#l — undetermined

[ddarkroomm]

The shots Adam got from the concert would hopefully be good. Scott was particular with what he wanted on posters to promote the band, even if that meant Adam did a lot of it himself. What he got as thanks usually constituted as shitty weed and a hard fuck, and something in that, Adam didn’t totally mind. It’d be better if he knew there was something solid about their relationship, if he knew he wasn’t just Scott’s reliable option rather than someone he truly cared for. That feeling heightened when he heard during a break in Wrath of the Gods’ set that his part time lover was looking at seducing who he referred to as the tight-bodied hippie chick. Adam didn’t even glance in the direction where the girl seemed to be. He felt a little sick, to be quite fair, angry at the very concept of Scott yet again going to try to fuck someone else, only giving him the night if he hadn’t scored with the girl he’d hoped for; Scott would say he just wanted the thrill of the chase, just to head back to his Adam. And of course, he never would heel so open to the idea of Adam fucking someone else so openly.

Since hearing what his oldest friend had said regarding his evening plans, the photographer decided to take a break for the second half of the show, nursing what was now his second shitty beer of the night. He wondered to himself if he should just go home, or maybe he should reach out to whoever left a message on his answering machine about needing a job done… if they were still up at this hour. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes at Scott showing off for a black-haired beauty in the crowd, one who was surely his quarry of the night, even as she took steps away from the stage, back towards the bar.

@w-o-r-d-s--f-a-i-l

[ghostlysoaps]

Restitution

[part 1] [part 2]

this is... 3.4k long. cw: idiots in love being idiots

Simon "Ghost" Riley, as a general rule, doesn't get sick. It's been a staunch constant throughout his life. In school, throughout basic training and even when little Joseph was old enough for kindergarten. He managed to dodge the illnesses plaguing his fellow men with the same efficiency he avoided enemy fire. Even Kyle and Johnny's bout of sickness hadn't rubbed off on him after he'd meticulously cleaned, aired out and disinfected his room. 

He'd thought as much at least. 

What began as a tickle in the back of his throat and a slight increase in sneezing, both of which he'd attributed to a visiting lieutenant's overreliance on cologne, spiralled over the course of a night's rest. He awakens to his alarm blaring loud enough to wish for a bullet between the eyes, a nose so stuffed he can't breathe and a frontal lobe full of cotton. The insides of his throat is raw. As if sandpaper had been dragged carelessly up and down the sensitive flesh until ulcers formed in its wake. He blinks at the crackled ceiling for a bit, allows himself a couple moments of self-pity, then heaves himself over the side of the mattress.

He sways on his feet, remembers taking a few steps and then dark starbursts rising up over his eyes until his field of vision is nothing but galaxies.

Ghost wakes up for a second time, on the floor, an undetermined amount of time later. His head is worse than it was – however impossible he'd thought that to be. The floor is a welcome relief from the excessive heat but the firmness is hell on his aching body. The back of his head smarts. He pokes at the swollen lump with fingers made of lead and winces at the responding lash of agony.

He's not ashamed to admit he crawls back to bed in the literal sense when he manages to get his uncooperative limbs to obey him. Squints through writing a short text to Price informing him of the situation before sinking into unconsciousness with a small sigh of relief. He just needs a minute, that's all, just a little bit of time...

_ _ _ _ _

Someone is calling his name. It registers vaguely in the periphery of his consciousness though it's the rough shake of his shoulders that truly rouses him to a state of near wakefulness. 

His eyelids strain to unglue themselves and he slams them l shut almost immediately when the dim light in the room sends a spike of flaming pain straight through his skull. Opening them halfway is easier but the compromise is a world blurred. Needs must, however, and Simon manages to zero in on a flash of blue standing out against the drab surroundings. Simon blinks, slow and lethargic, parting his dry lips. 

"Tommy?" he croaks. It has to be, right? Who else would look at him with worry in their eyes apart from their mother? The vague figure is much too broad to be her and lacks her frizzy, shoulder-length hair.

Sleep claims him before he can hear his reply.

_ _ _ _ _

The next time he wakes, porcelain is pressed against his lips and he's urged to drink from the thin rim. The content within is chalky, lukewarm and medicinal. Simon scrunches his nose at it, turning his face away long enough to say it's gross. He goes back to sipping it though – not needing the urged words he can't parse though he appreciates the gentle coaxing nonetheless – the cool hand on his forehead and fingers enveloping his own another form of balm.

How bad is it, if they're wasting precious medication on him? How long has he been here? She'd have to take on additional shifts without Simon there picking up his father's slack. As if she isn't running herself into an early grave already. 

His eyes sting, stuffed nose trailing snot when the first tears fall.

"'M sorry," he whispers through a choked sob, too exhausted to run the numbers. It'll be a bad month, of that he's certain, but can forgo sleep and school if it means his paycheck will see results from it. Prioritise rent before groceries. Make sure Tommy eats enough. Simon isn't a stranger to going without. Subsisting on one meal a day isn't ideal but he can do it. Knows himself and his limits. He'll be fine. 

Someone brushes the tears from his cheeks and it only serves to make him cry harder. Wretched and ugly. He clings to whomever is holding him, making a mess of their clothes through hitched apologies. Perhaps they kiss his temple as he struggles to remain awake, perhaps they don't, but the imagined comfort settles him regardless. He soaks in their warmth for as long as he's able and counts the steady beat of their heart as time trickles through his fingers.

_ _ _ _ _

He wakes up lucid but for the general fatigue sickness wrecks on the body. It takes him a couple of moments to truly land in his own body again. Sore, in a perpetual state of both dry and dripping. Sweat dried upon his brow even as new beads formed around his hairline and temples. Simon grimaces before he heaves himself up on shaking arms.

Only to realise that he's not alone.

Kyle startles at the noise he makes. He whips his head around and, as soon as he sees Simon upright, scrambles to get to his bedside. Too fast to stop him, he first cups Simon's cheeks with soft hands, cool and comfortable but burning all the same. A relieved smile tugs at his lips. It quickly turns to worry as one hand migrates up to check his temperature in the least reliable way known to man. An errant thumb swipes over the ridge of Simon's brow and he gasps in a breath as it skates over sensitive nerves.

There's nothing but white-noise in his ear. Static. A high-pitched tone growing louder and louder.

"Mask," he croaks and Kyle's mouth snaps shut.

Had he been speaking? Simon hadn't heard a word.

Cloth is pressed into his hands not a second later to which Simon grasps it like a lifeline. With the burst of adrenaline he's able to stagger to his feet. Righting himself on the edge of his desk then supporting himself against the wall as he steps towards the bathroom. He shakes off Kyle's helping hands with a violent jerk and has the door shut between them as fast as humanly possible.

The bolt slides into place and Simon takes a page out of its book as he lowers himself to the floor in a similarly oiled motion. He supposes the nausea thick in his throat could be attributed to whatever illness has taken root in him and, well... he's always been good at lying to himself. His fingers are shaking. Simon glares at them in affront until they begrudgingly stop. Only then does he hoist himself up. Takes a piss, brushes his teeth and shuffles into the shower while taking care to avoid the mirror above the sink.

The ghost of Kyle's touch lingers until he scrubs his face clean with soap, scars and calluses rasping against days-old stubble. Warm water for a bit, then glacially cold. It's nearly good enough to make him moan. When he at last shuts the faucet off he feels marginally more human. Refreshed. Though he grimaces at the thought of weaseling himself back into the same old clothes.

It's not the ones he’d gone to bed with however long ago. These sweats are grey rather than black. The shirt, too, is without the stretched hem and the three penny-sized holes right by the left sleeve. He decidedly doesn't think about how that might have come to pass as he towels his hair dry. He steps back into his trousers and leaves the rest in a pile. Glances once into the mirror to see his own red-nosed, sullen face staring back. Blotchy. Plain.

Unsightly.

Shoving the mask on, Simon squares his shoulders and does his best to ignore the ridiculous picture he must make. Kyle says nothing about it. Merely offers him a short nod. Guilt keeps his gaze downcast whilst Simon pulls a shirt over his head but the moment he takes a step towards the front door, Gaz slides in front of him with a clench to his jaw that spells trouble. 

"Back to bed with you, mate." 

"Sod off, Sergeant." It's not in the least bit intimidating, the way his voice turns nasal with mucus, not that Garrick had found it in himself to fear Ghost for years at this point. The glare he levels his way seems ineffectual when Kyle merely plants his feet, glares right back and points to the bed where new linens have taken the place of old, sweat-soaked ones.

"You're getting back under the covers without fussing or I'm tackling you onto them."

Simon squints at him, wonders if he should try for the door again just for the hell of it. Unfortunately, he knows Johnny isn't the only one prone to fighting dirty and as much as it pains him to admit it, if even just to himself, he values the integrity of his spine too much to try. Doesn't stop him from grinding his teeth and continuing the ridiculous stand-off they're tangled in. 

"And if you're good, I'll make you a cuppa with that fancy shite,” Kyle says, low and wheedling, after the silence has stretched a mite too long.

"What kind?"

"Ceylon black with wild cherries."

He sniffs. In part because his nose is dripping again, and in part because he hates how the bribe is working. Lumbering back to his bunk, Simon pretends the short period of physical movement hadn't drained him. That there isn't a trembling down to his bones or involuntary twitches of muscle protesting at being used again. It's a relief to sit back against the wall with the faint breeze of the cracked window fanning across his eyelids.

"Here," Kyle murmurs and he opens his eyes to find the ear of a brimming mug pressed into his hands while Kyle peers at him from beneath his ridiculously long lashes.

The aroma he faintly discerns is rich and dark. He mutters a "thank you," against the rim – because his mother raised him with manners – and pretends he isn't somewhat touched by the fact he remembers how Simon takes it. Splash of milk and blisteringly hot, although undercut with an unfamiliar nip of sweetness. He'll excuse the use of honey, though, because Kyle grins at him and Simon quickly loses the ability to focus on anything else. Breath coming short until Gaz returns to the fold-out chairs he'd shoved into the corner of the room and the portable gas stove he'd set up on one of them.

Simon takes the time to study his profile. Undeniably pretty in spite of the dark circles beneath his eyes and rumpled clothes. Stealing glances at Simon as if worried his newfound compliance is temporary.

"What are you doing?" he asks, trying to gain a footing in this strange reality he's found himself in.

"I'm heating up soup."

"No. What are you doing here?"

Kyle looks at him with his lower lip caught between his teeth. "Price got your message. Thought it looked odd and asked Tav to check up on you. It was... bad," he mutters, gaze sliding off him to stare at the floor. "Least we could do was help, seeing as we're the ones who got you sick. Didn't think you'd much appreciate being marched to medical either so–" he shrugs, "–here we are."

"Feeling better. No reason to stick around anymore."

A peal of laughter follows his statement, Kyle's eyes curving into half-moons, teeth glinting. 

"You're a riot, sir."

"Wasn't joking."

"I know." 

Gaz busies himself with pouring soup into a bowl and carrying it over, depositing it on the nightstand. He hooks a foot around the legs of one of the chairs to drag it closer and settles in as if he owns the space, kicking his feet up on Simon's bed while staring at him with imploring eyes until Simon rolls his and swallows a spoonful of broth. 

It's perfectly balanced between salty and spiced with meat tender enough to fall apart at a stern glance. The vegetables he'd tossed in have retained enough structure to offer a difference in texture. Easy to devour with a lingering warmth settling in his chest when he scrapes the last of it out.

A chime sounds at just about the same time and Kyle takes the bowl from him to refill it, swiping a thumb over the screen of his phone with his free hand, before handing him a bottle of water and an oval pill. "Antibiotics," he explains and Simon takes his word for it, swallowing it down dry and chasing away the chalky sensation with another mouthful of soup.

"It's good," he says instead of something like "thank you," or "you didn't have to do all this," or "if you don't stop looking at me I'm going to kiss you right on your stupid fucking mouth."

"That's because I barred John from helping out," Kyle says, wry and fondly exasperated. "Not like he put up much of a fight. Damn near drove Cap mental pacing around base like a wounded mutt whenever he couldn't shirk his duties. Put us on rotation after that."

Simon raises a brow.

"Can't say I blame him.” Kyle folds his arms over his chest and slouches into it. Searching over Simon's face, fingers absentmindedly twisting the fibres of his shirt. As he does whenever he's thinking too hard. “You're always a sight for sore eyes.”

His other eyebrow shoots up to join the first before he can wrestle his expression back under control. Turning the statement over in his mind, he finds it lacking the teasing he’d come to recognise in Garrick’s tone.

“Should you be flirting with men other than your boyfriend?” he questions, the words like ash in his mouth.

“I doubt he'd mind,” Gaz dismisses, unconcerned as he studies Simon's eyes, a lilt of laughter warming the words. “He's in love with you too.”

Simon, who’d done the age-old miscalculation of taking a sip of his drink while awaiting his response, promptly chokes on the liquid. He coughs and coughs and coughs, again barely audible over the ringing in his ears. The phrase circles around his mind like a vulture. One word in particular. He's vaguely aware of Gaz taking the mug from his cramping hands. Coaxing him to release the handle so as to not spill its contents into his lap and worsening the situation.

The door clicks open.

“Ye wouldnae believe wha–’s goin’ on ‘ere? Thought ye said he was doing better,” Soap frets. He takes a couple strides into the room. Three or so long steps to carry him from the door to their sides, hovering much like Gaz did previously. Piercing gaze taking the both of them in with a tight twist at the corners of his mouth. Simon ducks his head to avoid it under the guise of heaving for fire-laced breaths. The heel of his palm presses hard into his own ribcage, right above his galloping heart, as he attempts to wrestle back control of his protesting lungs.

He peeks at them through his fringe and finds them communicating entirely without words. A back and forth of ‘don’t make me say it’’s and ‘fess the fuck up or else’’s with varying degrees of wide-eyed looks tossed about. But eventually Kyle sighs and simply, reluctantly, says: “I might have told him.”

Simon doesn't need to see Johnny’s expression to know he understands what that means. It’s in the sharp breath he takes, the stiff then roundening of his shoulders and rueful chuckle. He rubs his neck and Simon averts his eyes before theirs meet. His brain feels as if it is swimming in snot and he doesn’t have the capacity to think critically about the information given. The six words simply play on repeat like a cartridge tripping over a scratch in vinyl.

“Hey,” Kyle says, with an accompanying brush of fingers over his bicep. “Sorry for springing that on you out of nowhere. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

A bark of hysterical laughter escapes him.

“It won’t change anything’,” Johnny corrects with a look in Gaz’s direction. “No’ unless ye act on it. Won’t treat ye any different.”

Simon tilts his head up just enough to look at them. To take in the earnest expressions they wear. To perhaps, fleetingly, allow himself to notice how the love they hold extends beyond themselves. A moment, yes. He allows himself that before he shakes his head. “You’re takin’ the piss.”

Johnny's face twists as if he'd tasted something sour and Kyle's frown has his nose scrunching in the most endearing fashion.

“We’re nae!”

“You are,” Simon insists.

“Don't think that's for you to decide, mate.”

Simon knows it isn’t but he stubbornly clamps his mouth shut and glares. He doesn't know how to express himself with words. It's always been actions that meant most to him – that he found easiest to speak through. But how would he even begin to convey the depths of his… feelings? Ones he’d barely begun wrestling with. How terrified he is they'd turn away the moment they learned how much Ghost and Simon differed in certain aspects, and how little they did in others. That once he’d had a taste, he’d disregard mission parameters if it meant keeping them safe – even at the expense of others. That, while they might be able to compartmentalise work and leisure, Simon isn’t all that sure he could do the same.

And setting all that aside, he’s been told, shown, time and time again, there’s little about him to love.

It was only a matter of time before the lesson stuck.

He grits his teeth, jaw working, as the tension rises, curdles and boils, until it finally snaps, not with sneering or anger, but with a sighed breath.

“It’s not the same,” he says with finality. “Emotions muddle… everything. Makes shit complicated. And I am your superior officer, like it or not. There are… rules in place,” he continues, grasping at straws. “The job has to come first.”

Kyle and Johnny exchange a glance. Neither of them look particularly happy.

“I didn't–” Kyle trails off. The syllables coated with a bone-deep, weary exhaustion. It wraps around them, weighs them down to fall into Simon’s lap, lingering to be examined, rather than float uninhibited through the air to vanish in the ether. Kyle’s fingertips are twisting in his shirt again. Smiling, rueful and joyless. Johnny brushes the backs of their hands together in a motion ingrained enough it has to be muscle memory, subtle enough to play off as coincidental, and Simon’s entire ribcage aches at the sight. “Take some time. Think on it. There’s a place for you with us if you want it. You've got three more days with antibiotics, so you're stuck with us until then no matter what you decide.” 

Kyle twists his hand around to slide the palm up and around Johnny’s wrist. Brushes a light kiss to the slope of his jaw. The skin dimples under his lips, fleetingly turning pale under the imprint of his mouth and Simon stares, enraptured. “I've got work waiting for me.”

He leaves with a stilted smile and not so much as a backwards glance. Johnny stares after him for a long moment. Conflicted. Teetering on his toes. He heaves a sigh as well, falling back to rest his weight on his heels, then slumping further backwards to settle into Kyle's chair instead of following him, blue eyes scrutinising when he turns them on Simon, burning like a propane flame.

“What?” Simon growls.

“Nothin’.”

“Spit it out, Soap.”

“Jus’… isnae like ye to be a coward, sir.”

Simon opens his mouth, but Johnny is quicker – and far more cutting.

“Ye asked.”

He shuts it again. A chastised dog tucking tail. Turns his face away to count the divot imperfections in the wall as if the likeness wasn’t apparent enough already. Listens to Johnny drum his fingers to a tune he vaguely recognises.

“He's a romantic at heart.”

He would've wanted it to play out differently, is left unsaid.

“Change the fucking subject.”

Johnny hums and does so, slipping right back into the tale he’d meant to divulge not ten minutes ago as if the time in-between had never passed at all.

[alphabetbill]

Macabre [ HEMLOCK GROVE ] - Chapter 9

~ description ~

A werewolf whose only skill is running from his fears and a half-upir with no idea of the true darkness lying inside of him, supernaturally bound to each other after the mysterious death of a girl they both knew, and the grim visions that haunt them.

Some secrets in Hemlock Grove should have just stayed buried. In a town that isn't so sleepy after all, monsters of all kinds are wide awake under the surface, crawling their way up.

~ warnings~

This story will contain mature and heavy themes that may involve potentially explicit content, gore and murder, talk of kidnapping and stalking victims, animal death, supernatural/paranormal/religious themes and trauma, any other themes not covered in the general description will probably be tagged here at the start of the chapters that other significant warnings apply to.

A list will be linked here upon completion and upload of each chapter:

Cicada and the Snake

Chapter 1 . Chapter 2 . Chapter 3 . Chapter 4 . Chapter 5. Chapter 6 . Chapter 7 . Chapter 8 . Chapter 9 . Chapter 10 . Chapter 11 .

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

c h a p t e r  n i n e .

Jude Evergreen

<<>>

JUDE WAS STANDING IN A LAKE OF SHALLOW, INKY BLACK WATER THAT ROSE TO HER KNEES, with no signs of life for what seemed like miles all around. Not a single mosquito hummed about, not a cricket chirped, not a bird called out. Time hung still, leaves caught mid-fall, the ripples upon the water frozen in motion. 

The luna moon hung in the sky, its reflection on the water's surface absent, like it was never meant to be there at all. If she squinted closely, the craters on its distant surface almost formed a face. Almost formed a smile.

The trees were thick, menacingly so. They clumped together in such a way that the branches interlocked, revoking any promise of a viable way to enter the forest beyond, effectively trapping her within the confines of the lake. The sound of water sloshing, as she waded barefoot through the reeds and mud, was alarmingly loud, and yet it did not move- did not swish around her, did not ripple, did not splash.

Out here in the open, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide should some primordial creature be watching from the wall of trees. Out here there was no possibility of remaining silent when your only option was to head for shore, a feat unachievable without the creation of noise.

So, with no real choice, Jude made her way to the southern shore of the lake, picking her way through tangled reeds and bloated fish. Here the water spilled off onto the sandy bank and into a small creek, littered with fallen branches, foliage and stones. 

A heap of rancid, rotting matter barred the way forth, its contents and origin undeterminable even as she drew near. Fur, flesh and bones were snagged between branches and trash, clogged between scrap metal, bicycles, old clothes, and other waste. Something had died here. Many things had died here, trapped as the trash swept them along, drowned and left to rot, collecting them like ornaments. Something evil clung to the air sullied by the stench, something wrong and vile. It forced her skin to prickle, and it did not want her here. Move on, the feeling screamed at her, do not linger lest you join them. It is beneath your concern.

Holding her nose, she climbed over the mound of garbage, the skin of her legs stained a deep, residual red left behind by the water. 

Clumps of black fur, still tethered to slices of acrid flesh, scattered up the watery path forward. She had seen them before. Each one seemed like a new memory as she came across them, and something formed in her chest like a stone- sorrow? Heart ache? Remorse? 

Guilt.

A wolf lay at the hollow base of a tree, where the creek came to an abrupt end. Black fur matted and torn, patches of it missing- lining the path back to the lake. Its muzzle rested gently in the water lapping against it. Eyes open. It whimpered, exhausted, as Jude knelt down by its side, pressing a comforting hand against the gash across its chest, bleeding black through her fingers. Bleeding into the water, becoming it. It flowed in waves but never seemed to end, as though the beast were trapped here, forever bleeding its heart out, forever trapped and alone. Its eyes, a rich and mournful amber, begged for relief. Begged for its end. 

There was something familiar in those eyes, windows that allowed her to peer at the helpless thing inside. The thing in those eyes called her name, whispers on the wind, tickling the hairs on the back of her neck. In that moment she was not observing the fading light of a monster, but the slow, agonized passing of a once dear friend.

"You can't stay mad at me forever, Judy." 

A voice broke through the trees, and as the girl looked up- there was no forest anymore. 

There was only a cozy bohemian living room, the sway of beads hanging in the doorway and the mindless hum of the radio in the corner. There was Jude on the couch, mug of coffee turned cold. There was Destiny, who hovered in the kitchen over a little terrarium on the edge of the table by the window.

"I'm not," Jude rasped as reality reformed around her. "Mad at you- I'm not," she sighed, sitting the mug down on the coffee table, no longer interested in it. "I know it's not something you want to be involved in. I get that. It's dangerous to mess with and quite frankly, fucking scary now that I'm here" 

"Well if you're not mad at me, then what's going on in your head?" she reached out, ringed fingers touching her shoulder lovingly. "What's got you all quiet? Not the Judy I remember."

The girl who used to yap a lot, the girl who used to beg Destiny to let her practice braiding hair, who used to climb on her lap at family gatherings, who used to pester her to play dolls, to play dress ups, everything Peter didn't want to do with her, everything she didn't have a little sister before. She was the little sister Des had always wanted. Had always considered her to be.

"Nothing. Just thinking, about how all this is gonna go" she answered. "If we're really going to get anything out of this."

"Well, with any luck we'll find something," Destiny answered as she plucked something from the terrarium, something small, pale and wriggling.

A maggot.

She could already feel her stomach churning, could already feel its slimy texture on her tongue, the way it squished between her teeth as she bit down, or perhaps the way it would squirm inside should she swallow it whole.

"Absolutely not," she balked.

"It's part of the ritual," Destiny murmured, her voice patient but firm. "It eats from your flesh and becomes one with your body. You eat it, and just maybe you'll be able to reclaim your memories."

Jude wrinkled her nose, recoiling slightly. "Ah. So that's what my intestines were for," she said as she examined the now empty jar that once contained the entrails of her corpse, the ones that Peter had cut out.

The truth sat inside her, dead weight sinking deep into the pit of her stomach. She could feel the fear coiling inside of her, not of the maggot but of the realisation it inspired. 

"I'm not sure how well it will work, given this is usually for contacting the deceased's spirit- and well, you're already here. Theoretically, this should give us something to work with."

Jude did not want to know what happened to her anymore. 

Even from the bits and pieces she could string together from various split visions, she knew her end had been ugly and brutal and it didn't take a genius to guess it. She also knew, even deeper down than that, that gathering these memories would not bring her back from the dead, but merely force her to relive it all. All she wanted now was to find a way to get through this so that her spirit could move on to wherever the hell it was supposed to be.

Suddenly it wasn't a maggot twisting between Destiny's fingers, but an instrument of great terror. Her mouth went dry, and it felt like the breath in her lungs kept slipping away. 

"I.......I don't think I can, Des," she whispered. Her hands- palms itching from the sweat- trembled slightly, fists curled in her lap.

"I don't want to see. I don't want to see what happened to me."

Roman and Peter wanted to know, to find whoever it was and stop them from doing it again. It was Jude who was left stuck in this limbo, knowing deep down there was nothing to be done for her.

Knowing how she died didn't matter. Knowing who killed her, in what way, in what brutal fucking way, didn't matter. All that mattered was getting her out of this place, this space between life and death, before she wilted away into some hellish ghoul forever.��

"Maybe you don't have to," Destiny's expression softened in her contemplation. "What if I try it for you? See if I can find anything relevant to who your killer is. You don't have to see a thing."

"Would that even work?" Jude doubted. 

"It might. Might not. But we came this far," the woman shrugged. She beckoned for the girl to follow her into the kitchen, where she pulled out a chair from the dining table.

"Oh, and you should probably tie me to the chair, just in case" she shrugged, almost as an afterthought. 

As carefully as she could, Jude wrapped the rope around Destiny's torso and secured it at the back with several knots, ensuring escape would not be feasible while ensuring her safety.

Carefully the brunette tilted her head back, raising the squirming maggot to her tongue and dropping it into her mouth, swallowing it whole. Jude tried to imagine what it tasted like. 

A few minutes passed, and the medium began to seize.

Her eyes peeled back into an ocean of bloodshot white, swallowed by the void in the back of her skull. An inky black substance bled into her scleras, overflowing like a plugged faucet- droplets running down a face that rapidly paled. Her eyes continued to spin in their sockets, completing the circle- irises emerging in two small dots of red amongst the black.

The witch's trembling ceased, and now she sat panting on the chair, the rise and fall of her chest evening out as a sense of calm settled over her. It was no longer Destiny looking back at her, no- her friend was long gone, somewhere in the chasm behind those demon eyes.

The smell of wet fur hit Jude first- earthy and sour as though it had been waterlogged for centuries. Then came a faint, creeping stench of something not quite dead but on its way there. For a moment she found herself back in the woods, trolling through sludge and debris, through water a deep dark shade of blood. For a moment she was back kneeling by the side of a wolf suffering through its eternal death.

It's here, Jude realised as a profound sense of familiarity washed over her.

Destiny's face had been draped in a sheet of deathly white skin, dark veins crawling up her neck and seizing her throat- snatching up her right to speak and claiming it for itself. She tilted her head to the side, the way a curious creature would examine something intriguing.

With a slow and guttural voice, so deep you'd almost have to strain to understand it, the wolf inside her spoke. 

"You were mine."

No anger seemed to course through its tone, instead a calm and almost sad sound infiltrated the room. It looked at her as though she were a loss to be mourned, a wonder never experienced, a life never lived, a soul never saved. If she looked closely, Jude thought she could almost see its eyes glisten, right before the light returned, and black ink reverted to white.

A retched noise sounded from Destiny's throat as the woman lurched forward, hurling up black bile onto the linoleum. 

Jude rushed over and pulled her hair back, rubbing her back while she got it out of her system.

When it was over she helped her out of the chair, and promptly steered her far away from the open bottle of vodka on the table. She brought the brunette to her room, slow and steady, and just like a mother would for her child, tucked her blankets in for her.

After all that, Destiny Rumancek had no visions to report. But Jude wasn't stupid- she could see the deeply disturbed look in her eye, the look of someone who had seen something vile beyond comprehension. It was a look that spoke volumes, more than the sheen of sweat on her forehead or the chills racking her body. It was a look of sorrow. 

So, Jude played along and did not ask questions. 

It was evening by the time she stepped outside.

A red jaguar idled by the curb, the golden chariot of the prince leaning against it. He fixed his face with a usual grin as the girl drew near, a grin that never failed to reel her in, no matter the mood.

"Any luck?" he asked, smoke spilling from perfect bow-shaped lips. He regarded her with a look concealing something beneath it- concern, for the uncertainty of her future? Hope, that answers would finally start showing up? Fear, that perhaps they never would. 

She shook her head, taking up his other side. 

"Fuck," he muttered, flicking ash onto the pavement. He didn't sound angry, not really. Just tired. His eyes, viridian and shaded with a concerning lack of sleep, darted around as if to find a focus point or a purpose. And then those eyes found hers, and then Jude felt like she was drowning.

Drowning in a sick sense of guilt, because she didn't have the heart or stomach to tell him she wanted to give up. 

"So, what do we do now?" he asked her, antsy in the wake of her silence.

She shook her head. She didn't have a clue. She didn't have a clue and didn't want to have a clue. Sleep, she wanted sleep. On the way home she closed her eyes and sidled up against the passenger side window.

She thought back to the dreams. To the wolf, to whatever had possessed the medium before. Jude couldn't shake the feeling that darkness and depravity wasn't the only thing Destiny had seen in her trance.

Nor was it the only thing hunting her.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

i did something

[woso-fan13]

Whumptober 2023: 15 (Barca)

No. 15: “I don’t need you to help me, I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

It was so easy to hide. Although you were usually relatively active on social media, you had a backlog of photos that you wanted to post. Nobody noticed that you were posting photos from previous months, and, if they did, nobody cared. 

You had mastered the art of ignoring a phone call and texting the person back after a few minutes apologizing for missing their call. Your teammates knew that you lived on a random schedule, it wasn’t hard to convince them that you actually had completely missed the dozen calls that you had received that day. You hadn’t, watching your phone screen, waiting for the call to go to voicemail every time. 

You called out of practice for the week, insisting that you were sick. Once this week had passed, there were a few scheduled days off. You could take almost two weeks to try and regain control over yourself. You were spiraling, but no one could know. No one would know. 

—-

A persistent knock grabs your attention. You had previously been zoned out in the living room for an undetermined amount of time. You try to ignore the sound and go back into your haze, but the pounding repeats. Again and again. 

Finally, you pull yourself up from the floor, making your way to the door. Expecting a delivery that needs to be signed for or a salesperson, you open the door without looking through the peephole. 

That was a mistake. A very mad Lucy Bronze is standing, hands on her hips. 

“Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N,” she says sternly, “where have you been? The whole team’s been worried about you, you’ve been ignoring us.”

You don’t respond, staring down at the floor in the doorway. Lucy grows more impatient. 

“I’m waiting. You better have a bloody good explanation, young lady.”

“I’m sorry.”

It's barely a whisper. It’s all you can say, but you know it won’t satisfy her. 

“You’re sorry?! You’re sorry?! No, you’re sorry when you hit someone with a football, or when you make a mistake. You’re not ‘sorry’ when you disappear. You’re not ‘sorry’ when you leave the team.”

Lucy is ranting at this point, her anger clear. Every ‘sorry’ she said was spit, mocking you harshly.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Lucy heaves a sigh, breathing in deeply. She’s trying to control herself, you know it. You would understand if she kept yelling. She should keep yelling, you have let everyone down. That’s all you do- constantly disappointing people. 

It’s silent for a moment, Lucy refocusing. She looks at you for the first time, really looks at you. She sees the lack of colour in your face- your normally rosie cheeks drained to an almost translucent. She sees the dark circles under your eyes, begging for rest. She sees the red rims around your eyes, sees the dried tear tracks. She also sees the fresh tears pooling, likely a result of her harsh words. 

Oh. She feels like a terrible bully. 

“Y/N, kiddo, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean any of that, I was just scared. No one’s heard from you in over a week, we were all worried. I shouldn’t have shouted, I’m sorry.”

You shrug, whispering, “it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she says firmly before lowering her voice to just above a whisper and repeating, “it’s not okay.”

Silence fills the air, neither of you know what to say. Lucy’s deciding how to best convince you to let her in, you’re deciding if it would be more effective to talk Lucy into leaving or to simply slam the door and lock it quickly. You’re leaning towards the second option. 

“Can I come in?” she asks. 

Every part of you is screaming not to let her in. Every part of you is screaming that if you let her in, she’s going to find out everything. Every part of you is screaming that if you let her in and she finds out the truth, she’ll leave you. 

And, yet, you nod. You step aside, letting her in. 

She smiles softly, stepping forward. She waits until you shut the door and turn to head back into the main area, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. She pulls you tight to her side, the touch firm. 

The two of you walk to the living room, settling on the sofa. It’s quiet again, the silence suffocating. But neither of you can say a word. 

“I’m okay,” you insist, knowing that’s what she needs to hear, “I can handle things myself. You should go.”

That was good. Maybe she would leave, walk right out the door. Maybe, maybe, if she walked out now, she could walk back in later. If she stayed, she would walk out and stay away. 

Lucy looks closely at you, as if trying to read you. 

“You’re not okay.”

You go to insist that you’re fine, but as your mouth opens, you’re cut off. 

“You’re not okay.”

And something, somewhere breaks. You throw towards Lucy, tears already dripping off of your face. You bury your head into her chest, your breath stuttering. She doesn’t know what to do. 

“That’s it, get it all out,” she says. 

She pulls you to be sitting in her lap, facing her as she hugs your body tightly. Your head is pressed into her neck, the skin instantly turning wet. 

“Good, get it all out. Nice, deep breaths. Good girl, big breaths. Keep taking those nice, big breaths. You’re going to be okay, everything’s going to be okay. I’m right here, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere.”

She continues speaking quietly to you, the words soothing. One of her hands is cradling the back of your head, the other running firmly up and down your back. The pressure helps calm you, and Lucy knows this. It’s also the reason that her cheek is pressed to the top of your head, grounding you. 

Lucy knows you. And Lucy’s here. She’s not going anywhere, firmly connected to you now. 

[volapuke]

Conlang Year Biweekly Update - I

Here it is (only 11 days late :3)

Days 1 and 2 - Goals for the language and for Sharing

My goals for this language are fairly simple. I wanted a simple yet unique sound system (i have ideas about it but i don't know how to express them, but I'll touch on it eventually, once I get the details hammered out), a complex grammar with features I don't understand, and for the language to fit a conculture that I'm working on (and will likely post about in the future *wink * *wink*). As for my intentions to share, obviously I will be posting about it here, but I also plan on posting about it through various conlang games (such as relays) and through reference grammars, stories, poems, learning materials, the exact details are undetermined as of now.

Days 3-9 - Conworld, Conculture, Conspeakers

This language's world should be quite familiar as it is spoken on Earth. Specifically, on an alternate version of earth where Atlantis is real (yes really). I personally dislike a lot of preconceptions of Atlantis that stem from hyperdiffusion conspiracy theories (ie Atlantis is the best ur-civilization that taught previously 'uncivilized' [read non-white] people how to do things) so my Atlantis is very Mediterranean-focused. The flora and fauna are similar to the Mediterranean and to the Azores and Macaronesia.

My fictional Atlantis, at its peak, is a broad and flat island with two mountain ranges, one along the western and coasts, and one along the eastern coast. The tallest peak is 2714 meters in the far northwest. The two ranges encircle a large, flat, well irrigated plain that served as the empire's breadbasket until it's disgraceful plunge into the ocean.

Speaking of the great wetting of feet, it took place over the course of about a quarter millenium, over which the entire continent sank an entire kilometer, which did not completely sink it, but very nearly did. The empire quickly collapsed and the almost 5-million strong population quickly fell to under 10% of that. This event, which was indeed divinely caused (I'll talk about the religion of Atlantis in a separate post), left a major impact on the culture of the Atlanteans. However none of that is immediately relevant to this language, as I am simply constructing the Proto-Atlantean language as spoken around 5000 BCE.

I have more ideas but they'll be answered soon (if there's anything you're curious about feel free to send me an ask).

Days 10-16 - Phonology

I settled on a pretty small phonology of 14 consonants and three vowels, which are:

Nasals: m, n

Plosives: ɓ, b, p, ɗ, d, t, ɡ, k

Fricatives: s, z

Liquids: r, l

Vowels: a, i, u

Diphthongs: any combination of two vowels (long vowels are valid)

I have a fairly regularized syllable structure but that will be shown in day 18, stay tuned!

[lightvixxen]

stress relief

So my amazing friend ceebs or @maladaptive-day-dreams convinced me to write a st x cm crossover and well...Hopper/Reader/Hotch was born.

SUMMARY: Hopper and Hotch are working late when they decide to have some fun with the shoplifter that got dragged into the station earlier that day

WC:3134

WARNINGS: spit roasting, degrading, MMF threesome, reader's age is not confirmed but she IS 18+, spoiled brat! reader, rich!reader, modern!st, choking, name-calling, basic cm shit. not proofread

The BAU was called into a small town of indiana, Hawkins to be exact, the run of the mill serial killer who had a knack for kidnapping. The team could already tell this was going to be a hard case, seeing as the killer didn’t seem to have a type.

“How long does he keep them?” Emily pipes up, the file was already hard to Figure out since there was apparently no specific time frame the killer stuck to. 

“As of now that is undetermined…the local police there doesn’t have a single lead despite how small the town is.” Hotch told her, “Which is the exact reason we’ve been called in. They’ve been dealing with most likely the same killer for years so they thought a fresh pair of eyes would be good.” 

“So they have basically nothing?” The team asks at the same time, and Hotch nods. 

“It’s definitely not ideal but we have delt with worse…” Hotch’s statement was met with a chorus of agreement, they have delt with worse evidence before. 

Once the jet landed the team immediately went to the Hawkins police department, not wanting to waste another second not solving this case. Walking into the department they were almost immediately met with a bustling space of police officers. As they stood there looking around trying to find anyone that could help them, they hear a deep voice from behind them. 

“You guys the BAU?” the voice asks, as they turn around they’re met with a broad man with facial hair, he was a little chubby but they could tell he was at least a little fit. 

“Yes we are, I’m Unit Cheif Aaron Hotchner, this is SSA Morgan, JJ, Prentiss and Dr. Reid.” Hotch introduces each of them, pointing to the respective person.

“I’m Jim Hopper, chief of police.” They do the routine of shaking hands before Hopper shows them where they can set up.

“So what do you know about the killer we’re working with?” Hotch asks, hoping that getting information out of the file they were giving would somehow help them. 

Hopper scratches his head “Only that he’s one sick son of a bitch, while the time he keeps his victims are undetermined…we never find them, its like they just vanish into thin air.” Hotch nods, “okay, yeah, that’s actually helpful.” Hopper nods, before leaving them to work. 

—---

It had Only been a week and the team and the entire police department were stressed out of their minds. Still no new leads, suspects, nothing, It was as if the Killer was a ghost or something. It was 2pm when they dragged in a screaming girl, saying something about how her father will bail her out. They dragged her back into a holding cell about 20 minutes later as they weren’t getting an answer from anyone they called. 

Hotch walked out to where Hopper was standing with his arms crossed, looking over some officers desk and at his computer. 

“Don’t forget this is her third time-” Hopper looked over to Hotch with a questioning look. 

“Who was that? A suspect or-” 

Hopper laughed at his question, “God no, that was y/n l/n, she has some sticky fingers and has gotten caught shoplifting about three times now…we call her our resident spoiled brat. She comes from a rich family that resides here in Hawkins.” 

Hotch’s eyebrows raised at hearing that you came from a rich family. 

“If she’s rich why does she feel the need to shoplift?” 

“Daddy doesn’t give her attention, never has, i’ve caught her flirting with multiple of my officers before aswell.” 

Hotch nods “The typical daddy issues story…of course.” 

—--

It was late, Hotch was at one of the open desks, he needed to get out of the confined office space that was the conference room they were set up in before he went crazy. 

He looked over at the clock that told him it was about 1:15. He sighed, looking over to where Hopper was. 

“Did anyone ever come and get that one girl that got brought in earlier?” 

Hopper looked up from the file he was focused on and shook his head. 

“Nope, we called her daddy probably 5 times and he didn’t pick up, my guess is he’s tired of bailing his troublemaker daughter out.” Hotch laughed at that, usually in rich families that is the case, especially if its already known she’s trouble. 

“You’d think he’d be trying to cover up her arrest by now” 

“Oh he did the first two times…but this time she got caught at a busy hour with hundreds of people watching and word travels fast in a town like this.” 

Hotch laughs and nods once again, going back to the file infront of him. Another hour went by before Hopper got up grabbing Aarons attention. 

“I’m gonna check on our spoiled prisoner? Wanna come? Stretch your legs a little…actually fix your posture?” Hopper asks him and Aaron agrees, getting up and following the other man into the holding cell area. 

You were sat on the bed that they placed in the cell, leaning against the wall and facing the bars, you had no idea what time it was but the lack of guards told you that it was late. You perked up and the sound of a door opening and the sound of footsteps approaching, you had hoped it was Hopper or one of the officers coming with your father. 

While the man that accompanied Hopper wasn’t your father you definitely weren’t disappointed. He was tall and broad, dark hair resting ontop of his head and a suit telling that wasn’t a cop, he was fucking hot, he practically oozed dominance, just like Hopper did, telling you he was in a positon of power. 

“Ooo who’s this?” you ask, getting up from your spot and walking up to the bars and leaning against them, hoping to get a better look of the mystery man. “You are definitely not a cop..” 

Hotch looks down at you, and heat travels straight to your core at the realization that even from behind the bars he still has to look down to see you. 

“Your right, i’m a FBI agent.” God even his voice was sexy, you bit your lip staring at him, before you turned your attention to Hopper. 

“Why are you guys here? Did daddy finally pick up?” you ask the two men, only to be met with a head shake. 

“You might be stuck here for a little while if your waiting for your daddy to bail you out.” Hopper told you and you groaned. 

“Then why the fuck are you here?” 

“Just to check on you, the routine.” 

You leaned against the bars once again, bored out of your mind. 

“Can’t you just…let me go? I mean you already know the bail and fine will be paid…” 

Hopper sighed, “You know damn well I can’t do that, its a good way to lose my job.” 

You pouted, giving him your best puppy eyes, 

“Pleasee Hop…I promise to be on best behavior when I get out, I won’t tell anyone, pink promise!” 

“No is the final answer sweetheart, Those puppy eyes have no effect on me and you know that. Also how many times have I told you not to call me that. 

While you were talking to Hopper Aaron finally got a good look at you, you were wearing a short white crop top that read ‘angel’ across your boobs, paired with an equally short pink skirt, if you could even call it that, it only came up to the tops of your thighs. 

“Can you at least let me out for a little bit? I’m bored out of my mind in here.” Aaron looked at Hopper, expecting him to say no and just leave it at that, instead he fished the cells keys out of his pocket and unlocked the cell. 

“Turn around.” he told you in a stern voice 

“Seriously you know I won’t-” 

“He said turn around, your lucky we’re even letting you leave this cell at all.” Hotch snapped at you, using the same tone Hopper had. You rolled your eyes before turning around and placing your hands behind your back. 

You felt warm hands before the cold metal of the handcuffs, you guessed it was Hopper because of how rough he was with your arms. 

“Ow! Too tight!” you whined when he tightened them, your back automatically straightening at the pressure on your wrists.

“They’re not and you know it, stop being fucking dramatic.” you heard Hoppers gruff voice from behind you before he escorted you out to the office area of the police department. 

“Sit” He told you, pushing you into the chair next to his desk, you did what you were told, just glad you were out of the dingy cell. Looking around the station you were able to stare at the FBI agent, noticing the obvious stress on both of their faces. 

“Hey FBI agenttt” you called out to him in a singsongy voice, grabbing his attention, once you were sure you had his attention you asked his name, since neither him or Hopper had mentioned it. 

“My name is Aaron Hotchner.” He told you with the most monotone voice you have probably heard come from anyones mouth. You smiled at him, before looking at Hopper. 

“Why can’t you be that nice to me? He actually gave me a clear answer without calling me a name…” you pouted and  Hopper looked at you before looking towards Aaron, “Because he doesn’t know how much of a spoiled brat you can be.”

“But I think I’m starting to learn.” Aaron chimed in, you gasped, looking at both men infront of you, 

“I’m not a spoiled brat!” you huffed, and the two men looked at eachother and Hopper laughed, 

“Thats something only a brat would say!” Hopper told you, and Hotch agreed with him. 

“I would cross my arms if I could right now I hope you know that.” 

“We know sweetheart, we know.” is all Hopper said before getting back to work, Hotch joining him and returning to the file he had been going over and over for hours already. 

Only a few minutes had passed before you spoke up.

“Are you sure there’s nothing that can get me out of here without my dad?! Seriously I’ll do anything! Please! Just name what you want!” you begged, tearing the mens attention away from their work, Hopper glared at you. 

“What part of no do you not understand? Were you never told it growing up?” 

“No” You giggled, “I got everything I asked for so I wouldn’t bother my daddy” you smirked at the dumbfounded faces on the two men. 

“Oh don’t act like your surprised my family is rich, we could afford the things I wanted!” 

“No fucking wonder your so spoiled, you got everything you wanted just by being annoying.” Hopper grumbled, and you just beamed. 

“And I’m very good at being annoying” You smirked again “So you should just let me go now, i’ll talk to my father when I get home and he can pay-” 

Aaron got up and walked to where you were sitting, grabbing a handful of your hair. 

“Or maybe we should just duct tape your mouth shut, that way you can’t bother us…or better yet…” He trailed off looking at Hopper, “We could use her as some…stress relief” 

Hopper smirked at his suggestion, “I think thats an amazing idea actually” You felt heat pool in your belly immediately and the hungry gazes that the two men gave you, “She’d probably enjoy it too, wouldn’t you sweetheart?” Hopper got up to stand next to Hotch, his hand grabbing your chin. You nodded quickly, if you weren’t going to be let out tonight this was the next best outcome, at least you wouldn’t be bored anymore. 

“Words pretty girl.” Hotch spoke up, letting go of your hair. 

“Yes, fuck yes, please” You once again begged. 

“You sound so much better when your begging” Hopper told you before yanking you out of your seat, forcing you onto your stomach over his desk. 

“Lets see…which end do you want first, Hotch? Mouth or pussy?” Hopper asked standing next to your figure. 

“I’ll take her mouth first, you’ve known the little slut longer, you deserve her cunt.” 

Hopper smirked wildly before taking his place behind you, flipping your skirt up he tuts when he sees the damp patch in your panties, “God you really are a slut, your already wet, love the idea of two men old enough to be your father using you?” You nod and he slaps your ass harshly, obviously expecting a verbal response. 

“Yes!” You don’t know you manage to even form a verbal response when Hotch is infront of you undoing his belt, his hands are so big they practically cover the entirety of the buckle and it has you fucking drooling. He’s only half hard and yet you can tell that he’s big. You already knew Hopper was big the few times he had to pin you against a wall just to put handcuffs on you. 

You already knew you most likely wouldn’t be doing a whole lot of talking after this…

Hotch taps your cheek with a mumbled ‘open”, you opened your mouth welcoming his half hard cock into your mouth, while Hopper ran his fingers through your wet cunt, he eventually sinks one finger into your waiting hole causing you to moan around Aarons cock, which caused the other man to groan. He tangled his fingers in your hair, beginning to fuck your face. 

Hopper added another finger into your hole, slowing finger fucking you, your muffled moans turned into slight gagging as Hopper hit your g-spot with his fingers at the same time Hotch forced his cock to the back of your throat. 

“You can take it.” Hopper told you before removing his fingers from your cunt, wiping his fingers against the skin of your thigh. Causing you to whine at the feeling. 

“Oh be fucking quiet, your lucky we’re even using you right now.” Hotch spoke up from above you, hearing Hoppers belt hit the floor and his pant being unzipped sent another flood of arousal through you. Wiggling your hips you couldn’t wait to be filled by his cock. 

Hopper pushed his cock into you and you felt your eyes roll into the back of your head, between Hotch’s cock and his you felt so fucking full, you really wished you weren’t handcuffed so you had something to hold onto. 

You practically shrieked around Aarons cock when Hopper bottomed out, almost immediately pulled out until only the tip of his cock remained in your cunt before pushing all the way in. 

The two men smiled wickidely as they heard you splutter around Aarons cock when they timed their thrusts together. 

“Fuuck Her mouth is fucking amazing…” Hotch mumbled, watching as his cock dissappeared into your mouth over and over again, “I’m not gonna last much longer…” He groaned as he felt your tongue run over a vein that was on the underside of his dick. 

“Shit me neither, her cunt is so fucking tight she’s practically sucking me in…” Hoppers hands were digging into your hips, sure to leave bruises that would last for weeks. 

The two men shared a look before they both pulled out of you, much to your distaste, you whined, almost begging for them to return to where they were. 

“No no, please, I was getting so close.” you tolf them, but the two men just laughed. 

“Too fucking bad, your just here to be a toy for us, you probably won’t be cumming tonight.” Hopper told you, settling infront of you and grabbing your hair, just like Aaron did. While the other grabs your hips lining himself up with your hole. 

“Now get to work” Hopper spat at you, using the hand that wasn’t holding your hair to line his cock up with your mouth. Aaron sunk his cock into you before you had a chance to welcome Hoppers cock into your mouth, a gruttal moan ripped through your throat before Hopper shoved his cock into it, hitting the back of your throat immediately. You got to work sucking Hoppers cock with the same enthusiasm that you did with Aarons. 

“Fuckkkk I’m gonna cum baby, want me to come in your mouth?” You tried you best to nod, looking up at the olderman infront of you. 

“Good, cause you didn’t have a choice.” It didn’t take long before Hoppers hips started thrusting into your face, forcing you to deep throat him and then still as he came down your throat. You took his cum as best you could, reveling in the salty taste. 

“God you really are a fucking whore.” He mumbled, pulling out of your mouth, “Now be a good girl and swallow.” And you did, you might’ve choked a little bit because as you did Aaron had decided that was a perfect time to move one of his hands down to rub your clit. 

Now that your mouth was free your moans fell freely from your throat, you couldn’t hold them back if you even tried. Hotch was bullying your cunt with each snap of his hips, his fingers making work on your clit, he had you hurtiling to the edge faster that anyone had. 

“Fuck, fuck, so good.” you moaned, eyes rolling back into your head, but it wasn’t enough, you needed more. 

“Fuck, choke me please.” you pleaded with the man behind you, the though of his hand wrapping around your throat too good to pass up.

“Oh she likes being choked does she?” the two men laughed at hoppers statement, the hand that was on your hip came up to wrap around your throat, cutting off your air supply. You were so fucking close to the edge. 

“I’m gonna cum! Please, please don’t stop!” you practically screamed out, Hotch grunted behind you, you took that as a confirmation that he wouldn’t. After a few more thrusts of his hips your body was convulsing, and a cry fell from your lips as you came, not even a minute Hotch followed, he buried himself deep into your cunt as he came. 

You were both out of breath as he pulled out, sweat dotting everyones foreheads and you laid limply across Hoppers desk, effectively fucked out. You felt one of the men undo your cuffs, Hopper picked you up gently. 

“Lets go get you cleaned up.” He walked with you towards the bathroom, Hotch following close behind and you smiled, cuddling into the older mans chest. 

“But do not think this night is over…we’re both extremely pent up.”

[tsunael]

— B A S I C S

Name: Tsuna Wasaishi (Refia bihn Deryaoglu). Nicknames: None for short. 'Darling' and 'princess' used in varying levels of sarcasm. Age: 32 at the start of ARR. 35-something in 6.x. Nameday: 10th Sun of the 3rd Umbral Moon (6/9). Race: Au Ra. Mixed Hingan and Hannish Raen. Gender: Female. Orientation: Bimaybe. Profession: Former geiko, warrior of light, and white mage.

— P H Y S I C A L     A S P E C T S

Hair: Black. Eyes: Heterochromia (blue/green). Skin: Fair. Tattoos/scars: No tattoos, no major scars (yet).

— F A M I L Y

Parents: Suzume Sui Wasaishi (deceased), and Kartal bin Deryaoglu. Siblings: Mihrimah bihn Deryaoglu (half-sister). Grandparents: Undetermined In-laws and Other: Ryne feels like family. Ameliance dotes on her like a mother. Pets: Chuchu, her chocobo.

— S K I L L S

Abilities: DNC/WHM. DRK but never utilized. Possible RDM. Hobbies: Reading, scrapbooking, textile work (embroidery).

— T R A I T S

Most Positive Traits: Compassionate, altruistic, hard-working. Most Negative Traits: Impulsive, quick to anger, melancholic.

— L I K E S

Colours: Rolanberry red, pure white, currant purple, Nophica green. Smells: Sandalwood, Brightlily, Walnut oil, fogweed. Textures: Dupioni silk, rushing water, mossy ground. Drinks: green tea, nigorizake, hot chai.

— O T H E R    D E T A I L S

Smokes: Yes. Drinks: Yes. Drugs: No. Mount Issuance: Chuchu, her company chocobo via The Adders, is a red chocobo that got mixed in with the clutch at Bentbranch. She was too feral to sell, and too terrifying to put down, but took a liking to Tsuna in a classic horse-girl movie kind of tale. Been Arrested: Almost. Fuck the Sekiseigumi.

Tagged by: @myreia !!!! Thank you so much! Tagging: take it 🫴

[arcadia-of-pluto]

|| Original Protagonist ||

Name; Y/n L/n

Nickname(s); Gemini

Hair; Long, black hair (default in-game)

Eyes; e/c

Birthday; yours

Evol; Anhausen Class Resonance Evol, Level undetermined

|| return to animus select ||

[desianarchist]

"it may not be surprising to also learn that physically, many institutions for those labeled as psychiatrically or developmentally disabled that closed down during the 1980s actually re-opened a few years later as prisons. Alabama turned three-quarters of its closed institutions (which closed in 2003) into correctional facilities (the fourth quarter’s use is undetermined). Illinois closed seven institutions, two of which became correctional facilities and a third a women’s prison. New York State had the absolute largest number of institutions in the USA, seventeen of which closed between 1970 and 2010. Most of them were left as is, with future usage undetermined, but at least two became correctional facilities"

L. Ben-Moshe, Disabling incarceration: connecting disability to divergent confinements in the USA

[distortedheart]

Help. indecision

[caeliangel]

: ★、L FAG LESBOY ICONS

250 x 250 : style , undetermined : fag lesboy

like / reblog if you use!!

[moreinterestingtimes]

Lycin was young in the grand scheme of his life, and he had power of his own already. He could always go back to the temple of Bhaal and wield it if he so chose, but being able to make connections to other powerful figures? Basking in their power and tasting it upon his tongue? That was something rather special. Since their own power was much less political, they enjoyed the fact that they could look somewhat ornamental resting on the lap of a mighty queen, knowing deep down that they were just as dangerous as her, that if needed, they could be deadly. However, now, the assassin simply leant into her touch as she stroked his hair, eyes falling closed as a soft noise of contentment coming from his throat. “Yes, it would seeking it is nearing that time that we should retire. I hate to leave your subjects wanting, but you must take time for yourself, your Majesty.” Not quite a lie, as Lycin didn’t care too much about her subjects, more focused on the selfish goal of being near Cereus and indulging in luxury, the luxury of fine things in a palace, the lixurt of power, and the luxury of pleasure. Looping an arm around her neck as he was picked up and carried, he considered how nice it was to be allowed to be dainty in some ways. So many were afraid of them due to their reputation and murderous, divine parentage, and yet Cereus did not fear to pick them up, to treat them roughly. It was enjoyable, something he punctuated by leaning into the crook of the Queen’s neck and beginning to kiss the flesh there.

closed w/ @moreinterestingtimes

Cereus' love life had been fraught to say the least, but since she and Lycin had been introduced, she was more comfortable than she had been in years. It had been years since someone was interested in her in a way where it was clear they didn't mean to steal her power but rather bask in it. As long as it took her to get used to it, she enjoyed just having him around, draped over her lap as she sat on her throne and made decisions over her domain. When her daughter wasn't around, it was nice to have someone to remind her when it was time to turn in for the day. With them sitting in her powerful lap like a prized piece of art for all to see, she kept better watch on the time and relax after a long night working. She gently stroked his hair, purring softly, "You've been very good tonight, what do you say we retire to my bed chambers and we unwind together," she asked, standing up, picking him up as she did, carrying him gently as if he was made of precious ceramics. Though she knew they weren't, she knew she could be plenty rough with them and they'd take it and thank her for it, truly enjoying her strength.

[betheckart]

Fanfiction

So here goes, I've been meaning to do this post for a while, so now it's done.

First, the first fanfiction with Beth Eckart (English and French versions). Undetermined couple, I'm waiting to see how things develop In the shadow of our ghosts.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/358017122-in-the-shadow-of-our-ghosts

https://www.wattpad.com/story/358017491-a-l%27ombre-de-nos-fant%C3%B4mes

Secondly, the second fanfic with Gideon Smith (English and French versions). Andrew Larson x MC male The breath of our soul.

https://www.wattpad.com/story/362007542-the-breath-of-our-soul

https://www.wattpad.com/story/362006815-le-souffle-de-notre-%C3%A2me

Beth will have two chapters a week, on Wednesday and Sunday. As for Gideon, I'm waiting until I have a few chapters ahead of me and for the moment I'm writing about him when I feel like it, so it's still irregular.

So there you have it, I hope you enjoy reading it.

[tiredtriedfailures]

Kazuma is VIVIDLY painted in his skills, behaviors, habits, choices, actions, reactions. insane. i GOTTA read the manga cuz bishamon+ their relationship doesnt have a fraction of its clarity to me. i get the main beats of their song, but if Kazuma is in 4k Bishamon and their relationship is at best 480p. SURE i see whats going on. but i cant see every pore on her face and every individual strand of hair now can i?

like its still undetermined to me how they love. the bdsm is VERY on the nose and THERE. leather clad. the man in the uniform being the only person she will ever take orders from. powerful woman only trusts and feels safe next to this one guy: more at 11. yknow?

but also very clear? is how INNOCENTLY and Tenderly and Softly theyre painted. both of these characters. P A S T E L. kazuma doesnt even have dark brown hair!! its a light copper! he died before finishing puberty! and the scary war god is a delicately sculpted GIRL!!!! like idk if its general babyfication and ugh. "anime culture" ill call it. hating maturity and obsessive attraction to "youthful" innocence figures. yuck. pdf file accusations. but like that part can still be interesting because the love between a god and a mortal, as passionate, forbidden, insanity inducing as it'd be, being stuck at 5 year old play-dates for thousand years is SO RICH in concept.

is loving a god BEYOND romance and sexuality? is it a whole new type of devotion? is it something you do with your heart alone? or do the mortals smear blood on everything they touch, cursing the holy, bringing down gods to their level and further down still, and fucking them on the dirt? BOTH!? neither!?

[justice4tarantulas]

"Poor little bug on the wall, ching... ching"

Rylie Lu

She/her/they

Official mascot (for now) & main character for my Harvey Town story (￣3￣)╭

Her trousers & boots are not wcif friendly, neither are the earrings 🤍

->Alliance: Harphie Orphies? ->Initials: R. D. L. (Rylie Dylan Lu) ->Alias/also known as: Lu, Dylan, Loo girl, or Buggy (by Reece) ->Employment: Freelancer artist

--Voice Claim--

->Birthday: 7th May ->Zodiac Sign: Taurus ->Aspiration: Friend of the world ->Sexuality: Undetermined

Traits: Warm-hearted (Clingy basically), Art lover, music lover, whimsical (loses touch with reality & basically a sim-certified freak lol), Cute.

Desc: School report

For some reason, we can't find anything about Lu from before year 9 but that could simply be because she got her name "Loo girl" around that time, as the saying goes: "Nobody wants to be friends with a nobody."

Of course this doesn't apply to her.

Lu is a complete social butterfly, she's hung out with both losers, jocks & cheerleaders, she tends to be aloof but nice. Ever since the beginning of year 9 (back in high shcool) Lu has found herself moving through various clicks, she hasn't stayed in any, to our knowledge but does seem awfully close to Weslie, though that might be a facade, as she is known to not stay in one friend group for long.

There have been reports of Lu, going to a house near the orphange where she lives with Lisa, & possibly associating with a guy named Reece? This could be well a rumor though, which brings us to her infamous name "Loo girl"

You see, ask any former Harvey & they'll know who Loo girl is, this is because in the middle of a conversation Lu would abruptly leave to "excuse herself", no one really understood this situation, but somehow no one questioned it either? Because she would come back, normal & continue like nothing happened, this stopped around year 10 but the name "Loo girl" stuck like glue.

Other facts!!!

+Rylie is mostly known as "Lu" instead of her first name Rylie! +She paints, plays the guitar, the piano & the violin. +Rylie's actual best friend is a guy named Reece (undiscovered) +She has a big secret.... +Rylie's close with Weslie because Weslie trusts her & confides in her, Weslie also sees Rylie as her bestfriend. +Some people call Rylie pretentious? +She gives me Ariana Grande vibes for some reason... +She's one of the youngest, Rylie is 18. +After school ended she's become sort of a homebody +Rylie never met her parents, she was left at the orphanage as a baby with Lisa & Geronimo. +Rylie has been at the orphanage the longest. +Rylie's half-sister is named Sade (Pronounced SHAA-DAY), she was given to the orphanage at age 2 with a note that said she was Rylie's cousin but Rylie regards her as a sister. +Rylie secretly enjoys rock music. +Has a weird obsession with vintage things

🐸🐝🐖

[primary-colors-no-more]

[CW: a little more swearing than typical. Centross is just like that)

this isn’t going to follow any aesthetic because idgaf atm

hey, I’m centross, I’m new here and it’s really weird. I’m going to sign of with either 🌙 or 🗡️💜.

I’m from the same source as Icarus, Sherbert, and Quixis. That means I’m a fictive (that’s such a weird word), though I’m vaguely similar to my non fictive version of Centross, idk it’s fucking wacky.

idk know my role but my pronouns are he/him, but you can also use he/they because I don’t care

From what I’ve meet of Leo, I’m meaner and harsher than them (guys they’re too nice, it’s getting weird). Icarus is sorta different from our source, but I’m one of their apparently several partners. Personality wise, I’d say I’m similar to Rose, but he’s a bit too rule follow-y for me.

I’m adult bug my exact age is undetermined, a little older than Icarus.

I swear more than most of the other people here. L to them honestly

neither Icarus or I can think of much else to add so yeah.