#lads parlor

[love-and-deepspace-wiki]

"Boss's Parlor"

Location: N109 Zone

Details:

When the protaganist has her first one-on-one interaction with Sylus, she's shown in a large room with Sylus sitting on a throne-like seat. The seat is on a platform elevated by three steps. To his left is a small table with a bottle and what looks like two glasses. Behind that table is a decorative item that resembles a planet with a ring (maybe a lamp?). To his right is an object I unable to identify.

(The left image is an unaltered screenshot, while the right has been both brightened and rotated for increased detail and an upright perspective)

When she expresses a desire to kill him, Sylus offers her a gun (top right), guides it to aim at his chest, and then helps her pull the trigger (bottom).

While he was certainly shot and appeared to be in brief pain, Sylus ultimately survived and tossed the gun away. This is the most we are shown of the room. All that is revealed is a corner of the wall, black marble flooring with stripes of white marble, and a glass on the table beside him.

(The left image is an unaltered screenshot, while the right has been brightened for increased detail)

When she awakens in the following this scene, Luke informs her that she had been taken from "Boss's parlor" to her current location: Onychinus' Base. So, the parlor is not located at the base.

[evilhorse]

How the old ice cream parlor has changed!

[ask-idv-shepherd]

There’s a soft knock on Pearce’s door, followed by a soft voice, belonging to the… usually elusive funeral parlor director.

“…Mister Pearce? I… heard you were having a bit of a rough day today… are you alright?”

( @the-oletus-parlor hehehehe )

Hearing the soft knock on the door, Pearce was about to growl before stopping. A different voice, one he wasn't accustomed to. Forcing himself up, the Shepherd wipe whatever tears remained.

Slowly opening the door, Pearce stared down at the funeral parlor. His expression was... uninviting, one with slight malice. Who was it harbored for? He wasn't sure, he did not care. Instead of a rain cloud, it was like Pearce was a raging thunder storm.

"I'm fine. Do you need something...?"

[loveyouprongs]

melting into you

grumpy sirius black x fem!reader

upcoming content: fluff, mentions of massages, mary is kinda a mean girl (sorry!) but only for two sentences

authors note: my first time writing for sirius and i kind of hateeee this but i also wanted to put it out anyway! despite any photos used in the header, it’s important that people of all races can identify with my work so please let me know if any of the descriptive language i use is exclusionary, i’m trying my best!

word count: 3k

masterlist

the chatter of the crowded pub immediately enveloped sirius as he stepped through the door. his body couldn’t decide if the various, loud voices were grating on him or if he was relieved to be able to get lost in the sea of bodies and finally relax after the long day he had. he glanced around the room, eyes falling on his group of friends all sat at their usual table in the corner. a seat was left empty, assumedly for him, and his gut twisted with something unidentifiable (or at least something he was trying very hard not to identify) when he saw your figure in the chair beside it.

you were a friend of james’ from work. well, near james’ work. you owned a little massage parlor, set up right across the street from the rugby field james’ trains at. sirius still remembers the day james first discovered you. james had practically melted into the bar stool, a dopey smile gracing his face.

“you look particularly happy after a day of training, mate,” remus remarked. james did nothing but let out an angelic sigh.

“alert the media lads, i can confirm heaven is real because i was just there,” james exclaimed.

“what the fuck are you on about?” sirius asked, not used to james’ relaxed state, it was… off putting. james was always either full of energy, or absolutely exhausted (from burning off said energy). sirius couldn’t remember the last time he saw his friend so at peace.

“this girl-” james started,

“i hope you showered before you came here then,” sirius quipped.

“not like that you dolt,” james remarked, “this masseuse, more like an angel, she just opened up a practice down the street from the field and my back was fucking aching after practice today so i popped in, and UGH,” james let out an almost pornographic sigh, attracting the attention of the other bar patrons.

“she couldn’t have been that good,” remus said.

“oh, but she is! i already scheduled weekly appointments with her! you guys should check her out, she’s really nice too.”

sirius rolled his eyes, “i think i’ll pass on some middle aged lady rubbing lavender on me, thanks, though.”

“she’s not middle aged, she’s our age! and you could do with some relaxation pads, you’re so bloody tense all the time. remus, you should give her a call,” james said, handing remus a pale purple business card, “she can help you with your joint pain.”

remus looked down at the card skeptically, he’d tried every single ointment, doctor, treatment, you name it, to help fix his, as his friends so nicely called it, “old man bones”, and nothing. but james was looking at remus with wide, pleading eyes and remus conceded, tucking the card into his pocket.

a week later, sirius, james, and everyone were hanging out at lily and marlene’s flat. “where’s remus? i thought he was coming with you,” lily asked sirius.

“beats me, i tried calling him twice this past hour, went straight to voicemail.”

“i know where he is,” james sung.

“oh yeah, where?” lily challenged.

“getting a massage!”

“james, no one likes massages other than you, and it’s becoming creepy,” sirius remarked.

“i don’t care! i bet you fifty, no one hundred, no two hundred pounds, when moony gets here, he’ll be singing her praises!”

“you can find out now,” lily said, as remus stumbled into the living room, the same dopey smile on his face that was on james’ last week.

“no way you went to james’ hippie-dippie massage place,” sirius said, the vanilla aroma coming off remus’ body already wafting through his nose.

“i feel amazing,” remus slurred, flopping onto the couch.

“jesus, you’re acting drunk!” marlene said, a disbelieving smile on her face.

“i feel drunk! like a jellyfish that’s had too much champagne, who can float around the ocean without a care in the world” remus said, staring into space, his grin practically splitting his face.

“i told you! she’s the best, i don’t know how she does it.”

lily and marlene started talking about going to see these “magic hands” for themselves and sirius just grumbled, sinking further into the couch watching remus roll around on the couch like a cat basking in a warm spot of sunlight, and even sirius couldn’t stop his smile, seeing his usually achy and in pain friend so at peace. even if he did look like a drunk jellyfish.

since then, everyone of james’ friends and family have had a session with you, each feeling so much better, physically, and thought you were the nicest girl this side of the city, so when james’ suggested inviting you to pub trivia one night, there were no objections. that night you floated in, a shimmery blue top and long white skirt donning your frame as you greeted everyone, but most you were already familiar with, except for sirius. and unluckily for you, you caught him on a bad day. a really bad day. his head was pounding and ears were ringing from already pulling a double at work, and frankly the scent of eucalyptus that clouded you was making him nauseous.

“hi sirius, it’s nice to meet you,” you spoke softly, the sound of your voice soothing his pounding head involuntarily. he responded with a not friendly, but not unfriendly hum of acknowledgement.

“i fear i don’t know anything about these categories,” you continued, looking at the blackboard above the bar that marked the trivia.

“bad day for you to join us then,” sirius said, and he expected you to take the hint but you just laughed, a tinkling tune floating through the air.

“oi, no it’s not! don’t listen to him, he’s just in a mood,” james assured, glaring at his always grumpy friend.

“i suppose you’re right,” you replied to sirius, your calm smile never faltering despite the now awkward air.

“we lose about half the time anyway,” remus spoke and your eyes visibility relaxed at the outward friendliness.

“oh right! didn’t you tell me that most of your back pain came from carrying the team?”

the group let out an echo of “heys!” at your question to which remus only laughed, “exactly.”

“how are you feeling anyway?”

“much better, that thing you did with my lower back, it really helped.”

“i’m glad,” you responded sweetly, and sirius again felt a pang of gratefulness flow through him towards you, for the relief you brought his best mate. only to be quickly drowned out by the annoyance of the day heightened, multiplied, by your and james’ exuberant energies. both loud, giggly, and for some reason every missed answer that you took in stride, rubbed sirius the wrong way. and don’t even get him started on the adorable ridiculous outfits you wore, made up of colors he’s never even seen before. so as you became a regular in their friend group, he kept his distance. you were nice enough, he’ll give that to you. always saying hello to him and asking how he’s doing, offering him a spot at your practice any time -to which he always declined- despite his standoffish behavior towards you. he already had a james, he didn’t need his twin, he didn’t think he could take it. your seemingly endless energy, joy, ability to talk, so the two of you just never grew close like you did with everyone else.

this didn’t stop the yearning, stomach twisting, desire to awaken whenever you were near. at first sirius thought he was sick. but one night when you were telling a story about an older man you were treating who fell asleep during your session, sirius couldn’t help but bark out a laugh and the pure happiness in your gaze made his heart melt instantly. oh, no. sirius thought, and immediately trained his face back into a neutral expression. but it wasn’t fast enough for james to miss it.

“so, i noticed something tonight,” james said as the two stood on the balcony, each nursing a cig.

“good for you, jamesy, tomorrow go for two things,” sirius replied with a smirk.

“hmm, funny. but i noticed how a certain someone was looking at a certain someone else.”

sirius didn’t dignify him with a response.

“oh, come on padfoot. it’s so obvious that you like her,” james goaded. sirius shot him a look that he hoped was indifference, but he could tell james could see the fear in it. the fear over if he really was being obvious, the fear of being vulnerable.

“i mean, obvious to me, she still thinks you don’t like her a bit,” james responded.

“i like her just fine.”

“i think it’s a little more than that, don’t you?”

“i don’t know what you’re making up in your head,” sirius snapped, taking a long drag, letting the smoke warm his nose as he blew it out.

“okay, so i’m just imagining all your lingering glances at her when she isn’t looking -and you called me a creep when i first met her, might i remind you!- and how you always get extra grumpy when some bloke chats her up at the pub.”

“i do not!” sirius retorted childishly. it was annoying, okay? how you would stand at the edge of the bar, waiting patiently to order a round for the table and men would just flock to you like moths to a flame. sirius couldn’t help but roll his eyes at their corny (and horny) pick up lines, to which you were always too nice about in response. he didn’t understand why someone would put up with that, but you never say an unkind word. it was annoying for that reason, only.

james sighed, stamping out his cigarette, “you just need to let yourself be happy, man, i think you would be really good together,” and with that james went back inside, the sliding glass door not closing soon enough for sirius to not catch your enchanting, tinkling, laugh.

back in the present, sirius let out a sigh, steeling himself for the night. “you made it!” james cried, throwing a tipsy arm around sirius as he sat down.

“happy birthday prongs, packed house, tonight,” sirius said, looking around the table that was more than just his usual friends, peter, thomas, and mary, all here, too. he felt a slight scowl creep up his face, he wasn’t the biggest fan of peter or thomas, and even more so wasn’t so fond of mary. he remembered back in school, she could always be a little stuck up. but she was the only one who could match sirius when it came to alcohol, so she wasn’t so bad to have around for a drink.

“hey sirius,” you spoke softly, your temple resting against your fist.

“hello,” he said back, letting his eyes quickly dance over your form. you were wearing a poofy pink dress that fell to about mid thigh, making you look kind of like a cupcake with legs. he’d love a taste. the thought entered his mind as quickly as he forced it away. the skirt of your dress partially covering a white bag crumpled under your thigh and being squeezed tight with your other hand.

sirius had an array of ready to go answers on the tip of his tongue for your inevitable asking of how his day went. “it was fine.” “not so bad.” “long.” but the question never came. you were staring at the large television screen playing an old recording of a rugby game from the eighties.

“didn’t know you were into rugby,” sirius murmured and it took you a few seconds to realize he was speaking to you.

“oh! oh, not so much, but this one is quite interesting,” you responded simply, eyes shifting back to the screen.

you regularly annoyed sirius, that part was true, but this time it was different. why were you acting so strange? how come the fruity drink in front of you was seemingly untouched? it wasn’t like you to be so… silent.

as the night went by, sirius grew more agitated. did some bloke take it a step too far before he got there? you were definitely present in the conversations being held around the table, never one to be rude, but you didn’t join in like you usually would and sirius noticed you were chewing your bottom lip almost bloody.

“is she your girlfriend or something, sirius?” mary asked as sirius was hanging by the bar, waiting for the boys and his drinks to be ready, eyes still fixed on you as he watched you listen intently to james’ story, the regular glimmer in your eye gone.

“what?” sirius responded, unsure as to when mary even showed up.

“that girl, you keep staring at her,” she said, lips wrapping around her straw as she also cast a glance at you, giving you the once over.

“no. no, she’s not my girlfriend.”

“i figured, i would’ve been really surprised had you said yes,” mary said with a laugh.

“and why’s that?” he hoped the defensiveness in his tone wasn’t noticeable.

a short laugh escaped her, “it would be like dating a child! james meets the oddest people, doesn’t he? before you got here, she was wearing this hat that was quite literally a birthday cake sprouting from her head, oh my god sirius you would’ve died laughing!”

sirius felt a simmering heat rise in his chest. your slumped posture and wilted disposition, the thought that someone was mean to your face, mean enough to make you clammer into a shell he didn’t even know you had.

“bring the drinks over won’t you, mary?” sirius tossed a few pounds on the bar and made his way over to you without looking back.

sirius halted as he stopped right at you, his tall body looming over yours. his feet must have moved faster than his brain because he had no idea what to say to you now, but you hadn’t noticed him there anyway, still absentmindedly nodding along to whatever the group was talking about, leg bouncing anxiously under the table, hand white knuckling what sirius assumed was the hat mary made you feel bad about.

“oi!” he let out, causing you to flinch looking up at him with wide eyes. nice going.

“sor-sorry,” he cleared his throat, “um,”

“are you alright, sirius?” when you say his name he loves the way it sounds.

“yes, i’m alright,” sirius said, soft in a way you didn’t even know could come from him.

you blinked up at him, eyes wide like you were looking at him from inside a fishbowl. “well… that’s good,” you said in response with a slight smile, confused as to why he suddenly started talking to you.

“don’t listen to mary, alright.”

“w-what?”

sirius sighed and plopped himself back into his seat next to yours, and it took everything in you to not look at how his black jeans hugged his thighs, or get lost in the earthy cologne he always wore. you had no clue why sirius and you didn’t click- and some days it irked you to no end, you had been nothing but kind to him, almost desperate for him to

shoot that charming, intoxicating smirk your way- but it seemed he never thought of you twice. (that still didn’t stop your thoughts from wandering to him and what the heat of his body would feel like if you were pressed against his side late at night under the covers.)

“don’t listen to her, okay? can’t stand to see you so… melancholy… its proper annoying,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact. both of you had heated cheeks.

“i’m not melancholy, sirius. i’m just glad i didn’t make a fool out myself,” you laughed awkwardly.

sirius rolled his eyes and twisted so he faced directly towards you, inadvertently caging you in his legs. your dusty pink flowing over his dark denim.

you felt your breath escape you as he fixed you with a look you’d never seen before, his brown eyes swallowing you completely. “you care too much about what people think,” he said astutely.

“what?” you sputtered.

“you need to toughen up.”

“o-okay?”

“you can’t- you can’t just let people push you around or make you feel badly about yourself.” sirius had no idea where he was going with this.

“i- i don’t feel badly about myself,” he could see right through you.

“oh sure, then why have you been sitting here all slumped over and mopey then?”

“i haven’t been mopey!”

“hmph! you literally look like fucking eeyore right now,” sirius quipped with a huff, his natural, sarcastic demeanor coming back to him, coated in flirtation?

you couldn’t hold back a laugh, leaning further into him, “well we wouldn’t want that, now would we?” you asked quietly, biting your lip.

“no. no we wouldn’t. but its too late now,” sirius said, reaching over your leg and snatching the crocheted hat out from under your leg.

“oh!”

sirius shook it out with flare and shoved it on his head, absolutely fueled with glee over making you smile, not having it in him to resist anymore.

“the birthday cake is mine, you’ll have to find your own.”

“you-look-a-maz-ing,” you said, each syllable punctuated by uncontrollable laughter.

“pads!” james gasped with a drunken squeal.

“what?” he grumbled, turning to his friend, his grumpy temperament back as if it never left, but it was impossible to take him seriously with the bright pink, triple tiered cake sitting on his head and his cheeks ruddy with blossoming, crackling chemistry.

“i’m the birthday boy! that should be mine!” james cried, flailing arms reaching to rip it off his head.

“not a chance, potter!” sirius declared, confidently throwing his arm around the back of your chair. he could feel you watching him from the corner of his eye and with wonderment you leaned further into the crook of his arm.

“sorry jamesie, i’ll crochet you your own, promise!”

[highinmiamiii]

NO FEELINGS - ch. 1

a billy butcher x reader story

years after a wild love in 90s London, Butcher runs into his past flame at that same grimy Nevada steakhouse he’d told Hughie about. Where he’d wanted to go with Len since they were lads. Tension, unspoken history, and unresolved feelings simmer as both grapple with what they've become.

(A/N): this is just a short little vague introduction. feedback is appreciated as always—let me know what you think! and if you’d like to be added to the taglist, just drop a comment. thank you for the support, i cannot wait to get really started on this. prelude chapter set in 90s london soon…

Butcher slid into the worn leather booth of the topless steakhouse, the place he’d told Hughie about. The one he’d always wanted to visit with Lenny. He wasn't sure what drove him here now, maybe the weight of unfinished promises, or the itch of an unfinished life, maybe a celebration for finally having the key to end this all. Kessler—his ever-present darker conscience—sneered from across the table, leaning back like he owned the place.

“Celebratin', are we? Makin’ a toast to not being a dead man... yet?" Kessler’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Maybe crack a cold one open to that virus, eh? Damn good reason to have a drink.”

Butcher ignored him, waving down the waitress instead. The place smelled of grease, burnt meat, and the faint, familiar scent of desperation—Nevada in all its glory. The steakhouse was a dive. Dim lights, gaudy neon signs, waitresses in barely-there outfits serving patrons who barely looked alive. It felt appropriate, a place where he could fade into the noise and booze.

His mind kept drifting back to Lenny, to the promises they made as boys. But Lenny was long gone, and Butcher was still here. Breathing. Existing. Barely.

“What’s the point, mate?” Kessler drawled, a smug grin tugging at his lip. “You’ve come this far, might as well end it on a high note. Wipe ‘em all out—‘every last one’ like ya said, whoever’s left. Ain’t no room for savin’ the day, Billy. That ain’t you.”

Butcher lit a cigarette, ignoring the imaginary weight of Kessler's presence. He hadn’t come to make decisions tonight—he just needed a moment to exist outside the war he was fighting, the war inside himself.

That’s when the waitress appeared. He barely looked up from his drink as she spoke. A raspy, tired voice offered him a menu, but it wasn’t her voice that caught him—it was the ink on her arm.

There, on her inner upper arm, was a faded “Never Mind the Bollocks” tattoo. The same damn Sex Pistols tattoo he’d drunkenly convinced the girl who he’d thought would be the love of his life to get years ago in London.

The memories hit him like a punch in the gut.

🇬🇧 London, 1990s 🇬🇧

They’d met at some dive punk show, a dingy pub filled with misfits, and she had been the loudest voice in the room. She wasn’t British, that much was clear. Her accent, her defiance—everything about her screamed rebellion. She’d saved for years just to get to London, to live the life she’d always dreamed of. But the reality was different. Money was tighter, dreams crumbled under the weight of the city’s indifference, and the romantic notion of freedom faded with every job rejection and overpriced rent.

Butcher had been drawn to her fire—an American girl with grungy style and stubborn resolve. She reminded him of himself. Bold. Fearless. But unlike him, she still had a dream. That dream had kept her going.

They’d spent nights stumbling through the streets of Camden, getting drunk on cheap lager, ranting about the world’s injustices. And then one night, after too many drinks and too many laughs, he’d dragged her to a tattoo parlor.

“Go on then, love, don’t be a priss, get the ink. Bollocks to it,” he’d slurred. And she had. The tattoo was a reminder of their wild nights, of a time when the world felt theirs to conquer.

But then Lenny had died. His world crumbled. Butcher became a ghost of himself. He stopped answering her calls. Stopped showing up. Not because he didn’t love her—but because the weight of grief suffocated any connection he’d had to the world, to her. Seasons faded, savings ran out, friend groups grew apart and suddenly she was back in the states, no sign of his presence or existence in sight but the small reminder of what they had, or rather, what could’ve been, on her left arm.

He looked up at her now, and something in his chest tightened. She didn’t recognize him—not immediately. He looked different. Older. Weathered. And she? She’d aged too, but there was still a flicker of that fire behind her eyes, dulled perhaps, but not gone.

Butcher felt Kessler smirking at him from across the table, his voice low and mocking. “Well, well... Looks like fate’s a real bastard, huh? Fancy seeing her here. What’s next, a reunion? Gonna sweep her off her feet again? You ain’t that guy anymore, Billy. We both know it”

He wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

The waitress set his drink down, her expression neutral, maybe a little bored. But her eyes lingered on him for a second too long. Butcher’s gut twisted. Did she know? Or was it just a flicker of memory, a hint of recognition buried beneath the years?

He offered her a smirk. “Nice ink.”

she cocks her head back, taking a long deep breath, knowing he’s likely noticed by now as much as she didn’t want him to. she’d spent so long trying to erase him from my memory, she felt so foolish for letting myself fall so deeply in love with him all those years ago. she rests her hand on her hip and adjust the very thin white tank top they had her working in, thank god no one had tipped me enough to take it off yet, this place was fucking dehumanizing. even more embarrassing to see butcher here after all these years, she never thought she’d see him again, thought they’d be separated by continent for the rest of time. Her eyes flashed, but she didn’t bite. “Old mistake,” she said, her voice clipped, as if daring him to say more.

“Looks like she remembers,” Kessler snickered in his head.

Butcher leaned back, taking a slow drag from his cigarette. “Aren’t we all just walkin’ mistakes?” He said with a deep sigh.

She didn’t answer, just shot him a look—a look with all the bitter undertones he deserved. But she didn’t say a word, and as she walked away, he could feel the weight of the past settling in the pit of his stomach.

“Last thing she wants is to hear from you again man” Kessler’s voice taunted in his ear.

Maybe. But for the first time in years, Butcher wasn’t sure he wanted to.

She walked away, heart pounding. She knew. God, she knew the moment she saw him. Those goddamn eyes and stupid cocky wide smirk she’d fallen for all those years ago. The snarky demeanor that kept her going until one day he was gone. The way his eyes widened when he saw the tattoo was a dead giveaway, but it was the way he carried himself—the same stoicism, the same haunted look behind those eyes. Billy Butcher, of course. Great.

She’d spent years trying to forget. And now here he was, like some ghost from the past, sitting in the sleaziest steakhouse in Nevada, looking like death warmed over. Part of her wanted to slap him, to scream at him for leaving, for abandoning her without a word after Lenny’s death. But she knew she had gotten too attached. It’d been what, a year together? How dumb of her to think or believe that it would’ve ever been more than a fling. She had to come back to America eventually, they both knew the jig would be up soon, she just hadn’t expected it to end so abruptly.

So instead, she swallowed the lump in her throat, wiped the grimy table next to his, and said nothing.

This wasn’t London. She wasn’t the girl she used to be. She’d been young, stupid, and hopelessly in love. Now she was just... tired. Working for tips in a place that smelled like old beer and regret, serving men who didn’t care enough to look her in the eye. This was what her life had come to. And seeing Butcher again only twisted the knife deeper.

But no. She wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he’d hurt her. Not yet. Not ever.

Butcher watched her walk away, a strange heaviness settling over him. The memories of London were sharp, but the reality in front of him was sharper. She’d changed. So had he.

“So what now?” Kessler whispered. “Stick around? See if you can fuck things up again? You’re real good at that, ain’t ya?”

Maybe. But something in him, something deep and stubborn, made him want to stay. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was something worse. Whatever it was, Butcher wasn’t leaving Nevada. Not yet.

He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray, his eyes following her as she disappeared into the back. Whatever had brought him here tonight—fate, coincidence, or just bad fucking luck—he wasn’t walking away from it.

Not this time.

current tags: @sickforbillybutcher

[pricegouge]

very quick companion/prequel piece to this

cw: brief descriptions of sex, power imbalance i guess

Simon's not well enough adjusted for a job like this. 

It had been an easy enough position to lie his way into when he'd been on the lam and desperate for a place to lay low for a while, while still keeping his belly full. Tie a few knots and pen a few docile little creatures who've never even seen the south pasture, and everyone believes you're a trained stable hand. Free meals, free cot. Even a few house maids would warm his bed if he behaved himself long enough to pass as a good christian who'd make honest women out of them. Easy enough when the birds were barely even literate, harder when the employers themselves were the devout sort who took notice of each of the help's comings and goings because they were too proper to suffer a whore under their roof. They watched their flock like hawks, strictly enforcing curfews and dress codes and wing assignments. Simon couldn't even eat in the big house, let alone spend the night. And forget about luring the birds out, the owner of the place sat up in the parlor all night reading verses aloud and denouncing anyone who tried to sneak out for so much as a smoke.

But the young one - the son. He was worse yet.

Blue eyed and well built, covered in the kind of dense stubble that could lend him a sort of roguish charm if he could risk his place in heaven long enough to roll his sleeves up past his wrists, John MacTavish was a maid's fantasy in the flesh - and completely wasting it. Too devout, maybe. Too inexperienced to know when a bird fancies him, more like. Either way, Simon feels himself creeping closer to an edge he knows all too well every time he watches good ol' Johnny denies himself a night of proper relief.

He's two months into the job and one flustered employer incident away from stealing an heirloom rifle from the big house and putting Johnny out of his fucking misery when Simon decides he's had enough of listening to this ungrateful little git put down pretty serving girl after pretty serving girl in favor of a Lord that would never love him. Finding Johnny in one of the field houses berating a hand for sloth of all things, Simon sends the young boy scarpering with a particularly well aimed scowl and corners the little lordling with a subtle shuffle of feet designed to lure him into a sense of dominance until it was too late; until Simon had him on the stall wall, flustered and red and spitting mad.

He's not hard to subdue, all things told. All that Catholic rearing makes him eager to please. Simon calls him Johnny, like the head of the house does. Johnny's big eyes turn pleading when he asks what Simon wants, as if requesting guidance. 

Who is Simon to deny his employer?

"Just like that, Johnny," Simon encourages, cock rammed so far down the lad's throat he's not surprised when his pretty blue eyes start leaking tears. "Just like communion."

It's not, but that doesn't stop Johnny needing it anyway.

He seeks Simon out nearly every day, keeps him from his chores. Simon doesn't give a shit, keeps a bag packed under his cot just waiting on the day the head butler sends him off. He never does, kept in line by Johnny's sway, probably. Simon tests his limits, decides he's above reproach when he spends an entire day lounging on a large rock in a brook past the east gate and catches no flack.

"Cock that good, pup?" He asks Johnny later that night, the younger man bent over a bay of hay in the small barn like a loose little housemaid whore. He whines like one too, his hoarse voice carrying enough to keep even the most intrusive stablehands at bay. No one besides Johnny's ever enjoyed being part of Simon's sins, after all.

"You make me untouchable, did you?" He's referring to his position, how he's starting to believe he could posture himself as head butler come the morning and they'd just let him. But the way Johnny looks back over his shoulder at him is far too intense.

"Anyone else touches you, they'll never work again."

It's good until it's not. Novel, at least. Simon's never been the favorite pet. He entertains it for as long as he can bear, but he's had enough pets of his own to know it's not a position he can manage. Like the job itself, he's not well enough adjusted; and a misbehaving dog is a kept dog all the same.

Getting Johnny properly under his thumb is harder than he expects, the man too well suited for his position in life. Properly groomed for it by his father. The solution is so obvious it nearly draws a proper laugh from him when he sees you fawning over the boy one day through the kitchen window, servile and sweet - eyes lowered in submission. 

If Johnny needs to keep someone, who's Simon to discourage it? The good Lord knew he'd never been swatted on the nose for the same. Better just to give the boy something to chew on other than his own arm.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Twist of Fate; Chapter Nine

Pairings; LADS OT4 x reader

Word Count; 3,530

Themes; isekai, eventual smut

Rating; 18+ for swearing and some mature context

Notes; Final chapter for the weekend unless I'm feeling crazy and I post chapter ten on Saturday or Sunday- which could be possible. I will apologize up front because reader is annoyed with Kieran and Luke at first, but I want to make this as realistic as possible. I feel like any normal person would be a bit on edge and snappy during this whole ordeal- and also understandably scared of Sylus. I love him so much but he would come off as scary at first, even if we know he's a teddy bear. I also added some flower language, because I feel like Sylus and flowers go hand-in-hand (like Hades and Peresephone).

Another reminder, Sylus's emoji is ❤️

Prev || Next

Masterlist

“She won't be sleeping forever, right? She's been unconscious for a day now. Shouldn't we try waking her up?”

“Easy! Just open up a hole in the back of her head. Drill a hole in her neck and…”

Your eyes sluggishly open. Your hand still felt numb from the gun's recoil. You clench your hand into a fist a few times before looking over at the two men in the room who immediately hide the darts and drills behind their backs. You sit up, rubbing your temples, “You two-”

“You're seeing things. I'm the only one here. There is no “two”.” The man with the left horn piercing says and you raise a brow with a scoff, shaking your head as you take note of the room you're in.

The room was old and empty, dust lining mostly everything in sight. It was dark. A black-grey cotton blanket hangs off the bed frame. Once you're done looking at the room, you point to the right horn piercing man behind the first one. “Then who's that?”

You're clearly not amused and not in the mood to be gaslit.

“My soul can leave…my body…” and the right man sticks his hands through his chest, convulsing his body and you use all of your strength to not pull your hair out. “Are you stunned? Shocked? Boooring.” The right one says and you're really not finding where the joke begins and ends.

“Ahem…Hi Y/n. Before you left boss’ parlor..well, we already met. Four days ago to be exact.” Left piercing says and then right piercing continues, “We didn't just save you from that ungrateful traitor. We also brought you back to Onychinus’ base.”

“So…do you want a thank you?” You tilt your head to the side, feeling a headache coming on but you notice the wounds on your knees were well taken care of so you try your best not to take your anger out on them. Even if the twins were sent by Sylus to keep an eye on you.

While you were mentally prepared for this situation, finding yourself actually in it was a whole different ballpark. You were definitely in over your head.

You think back to what happened after you shot Sylus..

Your ears rung from the gunshot and the smell of smoke filled the air. You were finally able to have control over your actions and you immediately asked if he were crazy.

“You wanted to take my life and so you've taken it.” He held a hand on the muzzle of the gun, breathing a bit heavier now that he had blood on his face. He tossed the gun to the side, letting it clatter to the floor. “Now what? Have you already figured out how you'll pay me back?”

You were too busy in panic mode. “You can't die yet.” You pat your hand over his chest before placing both of your hands over the gunshot, worried on how you'd stop the bleeding but Sylus takes a hold of your wrists, “Why? Are you worried about me?” He chuckles, his red and black evol energy swirling under your palms. Then, he sits up. “Save that for the day you actually succeed in killing me.”

As you looked down at your shaky, bloody hand, you realized the blood faded away in a black smoke until your hand was clean.

“We know what you're thinking,” the left twin, named Luke, pulls you out of your thoughts. “But after being hunted down in the Nest, do you know how many people are out there looking for you?” “And even if you escape, you'll only get lost in the chaos of this no-man's land.” Kieran, the right twin, adds.

Did you really want to leave? It would be a good option but definitely not a smart one. Sure, you're a bit traumatized..thinking you killed a hot man and also that little voice in your head, but leaving? But if that's what they assumed then it's clear what you should be trying to do to follow the game as safely as you can.

“Wanderers will eat you up…and they also won't leave behind any crumbs so-” Luke keeps trying to say things to make you stay. “Stay here with our boss!” Kieran decides to join Luke as they say it together.

Did they…somehow think you and their boss had a thing for each other? How could they get such a wrong idea…though you wouldn't be opposed to it, you're still currently scared of him. Scared of the situation at hand.

“Throw away all morality and compassion, and this place will be a paradise!” Kieran and Luke are still talking. They sure yap a lot. “By the way, who's older? You two are basically identical twins,” you ask, trying to throw them off. “Take a guess.” Luke immediately bites the bait. “Could you come closer so I can get a better look?” You softly question, trying to seem as calm and innocent as possible.

Which seems to work, since Luke walks closer without even an ounce of suspicion. When he's within reach, you pull out a laser pointer and hold it against his neck so you can threaten him. “Hey- What're you doing!?”

“Hmm have you heard of the XT-7, the Hunters Association’s latest weapon?” You raise a brow, thumb hovering above the trigger of the laser pointer. “It's a high powered laser that can penetrate your skin and vaporize your blood. The good news is its quick and painless but…the bad news is that you'll be losing a lot of blood. Are either of you squeamish?” You shoot them an innocent smile.

The two of them fall silent before Kieran opens the door and moves aside. “Did we say you weren't allowed to leave?”

You blink a few times, pressing your lips into a thin line. Damn you and your overthinking. Gosh, that's embarrassing.

You clear your throat and step into the dimly lit hallway with both of the twins, trying to brush off your threats from earlier. “Okay, just go straight down the hall and you’ll see the exit.” Kieran says, pointing to a door as you let go of Luke, who rubs his neck and promptly rushes over to Kieran’s side to hide behind him.

Though his gaze was still on the laser pointer in your hand. It’s a shame to let it go since you had gotten it for Estelle or Leo but…”Do you want it?” You ask him with a raised brow before you toss it toward him, “Here.” Luke, who is clearly surprised, catches it, “Really? That’s very nice of you to just give away a hunter’s secret weapon.” “It’s…a laser pointer,” You cover your mouth with a hand as you laugh. “You…-” You hear the slight embarrassment in Luke’s voice.

You flash a playful smile at him, moving to step in front of them both with your hands behind your back. “Did I ever say it was the XT-7?” Your laugh slightly rings out in the empty hallway as you get further and further away from the twins, who began whispering between each other behind you.

“How far do you think she’ll get? Thirty meters?” Luke whispers to Kieran, who chuckles, “I bet not even ten steps.” “I’ll…say five then.” Luke retorts, always trying to one up his twin.

Their voices slowly fade into the background as you kept walking down the hallway. You lift your arm up to look at your hunter’s watch, a bit surprised that they left it on you but then you realize it has no signal. Great. A sigh escaping your lips. Of course, it wouldn’t be that easy. The corridor before you is completely dark save for a few lights littering the tops of doorways, feeling almost like an endless tunnel or some kind of catacombs. While you really didn’t expect them to be kind enough to show you the way out, leaving that room could already be considered progress. At least, the most progress you’ve made since being here.

There are several, small crystal vases on the shelf by the wall. The drooping flowers in them have already withered which is a shame since they would’ve been so pretty. You notice daffodils- also known as a narcissus flower, poppy flowers, honeysuckles, baby’s breath, and a singular red rose.

You knew a tiny bit of flower language, having noticed a sign on the wall in Jeremiah’s flower shop a few days ago and from how much you were into Greek mythology in your past life. Narcissus flowers were what distracted Persephone before she was taken by Hades, poppy flowers mean ‘I am not free’, honeysuckle means ‘devoted affection’, baby’s breath means 'everlasting love', and red roses mean ‘I love you’. You were unsure of how to interpret any of that, but the narcissus flowers stood out to you most. Sylus really did feel like Hades…so would that make you Persephone? He was the leader of the underground, the N109 Zone…

On the other side of the vases is a black bird, a crow. It’s perched on a marble pillar that’s half as tall as a human with its metal wings tucked in. Was it just a statue? You weren’t so sure since you did recall seeing a crow fly onto Sylus’ shoulder whenever you first met him. Its eyes appear to be made of rubies. They glow with a lustrous yet haunting hue in the darkness. Its eyes suddenly move, fixing its gaze on you without blinking. You jump a bit, placing a hand over your chest as you narrow your eyes. Was this thing really alive? You take a deep breath and reach toward it to make sure whenever it suddenly spreads its wings and flies toward you. Its razor sharp feathers narrowly miss the top of your head as it passes through the thin gap of an open door. To pass through the corridor, you’ll have to go through there so maybe it was trying to show you the way? You hesitate for a moment, deciding to follow the crow after a few seconds since you had nowhere else to go.

Melodious classical music seeps out from behind the door, making the corridor even more peaceful- though a bit creepy. A relaxed male voice rings out amidst the graceful song. It feels akin to hearing a monologue behind a curtain.

“...they plan to implant protocores into human hearts. Then they’ll insert the human consciousness into wanderers. Their little project has a name. The Fountain of Atei..” The unfamiliar voice says and you can hear Sylus’ bored voice from the room. “You should know I’m not interested in other people’s business..and Mephisto said you lied. You’re not even telling me everything. It’s a shame you threw away your last chance.”

Mephisto? Why does that sound familiar…Anyway, you assume that man is probably about to die soon.

“No! Please forgive me…You can still use me as a tool! I…” “Our deal is over. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to entertain a more important guest.” Your body tenses up and you internally curse. If you’ve learnt anything from watching movies, then you know he knew you were behind the door. You strain your ears to try and listen to more but the pleading voice is gone, almost as if it were never there in the first place. Nothing but silence remains.

Then, the music that was playing before transitions into a more gentle song played by string instruments. “Aren’t you going to come in?” You hear Sylus ask and you know he’s not talking to anyone else but you. The twins sent you in this direction for a reason.

You grumble under your breath before stepping into the room, pausing as you enter it. The room was beautiful from the clean, white tablecloth to the silverware sparkling under the light to even the ice bucket with bottles of red wine. The gory scene you envisioned wasn’t here. Inside this calm room, it was almost like the other man inside never even existed, vanishing without a trace. You suddenly felt…hungry? How could you feel hungry after hearing all of that? Sylus waltzes over to the table, picking up a decanter and stepping over to your side as he pours you a glass of wine. One of your hands grabs onto the chair in front of you, squeezing on it to try and level your head as it felt like a crushing weight was pressed down on top of it. The same suffocating feeling you felt earlier trying to resurface as one hand darts out to grab a knife from the table.

“This will be useful for defending yourself in the N109 Zone.” Sylus lets out a cold chuckle as he places a familiar gun on the table. “Are you trying to mock me or something?” You raise a brow at him, grip tightening on the knife in your hand. “I’m giving you a way out.” He states as if it's clear as day what he means, “Since you can’t escape, why don’t we make a deal?” You take a shallow breath, drinking the wine in your hand as if to steel your nerves for what comes next. “Onychinus’s modus operandi is buying and selling by force. Too bad, I’m not interested.” At least, you have to act not interested since it would be out of character for you to openly accept this without having some big reason. You drink some more wine, feeling the burning in your stomach as it was stronger than you thought but you couldn’t stop drinking. You felt too hungry, too thirsty. It’s as if you were trying to numb yourself with this sensation.

“As long as you have desires, there will always be deals to make,” Sylus says as he tucks his thumbs in his pockets. His crimson eyes full of malice as he flashes a hint of a smile. Your gaze down to his smile before noticing how his tall figure blocks out some of the light…his right eye starting to glow once more. He’s got to be using some kind of power and when he uses it, you’ll be in a daze and experience auditory hallucinations.

“So many days have come and gone. You should know your own desires by now,” Sylus says as he twirls a coin around in his hand, flipping it into the air. You press your lips together in a thin line. You had a few thoughts, sure. A few desires. Some you’d rather not admit aloud. Okay, more than a few actually but that’s beside the point. What does he even want to know? “Only I can give you what you want.” His voice drops to a whisper, dripping with an emotion you can’t describe. Your hand clenches into a fist as you clear your throat and turn your head away. You wouldn’t lie, that did sound hot, but you knew he wasn’t talking about where your mind went. “And you will agree to my terms.”

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut for a moment as you refuse to be controlled by this man. “What terms?” You ask, stepping closer to Sylus as you hold your head up high to look up at him. Your head tilting to the side. “You just want me to resonate with you, right? You know what,” You shake your head with a sharp laugh, “Sure, I’ll accept this deal. It’s not like I have much leverage in this situation anyways. I resonate with you and you give me the aether core from Onychinus’s auction-'' You grab onto his hand. His fingers are long and his palm is cold, even touching his hand faintly brings forth a sense of dread.

“Release me. You can’t do that just yet.” He sighs, shaking his head and you let out a huff, “Don’t move!” You look up at him with furrowed brows, being spurred on by your want to hurry up and leave. Trying to find a hint of emotion or anything on his face and for a moment, a complex and incomprehensible struggle appears in his gaze. What could be the reason for that? Where does the power in his right eye come from? Why does it feel so oddly familiar to you? Is it related to the aether core? Time passes ever so slowly, silence filling the room. “Why is it..” You murmur under your breath but you refuse to give up, gripping his hand tighter as you try to focus on resonating with the man. It was never this difficult to resonate with the others, so why wasn’t it working now? The invisible pressure swelling around you becomes stronger and the alcohol inside you was gradually subsiding as you slowly realized you made a very dangerous move.

You blink a few times and let out a small, awkward laugh. “Ah…” You straighten your posture and quietly try to let go of Sylus’ hand and yet for all his denying from earlier, he grips your hand more tightly, not allowing you to pull away from him. “Maybe…I’ve been too kind to you.” His voice deeply drawls as he keeps a firm grip on your hand. You couldn’t even try to pull away if you wanted to now. “You- let go!” Your cheeks are puffed up in a pout, not even noticing how comfortable you’re getting with him.

“Even if you keep holding on to me like this, I can’t resonate with you. It’s not something I can just do on a whim! I could do it so easily with…” You stop yourself from finishing your sentence and Sylus raises a brow, “Hmm…after all that arrogance, it seems like you can’t even control your own evol.” “...at the very least it doesn’t want to be activated in front of you,” You murmur under your breath as you pout, lowering your gaze away from him. Though once you look back up at him, you notice his gaze is on your interlocked hands. He stares at them blankly for a few minutes before he finally begins to let go. You rub your wrists and take a few steps back, your breathing and heartbeat gradually returning back to normal.

You both were at a standstill. Then, with a thoughtful expression, he leans back in his chair and looks at you. “Just as I thought. You’re too weak.” He rests his hand under his chin with a thoughtful expression on his face. Is everyone in the N109 Zone weird? Because you like to think you’ve gotten a considerable amount stronger, especially since you’ve been training for two months now. Sylus pinches the area between his brow, then raps his knuckles against the table. “Eat as much as you want.” He says those words like he’s giving out an order that won’t be questioned.

You look over all of the food on the table, suddenly being reminded of the Hades and Persephone myth. The specific part where if you eat the food of the Underworld then you’re trapped there. Your gaze lands on an oddly coincidental pomegranate on the table. “What? Are you..” The word ‘insane’ hovers on the tip of your tongue, but you force yourself to stop talking. You turn to look back at the long, seemingly endless table behind you. It is certainly filled with a wide variety of food but the lavishness of it is almost dizzying. Any other time it would probably be quite attractive for a man to be showing off his wealth like this but you’re unsure of how to feel since you don’t know just where all of this wealth came from.

“I’ll give you ten minutes. After you’re done, come find me outside the base’s entrance. You better hope our deal is successful. Otherwise, consider this your last meal.” You tense up as Sylus walks past you to leave the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

You let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding and drop to the ground, your knees giving out. “Jesus christ…” You mutter, exasperated. This was not normal at all. You weren’t sure how you were going to be able to get used to any of this but you can’t ponder much on it as you feel a buzzing in your pocket. “What-” You reach in and pull your phone out. Why the hell did you still have your phone? You check your new messages and see one from a random number, getting flashbacks to the unknown number before you woke up in this world but turns out, it’s just Sylus.

❤️ :’Ten minutes. Dont forget.’

You roll your eyes, pulling out a chair to sit down as you tell him to make it twenty since you haven’t eaten in a day or two. You decide to push your worries about Hades and Persephone aside, changing his nickname in your phone to ‘Hades’ before you start eating. If you’re going to keep up this act of being fine, then you really need some food in your system.

If the dialogue feels a bit stiff, that's because it is. It's so hard to fit my own words into the story itself whenever there's so much dialogue. I can't have what I want the reader to say, because the storyline is too built up on what the original mc says and her reactions to the world around her...but I will criticize her every action as the reader's thoughts, because some things that she does are rather dumb. Or they don't make sense for the narrative.

Chapter ten is another one of my favourites and includes more flower language so I hope you're excited for it 🩷 I think flower language is so pretty and really fits 'Love and Deepspace'. Because just a single flower can tell a big story. Like the flowers I chose, in-game there wasn't any flowers at all. In the vase, they were wilted so instead, I just looked up flower language and chose a few to tell a narrative! These are the small changes I wanted to do with the original story so I hope they don't catch y'all too off guard.

Taglist; @orphicmeliora , @yoongi-tunes

[cocteaucherry]

trials and tribulations

summary- falling in love with your sworn enemy was not something you planned.

cws- p&p au/ bridgerton au, inaccurate use of regency language, 18+, misogyny, talk of pregnancy, foul language, future smut in later chapters, slow slow burn, LENGTHY descriptions

(a/n- the first chapter was running into 2k words so I split it up and edited it <33 I hope you enjoy

“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife”

“So it's true that they're rather wealthy?”

“Well ONE of them are rather wealthy, the other not so much.”

“Doesn’t matter if they're both handsome.

“Ugh shoko don't say that”

You sat on the uncomfortable couch stopping your knitting to take part in the conversation, Shoko and Utahime, your lifelong friends sat across from you rather giddy about the wealthy newcomers

“What? It's true.” Shoko grinned her brown hair only reaching past her chin, “Makes the whole ‘being bound’ for life thing much easier.”

Utahime nodded, standing to walk across the small parlor, she sat on the small stool of the pianoforte playing a single note. “That, if men are gonna set the standard we might as well use it to our advantage.”

You rolled your eyes setting your needle and thread to the side, “So by finding an attractive wealthy man is taking advantage?”

“Yeah” they said in unison before giggling.

“Come on Y/n! Who really wants to be married with many children before twenty-five, some women may but not me! I'd like my twenties to amount to more than just my womb.” utahime exclaimed before tightly shutting her mouth when your mother walked in.

While she looked like a term cold woman she was really the best caring mother you could wish for in these times, “Good evening ladies,” your mother nodded with a curt smile, “I'm guessing you all have heard the news?”

“The well-off lads with handsome faces coming to town? No we haven't,” you smirked standing up before your mother’s hands were immediately attached to your shoulders, “This is your time my dear! For you to make your mark and to finally marry!”

Utahime and Shoko had to stifle their laughter.

You looked back with an annoyed grimace on your face as your mother moved to grip your hands, “My dear, you know why I worry, I worry for all of you like my own children.. As you all approach spinster age we mothers grow worried.”

Shoko and Utahime groaned in comparison their mothers had given them the same speech, “Now, I want the both of you to get on home and prepare for their welcoming ball-”

“WE WERE INVITED-” all of your voices rose in a confused squeal before your mother hushed them.

“Invitations were sent out this afternoon-”

“Mother you didn't tell me?!” you whispered yelled as you rushed over to utahime.

“I was going to-”

“Utahime can I please borrow your ribbons?” you pleaded.

“But that's my favorite!”

“Come onnnn pleaseee”

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

“So his name is Satoru Gojo?” you and Shoko stared at the invitation, very impressed by the amount of time and possibly money spent into the thick piece of paper.

“Yeah, I've never seen him but I've heard things. Like how he's conceited and doesn't exactly rub people the right way.” Utahime scoffed at the frill on her delicate dress.

“Oh so your ideal husband?” you grinned jokingly as you felt Shoko flick your forehead, “Ow!” you hissed in pain, whining , rubbing your forehead.

“Thank you Shoko, how far are we?” Utahime peeked out the carriage window to immediately be star struck, “look look!” she pointed, and you a shoko to foot to look out.

You all had passed by the manor countless times, nothing was particularly jaw-dropping about its size but that was it, looking at it from a new angle it was glorious. The overgrown fauna had been trimmed and lights took over all the dark areas, different flowers had overtaken the walls and it was truly breathtaking.

“This is..”

“Amazing, yeah,” you said breathtakingly as the carriage came to an abrupt stop, you heard the voice of your mother and father ahead of you (the adults had opted for a separate carriage) the door to the carriage opened as she quietly ushered you out, “Come come!”

Once you all had approached the entrance you were hit with the strong smell of flowers and expensive perfume, your nose scrunched as you all stepped through the wide open doors. marble statues and flowers hung everywhere, “Think they have enough flowers?” you whispered to Shoko with a grin as you tried your best to not bump into any of the guests.

“We just arrived and I'm already overstimulated.” Utahime groaned before getting stopped by your mother, “Before you leave remember you are here to make a marvelous impression, don't disappoint me.” she stuck a finger out before placing a kiss on your cheek and disappearing into the crowd of people.

“Well, ladies.” Shoko hummed with a grin, “I say we go dance,” she grinned wrapping an arm around Utahime’s neck, “Actually, I'm going to find the wine, you two have fun.” she quickly walked away leaving Shoko to scoff and immediately grab your hand, “C’monnn y/n.. Please..”

“Fine! Fine! Let's go!” you giggled,

As the band played loudly you and Shoko continuously danced, eventually forgetting the whole reason you had come, “Shokoo, how are you not tiredd?” you panted continuing to spin around your dance partner, “goodness you're too weak.” she grinned at you spinning around her own dance partner.

The music had halted and Shoko immediately fell to your side, “And I'm weak?” you laughed smirking as you gripped onto the brunette's arm.

The room suddenly went quiet, hushed mummers filled the room as the guests around you stepped back. “He’s here he’s here!” Shoko whispered quietly tugging on your hand to strap back, “Gojo?-“ you were shushed immediately as your attention was bought to the wide opened door.

A tall slender frame, a beautifully dark blue tailored suit was complimented by his snow white locks, his bright blue eyes scanned the room as a small smile appeared on his face. Accompanying him was a person who you hadn’t seen before, long jet black black hair tied into a bun, his jet black suit offsetting his amber eyes.

“Who’s that?” You whispered to Shoko keeping your eyes on the men as they began to walk towards the cleared aisle everyone had made, “One with the white hair obviously Satoru Gojo, the one next to him I’m guessing is his trusted friend Suguru Geto.”

You nodded confusingly as people bowed next to you, you and Shoko bowed in tandem as they walked by, Geto spared a small glance to you before hurriedly looking away the same stoic look taking place on his face.

“Hm-“ you sighed quietly taking your hands off the fabric of your dress as the two men made their way down the walkway, once they reached the end the music resumed and the breath you didn't know you were holding came out. Were you that nervous?

As you were lost in thought you were quickly bought out by the hands of your mother gripping your soldier, “Did you see how handsome he was? We must introduce you immediately!” your mother pleaded, grabbing your hand, you turned to Shoko with pleading eyes and a smile appeared in her face, “Yeah come on!”

Oh this woman-

before you could release a string of insults you were being pulled away by Shoko, your mother following suit. “Shoko! Please please please-” you shut your mouth as you stood in front of the infamous man known as Satoru Gojo and his friend.

You felt your palms begin to sweat as you were placed upon the beautiful man, your nervousness only skyrocketed as you felt the suffocating glare of Suguru Geto cast over you.

“Mr Gojo and Mr Geto.” your mother bowed with a smile, “My daughter y/n l/n and her friend Shoko Ieiri.” as you and Shoko began to bow you were met with a laugh coming from the white-haired man.

“Please, there's no need for bowing.. I'm not that formal,”

“Satoru..” his black-haired friend began as Gojo quickly shushed him.

“So Miss Shoko and Y/N.. Oh I almost forgot about my wet blanket here, Mr. Suguru Geto, careful he doesn't care for lively things.”

A vein appeared above Geto’s eyebrow as he clenched his jaw. “I'm the one with actual sense.” he quickly retorted which caused Gojo to frown.

“Well I'll leave you both to it,” your mother interrupted, placing a kiss on your cheek before whispering, “Don't mess this up.” she plastered on a smile before walking away into the crowd of people.

Shoko cleared her throat before looking at the two men, “So, how are you two settling into the town?”

“Lovely-”

“Horrible-”

Gojo looked over annoyingly at his friend flicking his arm, “What he means is-”

“No no, please enlighten me Mr. Geto” his body tensed at you saying his name, “What is so horrible about this town?” you questioned a sickly sweet smile taking over your features.

“For one, the architecture is overly simplified-”

“Oh, what a surprise a small town doesn't fit Mr. Geto’s standard.”

Gojo grinned a small laugh leaving his mouth, “Well, you both sound lovely with a great sense of humor.”

“Well thank you, I think it’s time me and my friend get going.. we enjoyed talking with both of you.” Shoko curtsied as you did too, you turned and left Shoko following after.

Once you were out of earshot Gojo looked towards his friend with a grin, “they’re both rather cute aren't they?”

Geto scoffed, shaking his head, “Miss. Ieiri seems a rather pleasant Miss. L/N I’m not so sure.”

The white haired male laughed, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder, “Maybe I’ll try my luck with her then?”

A vein appeared in Geto’s neck as his fist tightened and Gojo pointed it out, “Got you, you’re too easy to read my dear friend..” he smirked, walking away into the crowd.

Suguru shook his accusation off his eyes searching for your hair but couldn’t be found, he DIDNT want anything to do with you.

At least that’s what he told himself.

[whumpninja]

Anyone remember my moments of peeking round the door into pet whump and yelling a prompt and then scampering away like a horrible gremlin? And how I kept saying that was the extent of my interactions with that genre? Yeah. Me too. I lied. I really wanted to push myself out there with Whumptober, so I promised myself that I would try it. I didn’t go very far in- I used historical instead of full-on BBU, and I toned it way down for this just so my brain didn’t entirely freak out- but my toesies are officially wet!

@painonthebrain here it is!!

Prompts used: Whumptober, nowhere else to go

Featuring: pet whump (have I EVER used that tag before?!), historical whump, alternate history, mentions of abuse, pipe smoking

Whumptober Day 17: A Quiet Evening at No. 14 Fettle Street

The best time of day is that peaceful, gray evening-time when the sun has gone down but it is not quite dark. The time when families are beginning their suppers, when ladies are brushing their hair a careful one hundred times, when the door opens and whoever has been out that day comes home.

It was just that time of night, on a relaxed sort of Saturday, at the red brick flat on Fettle Street whose outer wall bore a plaque that read No. 14. Inside, the fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, and the parlor of had an air of quiet evening calm to it. The master of the house had draped his lanky frame over a plush red armchair, an empty teacup on the table by his side and his face obscured by the day's newspaper. Mrs. Merry the housekeeper bustled about, fluffing pillows and rearranging knickknacks and poking at the coals. Presently she broke the companionable silence. "Your slippers are all warm now, whenever you're thinking of retiring. Will that be all for the night, Mr. Thorn?"

"Oh, yes, I think that'll do for me, Mrs. Merry," replied the aristocrat from behind his newspaper.

The housekeeper bobbed a curtsy and turned towards the kitchen door.

"Oh, Mrs. Merry," said Mr. Thorn. "Just one more thing."

"Of course, sir."

Mr. Thorn set his paper down. One of his eyebrows was arched toward his hairline. "You might tell me why there's an unfamiliar young man asleep on my settee."

Mrs. Merry bit her lip. "So you...noticed."

"He's across from me, Mrs. Merry. If I'd missed him I would be in need of an emergency appointment with the optometrist. Now, do you want to explain who he is and why he's here?"

Mrs. Merry came to the fireplace again, stirring up the embers even though they didn't really need to be stirred. "You've seen him before, sir, though maybe you didn't notice. That traveling tailor fella you had a meeting with a few months ago?"

"Didn't much care for his boasting," remarked Mr. Thorn. "He did have a boy with him, didn't he?"

"His pet, sir."

Mr. Thorn scoffed. "Whoever came up with that particular system of dealing with criminals ought to be institutionalized. But anyway, what's the boy doing here?"

Mrs. Merry had a fine temper when she got it stirred up, and it was good and hot now. "I knew that tailor was a bad 'un," she huffed, mostly to the fireplace. "That poor lad showed up on the kitchen doorstep this afternoon, thrashed within an inch of his life and too frightened to look me in the eyes. Near as I could get out, that tailor beat seven bells out of him and then left him behind on the road when he couldn't keep up." Mrs. Merry snorted. "I'd like a chance to introduce the brute to the handle of my broom, see how he likes it-"

"Mrs. Merry, of course that's all very unfortunate, but what on earth is he doing in my house?" Mr. Thorn broke in.

"Didn't have nowhere else to go, I s'pose." Mrs. Merry stopped her bustling to brush a black curl from the boy's forehead- he really wasn't a boy, exactly, he seemed to be about twenty. It was only that he looked so small and pale that she kept calling him one. "I was kind to him when you had that fitting with the tailor. Must have remembered." She shook her head. "I certainly didn't expect it, but how could I have just left him in the street? Brought him inside and did what I could for his back, and got him a good meal- that's what's put him to sleep so heavy. He looked as if he hadn’t had a bite since last Sunday.”

Mr. Thorn leaned over to light his pipe. His face was complicated, and for several moments he did not speak. “You might have asked me," he said at length. "I don't like strangers in my home."

"I didn't think you would object."

"I certainly don't object to helping someone in need. But, Mrs. Merry, what do you propose to do with him now? Or if the tailor turns back up looking for him? Have you thought about that?"

"That's the sort of thing you work out later, when somebody's in trouble," Mrs. Merry said firmly.

Mr. Thorn took a long drag of his pipe, blowing out a ring of smoke and watching it dissipate. "I'll be the first to admit I don't approve of this whole pet business. I didn't think much of their other proposition- what was it again, sending criminals off to Australia?- but this whole matter of altering the brains of people so that they're hardly able to think for themselves leaves a bad taste in my mouth." He blew another smoke ring. "Still, we can hardly expect to tear it down in one day. If that tailor comes, I suppose we'll have to give the boy back."

"I'd hide him first," Mrs. Merry replied fiercely. "I'd not be responsible for sending him back to that monster, even if I did lose my place for it! Sir," she added, after a moment.

Mr. Thorn sighed, tapping out his pipe. "I couldn't get on without you, Mrs. Merry, never fear. The boy may stay, for a few days, at least. Though I would prefer if you made him up a bed that is not my settee." He took up his newspaper again. "And we may not have to wait long for this whole debate to be over. It's being challenged in Parliament soon." He snorted. "Though of course they've got an excuse all ready. They're saying now that even if they did shut it all down, the way they've altered the brains of those involved, they'd never be able to rejoin "polite society." And they used that term, too."

Mrs. Merry bent down to spread a blanket over the boy, who was still quite dead to the world. "If you don't mind me saying it, sir," she remarked quietly, "you seem to have come out all right."

Mr. Thorn looked up sharply, but the housekeeper had already gone. He glanced over at the settee, and something in his face softened.

Before he went up to bed for the night, Mr. Thorn slipped to the settee and tucked the blanket a little more securely under the young man’s shoulder.

[fushitoru]

Listen - i had this thought regarding your brothel scene with bridgerton!gojo…

Hear me out: just bridgerton!gojo meeting up with bridgerton!geto and others in a brothel for business matters. But bridgerton!gojo being the man he is, arrives early to get over with things quickly. To his demise though it seems like not a single one of his acquaintances has arrived yet, so he turns to one of the courtesans in the parlor and questions her. Knowing that his companions are regulars around the establishment, one surely knows if one managed to slip past gojo and into one of the chambers. As the young heir already predicted, one of the lads - his best mate to be exact - managed to be even earlier than gojo himself. In hopes of finding geto, gojo steps throughout the building, secretly praying that his well-mannered friend finished whatever situation he had going on.

Unfortunately gojo finds himself walking in on geto. Utterly shocked from the unexpected, gojo halts dead in his tracks - unabable to move, barely able to breathe and completely taken in by the view in front of him. It’s the so refined geto enjoying a rather small escapade with one of the courtesans…

Yeah, so basically that’s what went through my mind - bridgerton!gojo finding bridgerton!geto in a brothel and kind of enjoying a lesson on how to please a woman?

WOAHHHHH........

stroking my shit to this rn. dont wanna say if this is gonna be canon or not yet but if it's not i would totally write a drabble about this bc satosugu does stuff to me

but PLEASEEE if i saw geto pleasuring a woman i would cream my pants (so would gojo). the way he was going in for business and not women like the loser he is and then seeing that and FINALLY getting action...WHEWWW

[thedevilinmybrain]

“There was a complication.” Whining, Harry arches into Louis, leaning in for another kiss. “I hurried as fast as I could.”

“What complication?” Louis slips his hand up Harry’s bare thigh, grips him and pulls, guiding Harry up to straddle his lap.

“Zayn can explain it. I did my part. Did the best I could,” Harry slips his fingers along the sharp stubble of Louis’ jaw, kissing him in that slow, devastating way of his. It’s all full lips and a warm tongue and a promise of teeth that Louis knows is all leading up to Harry’s apology.

“Are the lads at the house then?” Dropping his head back, Louis stares up at Harry in the dark, his face mostly encased in shadows even with the passing lights. Louis can see his mouth though, lipstick smudged around his already bruising mouth. It pulls on something in Louis’ stomach, warm heat pooling at the base of his spine.

“Waiting for you.” Harry murmurs, nodding his head a little as he settles his weight fully in Louis’ lap, pushes his long hair over his shoulder. “I told them I was coming to get you.”

Louis considers it for a moment, thinks about the rest of them all probably waiting in the parlor, drinks in hand. They’re probably eager to have Louis back, to start plotting, to fill him in on all the happenings even in his short stint in the slammer. And Louis will do all that, will go and make a grand entrance – a triumphant return of the king. There is just something to be done first.

“Oliver,” Louis presses a finger into the button on the door.

“Yes, boss?” Oli’s voice crackles out into the back of the car, his section separated by a wooden divider.

“Take the long way.”

Leaning up, Louis presses an open mouth kiss to the center of Harry’s chest, caressing his hands over his waist, his back, his shoulders. His skin is so soft, smells sweet like those rose petal creams he loves so much, just the hint of salt against Louis’ tongue. He sighs so pretty too when Louis’ fingers finally wrap around the small tab at the top of Harry’s dress, guiding the zipper down in one smooth drag of his hand.

[vierandancer]

@thesilverfullcr

Meiko had been inside of a handful of fancy places -- palaces, even! -- since joining the Scions, but having her own room within one of them was a whole new experience. Once she had been dropped off at her door, she had lingered in the doorway and felt a quiet panic rise in her. Would she be able to touch anything without potentially breaking or sullying it in some manner? It felt unlikely.

She crossed the room to take a seat on the four-poster bed, her fingers splayed across the too-soft, richly-colored bedding as she settled. It didn’t feel real. None of this, the entire predicament, quite felt real. Yet it was, and she would have to figure out how to adapt to it all as quick as she could, lest she cause more trouble for the Scions than they were already in.

I’ll just follow Hiko’s lead, she thought. And Alphinaud’s. He seemed to be a bit better earlier in the parlor room meeting Lord Edmont, but socializing with such was also likely a welcome distraction from his own thoughts. She hoped he was all right. And Tataru! Tataru was so worried about the other Scions, and…

And just thinking about it all made Meiko feel somewhat suffocated. She flopped back onto the bed and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to will all of those thoughts away. She wouldn’t be able to help anyone if she was a mess. And what use was she if she wasn’t helping the others?

She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and rolled over. She was tired. She wanted to rest. She should be resting on this disarmingly soft bed until she was called to dinner. Surely, that was what the others were doing, too.

"...Fuck's sake." She sat up. Too anxious. Maybe she was just cold? No, definitely anxious. She hesitated, looking over at her bedroom door. Was she allowed to wander the manor? Surely, she was. No one had explicitly said for her to keep her arse in her room.

She agonized over it for a few minutes before forcing herself to her feet. She would have a wee walk around and as soon as she saw another person, she would... probably run back here and hide awkwardly. Aye, a fair plan. Yes.

It still took her two minutes to actually get herself to leave her room, reminding herself that she was a guest and how could she be expected to stay locked in her room? She didn't have a personal bathroom and she doubted the Fortemps family would appreciate piss on their fancy rugs (especially that Artoirel lad; Emmanellain looked like he might be the type to miss the bowl).

Still, she was fairly on edge as she peeked around every corner in the corridors. This house was big. And wasn't it just Edmont and his sons living here? Why did they need this much space? Why did --

Someone was coming.

She immediately forgot about her plan to flee.

[landofadonises]

The Brawny Bunch Effect - Braunsburg Main Street, Ice Cream Parlor, II

Braunsburg was experiencing the effects of the Brawny Bunch anywhere you looked, and Main Street would obviously be no exception. The ice cream parlor down the way was a great spot and fantastic for alpha-watching.

Braunsburg High had a fantastic mentorship program. Juniors and Seniors would take a few late middle-schoolers-to-sophomores under their wing and help them get comfortable with the difficulties of transitioning into an academic situation comprised of harder schoolwork and more rigorous sports activity, all in an effort to get that full-ride scholarship anywhere they want. These mentors took to asking the Brawny Bunch for help to be an even better role model for these up-and-comers, seeking out to match their physical stature with their mental prowess, becoming full packages (and having full packages, but it's a sight people got used to quickly).

There was a culture surrounding what mentors would do for their mentees, and the ice cream parlor on Main Street was a signature location for rewarding the group for a day's hard work complete, whether that be a significant test completed, a tennis tournament won, or returning from a big game triumphant. The mentors loved to show off their mentees and their accomplishments, so it was a common sight for two huge men to be playfully arguing about whose group of lads were better. In most people's opinion, nothing was much better than watching two alpha dudes get handsy as they were trying to vouch for their lil' guys' achievements. It got physical often, but nothing the cops would ever need to break up.

[frasers-of-my-heart]

Wednesday 100: Notre Fils

Fergus walked into the parlor, quiet and slow (unusual for their gregarious lad) and Claire noted his eyes looked heavy. She stood and went to him, laying her wrist on his forehead, finding it clammy and far too warm. “Fergus, get yourself back to bed.”

“Non, Milady,” Fergus softly protested, “I am to accompany Milord today.”

Jamie came up behind him. “Not today, lad. Listen to yer mistress.”

“I suppose I am a bit tired…” he lilted and Jamie scooped him up. “Merci, Papa. Maman, will you check on me?”

They were his.

“Of course, darling, I’ll be up soon.”

[sealrock]

Impressed!!!

ask meme (closed)

(ty for the ask @etheirys, a thousand apologies for taking so long!)

He watched his guest from the opposite side of his dining table, fingers steepled and gray eyes twinkling in the low light of the room. Gerun's cassock draped across his crossed legs, the starched fabric in direct opposition to his guest's tattered rags for clothing. He would need to gather up fresh clothes for the upcoming winter for his guest's steadily growing frame, young bones stretched across malnourished skin.

The grandfather clock in the parlor resonated throughout his humble apartment, the antique striking midnight. Most people would be well asleep by now, tucked in their warm beds and away from the unknown dangers of the outside world. Curiosity and a small pinch of pity kept Gerun wide awake.

He was so curious that he prepared a veritable feast, all for one boy he plucked from the streets below. The food smelled wonderful; bowls of soup, platters of cooked meat, and baskets of buttery fresh bread. The heat of the steam wafted through the air. Not once did the boy dig his grimy hands into the prize in front of him, he resisted the urge to destroy the display of genteel hospitality with the festering greed of his grumbling stomach. Gerun was impressed. Others from the Brume would not show such restraint, their gnashing teeth and dirty claws more animal than human in their attempts to steal whatever crumb they could get from one another.

"It's alright. You can eat, you know."

Gerun knew his guest understood the common language, his ears could pick up the slightest intake of breath from his battered and bruised companion. Matted brown hair created a curtain around the boy's sunken face, shadows from the dimly lit dining room hiding the bruises. He may be a lowly Brume rat, but he was far from stupid. Like himself, there was a spark in his eyes that told otherwise; he carried a sense of sly intelligence Gerun had not witnessed in anyone else.

"The nuns from whatever orphanage you came from may have told you that gluttony is a sin, but pride is the only iniquity man should not ignore. Are you so proud of yourself that my offering of goodwill is beneath you?"

Gerun's words carried no contempt, he was more amused than offended. The boy glanced up at him, his dark eye wavering with uncertainty.

"Your vanity earns you scorn, that much I can see. If I hadn't come to your aid sooner, you would've been in much worse shape."

"… They were stealing."

Gerun's lips quirked up, long ears twitching. The boy could speak after all.

"Yes, they were stealing… Though week-old, moldy bread in the wastebin is hardly a crime."

The boy could only shrug, "Halone places temptations all around us, to test our faith. I only did what She would've wanted."

"And look where that landed you."

A dark look flashed across his battered face for a split second, if Gerun had blinked he would've missed it.

"Do you think me showing you kindness is a temptation?"

The boy couldn't answer that. He appeared confused. After what felt like hours, he finally reached for the silverware before him, deftly filling his plate in a manner Gerun had never seen in his five and fourty years of life.

"Very good, lad."

"It's Achille."

Achille's expression was unreadable as he sipped away at his soup, rough hands gently tearing pieces of bread apart to soak up the juice. Despite his size, and despite his underlying strength, Achille took great care in handling the bread loaf, like he didn't want to hurt it any more than he was doing right now. It's why he didn't fight back against the blows and kicks that rained down upon him earlier in the day, all for one measly loaf of bread and a misguided sense of justice. He could've unleashed the beast within him any time he wanted.

Gerun would tap into that strength soon enough.

[octuscle]

I’m tired of being different and feel that I don’t belong anywhere, I want to be a basic person, like an NPC, with not very deep thoughts and caring about having sex like the rest of my friends do

BORING! Who wants to see such transformations? Fellows who are transformed into absolute average. And do you really want to become a gray guy. Lad, you might be a little bit too young for a midlife crisis. And for not having plenty of sex, too.

You walk past the tattoo parlor. Tattoos… Way too individual. You don't want any more. At most a tattoo like they all have. A full sleeve. That would be cool. Maybe a little something on the back of the neck. And on the shaved sides. So that it accentuates your cool mohawk cut. And damn, you need more piercings. A lot more piercings.

You're stomping out your butt. Smoke break is over. Your next customer is waiting. In your store you are totally average. Maybe the tunnels in your earlobes are a little bigger. Maybe your tattoos on your well-toned body are a little hotter than the others. And maybe your PA is more famous than the other artists here, which is why you have to disappear into the back room more often for a quickie.

Dude, can you imagine that you once didn't want to be different? Must have been a long time ago. Have fun as something very special!

Inspiration found @but-the-scene-is-grey