bitch about reservation times if you let him be in charge of dinner.” 

“I think reservation times are a fair thing to bitch about.” 

Luke’s eyes snapped open, his head turning to find Nico sitting in the spot he suspected Jack to be in. “Oh.”

Nico gave him a soft smile. “Got a few minutes?” 

He swallowed before nodding. “Yeah, of course. Jack can handle Quinn’s bitchiness.” 

Nico’s smile widened a little before he took a deep breath. “Just wanted to check up on you. You’ve seemed down since Bye Week.” 

Luke raised his brows. “It’s been a day since you came back from your holiday.”

“And a day is more than enough time for me to realise something is up with you,” Nico retorted with a knowing look. But when Luke didn’t respond instantly, Nico’s face softened as he lowered his voice so that any lingering guys in the locker room wouldn’t hear. “Look, I was serious about what I said at the start of the season. This is your team too. And I am just as much your captain as I am your brother’s. I care about my team, Luke, and you’re a part of that team.” 

Luke flashed him a small but grateful smile.

“I know you stayed in New Jersey for the break so I don’t know if something happened or if you even want to talk about it,” Nico continued. “But I want you to know I’m here if you wanna talk. I know you have Jack but sometimes you need someone else to confide in. A friend, not a family member.” 

“It’s stupid,” Luke said, wincing a little before he quickly continued talking. “But it won’t affect my hockey, promise. Today was just a fluke, just a little rusty after the break. I’ll be all good for Edmonton.”

Nico frowned, a crease forming between his brows. “It’s not your hockey I’m worried about, Luke. We all have our bad days. It’s your well-being and happiness. You seem…kinda sad since we got back.” 

Luke’s gaze instantly shifted to the random ball of tape on the floor between his feet instead of his captain.

“Is it something related to the team?”

Luke shook his head.

“Jack?” 

Luke shook his head again.

“Something in your family?” 

He shook his head a third time.

“Relationship stuff?” 

The small pause before Luke could even react told Nico everything he needed to know. Nico gave his knee another nudge until he finally looked back up at his captain.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Nico reassured him, a kind and comforting smile on his face. “But relationships are tough as they are, whether they are platonic or romantic. It gets harder when you’re in the league. A lot of lines get blurred and intentions can be clouded, but the good ones matter that much more when you find them.” 

Luke pressed his lips together.

“You’re in your rookie year. You are the youngest brother in a hockey family dynasty. You have a fuck load of pressure on your shoulders,” Nico listed off like they were facts—and they were. “I know what my rookie year was like. And I was here for Jack’s rookie year. It’s fucking hard. But you’ve been handling it well, you haven’t let hockey become your everything and that’s better than most people can say, even with years under their belt in the league.”

“What are you trying to say?” Luke eventually asked, his lips turned downwards. 

“I’m saying that it’s clear there’s something outside of hockey that you care about. And I’m saying don’t let hockey or anything else get in the way of it if you genuinely think it’s worth it. Each one of us could lose hockey tomorrow and there’s nothing we can do to change that. But having people by your side makes it easier, having people who want you for you and not hockey is even better.”

Luke swallowed harshly. “And if I fucked my chances of having that?”

Nico smiled. “You’re not that much younger than me and I know it sounds patronising for me to say this, but I promise you things aren’t as fucked as you think they are.”

Luke opened his mouth to disagree but Nico beat him to it.

“Trust me,” Nico said, grinning a little as he gave Luke a more playful shove. “Plus, you’re an athlete. You should know better than anyone else that it’s not worth the win unless you really worked for it.”

Luke snorted. “Funny.”

“I try,” Nico grinned. “And even if you really did fuck up, there are other people out there who like you for you, Luke. It may not seem like it and you might not even want someone else right now, but they are there and they exist.”

Luke's expression softened. “You’re a good captain.”

Nico flushed a little but nodded. “Having a good team makes it easy.” 

Luke scoffed. “Dude, take the compliment.”

“I am just saying—”

“Oh my god, how do you even deal with Jack praising you all the time? Wait, please don’t answer that! I don’t want details!” 

Nico just cackled in response. 

…

hockey boy: i know you have been ignoring my other texts but we really need to talk 

hockey boy: please cherry 

.

[wosohours]

commitment - leah williamson x reader

You always heard about “don’t date athletes” and “athletes are players," but of course when good advice comes your way, you ignore it.

It was a bit insane to think that you could start talking to the one girl who could not be bothered with being in a committed relationship. That gut feeling telling you “Don’t get too close”, “Don’t entertain her”, or “Don’t fall in too deep” but you once again ignored it.

Honestly, you could not help it. It was like a craving to be around Leah all the time. It almost felt like an obsession of wondering, “What is she doing?”, “Where is she?”, “Is she thinking about me?”

Constantly checking your phone to see if she messaged you. Looking at her social media every hour on the hour. You were in deep and you knew it would eventually lead to hurting yourself. Yet, being someone with the typical heart-eye delusions, the thoughts in the back of your mind kept saying, “She will change for you.”

Trying to distance yourself never worked because every time you were at a safe enough distance she kept pulling you right back in. Leah knew that she had some type of hold on you and constantly used that to her advantage.

Just last week she was barely texting and calling you back. You understood that she was not obligated to do so since you two were not officially together, but you were most definitely a little…maybe even a lot more than “just friends.” The dates, the romantic gestures, and the PDA all confirmed that but you could never understand her constant pushing and pulling.

Leah knows exactly how to make it up to you though. She texted three days ago saying how sorry she was not keeping in contact, how she misses you like crazy and how she planned a whole day for just the two of you. You were strong this time, wanting her to feel how she makes you feel by not texting back and declining her calls those three days. Yet one slip of weakness and here you are right back in her bed.

____________________

“I missed you so much you have no ideas.” Leah tells you as she feathers kisses all over your face as you both lay in bed naked.

“Oh really? I would not have guessed.” you said as you sat up from her chest and moved away from her a little. She froze looking at you with that cute frown that is usually stuck on her face and said, “Baby I told you I am truly sorry, I really mean it. I have just been a bit busier since the launch of my third book. You know this.”

Leah wraps an arm around your waist pulling you back down closer to her. “I am here now though, aren’t I?” You hesitantly relax into her and say, “I know but a simple text or any sort of reply would have been nice. I just missed you.” You can feel Leah smiling against your hairline after she lays a soft kiss there. “I missed you too babe.”

After a moment of you two just enjoying each other's company she says quietly, “How about we get up, you come shower with me, and then we can go out and get some breakfast?”

____________________

Once again the cycle repeats itself with Leah distancing herself. No longer answering calls or texts. Although it hurt, you thought it would be best to leave things the way they were to protect your peace, even pushing yourself to be petty enough to block her number. It was almost like you were putting her up to the test to see how far she would go to get your attention.

Although she did swipe up on one of your Instagram stories of you in a tight shirt with no bra saying, “I’ve seen it, now delete it,” but you ignored that as well.

____________________

Since being friends with Leah for many years you have grown closer with some of the Arsenal girls and with them loving your company, a couple of them have asked you to join them in celebrating the end of their USA tour at a local pub. People are either mingling by the bar, doing karaoke, or sitting around the reserved private table in the back.

Currently, you are at the bar getting a drink and you can feel Leah’s eyes burning into the back of your skull.

“What’s going on with you two? You have been more grumpy than usual,” Katie teases Leah as she sits in the empty seat next to her. “She's ignoring me,” Leah sighs, still looking at you.

“What have you done this time?” Alessia asks from across the table. “I’ve been kind of avoiding her again. I don’t mean to but I don’t know what I’m doing.” Leah replies.

“Have you tried talking to her about how you feel? Do you actually want to have a serious relationship with her?” Katie asks.

“No, I haven't talked to her. Every time I try to talk about us my mouth goes dry and all of a sudden I can’t think, and of course, I want something serious with her I’m just nervous,” Leah shakes her head and looks down at her fidgeting fingers.

Lia, who has been listening to the conversation from her seat next to Alessia, speaks up, “Well you might need to tell her soon because the bartender is flirting with her heavily.”

This causes Leah’s head to shoot up in your direction and sees the bartender smiling at you and reaching her hand over to rest on your forearm. “Yeah, not happening.” Leah quickly stands up from her seat and pushes past people to make her way over to you.

When she gets to you she gently wraps an arm around your waist not to startle you and pulls you back into her chest. She gives her glare that she usually saves for the pitch to the bartender, making her quickly release your arm and turn her attention to another customer waiting at the other end of the bar.

Leah smiles when you relax into her and she whispers in your ear, “You’ve been avoiding me.” You slowly turn around until you are face to face with her and say. “Hurts doesn’t it?”

“I deserve that. Why don’t we go have a chat and I will explain myself?” Leah says, moving her hand to grab yours. “Really? You want to talk now and here?” you scoff.

Leah just nods and gently pulls your hand so that you follow her out to the back patio of the pub. She sits on a bench that is a little bit away from the loud building and pulls your hand down to sit next to her.

“You know you shouldn’t just flirt with anyone, she could've just been charming you into being her next one nightstand,” she says.

“Hmm, pot meets kettle huh? You would know,” you scoff pulling your hand away from hers.

“No, I wouldn’t, because we are more than that,” she firmly replies.

“It sure doesn’t feel like it sometimes.”

“I know,” she sighs, focusing on her shoes, “but I can explain.”

You look at her and slightly nod your head giving her the indication to keep talking.

“I love everything about us. I love how we are with each other. How easy it is to be around you and the connection that we have. I’m just scared of the reality of us being together because it seems too good to be true,” she confesses. “Don’t get me wrong I do want to be with you and I am serious about you but there is this nagging feeling in my head that I am going to screw it all up.”

You grab her hands gently and say, “That’s completely understandable Leah, I wish you would have communicated with me about how you felt earlier. However, you can’t make future assumptions about something you or we haven’t even tried yet. Neither of us has any idea of what could happen but it doesn’t mean push away and hide from it.”

You continue, “You are looking too far into the future when you should be focusing on right now. That self-sabotaging brain of yours is going to stall you for great things one day.” you giggle pushing her head away making her laugh too.

After the giggles die down she says, “You are completely right. If you allow me to give this…us another try I am willing to put my all into it. I just ask that you give me that reassurance.”

“I can give you that, but you have to promise to communicate with me.” you nod raising your hand to move a piece of hair out of her face.

“I promise to communicate my feelings to you,” she replies leaning into your hand.

You smile and stand up from the bench pulling her up with you to give her a hug resting your head against hers. Leah pulls back a bit to give you a few quick pecks on the lips causing you to giggle and move away.

“My girl,” she whispers, pulling you back against her and laying one last kiss on the side of your head.

____________________

Since that day Leah has kept her promise of communicating more and you have kept yours by reassuring her when she needed it. She even asked you to officially be with her a couple weeks later and it had felt as though something shifted in the air.

She was constantly texting, calling, and wanting to be attached to your hip. When you too were with each other in person she would constantly cling to you but you were okay with it since that is what you were wanting from the beginning.

[chaaistained]

Im so used to waking up in my CR, that it's gotten to the point that I *expect* to wake up here. I don't expect any shift to happen anymore. I affirm and try to assume that I'm going to shift, but at the end of the day, I'm not expecting any progress or anything new to happen. I know we shift all the time, but these realities all look the same and nothing like my intended reality. Any advice on how to break this expectation?

this is one of those moments when you’ve left your cr take centre stage in your mind. and i’d honestly recommend just taking a few minutes to consider what’s happening in your cr.

bcs my guess is that, aside from expecting to wake up here, you have other obligations that are causing your subconscious to want to wake up here. (which is fine!! you’re only human!)

this happens to me around exam block or whenever i’m job hunting — i get anxious, and stressed, and my micromanaging tendencies take over, my brain prioritises control over pure relaxation and i wake up here

i’m sure there are many ways to overcome that, and these are just the tricks i personally use but i truly hope they help you !!

my first piece of advice is really consider what is happening in your life and if there is anything that you really want to give your attention to

you’re not admitting failure by focusing on your cr life for a bit, that’s not some sort of sin in shifting. as fucked up as this reality is, it’s still just a reality, like any dr you wish to shift to. it’s still a life that you’ve lived.

personally, i think it’s better to take a few days, maybe a week, to take care of wtv is going on in this life, so that you can feel satisfied and less burdened and more able to let go in order to shift. i reckon that’s more practical than constantly ignoring your cr when you find it hard to ignore in the first place. and then always waking up here.

my second piece of advice is to focus upon the act of waking up there. your subconscious has become used to the idea of waking up here, so feed it new information.

don’t just affirm and persist (tho those are still good techniques, esp if it’s what you like to do) i’m just saying to add to them in a way that tackles this specific issue

i’d recommend smth like scripting out your morning routine — what are the steps you’re gonna do when you wake up in your dr? what side of bed do you wake up on? what colour are the sheets? the scent of your room? do you take coffee or tea? do you like sitting outside and admiring the world while you eat your breakfast or are you busy with smth else? maybe you’ve got some hobbies you like to do in the morning: journaling, reading, catching up on your favourite shows?

really map out the scene in your mind (you don’t need to visualise it!!) it’s simply just that instead of only affirming that you’ll wake up in your dr, also affirm exactly what you’ll do when you wake up there

i hope i helped in some way darling !! i wish you all the best xx

[tortillamastersblog]

Back To You - Part 14 | Sam Carpenter

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x reader

Warnings: mentions of violence, death, blood, injuries, and swearing

Summary: When Sam left after turning eighteen, you were devastated. You’d been in love with her since you were kids and her leaving meant you never got to tell her how you truly felt.

Fast forward a couple of years, Tara gets attacked and Sam returns. . .

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist

_______________________________________________

For the first time in almost 48 hours it’s quiet and I’m warm and comfortable.

After having a late dinner, Gale and Brooks showed all of us to separate guest rooms. Tara and Chad are sharing a room, much to Sam’s dismay, but she didn’t object other than raising an eyebrow.

Danny has his own room and Sam and I are sharing a room. It’s honestly astonishing how many bedrooms this penthouse has, but then again this is Gale we’re talking about and if she doesn’t have the money to afford a place like this, no one does.

At first I was skeptical about sharing a bed with Sam, but as soon as we were alone we fell back into old habits. We slipped under the covers and before I could even start to overthink anything, Sam wordlessly grabbed my arm and slung it around her middle, pulling me close until my front was flush with her back.

I fell asleep pretty quickly after that, but now for some reason I’m awake again. I can’t check my phone for the time because it’s on the nightstand and I don’t want to wake Sam by moving, but it’s still dark outside, so I close my eyes and try to fall asleep again.

I’m beyond exhausted, but a moment later Sam jerks in her sleep and I open my eyes again.

That’s what woke me in the first place. She’s not sleeping properly.

I frown, but think nothing of it until she jerks yet again, more violently this time. She mumbles some unintelligible pleas, and I move closer, tightening my arms around her.

She’s having a nightmare.

Tara used to have them, too, but hers were more like night terrors.

“Hey. . .” I brush my nose against the back of her neck.

“No, Y/N.” She whimpers and twitches in her sleep and I sigh sadly.

I sit up and press a kiss to her temple. “Sam, wake up.”

“No,” she cries, louder this time, and I can’t stand seeing the way her face twists in agony.

I unwrap my arm from around her and shake her. “Sam!”

That does the trick. Sam’s eyes fly open and she sits up with a start, almost head butting me in the process.

“I can’t— I wasn’t—“

“Shhh. You’re okay. Tara’s okay. I’m okay.” I pull her into my arms, and rub my hands up and down her back when she sinks into me.

She shakes with muffled sobs and I whisper reassurances into her ear until she stammers, “I-It felt so real.”

I press another kiss to her temple and guide us back so we’re once again lying down. “I know, but it wasn’t.”

A strangled whimper claws its way past her lips and I raise one of my hands to run my fingers through her hair.

She constantly puts up a strong front, trying to protect everyone around her even though she’s really the one who needs to be protected and comforted.

I’m glad she’s not afraid to be vulnerable when it’s just the two of us.

After a couple more minutes of calming Sam down, she shifts so she’s lying with her head on my chest. “You know, there weren’t any knives in the knife block. . .”

My hand stills on her back and I frown. “What?”

Sam looks up and drapes an arm over my stomach. “When Ghostface attacked earlier, I went to the kitchen to grab a knife, but they were all gone.“

“What the fuck. . .” I clench my jaw, and replay the attack in my mind.

Ghostface knew the layout of the apartment, that much is clear. However that doesn’t explain the missing knives.

The only explanation I can come up with is that whoever is behind the mask removed them in forethought since the last time we thought Ghostface would attack, Sam immediately went and grabbed one from the kitchen.

The only way Ghostface could have known Sam would be going for a knife again though is if he or she was there the first time it happened, and the only one who was there that first time, but not tonight is. . .

“Oh my God, it’s Ethan,” I whisper, horrified by my realization. “He’s Ghostface. Or at least one of them.”

“What?” Sam frowns and rests her chin on my chest to look at me. “Why would you think it’s him? Chad said he was studying at the library all night. And what do you mean one of them? You think there’s more than one Ghostface?”

I quickly explain how I came to the conclusion and when I’m done Sam stares at me with her jaw dropped.

“Oh my God. . . You’re right,” she says quietly. “But we can’t be a hundred percent sure, so we have to keep our guard up. And we should keep it to ourselves for the time being, we don’t know who his accomplice is.”

I agree before a stunned silence settles over us.

Son of a bitch. . . How did I not realize it sooner. Ethan’s whole innocent-nerd act is the perfect cover. But why would he want to kill us? Does he want to make another Stab movie like Richie and Amber? And who could possibly be his accomplice?

I’m just glad I got to body slam that twig. Piece of shit.

Sam’s nightmare is all but forgotten now, but after what we just discovered we’re both far from falling back asleep.

“So, how do you feel about Tara and Chad being kind of a thing now?” I ask, changing the subject which makes Sam’s nose scrunch up.

“It’s a little weird and out of the blue, but I honestly can’t say I’m against it,” she admits with a huff. “Chad’s a good guy and if Tara likes him as much as he seems to like her, who am I to tell her they can’t go out. God knows she already hates me for looking out for her.”

I raise an eyebrow at that and touch her cheek to get her to look at me again when she averts her eyes. “She doesn’t hate you. She just feels like you don’t trust her enough to make her own decisions.”

Sam pouts. “But I do trust her.”

I sigh and brush my lips against her forehead in a fleeting kiss. “Then show her that. You can’t protect her from everything. I know it’s hard, especially right now because Ghostface is back, but you have to let her live sooner or later.“

She lets out a deep breath and lifts her head to kiss me softly. “I know.”

I hug her tighter and run my fingers through her hair again when she settles back on my chest. “Let’s try to get some more sleep while we can. We’ll deal with Ethan and everything else tomorrow.”

Sam hums in agreement, snuggling up to me and I close my eyes, burying my nose in her hair and taking a deep breath.

The smell of her coconut shampoo, mixed with the smell that is uniquely hers makes me relax and before I know it, I’m once again fast asleep.

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

We’re all currently standing in the middle of an old abandoned movie theater that is filled with glass cases displaying various pieces of evidence from past Ghostface murders. Knives, clothes, sketches of the victims and killers. . .

It makes my blood run cold, especially the mannequins on the theater’s stage, dressed in Ghstface cloaks, but my worry for Sam outweighs the sense of dread this place evokes in the pit of my stomach.

She’s been deathly still ever since Gale brought us here and her grip on my hand is almost painful.

“How the hell did you find this place?” Kirby asks as we make our way through the. . . exhibition?

Mindy, who met us outside the theater a couple of minutes earlier freezes in front of a mannequin wearing her and Chad’s late uncle’s shirt.

“I’m an investigative journalist,” Gale deadpans. “How didn’t you find it?” she asks Kirby.

It turns out this place belonged to the two guys in Tara’s film class who were killed by Ghostface. Apparently they were loaded and used fake names to rent this place, but were killed before they could finish their collection of fucked-up memorabilia.

A fact, that is disturbing enough in and of itself, but it puzzles me why we’re only finding out about it now. I mean, Gale is right, how could Kirby not find this place when going through their financial records?

Something about this feels fishy, but I can’t put my finger on it, so I keep my mouth shut, just like how I kept my mouth shut when Ethan showed up a couple of minutes after Mindy.

Chad texted him about this place to keep him in the loop, which prompted him to come here too.

I know Sam said we can’t be a hundred percent certain he’s one of the Ghostfaces, but I’ve caught him staring at me more than once since getting here now, and every time I get too close to him, he moves back and puts distance between us. It’s almost like he’s afraid of me.

Good. He should be afraid. The next time I come across him in that Ghostface mask of his, I won’t hesitate to kill him.

You fuck with the people I love, you pay the price.

Sam letting go of my hand snaps me out of my thoughts. She walks through the rows of display cases with furrowed eyebrows while I stay back, watching her process everything.

That is until Tara tugs on my sleeve.

“Okay, spill,” she says quietly, making sure no one is watching us as they explore the theater.

“Huh?”

“You and Sam!” she hisses. “How? When? I mean— You guys are alone for like two seconds and now you’re—what? Together? Or—?”

I laugh softly. This is so not the time to talk about this, but Tara just can’t keep her curiosity in check. “We’re not officially, or anything, but we talked and we kissed, and—“

“You kissed?!” she shrieks in excitement before quickly slapping her hand over her mouth.

Luckily no one seems to have heard her and I can’t help but smile bashfully and nod. “Yeah, we kissed and she told me she loved me.”

Tara beams and bounces on her toes. “Oh my God, yes! Finally! I told you she felt the same way!”

I wave her off, scratching my neck nervously. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t remind me. . . So, you and Chad, huh?”

This time, it’s Tara’s turn to blush and I can’t help but revel in it when she nods shyly.

“I’m happy for you, Sprout.” I pull her into a quick hug and ruffle her hair. “You two make a hot couple.”

She snorts and shoves me playfully. “Oh, shut up. You’re one to talk.”

We share another smile before Chad calls Tara over to show her something.

I watch her go, feeling myself smiling like an idiot until my eyes land on Sam.

She’s up on the stage and staring at a Ghostface cloak in a display case with a far off look in her eyes. I’ve never seen her look like this before, and it makes me worry because she’s tense and seemingly upset, so I climb onto the stage and approach her slowly, making sure I don’t scare her when I place a hand on her waist.

“Hey, you okay?” I ask quietly, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

She inhales sharply and leans back against me with closed eyes. “No.”

“What is it?” I wrap my arms around her and squeeze her hands when she intertwines our fingers.

“It’s Billy,” she admits quietly, brokenly, as realization dawns on me.

She’s seeing him in the reflection of the glass case. . . That’s what that look on her face was.

“What’s he saying?” I ask without judgement, holding her closer.

“The same shit as always,” she whispers. “You’re a born killer, Sam. Let’s slice up some motherfuckers, Sam. What are you waiting for, Sam?”

I hum in acknowledgement and press another kiss to her shoulder, mumbling, “I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head and squeezes my hands. “Don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault. I actually see him less when you’re around.”

Well, I wasn’t expecting that, and I can’t stop myself from blurting out a surprised, “Really?”

Sam chuckles sadly and tilts her head up to brush her lips against the underside of my jaw. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but you ground me like no one else and when I’m with you I feel safe. I feel loved.”

My heart swoops and I drop my chin to peck her lips. That’s all I ever wanted—to make her feel safe and loved. She deserves the world and so much more, and I’m just glad she’s letting me be there for her.

“I love you,” I whisper against her lips. “We’re going to get through this, and I promise you, once all this is over, I’m taking you on a date. A real date with flowers, dinner, wine, and a bunch of kisses.“

“That sounds amazing. I look forward to it, and I love you, too,” she mumbles before turning more serious and adding, “But first, we’re going to end this. Once and for all.”

She turns in my arms and I raise my eyebrows. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

She raises her hands and places them on my chest, a determined glint in her eyes. “I’ve got a couple ideas, but we need to talk to Kirby and Bailey first.”

“Will you please stop? You’re shaking the entire car,” Kirby says with a pointed look.

I’m bouncing my leg because I’m nervous about what’s about to go down, but stop when I realize she’s right.

We’re in the back of a surveillance van with Mindy, Chad, and Ethan while Sam and Tara are walking around in the park outside.

Bailey is also outside, keeping an eye on them, but his presence does nothing to stop me from worrying about the two of them.

They’re trying to goad Ghostface into calling them so Kirby can trace the car and find out where he is, but so far, he hasn’t called.

To be fair, it’s only been ten minutes since we got here, but still. I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all.

What if he sneaks up on them in broad daylight and slits their throats? What if he lures them somewhere else?

There are too many things that could go wrong for me to be comfortable with this plan, but Kirby and Bailey are sure this is going to work, so I’m not going to interfere.

Mindy seems skeptical too, and she doesn’t hesitate to voice her concerns while Ethan, seemingly unbothered by this whole situation, eats Cheetos, occasionally offering some to Chad.

He doesn’t offer me any, but there’s no surprise there because every time he looks my way I glare at him, daring him to do anything.

Sam and I talked some more earlier and we both decided that it would be best to tell Kirby about our suspicions, but there hasn’t been a chance to do it yet without Ethan potentially overhearing us.

“Hey, Sam? Stay frosty out there, okay?” Kirby says into the comms device.

“We’re good.” Sam replies, her voice sounding strained and clipped over the speaker that lets the rest of us in the van hear what she’s saying.

I want to be out there with her and Tara, but Kirby argued that I could scare Ghostface off by being with them since I’ve kicked his ass twice now.

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I reluctantly pull it out, focusing on whoever’s calling me instead of Sam and Tara.

I frown when I see it’s Paige, and send the call to voicemail before stuffing my phone back into my pocket.

I don’t have time to chat now and I definitely don’t want to be lectured about how I haven’t replied to her latest message yet.

She asked me how things were going with Liam last night and even sent me a picture of her girlfriend’s new dog, but I promised myself I wouldn’t contact her until this whole Ghostface situation is behind us.

That way she doesn’t get involved and I have one less person to worry about.

Yes, she might be pissed now that I’m ignoring her, but she’ll thank me later when she’s still alive because of it.

Sam’s phone rings over the speaker and my heart skips a beat when she answers it.

This is it.

“You’re gonna die you know,” she says, venom lacing her voice.

That’s my girl. Oh my god. . . that’s my girl!

Focus, Y/N!

“No, you’re gonna die, Samantha, chocking on your own blood while I hack up your sister and Y/N. Although it’s a shame because your precious Y/N really is a snack. . .”

Ew, what the fuck?

Mindy and I share a disturbed look and Kirby tries her best to trace the call while Sam keeps talking to Ghostface.

“You know, for a mastermind you’re not very bright,” Ghostface mocks. “Waiting for me to call, desperately hoping I’m nearby so the police can grab me?”

Shit. He knows we’re onto him, which also means, he’s not dumb enough to be anywhere nearby. But where else could he be?

Ghostface hangs up a moment later just as my phone buzzes again.

It’s Paige. Again.

I frown, irritated, and decline her call before shooting her a quick text.

You (5:47 PM)

Can I call you back?

I don’t wait for a reply and tuck my phone back into my pocket, holding my breath when Sam asks Kirby if she managed to trace the call.

“I got it! The geolocation is coming through right now,” Kirby says and Mindy, Chad, Ethan and I all lean in closer to look at the blinking dot on the map of Kirby’s computer.

“He’s on the upper west side,” Kirby says with a puzzled look. “He’s in an apartment building halfway across the city.”

“On West 96th?” Tara asks which makes my eyes widen.

“How did you know that?” Kirby asks, and before Tara can answer I’m out of my seat and reaching for the van’s door handle.

“Gale.” I breathe, jumping out of the van.

She’s in trouble. Why did we leave her behind?! No press allowed, my ass. She’s going to die now because Kirby and Bailey said she wasn’t allowed to be part of the operation.

Tara and Sam come running my way, obviously having realized the same thing as me. Bailey is right behind him and when they get closer I can hear them arguing about what’s going to happen next.

“It’s 50 blocks away,” Bailey says. “And we don’t even know it’s true. Sam, wait! Take a minute.”

“We don’t have a minute!” Sam snaps back and before I can hear the rest of Bailey’s argument, Tara rushes to me and grabs my arm, pulling me to Bailey’s squad car which is parked on the curb.

“Sprout, what are you doing?!” I ask, bewildered when Tara gets into the driver’s seat after urging me to get into the backseat.

“We’re going to save Gale,” is all she says before turning the key in the ignition (how she got it, I have no idea), and rolling down the window, shouting, “Sam! Get in.”

Sam’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but she’s quick to jump into action and get into the passenger seat before locking the doors from the inside.

“Hey! What are you doing? Get out of my car! That’s an official vehicle!” Bailey shouts, but Sam just rolls up the window and turns to look at Tara.

“Should we use the sirens?” she asks.

Tara, despite the seriousness of the situation, smiles mischievously and says, “Did you really think we were gonna steal a police car and not use the sirens?”

“Fuck yeah!” Sam puts on her seatbelt and Tara turns on the sirens and drives off right as Bailey reaches the car, banging on the window.

“Oh my God, he’s going to kill us,” I say, seeing him glare at us through the back window.

Tara and Sam just laugh, and I smile, too, but then my phone dings and I pull it out, feeling my heart freeze when I see the message Paige sent me.

PB&J (5:50 PM)

It’s Liam, Y/N. He’s been attacked by Ghostface.

_______________________________________________

And I oop. . . 2 or 3 more parts to go!!!

Tag list: @bella423 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @canyonyodeler @quadofthec @pussyydestroyer @rqizzu @pithod @morganismspam23 @idontliketoread2137

[three--eyed--cat]

!! She, mattheo riddle !! Summary: Mattheo Riddle, your beloved ex-boyfriend, sees you trying to move on. He won't let you, scaring away any potential new guys. pairing: mattheo riddle x reader word count: 5.7k. warning: reader is a malfoy, described to be pale with long hair. smoking of weed. partial blaise zabini x reader. Gore, killing of pets, writing with blood, spelling with intestines, crucio used. smut

Golden rubbers in these denim pockets.On my waist theres a black glock New girl moved on the block

"You don't have to do that for me, Pansy." You denied her offer, it would be too much to ask. But the fact that she went out of her way just to tell you, made you smile, pink lips pulled into a grin as you stared up at her.

"You're cool, Y/N/N. There aren't many cool people in this school, so when I find one, they have to be my friend." She said it as if it was factual, making you giggle softly. You shake your head, denying the compliment.

"Whatever you say, pansy."

The girl grinned, standing up from where she sat at the end of your bed. You watched her curiously as she searched the room, seemingly looking for something.

"Looking for something?"

You asked, confused as to why she had got up so abruptly. Pansy nodded, kneeling down on the wooden flooring beside her bed, pulling something out from underneath it.

"My shoes."

She sits on the ground, opening up a cardboard box, revealing a pair of black, brand new ugg boots. This only confuses you further, why would she need her shoes?

"The boys are usually in the common room, we're gonna go pay them a little visit."

She must've seen the curiosity written on your face, answering your unspoken question. At this, you scramble to get out of bed. "Pansy, I look like shit!" There's panic evident in your tone as you stand in front of the vanity, picking apart your appearance. You grab the nearest hair brush, running it through your hair. Not that you needed too, being a Malfoy meant no matter what, you always had perfect hair.

"Girl, look at me."

She deadpanned, making you glance at her through the mirror, where she still sat on the floor in her green pajamas and unbrushed hair, watching as you get ready.

"Besides, you look hot."

She says bluntly, shooting you a flirty wink as you caught her gaze, her green eyes boring into yours. You roll your eyes playfully in response, placing the brush back onto the dresser, cheeks turning rosy pink at her romantic demeanor.

She gets up from the floor, using the bed to help her stand. You turn, walking towards your bed to grab your previously discarded sweatshirt. ---

On your way to the common room, Pansy speaks up, her voice quietly echoing through the hall.

"Honestly, I'm surprised you haven't met more of Draco's friends."

You hum softly in agreement. Draco was popular, you knew that much, yet you'd only ever met two of his friends, one of which was the girl you walked beside.

The other... Lets just say, he's a big part of why you don't go home much anymore.

"I preferred spending my holidays at Beaux Batons. When I'm at home, my parent's usually task me with running around after the dark lord, doing all of his chores and stuff like that."

She grimaces, remembering just how close your family was to Voldemort. Her family was also involved with the dark lord, but nowhere near as close to him as your parents were. She's never even seen Voldemort, so the thought of being in your place, stuck alone in a room with him for most of the time, scared her. Often, Draco would tell her stories about the man, 9/10 his tales would shake her to the core, further adding onto the evil perception around the lord. Plus, the things that he made Draco do, knowing that the boy wanted no part in such gruesome activities- but had no choice but to participate, greatly angered Pansy, who knew just how much it truly shakes her boyfriend. So, if you were stuck, doing all of the dark lords bidding, Pansy could only imagine the horrible things that you've likely seen, maybe even had to do. Seeing her change in mood, you think it's best to add on something that would allude being around Voldemort, 24/7, wasn't actually that bad. "He's not that bad of a guy, personality wise. His motives just aren't that great."

You tell her softly, as if asking her to cut the horrible man some slack, after all he'd done, killing innocent people for his own, selfish reason.

From the look on her face, you can tell she doesn't want to continue the conversation.

Mentally, You sigh in relief. If you talked any longer about he-who-shall-not-be-named, you'd probably end up spilling the real reason you transferred. ---

Finally, you both reach the bottom of the stairs and Pansy goes to open the door, but not before turning to you with a reassuring smile.

"I can't promise that they don't bite, but if they do, just know they don't mean to."

She spoke as if she were a poet, her sentence a metaphor of it's own. She had pre-apologized for her friends possible actions, in the case that they did say anything rude, or insensitive, though if they did offend you, Draco would have each of their heads on a stick by the morning. Silently, you thank her for the warning, sending a nod her way. She doesn't see your movement, occupied with opening the heavy dungeon door.

"Thanks."

You muttered, following her into the dimly lit room. Instantly, a wave of coldness washed over you, the fireplace doing next to nothing in keeping the space heated. You glance towards the culprit, huge windows line the stone walls, condensation dripping down the glass, almost blocking your view into the black lake, not that you could see much inside of it's darkness. The place reminded you of home, with it's intimidating aura and leather couches, the only difference was, the Malfoy manor wasn't green. Green, clearly handmade, blankets were strung over most surfaces, if not draped over a couch, it was folded on a table, ready for the students to use. It was certainly a prettier sight than the bland, blue walls of beaux batons.

Aside from a group of boys, lounging around the fireplace, the room was void of any life, the sound of yours and Pansy's footsteps echoing through-out the quiet, the only other sound being their voices, barely any louder than the crackling of the burning wood.

Pansy strode over, confidence in her steps, as if she had a purpose to be there. You followed behind, hands shoved into the pockets of your grey trackpants.

"Piss off, pansy."

Somebody spoke with an accent, you couldn't quite place where it was from, but you knew that you'd heard something similar, before. In the corner of your view, you can see Pansy roll her eyes before leaning back, sitting on the arm rest closest to her before an arm snakes around her waist, presumably your brothers.

"I've come to introduce you to my new best friend."

You hear Draco groan from where he sat, on the couch, behind pansy. You let out a scoff, stepping closer to the group as Pansy stifles a giggle.

"It's great to know that I'm appreciated, Draco."

Your voice catches the attention of the boys, their attention shifting to where you stood, your arms crossed over your chest.

You looked almost angelic, the fireplace casting a gentle glow onto your pale figure, arms crossed over your chest, your long hair gently cascading down your back.

You were... pretty?

From the angle of where you stood, their faces were perfectly in view, all looking semi-familiar, probably from when you'd met their parents, once or twice.

There was Theodore Nott, an Italian bloke with dead looking eyes. Lorenzo Berkshire, a charming boy with a sharp jawline, and Blaise Zabini, who always looked uninterested and unamused.

You finish checking them out, before having to do a double take. Mattheo wasn't there and you knew that he was supposed to be, since he was your brothers closest friend.

You mentally curse yourself for looking for him, forcing your gaze to pansy, who motions at a spot between Nott and Zabini.

You glance towards them, to see if they were okay with you sitting near them. Blaise nodded and you stepped towards them, Theodore stayed quiet, but made no move to stop you as you got closer.

You could feel somebody look at your figure as you sat down, their gaze leaving a trail of warmth in its wake.

"Boys, this is my little sister, Y/N."

Draco introduced you and Theodore's head snapped towards you, it looked as if a piece of puzzle had fallen into place inside of his head. You look at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as to why he had that look in his eyes.

"Enzo."

The boy sat beside Draco said, holding out a hand for you to shake. You rip your gaze away from Theodore, instead giving Lorenzo a warm smile as you leant forward, shaking his hand.

Once again, somebody's eyes raked over your body, sending shivers down your spine. You let go of Enzo's hand, leaning back into the plush sofa.

"That's Theodore-" Lorenzo nodded towards the boy on your left, the one who had who seemed bewildered to learn your name. He continued to say nothing, just watching your interaction with Enzo. "-and the one staring you down, is Blaise."

At this, a harsh shove was sent to Lorenzo's shoulder, Draco's lip curling up in disgust as he scowled at Lorenzo, who raised his hands in surrender.

"Nobody will be staring down my sister." He stated, a threatening tone in his voice as he sat back in his chair, leaning against the plush cushion, clearly not happy with Lorenzo's words.

Draco would never let another one of his friends touch you, not after what happened last time. They were all a bunch of players, anyways, you were worth more than any of their hoes.

Pansy shot you a knowing look, as if to say, 'they already have.' In response, you grinned softly, shaking your head as you glanced away.

---

You lay in bed that night, propped up on your side to look at Pansy as she spoke, the two of you gossiping about anything and everything.

"So... You find any of them cute?"

You didn't say anything, hiding your face in the pillows so that she couldn't see the blush on your cheeks, the movement telling her all she needed to know.

"Who!"

She squealed, excitedly. She loved talking about girly things like this, not really having a lot of female friends after she started dating Draco, surrounding herself with his mates who, sadly, didn't like to gossip.

"Zabini."

You said sheepishly, voice barely audible, muffled by your pillow. Pansy grinned, egging you on as she said.

"Oh, Blaise is totally into you, I swear I saw him looking at your ass!"

She been plotting on my brown cock

By now, the first week of school had been and gone, with no signs of Mattheo, the boy that you were dreading to see.

If anything, his absence was only making it worse, under all of the circumstances- like being the new girl in his friend group, getting sorted into the same house and even being in most of his classes. You should have seen him by now, it was a miracle that you hadn't.

However, you tried not to think about him. Which was hard, nearly impossible, so you'd distracted yourself, thoughts of Blaise Zabini plaguing your mind.

He was hot, gorgeous even and the two of you got along well, in-fact, so well that he strolled up to you in your shared potions class. His hands in his pockets as he, casually, asked if you wanted to 'hang.'

Just the two of you, alone in his dorm. Which everyone knew was basically code for, 'I'm trying to fuck.'

In response, you sheepishly nodded. You'd been asked out before, so many times that you couldn't even count, but none of the guys that asked you out were cute, or respectable, like he was.

Plus, if yours and Blaise's relationship did blossom into something more, he was the son of a pureblood death eater, meaning that your father would, hopefully, approve.

But in all reality, there was only one boy that your father wanted you to date, or in other words, give a second chance.

Not that you would ever, ever get with Mattheo Riddle again, no matter how much your father wanted you too.

After Blaise had left your table, Pansy came back, lips curled into a smirk, having watched the interaction between you and your crush.

The entire class, she pestered you about it, doing annoying things, like drawing 'Y/I + B.Z' on your paper, or shaping her hands into a heart and putting it over her eye, so that it was around you and Blaise.

It was at lunch when you finally gave in, the two of you planning to spend the rest of the day sitting by the black lake, so you could fill her in without fear of being overheard, you were also due for a gossip session, so the hangout would be solving two problems at once.

Although, as soon as you left the castle, you could feel it. A pair of eyes staring lasers into your back, watching as you ventured towards the black lake.

You couldn't recall how many times you had glanced over your shoulder, looking for something out of place, anything that could possibly be giving you the feeling of being watched.

But to no avail, until you and pansy started talking about how well you fit into their little group. She mentioned that there was still another member, who's yet to come but will be at dinner tonight.

You sat with your knees to your chest, your back facing the black lake, probably not a good idea as anything could jump out and grab you, without you knowing in time. But it was worth it, as long as you were filled in on all the Hogwarts drama.

Pansy sat across from you, her legs crossed as she rambles on, telling you funny stories about the boys.

"You know, I think you fit in really well, With the boys and I."

You smile at her honesty, you hadn't really thought about that until now, but you did slide into the group pretty easily, your jokes always at the right time, making everyone laugh, knowing with one look how was somebody was feeling, though you did that outside of your friends, as well.

"There is actually a 6th member to our little group, you'll meet him tonight."

Horror, which you feigned as surprise, crossed your face. You'd known that Mattheo had to come back at some point, but that didn't mean you dreaded it any less.

"W-what?"

Pansy dismissed your odd behavior, assuming that you were just confused as to who she was talking about.

"Apparently Mattheo was sick for the fist couple of weeks, couldn't catch the train with the rest of us."

Hearing his name left a bad feeling in your stomach and suddenly, you didn't feel like going to dinner tonight.

"You know him?"

She asked, noticing the uncomfortable look on your face. You shook your head so fast you might've given yourself whiplash, hoping she wouldn't notice, you cleared your throat, trying to get rid of the anxious lump rising in it.

"Just... heard some stuff."

You lied through your teeth, not ready to tell the girl about your bad past involving Mattheo. Well, it wasn't completely untrue, you'd definitely heard some pretty horrible things involving the boy, you'd also experienced it first-hand.

"Fair enough."

Pansy stated, shrugging.

"He's a little scary, but he's not all that bad."

You nodded, glancing away from her, opting to stare into the darkness of the black lake instead.

---

Not much happened at dinner. Sure, seeing Mattheo for the first time, since you were fifteen, was... Weird.

He looked different, in a good way. His face was more scarred than when you last saw it, but his wounds were in all of the right places. His lips were slightly chapped, glossy from his spit and his skin was tanner, not holding the same paleness he used to shar with his father, as a child. His eyes were no longer brown, having darkened to a pitch black, his pupils barely visible.

You only knew this because he had been staring at you during all of dinner. While everyone else was eating, his eyes were on you.

The kind glint they once held was gone, now holding a look of stoic, coldness as he watched you pick at the garlic bread on your plate.

You could barely eat, hyper-aware of the fact that you had Mattheo's full, undivided attention.

You tried to rid your thoughts of him, focusing on the conversation around you. Which, ironically, was just Draco talking to, or about, Mattheo, who would only respond with short answers, still not tearing his gaze away from you.

It had started to irk you, was he seriously still hung up on it? It happened over three years ago, the both of you should be over the situation by now.

You told yourself that there was another reason, not wanting to think about the bad decisions that your younger self had made.

You probably just had something on your face, or maybe, a bit of food stuck in your teeth.

When Blaise tugged on your hand, pulling you out of your seat to go to his dorm with him, you silently thanked every god that you could think of. Mentally noting that you owed the boy a favor, not that he had helped you out on purpose.

In your departure, you missed the death glare that Mattheo had given to Blaise, said boy quirking a brow towards Mattheo, confused as to why he was staring lasers into him.

Theo took a sip from his gauntlet, filled with lemonade, he regrets not telling Blaise about you and Mattheo. As much as he liked you and Blaise together, he was scared that the boy was going to get caught in the crossfire of your ex. Which Theodore knew about, from when him and Mattheo had shared a blunt on a particularly rainy day.

---

Mattheo had laid across the bed, his head hanging off the side, poorly rolled joint between his lips. Theodore was his most talkative self when high, his quiet demeanor completely out the door. Mattheo however, was the complete opposite. When intoxicated his extroverted self could only ever cough out one or two words.

"Once, when I was in muggle school, there was this one blonde girl, who would always dance in the rain. I had a crush on her, I think. I don't know, honestly, I can't remember. But, anyways. I would always watch her-"

Theo rambled on, sitting with his legs laid out, leaning against the headboard, next to where his bong sat on the nightstand. His hand flew around as he spoke, making quick gestures to accentuate what he was talking about.

"Creep."

Mattheo said, his face void of any emotion, making Theo unsure of whether the boy was joking or not.

"Shut the fuck up, Mattheo. Don't rain on my parade just because you've never had any type of love in your life." Once again, Mattheo cut in, eliciting a grumble from Theodore, but making him wonder about what Mattheo could possibly have to add.

From what Theo knew about the dark lord's son, Mattheo was practically incapable of loving, it was rare for him to show any emotion other than angry. It was rare that he'd laugh if it wasn't at someone else's expense, in other words, he found amusement in hurting other people, much like his father.

But, Theodore knew that Mattheo had next to nothing in common with his father. Then again, Theo only knew of Voldemort through what his parents told him, being death eaters they saw the dark lord often. From what he'd heard, Theodore could determine that Mattheo and Voldemort were nothing alike.

"I have." He spoke, his tone un-describable , it wasn't one of anger or sadness, but, it wasn't happy or disappointed either. Theo's face was one of surprise, his brows raised and eyes, still redder than a tomato, widening.

The boy let out a deep sigh, bringing his blunt to his parted lips, deeply inhaling as Theodore sat patiently, eager to hear about Mattheo's love life, or lack there of.

"I was 15, she broke up with me, didn't want to do long distance. She was going to beaux batons, I wasn't."

He kept it short and simple, not wanting to tire himself out with trying to string a sentence together, he couldn't function properly when high. Theodore hummed, in a tone that said, 'continue.' He could tell there was more to the story, that there were unsaid words on the tip of Mattheo's tongue.

"I... I was angry, worse than you've ever seen me. I just, didn't understand why she'd want to leave me. Still don't."

Theo nods along, ushering the boy to hurry up and get to the point.

"She's my soulmate, That's rare to find. So, I tried to make her stay. I wanted- no, need her to be around me. I- uh, I crucio'd her cat, made her watch."

---

Blaise collapsed back onto his bed, sighing tiredly before propping himself onto his elbows to look at you. "Come, sit."

He nodded to the space beside him, eyes trailing over your figure as you moved to sit.

You sat next to him, feet hanging over the edge of the bed. He chuckled at your movement, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, not sure what he was laughing at.

He lays back down, patting his lap softly, motioning for you to straddle him. You rip your gaze away from him, a blush rising to your cheeks. Noticing your embarrassment, he placed his hands on your hips, grabbing them softly to pull you onto him.

You stare down at him, perched atop of his lap. He looks at you, as if you're a riddle he can't figure out.

"You're inexperienced?"

He says it more like a statement, rather than a question. Sheepishly, you nod and Blaise smirks softly, drawing circles on the small of your back.

"Surprising..."

He trails off, behind you, there was a movement outside of the window. His gaze hardened, thinking that it was someone breaking into his dorm. But then, he remembers that the dungeon is underwater, meaning that it was probably just a fish swimming past. Something like that, anyways.

You, on the other hand, are busy admiring his face. Resisting the urge to run your hands over the curve of his jaw, or the soft slope of his nose.

The feeling of being watched still hadn't left, you knew it wouldn't, that it was just your brain being paranoid because of Mattheo.

"Being Draco's sister, I thought you'd live up to his reputation as a player."

He spoke, but not before doing a double-take of the window. It was true, Draco is notorious for being a man-whore, or at least he was before he started dating pansy.

"You know, I'm not completely innocent."

You said, catching his attention. You looked into his eyes, only to find his gaze fixed on your bottom lip, where your teeth bit into the plushness, nervously.

"I had a boyfriend, when I was 15."

He raises his eyebrows, mocking surprise. There's a teasing tone in his eyes, as if he's egging you on, to say more about this 'boyfriend.'

"Didn't turn out?"

A rhetorical question. If it had turned out, you'd still be together, but you were here, sitting on Blaise's lap, completely oblivious to the boner you'd given him.

"I was going to Beaux Batons, didn't think long distance would work."

You shook your head before speaking, purposefully leaving out the part that still haunted you.

The reason you couldn't sleep at night, laying awake in bed, the image of your childhood pet, sprawled out on the floor, guts on display, blood used to draw hearts around it, 'M + Y/I'

"Fair."

Blaise's hands moved from your hips, trailing up your waist, pulling you closer to him. You fall against his chest, a gasp leaving your parted lips. He uses this to his advantage, pressing his mouth to yours, messily kissing you.

After a moment of surprise, you kiss back, attempting to go just as fast and needy as he is, but he bites your bottom lip, just as he had seen your own teeth do just a few seconds ago. Feeling the cushion of your flesh between his teeth, he moans softly, the sound scratching an itch in your brain, dampening your panties. He slips his tongue into your mouth, instantly asserting dominance with the way he searched around. He drops you onto the bed beside him, rolling over so that he was on top of you, without breaking the kiss. His knee split your legs apart, your clit rubbing against the fabric of his slacks, a whine escaping your mouth, into his, at the sensation. He swallows the sound, running his tongue over the back of your teeth.

Last night, I slept over hers.

A forearm is rested either side of your head, your eyes tracing over the veins that trailed up to his biceps, usually soft looking, but now flexed as he hovered over you, staring down at you with an intensity in his brown eyes. "You want this?" The question caught you off-guard, he had you practically writhing underneath him and he stopped to ask you for consent? Total baby daddy material.

You whimpered, "Blaise, P- please." The sound of his name falling from your lips makes him let out a shaky breath, half-way through a moan.

Pressing a soft kiss to your lips, he aligns himself with your entrance, slipping the tip between your soaked folds, you gasp softly, his size taking a moment too get used too.

"Fuck... you're so tight, baby."

It doesn't take long for you to get acquainted with his size, needily grinding down onto his cock, to show that you were ready.

He glides in and out of your canal, each thrust agonizingly slow. He clearly just wanted to get a reaction out of you,

During sex, I overheard.

Clouded by lust, Blaise almost missed the movement in the corner of the room. His brows pulled into a furrow, he went from leaning on his forearms to his hands, craning his neck to look behind him.

"Blaise... what's wrong?" Your voice had a whiny tone to it, the sound reminding Blaise of what he was here for. Taking one last glance around the dorm, before he turned back to you. "Nothing." Blaise placed a hand under your thigh, pulling it up to be pinned against the bed. This newfound angle lets Blaise bury himself deeper inside of you, planning to make you moan so loud that he won't be able to hear any other noises.

Once again, he thrusts into you, the tip of his cock instantly hitting that spongy place in your pussy.

A sword sliced the air, I pulled out the na-na.

"Stupefy."

A voice whispered through the air, a flash of red flying past Blaise's head, just narrowly missing him.

Under his breath, Mattheo lets out a frustrated groan. He re-adjusts his stance, moving to point his wand more specifically at Blaise.

Rolled off the bed then shot back, paow-paow.

In the blink of an eye, Blaise had slipped out of you. If it weren't for the intensity of the situation, you would've whimpered at the loss of feeling filled.

His left hand held his wand, pointing it at the intruder. The right one scrambled to make himself look decent, tucking his rock hard member back into his pants.

"Sectumsempra!"

You flinch, the sound of Mattheo's voice not only surprising you, but making you scared, as well.

A white light illuminates the room, hitting Blaise square in the chest before he could react.

He dropped to the floor, an assortment of cuts sprouting open on every inch of his skin.

You lifted yourself off the bed, scrambling to kneel beside Blaise. Your eyes rake over his wounds, which were only multiplying by the minute.

Your face held a fearful expression, scared of what Mattheo may be capable of. But, that doesn't stop you from looking up at him, lip quivering as you beg him to stop.

"M- Mattheo, stop! P- please, this isn't funny!"

Mattheo's face was devoid of any emotion, although he had the ghost of a smirk on his lips, as i fhe was proud of himself.

"Mattheo, please!"

Mattheo took note of the way you looked up at him, your doe eyes big and pleading, a slight sheen over them, a sign that you were on the verge of tears, clearly out of worry for Blaise.

Truthfully, he hadn't meant to hurt Blaise. He was just checking up on you, to make sure that the boy wasn't hurting you, or making you uncomfortable.

He just hadn't expected to find Blaise balls deep inside of you.

Mattheo tried to hold it in, he really did, but he just couldn't stand watching anyone else touch you, talk to you, or even just be near you, especially in the way you were with Blaise.

Blood on the sheets, probably spilling from my gash.

Blaise's crimson blood dripped all over the floor boards, seeing the mess, Mattheo muttered the counter curse. Causing an end to the whimpering of Blaise. Mattheo watched as you gently stroked Blaise's face, soothing the boy. After seeing this, he quickly departed, unable to watch you worry after someone else.

Looked out the glass, se him sprinting on the grass, A real ninja with the blade and the mask, got them gold ninja stars and red supreme nunchuks.

Blaise hissed, the alcohol you were dabbing onto his cuts stinging him. You sat on the sink, he's stood between your thighs, gripping them every time it hurt.

Now she tryna patch me up, but Girl, I was just trying to get a nut bust.

His blood stained your pale skin, dripping down your fingers. You cupped his jaw, using it to tilt his head to the side, giving you access to a cut underneath his ear.

Neither of you had spoke for the last five minutes, a pregnant silence between you both. You pressed a soft kiss to the wound before placing a plaster over the damaged skin.

"I'm so sorry, Blaise."

He shakes his head, as if to tell you that it was alright. He watches as you care for him, making sure that he was okay.

"If that's your ex, you should probably own a pistol."

There's a tone of honesty in his voice, making you debate whether or not to tell him that trying to get rid of Mattheo wasn't worth it.

But, I'm guessing its just wiser to exit with the dude.

After returning to your dorm, you sink into the bath, pink bubbles clinging to your skin.

It takes a good amount of scrubbing, but finally, you get the red off of your skin, a floral scented soap taking it's place.

The hot water relaxes your muscles, your back de-stiffening. You try to ignore what had just happened with Blaise and Mattheo, but it plagues your mind. Mattheo's behavior provoking a disturbing feeling in your core, one that your sure you shouldn't be having.

The blinds wide open so he can see you in the dark when you're sleeping, Naked body, fresh out the shower.

Pansy wasn't in the room, so you assume that she planned to spend the night with your brother, the thought making you cringe.

The curtains were wide open, the view of the black lake crystal clear, the movement of the fish swimming casting shadows in your room.

You adorned your body in a pair of skimpy underwear, a matching bralette just barely covering your bust.

Uh, and you touch yourself after hours.

Your fingers curled inside of your canal, failing to reach the spot where you needed them most. A whine escaped your lips, hips bucking up into your palm uselessly, trying to push your small digits deeper.

Ain't no man allowed in your bedroom, You're sleeping alone in bed.

Your movements paused, the gaze of an unknown pair of eyes trailed over your body, replicating the feeling of ice sliding over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Chills crept up your spine, eyes widening as you registered what was happening. On one hand, you were concerned. On the other, however, it only encouraged you to chase the orgasm that you were so desperate for, especially now that you had an audience.

A whine escaped your lips as you pulled your fingers out, leaving you achingly empty. Slowly, you sat up, knees pressing into the mattress as you scramble to grab your pillow.

You pushed the plushness underneath your aching heat, needily grinding down onto the cotton once it was situated, making you let out a moan.

But check your window, He's at the window.

You rode the pillow as if your life depended on it, breathing shallowly as you bobbed your hips up and down. Your eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to deal with the pleasure, your back arched to the roof as you desperately chased your high, head thrown back as the pillows seam rubs against your swollen clit, making you whine softly.

Your movements grow slower, sloppier as you near your high, knees starting to give out, jaw going slack as inaudible moans slip past your lips. Your head falls forward, eyes opening as your hips stutter down onto the soft foam between your thighs.

You had blurry vision, but it wasn't nearly fuzzy enough to hide the reflection of your window, a figure stood at the foot of your bed, his brown- no, black eyes locked onto your face, rather than your body.

The sight of him did something to your body, the knot in your stomach unravelling itself. You couldn't look away from him, your gaze locked onto his face as your movements halted, you watched as his eyes flickered down to the mess between your thighs, a smirk pulling at the sides of his mouth. You weren't sure how to feel about him, on one hand, he was so... Whats the word? Smoking hot, he was so smoking hot. On the other hand, however, he both shook you to the core and had you wrapped around his finger. It was crazy how much of an effect he had over you, even without saying any words. With every passing moment, you could feel your resolve slipping and your need for him in, every way possible, growing stronger. You knew you shouldn't, but if he kept this whole 'mysterious' thing up, you were sure to fall again. You panted softly, basking in the afterglow of your release, the exhaustion crashing into you like a truck. You fell forward, onto the plushness of your bed, forehead pressed into the headboard. Shame washes over you as you reach down, pulling the cushion up to join the rest of your pillows. The velvet is soaked with your scent, emitting a sweet musk into the empty room.

You feel an urge, a need to see if Mattheo was still in the dorm, you told yourself it was just out of curiosity, but really you hoped he had stayed. Weakly, you lifted yourself off of the mattress, peeking over your shoulder.

Gone. He was gone, the foot of your bed was empty aside your school shoes. His absence made the realization sink in,

What the fuck was that?

----A/N I wrote this like 2 months ago, I did plan to finish it but lost motivation. I will make a part 2, if anyone wants one. If you've already read this, I have updated the ending a couple of times, for more suspense.

[vxiphoid]

SERENE SHENANIGANS

❨ summary ❩ twst › waking them up to tell them stories that don’t make sense

tags ✧ fluff, crack, savanaclaw boys, defo not proofread its like 7 am, cursing but nothing out of the ordinary, ooc(?), ruggie calls you a little shit like once (affectionate), jack is whipped for you

amanuensis’ message ⊹ I LITERALLY LOVE DOING THIS??? my friends hate me for it. but anyways hiii im back after like my month hiatus, how are thy sleeplings?😋 mb guys writers block has been really kicking my ass, i was spitting blanks on paper… i’m gonna hopefully post another pastry emporium soon for scarabia so stay tuned for that‼️

⌜ 300+ e/chara ⌟

♫ sunset boulevard - hohyun

twst masterlist

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR

— “leona… pspsps….”

— he hums gruffly when his name was called the first time, only opening his eye thinking you called him a second time when it was really just noise that you would make to get the attention of a house cat. he instantly pins his ears back. how dare you. “hmm?”

— “so i took our snail for a walk and i had accidentally left my feet here to wash the dishes because the grass was blue.”

— huh? you could see him trying to process everything you just said as you explained, his lips parting and eyebrows furrowing. it took everything in you not to laugh. he does one of those blinks, the really delayed ones, one eye opens before the other…

— he’s half asleep too so the confusion is just adding up altogether. if chicken scratch wasn’t a writing term, this is literally it in words. its like the books back at home he picks up to read (derogatory) its, what, 4 am? dont do this to him😭

— you’ve never seen him so expressive💀 this definitely makes his eye and ear twitch at the same time. what type of fucked up fever dream is this?? its usually a blessing seeing you as the first thing he wakes up to, not when you wake him up with some bull strung up in a sentence with your beady eyes staring at him while he sleeps. he loves you, yes, but what does he even say to this…

— “what…”

— your forehead met with his chest as you struggled not to laugh at the uncharacteristic break in leona’s voice. how many cups of coffee did you drink? he asks you to repeat yourself even though it kinda a mind mush decision so you did and by the end of it, he looks absolutely restless.

— “that’s… yes. that’s great, herbivore. can we go to bed now?”

— you note that leona is surprisingly patient when half asleep

┏━━━━━━ ━ ─ ╴⋯ ⟢

JACK HOWL

— deep sleeper. tug his ear. though he practically springs up before your hand makes contact, giving himself whiplash.

— “jack?”

— almost instantly relaxes when he realizes its you, tail wagging subtly☹️ “hi, baby. s’something wrong?”

— “hiii, do you remember a year ahead ago when i had to go to the dentist to get my spine fixed and the cats were barking at the flying dogs because the sky was in the water?”

— bro feels like he just had a stroke💀 he’s blinking rapidly, rubbing nose bridge as you explain. he really wants to understand, he does, but wtf did you just say??? it was the innocent “hi” before you unapologetically bashed his head in with the entire dictionary. its so ridiculous he couldn’t help but laugh.

— “jack, this is serious.” even as you told him that, your voice was not steady at all which made his shoulders shake violently in silent laughter.

— “im listening, i swear. tell me one more time?” yk his ass is not listening. he pulls you into his lap while his thumbs idly rubbed your sides, responding to your stories with “uh-huh” and “yeah?” with a lovesick smile on his face.

— eventually holds your face and starts pressing heart squeezing, fluffy kisses all over your face which truly made you more tired then you were. you honestly start forgetting what and where the story was going.

— jack only pauses his kissing attack to respond when you take a small break but even then he doesn’t pull away fully, he’s just speaking against your skin

— “—and the duck had my arm while i was taking it on a walk because gran tammy was in a flying shopping cart.”

— “oh wow. and then?”

— he’s listening but he’s not, mostly because he’s like two seconds away from dreamland and his brain isn’t registering half the shit you’re saying. he wants to see how many stories you can jumble up.

— “yeah, i think it’s bedtime for us…”

┏━━━━━━ ━ ─ ╴⋯ ⟢

RUGGIE BUCCHI

— omfg he wakes up like a mom. like yk how you would barely touch them and they would gasp like they were just given cpr?? he wakes up like that.

— and you’re just standing there awkwardly 👁️👁️

— takes a quick look around before looking at you. “what happened? is it time to wake up leona already?” you shake your head and ruggie flops back, an arm draped over his eyes. “you scared me… come, lay down with me?” he held his free arm out for you and you did take your place cozied up against his side. to your surprise, you did actually scare the living shit out of him from how fast his heart was racing.

— “ruggie, yk i just found out you’re related to turtles, right? and i had to take uncle bobby to the vet to get a dna test because the fish drowned in air.”

— slow roblox turn towards you but instead its his head as he cranes it down to stare at you. you can practically hear the gears in his head turning and you literally could not look at him or you’d blow your cover.🧍🏾

— “i’m sorry,, what the fuck??”

— he’s genuinely confused, asking you questions about your story while his brain tries to put together the pieces. each question he asks, the more its harder to speak in full sentences other than wheezes

— “what are you laughing at, ya little shit? explain this to me!”

— “i’m trying!”

— and you are😭 its like when you have to explain the family tree really slow bc you cant say, “my father’s girlfriend’s son” without him like ???? and you’re trying to explain it to him slowly, eventually forgetting what you said in the first place…

— “…and the fish drowned in air.”

— “yes.”

— “sweetheart, you still haven’t explained how i’m related to turtles—”

[rosalietodd013]

Idk, I respect what you’re saying, but I don’t entirely agree. Comparing fanfic writers and published writers is like comparing apples and oranges.

Also, that “you are not entitled to engagement” argument, while founded in a way, is unhelpful when you pair it with how writing on this app works and the current climate on writeblr.

Nobody’s being forced. A tag is a way for people to filter content. One or two stories that aren’t interesting won’t hurt anyone. All you can do is… scroll. Or block.

These conversations are valid, but they’re unhelpful because the root cause isn’t being discussed. Saying writers aren’t entitled isn’t helping. These writers don’t feel entitled (i’m speaking of the general vast majority), but if people ask to be on taglists and even those people don’t respond, it is discouraging and fosters an unhealthy environment within a fandom. In the grand scheme of things, the mistagging feels like a non-issue.

I do get what you mean and people should tag things correctly. But knowing why they don’t is also important. Fandom culture and community is effectively dying in many fandoms because of the imbalance between people who work hard to provide free entertainment and consumers who believe it is their right. And the only argument they have is “you aren’t entitled to feedback” when all some of these writers are asking is for an acknowledgment that they didn’t just post something to yell into a void.

Some people use likes like bookmarks and then unlike when they’re done reading a post. You may think it doesn’t matter but the person behind the blog can see. Especially if the like count is low.

This isn’t meant to guilt trip anyone. But we can all sort of… meet in the middle and be compassionate. I’ve seen too many writers heartbroken on this app because people send hate and death threats and expect free content and suck the fun out of a fandom for these writers until they leave (zero exaggeration).

We can have conversations about respect and proper tagging, but we also need to have conversations on how to prop up and support writers as well, so they’re not compelled to grasp at straws trying to get their work seen. Only then can we truly sit here and expect change. Might sound dramatic, but for a lot of people, these communities are very valuable. So yeah, talk about mistagging all you want. It’s completely valid.

But please acknowledge one of the major reasons for why it happens and (i don’t really follow you but this is for anyone reading) reblog and share work of your fav artists on here to support them. If you enjoyed something, say so! Just a small “hey this was nice” is enough. Or even a silent reblog. It helps keep a community going. If you value your fandom, you need to value the people that are a part of running said fandom—the artists.

Just offering a different perspective :)

POTENTIAL TL;DR. The very last paragraph is honestly a good summary.

I do see where you’re coming from and you make some valid points. Are there bigger issues on here? Absolutely. I support and comment on writers when I am genuinely moved by a piece. I am one of those people who runs through stories and posts on here by the hundreds a day and thousands per week. Would I like to like and reblog more? Yes. But I tailor my content and posts by my own tastes. Is it selfish and not great that I don’t interact more with writers? Sure, but that’s also my choice. I’m very highly aware of the big issues here, but I’m focusing on one part at a time. I’m voicing my opinion on an issue I see regularly.

I think it’s interesting that your say “comparing published writers and fanfiction writers is totally different”. What makes them different? The fact that one makes money and the other doesn’t? Not all published authors are experts in their field or majored in some form of English or literature or even went to college so that can’t be it either. So if you could explain that part I’d appreciate it.

I do stand by my “no one is entitled to engagement” statement. Just because you post something doesn’t mean I have to respond or give positive feedback. It’s a choice. Not everyone agrees with or likes what someone posts on here or any other platform. When you ask for feedback on something publicly you have to understand that you’re likely gonna get both positive AND negative responses. I personally would prefer if someone skips the comment if it’s not nice or helpful which is what I do for other writers as well. If I don’t like or am not moved by something I’m not gonna comment, post, like or reblog it. No one is entitled to a response. It sometimes does more harm than good.

By saying “a tag is a way to filter content” then say “one or two stories that aren’t interesting won’t hurt anyone” are highly contradicting to your point. You’re acknowledging that tags are ways for people to find stories and content they want to see. The reasons we search for tags and filters is so we only see the content we want to. By saying those one or two stories won’t interest us confirms that it doesn’t belong there and could spark frustration. So just because a writer wants more views on content that audience doesn’t want to see means I should just suffer the frustration? How is that fair? If someone wants to read what is posted and the tags are correct then the audience will find it the right way. It doesn’t have to be forced. It also opens the door for more criticism to that writer which could make their situation/mental status worse.

If I want to be one someone’s tag list and reach out to ask and compliment their story, isn’t that engagement? Doesn’t that say “I care about and am invested in this story and want to know when another chapter or installment comes out”? But that also means I have to do something every time something else comes out? I’ve already engaged so you know I’m interested. What else are you looking for?

Mistagging might be a “non-issue” to some people but it matters to me. That was the whole point of my original post. It matters to the people who comment and like and reblog that post. That post has gotten more attention than any story I’ve ever written. And yes you can check that. I didn’t do it for attention. I just wanted to express something I felt. Whether or not someone responded or interacted was NOT my intention. People interact because they were moved or thought about it at least once. Isn’t that the whole idea of doing that? Because they connected? Shouldn’t people who are moved or appreciate a work or message say it if they mean it but also not feel obligated to do so? The people who saw and didn’t agree either commented or kept scrolling and that should be ok.

As for the whole liking posts to save them and unliking them once you’re done, I’m guilty of that. I will admit that is a problem I am a part of and I wish it wasn’t the case. Unless I’m missing something, tumblr doesn’t have a way to save stories that I don’t finish immediately or want to revisit once or twice and never see again. I used to use my likes as just that. But I realized that it didn’t give me a way to sort the stories I wanted to go back to from the ones I genuinely liked. That I will say is an issue that tumblr can fix and is a larger issue. That’s something I will own. I’ve never been proud of it but I’m not sure how else to combat this. I’m not gonna keep something liked that I have zero interest in or has nothing to do with me. I’m just not.

Again, I understand that there are larger issues at play and to some this is considered something inconsequential. But to those of us who are affected regularly and care, this IS our issue. We shouldn’t be made to feel bad or care about more than we choose to. People should care about climate change, famine, animal cruelty, war, racism, nationalism, misogyny and a litany of other things but not everyone does. That should be a choice. I should be allowed to care about and express issues that I care about. Is it selfish to not acknowledge the entire picture? Yes but what I consider a major issue and what someone else does isn’t always gonna match.

You used logic and reasoning and terms that made sense but the main reason this response is so long is because even with all you were saying, you were minimizing and brushing off an issue that I care about. It probably wasn’t your intention but that’s what happened. It didn’t inspire sympathy from me at all which is why it took a minute for me to respond. I do hear what you’re saying though. That has to be enough right now.

[chiacanwritesometimes]

quiet bucky headcanons

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

ship: no ship, just bucky :)

word count: 1.1k

summary: a collection of headcanons post TFATWS, including but not limited to: nightmares, socialization and the winter soldier.

author’s note: i’ve been dealing with a little creative block, so this helped me ease out of it. i like writing for bucky, because it helps me connect a lot with myself. this one isn’t so romance involved, but more so things i think would happen to bucky post blip and post steve leaving. i delve into topics of nightmares and self harm in this fic, so please do not interact if these topics bother, trigger, or make you uncomfortable.

===========

there are two voices in his head. one of them, james buchanan barnes. a sargent, a kind man, and a soldier out of time. the other, him. the scary thing was not that the winter soldier spoke to him on occasion, but that he couldn’t distinguish the differences between the two voices. it scared him to think that he was the winter soldier; to think that he was no longer the host for the parasite, but the parasite becoming the host altogether.

taking his metal arm off helped a lot. despite it being a different arm from the one that traumatized him so, it still felt so similar. the hum of the metal, the cold touch of the fingers, the whirring of movement; it was all too familiar.

he wasn’t not careful, but he didn’t seem to pay attention when doing mundane tasks. he wouldn’t notice when he would burn himself when cooking, or when the shower water was too hot. he felt it, sure, but it’s not like there would be any lasting impact. aside from the small scarring, there was little to no proof that he was capable of hurt. he felt as if he was playing with fire (in more ways than one), trying to see how far he could get away with this curse. he wasn’t an alcoholic, but he drank more than humanly possible. he wasn’t a pill abuser, but he would take two pills too many. it wasn’t abuse, honestly. that is, his body physically didn’t allow for abuse to happen. the nightmares, though. the nightmares were a whole different issue.

he would often wake up to the screams of his victims, his vision red with guilt, red with anger, red with blood. the irony was that it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling; feeling as though he wasn’t in control of his body. its one he was pretty used to, so it was almost humorous that it was self inflicted this time. his dreams would start off normal, wether it be memories with steve or just weird dreams that we all have. little clues would litter around; a star on people’s sleeves, faces covered with a weird shadow, people getting handsy with him, their clothes drenched in red, and eyes. eyes everywhere. eyes on the walls, on his hands, on the faces of people he knew. even though he wasn’t able to see their expressions, he knew they were all the same. pure, unabashedly-stricken with horror. he would run to a safe corner, only to be flooded with eyes and hands everywhere. strangely, there would be no noise in the beginning. no rustle of clothes, no evidence of struggle against him. that was, until he fought back. as soon as he landed his first punch against the flock of arms, the screams would come all at once, like banshees. he would cover his face with his hands, but that of course proved of little aid. they would rip his hands away, pin them against the wall, and leave him with the sickly and sticky residue of oily and grimy hands. the cacophony of noise would wake him, often with screams of his own. he would shakily walk to the kitchen, not bothering to clean up the blood on his hand from self inflicted wounds. he’d get a glass of water, and recite the names of people he’s met.

steve, sam, natasha, t’challa, okoye, shuri, raccoon…

he would keep going until he couldn’t think of anyone else, or until he felt his eyelids grow heavy. he didn’t dare return to his room, rather spend the rest of the night on the couch.

after steve left, he truly felt alone. of course, he was alone in hydra, alone in the years before steve found him. but he felt betrayed that steve left him. “till the end of the line”. he didn’t know the line ended with leaving him stranded in an unkind world, a cold, cold world. he was left to live the rest of his days alone, to wake up each day alone, to walk this world alone. life’s biggest joke was making him a super soldier, thus doubling his life span. after the events of sam confronting the senator, he needed to lay low. gone where the days were he seemed to be fighting a new villain every week, and the calm and quiet world frightened him. on days where the lazy afternoons lulled his heart to feel warm, he walked. he walked, and walked, until he reached parks, woods, nature. when in parks, he would sit in a bench, watching all the people go by. sometimes, someone would sit next to him. very rarely, they would make conversation. but when they did, he tried not to shut them out so fast. he was kindest to the elderly folks who would sit next to him, and ask what a handsome young man is doing there by himself. he would always answer the same.

“getting my mind off of things.” they would chuckle, and pat his leg.

“psh. a boy like you should be going out, seeing the world and meeting women. or men, if that’s what you youngsters do now.” they tease, winking. he would smile softly. how it hurt that they were the same age, but in totally different circumstances.

“is that what you did?” he asked one man, with a decorated veteran hat. he looked kind and frail, something he felt often were hand in hand when it came to the type of people he attracted.

“of course. i met my wife in france, you know. i don’t think you would like french girls, you seem too calm.”

“one way to find out.”

“yeah, yeah. join the army, or learn a language. before you know it, you’ll look like me and wish you could’ve done more.”

“what’s the one thing you wish you would’ve done?” he asked, his eyes looking towards the older man.

“mmm.” he took a moment to think, his finger resting on his chin. “meeting my wife sooner.”

after conversations like that, he would try to socialize more. of course, within his own age group. which, unfortunately, meant senior citizens. he didn’t mind, though. in fact, he liked that. he felt that talking to them calmed him down, and he enjoyed that they could bond over music, films, and books that he grew up with.

at the end of the day, he would return to his cold apartment, and fall asleep in an empty bed.

his heart though, was less empty. yes, it was less empty indeed.

[kiame-sama]

Which monsters are cool with monogamy? There's some speculation on who's good with sharing their human mate with who. But who's doubling down on smugness and protectiveness if the human says they only want one mate?

Most are content with Monogamy, some will only be able to consider the Human if their associated 'group' is allowed by that group's defacto leader (Lilia, Sebek, and Silver fall under a group and are bound by their loyalty to Malleus to let Malleus be the primary mate, they will not agree to be primary mates to the Human without Malleus involved).

Malleus will 100% double down if the Human wants monogamy. He figured he was the only one good enough for them to be a life-long mate with, may as well full send it. He is somewhat sad Lilia was not also chosen as Lilia desperately wants the Human, but he will agree to monogamy for the Human.

Leona will absolutely keep the monogamy vibes for his little Mousey. How cute the Mousey wants him all to themselves. He thinks it is precious and will give that Mousey what they want. He has been second place for a lot of his life, it works wonders for is already large ego to be in first place for once.

Ace already knew he was going to win, I mean, he was your first first-year friend, after all. He loves that he gets to have you all to himself. No sharing with that block-head Deuce.

Deuce is honored you have selected him as your one and only mate, he will happily do the same for you. Don't worry, he is ready to fight off anyone who disagrees (he will lose terribly in most cases, but he will still try and that's what matters!)

Riddle is already on the primarily monogamous route and has zero issue being the Human's one and only. He will be proud as hell about it and boast that his 'King of Hearts' only wants him.

Jack likes the idea of monogamy because he is naturally territorial and likes knowing his territory (the Human) is just as territorial of him as he is of them. Happy pupper wants his mate to be happy.

Azul will happily be the Human's one and only anday even feel the need to tease Jade and Floyd about the Human choosing only him. He will lord it over others and will boast he is the only one they chose.

Papa Hades is already fairly monogamous so if the Human goes the romantic route and not platonic route with him, he will maintain his monogamous ways.

Jade is thrilled with the idea of not having to share with Azul or his Twin, the Human being his one and only, the one only he gets to embrace and hold, he loves it. Craves it.

Floyd is so happy you saw reason, Shrimpy! After all, he only shares with his brother because he has to most times. Don't worry! He can protect and squeeze you well enough all on his own. After all, this is just another reason to challenge himself at something, and the Human is a very fun prize!

Ruggie has been bullied out of almost everything in life other than his home. He is huge by Human standards, but a runt by Gnoll standards, how lovely it would be to be the one and only for the most precious prize ever?

Rook is not sure he deserves this. He is by no means as extraordinary as Vil or as beautiful as Neige, why would the Human choose him? They have so many options, he is fine sharing, honestly! He is unsure he can accept being their one and only. Of course, he also selfishly craves being the only one who gets to know that Human intimately and it gives a wicked sense of unbridled pride from the idea.

Vil is alright with monogamy, to be first place and not have to share it with anyone is truly magnificent. He won't stop Rook from trying unless the Human asks for his help in the matter, but he won't encourage Rook either if the Human truly wants him to be as monogamous.

Idia is just tickled pink about it all. No one to bully him out of his mate? No one to try and put him down for being less confrontational and extroverted? Heaven. He LOVES THIS. Him, Idia, the one no one gave the time of day to, the one no one expected to pull the rarest SSR card with max charisma stats. He who has negative luck and negative charisma stats. Unsuspecting Idia won the Human all to himself and he couldn't be happier about it.

Trey is honestly pleased and thinks it is for the best, he can get more than a little possesive about this precious Human. He would love being the only one that gets the Human to love and hold. He promises to look at no other and expects the same in return. Though he could share, he doesn't want to.

Cater is not sure if he deserves the Human after everything he has done. He isn't sure he should even be allowed around the Human after his actions. If you are certain he is the one you want, he won't argue.

[imagionationstation]

Whats your opinion of the Rise community’s impression of 2012 splinter? For me I think he’s a very nice guy just unprepared like bro just got shoved four children

Uh this was random

I just want to make a note of something:

I’ve spent so long trying to come up with a response to this because I can think of some people who are pretty deep in the RISE fandom who are like “2012Splints ain’t that bad tho”. So addressing the entire fandom is actually more difficult than it sounds concerning Splinter.

So instead of addressing the entire community, which would put many people in boxes that they don’t fit in, I’m going to use this Ask to make a statement about the whole Rise VS 2012 debate.

So my firm opinion that I will give is this:

You cannot forgive Rise Splinter without forgiving 2012 Splinter.

And for the 2012 Fandom:

You cannot understand 2012 Splinter without understanding Rise.

You cannot say that you honestly grasp the extent of one trauma/depression without acknowledging the existence of the other. Both Splinters have similar building blocks of trauma (forcefully separated from someone who they love dearly, forced to fight for their lives for who knows how many weeks/months, forced to live/adapt to a body that’s not their own, and forced care for helpless mutant children on top of it all) but their ways of dealing with it are different ONLY because of their different upbringings.

Their traumas are the same but their history is different. (No, you can’t use the ‘well one is a struggling immigrant and the other isn’t’, because Yoshi literally grew up in Japan. He only moved to New York because that’s what Shen wanted. So he has more connection to his origins than Lou has. But that really is beside the point.)

Anyone can have the argument that they feel that one Splinter is the ‘lesser evil’ in this scenario. There are some pretty good debates for both sides, but you cannot claim to have any sort of proof that one Splinter loves his sons more than the other.

You can’t. It’s ignorant and untrue. And I stand by that.

After all, they both kept and raised four mutant children.

And I know that’s a pretty obvious piece of lore, but I don’t think most people truly realize just how monumental that is.

It’s hard enough to raise one child, and harder still two, but four mutant infants? All on your own while trying to manage a new body with no outside help of any kind- and dealing with the fact that their entire infant hood would be a guessing game of do I have any idea if this would hurt/kill the turtle side of them? Not to mention the patience it would take raising children with super strength and amazing abilities that most parents don’t have to deal with?

Four children- all with different mental capacities, all with the different dreams and desires, all the different wants and hates, all the different fears and struggles and tantrums, and you have to learn how to understand and raise all of those personalities (because toddlers absolutely have MASSIVE personalities) all at once.

All of the variables that came into raising them, all those reasons that would make life beyond difficult, all the temptation not to, and these men pilled with trauma and grief still looked at the tiny freaks of nature and went: Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be their dad.

Just like there are many different love languages, there are also many different ways of showing your love. RISE Splinter did it in the big ways while often neglecting the small, and 2012 Splinter did it in the small ways well often neglecting the big.

One man does not have worse trauma than the other.

One man does not have more love for his children.

You will never be able to convince me that you truly understand what 2012 has gone through but still hate him, if you cannot acknowledge that there might be a reason for you to hate Rise too.

If you cannot comprehend understanding/forgiving 2012 then I really don’t think you truly understand/forgive Rise either.

So, yeah. That’s my hot take, ig.

[roseypwark]

Ten | Enemy Territory

ENHYPEN Eighth Member : 지유 JIYU / 지유나 Ji Yuna

Table of Contents

//

Yuna has heard rumblings that there have been some issues with a few backup dancers getting Visas for the second US leg of the tour for reasons currently unknown. By rumblings, that of course means Sunoo gossiping very loudly at her while on the flight to America about things she honestly doesn’t care about.

On multiple occasions, Sunoo has called Yuna a good listener. She doesn’t think he realizes she doesn’t listen to him most of the time. She just nods along and makes noises at the appropriate times while working or reading or scrolling on her phone.

“—basically, there could be some dance black market that we have no idea about and the company is trying to keep it all under wraps.”

“Mm.” Yuna gives no real reaction to the ridiculous and convoluted conclusion Sunoo has drawn.

“That’s also why we’ve got that extra rehearsal tonight. It’s to orientate the replacement dancers. I think they’re from the same dance company but obviously, new people means new blocking for them to learn. I hope it doesn’t take too long. I still suck at avoiding jet lag.”

“Me, too.”

The worst thing about being an idol is the lack of consistency. Schedules are all over the place, availability varying wildly for times and places to shoot. Now that there are no minors in the group, there’s no longer a 10PM cutoff, either.

Yuna doesn’t get to have a routine. She sleeps when she can, where she can, and she tries her best not to let the exhaustion show. She doesn’t care for hotels; she sleeps better in the car with her members than she does in a hotel bed.

Planes are a no go. Too many strangers, flight attendants asking if she needs anything, turbulence or what could be the plane losing power and going into a free fall. Yuna wouldn’t say she’s scared of flying but the one in eleven million chance of being in a plane crash is still too high for her to ever feel truly safe in a two hundred ton hunk of metal throttling through the air at five hundred miles per hour.

She doesn’t mind sitting next to Sunoo for the ten hour flight because his chatter distracts her from thoughts of engine failure. Riki is two rows behind her. He and his seat mate Jay are probably both soundly asleep.

Yuna thinks she might be able to sleep on a plane if she sat with Riki. Then, she thinks that doesn’t make any sense. There’s no logical reason her seat partner would alter her ability—or lack, thereof—to sleep on planes.

//

Jet leg hits Yuna in the last hour of rehearsal. No sleep on the flight means her body thinks it’s 11AM tomorrow. She did manage to sleep on the bus from LAX to Anaheim but an hour-long nap isn’t nearly enough to get her to the end of rehearsal without several levels of exhaustion eating away at the edges of her mind.

She’ll be fine. She once stayed up for thirty one hours in a row, lost in the sauce of creation. Hyowon was out of the country for the week, so her rein of his studio was free and no one realized she’d been at it for so long.

She's only been up for twenty two hours this time, so logic holds that she can make it at least another nine.

"You look like crap."

"Thanks."

Heeseung slings an arm around Yuna’s shoulders. She might collapse under the weight of it if her resolve to appear unaffected wasn't so strong. Emotions are for the weak. Ji Yuna isn’t weak.

"Just another hour, then we can go back to the hotel."

"I know," she says.

She hopes he doesn't think she's unappreciative of his attempt to keep her spirits up. It’s ineffective. But she appreciates the effort.

Yuna blames the sleep deprivation for not noticing earlier. She doesn't want to think she's so self-absorbed to not have made an effort to look at the faces of the backup dancers until two hours into rehearsal at the Honda Center. She knows most of their faces, fewer of their names but even she can make friendly conversation with longtime coworkers when required of her.

Yuna could lie and say she doesn't reocgnize the dancer immediately. She could say she's moved on. She could say she isn't haunted by the memories of that girl. She could say she isn't ashamed of how she handled things, simultaneously defensive of herself for avoiding needless conflict.

It's been three years since Yuna last saw Oh Eunjoo.

Yuna started doing online school halfway through the 2021-22 school year. She got her GED at the start of this year, on time with her age group despite her atypical path to a diploma.

If asked, Yuna would say she switched to online school due to her schedule. She would never admit to being bullied.

It would be pointless, especially after all the time that's passed. She's never told anyone. She has no plan to.

Shame and logic entangle themselves around this embarassing piece of Yuna's past. She was a coward. She saved herself. She ran away. She removed herself from a bad situation.

She feels herself grow quiet, shrinking into herself by the mere presence of her former classmate, just like she always used to. She'll blame it on how tired she is if asked. It's not uncommon for Yuna to go nonverbal; none of the members seem put off.

Yuna can feel Eunjoo's eyes on her throughout the rest of rehearsal but doesn't allow herself to look again. If she makes eye contact, she'll be expected to speak to her.

Yuna has changed a lot in three years. She wonders if Eunjoo has, too. She's not curious enough to find out. Or brave enough.

She is silent and eyes-forward for the last hour of rehearsal. She makes sure to stick close to her members on the way to the dressing room to collect their things.

Unfortunately, her trip to the bathroom is unaccompanied due to her gender. She feels ridiculous for it but she makes sure the coast is clear before hurrying along the stretch of hallway between the dressing room and bathroom. She does the same on the way back and thankfully sees no sign of Eunjoo to or from.

It’s like she’s in enemy territory with the addition of a single girl that Yuna hasn’t seen in theee years. Which is wrong because this is her tour—this is Yuna’s group’s tour and Eunjoo is just a backup dancer and Yuna shouldn’t be scared of her anymore.

She never should have been scared of her. And now, this is Yuna’s terf.

So, why does she still feel like a scared little kid?

//

<<< PREV // NEXT >>>

Tag list: @pjselee @sumzysworld @aespie @d-dilemma

[princessvelaryon]

I turned off anon weeks ago because these were the things that were being sent to me.

It is a very long story now and it’s still ongoing. Long story short, one person started a rumor that I was one of the purity anons going around harassing a lot of hotd writers and it really breaks my heart and caused a lot of problems for me.

I am absolutely not one of the harassing psycho anons and I have never been. I would go out of my way to reach out to people who were getting hate to comfort and reassure them. It’s how I even made some friends on here. If I did send someone an anon, it was a drabble or something funny to make them laugh and then I would instantly confess that it was me, either in a DM or under the comments of the original ask.

I may be pretty vanilla and love to headcanon the hotd characters as sweet and loving but I am the farthest thing from a prude. I have been reading and writing smut for years now. I tried to be a good friend to everyone and I always did my best to reach out to the writers and bloggers in the hotd fandom who I saw being victims of the harassing anons so these false accusations really sting.

The thing that stresses me out the most is the the real anon was scared off or happy they got me as a scapegoat so people that blocked me will think its me. If the anon starts harassing people again, people think it’s me. I feel like I can’t win.

Every week, I feel safe enough to turn anon back on and the harassment instantly starts back up again.

Even a month later, I still have former friends blocking me and not answering me. No one can answer why they are doing this to me.

I really wish I could have fun in the fandom again and to get back to writing. Honestly, it makes me jealous and bitter to know the people who bullied me are just having fun and writing like normal after destroying me and my reputation on here.

To be honest, I don’t have the greatest life and this fandom was my little escape and I’ve been feeling suicidal lately because of all of this and my fun escape being ruined and I don’t care how pathetic that makes me sound.

I thought you guys were my friends. Please just stop doing this to me, I didn’t do anything to deserve it. People are still making fun of me and mocking me for being upset that my former friends think I’m one of these horrible anons that have been harassing the fandom for months now.

I never got this involved in a fandom like this before and I never made so many friends and connections. Before this situation, it was the most fun I have ever had in a fandom.

I’ve been constantly promising and talking about my upcoming fics since August. But situations like this truly kill my love for writing and it breaks my heart because again, I’ve never loved a fandom and its characters this much. I have never been inspired to write for a fandom quite like this one but it seems like all my WIPs and ideas are a pipe dream now. I can’t even enjoy just thinking about my favorite characters, let alone reading them or writing them. Maybe it’s worse because of my autism but I just can’t even think of my favorite characters without getting depressed or anxious. I really am heartbroken that I haven’t been able to write anything about my beloved characters.

For the past year, I have so many ideas for fics and I was so inspired and now I’m truly afraid I will never get the chance to work on them because this month has been so upsetting for me. I have constant anxiety and panic attacks almost daily.

I have to work all weekend and then I have to catch up on some school work so I promise I’ll explain more later because I know this probably sounds like a crashout rant.

I just feel like I’m not “allowed” to enjoy anything in this fandom anymore. I just wish I could have fun like I used to. I have had this account for over 10 years, since I was a young kid and I don’t want to start over. Plus I told many people specific details about my WIPs so it would be easy to find me again. I just put so much work in to this silly blog and I still have some amazing friends that I am so grateful for. I’m just devastated that my blog is ruined and forever tainted for absolutely no reason.

I understand this probably sounds like a crash out mental breakdown rant but it’s important to get this off my chest and get this out in the open. I lost so many friends and my mental health is really suffering because of this.

[emo-trash101]

HELLO HELLO ONYX,DEARIE!!

I'm baaaack!~

(me,coming to your blog when I have an Idea because I want to feed you: )

The platonic asker,yours truly,has come once more to request a new platonic headcanon!

May I please have platonic! any character you'd like (Maybe Alastor,Vox and Lucifer,but you may change that as always! All characters are welcome.) With Child!Gn!Reader that randomly goes out (maybe teleports? Idk,just a random idea) and brings back random sinners (mostly poor and homeless) at the hotel/the character's work and goes "They wanted to work for/with you!!" with that little sweet and innocent voice of theirs? They're really naive and talks to everyone really kindly,a bit like my first ask! They're just a sweet sunshine kid that wants to help those in need! It's not their fault there are bad people that may use them,they just want to help!!

Anyways,I think that's good for me!!

Here's another reminder to take care of yourself! Eat,drink and sleep well,honey!

Enjoy writing this new prompt <33

Stay proud,

-Nina <33

I MISSEDD YOUUUU!!! And that prompt is giving me flashbacks to when I brought a feral raccoon into my house when I was a little kid lmao. But I love this!

Alastor, Vox, and Lucifer x Sweet Child! reader

THIS IS STRICTLY PLATONIC AND SHOULD ONLY BE TAKEN AS SUCH

Pronouns: Second person, gender neutral

Tw: Kidnapping? (Can a child kidnap someone?), pedos, general hazbin hotel

Alastor -

- I would say this man would be disappointed but in all honesty, he probably taught you how to steal people by accident.

- It would most likely take place after Charlie goes on one of her rants about how she needs more people at the hotel, and you being the cute little child you are, waddle away to go find some.

- I feel like he wouldn't particularly notice you missing until you show back up, random ass sinner in tow.

- Obviously you get lectured by everyone for stealing a person off the street and bringing him to where you live.

- cause...y'know...pedophiles happen to be in hell.

- But after you pull out the cute little eyes and the "I just wanted to help" everyone kinda gives up.

- Alastor does make you release him back outside like a butterfly you grabbed (omg that is something I never thought I would write)

Vox -

- As I've mentioned before, this man kinda lowkey sucks.

- Like Alastor, probably accidentally taught you how to steal someone, but he probably did it on purpose or some shit.

- You'd most likely see him murder fire another one of his workers and decide that he needs an immediate replacement.

- So you take your two little feet and waddle down the streets of hell asking anyone and everyone if they want to work for Vox.

- Obviously everyone wants to work for the Vees, so you end up bringing like a hoard of people to the office and kinda just, bring them in.

- As I've mentioned, this man would not notice you being gone like, ever, so when you magically show tf up with like 70 people all in tow, he is partially impressed and partially confused.

- He asks you why you brought so many people and you just look up at him with your cute little baby doll eyes and go "I thought you needed someone to replace mr. dead guy".

- He honestly kinda appreciates it and gives you a little pat on the head as he kills kicks out everyone you brought.

Lucifer -

- This man pays copious amounts of attention to you so the fact you were able to waddle away to go collect people off the street is honestly astounding.

- He was like, super art blocked and could not come up with another idea for a duck, and it was starting to piss both of you off.

- So you do your little thing and walk off by yourself to collect another person to help come up with some sweet succulent duck ideas.

- Well turn out, creepy people exist in hell (surprise surprises).

- So a creepy ass guy follows you to the palace and when you get back Lucifer panics.

- He was worried you died or something and was about to go find you when you show up with a rando behind you.

- Lucifer politely scolds you for running off like that, but before you could introduce him to the guy you found to help, the guy left.

- So you give up and instead devote a lot of your time to making a new rubber duck

- Lucifer ends up making a duck that can track where you are incase you go wandering off again.

This was so funny to write, I hope y'all enjoyed reading it!

[zaebeecee]

The New Assignment

Post-Mastermind What If

The day after the trial, IMP has a new assignment, one that no one outside hired them to do. Nobody told Stolas, primarily because they were afraid he might have a heart attack if he knew.

•••

Just a little one shot I tossed together in the emotions of the last episode, a ‘what if’ for something I would honestly love to see happen. So… spoilers for Mastermind, if you haven’t seen it yet.

This might work its way into the Stolitz soul mate fic I’m starting as soon as Loveless Bond (which is looking like it might have its own sequel) concludes.

•••

“You’re actually going to go to work?”

“Yeah, of course. Gotta capitalize on the good PR while people remember it.”

Stolas sat on the small, ratted couch, hands folded between his knees as he watched Blitzø move around the living room of his apartment preparing to leave for his job. Behind him, he heard the sounds of Loona rooting around in their tiny kitchen, but he couldn’t exert the effort it would have taken to turn his head to see what she was doing; the only reason he was watching Blitzø at all was because the imp was in his line of sight.

I’m in his home.

It didn’t feel real. Nothing felt real; not the apartment, nor the previous day, nor even Stolas himself, as though he were a walking shadow of himself silently gliding through a netherworld constructed solely from the stones of his own fears and insecurities, a self-manifested and self-inflicted torturous space that existed exclusively within his own psyche. He was disconnected from his magic, which meant he was disconnected from the stars, an energy he had been constantly in touch with since he received his destiny as a small child. It was akin to being disconnected from his own soul, the place where it had once been now a chasm of ice and empty darkness.

He couldn’t let himself think about Octavia. If his mind lingered on her, even for a moment, he felt he might simply collapse into a catatonic shell from which he would never emerge.

Instead, Stolas kept watching Blitzø, focusing on him looking for his phone to cleanse his own mind of the image of the other demon chained and kneeling at a chopping block. At the time, Stolas’s actions had felt… natural. So natural, in fact, that they were practically a reflex, his body moving to intervene in the trial before his mind had fully registered what he was seeing. It wasn’t simply the reality of Blitzø facing an unjust death, but the undeniable fact that he never would have been there in the first place if Stolas hadn’t been so utterly foolish and hadn’t failed so thoroughly at protecting Blitzø from consequences that Stolas was fully aware of. It was true that Stolas had known he would never lay eyes on Blitzø again, but he had told himself time and again that at least Blitzø was out there somewhere, running his business and killing humans and taking care of his daughter. If Blitzø was alive, Stolas knew that he could find a way to carry on.

But now, Blitzø was in the same room as Stolas. Stolas was, in fact, inside Blitzø’s own home, which he had never once thought he would lay eyes on. He was wearing Loona’s clothing and (somewhat) wrapped in a small blanket with colorful cartoon ponies all over it. It was surreal enough that, the more Stolas marveled at its strangeness, the more he found himself able to take in his surroundings and truly marvel at this insight to the life of the demon he had loved for what felt like countless lifetimes but had never been given the freedom to truly know or understand.

I didn’t know homes could be so small.

Stolas remembered the last full moon, at least as much as he ever allowed himself to think on it, and thought back to Blitzø’s assertions that Stolas lived an ignorant and privileged life (even if the imp hadn’t put it quite that way). At the time, Stolas had found the claim ridiculous; his own living spaces were nowhere near as extravagant as many other Goetia, and the palace had been quite dramatically simplified following Paimon’s disappearance. He watched Hellanovella religiously despite being told that it was trash meant for common folk, he attended common festivals, he patronized common businesses… Hell’s sake, he even went to Loo Loo Land not infrequently for several years and that place was more of a death trap than most anywhere else in the Greed Ring. Stolas had always thought of himself as more grounded and self-aware than most other Goetia, who (as a whole) seemed to have less than no interest in the populations that made up most of the Rings.

But that had been more than delusion, hadn’t it? Stolas could see, now, just how completely blind he was and how utterly willful that blindness had been. This entire apartment was roughly the size of his own bathroom, and it was living quarters for not just one, but two demons.

He truly was right about me, wasn’t he?

“Mmkay, Stols, up. Let’s go.”

Stolas blinked, his blurred vision refocusing on Blitzø fastening his coat. “Go?”

“Yeah,” Blitzø said, looking at Stolas and raising his brow. “You can’t possibly think I’m leaving you here alone, not after yesterday. Loonie and I are going to the office, and you’re coming with us.”

Stolas stared at him, fingers clenching in the pony blanket and drawing it closer around himself like a shawl. “…b-but—”

“Stolas,” Blitzø said, just a little more firmly. “I’m not asking. I’m not risking anything happening to you while I’m gone, and if you want a reason to comply that isn’t self-preservation, I don’t wanna see what someone might do to my apartment if they tried. Okay?”

“…yes. Of course,” Stolas said, slowly rising to his feet.

Loona stopped and looked him over, frowning a little. “Gonna wear the ponies all day?”

Immediately, Stolas felt his cheeks flushing. “O-oh! Right, of course.”

Before he could rectify the embarrassing little situation and place the blanket back on the couch where he had found it, Blitzø waved his hand. “Ignore her,” he said airily. “She’s just jealous that you’re allowed to use my special rare misprint Pony Valley Princess Warrior island adventure four-part special commemorative limited run blanket.”

“Oh, yeah, I’m giving Leviathan a run for their money over here,” Loona said dryly. “The fact that one of those ponies has an upside-down face is just so cool.”

“Yes. It is,” Blitzø said with a firm proudness, completely ignoring Loona’s sarcasm, which was heavy enough that even Stolas could tell. “Bring it if you want, Stols, the office can be pretty cold. Millie gets downright genocidal if she finds the place too hot.”

“I…” Stolas wasn’t sure how to respond to that. He tightened his grip on the blanket again. “…alright. …thank you.”

He followed the other two to the door, barely remembering to duck underneath the ceiling fan, and spared another glance for the wall of photographs near the front entrance. He thought he might have been imagining it when he first arrived, but no; in every single picture that featured Blitzø, his face had been violently scribbled out with what seemed to be a permanent marker.

The day after the full moon, Stolas had been so dismissive at Blitzø’s admission of insecurity, seeing it as both a sympathy tactic and an unnecessary admission of his obvious dislike of himself. Now, he was wondering if the imp wasn’t criminally understating what he truly thought he himself was worth.

He would need to find a way to ask about it.

Apparently, the van had been destroyed in their attempts to escape arrest, so the three began walking to the building that held IMP headquarters. It was early enough that there weren’t many people around, and Stolas was grateful for that, uncertain he would handle having things thrown at him any better than he had the previous evening. Blitzø and Loona made idle conversation as they walked; Blitzø directed his words to Stolas not infrequently, and while he was appreciative of his attentiveness, he wasn’t much of a conversationalist at the moment. It was strange, how calm and patient Blitzø was being with him, and Stolas couldn’t help wondering when the other shoe would drop. What if Blitzø kicked him out? What would he do then?

Stolas had only been in IMP headquarters once, and it looked very different when he followed Blitzø and Loona inside that morning. After passing the door with a sign stating the office would be closed for the next week, Stolas saw they weren’t the first to arrive. Four young imps that he had never seen before were scurrying around, cleaning up what looked like the results of a great deal of evidence destruction. There were scraps of shredded and burned paper everywhere, destroyed costumes, broken furniture… despite how alarming it was, Blitzø looked the four of them over. “You came back,” he observed.

Immediately, the four young imps froze, turning in unison to stare at him like wild animals facing down a speeding truck. “…yes, sir,” one of them said, the one who put off the strongest assertive air. “Why wouldn’t we?”

“Y’know, the whole… decoy thing that could have gotten you killed or whatever.” Blitzø waved one hand. “Thought it might put you off the internship idea.”

The four youths looked at each other before they turned back and the one who appeared to be their leader spoke again. “Is… was yesterday unusual for this line of work?”

“Only a little!” Blitzø said, turning and crossing the room. “Good work, you four, keep making this place look like it’s functioning.”

Stolas ducked into himself as he followed, aware of the strangers staring at him with a mixture of confusion and disgust. He leaned close to Loona, murmuring, “Who are those?”

“Interns,” she muttered back. “Dad hired them because they work for experience. Don’t know their names, won’t learn them.”

“I see.” Stolas moved back again, resisting the urge to look backwards and instead following the other two into what appeared to be a small conference room off the main office. There was a long table that looked as though it would comfortably seat around twenty people, as well as a large whiteboard at the front of the room, but the only other occupants were Millie and Moxxie. They were sitting on the same side of the table near the whiteboard, both of them deeply engaged in their own quiet conversation that only stopped when Moxxie raised his eyes and noticed their arrival. “You’re here,” he observed.

“You got the interns working quick,” Blitzø said as he began rounding the table.

“Well, duh,” Millie said. “I don’t wanna clean it up, you won’t, Loona definitely won’t,”—Loona made a wordless sound of agreement—“and I ain’t lettin’ ya drop it all on Moxxie. Here,” she concluded, holding out a to-go coffee cup. “Thought maybe we could all benefit from a lil’ pick me up and no there ain’t no bourbon in it.”

“Aw,” Blitzø said, frowning at the coffee.

“It’s got an extra shot, don’t whine.”

“Here, Loona,” Moxxie said, offering her a cup as well. “You guys walked? You know we could have picked you up, right?”

“It’s out of your way.”

Whatever Moxxie and Blitzø were saying proceeded to escape Stolas’s notice as Millie crossed over to him and offered a cup to him as well, extending her arms almost completely up over her own head. “Here ya go, Yer Highness,” she said with a complicated sort of smile.

Stolas didn’t respond at first, until he fully registered what she was doing. “…that’s for me?”

“Mhm,” Millie nodded. “Knew Blitzø’d make ya come in with him, an’ I figure you ain’t used to wakin’ up early for office shit.”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. He decided on, “Thank you,” before he carefully took the warm cup from her. “…and you should simply call me Stolas, Millie, there is hardly any need for formality.”

At that, her smile turned into something more warm and genuine. “Okay, Stolas,” she said with a nod. “Oh, me an’ Moxxie didn’t know whatcha might want in yer coffee, so we guessed. Hope it’s okay.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” he assured her, fully aware that he would appreciate such a kind gesture no matter what it tasted like. It turned out, however, that they were fairly close in predicting his taste, as the latte was primarily coffee and steamed milk with just a little sweetened vanilla. Out of curiosity, he glanced at Blitzø—he’d taken the lid off of his cup, and Stolas could only see whipped cream covered in pink and green sparkly sprinkles—and resisted the urge to laugh. It seemed that they were both as predictable as they were chaotic, at times.

“Okay, everybody, sit down,” Blitzø said, taking his place standing at the head of the table and picking up a blue dry erase marker. He reached up, using his hand to wipe away the majority of what appeared to be an unflattering caricature of Wally Wackford. “You all got your assignments last night. I want updates.”

Stolas, after a moment of hesitation, sat a few chairs down from Loona so he could observe the meeting without directly inserting himself. The hellhound pulled out her cellphone, turning her attention to it. “The target has posted fuck all on her socials,” Loona said. “Not that I expected it, of course, but her Voxtagram and QuackChat are silent and she hasn’t logged into CHttR in nearly a week. I shot her a DM on Voxtagram, but she hasn’t opened it; I’m willing to bet her phone was taken for her own good or some other bullshit.”

Blitzø nodded. “Alright. Mills?”

“Security was rampin’ up late last night,” Millie said. “Drove past th’ place and they already had a construction crew movin’ shit in. I’m guessin’ they’re correctin’ th’ weak points you were exploitin’, but it don’t seem like they’re thinkin’ about keepin’ us out explicitly. Gotta keep an eye on how fast they’re workin’, but if we move quick we can probably take advantage of th’ construction to get in.”

“Fabulous. Moxx.”

“Case law isn’t my strong suit, like I said,” Moxxie admitted, and Stolas felt himself perk up just a bit in spite of himself. “That said, I found a handful of pretty old cases that might have set precedents we can exploit. Of the two I’m most sure of, one of them is out of Gluttony, and with Beelzebub’s apparent standing with the nobility I don’t know how seriously they would take it. The other one is out of Wrath, though, and I doubt Satan would dismiss his own judgment out of hand.”

“Beautiful. Keep looking,” Blitzø said, pointing at him. “Loona, keep looking for any other way we might have to get in contact with her; if she’ll talk to anyone, she’ll talk to you, I’m still positive about that. Millie, keep an eye on the construction and keep me updated on the progress. Moxxie, keep… reading, I guess, and give me the cases you’ve found so far.”

Moxxie gave him a dry look. “Why, because you’ll understand them better?”

Blitzø laughed, once. “Ha! Fuck no. Because I’ll take them to an overlord or some shit, I dunno yet, find someone who’s got more legal experience than we do.”

“Um…” Stolas said, his soft interjection somehow loud enough to get all of the eyes in the room on him. “You said… case law? From the other Rings?” When Moxxie nodded, Stolas continued, “I have a great deal of experience with legal documents. I’ve even acted as legal advisor to Lord Asmodeus. If… I mean, if it isn’t inappropriate, I would be glad to go through anything at all you need examined.”

Blitzø looked at Moxxie, who hesitated, then gave his boss a shrug. “…okay, Stolas,” Blitzø said. “You wanna bore yourself and help Moxxie out, you’re more than welcome to.”

Stolas nodded. “Very well. …what, precisely, is the job you’re working?”

“It isn’t a job, really,” Moxxie said evasively. “I mean, no one hired us for it. Or… Blitzø did, I guess. It’s more of an assignment, really, or—”

“We’re breaking into your old place and kidnapping your daughter,” Blitzø interrupted.

If anyone else responded, Stolas didn’t hear it, too busy spraying a mouthful of coffee across the conference table. “What?!” he nearly squealed the moment he stopped spluttering, getting to his feet quickly enough to knock his chair over backwards. “You’re going— You want to— Do you actually think— Are you out of your fucking minds?!”

Blitzø’s smile didn’t change, except for his little forked tongue to poke out for a second. “Kinda,” he said, his tail swishing behind him, a sure sign he was so goddamn pleased with himself.

“Did all of you forget what happened yesterday??” Stolas came around the table, focusing on Blitzø and Blitzø alone. “You barely managed to avoid execution, Blitzø. Don’t you think they’ll be keeping a close watch on you from now on? They will be anxiously awaiting any chance to withdraw your status as the only pardoned Hellborn in history! Why the fuck would you go out of your way to give them a reason?!”

“Stolas,” Blitzø said firmly, reaching up and taking him by the upper arms with strong and steady hands. “Look at me.” Stolas drew a shaking breath, forcing himself to calm enough to look at Blitzø without speaking. “Your ex is a crazy fucking bitch. Your brother in law is a crazy fucking bitch. Octavia isn’t safe there anymore, not without you to look after; you really think Andraelphus is just gonna let her keep living her life the way she has been? You think his massive ego isn’t gonna start immediately dick swinging and making it everyone else’s problem?”

“I know, of course I know,” Stolas said sharply, glancing away. “Do you think I haven’t already thought of everything that might happen to my daughter in the event that I’m…”

When he trailed off, Blitzø squeezed his arms a little, drawing his gaze back. “I know you have,” he said. “I’m not telling you, Stols, I’m reminding you. What I am telling you is I don’t leave people behind. No matter what we escaped from, I wouldn’t leave Loona or Millie or Moxxie. I know it’s dangerous. That’s why we don’t leave people behind.”

Stolas stared at him. “…you hardly even know her,” he said, his voice weak. “She isn’t one of your… Why would you do something like this? You’ve only met her twice!”

Blitzø frowned at him. “She’s your daughter,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What else do we need to know?”

It wasn’t often that Stolas was rendered speechless, but each time it had happened, it was always because of Blitzø. The imp took advantage of his stunned silence to steer him back to his chair, and Millie put his coffee back in his hands as Moxxie finished wiping the table down. They then returned to their discussion about, of all things, breaking into Stolas’s former home and abducting his daughter.

Despite everything that had happened, no one spoke with any level of uncertainty or hesitation, at least not about anything besides the individual ideas for how to proceed. They had been arrested, dragged before Satan himself, mocked and ridiculed by the entire Goetian court, very nearly beheaded, and in spite of such horrific events, they were planning to kidnap a Goetian princess less than a full day later.

Because they care about her, he thought. Because… because he cares about…

Stolas felt his eyes welling with tears, and he turned his head down, focusing on keeping himself calm as he simply listened to three imps and a hellhound plot to risk their lives saving a member of the class that had almost unilaterally declared them worthless the day before.

Stolas was at a complete loss, trying to grapple with such an action and wondering what he could have possibly done to deserve such kindness. He knew, however, that no matter the outcome, he would be eternally grateful for each and every one of them.

•••