#like it's a half-inch away from the current canon events

[joejhang]

andrew was gagged and SO AM I

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Irresistible Danger - Part 51

Synopsis:  After being caught outside the compound on your own, Negan decides to punish you in the best way possible ;)

Words: 3,279

Warnings: nsfw, smut, swearing

ID Masterlist can be found HERE

Masterlist of all my fics can be found HERE

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Author’s Note: Holy crap, can y’all believe I dove back into writing this fic after almost two years with no updates?! I’m still shook over it haha. I will say that this fic has gone way off canon at this point (I haven’t watched the last few seasons of the show and also didn’t finish the last few issues of the comics). However, I’ve had a vision for certain characters and events for the last how many years, so I don’t plan to change them just to try and fit canon. I also now realize that while I tried to make “you” as nondescript as possible, there are physical traits and actions of her character that haven’t been as inclusive of all potential readers as I had thought when first starting the fic 5 years ago. I apologize for that, and plan to be more aware of those things with any reader characters I write in future fics. My plan is to post a chapter update every Friday from here on out, until it’s over, so fingers crossed I can accomplish that. Enjoy! :D

Cloud Nine

You surfaced from the depths of sleep slowly, rather than the more abrupt jolt to consciousness that usually started off your days. Feeling cozy and relaxed, a slight smile tipped your lips in contentment. It didn’t take long to realize that the reason for your positive mood was the large, warm body with which you were currently sharing the tiny, twin-sized bed.

Eyes blinking open, you took in the delightful sight of masculine bare skin. You were curled up against Negan’s side, cheek cushioned on his chest and both legs were wrapped around his nearest thigh. The bedsheet was pulled up over your back and ended teasingly right above his hips. One of your hands lay palm-down on his stomach, fingers twitching slightly in delight at the feel of the hard muscles beneath the soft skin. You could tell from the curve of his body that he was sitting with his back reclined against the rickety headboard. You might’ve found his positioning odd, but you were still a little hazy from sleep and so could only feel happiness at not waking up to an empty bed, like last time. 

You were on cloud nine after talking things out with him last night. Being able to work through a conflict together had been major progress, and you had been proud of yourself for laying down your boundaries regarding your here-to-stay friendship with Ben, as well as standing your ground regarding the situation with Trixie and the pregnancy test. It was important that Negan learn to trust you when it came to situations such as those, and it seemed as though that message had finally gotten through to him last night. 

The fact that he had even come to your room and taken the huge step of apologizing for his hasty reaction still had you a bit in shock. The evening had panned out much differently than your original plan of going to bed angry. Instead, you had gone to bed very satisfied, and then woken up next to the man who was very quickly becoming essential to your daily happiness.

He must’ve felt you shift against him, one hand coming down to rub your bare shoulder as he gave a soft, “Mornin’, doll.” 

His raspy morning voice sent tingles down your spine, even as your brain fought to stay awake. It still felt way too early to be sitting up and conversing, so instead of returning the greeting, you buried closer into his side and grumbled, “What time is it?” The words were muffled against his skin, nose pressed into his chest hair as you inhaled the glorious male scent of him. 

You felt him lean over towards the side table. He must’ve been checking your watch, because he replied, “‘Bout 6:50.”

“Jesus Christ.” 

“Language.” 

“Hmph. Do you always get up so early?”

“It’s more productive than sleeping half the day away and being late to everything.” 

That got more of a response, as you finally lifted your head to glare up at him for the jab. However, he didn’t notice, as he was too focused on the book held in front of him. It was then that you realized why he was sitting up in bed, a smirk crossing your face at the novel he had open and was intensely reading. You felt a spark of desire low in your belly, the sight of a sleep-tousled and naked Negan lounging in your bed while reading Harry Potter an unexpected, but welcomed, aphrodisiac.

“Thought you didn’t read ‘fucking kid books’?” you sarcastically asked, quoting back his initial description of the series. 

You received only a low grunt in response, his eyes not leaving the page. You weren’t offended, since you’d probably react the same way to someone trying to interrupt a reading of Harry Potter. In fact, you were a bit jealous that he got to experience the magical world for the first time. His curiosity must’ve gotten the better of him when he saw it lying on your bedside table, and it appeared as if he had already read a small chunk of it. 

He didn’t seem to notice you staring, his attention still focused on the book. In fact, he held the page a scant few inches from his face, eyes squinted into slits. The sight was a tad humorous, though you wondered how long he had been struggling to see the words. 

“I thought you needed glasses to read?” you asked. 

“Fuck, you always so full of questions this early in the morning, doll?”

You pinched his side hard enough to make him jump and growl out another expletive, before giving him a saccharine smile and lifting a brow expectantly when he glared down at you.

Attention finally taken off the book, he reached over and plopped it down on the side table before rubbing his eyes with both palms. “I do. Felt like it took me a fucking hour to get through that last page.”

The fact that he had continued trying to read and hadn’t easily given up, despite his struggle to see the words, told you more than anything how much he must’ve been enjoying the novel. A warm thrill settled in your chest at the thought of him taking an interest in something he usually wouldn't bother with simply because you enjoyed it. 

The warm thrill morphed into more of a low heat and traveled down your body as your gaze refocused on his bare skin. Moving the hand on his stomach upward over his chest, your fingertips traced the outline of the tattoo on his left pec.

“What prompted you to get this?” you asked, curious if there was a meaning behind the skull and criss-crossed rifles.

Giving a low chuckle, he replied, “Youth and stupidity.” 

Giving a huffed laugh in return, you trailed curious fingers over to the other tattoos on his arms, inquiring about each one as you went. Some had a story behind them, others not so much (you had tried not to roll your eyes when he explained that the revolver on his right forearm was the same one he had handled once and thought was ‘fucking cool as shit’). He also had a few scars on his upper body, some from before the apocalypse but most from after. You listened intently as he opened up about each one, drinking in as much personal information about the man beside you as possible.

Not wanting to stop the exploration just yet, you pushed up on your other elbow and journeyed over his throat, tracing his Adam’s apple before running your fingers delicately through the surprisingly soft beard framing his gorgeous mouth. 

Capturing the questing hand in his own, he brought your fingers to his lips. The breath caught in your chest when he kissed the mostly-healed scar from the knife injury you had acquired a few weeks prior. Heart beating frantically at the gentle gesture, you smiled up at him when he released your hand and allowed it to resume exploring.

“So,” you tried for calm and casual, fingers moving up to lightly trace his ear before diving into his thick hair and mapping the streaks of salt within the pepper. “What are your plans for today?”

It took him a few seconds to answer, his eyes having fluttered closed as your nails gently massaged his scalp. You smiled at his obvious enjoyment of your touch, at how he had lowered his walls in this moment and was allowing himself to be both physically and emotionally vulnerable. 

“I wish they were to stay here and enjoy this fucking delightful body of yours all day, but I have a meeting with my Saviors at eight.” 

The thought of spending an entire day frolicking in bed with Negan caused a dreamy sigh to leave your lips. His eyes opened and zeroed in on your mouth at the sound, that magical tongue of his coming out to lick his bottom lip as he added, “Though, that’s still about an hour away…”

At that, he quickly rolled over so his lean body was pinning you into the mattress, his lips cutting off your squeal of surprise before it even left your throat. The hand still in his hair tightened, causing him to give a low groan and grind his hips down into yours. You tried to make a mental note of his reaction to the touch, but seeing as how there were no barriers keeping his quickly-hardening erection from pressing into your thigh, all higher levels of brain function quickly flew out of the room. 

Bracing above you, he leaned down and started kissing your neck, a move guaranteed to make you melt. When his mouth descended over the curve of your breasts, you tried to lift your head to watch his downward progress but a sharp pang of discomfort at your scalp made you wince and try to jerk away, which only succeeded in making the pain even worse. 

“Ow, wait!” you blurted, causing Negan to instantly freeze and look up at you in alarm. 

“Doll, what-”

“You’re on my hair! Move your hand!”

Quickly realizing his mistake, Negan moved the hand that had accidentally been pinning a large chunk of your hair, and by proxy your head, to the mattress. 

“Fucking hell, I’m sorry, doll,” he cursed, making as if to lift his body off you entirely. 

Now wanting his faux pas to ruin the moment, you pushed his shoulders sideways and hooked a leg up over his hip before commanding, “Roll over.”

He hesitated for a moment before relenting, the two of you somehow able to switch places on the narrow, twin-sized bed without falling off. Once the semi-awkward resituating was done, he was on his back and you were straddling his hips. The move caused the sheet to fall off, exposing your entire body to his gaze. Based on the way his eyes grew hazy with lust as they took in your bared curves, not to mention his obvious erection, it was safe to say that he didn’t mind this change in position one bit. 

Warm, calloused palms drifted up over your thighs, hips, and the sides of your waist, before cupping breasts that were begging for his touch. Leaning down, your already-hardened nipples pressed into his palms as you kissed him hungrily. Shifting your hips, you started rubbing forwards and backwards over the erection pressed between both your lower stomachs. You moaned into each other’s mouths at the sensation, pussy lips parting around his girth so that your wetness coated his cock, the fat head bumping against your clit with each slide. 

“I think I like being in charge,” you purred. 

Giving a dark chuckle that sent shivers down your spine, he replied, “Enjoy it while it fucking lasts.”

Planning to do just that, you reached over to pluck a condom off the side table, incredibly grateful to whatever deity helped you successfully open the foil packet and smoothly roll the latex down over him on the first try. Tossing the empty packet over the side of the bed, you wrapped slightly trembling fingers around his swollen cock and lifted your hips, lining him up with your entrance. Maintaining eye contact, you slowly slid down his length, mouth falling open on a whimper at the feel of him parting overly-sensitive flesh that was still a bit sore from the activities of the previous night. Despite Negan’s initial threat over you stealing both coconut oil from the kitchen and condoms from his room, his only “punishment” last night had been fucking you relentlessly into the mattress until you had multiple orgasms and could barely even remember your own name.

In spite of the slight burn as sore muscles again stretched around his thickness, you didn’t stop until he was fully seated inside. His cock felt so big in this position that it was almost overwhelming, but you sat up so that your hands were braced on his chest and used your thigh muscles to start a slow up and down rhythm. 

His fingers reached up and pinched your nipples, causing you to clench around him. He groaned at the sensation, gaze becoming more intense when you slightly picked up the pace. It felt magnificent, but at the same time you craved more of the hard, rough friction that he had given you the night before. Body trying to find that friction on its own, your hips swiveled in a circle as you sank back down, which must’ve felt just as amazing for him as it did you, since he gave a strangled moan at the same moment his hands immobilized your hips in a bruising grip. 

“Alright, doll. My turn.”

That was the only warning you got before he braced his feet against the mattress and moved up in you, hard. Falling forward onto your palms with a gasp, fingers curled into the bedsheet and hips writhed in pleasure when he repeated the move. He continued the sharp, deep thrusts, watching your face closely before wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling your mouth down to his own. His tongue thrust into your mouth possessively, as if trying to claim as much of you at once as he could. The pace was brutal yet unhurried, each thrust feeling like a deliberate attack on your sanity as his movements drew fire over your skin and consumed you, body and soul. 

Pressing down into him while leaning forward caused your clit to grind against his lower abdomen in the perfect way with each thrust, building up the orgasm that had previously hovered just out of reach. Breaking the kiss with a cry, you saw the expression of intense concentration on his face as he continued to move your bodies together in perfect rhythm. Breasts pressed into his chest and mouth panting at his ear, your body gave into his, letting him drive you up and over the edge, into the abyss of pleasure. 

“Negan,” you moaned, muscles tightening then releasing as the orgasm washed through you. His answering grunt and curse signaled his own release, though he continued his driving rhythm through it all, wringing each drop of pleasure from your body until it collapsed limply on top of his.

Resting your head on his shoulder, you again traced over the tattoo on his chest, waiting for your heartbeat and breathing to slow back down to normal. Glancing up his body, you found him already looking back down at you, a relaxed and satisfied grin on his lips that was only witnessed behind closed doors, when the two of you were alone. His hand idly stroked over a piece of hair laying on your shoulder, the gesture making you think back to earlier when he had accidentally pinned you to the mattress, and the resulting ungraceful maneuvering to switch positions in a bed that was entirely too small for two adult bodies. A light laugh escaped you that caused Negan to raise an eyebrow in question. 

“Just remembering your super smooth move from earlier,” you teased. You wouldn’t admit this out loud, but it was actually a bit of a relief to know that even Mr. Harem-of-Wives, Sex-God Negan wasn’t always flawless in the sack. 

“Making fun of me, doll?” he growled. 

“Maybe.”

Whack. The loud crack, accompanied by the slight sting of sensation against your left asscheek, caused you to jump and look at him in wide-eyed shock. 

“Did you just spank me?!” you exclaimed.

“Maybe.”

Before you could form an appropriate reply, he silenced any retort with his lips. Shallow creature that you apparently were, the move worked, and when he pulled away a long minute later, your brain conveniently forgot why you were supposed to be coming up with a retort in the first place. 

Negan glanced over at the side table, where your watch sat. Also looking over, you saw that it was now almost 7:30am, which meant he had half an hour to go back to his room and become presentable for his 8am Savior meeting. You were curious what the meeting was about, but didn’t want to ruin the perfection of the morning by bringing up a potentially serious topic. 

“Much as I hate to say it, doll, duty fucking calls.”

Your expression must’ve showcased more than you thought, since he gave a chuckle and said, “How about I make it up to you by finishing our fucking chess bet?”

Interest instantly piqued, you sat up on his chest and replied, “The third outing?! Can we go today?”

He looked at you consideringly, before giving a slight nod and agreeing. “We fucking could, but I won’t be free until the dinner hour.” 

Much as you didn’t want to skip out on your duties, even if it was with the leader of the establishment, you also weren’t about to turn down more alone time with Negan, especially outside of the Sanctuary. 

“I could meet you at the front gate at 5?” you suggested. That would give you just enough time to make sure dinner was fully prepped and almost ready to serve, since the community ate their meal from 5 to 7pm. It lessened the guilt, since you wouldn’t be completely leaving Ben and the staff short-handed. 

“Works for me, doll,” he said, gently rolling you off his body and to the narrow strip of mattress free beside him.

Biting your lower lip to keep from gasping at the empty sensation when he pulled out his now-flaccid dick, you watched him rise slowly from the bed. You took possessive pleasure in viewing his naked body, thighs clenching at the sight of him stretching muscular arms up towards the ceiling with his head tipped back. The pop of his back and resulting grunt made you comment, “I think from now on we might be better off in your bed. I have no clue how we even managed to fit in mine all night.” 

“Thank fucking god. If I have to spend any more nights in that fucking thing, I’ll be stiffer than a cock in a brothel.” 

Rolling your eyes at his that’s-so-Negan one-liner, you pulled the sheet up over your chest and settled in to watch him get dressed. You felt a bit like a voyeur when he removed the condom, tied off the end, and tossed it into the little garbage can. You felt a lot like a voyeur when he leaned down to pick up his boxer briefs and the sight of his bent-over ass almost made you whimper out loud. 

“You sure you can’t skip the meeting and stay here?” The words left your lips before your brain could even stop them. 

Turning to look at you, the desire must have been written all over your face because that muscle in his jaw ticked and he ran a hand down over his beard in obvious frustration. You swore he started to take a step back towards the bed, but he caught himself and instead returned to the task of getting dressed. 

When he was done putting on the navy tee and dark grey pants, complete with his signature black boots, he did finally come back over to the bed. Leaning down, he cupped a warm hand possessively around the side of your neck and placed a heated kiss on your lips before slightly pulling back and saying in that sinful, husky voice, “5 o’clock, doll. You better be ready for me.” 

With that, he straightened, crossed the room, and let himself out. As the door clicked softly shut behind him, you replied with a dazed, “Yes, sir.”

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[rotzaprachim]

⭐ She isn’t ready for marriage, she said. She isn’t ready to be tied to a man, to be anything more or less than herself alone. The Kerch made the whole business easy by never referring to this thing they’re doing as a marriage, all the paperwork is about Economic Units, Civil Unions. There were so many pages of jargon it made Inej’s eyes bleed. Future children held less inches of fine grey type than agreements on pigs and shipping company stocks, and were described in the same economic language.

Kaz went through the whole thing line by line until the she was sure she was going to call for an annulment before they’d even gotten the damned thing notarised, or else make herself a tastefully rich and very young widow.

“It’s a contract,” he said. “You should know all the details before you sign your life away.”

“For heaven’s sake,” Inej said, irritated by the last several pages about Property Division in the Event of Medium Sized or Larger Storms, Grisha Attacks, and General Flooding, “I’m not signing my life away.”

“When you get married, it might be difficult to annul if you’ve still got a legal Kerch-”

“When I get married?” she shot back challengingly. “To who?”

“I don’t know. That fire-tongued revolutionary who writes you poetry and will make you a new world. The Kaelish tavern maid who always pours you a free beer in her bar while you sing about the plight of the repressed. Someone hopelessly moon-eyed and optimistic, who thinks the world shits rainbows and knows what you’re worth.”

“You, Kaz Brekker,” she finally sighed, “are a hell of a lot dumber than they say you are.” ⭐

this is from in secret, between the shadow and the soul! This fic has kind of a complicated story- I had devoted my free writing time that summer to writing an inej-centric hunger games au which currently sits at 20k on my laptop and may or may not ever see the light of day. but it very much DID get me thinking about the complexity of inej and kaz's relationship and just relationships in general. on a whim while i was waiting for someone in a medical center waiting room a bit of a trip from home (nothing of concern but i had a notebook and a pen and no wifi and a bunch of like half hour snippets of free time) I started writing something for fun totally disconnected from the AU and very self indulgent. i love historical fiction and well-done historical romances, and one thing I'm so fascinated in in general is marriage. as a social, religious, economic and cultural institution. because it's something both found in so many times and cultures and yet the reasons for and views on why people get married are so debated and complex and variable. and so i think a lot of the stuff about what we owe each other, in a way, and contracts, got remixed into this fic.

in retrospect I think this fic marked a really landmark moment for me as a writer, which was when I went from writing mainly AU's to writing mainly canon. i started writing and reading fic when modern AU's and such were really predominating over everything, esp in the star wars and the 100 fandoms, and I think the canon for SW in particular scared me, or I felt in some way constrained to the style of the original. writing this made me realise how much fucking around with the style of originals is actually what as a writer i love to do. writing fic in the original universe of something means having to crack it open a bit to see what the component parts are (I guess Kaz would have a whole lockpicking metaphor about that!)

 i think the big vibe between kaz and inej here is sort of digging into that pseudo-regency combo of intimacy and restraint that really characterises their mix of electricity and emotional remove. and that's on full display here, because they have this thing as big as a MARRIAGE on the table and are having to figure out how to deal with it. so we’ve got the collision course of kerch’s hell capitalism and how they think of marriage as a financial agreement above all- which is definitely not the only reason or cause that people have gotten married historically, but has in various societies been a major factor. we’ve got inej, who emphatically does not, as she says, want to be tied to a man in this kind of economic situation. but i don’t think she is flatly opposed to a marriage in the future that’s thought of more in terms of familial ties and children. one of the kanej lines in CK that lives in my mind the most is probably the whole thing after the bathroom scene of, “what was she supposed to do? find a kind husband, have his children, and sharpen the knives after the family had gone to bed.” so for her there’s this internal argument between the life she might have had and the one she’s having now, and what the life she actually wants now is. Even if these questions are still very hypothetical, i think the hypothetical future is on the table for almost everyone who’s planning on getting married. meanwhile Kaz doesn’t want to tie her back to him or ketterdam in any way that can’t be undone! she’s not his girl but she can have him if that’s what she wants! he’s certainly repressing himself and telling himself it’s for her sake her, in a way, but a few lines after this whole thing ends up signed he’s got a whole little tongue slip about kids. SO. and the thing is about them too that I don’t think they’re flatly solely repressed! I think they’re remarkably comfortable with each other and are Dealing With Things in this whole fic in a remarkably adult way. They’re getting there! but anyway TL:DR I’d say this scene for me is actually sort of the I DO serious wedding moment. it’s kaz’s whole idea that she’s only doing this wedding thing for her practical purposes and he won’t be the one to tie her down again, she’ll find someone else better because who wouldn’t love INEJ, and then it’s inej going YOU YOU LITERALLY SHAPE UP YOU’RE THE HUSBAND. 

thank you SO much for sending me this! it was fun to puzzle this one over a bit and i do actually have thousands of words still in my mind about them and their marriage that i WILL get back to! 

[fific7]

That Swept-Back Hair

Billy Russo x Reader

@omgrachwrites 500 Follower Celebration

AU Prompt: Friends with Benefits

Summary: How will Billy Russo react when his FWB finds another lover? Bearing in mind that he’s a complete hypocrite.

Warnings: Swearing, jealousy, fluff with mentions of sex.

A/N: Loosely based on S1 Billy, it’s non-canon & set in my imaginary Punisher universe.

(My GIF)

»»———————————————　⚜　———————-————————-««

Your phone was jumping like a jack-in-the-box on your bedside table, the blue light of the screen illuminating the wall behind it every few seconds.

You rolled over with a groan, taking a moment before picking it up and looking at it. Of course it was Billy Russo, who else would it be at 1 AM on a Saturday morning?

The guy next to you in the bed also rolled over, covering his mouth as he yawned, eyes half-open.

“Everything OK, Y/N?” he asked.

“Yeah, Raf, just a needy friend.... gonna call them back, so do you mind staying hush-hush for the next few minutes?”

He yawned massively again, speaking through it, “Ahhhhrrrrr...yeah... no problem...”

You hit the ‘Favourites’ star next to Billy’s name in your contacts, hearing it start ringing.

It went to voicemail so you hung up, slid the phone onto the table and threw your head back down onto your pillow. Fucking Russo. Blows up your phone with missed calls & “Pick up!!” texts then doesn’t answer when you call back.

It rang two seconds later, just as Raf had turned towards you, opening his mouth to no doubt ask you about your ‘needy friend’. You rolled your eyes and grabbed it, but the screen went dark just as you did so.

You hit redial, it rang out, went to voicemail. “Fuck!” you ground out between your teeth.

Your head had touched your pillow again for about 5 minutes, when there was a staccato series of knocks on your apartment door.

You shot up in bed, quivering - ah hell, it couldn’t be, could it? Really?

Raf had dozed back off in the meantime & didn’t even stir when the knocks rang out sharply in the quiet apartment. Not much of a guard dog, you thought, quickly throwing on your discarded PJs.

You padded barefoot over to the front door, confirming via the peephole that Billy Russo was indeed outside in the hallway, leaning on your doorframe so he could place one eye right to it. You spotted an eyebrow wiggle as you made eye contact. Oh holy hell!

You straightened your shoulders, took the chain off and unlocked the door, swinging it open.

“Billy!” you said quietly, with a small smile, “What brings you here?” You hadn’t seen hide nor hair of him for about three weeks. Not that that was anything new.

He moved gracefully past you like the panther he was, even though you’d been trying to subtly block him from coming in. He was dressed in one of his sharp suits, so you guessed he’d been at one of the never-ending stream of events he attended.

Your mouth drew into a line. Whoever he’d gone there with must have bucked the trend and bailed on him. Otherwise he wouldn’t have turned up at your place when, in his mind, the night was still young.

He turned towards you, placing both hands on your hips as he did so, pulling you up against his muscled chest.

“Now, Y/N, why do you think I’m here, holding my best girl in my arms?” the New York accented voice purred in your ear.

He leant in and kissed you hungrily, deepening the kiss immediately to a passionate one.

You pulled away, escaping his grasp. His eyes widened in surprise, a small frown making its way onto his brow. A few locks of his dark hair had fallen forward onto his brow and he swept them back up with his fingers, a reflexive gesture for him.

“I tried to call you back,” you mumbled, “I’ve... uh... got a friend staying with me at the moment.”

He shot his trademark smirk at you. “Hey, that’s OK. We can be quiet for once, yeah?” Grinning now.

In true romcom fashion, Raf picked that moment to come wandering into the lounge, clad only in his boxers, both hands ruffling through his short hair.

Billy’s mouth dropped open. He made a quick recovery, though. Gestured with a thumb.

“So... this your ‘friend’?”

He looked Raf up and down. He was a 6 feet 3 firefighter with the FDNY, and to put it mildly, he was ripped.

He topped Billy by a couple of inches, and by a few pounds. Billy scowled at him.

Raf eyed up Billy too, turning to you and asking, “This your ‘needy friend’ you were talkin’ ‘bout, Y/N?”

Oh crap.

Billy’s scowl turned to a furious glare, aimed right at you. “Needy?!! Ah, fuck this, Y/N! I think we all know who’s needy around here.”

Your mouth rounded into an offended O, but before you could reply, Billy was out the door and it slammed loudly behind him.

Great - now all your neighbours were gonna be mad at you too.

»»———————————————-　⚜　-———-———————————-««

You had then spent an uncomfortable half hour over a coffee with Raf, explaining the dynamics of your non-relationship with Billy.

“Now,” he’d said, brow furrowed, “let me get this straight. He’s part of your friend group, you see him every so often at a bar or at one of their places - but never his. He sees tons of other women but turns up here for booty calls whenever his busy schedule allows?”

He shook his head. “He’s using you, Y/N. What a selfish prick.”

You bristled, “Look, we go back quite a ways. Since he was in the Marines. I knew Frank first as we were neighbours when we were kids, and I eventually met Billy through him. He’s Frankie’s best friend, they’re Marine brothers.”

“And how long have you been ‘friends with benefits’?”

You muttered your response. “Sorry, what was that you said?” he asked.

“Three years,” you repeated reluctantly.

“Damn.” he said. “And what am I, exactly? Filler for whenever fuckboy isn’t calling?”

“No! Raf, you’re a really nice guy, and I love spending time with you.”

He stood up, heading to the bedroom. “Look, I’m gonna go. I need a few days to try and get my head round your fucked-up relationship with the suit-wearing Marine.”

He’d left shortly afterwards, saying he’d call. You weren’t sure that he would.

You met up with Karen for lunch later that day. You’d been co-workers first off, then had become good friends. She was currently dating Frank, your childhood friend.

You were so glad that he was back out socialising, in a small way, after losing his wife and kids in a brutal gang clash just over a year before. They and several others had been what the papers described, rather callously, as “collateral damage” while minding their own business in the public park the gun fight took place in.

Frank had understandably closed himself off to a large extent as he grieved and after a decent interval, you’d tried your best to draw him back out in a gentle way. You’d decided to indulge in a bit of Matchmaking Lite, and had invited Karen along to a night out with the rest of your friends. You knew Frank would be there and as you’d hoped, they hit it off right away.

You spilled what had happened the night before to her, grateful for a shoulder to cry on. She looked and sounded sympathetic, but you knew she wasn’t a big fan of your arrangement with Billy. She again voiced her astonishment that you still had it going on with him.

“Karen, without making you vomit by sharing too many details, Billy is just the absolute best in bed. He’s got the stamina of an ox. Several oxes, in fact.” You just knew your eyes had a faraway look in them.

Her mouth pursed in a ‘moux’ of distaste. “But still, Y/N, he’s just so damn selfish about it! It’s all on his terms.”

“You know he’s got commitment issues.”

She choked on her espresso martini. “Ya don’t say!!”

“It’s complicated.”

“Look, honey, I’m gonna be straight with you. It is anything but complicated. He spends 90% of his time at Anvil, 9.9% with other gals, and guess who gets the remaining measly 0.1%, the crumbs from his table?” She pointed her finger straight at you. “Coconut for the lady over there!”

You sat in silence for several minutes, turning over in your mind what Raf, and now Karen, had said to you. Eventually you nodded slowly. “You know what, Kar, you’re totally right. I just let the great sex blind me to all the rest of his fucking bullshit.”

Time to cut Billy loose.

Not that you ever had him tied down in the first place. If you were being brutally honest.

And you weren’t sure whether he’d even bother showing up at your place ever again.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

The next day being Sunday meant that some serious ‘Me Time’ was in order.

Sitting on the sofa, you stared off into space, thinking about the two men in your life. You huffed to yourself; you hadn’t heard from either of them so far, and that was probably for the best. You could do without being stuck in the middle of some kind of testosterone-fuelled conflict between the two of them.

Then you laughed out loud at yourself. Who were you kidding? You’d probably never see either of them again! You stood up, stretching out your shoulder and neck muscles. Time for a bit of self-pampering.

You had a long relaxing bath, gave yourself a leisurely mani-pedi, ordered in some pizza, and began to go through some layouts for work the next day.

You were a digital content editor at the newspaper both you & Karen worked for. It was okay as jobs went, but it didn’t set your world on fire. However, what did excite you was that the newspaper’s parent publishing house was about to launch a travel magazine, and you’d applied for a transfer.

What really made butterflies pop up into your stomach, though, was the fact that the magazine’s content editors would also be contributing instead of just collating. You’d already had an interview with the Editor in Chief, and should be hearing back within the next few days.

If someone else got that position you’d applied for, you’d just have to shove them out of your third floor office window at the very first opportunity.

While you were thinking of potentially becoming a murderer, there was a familiar pattern of raps at your door. Your heart sank straight through your boots.

You knew it was Billy before you opened the door. It sounded ridiculous but he had a certain way of knocking. Peremptory, demanding, with military precision.

He stood outside your door, tensed up and rigid, with a carefully blank look on his face.

“You alone?” he barked, by way of greeting.

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Why, hello Billy. How are you? I’m fine, Y/N, how are you? Yeah, I’m great.”

He glared right back. “I asked if you were alone.”

“That’s highly unlikely, Billy, seeing as how I’m so needy!”

He huffed and marched inside straight to the sofa, sitting down and leaning his arms on his spread-apart thighs. He clasped his hands together, letting them dangle loosely between his knees.

“You said I was needy first.” Sulky face.

“Hey, are we back in school or something?”

He looked up at you, dark eyes staring into yours intensely. “Why d’you get with another guy, Y/N?”

Straight to the point, then. OK, you were going to return the favour.

“What, I’m not allowed to have a life? D’you think I’m going to just sit around, waiting to gratefully receive 5 minutes of your attention every few weeks? Like some kind of fucktoy, to be picked up and dropped at will? Seriously?”

He clenched his fingers until the joints went white. “I thought you were happy with the way things are between us!!?... our... our arrangement. You’re important to me. And you know I care about you!” Not meeting your eyes at this last comment.

“Huh!!!” You leant against your kitchen island, you weren’t going to get into Billy’s orbit. Too risky.

“So important that you spend all your time at work, while bedding half of Manhattan? Leaving me with the crumbs from your table, as someone put it recently.”

He shot up from the sofa, fury in his eyes. “Who fuckin’ said that?!”

You shrugged, “It’s not important. What is important is that our arrangement, as you call it, is over. Since you put it in such business-like terms, think of it as a contract which has been terminated.”

Billy stalked across the room until he was an inch away from you, eyes boring into yours. “No.”

You laughed in disbelief, eyebrows arching. “You think that just cos you say ‘No’ it’s not gonna happen? Because no-one ever says no to Billy Russo, is that it?”

He grabbed you, lips finding yours in a ferocious kiss. One hand crept up the nape of your neck, his fingers running through your hair, while the other hand pulled your hips to his. He had an impressive erection. You gasped as you felt the pressure of it against you, but pushed him away, escaping to the other side of the kitchen island.

“Just go, Billy. Please.”

He stared at you, wide-eyed, those dark pools of his looking suspiciously glossy. Was he...? No way.

Billy turned on his heel and slammed out of your apartment. Again.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Billy knocked his beer bottle off the table with his elbow, as he leant forward to drunkenly wave a finger in his friend’s face. Luckily, it fell onto the grassy verge below, rather than the decked patio they were sitting on in Frank’s back garden.

Frank grabbed his finger. “Russo!!! Chill out, man.”

“She tol’ me... t’go, Frankie, I was kissin’ her an’ she jus’ said Go!” slurred Billy. Frank squeezed his eyes shut at the whiny tone then looked back at him.

“Bill! We all warned you she wouldn’t put up with your bullshit forever. You should’ve known this was comin’ bud.”

“Bu’ I... I... love her,” he blurted, then stared at Frank, eyes wide, part horrified, part terrified.

“Got a strange way of showin’ it, Bill. Picking other women over her, until you decide it’s time to hook up. Surprised she’s stood for it so long!”

Billy swayed slightly in his garden chair, just staring back at him, nodding repetitively like a bobble head every so often.

“I gotta get her back, Frankie.”

“Whooo,” Frank huffed out a big breath, “well, ya always did like to choose the impossible missions, Russo.”

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

You were beginning to understand what having a stalker was like.

When you left work the following day, the first person you spotted on the sidewalk outside your office building was Billy Russo.

You hesitated, shocked, then nodded and said quietly, “Hi Billy,” before continuing your short walk to the subway.

He fell into step alongside you. “M’gonna show you just how much I care about you,” you heard, then he was gone. Just gone, into the crowd of commuters around you.

That was just the beginning. Every morning, one single rose of the palest pearly pink would be delivered to your office, laying in a swirl of black chiffon within a silver gift box.

Texts would drop into your phone at unexpected hours. “Please forgive me. Let me back into your life. I love you, Y/N.”

The first time you saw those words, you nearly dropped your phone. What the....?

Gourmet meals and bottles of rosé prosecco would be delivered to your door, precisely 30 minutes after you’d get home. Was he watching you or something? A little shiver ran up your spine. He was still a sniper, after all.

You would catch glimpses of Billy when you left the office, and outside your apartment. Without a shadow of a doubt, he meant you to see him, he would never be so visible on a real surveillance job. But he didn’t ever approach you.

Then you got your dream job. You, Karen and a bunch of your colleagues went to your regular bar after work for a quick celebration. There was a toast proposed to your new job at one point, and one of your male colleagues grabbed you in a friendly bear hug after they’d all shouted “Cheers!”

You were looking past his arm as he hugged you, and found yourself staring into Billy Russo’s dark eyes. Casually dressed, he was leaning on a high table near the door, a beer in front of him.

Billy lazily pushed back from his table, strode over to you, swiped you out of the guy’s arms, wrapped his own arms round you and planted a kiss on your temple, with a nonchalant, “Hi, sweetheart.”

Karen, who had heard all about your last encounter with Billy, looked thunderstruck. You’d be getting interrogated later, that was for sure.

He, meanwhile, landed another kiss right next to your lips and said, “See you later at home,” giving you a quick squeeze before walking off.

Your female colleagues meanwhile were swooning over Billy, one of them commenting that she wasn’t surprised you’d kept so damn quiet about your hot boyfriend. You gave Karen a meaningful look and just smiled back at them all, neither confirming nor denying anything.

However the feeling of Billy’s body against yours, the delicious smell of him, his lips on your skin, had set your heart racing at a dangerous speed. You really did try to push those thoughts aside.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

Flopping down onto your sofa when you got home, you laid your head back on it and thought about that evening. As expected, Karen had questioned you ruthlessly as you left the bar together, like the perceptive investigative reporter she was.

Talking as you walked to the subway, you’d given her every detail of all the deliveries, glimpses of him and texts you’d received in the last few days. Karen had stopped walking, looking at you in surprise. “Y/N, why didn’t you tell me about all of this before now? Hell, Frank told me he had some crazy plan to win you back, but I never really thought...” her voice trailed off.

“Is it working?” she asked next. “Mmmm, yes and no, to be honest,” you said. “Don’t let it!” she said firmly, “This is what he should have been doing all along, instead of treating you like a total afterthought.”

You nodded, “Can’t argue with ya on that,” you agreed. “Is he going to turn up at your place, d’you think?” she asked. “Wouldn’t be surprised,” you laughed, “I think that was Billy giving me a heads-up.”

So as you’d been 90% expecting, the familiar knock at the door came about 15 minutes after you’d got back. You got up and after checking the peephole, sighed and opened it. “Hi, Billy.”

This was like déjà vu. Billy brushed past you and sat himself down on the sofa, in the same pose as the last time. Head down, hair falling forward and hiding his eyes from you. This time, you bit the bullet and sat at the opposite end, leaning against the armrest so you were facing him.

“Well, Billy.... leaving aside the stalkerish overtones, I guess I should thank you for the roses, gourmet meals and prosecco.”

He swung his head towards you, eyes wide. “They were just to get your attention. Frankie told me it’s what I shoulda been doin’ anyway, all along.”

You nodded, “Yeah, he’s not wrong.”

Billy heaved out a big sigh, head dropping. “I know I’ve been a complete shit to you, Y/N. Took you for granted.” He met your eyes again, “Truth is, I was fallin’ in love with you, and I really didn’t know how to handle it. I thought it was... just sex to you, so I... I was a coward and tried to ignore it, and acted like I didn’t give a shit about you. I just couldn’t have you kick me to the curb if I told you how I felt.”

You were genuinely shocked - Billy had never talked about his feelings before. You’d accepted this in the past, telling yourself it was due to his upbringing in the system.

“So you meant what you said in your daily texts, then?”

He nodded, still looking straight at you, “Yeah...I meant it, I do love you, Y/N.” Then he quickly looked down again.

Before you could stop yourself, you’d leant along the sofa and your fingers were pushing that silky hair off his forehead. He looked up at you, taking hold of your wrist and kissing your pulse point softly. You stood up, saying “C’mere, you,” and took hold of his hand, pulling him up along with you.

He put his arms round you, burying his face into your hair and just holding you. “I’ve missed you,” he mumbled. You laughed, “What?! Even though you hadn’t seen me for weeks before the night you landed on my doorstep?!”

“I know, I know, you don’t need to remind me I’ve been a complete prick. I’ll be honest, I think it took me seein’ you with that guy, and him actin’ like you were his, to give me that kick up the ass I needed.” The dark eyes looked down at you, and he sniffed, “He still around?” You shook your head.

“Nah. I think he thought I was completely insane for still being with you.”

Billy laughed, “Maybe he’s right....” he looked at you, serious again. “You willin’ to give me another chance, Y/N? I promise you I’ll do it right this time. The whole dating thing, asking you to be my girlfriend after three dates, all that stuff... everything.”

“Everything? Like, what if I say no sex to start with? And no running off to other women to scratch that itch? You’ll swear to all that? Really?!”

“I swear to you, on my Ka-Bar.”

“Wow,” you said, knowing that the knife was never out of Billy’s possession. It was an integral part of him. Maybe he was serious after all.

»»————————————-———-　⚜　———————————-————-««

A small kiss on your cheek woke you the next morning. Those eyes, those dark liquid pools, stared into yours, while a thumb ran over your cheek. “Mornin’, sweetheart,” smiling down at you. Reaching up, you ran your fingers into his hair, moving it off his forehead. “Morning, sweetheart,” you echoed, smiling back.

You and Billy had shared a bed but nothing else, except hugs and hand-holding. You were in your PJ’s - well, camisole top with matching shorts - and all Billy had on were his boxer briefs. You couldn’t deny you’d had thoughts of just leaping on him during the night... let’s face it, he was one hot dude. And he knew how to ‘look after’ a woman in bed, as he himself put it.

But no, you were determined he was gonna have to work for it, just like he promised he would. So you’d had to show some self-discipline, well, a lot of it, actually. He’d passed the first test - he’d actually stayed all night. Usually he was gone before the morning light stole through the curtains.

Now, he kissed your bare shoulder and leapt out of bed, like he was back in the Marines. He stood still for a moment, sideways next to the bed, having a leisurely full body stretch. Billy knew full well you’d be totally enjoying the view. A little tease from him to remind you what you were missing.

The sunlight, which stole through a small gap between your curtains in the otherwise dim room, picked out the sculpted muscles on his back & torso. Then he turned slightly more, ensuring you wouldn’t miss seeing the hard-on he was currently sporting. You shook your head, with a slight smile on your lips. The cocky big bastard.

“Where you off to, Billy?” you asked, thinking to yourself, if he’s headed to Anvil, he can fucking shove his second cha......

“I’m gonna make my beautiful almost-girlfriend a cup of good Italian coffee.”

You smiled at his departing back as he disappeared out of the bedroom. “Oh, Billy?”

His voice drifted back through from the kitchen, “Yeah, darlin’?”

“Can I please get some toast with that, too?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

You stretched luxuriously, nestling your head into your pillows.

Looked like you were going to find out what having a panther on a leash was like.

[lovely-necromancy]

A Cure for Insomnia CH 15

////TW Deceptions of canon typical violence and a home invasion near the end////

“Yea so the pizza is not only aesthetically pleasing but pretty fuckin' good too.”you finish your rant on why the two of you should drive out to Point Pleasant some time.

“Not gonna lie it seems more like you want to,” he pops his knuckles, “drag me miles away to sacrifice me to some old god.” the popping gets worse.

Shit, Toby's getting nervous. You probably look pretty sketchy right now considering the fact that you've been suggesting the two of you go out to Point Pleasant for the past thirty-ish minutes. Toby had pulled off to the shoulder lane once Connor's barking started up. Alerting the two of you to his incoming tics. It seemed to be a long episode so you offered to drive off the interstate and on to the side of the road instead. Hoping that maybe the absence of the additional outside stimulants coming from cars driving past you two would calm Toby's tics.

Unfortunately you'd gotten caught up talking about your late night escapades having been taken by the fact that Toby didn't seem to mind. He'd actually understood that restlessness you went on about. And when he asked what was the furthest town you've driven to in one night. You kind of let loose and spilled your guts about the Mothman capital.

For half an hour, on an offshoot of the interstate in the middle of nowhere, he was trapped with no where to run. Of course the poor guy was probably scared of you at this point. He was just indulging you out of fear not out of any genuine interest.

Why couldn't you just read signals properly?

“No!” from his jump you've probably said that way too loudly, “I mean sorry I get carried away – Mothman's cool – the town is a nice tourist trap and I thought you'd think it was cool – but then I just probably just seemed weird to you and now I just....ughr none of that made sense did it?”

“Weeell” he drags out as thought he's thinking on it “nope none.”

Looking at his face you can see his red stained scarred lips pull into a sort of smirk and there's a glint in his eyes. He's being sarcastic, he's making fun of you. He isn't weirded out by you just being yourself and ranting about nothing in particular or running around in circles with a train of thought only  to get confused or baffled by the workings of your own brain.

The smug dick. Letting you spiral while he watched on in amusement. This reeks of Brian, has his fuck boy energy written all over it. You'll just have to spend more time with Toby to make sure the sweet man next to you doesn't turn into a menace to society. Or at least not a menace to you.

“Meanie.” you blow a raspberry in his direction, he returns the gesture albeit a lot messier than he intended. Spit seeps from the gash in his cheek and dribbles down the scarred edge of his lips.

Toby lets out a grunt and looks down at his spit in disgust. Whether that's in himself or just his spit you can't tell. Leaning over the console you pop open the glove box to hand him some emergency napkins you had in there.

“Fuckin' Mary Poppins.” you hear him mutter over you.

Choosing to ignore his teasing and take the high road in this you hand him the napkins and relax back into your seat. Watching him run the napkin up and down his arms trying to get any spit that may have backfired onto him, which was definitely most of it.

“You good?” you ask.

“Uh yea 's just spit no big deal.” it's such a simple statement but you can't help the smile that it brings to your face.

You meant if he'd be good to drive yet since you two had been out here for the better part of an hour now. It was nearly two in the afternoon. Neither of you anticipated the quick slushy run turning into an all day event. And while you wouldn't mind driving around for two more hours or so – you're quickly coming to the end of your battery.

“Meant to drive, dork.”

“Hmm...Yea should be now,” Toby says wadding up the napkins before spinning in the passenger seat towards you and gently flinging the wad of napkins in your face, “and 'm not a dork. You are.”

Returning his spit used napkin to him, tossing it just a tad harsher than he originally had, “You're right you're a brat!”

You exit the car before he can throw it at you again. Though it really doesn't matter when he just pelts you with it from over the hood when you switch seats anyway. Picking the napkin up off the ground you hold on to it and place it in one of the empty slushy containers sitting in your console.

The mature course of action. However, you do poke your tongue out at Toby as you do it. He only rolls his eyes as he huffs out a laugh at you.

Toby hovers over the gear shift waiting for either an alert or one of his tics to rear its head. When neither happens he put the car in drive and you two begin your hour and half drive back to Kepler.

Or would've, had it not been for the traffic you seemed to get stuck in not even five minutes after getting back on the interstate.

“You're fucking kidding me.” Toby says incredulously.

After ten minutes of going nowhere, all the while his leg bouncing was shaking the car, Toby abruptly get out of the car and marches to the passenger door flinging it open.

“You're driving.” is all he says.

You don't think there's any talking him out of it. You're good to drive so that isn't the issue, his abruptness about the situation is what stuns you. Wordlessly you get out of the car and take the wheel. Getting buckled in you see from the corner of your eye Toby grabbing you phone and typing away.

He seems to find what he's looking for as static flows through your stereo. The sponsored ads for the white noise “podcast” start playing before fading back into the never ending static. Your phone is placed back under the radio and Toby reclines his seat all the way.

It's tense for a moment as you wait for something else to happen. Whether it's an outburst or an explanation you aren't sure, the anticipation for anything to happen hangs thick in the car. You keep your focus on the road and traffic in front of you figuring Toby will let you know what's up in his own time.

The sound of shuffling comes from behind you as Connor scoots over to his handler to be of assistance. Only for him to be gently waved off. And he goes back to his spot laying down and honing in on you. Since you are currently driving...even though scooting the car up a few inches in the past twenty minutes shouldn't really qualify as driving. Nevertheless the pup remains vigilant in his work.

It's probably an hour or so before Toby finally speaks, breaking the semi silence he put the car in.

“Traffic jams make me anxious.” he doesn't move from his reclined position, just stares up at the ceiling of your car.

A noncommittal hum comes from the back of your throat. You'd assumed it was something to that nature but didn't want to pry. It must be bad if it was something that made him willingly pass the torch of driving, something that also made him wildly uncomfortable.

“Wanna talk – or do you just need silence.”

The answer came in the form of the silence that followed. It was another long hour and a half before the traffic finally cleared. You weren't even aware so many people could be on the interstate going through West Virginia on a Monday afternoon. Since you were at the tail end of the traffic by the time you got to where you assume it started, by the left over debris in the road and fresh skid marks heading into the median, you really couldn't put together what had gone on.

Your eyes didn't focus in on the leftovers of the accident nor did you slow down like many other vehicles. It's not like you enjoy seeing the wreckage of cars or people being lifted into ambulances but you understand most people give in to that base human curiosity. You just hoped everyone involved was safe and okay.

From your peripheral you catch Toby turning his head to face you every few minutes or so. Disregarding it as a tic you continue on driving. While this accident had cleared you don't doubt the power of stupidity to not influence another reckless driver, who might now be late from traffic, to start weaving in between lanes.

“Are we past it?” comes the quietest voice you've ever heard from Toby.

So stunned by the volume it takes you a minute to register what he'd asked.

“Uh...oh yea. We passed it like fourteen minutes ago?” assuming 'it' had been the crash site, though you hadn't been keeping track of time honestly.

No point when the two of you would be getting back to Kepler after dark anyway. You'd ask Toby if he'd want to grab food before you drop him off at the lodge but his continued silence as he fixes his seat up right clues you in that he might not be up for anything other than turning in for the night. Honestly you're at the point yourself, so you don't really mind the silence driving back.

Just like you thought the two of you got into Kepler a little after eight o'clock. Having been stopped by another accident, this one not lasting nearly as long to get situated, had really taken a toll on Toby's mood though. You could practically feel something eating at him as anxiety radiated off his form.

He didn't offer any clarification for his reactions and you didn't pry. Most times when you get a similar way you find it's easier to just let it run it's course than to try and calm yourself. So you're a little surprised when you reach the lodge and  Toby practically volts out of your car, when he gently taps on your window after he's retrieved Connor from behind you.

“Get home safe.”

Those words hit your ears with a bit more weight than they normally do. Maybe because the day's been full of accidents on the road. Or maybe because of the lack of interaction the two of you have had for the past four hours. Whatever the reason it doesn't change how Toby lingers at your side even after your reply. He finally steps away, once again falling silent, and you're able to drive home after a final farewell to him.

The way Toby reacted today never leaves your mind. While theories and ideas toss around in your head you can feel the bubbling weight in your stomach build as cold sweats break out all over your body. Combating the weight in your stomach is its emptiness. Having only eaten the bowl of cereal today and nothing else has left you on empty since you'd gotten into traffic. However, being so preoccupied with Toby's change in behavior you'd forgone food in favor of getting your friend home as soon as possible.

Pausing when you come to the fork in the road making you choose between going straight home and fighting with cooking a meal or running to the mini mart and grabbing something quick and unhealthy. You normally take a bit to decide, but today it seems your gut is telling you to forgo the food and get home. You can't quite place a finger on what you're feeling – not quite fear or anxiety or even paranoia. All of which would be valid considering how weird your afternoon had been. Instead it feels like a little voice is ever so quietly telling you that you should get home immediately.

The voice pipes up again as soon as you gently shut your car door. It seems to warn you that there is danger near by.

'Fuck' is all you can think about as memories of the evidence of your stalker come into play.

It had been so busy lately that you'd honestly forgotten all about the stalker. Hell your bat was still in your room, so you were fucked if your intuition was right about this. You were at least going to be smart about this and pull up the Cowell's home phone contact on your cell before even getting near the front door. If anything happened you'd call and either leave a message or have a concerned Big Jo over instantly.

The house is silent as you open and shut the front door. Not anything new to you but with the tension in the air you're more than certain someone is here with you. Making your way through the house you peer into the kitchen and living room. The coast is clear on those fronts which leaves the hall closet, your bedroom, and the bathroom right across from your room.

Quickly ruling out the closet because of the limited space for a grown adult to hide in. The only options are your bedroom and the bathroom. The bathroom that has the door open at all times and would make a great place to hide and ambush you while you went into you room. Or a good place to lock yourself in to call Jo in case they were in your room, you'd just have to be ready to sprint out faster than they could register seeing you. Then there's your room, multiple hiding spots and the baseball bat you'd left in there. Even if they came empty handed they were the one with the weapon right now, you had to be careful.

As you make your way slowly and soundlessly down the hall way you hear a small beep come from your bedroom just as you stand in the doorway of the bathroom. You don't own anything that beeps. This thought causes you to freeze in place all but your thumb which hits the dial button.

Just in time too, because in your stupor a large figure in a black ski mask opens the door to your bedroom. You barely have time to react to the sudden appearance before they come barreling into you. A sharp pain bursts in the back of your head as it collides with the wall that you are tackled into. Phone forgotten, instinctively you bring both hands to your attacker's face.

They may be wearing a ski mask but it will do little to protect their eyes against your nails. Thankfully they have a stupid red frowny face decorating the mask, giving you the perfect target for their eyes. Not expecting your quick reflexes the attacker pulls away slightly trying to get out of your reach, and get your hands off of their mask. They must be worried you'll find out their identity, and while that would be nice you'd enjoy surviving this encounter a lot more. So you continue your assault on your would be assaulter.

A large hand comes down and swoops both of yours in a crushing grip. Harshly yanking them away from their face. Unfortunately for them they'd gotten one of your knees pressed against your chest when they tackled you. With the new distance between your bodies you're able to lift your leg up higher and kick at them.

“Get OFF of me..you piece of SHIT.” more force exerted on certain words while you kicked them solidly in the chest.

Their grip actually gets tighter on your hands as you knock the air out of their lungs. Aside from that and their pained grunts they weren't giving much of a reaction. You'd be certain you weren't kicking hard enough if it wasn't for a cough that ripped through them on a particularly powerful kick to the stomach.

There's a distant warble that you can't make out, it's high pitched and annoying. Good, that irritating sound will only succeed in pissing you off more and enabling you to unleash your rage on the fucker holding you down right now.

Before you can give another blow pain erupts through your chest as it constricts. You can't breathe and you see black dots forming in your vision as you're slammed into the tile floor of your bathroom. There's a foggy feeling in your head, and that distant warble gets more frantic and higher in pitch. But you can't focus on that you can't focus on anything that isn't the merciless thudding in your chest, the pounding of your head, and the god awful static that is starting to burn your ears like a white hot fire.

With the first heavy and heaving breath you're able to take as your assailant presses you into the ground, you feel the rush of adrenaline surge through you. Without any leverage you can do little more  than squirm and thrash under the heavier figure. A brief feeling of vindication showers you as one of your arms is tugged free in your flailing. Your attacker isn't quick enough to restrain you this time and you reach your hand up to their face, this time intent on clawing it up from under the mask. That way some one would know based on the nail marks who did this, and maybe the DNA left under your skin would be enough identify them and save a future would be victim.

God you didn't want to be a victim.

Just before you can hook your fingers into their flesh they are thrown off of you. All adrenaline you had before turns into ice as you stare at their companion. The white mask with painted black features. It hadn't been a hallucination.

They hadn't been a hallucination.

They'd been in your home before. While you were there and blissfully unaware. They'd been so still, so quiet that you'd never even thought they were anything more than a messed up part of your psyche. There isn't enough time to dwell on this feeling of pure terror that spikes through you. But you still freeze in the face of the mask, only to be rewarded with an iron grip locked into your hair pulling you up by the scalp. Then you're bashed against the floor twice.

You honestly hadn't meant to play dead. In your shock it was the only thing you could do to just go limp. That once high pitched warble is now a drawn out moan almost, the static is playing at the edges of your mind as you barely make out the sound of retreating footsteps.

You want to roll onto your back but as nausea hits you at just the thought you stay on your side. Eyes fluttering against your will, this time not a tic but in an attempt to heal your body on it's limited energy reserves. You doubt you'd be able to turn over again if you needed to vomit. Hell you'd be lucky to stay conscious till someone came looking for you.

Would that be in the morning when you don't show up for work? Would it be days from now? Wait did you manage to call the Cowells?

The pounding in your head gets worse with each passing second. You officially can't keep your eyes open anymore. There's no reaction from you when you hear your front door burst open and yelling echo through the empty house. You don't stir from your sleep as someone taps you, not shaking you but just gentle taps careful to not exacerbate your injuries.

When Big Jo got to your home he slammed open your door and had his gun at the ready for your attackers. The house didn't look messed with and nothing was out of place, at least to him he'd only ever been out this far to drop little Jo off once or twice. It was quiet in your home except for a murmuring coming down the hall. So he made his way down slowly, vigilant for any sudden movement if there was anyone other than you here. He'd called your name several times since entering and hadn't received a reply.

As he got closer to the bathroom the murmuring became louder, peering in his heart stopped for a beat. The weathered man has seen a lot of shit in his time but he always hated to see a kid in your condition. Beaten with bruises littering your face and wrists all while being unresponsive as he tried to wake you. The source of the noise became clear when he saw your phone a few feet away slid into the corner away from you.

Dia was still on the line and sobbing now. If that didn't twist the knife that was already speared into his heart. Picking up your phone he spoke with his wife trying to reassure her as he felt for a pulse. You had one, one that was faster than normal. Your body was probably still reeling from what you just went through. But he wasn't a doctor and wouldn't count you out of the woods until one assessed you themself.

Jo wasn't waiting long before he heard the sirens, he went out front to meet the sheriff. After you'd been packed into an ambulance and taken to St. Francis Hospital Jo told Dia so she could meet you there. He'd stuck around while the sheriff and his deputy surveyed the area and came back to him for his statement.

“Looks like we've got most of what we needed Jo...But the kid, they got hallucinations you said?” Sheriff Owens asked.

“Why're you asking Zeke?” now wasn't the time to anger the large man as he was barely holding his normal civility.

“Now I don' mean nothin' by it – 's jus' tha' well we didn' find any evidence of a break in.”

“You think the kid coulda done that to themself? The marks on their wrists are bigger than their hands!”

“Jo, in some cases people sufferin' from delusions can do all sorts a things ta themselves... 'm just trin' ta find out if we ought ta have 'em kept in the ward for a bit.”

“They're fine. They've told me themself that they only get visual hallucinations and they can differentiate between the two.” a small lie on his part, he knows occasionally a hallucination will grab your attention for longer than it should if that were the case but he'll keep you out of the damn ward for now because this wasn't a hallucination. He had heard the struggle going on between you and someone else.

Right now his top concern was getting to the hospital and meeting up with Dia to make sure your condition was stable. If he had to lie to the sheriff to do it, so be it. Not like he wouldn't enlist his own detail to figure out what went down here. He'd let you stay with them while he contacted Lydia about updating security on her property.

Sheriff Owens didn't put up a fight on this, and said he'd swing by the hospital Wednesday to get your statement on the encounter. With that the sheriff and deputy piled into their car and left. Jo had found your keys still in the door and locked your home, a lot of good it did you but at least this way a bear wouldn't get in before they set up the new system.

Jo got to St. Francis and was greeted by his teary eyed daughter and sobbing wife. Dia really wasn't cut out for any type of violence. He's have to make sure she called her therapist this week for an extra appointment or two just to help her through this. Looking at his daughter he sees the worry in her eyes as she runs to him.

A doctor comes up to the family to inform them of your condition.

“Ah Mr. Cowell good to see you. Mx. LN is responsive right now, and in enough of their right mind to complain that we are keeping them awake.” The doctor pauses with a slight chuckle, “We have them set up with an IV drip that's giving them fluids, their pain meds, and for tonight they'll also have a caloric infusion. They mentioned that they hadn't eaten much today. So to ensure their body has the energy to heal we thought it'd be the best course of action. We're keeping them up for another hour or so before they can sleep and then we'll be keeping them for observation for at least two days.”

“Can we see YN?” little Jo interrupts.

“Unfortunately we believe they wouldn't enjoy that right now. Their injuries aren't extensive but they are quite cranky due to residual pain and hunger.” the doctor says with a smile to little Jo. “Now speaking of their injuries the worst of which is their slight concussion again we're monitoring that and they seem to be very receptive to us right now. And then there's the dislocation of their left shoulder that we've already mended and the various bruising and mental trauma they're likely to retain from the incident your wife has briefly informed us about. We'll give a card for a good therapist to you and one to Mx. LN on their departure. When can we expect the Sheriff coming?”

“Owens said Wednesday.”

“Perfect, then that should be all. If anything changes or we want to keep them longer we'll let you know right away. And Miss Cowell if you come back in the morning we're sure Mx. LN will be much more agreeable company.”

The doctor waits for a moment letting the Cowells have time to process and ask a question or two. But when nothing comes up the doctor turns away to continue their work elsewhere.

And with that the very emotionally exhausted Cowell family go home. With plans to come visit you sometime tomorrow. Big Jo does however makes a few phone calls before going to bed that night. It isn't lost on him that he's already had one employee mysteriously vanish, he doesn't like the thought that she was targeted and your next on some hit list.

[wizardofozymandias]

14 Days of DA Lovers Prompts, Day 3: “You Drive Me Crazy”

Written for the @14daysdalovers prompt event. 

Prompt: “You Drive Me Crazy”

Pairing: Varric/Female Hawke

Characters: Varric Tethras, Marian Hawke

Warnings: Mentions of Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Injury, Self-Destructive Behavior

Summary: When Hawke almost dies fighting the Arishok, Varric ends up exposing more of his heart than he planned the next time he talks to her. 

It was three days before Hawke was awake for more than a few minutes at a time. Every time she woke up, she was in a haze of pain. The last thing she remembered was someone shouting about “the Champion of Kirkwall,” just before she collapsed in a pool of her own blood. 

Voices drifted in and out of her dreams. Sometimes she heard one of her friends (it seemed to be Anders often) while at other times she heard Carver or Bethany or her mother. The speakers never seemed to materialize; she only heard their voices, and never any words she could understand. The only exception was when her mother kept calling her Marian. At least I can remember my own name, Hawke thought. That should count for something. 

Three days after the duel, Hawke finally opened her eyes and the room didn’t swim away into the dark. Every inch of her ached. She wondered if this was how a sword felt on a blacksmith’s anvil. Good thing swords couldn’t think or feel—at least as far as she knew.

She turned her head. When did my head turn into an iron cauldron full of oatmeal? was the first thought that crossed her mind. Her skull felt so heavy, while her brains felt like mush.

The thought of oatmeal, of mush, sent her stomach churning, which made her head hurt worse. Although “worse” seemed an irrelevant concept. Measurements of pain didn’t seem to apply anymore, once you had reached “molten metal being pounded into shape by a hammer” levels of misery. 

A groan staggered its way up her throat, tripped, and came out half a cough. The motion rattled her ribs and made her eyes water.

“Hawke!” came a quiet voice from nearby.

The faint firelight revealed that Varric had been sitting nearby, keeping watch over her.

“Hey,” she said. Or at least, that was what she tried to say. The sound that emerged from her scratchy, parched throat was more like a rusty door hinge creaking open. She cleared her throat, winced, and tried again. “Hello, Varric.” At least it sounded like words this time.

“Hello, yourself.”

“How long have you been here?” she asked.

“Me?” he looked incredulous. “I’ve been in your house for the past three days, ever since they brought the newly-minted Champion of Kirkwall through the door, bleeding like a villain in a Summerday pantomime.”

Hawke tried to laugh. She wheezed instead, but even that hurt. “I guess I took a beating, didn’t I?”

Varric let out an exasperated sigh. “That’s an understatement.”

“You sound upset.”

He took a minute to reply. That was usually a sign that he was holding back his temper. “Hawke, it’s no time to talk about this. I know it’s not. But I’m not sure it can wait.”

Hawke tried to roll over to face him, but her body wouldn’t move. The pain radiated again. “I would at least turn over to look at you, but I’m, uh, stuck,” she rasped.

Varric looked like she had stabbed him. “Oh, Hawke,” he said. “You’re a wreck.”

She let out the pathetic wheeze that currently served as her laugh. “Tell me something I don’t know. And don’t look at me like I’m dead.”

Varric took a deep breath, then stared down at his hands, laced tight in his lap. “Hawke, what was that duel?”

“Other than our best chance to stop the Qunari from taking the city?”

“No, that’s not what I’m talking about.”

“You’re gonna have to spell it out for me,” she told him. “I’m not in much shape to think.”

“I’ve seen you fight,” Varric said. His voice was full of barely-restrained emotion. The same voice she had heard him use once before, with Bartrand. “I’ve seen you fight mercenaries and burglars and Qunari. Hell, I’ve even seen you fight a dragon.”

“Living the dream,” Hawke murmured.

“Okay, there, Chuckles. Less joking, more listening. I’m serious this time.”

“I know,” Hawke wheezed. “You sound like you’re about to pull out Bianca and turn me into a pincushion. I’m hoping my jokes might save my hide.”

“Don’t quit your day job,” Varric advised. “My point is, I know how you fight, Hawke. And what I saw three days ago was nothing like that. You egged him on, left yourself open too many times, took too many hits. Worst of all, you looked like you were enjoying it, every time he landed a blow.”

“Varric, I—”

“Listen to me. I know you’re hurting, I know losing your mom hurt you worse than you’ll admit. But Hawke, I can’t keep doing this.”

“Doing what?”

“Watching you try to kill yourself.”

“I thought you supported the duel with the Arishok.”

“I did! Because I knew you could take him! Shit, Hawke, you could’ve wiped the floor with that blowhard. But when you walked in there, I could tell you didn’t want to walk out. I don’t know what kind of crazy death wish you’re carrying around, but you need to let it go.”

She closed her eyes, wishing for a minute that she could just go back to sleep again. But Varric had found her out, and she knew it was pointless to try and hide anything now. “Was it that obvious?” she said. 

“To the others? Probably not. But you’re my best friend, Hawke. Shit, I never thought I’d care about anything in this damn town. And then I met you. I don’t have any family left that will claim me, but you and the others are more family to me than Bartrand ever was. And—you—you matter to me too damn much for me to sit by and watch you destroy yourself.” He seemed to be wrestling with what he was about to say next. Finally, he soldiered on. “Andraste’s ass, Hawke. I love you. I never thought I’d say that to someone again. But you walked into my life and settled in like you owned the place. I love you, and you drive me crazy. You get into more scrapes than anyone I’ve ever met and you probably should’ve died ten times over by now. Which is why I can’t stand to see you give up. Not like this. So, whatever problems you have, tell me next time. Or, shit, tell whoever you want. Daisy or Blondie are probably way better listeners than I am. Whatever it takes, just don’t throw your life away.”

If Hawke hadn’t been in her current state of severe injury, she absolutely would’ve had a stronger reaction to everything Varric had just told her. But considering her head still felt like a half-mashed potato, she wound up gaping at him like a cod someone had just hauled out of the harbor. 

With an uncharacteristic show of restraint, Varric ignored her dumbfounded state. “You don’t have to say anything,” he told her. “Just promise me you’ll keep trying to survive. If you can’t do it for your own sake. . .well, it might be selfish of me to say, but I’d like you to do it for mine.”

[entomancy]

(Fic) One thing we can agree on

Title: One thing we can agree on (Wattpad)

Setting: The vampire nonsense / Vegas Masquerade

Warnings: Gore.  I am having fun with my crayons.

Words: 1401

Summary: Flashback into the 'Moonlight Flush' part of the timeline. Which is the framing of the events of ~twenty years ago in the Vegas Masq. setting (which set up the current ‘rules’) as an urban fantasy police procedural; where Joplin would have been the secondary main / intro to the supernatural world and Belton the Season One antagonist who ended up Sort Of Befriended(ish).

This would have been in approx. Season Three, when bits from Joplin's past come back to bite him (er, again, I guess), and involves the first time he'd actually had to team up with Belton against a larger problem.

The larger problem being: more werebears, but asshole ones.

Indulgent, but I enjoy Belton being a dramatic irritation, and ~27yr old Joplin's permanent state of exasperation. And I wanted to explore an important (?) difference in the way the vampires and were(s) of this setting work.

(Also neither tumblr nor Wattpad has any sensible way to use footnotes, so there's one just... there, in the middle. Like this is FFN cira 2003 or something.)

---

The real difference between vampires and werewolves is how they bleed.

Clearly it isn't the only difference.  There are the big, obvious - hairy - ones; and you could spend lifetimes comparing technicalities of characteristic amongst the supernatural set, searching for links or diversions or even a root cause. How magic plays in.  How inheritances work, or the fundamental incompatibility of cross-siring.  How sunlight, direct or orbitally reflected, could possibly trigger the different effects that it does.

But for Denis Joplin, as he'd scrambled to make sense of the extraordinary left turn his last decade had careened into, somehow the thing that really seemed to underline it all was the way they bled.  Maybe because he'd always had such a damn knack for getting into situations that showcased it.

That last round of gunfire had really screwed up his right arm.  He'd wedged himself in place against the thick struts of a heavy-duty shipping container - splattered almost as much now with crimson as it was with spraypainted Cyrillic – and tried to breathe quietly.  The enormous bastard wielding a goddamn helicopter canon had fucked off to yell 'roided nonsense into a different part of the warehouse, so they probably had a few minutes pause before he realised his targets had dodged.

Not dodged as well as Joplin'd have liked, but there y'go.  You worked with what you got.

Most of the bullets had gone straight through – since he wasn't an armour-plated van – but he could feel a few wedged points of pain even within the jellied miasma of broken flesh that hung unpleasantly from his torn shirt.

"Jesustapdancing­-" he bit down on the mismatched curse as he grabbed his messed-up limb with his other hand and twisted, pushing it up against himself and the steel wall behind, and tried not to go blind.

It squelched.

"Don't like that," he muttered, then glanced up at the wet snort of amusement from just down the container row. "Hey, he nailed you to the fuckin' wall about as well as I've seen; don't get lippy."

Not that his extremely temporary partner was in much shape to be more actively sarcastic.  The brunt of the recent salvo had hit taken Belton pointy-ear to hip, ripping the big grey fuck open like a side character in chainsaw splatter, which – somehow – made the look of dazed amusement on the bits of his face that weren't hanging off even more aggravating than usual.  He shifted position, bringing his torn-up arms out in front of him as if holding something narrow and invisible in both hands, and –

Joplin blinked.

Pull... yourself...

"Oh fuck off," he growled – and it was a growl, a sound that started deeper than his chest actually went and brought the pull along with it; a bestial reverb that went beneath his bones.  Joplin gritted his teeth – which felt about ready to start moving in his jaw as it was, aching with something beyond nerves – and had another unpleasant feel around where his elbow used to be.  It helped if everything was in the right place.  Last thing he needed right now was having to rebreak a limb because he'd managed to shift over all wonky.

That'd have to do.  Very pointedly not making eye contact with Belton as he did so, Joplin Changed.

There have been a lot of renditions of a lycanthropic* transformations over the years, and there have even been some that have come close to the actual reality of seeing it happen. The exact visuals tend to vary person to person, but however it looks, the world bends – just a little, at the seams – as something that was only ever the thickness of breath away steps forward.  Joplin always thought it felt like stretching should do – an all-over, unfurling release of physicality, like every fibre of you stopped hunching its shoulders all at once.

________________________________________________________________

* There's an argument that 'ursanthropic' might be a more technically correct term when the reader is considering Denis Joplin himself – or even the bellowing figure currently firing 30mm rounds into what will turn out to be a container of tinned garlic pallets – but the linguistic side of paraphylogeny isn't a popular field.  'Actually, it's wereBEAR' is only a helpful correction under certain circumstances, and this isn't one of them.**

** Yet. ________________________________________________________________

The arm took a bit more effort.  A transformation that added several feet in height, width, and summed-up hair length didn't exactly have a problem fixing a half-mulched limb, but there was clearly an additional process going on.  He wondered how people had explained what it looked like before timelapse film had been developed.

It... healed.   Torn vessels sealed over; bone shards scraped and swelled together within muscles that bulged crimson-purple as they knitted close.  Tissue bloomed, bruise-blossom hues racing through tattered skin and dragging raw pallor behind them; black-bloody tears welled up pink and grey and pink again, threaded with ribbons of tendon herded into place by a lightning flash of sudden scars, gone as fast as they appeared.  Then the fur broke surface like desert flowering, and a heartbeat later there was nothing to show for the damage that a slight extra paleness in the iron-grey pelt, as Joplin flexed his bulked-out fingers carefully.

Belton clapped.  Just once, with a softness that hands tipped with inch-long claws shouldn't be able to achieve, and it was the most sarcastic fucking sound Joplin had ever heard.  He bared his considerable teeth in a silent snarl and waved his own padded hands towards the old bat.

Hurry.  Up.

Belton's black eyes crinkled at the edges, and then he pulled himself back together.

The real difference between vampires and werewolves is how they bleed.

Belton's blood was dark, with a strangeness to its consistency that would have baffled splatter analysts on a fundamental level, but it also didn't tend to stay where it landed.  None of him did.  Metal gleamed naked against the pitted concrete as pools of inky crimson pulled away from the bullets that had torn them loose, flowing back along their own path like a retreating tide - rivulets of reversing gore that snaked and whipped back up their origin form, trailing back into ruptures that folded seamlessly shut around them. ��Belton stood up, even as his chest cavity was still closing, and gently pushed his hanging jaw back into place, smoothed like fresh clay.

Vampires don't heal – you see – so much as 'rewind'.

He held Joplin's gaze, half a heartbeat longer than he needed to, and grinned.

There was a spotless bullet held between his rows of teeth.

"Oh, fuck off," Joplin repeated – before he was drowned out by a guttural roaring, and the sound of a minigun barrel being smashed through something unfortune enough to be inside its turning circle.

"Little pigs, little pigs!  I hear you!"

Both men visibly winced.

"See, someone with that little self-awareness just shouldn't be this much of a problem," Belton muttered, flicking the bullet aside like a cigarette butt. "It's genuinely a bit embarrassing."

"Yeah, well," Joplin whispered back, as he scanned the roof, taking in the environment with an eye to traversal options he hadn't had five minutes ago. "I won't tell if you don't."

Another roar burst the air, and Belton started edging down the row again, clearly doing his own version of the calculations.

"Pity he doesn't take after your side of the family, really."

"This isn't a family situation," Joplin snapped back, readying himself to move when the oncoming footsteps got a bit closer.  If he could get around, then maybe he could deke out the...

He glanced back, about to signal a go, and realised the old vampire was still looking at him, one of those impossible-to-read expressions on his weird bat face for a second, before he spoke softly.

"See, that's the thing with monsters.  It's always going to come back to blood, one way or another."

A shiver danced down Joplin's extended spine, strong enough to stir the fur.  That was a bit close for comfort – and from sodding Belton?  He shrugged dismissively, only partly to himself.

"Yeah, well, this ain't gonna be the worst it gets.  Try not t'get cut in half again."

Then the shipping container exploded in a nightmare of burning metal.  Belton went right; Joplin went up; and everything else went on from there.

----

[cursed-ice-spirits]

HPMA PROFILE: ASTRID REES

Profile Template by @hogwartsmystory​ (I’M SORRY FORGOT TO CREDIT YOU)

IDENTITY

Birth Name: Astrid Lord

Current Name: Astrid Rees

Gender: Female

Age: 17 

Birth Date: October 10th, 1993

Species: Metamorphmagus

Blood Status: Half-blood

Sexuality: Lesbian

Alignment: True Neutral 

Ethnicity: Vietnamese / Greek

Nationality: Greek

Residence: Ipswich, England

THE MAGE

Wand: 

Hornbeam.

Dragon heartstring 

14 inches

Pliable 

Hornbeam selects for its life mate the talented witch or wizard with a single, pure passion, which some might call obsession - more kindly - vision, which will almost always be realized. Hornbeam wands adapt more quickly than almost any other to their owner’s style of magic, and will become so personalized, so quickly, that other people will find them extremely difficult to use even for the most simple of spells.

Hornbeam wands likewise absorb their owner’s code of honor, whatever that might be, and will refuse to perform acts - whether for good or ill - that do not tally with their master’s principles. A particularly fine-tuned and sentient wand.

Animagus: N/A

Misc Magical Abilities: 

Caldwell Veer - Ability to HOST spirits. Spirits can possess her partially and fully and speak through her, even use her body regardless if she gives permission or not, and she is 100% aware of what’s happening when she’s possessed. This is more of a passive ability than anything without the spirit magic, and is more likely to work against her than work with her. While Perseus and Theseus can protect her from spirits with horrible intentions just fine, if she is without the control of her body for too long, she can be more vulnerable, and her Greek ancestors can often… get carried away while controlling her body. 

Boggart Form: Herself staring out blankly with hollow eyes. She’s not doing anything. She’s not saying anything. She’s just standing there, like a husk.

Riddikulus Form: Laughter. Laughter spilling out from herself, eyes glinting, strong and proud. And in control of herself. Laughter, as she spun around and danced with glee

Amortentia: (What do they smell like?) Raspberries, roses and chamomile

Amortentia: (What do they smell?) Strawberries, honeycomb, lemon cheesecake, thyme and freshly cut grass

Patronus: Drakon

Patronus Memory: Unknown. 

Mirror of Erised: A family that actually loves her

Specialized/Favourite Spells:

Non-verbal magic. Mute. 

Curabitur verbum, a spell she created herself to summon words above her head to translate her sign language

Ebublio, learned as a just in case, and in an attempt to destroy a horcrux

Nebulus, learned to conceal her from sight if she ever needs to make a quick get-away

Relashio, learned because she hated being grabbed and will use it without hesitation

Sonorous, learned to project her classmates’ rude words and get them in trouble

APPEARANCE

Faceclaim: Veronica Ngo (base for artbreeder)

Voiceclaim: Phillipa Soo

Game Appearance: N/A

Height: 6’2

Weight: 170 pounds

Physique: Tall and lean, with muscles as someone who specializes with dual swords. She’s strong, and it shows. (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Eye Colour: Black, shining blue in the light (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Hair Colour: Black (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Skin Tone: Light tan (varies as a metamorphmagus)

Body Modifications: Ear piercings on both earlobes and three helix piercings. The helix piercings are gold bands that curl around her ear and the piercings on her ears are intricate crystals.

Scarring: A large V-shaped scar on her back, and a scar over her right eye

Inventory: 

Wand

Wood Carving tools

Thick sticks of wood

A knife 

Two gold rings that can turn into her swords 

A rose pin with a hidden knife 

A handkerchief that she never touches with her bare hands

A hand mirror

Fashion: Black and red. She dresses like a goth, with ripped leggings and black attire, chokers, spikes, boots, and fingerless gloves. She wears bits of red, but her most obvious red clothing is her flannel, which she wears around her waist during hot weather. She would go for more simple and practical black clothing if she is in a school or home setting, but will relax into a more intricate clothing if placed in a formal and fancy setting. It is noted that she will never wear colors other than red, as she thinks it doesn’t fit her. 

ALLEGIANCES 

Hogwarts House: Slytherin

Ilvermorny House: Horned Serpent 

Affiliations/Organizations:

Slytherin House

Chosens by Aphrodite

Olympia School of Magic (school by @kathrynalicemc​)

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Professions:

Undecided 

HOGWARTS INFORMATION

Class Proficiencies:

Astronomy: E

Charms: E

DADA: O

Flying: O

Herbology: A

History of Magic: E

Potions: E 

Transfiguration: O

Electives:

Magical Theory: O

Ancient Runes: O

Quidditch: Chaser

Extra Curricular: 

Quidditch 

Gladiator Dueling Club (formerly; in Olympia)

Arts Club

Dungeons and Dragons club

Favourite Professors: N/A. No opinion

Least Favourite Professors: N/A. No opinion

RELATIONSHIPS

Father: Jacob Vincent Lord

Pureblood

Slytherin

Black hair, black eyes, light tan skin

Natural Legilimens 

Researcher in mind magic and legilimency. Isolated himself away because of what happened during school, and handed the family to Rebecca.

Conceived her one day when he was venturing in Greece and had a one-night stand with a greek woman, who abandoned her at an orphanage

He has no idea of her existence. It is only when she showed up out of nowhere that he knew. He does try to be there but Astrid is distrustful of everyone around her so it’s awkward

Mother: Unknown Greek Woman

Jacob does not remember much about the women he conceived Astrid with, but he did remember she was a beautiful woman with dark brown curly hair and tan skin

Her intentions of abandoning Astrid at the orphanage are largely unknown, regardless if it’s good or bad but nonetheless, she was left there.

There is not much known about her, but what is known is that she is from a bloodline of two Greek heroes in greek myths, Perseus and Theseus, son of Zeus and Poseidon respectively

It is unknown where this woman is right now, but Astrid does not want to meet her, so it’s unlikely she ever will.

Love Interest: N/A

Best Friends: N/A

Rival: N/A

Enemy: Velia Caldwell and her followers

Dormmates: N/A

Pets: None

Closest Canon Friends: TBD

Closest MC Friends: None so far but do let me know if you want to be. Fair warning, it will take a while for Astrid to warm up to you

BACKGROUND/HISTORY

Before you get to know Astrid, you must get to know her father. Jacob Lord, the man who got expelled while searching for the fabled Cursed Vaults. Despite years after the Cursed Vaults were long broken, the trauma was still there, of being stuck in the portrait and putting his sister in danger. So, for the next few years after his sister graduated, he chose to isolate himself

His sister handed the Head position to him until he returned, and one of the places he went to clear his head was Greece. While at a bar, he met a woman that will later become Astrid’s mother. Months later, Astrid was born

She was abandoned at an orphanage, and as a child, she was loud and proud, never afraid to speak her mind. She was isolated and a loner, and years of bullying built up layers and layers of trust issues, and rendered herself mute. She stayed at this orphanage until she was old enough to attend Olympia School of Magic. She did not trust anyone, but slowly, slowly, she made herself a home at Olympia.

Until one day, one of the followers of Velia Caldwell traveling in Greece for a mission spotted her. While they can’t take their anger out on Rebecca’s children, they can take their anger out on Jacob’s, and so while she slept, she was taken from her home and to Britain, the memory of her life erased.

Led to believe she was given up to them, she lived in bitterness as she was treated as a weapon. They trained up her powers, and used her to summon spirits to her mind, and as her powers grew, her two ancestors slowly slipped into her mind, until the time was right. 

Perseus woke up first, wielding her swords, and used them to cut through and kill. Theseus woke up next, advising her on what to do next. She fled through the floo, carrying the handkerchief the followers insisted on protecting, and landed in Ipswich

Shortly after, she was found by a staff of Hogwarts, and taken to attend Hogwarts, where the events of her meeting her biological family took place

PERSONALITY

Manipulative: In order to survive the orphanage and Velia’s followers, she needed to be manipulative. This is a defining trait of hers, as she puts on layers and layers of masks to hide. She can turn from quiet and calm, to cruel and merciless in seconds. She’s a good liar, and she knows how to use people and get them to do what she wants. Add it to her ability as a metamorphmagus, she can twist people and use them easily. It’s not to say she’s a bad person per se, she’s just a traumatized girl who uses this to defend herself, not that it’s an excuse if she ever hurts someone

Distrustful and Paranoid: With how much she’s been through, it’s honestly no wonder she’s built up trust issues. She doesn’t trust anyone around her, and it’s only after a series of tests that allows her to trust you. She can distrust the right person and be proven of her suspicions… or she distrust the wrong person, and it can lead to consequences

Reclusive: Combined with her trauma and her trust issues, she would rather stay away from people then to interact with friends. She’s quiet and she doesn’t mind being alone. She’s not sullen though, she’s just quiet, and a loner. 

Self-Loathing: If there’s anyone Astrid distrusts more than anything, it’s herself. She does not think she deserves to be loved and upon discovering that she’s a lesbian, she believed that she doesn’t deserve that kind of love.

Protective: Those who pushed and pushed to gain her trust proved themselves as trustworthy, and Astrid is protective over these selected few. She keeps them close to her heart, and she can and will fight fiercely for them. But she knows what’s her fight and what’s not. 

Intelligent: Astrid is smart. She needed to be. She invented a spell that allows her to communicate with others and she has no hesitation in using the magic she can use and manipulating it to something out of the box. She takes in everything that went unnoticed by everyone else. It’s not like it’s hard. Everyone ignores the quiet person 

MISC

As stated before, Astrid is a selective mute. She doesn’t like to talk and prefers not to. She communicates through sign language, which she later makes a spell to help translate it. 

Astrid struggles at magic. When it comes to a real fight, she’s more likely to use her swords or base her magic around them. Her grades are what they are because she worked to get them where they need to be but in reality she’s only average. 

When it comes to learning new spells, she will have to practice them over and over again in order to get a handle on how they work, and due to being mute, she’s a master at non-verbal magic, so if she masters a certain spell, she can cast it without a sound or warning.

She’s ingenious enough to create a spell, but she needed the magic to make it work, so therefore she’s jealous of anyone who can get it on the first try. 

She learned her skills in sword fighting from the gladiator duels at her former school and although her memories of her former life were erased, her body still remembers how to use her swords and she won’t forget it if she continues to polish it up. It’s her proudest skill 

Her ancestors can only speak through her, not to her, and because she is very aware of what happens around her when she’s possessed, they often take over her body to advise her. Due to being children of Zeus and Posiedon, they would often argue over what’s best for her, and the constant switching of control leads to horrible headaches. 

She hated her will being taken from her. It’s her biggest fear. That one day, it’ll be taken from her too long that she will forever become a husk, as that’ll happen if she’s not in control for far too long. 

Astrid is noted to look a lot like her father, a fact that she resents once she finds out, not because she hated her father but because she couldn’t bear looking like someone who she believed had left her all alone. Once she finds out that he didn’t, she grows into it as time passes by. Her looks are the main reason how her biological family came to know who she is. 

She has a wood carving hobby. She likes playing with her carving knife when she’s bored and when she’s struck with inspiration she can be seen whittling away at some wood. That’s why she carries it around. 

Interested in Ancient Greece for very obvious reasons

The moment Rebecca saw her, she knew she’s Jacob’s daughter and was furious that he let her grow up without a family, as he knew what an impact it had on her. When Astrid is settled, Rebecca set off ready to make a man regret being born, only to realize he didn’t know

When it comes to her manipulation and masks, think of Claude from Three Houses, except she’ll be wearing a different type of mask, but the intention of appearing as someone you aren’t stays . Generally, she’s quiet (obviously) and she can be helpful, but she’s aloof. Of course, that is but a mask. Get past one and you’ll know she’s bitter, and she’ll want you to stay away from her. Get past another, you’ll know she’s a lot softer than you think. 

[salenakingston]

This is sort of a rewrite of something I wrote years ago, but is basically still canon to this story. Salena’s obviously not from earth, so how did she come into the world of Novembria? Well this answers that very question, and gives an insight to not only the man she fears the most, but first impressions with Alexander Whitegale. Warning: The manner in which Xander speaks to Salena may not be desirable to everyone. Bare in mind he is a zealot, and has an immense hatred for the undead.

Prompt: None

Warnings: Blood, Medical Talk, Torture, small Self Harm

Timeline of Events: Pre-Whitegale Estate (Backstory)

Total Word Count: 3,433 words

Her back felt like it was on fire.

Suppose that was the entire point of it wasn’t it? To make the flames he had etched into her skin burn eternal. They would have to die down eventually, just as all flames did, but the damage had already been done. If the scars held no ashes from the flames, then the blackened brand at the center of her back did. For someone of such a holy practice, even that seemed far more brutal than Light above might allow.

But even whatever being controlled that power allowed this to happen, and continued to grant him access to that light. So long as he truly believed that he was deemed just, he would never have to worry about a loss in that control.

He gazed down at her, somehow his smaller human form towering over her. She hated that smug look he carried along his face. He must have thought this was an appropriate punishment for past deeds. He must have taken great pleasure in binding her down, taunting her, letting the heat lick at her fur before it was pressed into her. He spared her no mercy when the knife came just after it. No rest for the wicked. Each plunge was dragged out, a means to make her suffer more than necessary. It came to about half way through when she had been unable to hold back her cries. She didn’t want to go back to her hollow state, not when she had worked so hard to get her emotions back. Larregis would probably tell her she was being weak, that even wanting these feelings back would make her weak.

She missed him. He took advantage of her depressed state. She should have known better. He taught her better.

Now here she was, laying nearly face first against the stone floors, a bubble of concentrated light around her. That in of itself wouldn’t have been so bad, but it was the location he chose to keep her that made things worse. The many cathedrals scattered across the realm all came with one very important characteristic: being built on consecrated ground. So, even if the pain wasn’t enough to keep her down, the constant drain she felt was.

His smug look hadn’t faded. She wasn’t bound anymore, not seeing a reason for such. She was encased in the very thing that hurt her the most, and the only reason she was before was to ensure she wouldn’t attack anyone stepping inside her prison. She hated this feeling.

And she hated him.

“How the mighty fall. You should have expected this would happen.”

Her head turned up towards him. He just stood there, hands behind his back. When she didn’t fire back a retort, he took it as incentive to continue, “You undead monsters have been allowed to run free for far too long. It’s time someone took up the mantle of eradicating your kind.”

The beast found her voice, though barely a whisper. An echo to the torture she endured, “Then… just… kill me…”

“As much as I would love to, I think I’ll hold off a little longer. You’ll make for a good example to the rest of the Ebon Blade.”

“That’s… stupid…”

“You might think so, but our numbers will grow. You might have others fooled abomination, but not me. It’s all an act. Even I can see the blood on your hands, and if I can, then so will others. You’ll fall back into your old ways. It’s only a matter of time. Might as well put the dog down before it becomes rabid.”

“You… light damn… zealot…”

“You’re mistaken. I am not a zealot. I’m simply following through with what we should have done a long time ago.”

She wanted to press her head back down against the stone, block him out, and pretend all of this was some kind of messed up nightmare. Then the searing pain slipped back to remind her of reality. Why did she have to feel so weak? Narrowed eyes peered at one another, forcing her body up from the floor. She couldn’t raise up further than her knee, head lowered down as pants escaped from her maw, “Still have the strength to stand defiant against me hmm?”

Again she said nothing, the signature glow of her kind’s eyes barring down on the paladin. He considered the look, but ultimately dismissed it with the growth of his smile, “Admirable, but we’ll break you soon enough. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter how much you fight, you’ll get what you deserve in the end.”

What she deserved? Maybe, deep down she truly believed she deserved this sort of punishment, but why should he be allowed to judge her? He didn’t know her. She tried to turn her life around. That should be what matters right?

No, of course that’s not what mattered. She was undead, a soldier, and one to be put out of her misery. Maybe she should, after all… what was there to live for now?

Larregis saved her, but for what reason? Her heart sank.

But all it took was one look at that smug smile to make a switch in her head flip. How badly she wanted to see it vanish… stop looking at her like that! Her eyes fell from him, just for a moment. The walls of her prison were not solid, the only binds keeping her inside being fear. Fear. She should fear nothing. Yet one look at the shimmer of yellow stops her in her tracks. Damn him!

Damn him!

Was she supposed to just take this lying down? It was just some damn light. Don’t be afraid of it.

Wipe that smirk off his face!

Her claws ran against the stone, body trembling as her head lowered. He didn’t need to say a word for her to know just what was running through his head. He’d conquered her, and he would end her on his own schedule. The only reason she was still alive was to be used as a message. Their forces would have to grow. Why her rather than someone else? Perhaps that too was a punishment for her own past sins. No… it couldn’t be like this. If she were to die, should it not be on her own terms?

Not his’!

This will come with pain. She was already in pain.

Endure it like always.

Just ENDURE…

And-

Her body propelled itself forward, firing pain scorching her fur. Light clung to her form, searing it as she raced through. Finally, she saw that grin wash away from his face, replaced with genuine surprise. Who would be stupid enough to jump through the one source of power that was their greatest weakness. Each passing moment seemed as if it were playing in slow motion. One of her arms pulled back, claws racing for his face. Her pupils were nothing but pricks, teeth bared as her face went feral.

She felt her claws rake across skin, blood pouring down the center of his face.

When time sped back up, her body came crashing down on his’. Even with her body trembling terribly, pain racing through her entire being, she still had enough weight to keep him pinned to the ground. He looked back at her wild gaze, arm already pulling back to strike him again. Rather than show fear, he laughed right in her face. She hesitated.

“Go ahead! Do it you bitch! Go ahead and kill me! Prove to me you’re the monster that I know you are!”

A wave of shame flowed through her. He deserved death for what he had done to her… but that would make her no better than him. She already knew she was a monster, one that was trying to make up for it. If she fell back into her old ways… she could imagine Larregis would push her towards killing him anyways. Morals were never something they could agree on… but she stuck by her own now. Her hand lowered, but hung only for a moment. She found enough strength to push herself to her feet, gripping his leg, and throwing him as hard as she could into the closest wall.

She didn’t want to hang around for the aftermath.

The beast lowered herself down onto all fours, her body swaying some as she began to take off up the closest set of stairs, a command ringing out behind her, “Stop her! Don’t let her escape!”

The catacombs of this church were hard to navigate, and with the pain rushing through her, it made nearly every inch look the same. Was she making any kind of progress? She kept moving, even with her body swaying from her speed. She’d crashed into walls and paladins alike, but there was only one thing that mattered.

Get out of here!

Just how long would she be able to keep this up for? Apparently not too long, as her body finally collapsed to the floor. His damn followers were able to block off both her paths. This couldn’t be the end of it. She had to be so close. Just a little longer and she could get out. She looked up… they were closing in on her. She had to move… NOW!

A bright light seemed to engulf the entire side of the catacombs, a wall where none had been standing previously. Whether on impulse, or desperation, she pushed herself back onto her hands and feet. If it was anything like those she knew, it had to be some kind of portal. Whatever was lying in wait on the other side couldn’t have been much worse than her current predicament. She pushed past the advancing men, jumped into the light, and then she was surrounded by nothing but white.

‘It couldn’t have been worse than her current predicament?’ She seemed to regret that sentiment now.

Pain once again shot through her body, but not scorching heat like before. No… it felt as if her body structure was changing. Something along her rear felt like it was trying to break out, and her hands were forced to her head with the rush of pain panging there. Her entire chest felt like it was tight. Just what the fel was happening?

When the light finally faded, she was no longer underground. She could feel grass and dirt under her form. Whatever strength she had before to get up had finally left her. At least from what she could tell, there was no one around, which meant she had managed to escape her captors.

The feeling didn’t last long though.

There was that tight feeling all along her chest again, something along her upper chest felt like it was beating so hard that it would break through the skin. That would be impossible though. Her mouth opened, and it felt like all the air escaped from her. Impossible. She’s undead. She doesn’t need to breathe!

Her arms clung across her form, choking gasps escaping from her maw. So this was really it then? Escaping her tormentors just to fall here… alone… Well… at least it would be as she wanted, on her own terms. Everything began to grow black, darkness working to claim her. The last thing she saw before everything went dark was the blocky shape of someone standing in front of her.

----

Beep… Beep…

What was that sound?

Beep… Beep…

It seemed to be the only thing she could hear, unable to bring her eyes to open. She could hear the sound coming from one side of her, but the same question remained: What was making that sound?

Beep… Beep…

All she had to do was open her eyes, then she would be able to tell what it was. Just open your eyes. It’s not that hard. If she could fight to stand her ground when she felt like collapsing, then she could break through the heavy feeling keeping her eyes shut. When they finally broke open, her vision was flooded with a bright light. Had she imagined the outside before passing out? Was she still trapped in the light she ran into? If that was the case, she should at least still be able to move right?

So how come when she tugged at her arms, they wouldn’t budge. Panic began to set in.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The sound was getting more frantic, as if it were following in tune with her own rising feelings. Had she been captured again? Did he somehow manage to find her again? How? How was that possible? Blurry shapes began to fill her sight, some blocking out the light. She had been captured! She fought to get free of whatever was holding her down, though the fight didn’t last long. Her ears could catch the faint sound of a low hiss… and then everything started to go blank again…

Beep… Beep…

That sound came back into focus again. What happened before? Much like important details prior to this point, it was a blur. This time when she opened her eyes, she could see things much more clearly. The room she found herself in was nothing like those she knew. No.. they were not held up by wood or stone. What was this strange white plaster along the walls, and strange squared pattern on the floor?

Speaking of strange things, what was with the bed she now woke up in? That’s what it was right? But the bars along the side were unlike anything she’d ever seen, though the same could be said for the machines in the room. Not even the goblin or gnome engineers had tools like these. The beeping was coming from a small device at her right. It contained a black screen, a beep echoing in the room each time a spiked green line passed by.

She couldn’t recognize any of the other ones, only that a fair amount of them were hooked up to her body. In the case of one, there was a needle sticking into her wrist. Ordinarily she would have ripped the strange thing out, but she had come to realize the reason she couldn’t move was due to leather restraints along her wrists. No matter how much she tugged, her arms would not come free.

Along her muzzle was also an oddly shaped device. It was made out of some kind of see through material, fitted around her muzzle so that it covered her nose and mouth. There was some kind of tube coming out of it as well, attached to a tank at the side of the bed. Just what the fel was all this? Why was she here? What was whomever captured her doing to her? The worst part of all this was she couldn’t fight back.

And there would be no one coming to save her.

Her ears snapped to the side, the sound of footsteps coming. Her captor perhaps, coming to gloat over his newest catch.

An older man stepped inside the room, adorn in a suit that she couldn’t recall any man around Stormwind wearing. He had a clipboard in his hands, and it didn’t take long for his gaze to fall on her. Her ears pinned back, not liking the way his gaze fell. What did he want with her? She could only tense her body as he approached, “You’re awake. Good. You gave my staff quite a scare.”

Staff? She gave them a scare? What was he talking about?

He stepped over to the right side of her bed, one hand moving over the closest restraint. Her body tensed more, lips pulling back as she bore her teeth. How could she trust this stranger when she had just escaped someone that hurt her so badly? What’s to say he wouldn’t do the same to her now? Unlike before, there was something keeping her down other than her own fear. He seemed to notice her sudden aggression, “Calm down. I’m not here to hurt you. These were for the safety of my staff. Can’t have you injuring them while they work now can I? Behave and I’ll remove them.”

He was talking to her like she was some kind of dog in training. Why should she bend to his will? Her eyes narrowed more on him. His expression didn’t change much, “I’ll say it again, I’m not going to hurt you, though I would think you should be a little more thankful. I did save you after all.”

Save her? No he didn’t! She was still trapped! She gave a tug of her arms, “Says my captor. Why should I believe anything you have to say?”

“Captor? Dear, you are mistaken. I didn’t capture you. You’re here because your body was shutting down. Had I not brought you in, you would have died.”

Impossible. She was undead. She couldn’t die like that.

“You’re lying.”

One of his eyebrows seemed to raise. Without much hesitation, he reached for the strange piece along her muzzle. It took little time for it to be removed from her face. Everything seemed fine… but only for a moment.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

That noise was getting quicker, and she couldn’t seem to get any air again. Choking gasps rang out around her, eyes going wide as she tried to correct the problem herself. Growls echoed between her frantic inhales. The man standing over her seemed to smile, satisfied with his show of proof. He gripped her muzzle, slipping the device back on.

Beep… Beep…

Everything was normalizing.

“Believe me now? Are you going to behave?”

Damn him… What could she really do? She was truly at this man’s mercy, “I don’t have much of a choice do I?”

“Well you do, but unless you want to stay strapped to your bed, I suggest you work with me.”

Damn him! She really didn’t have a choice. Staying like this would only make things worse off for her. She gave a nod, feeling the tightness finally leave her wrists. She pulled her arms back closer to her chest, fingers rubbing over the sore feeling from her attempts at tugging. She could hear the man talking again, though most of it was drowned out. She had picked up on a few things.

“Your body is badly damaged. Your organs are acting as if they haven’t been used in years. They can’t handle functioning your body on their own. We’ll be keeping you in here and under close watch until they become more stable.”

Of course her body couldn’t handle itself. What reason would they need to work while she was undead? Such a thing meant nothing to her; but of course, they were still part of her body since she had not died before gaining her new state. And now… somehow… all of them were working again… and this man was aiming to try and keep her from dying. Why?

“What do you want with me?”

“Pardon?”

“I think I was pretty clear. Why did you save me? Why keep me here? What do you want from me?”

“My reasons are my own, but for the present time, I am willing to share that you are certainly not from here, and you look like you may need a place to stay. I can offer that to you.” He stretched an open hand out to her. Her own hand began to move up, but images began to flicker in front of her eyes. His own arm changed, covered in dark plate… That’s right… she’d been made this offer once before…

And look where that got her.

Her claws swiped across his wrist, the man pulling it back as she returned her own towards her chest. Eyes narrowed once again, her head turning to the side. There was a silence that hung over them for a while before he sighed, “Very well. I imagine you’ll be here for a while during your recovery, but that offer will always be open for you. In the meantime, perhaps it is best you rest. A doctor will be by later to check on you.”

And with that, he left. Once she was sure he was gone, a claw moved across her exposed arm, blood trickling down it. This stranger had opened up his place to her, and she threw it back in his face. She was going to be here a while… but that won’t stop her from punishing herself for her actions… This ‘doctor’ he mentioned wasn’t going to be happy when he or she turned up.

[eyesfixedonthesun22]

Three Simple Rules

Summary: Jim Hopper is a fan of three simple rules in all aspects of his life. Easy to follow. Uncomplicated. That is...until he decides to break rule #3, with his secretary, on his desk. Pairing: Jim Hopper x Female Reader Warning(s): Smut 18+, possessive Hopper, canon level cigarette smoking, implied age gap Word Count: 2,014 Beta Reader: The stunning and sexy @supersoldiersruined-me.  Notes: This was my first request! I hope I did your wish justice, @fandomfic-galore.  Request Message:

For the Jim fic I was thinking of something like he has a new PA and she gets caught doing something she shouldn’t. Something naughty and he wants to teach her a lesson in his office. Haha. After your exam of course.

**************************************************************************************************

It’s 10:15 a.m. There’s not a clock in sight but you know it must be true. The squeal and slam of the Blazer’s door followed by the heavy crunch of gravel up to the police station door are as good as second and minute hands. Hopper isn’t much for reliability in other areas but he is reliably late to work.

“You know that is just so interesting.”

The extra flirty inflections on your words is unnecessary, truth be told, but it felt like a cherry on top. You’ve slung your torso over the young deputy’s desk in a way that’s far too inviting. Your shirt, usually quite office appropriate but currently unbuttoned an extra button, crept down just deep enough you could tell he had a good look down your front. Your pencil skirt rode up high enough you should move to adjust it but—

The door slams open as Jim Hopper enters the office. He’s mid-sentence, trying to brush off Flo’s chiding, when he greeted by a prime view of your ass propped up in front of him.

“Is Callahan bothering you, sweetheart?”

You can see his jaw tick and the tone of his voice is just above growl. Flo’s eyes flit back and forth between you and the chief.

“I’m so sorry, Hopper. These young ones nowadays. She’s still learning her duties.”

It’s true. You had only been hired as a secondary secretary at the Hawkin’s Police Department just about a month ago. In actuality, you were quite bright. You’d picked up on all the secretarial tasks rapidly. If anything, you were bored at your job. Which could possibly explain your current antics.

Jim eyes you up and down analyzing the scene before him. His eyes pause on the swell of your breasts visible and plump under the undone button, the extra length of silky exposed thigh from your tight skirt, and then back up to your blushing cheeks. His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. Busted.

“That’s okay, Flo. I’ll have a word with her.” You and Florence begin to apologize in unison but it’s clear the topic isn’t up for discussion. Hopper places a large hand on your shoulder gently directing you to his office. “Let’s talk...alone.”

The last word had a deadly lilt to it. For a split second, you wonder if you’ve taken this whole thing too far. You don’t get to continue the thought as the heavy oak door of his office clicks closed. Hopper stalks over to the only window in his office and harshly tugs the blinds closed. It’s with an eerie grace, he sits down on the edge of his desk and lights a cigarette.

“Hopper, I…” The look he shoots you stops you in your tracks. “Jim, I’m sorry.”

He huffs a heavy cloud of smoke out from his lungs that would make a steam engine jealous. At the end of the exhale, his lips play into a sharp smirk as if he’s enjoying your discomfort. The two of you sit in the office in silence with only the clicking of his clock proving the time is passing. He stares you in the eye before beginning.

“Okay, so let me get this straight in my head…” The pause between his sentences is pregnant with anticipation. He takes a long drag from his smoke and continues, “You thought it was a brilliant idea to flirt with Phil Callahan.”

“I can explain.”

“That wasn’t a question.”

“You’re the one who—” His brows raise towards his hairline but you trudge on with as much conviction as you can muster. “You’re the one who started something he couldn’t finish this morning.”

He takes a third drag; groaning as he exhales. The smoke curls in tendrils around the coarse hair of his mustache before dissipating into the room. The sound shoots tingles straight between your thighs. He strides with a grace all too foreign on his large frame and sits in the chair behind his desk. Another guttural sound escapes his lips while he contemplates your sin. The smoke and emotionally charged atmosphere have turned the small office into an oppressive sauna.

“That’s fine. That’s just fine.” His tone indicates it’s anything but fine. “You’re a needy little one aren’t you? Was last night not enough for you?”

The temperature of your skin, near boiling in anticipation, deepens across your chest and cheeks under his accusation. Despite the shame and heat radiating off your skin another heat has settled at the apex of your thighs. Hopper had made the terms of your arrangement very clear. Three simple rules.

You were his and no one else's. He does not share.

This could end at any time. Attachment isn’t his thing.

Absolutely zero discussion of the arrangement or acting “familiar” at work, in town, or around anyone else.

Yet, here he wasn’t actively talking about the two of you, like that, at work. Sure, you were behind closed doors in his office but that seemed menial protection at best.

“I asked you a question, dammit.” His hand slams on the desk. He manages to keep the volume of his voice in check. “Last night wasn’t enough so you thought it was a good idea to come in here advertise yourself like some ten dollar hooker for Phil?”

He’s not being fair. You had certainly been looking for punishment but he’s hitting low blows. Your instincts wants to curse and spit; anything to fight back and defend yourself. Your body seems to have other thoughts. The timbre and power behind his voice have you soaked and your brain clouded.

“I just wanted…”

“What? What did you want that was so damn important?” You hang your head shamefully. His posture changes. “I see. You wanted to be punished.”

The booming chuckle stings. You know it’s mocking. His first cigarette is gone. He tamps down the last of the ashes in the tray in time with his laughter.

“Well since you know best, get on with it.”

Your face screws up in confusion. What was he asking? For you to beg? Ask forgiveness? He couldn’t possibly be giving you what you want so easily. He flicks his lighter open and ignites before leaning back in his desk chair. He holds the white stick between his plump pink lips and rips open the belt and zipper of his pants.

He takes a long drag. You always found it annoyingly attractive how he holds them, pinched tightly between his thumb and index, gesticulating with them when he needs to make a particular point in a conversation. The smoky undertones that cling to his lips whenever you dipped your tongue inside.

“You know I looked up one time how long it takes a cigarette to burn down. Average is five to seven minutes. I even timed myself when I was younger and first started smoking. It’s a stupid thing.” You’re still paralyzed on the chair across from him waiting for the punchline. “I used to average five minutes. No idea how long it takes me now. You have until this is finished to do things your way, since you seem to want to call the shots, and bounce that pretty little ass up and down on my cock.”

“And when it's done?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see won’t you, sweetheart?”

You should have been embarrassed at the speed of which you jumped up to take his hardening cock out of his pants. You lick him only twice; engulfing him all the way into your mouth the second time before straddling his lap. You’re still sore from the events of last night. You ruck your skirt up higher and pull your panties to the side. You try to have him enter you slowly but his hips buck into you; stretching you so deliciously from the inside.

“Don’t pretend like you’re not dripping, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t wrong. He makes no move to touch your breasts or guide your hips. You’re on your own working yourself up and down on his length while trying to balance your weight on the desk chair.

He’s leaned far back taking drag after drag off his smoke. When a quarter of it is gone, you’ve settled in your rhythm. When half is gone ripples of pleasure have settled low in your pelvis; the beginnings of something begging to be unleashed. When a quarter remains, your fists are bunched in Hoppers uniform biting the back of your hand to keep your pants and moans at an acceptable volume. The entire time Jim hasn’t moved. One hand is tucked smugly behind his head as he leans and the other only moves to bring the cigarette from the ashtray to his lips and back again.

“Times up, sweetheart.”

“Wait! I’m so close!”

“I don’t fucking care! Times up!”

He stands, easily carrying the weight of you, and roughly presses your back against the cool wood of his desk with his own wood still deep inside you. His hulking frame hunches over you briefly planting a sloppy but much needed kiss on your lips. He tugs your hips off the desk so they’re supported only by his huge palms.

“Look down, baby. Look at me inside you. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see you like this. Spread wide, taking my cock so fucking well on my desk.” Your core clenches as he pumps in and out of you wildly. You adored when he was like this; brutish and wild. A Hopper only you got to see.

A knock on the door interrupts your haze of lust.

“The door isn’t locked! Hopper, the door isn’t locked?!”

“It doesn’t have a lock.” His palm smacks a stinging blow against your ass. “That doesn’t mean I’m stopping.”

His pace is bruising and brutal only interspersed by the occasional biting smack from his hands on your flesh. You feel yourself inch further away from him from the power of his thrusts. A frustrated hand grips you hip tightly and the other plants firmly on your neck. Using each pressure point of your body for leverage, he resumes his punishment. Another knock sounds against the door; louder and more urgent.

“I’m busy!” He bellows at the door. “Can you imagine it, sweetheart. Phil barging in here seeing you choked out, ass red, and taking my fat cock.”

That nearly pushes you over the edge. Your tiny hand sandwiches his on your throat pressing a bit harder. He meets your gaze knowing what your asking. The pressure increases on your windpipe. You couldn’t tell him how much you loved it even if you wanted to. He grinds his pelvis into yours like he does when his own release is close. Another couple of thrusts and you’re clenching and spasming around him while he empties in you warm and sticky.

The first breath of air is cold and gulped down greedily.

“Chief!” The knocking returns. “We got a call. I really think we should go check this out.”

“In a second!”

He kisses you tenderly and helps you straighten yourself before tucking himself back in his pants.

“Too far, sweetheart?”

“No, Hop. Just far enough.”

“I don’t hate it by the way. The whole, flirting with the other guys in the office thing.” You straighten his tie and press out wrinkles in the shirt. “You were right. It turns me on. Knowing I’m the one to get to go home and be the one to fuck you into the mattress.”

“The only one, Chief.”

You wink before throwing the door open to the office and returning to reality. Phil stands there eyeing the both of you guiltily. Before you make it back to your own desk, you hear him apologizing to Hopper.

“I’m sorry, Chief. Truly. Shouldn’t be acting like that here at work.”

“You’re right, Phil. Don’t let it happen again.” He sneaks a glance at you, still preening from your words, while he shrugs on his blue jacket with the sherling lapels. “But between you and me, I think she kinda likes it.”

[conteramme]

Emmeline Basics

ACTIO BELLICA RPG

► GENERAL INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Emmeline Vance

NICKNAME(S): Em or Emmy

AGE: 17

ZODIAC: Leo

DATE OF BIRTH:  August 24th

SPOKEN LANGUAGE(S): English and enough French to order herself a croissant

HOUSE: Ravenclaw

YEAR: Seventh

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

AFFILIATIONS: Neutral. [Future: Order. Family: Death Eaters]

SEXUALITY: Pansexual

► APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 5′3″

WEIGHT: Slim / 110 pounds

DOMINANT HAND: Right

HAIR COLOUR: Blonde

EYE COLOUR: Brown

SCARS: One on her knee from falling from a small height when she was younger

► BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Yorkshire, England

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Hogwarts castle, Scotland

FINANCIAL STATUS: Wealthy parents

PATRONUS: A fat cat

WAND: Unicorn tail hair
, cedar wood, 11 1/4 inches, sturdy

POSITIVE TRAITS: Sympthatic, inclusive, clever

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Blunt, faithless, fervid

LIKES: Being with her friends, getting a rise out of Mack, reading, studying, hugs, and eating.

DISLIKES: Liars, authority figures who abuse their power, physical violence

► PAST

TW for death of a loved one & mentions of sex

Emmeline grew up as the only child to a cold and often distant family in Yorkshire, England. Her parents were exceptionally wealthy and the only other children Em knew growing up were also wealthy children, so she thought all families had the same luxuries she did. Both her parents came from prestigious Pureblood lineages and as such were often away from home representing the Vance family as benefactors for this charity event or that social event.

Emmeline was left alone with a nanny whom she had known since she was tiny and now considered to be more like family than her absent parents were. Her nanny was the woman who taught Em that it was good to have her own opinions and to always choose the right time to share them or to keep quiet. This helped Emmeline a lot when she was growing up.

When she was thirteen her nanny passed away suddenly, leaving Em feeling like she’d lost the only guardian who cared about her. She was forced to remain stoic about the passing in front of her parents who didn’t take kindly to weakness. It was possibly from this event that Emmeline now refuses to hide her feelings or feel as terrible about something as she did when she was forced to suppress her grief.

She was fifteen years old when she realised that she was attracted to more than just men and she spent a solid year questioning herself, her sexuality, and the validity of her sexuality for almost a full year. When she was finally comfortable with her sexuality and the label pansexual, she decided to tell her best friend. Then came the experimenting. But what she never did was tell her parents; she knew that would not have gone down well at all.

Questioning her sexuality also brought into question her beliefs. She found she no longer cared about the importance of blood purity like her parents did, and she couldn’t give a toss whether or not she was in the right circles. She was upset to realise that it had taken this long for her to question her families ideals and values, especially when she was friends with so many people who had muggleborn and half-blood backgrounds. She was ashamed, to say the least. But distancing herself from her families beliefs wasn’t the same as publicly denouncing them. She isn’t quite ready to let go of the money, status, and power the Vance family name comes with.

Then came the news that would change everything for her. She was betrothed. Her parents had arranged between themselves and the Yaxley family for her to be married off, probably at the earliest convenience.The only problem? Mack and Em hated each other. They were constantly trading barbs in the halls, rolling their eyes when the other answered a question in class, laughing if the other got hurt, making crude nicknames up for one another to humiliate. The fact that they’d hooked up once the year before and had incredibly intense hate sex had absolutely nothing to do with how annoyed Em was about this betrothal. Nothing at all.

► NOTES

Emmeline is known to be an incredibly gifted witch (canon). She excels in her classes and is a natural at charms.

She can produce a corporeal patronus

Em is currently learning the art of wandless magic. It has always fascinated her so she’s teaching herself.

She is a highly adept and accomplished flyer (canon), though she refuses to play for her house team because she doesn’t like contact sports

Emmeline can use her wand whilst flying, which is a hard feat to accomplish (canon)

[kaheyama]

is air so sweet? (1,211)

“As far as first kisses go, it’s very wet.”

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto

RATING: teen and up audiences

TAGS: canon compliant; rain; sharing an umbrella; first kiss

for todobakumonth2020: day 1 - [weather]; slice of life

read on AO3 or under the cut

Bakugou is getting ready to leave the building and return to their dorms when someone comes up beside him.

“Oh. It’s raining.”

Bakugou chooses to ignore the comment.

“I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

Bakugou, who has just pulled out his, grits his teeth and continues to not pay his classmate any mind.

“I don’t know if my quirk will keep my right side dry though…”

“The fuck do you want me to do about it?!” Bakugou whirls on Todoroki, very narrowly missing him with the tip of his umbrella. The weather has already put Bakugou in a bad mood, he doesn’t need stupid Todoroki to sour it further.

“Normally people would offer to share their umbrella,” and when Bakugou just stares at him like he’s crazy Todoroki adds, “I think.”

“Do I seem like a normal fucking person to you?”

“Yes?”

Todoroki proceeds to give Bakugou a once-over, as if to make sure, then looks at him with innocent eyes. Bakugou growls and faces away, wanting to hide the imminent redness on his cheeks. That was on him; he shouldn’t have said anything.

“I can hold the umbrella,” Todoroki offers, as if that’s the big issue here.

“You’re not holding shit,” Bakugou tells him.

He opens the umbrella and holds it up before stepping into the rain. Todoroki joins him without a word, and Bakugou doesn’t protest.

Together, they begin heading home.

“I really think you should let me hold the umbrella.”

“Fuck off.”

Bakugou’s not about to relinquish control of his umbrella just because Todoroki says so.

Even if he does have a point.

Over the course of their journey so far, Bakugou has: gotten Todoroki wet by holding the umbrella too much on his side; gotten himself wet when trying to rectify the position; gotten both of them more wet after he lost his grip when Todoroki bumped into him; and gotten Todoroki’s hair caught in the wires by bringing the umbrella too low.

It’s hard holding an umbrella for two people, okay?

Still, he’s going to trudge through, and he is not going to let Todoroki stop him.

That is, until a sudden strong gust of wind blows past and carries the umbrella out of Bakugou’s hand. 

Before he can even make an attempt to reach for it, Todoroki encases the whole thing in ice, effectively stopping it from getting away. 

He then grabs the handle and melts the ice with his fire, before putting the umbrella back over their heads. 

Bakugou, so shocked and also turned on by the events, just lets him. 

They walk the rest of the way to the dorms with Todoroki holding the umbrella, and Bakugou finds it frustratingly more comfortable than when he was the one holding it.

When they reach the bottom of the steps leading up to their dorm entrance, Todoroki says, “Bakugou.”

For the first time, Bakugou wishes the trip was a lot longer. He doesn’t want to leave this bubble created by his umbrella with just him and Todoroki inside just yet. 

Before Todoroki can continue, the rain suddenly gets stronger and heavier. It’s loud, and instead of moving under actual shelter or heading inside, Todoroki leans down, closer to Bakugou so he can hear.

“Thanks for letting me share.”

And Bakugou can feel Todoroki’s breaths against his skin. 

“Yeah whatever,” is what Bakugou responds with, but he’s only being curt to hide the redness on his cheeks; to pretend that his face isn’t getting heated from being shown gratitude.

He considers stepping out into the rain to calm himself down, but realises that would probably make it more obvious that something was up, so he painfully remains where he is, with Todoroki’s nose nearly touching his.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki says again, and what is it this time?

Bakugou looks at the half-and-half bastard, stares right into his eyes, and watches—in seemingly slow motion—as they flick down to his lips and back up again. 

When their eyes meet once more, Bakugou swears he’s swimming in oceans of aqua and grey.

Had they been this close before?

As they hold this disgustingly soft gaze, Todoroki’s hand comes up to cup Bakugou’s cheek.

Bakugou holds his breath as Todoroki’s face inches closer and closer, and then he closes his eyes, and then— 

There’s a gentle thud, and Bakugou’s lips are still untouched, so he opens his eyes again to see what’s going on.

What he gets is a very funny scene wherein Todoroki is trying to reach Bakugou but keeps having trouble with the umbrella pole between them.

When Bakugou laughs at him, Todoroki actually pouts and glares, but he doesn’t stop making his increasingly futile attempts.

If Bakugou wasn’t so completely endeared and enamoured by Todoroki’s actions right now he would think it was sad, but luckily for Todoroki, Bakugou is impatient and couldn’t currently care less about his stupid umbrella.

He gives Todoroki another chance though, maybe he’ll magically get it on the tenth try, and he kind of gets close?

His lips brush the tip of Bakugou’s nose, and as nice of a sensation as that is, it only goes to show Bakugou how much better an actual kiss will be, so he mutters, “Fucking hell,” and then smacks the umbrella right out of Todoroki’s hand.

Todoroki seems taken aback by what just happened, he watches what was just in his hands fly away with the wind. Bakugou sends it a wistful glance too, before planting his hands on Todoroki’s cheeks and finally, finally letting their lips meet.

As far as first kisses go, it’s very wet.

The rain seeps through their uniform and onto their skin—they’re no doubt going to be soaking by the time they get inside, and their hair is plastered to their forehands and gets tangled in their hands and— Their bags. Oh no, their bags. They have devices and notebooks and homework inside, however the two of them are clinging onto each other like it’s the first and last time, and not even for all the glory and fame in the world is Bakugou going to stop now.

It’s incredibly stupid. They might catch a cold or have to borrow notes or even ask for an extension on assignments and how are they going to explain to their friends, much less Aizawa-sensei, that all of it is because they wanted to stay kissing in the rain?

But, it’s also incredibly dramatic, and who is Bakugou if not someone who thrives off the grandiose?

And it really is something else, with the rain droplets on their skin, trailing down the curves of their faces and into their open mouths when they part for air. It should be disgusting, and it definitely sounds gross, but in Bakugou’s kiss-hazed mind he feels like it joins him and Todoroki even more.

Consolidates the fact they’re connected, coming together and becoming one.

Certainly, that is the case when they walk up the stairs and into the elevator; holding hands, red-lipped and hair mussed, to the shocked and amused stares of their classmates.

Bakugou guesses they won’t have to explain anything to them—it’s as clear as day.

After the elevator doors close, Bakugou forgets once again why he ever thought air was the most sweet.

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 36)

Horsemen, Apocalypses

So, you all know what this chapter is, from the title. Now’s the time I start playing God and fucking with canon, just saying ;) 

So, this chapter contains: minor sexual content, a lot of violence and gore, conflict, not so happy times. But also some fluff, so it’s not all bad. 

I gotta thank @hoodoo12 once again for reading this for me and giving me some advice, I am really pleased with how this chapter turned out and I definitely owe part of my pride to her for lending me her eyes. Go and check her writing out! She’s working on some Beetlejuice stuff right now :D

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Let me know what you think!

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

I started sleeping in Arthur's room. I wouldn't always sleep on his bed, it was a tight squeeze and it wasn't particularly practical; but it didn't stop us from spending the occasional night cuddled up together. One of us ended up falling off the bed sometimes, so I'd moved my bedroll onto the floor in his room, and I'd sleep there most often. Sometimes, when Arthur went to bed before me, I'd go up and he'd be sleeping there, effectively forcing me to sleep on the bed on my own. I had words with him about it in the morning, I felt awful seeing him on the hard floor. He could be too much of a gentleman for his own good. 

But it was lovely waking up close to him, even if it wasn't on the bed with him. Sometimes he'd be in the middle of getting changed and I'd get a glance at his bare backside, sometimes he'd be fast asleep still and I'd get a few minutes of seeing him at his most peaceful before starting my day. Both were great at putting me in a good mood.

This particular morning, I woke up to find him sitting up on his bed with his satchel on his lap, he was going through his things. He was holding up a pocket watch, inspecting it. 

I sat up, brushing my fingers through my hair to smooth it out a bit. "Morning, handsome," I said. 

"Hey, sweetheart, you alright?" He asked, bending his legs and gesturing for me to sit in the newly freed space. I nodded as I joined him on the bed, sitting cross-legged in my chemise. 

"That's a pretty watch," I nodded towards the object in his hand and he offered it to me for a closer look. It looked very expensive, gold with a folding case and intricate patterns around the face of it. 

"Got it on that riverboat job yesterday," he said. 

That's what he'd been up to the previous day, more hoity-toity social gatherings; a poker game on a fancy boat, an event Dutch had heard about at the mayor's party. Arthur had dressed up again and had his hair and beard trimmed for the occasion, but he'd arrived back to camp sopping wet. Things hadn't gone to plan, plainly. But the boys had come back with a healthy sum of cash, regardless. 

"It's a Reutlinger, whatever that means. It's worth a bunch, need to get it sold," he added.

"You're not gonna keep it? It's beautiful," I observed, handing it back so he could put it back in his satchel. Arthur smiled and pulled something out of the pocket of the vest he was wearing that day. 

"I already have a pocket watch," he said, holding it up. I'd forgotten about it; it was the stolen one I'd given to him before we were together. 

"You still have that?" I beamed in surprise and he nodded, opening it up and looking inside. 

"Of course I do, I treasure it."

"Aw, that makes me real happy. Even if it was just somethin' I stole," I laughed, shifting forwards and leaning towards him. Arthur opened up his legs so I could kneel between them, leaning over him and moving close to his face.

"You stole it, but you thought of me and gave it to me, that's special," he said, slipping the watch away and pushing his satchel aside so he could bring his hands to my waist.

"Oh, well I suppose I felt that way about the gift you gave me; the horse stuff," I started, then lifted my hand, "and this."

Arthur looked at the ring on my finger and smiled.

"Exactly."

"I've never owned a piece of jewellery like this," I noted, tilting my hand back and forth to watch the stone shine, "I love it."

I kissed him, wrapping my arms around his neck. He made a quiet humming noise and tightened his hold on me, pulling my body flush to his. He was dressed for the day in a black shirt and an attractive red vest, and a pair of grey pants; he looked handsome in a vest. It showed off the way his waist nipped in, a contrast to his broad shoulders. I was in nothing but my chemise and drawers; I took the opportunity whilst sleeping indoors to get out of my clothes at night.

Our kiss lasted and lasted, becoming more intense and indulgent as it went on. I felt his hands creep underneath my chemise, meeting the skin of my back. I loved the feeling of his hands on my flesh, so warm and big but soft and gentle. I broke the kiss but kept my mouth close enough to his that they brushed when I spoke.

"What've you gotta do today?" I murmured. 

"Gotta meet with Eagle Flies, feller from the Wapiti reservation that writer Dutch likes was helping," he mumbled back, "said I'd help too."

"You in a rush to get going?"

"No," he answered, and I felt him smile against my mouth. 

I hummed my approval and kissed him again, leaning into him as his hands traced up my spine, lifting my chemise at the back. I laid down on top of him, feeling his hips shift as my body settled against the space between his legs, and he let loose a quiet moan. His hands moved around to my sides, daring to squeeze between us and seek out my breasts. He was eager. I pulled back a little. 

"Shall I take this off?" I asked, and with parted lips and a slightly dazed look in his eye, Arthur nodded. I sat up and pulled my chemise up and over my head, dropping it on the bed to reveal myself to him. 

There was a bulge already growing in the front of his pants and it made my belly fill with warmth, low down. I licked my lips and met his eyes, enjoying the way they soaked up every inch of my newly exposed skin. He reached for me, hands sliding up my body to cup my breasts tenderly, thumbing at my nipples. I giggled, relishing in his undivided attention and the way he so clearly enjoyed playing with me. He registered my laugh and looked into my eyes, smirking, then brought his hands down my body, hooking one in the front of my drawers and using it to tug me forwards. 

I shuffled closer on my knees, sliding my hands from Arthur's knees all the way down his inner thighs, carrying on. I shamelessly cupped his growing arousal, hearing his breath catch; my hand was there barely two seconds before the door leading out to the balcony swung open without any warning. 

A scream ripped from my throat as I swung my head around to look, and I felt Arthur's body jolt, ready to spring into action. We seemed to realise at the same time that it was Dutch standing there in the doorway – looking surprised, then extremely unimpressed – and reacted accordingly. As soon as I remembered my breasts were out on display, I threw myself against Arthur, chest to chest with my face buried against his shoulder, to hide myself. I expected Dutch to apologise and leave, like most people would do in such a situation, but it seemed he felt the need to say his piece.

"If you feel like doing any work today, son, I'll be waiting out here to discuss this trolley job," he said, all monotonous as if it was him being inconvenienced, "we move on it tomorrow."

"Wha– Dutch?!" Arthur sputtered, his hands leaving my sides I imagined to gesture to his current circumstance, as if Dutch had failed to notice.

"That's all, don't let me disturb you," he said it with thinly veiled anger, then I heard the door slam shut, "we've only got half the damn country after us and more than twenty people to provide for," he carried on from outside, voice growing distant.

Neither of us did anything for a while, but eventually Arthur began stroking my hair, letting out a soft sigh. I felt him reaching for something, then the brush of fabric against my side as he retrieved my chemise and lifted it to me. 

"I'm sorry, princess. Are you alright? Look at me," he whispered, his voice gentle and somewhat timid. I lifted my head and met his gaze, noting the sad guilt in his eyes.

"I think he saw–" I mumbled, stopping midway and shaking my head, mouth turning in disgust. 

"He didn't see anything, he was lookin' at me and you moved in time," he said, and I knew he was trying to make me feel better, bless him, "and I think your arm was in the way, too."

I took my chemise from him and put it on, my embarrassment quickly turning into anger. 

"What a bastard," I hissed, Arthur looking surprisingly unphased by my insult to his father figure, "why didn't he knock? Why didn't he just go?"

"I don't know," he said quietly, shaking his head and wearing an uneasy frown. 

I climbed off of the bed, and Arthur's arms reached out after me, but soon dropped. I opened up my suitcase and dug through its contents to find some clothes. 

"Ugh," I shuddered, "I can't believe he walked in on that. Him of all people."

"I'm so sorry," Arthur was looking down at his pants, smoothing out a crease in them as if it was important. I realised he was feeling guilty.

"Don't be. It was me who started it all off. I'm angry with him," I waved in Dutch's direction, "you should go and talk about that job with him, like he asked."

"I'm not going yet," he said, and I looked at him as I hooked my corset up in the front, reaching behind to tighten it.

"Seemed important, had him barging in here. I don't want him being any madder with you, not for my sake."

"He's gonna be mad whether I go now or in five minutes, only difference is, I won't be getting an earful with my dick half hard if I wait," he snapped, immediately shaking his head and sighing, "sorry."

"Oh," I said in a small voice, my lips curving in mild amusement at his blunt openness, "well, we won't be doing anything like that at camp ever again."

"What?" He looked up at me, momentarily disappointed by the revelation, but a moment later his shoulders dropped and he seemed to accept and understand. "Yeah, good idea."

"Not that I don't want to," I assured him and he nodded. 

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising, ain't your fault."

"No, I just wish I could give you something better. You deserve more than this, than being treated like a–" he swung his legs off the edge of the bed and frowned, searching for the words, "like a goddamn inconvenience."

"It's fine," I shrugged. Arthur sighed and got up, helped me tie up my corset in the back, then wrapped his arms around my waist, hugging me from behind. 

"Sweetheart, I…" he trailed off. "I wish things were different, that's all. I keep thinking– turning stuff over in my head, trying to figure out what I could do. I ain't there yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I've made decisions in the past that have ended up ruining the good things in my life. I don't wanna do it again," he kissed my neck twice, "you're the best thing in my life. I think about you all the time. I–" he stopped, not finishing his sentence. Somehow I knew what he'd say and I found myself nodding, my eyes welling.

"Me too, all of that."

"If I could drop everything and run away…" he shook his head, trailing off.

"I would," I closed my eyes, hoping the moisture there would go away.

"Maybe one day," he whispered, kissing my cheek. 

I turned around in his arms and squeezed him tight. He rubbed my back in circles and that comforting act made it incredibly difficult not to lose it. 

"I'm gonna go speak with him. Then I'll head out and see Eagle Flies, I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll try not to be too long," he explained to me. 

"Be safe."

"When I come back we can get out of here, if you want, for a couple hours," he offered and I nodded my head, "okay, angel."

Arthur kissed my forehead, then left me to carry on getting dressed. 

-

The rest of the morning had me in a dull mood. Arthur had left not long after speaking with Dutch, and he'd been gone for a few hours. In that time I'd done what I'd been doing day in day out for a while; chores. I sat quietly with Tilly, sewing, for the most part, but also took a short trip into the city to pick up some supplies for Pearson. When I got back from that I decided to help Kieran with the horses. He was a little more relaxed at talking to me lately, I chalked it up to him realising that Arthur wasn't going to punch him just for speaking to me, and perhaps he was too busy thinking about another woman to worry about Arthur and I. 

I'd asked him about Mary-Beth and he'd gone red, stammering more than usual and trying to politely skirt around the subject. I hadn't pushed, but I told him I thought they'd be sweet together. He seemed to like that. 

Arthur returned around mid afternoon, greeted me with a kiss on the cheek. 

"I'm gonna go find Dutch, give him this," he showed me a bundle of money he'd earned doing whatever he'd been doing with Eagle Flies, "and tell him you and I are going out planning for that job you set up at the party; with the art dealer."

"What's there to really plan? It's all set up," I asked in confusion, worrying I was being naive or dumb, missing something. He chuckled.

"That's what I'm telling Dutch, doesn't have to be the whole truth," he whispered. I grinned at him, kissing him on the lips quickly before sending him off. 

I watched him leave from my spot, standing by Rayna on the very edge of camp, as he headed towards the house. He stopped by Sadie for a moment, chatting with her before Dutch appeared. I looked away then, still feeling a little sick every time I saw the man after that morning. 

Turning my attention back to Rayna, I pulled the brush along the length of the top of her back, nice and slow, giving her a gentle, attentive brush down that she always seemed to enjoy.

"I'll ask Arthur if we can take you out this time, girl. Been a while since you've really stretched your legs, huh?" I said to her, bringing the brush down over her flank in shorter strokes. She shook her head and huffed through her nose as a fly crawled over her muzzle. I smiled, patting her neck. 

I heard something, a scuffle and a grunt, coming from behind the wall right at the entrance to Shady Belle. I frowned and looked over there, hearing what sounded like a harsh whisper, followed by another grunt, this one louder than the first. My heartbeat sped up, my stomach doing an odd squeeze. I scanned the area for whoever was on guard duty, my eyes landing on Charles who was heading down towards the entrance, passing by Lenny, whom he seemed to be taking over from. I waved at him, then put my brush down. 

Charles started speeding up toward me, readying his gun, but he was still a fair distance away when I heard a yell, one that I could not ignore. I ran towards the entrance, passing around the corner and immediately finding myself face to face with the source of the noise. 

It was Kieran, being held from behind by some feller with his face obscured by a green bandana, one arm around his throat and the other clamped over his mouth. There was a second man in front of him, a knife in his hand, his back to me. Things happened all in a matter of seconds, but in the moment my mind ran at double speed, and I could see everything happening from one point to the next. It was like time was moving slowly enough for me to make my mind up about what needed doing, and it was the oddest feeling. 

The man holding Kieran saw me first, his eyes locking with mine, widening a little, then he shoved Kieran onto the floor, face first. My initial instinct was to go to Kieran, see if he was injured, but then I noticed the man reaching for his holster. It was not a knee jerk reaction to reach for mine, it was a series of thoughts that scrolled through all the different possibilities of how I could avoid what was seemingly inevitable, that finally led to me doing so. 

I pulled out my revolver, cocked it on the upswing, and without really taking the time to aim, I fired off a round in his direction. I pulled the hammer back again, fired again, and again and– I emptied the six rounds into him.

He dropped to the floor, there was a split second where I gasped and realised what I'd done, but I was slammed into from the side, pinned to the ground with something cool and sharp butting up under my chin. I looked up into the eyes of the man who had tackled me, they were pale grey, I noticed, then I felt the blade of his knife breaking the skin of my neck as he pushed down. I squeezed my eyes shut and let out a scream, mouth opening wide, only to taste the tinniness of blood the moment there was a loud sound, a gush, lots of wet and some solid chunks hitting my face, and the man collapsed on top of me.

Everything seemed to speed up to its normal pace and I barely took a breath before I realised what had happened. My face felt soaking wet and sticky and the body on top of me was heavy, but not for long, because it was being pulled off of me. I opened my eyes then, stunned at how quiet everything had gone, and Charles and Kieran were moving the body together; the body that no longer had a head. I stared for a moment, the taste in my mouth quickly becoming more prominent, and I spat onto the ground, a retch threatening me at the back of my throat.

Charles said my name, crouching beside me, his shotgun in his hands. "Are you alright? Your neck– can you breathe properly?" He put a hand to my chin, carefully lifting my head.

"Huh? My neck," I murmured, reaching up and feeling a slash there, it immediately started to burn and I hissed at the pain. Charles pulled my hand away.

"I don't think it's done anything serious, thank God," Charles breathed. I focused on his face, all puckered with worry, a sheen of sweat against his skin, the barest trace of blood flecking his cheeks.

"Kieran," I suddenly remembered, blinking up at him. He was standing there, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a wince plastered on his face as he stared at me. 

"You saved me," he uttered, the words rattling like someone was shaking him.

"I shot him," my eyes dropped to the body laying behind Kieran.

"Yeah you did, good work, that was a quick reaction. Things could've been much worse," Charles praised me, taking my elbow in his hand and helping me up to my feet. I clung to his arm like I'd collapse if I didn't.

"Who… Who–" I murmured, hearing footsteps and dizzily turning around to see Arthur, Dutch and Sadie rounding the corner with guns in hand. Arthur's eyes went wide but he did not approach me.

"It was O'Driscolls," Kieran announced. 

My eyes dropped to the floor again, one body with punctures in his clothes, soaked with deep, dark red, almost black, shining, a patch in the grass below him still growing. The other laying face down, though there was no face to speak of, just glistening red mush from the top of a ravaged neck.

"What a mess," Sadie commented, a dark laugh escaping her as she stepped forwards and kicked the body I'd shot, checking for movement, "everyone of ours okay?"

"I think so, we've got a cut that needs seeing to here, but it was nearly a lot worse. Arthur,” Charles said, leading me away from the carnage and into the care of someone else. I could tell just by the feeling of his hand on my back that it was Arthur. I didn't look up, unable to peel my eyes away from the man I'd killed.

"No, Sadie, you take her. Arthur, we need to prepare for if any more of these bastards turn up," Dutch decided, his hand going around my wrist with much less care than the way Charles or Arthur had handled me. 

"Dutch," Arthur said, the first word from his mouth, it sounded flat and empty. Very strange.

"Go get John, Micah and Bill, tell them to start patrolling the edges of camp. Sadie, take her to Miss Grimshaw, she'll deal with her," Dutch continued, prying me away from Arthur and into another set of hands; smaller, Sadie's.

"Deal with her? Dutch, she's–"

"Arthur, I'm not telling you twice. Use your goddamn head, she's fine," Dutch's response was angry and sharp and I jumped, exhaling a quick breath.

"Just let me make sure she's–"

"I don't have time for this nonsense! Since when did one person become more important than the rest of us? Think about what's at stake and get moving!" Dutch yelled. There was a period of silence, then Sadie patted my shoulder.

"Come on, honey," she said, then walked back into camp with me. 

I couldn't bring myself to look at anyone, though I heard Arthur say my name, quiet and with an odd, strangled tone.

"We'll look after her, Arthur," Sadie promised. 

"Charles you go get the rest of the women and children, get them inside. Kieran, come with me," Dutch was saying, his voice getting quieter as we walked away towards the house. 

"Are you okay?" Sadie asked me, squeezing my hand and giving my shoulder a gentle rub. 

"I'm fine, my neck hurts," I answered numbly, my face felt weird when my mouth moved, the drying blood tugging on my skin as it shifted.

"I bet it does, that was a close one. Any deeper and…" she breathed, her sentence dissolving. She helped me up the steps and inside where Mary-Beth and Miss Grimshaw were. They both gasped when they saw me, covered in blood, and rushed over. 

"What on Earth is going on?" Miss Grimshaw questioned. 

"We had some O'Driscolls come near camp, they had Kieran too but he's okay, I reckon this one was tryin'a save his ass," Sadie explained, "they're telling all the women to get inside in case more show up."

"I killed one of 'em," I said, and they all looked at me.

"Oh my goodness. Well done, God knows what they'd've done–" Miss Grimshaw started. 

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, "I've never killed no one before."

"You ask me, an O'Driscoll's a good place to start," Sadie snorted, sitting me down on a chair. "One of the bastards put a knife to her throat, it'll need cleaning up."

"Mary-Beth, there's some water and alcohol in the other room, will you bring it through?"

"Of course," Mary-Beth said, going off to get it.

"I feel sick," I breathed, curling in on myself and hugging my stomach. 

"And a spare bucket," Miss Grimshaw yelled through to Mary-Beth. "Don't worry, we'll get you cleaned up."

The other women started coming in – as well as some men, including Strauss, Pearson – and I heard some yelling outside. Abigail stared at me with wide eyes, holding onto Jack who was propped up on her hip. 

"Upstairs, ladies," Karen called out, thundering up the steps herself, "John spotted 'em coming!"

"Come on," Miss Grimshaw said, taking my hand and pulling me up, meeting Mary-Beth halfway to the stairs and taking an empty bucket from her and handing it to me. I'd feel embarrassed if I wasn't feeling so strangely numb. 

"I'm gonna help out outside!" Sadie called, swinging a repeater from her shoulder.

"Mrs. Adler!" Miss Grimshaw hissed in disapproval. 

"Don't deny me this," she grumbled, then left through the front doors. Everyone sped up when the sound of gunfire began, a couple of screams ringing out among the women in surprise.

Everyone gathered in the landing space upstairs, in the middle, away from the windows as constant bangs came from outside. We all sat down on the ground, Miss Grimshaw kept trying to take my chin in her hand to lift my head to look at my neck, but every time I heard a yell or a particularly close sounding gunshot I would jump and look around along with the rest of the people in the room. She was wearing a tight frown and seemed able to keep her head among the carnage going on outside, she kept shushing us and telling us to calm the heck down goddammit!

"Let me look at your neck!" She snapped at me, grabbing my chin once more.

"I don't care about my neck right now, they're down there getting shot at!" 

"Ain't nothing new, darlin', they can and will handle it, now stop moving!" She huffed, narrowing her eyes at the wound and sighing, "you're bleeding a fair bit. I don't think it's a slashed artery or nothin', ain't spurting out. Probably just 'cause you're all worked up. Let's at least clean you up a bit, you're in quite a state."

"I don't wanna know what I look like," I shuddered. Just from sensations alone, I knew there was a lot of blood on my face. 

"One of the girls, go fetch her a clean shirtwaist!" Miss Grimshaw barked out. 

"Arthur's room," I said to whoever was listening. Molly was closest, and I caught her crawling across the floorboards to get into Arthur's room, scared to stand up in case of stray bullets. 

I heard the slosh of water as I was staring off after Molly, then a cloth was mashed against the side of my face. Miss Grimshaw wasn't exactly gentle with the way she scrubbed the blood and gore from my face, but I wasn't bothered; I just scrunched my eyes up, closed my mouth and let her go at it. It seemed odd, her focusing on washing me while bullets were flying below us, but what else were we to do? Sit and do absolutely nothing? At least this was a distraction.

"Ain't gonna be perfect, you'll need a proper wash in your own time, but I'm assuming you don't wanna strip down in front of Strauss," she said, injecting a small sliver of humour into a very morbid situation. Anything to take our minds off the gunfire downstairs. "While I'm doing this, just hold this to your neck," she took a bundled up piece of cloth from the items Mary-Beth had retrieved for me and held it against my neck.

"Fuck," I hissed, the pressure reminding me of the pain.

"Nice and firm," she picked up my hand, pinned it to the cloth and left it there. 

Downstairs people were entering the house, we were relieved to hear Dutch's voice (rather a novel experience for me) and not a stranger's. He was barking orders out, telling everyone where to go and what to do. I panicked, it sounded as though they were losing control of the situation, and the O'Driscolls were getting closer to the house. I realised with a cold chill that my gun was laying in the grass somewhere outside, I hadn't picked it up after being knocked down. 

I didn't realise I was panting until Susan put her hand on my shoulder and said, "calm down, just take a deep breath. Everything's gonna be alright, you hear?"

I nodded and breathed, trying to pull myself together; it wasn't me down there in the war-zone!

She tossed the bloody cloth into the bucket, inspecting my face. "You'll do," she said, then took the clean shirtwaist from Molly, who appeared by my side. "Girls!" Susan snapped, and they all huddled around me, shielding me from the men in the room. Not that I thought any of them were particularly interested in seeing me in my underthings just then. 

Molly wordlessly helped me unbutton my shirt at the back, peeling it off and discarding it. It was more red than the original blue, and I knew it'd had it. It'd never get clean. I was helped into the clean shirt, buttoned up quickly, and I was relieved to no longer feel so grimy.

"Thank you," I said to the women around me, then froze when I heard a yell that was distinctly Arthur's. I couldn't help but vividly picture him being in the middle of it all and felt tears brimming in my eyes, and squeezed them shut.

I wanted him with me so badly. 

"Shh, shh, I know," Susan cooed, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me against her. Had I spoken aloud? Oh Christ I was a mess.

Susan's chest was warm and soft and it succeeded in helping me to relax in some primal way when she rocked me; I suddenly felt like a baby. It wouldn't be far from the truth, after all, I was putting up more of a fuss than Jack. I pressed my lips together and took a moment to level my nerves, then sat up and out of her arms, putting more pressure on my neck since I'd lessened it in my distraction.

"I'm fine," I breathed. I stared at the ground for the rest of our time stuck upstairs, putting all of my energy into keeping my breath steady and not thinking the worst. 

Susan took the opportunity to pry my hand from my neck and inspect the cut, and I let her clean it up. First she washed away the dried blood caking the area, then used some alcohol on a clean cloth to disinfect it. It stung like hell and I flinched, groaning at the pain, but let her finish what she needed to do. 

My neck bled a little more after cleaning it but Susan put some pressure on it, and eventually she could dress it for me. I thanked her, and she simply shook her head and squeezed my hand.

The gunfire eventually slowed down, and stopped. We all waited with bated breath for something to happen.

[madamhatter]

With how infrequent the topic surfaces on this blog, yet given the current day and how I lack any seriousness when it comes to it, I am breaking that streak. 

I’ve written a short but relevant headcanon. Be advised that it is NSFW and handling trauma.

In Regards to Sophie Hatter’s Sexual Activity.

By all accounts, Sophie Hatter is someone whose personality actively lives on wanting to please others and making others happy. It’s conditioned into her since young as her position as eldest of three will be fruitless and unrewarding, misfortunate and mundane. She has nothing to go for and look forward to. She must be happy where she stands and she believes she should be happy with the circumstances that were given to her. Sure, she might be ignored, overworked, and might have lost her entire childhood, but she should be thankful. That’s how warped her rationalization went throughout her teenage years when battling her animosity and misery over knowing this.

Soaking in the fact that her time and the chance to feel free was already limited, a teenage Sophie on the cusp of fourteen years old saw the only opportunity she had to feel some form of euphoria.

So,  yes, Sophie Hatter is sexually active young through experimentation. The specific times would be between the ages of 14 to 17 while she’s still enrolled in her canon academy. Modern verse, it will be beginning at Year 9 and up to her GCSEs.

If there are any sudden changes like moving to a new school (HPA) or country (Japan in her band/producer verse), her exploration will be halted. She is as conscientious about appearances and reputation, especially in very new conditions that aren’t experienced with. She wouldn’t dare risk herself or the image she represents.

Her partners are consistently female-identifying and within the same age range of her (older, never younger than her but not above 18). The contact itself is never completely hands-on between partners and no penetrative acts are done.

As young and devoted to wanting to keep people close to her, wanting to please them and make herself useful, Sophie performs these actions herself. She’s been reworked to think herself as a giver and believes what she does for her work and for her family must be true for how she should have love.

These interactions, however, do not come from a healthy source. Sophie is as willing to be bent to do things for others and has been manipulated before for the sake of someone else’s happiness. The girls she has been, mostly older classmates who have less-than-kind intentions, have usually pressured Sophie to commit actions and with only the simple suggestion of it making them happy, Sophie submits. These are cases of sexual coercion and dubious consent scenarios where she is guilted and manipulated.

While confident in knowing her attraction, she is less than experienced in romance and understanding healthy ones. Sophie’s expectations in sex, after what she’s been through, were one-sided in both she received no emotional or physical pleasure and reciprocation. Most of the occasions were dulled after the years and different partners. She was still content with her partners’ reactions, but she felt more confused and unwanted as time went by.

With age came the realization, and with that dreadful awakening, then came boredom, unresponsiveness, and repugnance for Sophie. She wasn’t wanted, she was needed and then disposed of. Every inch of her body could be arguably used, that’s all that life can be worth now. Her mind reconstructs that these instances are her own fault, that she held onto a lie long enough to believe she actively lied to herself to get the attention and touch.

After all that was said and done, Sophie won’t ever admit the dimensionality and trauma given from these relationships. To her, they are only her mistakes and are not worth being discussed. Yet, they are also a result of her position in life and her fate -- it doubles as karma and punishment for trying to find herself happiness and excitement in understanding herself and building relationships. 

Again, these are Sophie’s own thoughts on the matter and beyond the truth. Her own understanding of the world and how it should treat her is unhealthy and concerning.

Overall, Sophie’s history with sex has been very consulted and harmful to her development -- if anything, her own situation made this chance to explore far worse on her.

Additionally and important to note.

Historically, children involved with work, and depending on the field, from a very young age are susceptible to being abused by their employers and older customers. Sophie falls into the latter half and has felt very uncomfortable and endangered by those she needed to work for (ie: visiting homes for appointments or (modern verse) attending particular parties).

Her safety is less than noted by her stepmother, who’s been canonically noted as being both less than attentive and outright unaware of what the oldest daughter does or has been through. Sophie has been known to try to get out of the situation by locking herself up in the bathroom or dragging other people into a conversation.

Her reactions to being suddenly touched by her neck or grabbed from behind can be very volatile and leave her frozen and terrified. Depending too, she will get violent and it will result in rash flight-or-fight mode. These are due to her encounters in the past. 

She has been in sexually compromising situations and in dangerous situations -- but she has managed to slip out or avoid any direct harm. These are rarely spoken of but, it is very much mentioned throughout my writing for when Sophie handles social events.

Sophie distrusts significantly wealthier, privileged and older men and women. Very few would have that trust, as she will no less behave and act respectfully necessary with them. She is more than actively aware of other younger folks around her and will weave herself forcefully into any interaction to keep them safe and away from these predatorial individuals. 

[derangedsilence]

Reiji Sakamaki

Permissions

Shipping?  Yes.  Singleship per verse with limited verses.  Please note - as stated on the rules page, orientation is typically listed as what the muses think they are.  

Duplicates? Multiple ‘Yuis’?  What about character that aren’t on the dedicated castmates list?  Yes.  You can thrust Reiji at Reiji.  There’s also no issue with duplicates of canon, crossover, etc. characters that Reiji is already interacting with.  You want it, you got it.   To prevent destroying the validity of duplicate muses, I will sometimes think of things as ‘A Kanato did this’ instead of ‘Kanato did this’, which is a very subtle difference but prevents another muse from having to deal with the blame of an event they were not responsible for.  This will only be differentiated as necessary within writing.  I repeat: all duplicate muses will be treated with respect, not as ‘fakes’.  Any Sakamaki brother is a brother of his, regardless of how many Kanatos there are (for example).  We’re just going to, uh, slide past that as often as possible (and occasionally make jokes).

Multiple Reijis will be treated as though they’d somehow wandered into one’s world or the other via some enchanted, strange object or doorway in the Sakamaki household.  This allows them to interact, but prevents the concept that one is a ‘true’ Reiji over the other.  You have been warned.

Fighting?  A-Okay.  I’ve done a lot of fighting roleplay but it was in the past and I’m way more interested in the storytelling of it.  It’s better that we discuss the end result beforehand for smoother sailing, but we can improv it as well.  I do this from a storytelling perspective.

Harming? A-Okay!  Just be aware that this muse may harm or kill yours in turn!

Killing? A-Okay!  Please be aware, however, that should the need or desire to continue the verse arise, the death scene will be considered a what-if.  In addition, it is very difficult to kill this muse due to the pureblood resurrection abilities.

Can we send shippy memes / etc.? Sure, we can still explore what-ifs, drabbles and oneshot threads, but the main focus will be on the storyline here!

Can we know Yui has Cordelia’s heart, is possibly turning into a vampire, is surrounded by vampires, etc. and reference this to Reiji? On a case-by-case basis.  It should be discovered organically if it’s not something your character would be able to know already.  There’s plenty of situations where this would make sense.

Can we know about Reiji’s past before interacting?  No, not unless you have genuine reasons for it like being one of his brothers.

Can we have characters comment on the events of the timeline? Yes, if they “catch sight of”, “overhear a rumor”, “a familiar saw X”, or any other sensible reason, then characters can be aware of and comment on events.  I wholly encourage characters participate in Reiji’s life!  Please tell the story with me!

Can we rescue Yui Komori from the Sakamaki household? Unlikely.  At best, if you succeed in the first place, it’s entirely likely that they will find you, they will take Yui back, and they will kill one or both of you for this.  Or the Mukamis might take advantage of the situation!  Obviously, the exception here is the Mukamis, who are entirely expected to attempt this from time to time.

Can we reference interactions we’ve had with your Kanato, etc. to Reiji?  I mean...sure?  If you want?  I’m fine with using my muses for plot and timeline advancements for myself and those I interact with (within limits) but I’d also prefer to not be my Ayato’s Kanato and vice versa, so this would probably be limited.  You can still act like what’s happened has happened, though.

Biography / Stats

FULL NAME. Reiji Sakamaki ALIAS. Reiji-san (Yui), Tableware Otaku (Ayato), Shichisan Megane (Ayato), That “Unlikeable Person” (Laito), My Dear (Cordelia) AGE. Appears 18-19 || Actually significantly older BIRTHDAY. August 29  GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male, he/him ORIENTATION. Heterosexual SPECIES. Vampire OCCUPATION. High school student of the night school known as Ryoutei Academy. 3rd year in HDB, 1st year of the college branch if assuming time has passed. RESIDENCE. Sakamaki residence, Japan

HAIR. Dark purple/black EYES. Red BUILD. Fit HEIGHT. 6'0'' (183cm) TATTOOS. None PIERCINGS. None. ADDITIONAL MARKINGS.   Glasses. OTHER. Right-handed

ZODIAC. Virgo  ALIGNMENT. Lawful neutral  POSITIVE TRAITS.  disciplined, sophisticated, intelligent NEGATIVE TRAITS. strict, arrogant, perfectionist

BIRTH PLACE. Japan NATIONALITY. Japanese PARENTS. Karlheinz (Alive?), Beatrix (Dead) SIBLINGS. Sibling: Shuu (older).  Paternal Half-siblings: Subaru and the triplets (Ayato, Kanato, Laito) EXTENDED FAMILY. Karlheinz's other wives, Christa and Cordelia. Richter (Uncle). EDUCATION. High school (likely several times over) SPECIES. Vampire NOTABLE SKILLS. Housecleaning, cooking, household management, academic work, poison & drug creation, piano, chess LANGUAGES. Japanese, English, German  FAVORITE FOOD. Spaghetti carbonara

PUREBLOOD. Inhuman strength, increased speed, vision, hearing, and smell. Fast healing & healing saliva. TELEPORTATION. Can teleport instantaneously. FLYING. He can fly on a full moon. SWORDSMANSHIP. A OTHER. Potion, drug and poison creation.  Can heal/treat vampires. WEAKNESSES. Truly holy objects weaken him, but not by much.   DISLIKES.  Weakness, poor manners, disobedience towards the rules of the household, the cursed incantation of “Reiji, Reiji, please engage-y”

Appearance

[*Credit: Appearance section pulled directly from the Dialovers Wiki.]

Reiji is a tall, slender young man.  His hair is primarily purple-black with a lighter gradient.  It is almost an inch away from being shoulder length and it is neatly combed. Reiji’s eyes are red.  He wears rectangular glasses.

Reiji usually dresses professionally to match his cordial facade.  In HAUNTED DARK BRIDAL, he wears a grey and black vest over a white dress shirt with black pants and a black belt.  

In MORE, BLOOD, he wears a black trench coat with a white dress shirt and black pants.

In DARK FATE, Reiji grows his hair out in order to emulate his father.

His school uniform consists of the black school jacket with a buttoned red vest over a black dress shirt and red tie.  He wears it with the black uniform pants and dress shoes.

According to Cordelia, if he weren’t so stiff, Reiji would look just like Karlheinz when she first met him.  She says that even his eyes are just like Karl’s.  This was said in an effort to tease Reiji, since he admires his father and dreams of becoming like him.

Personality

The household is a reflection of the outside world and one’s ability to affect it.

Despite being the second son, Reiji manages the Sakamaki house during Karlheinz’ prolonged absence as though he is the eldest.  Reiji manages the household funds, affairs and maintains the rules and expectations within the house.  Reiji is a strict perfectionist who values rules and expectations and he demands highly of both himself and others.  

Often wearing a smile, Reiji is intelligent, reserved...and pessimistic.  The second son’s polite, refined mannerisms make the barbs in his sophisticated speech come at a surprise - unless you’re related to him.

History

CHILDHOOD. As the second son of the Sakamaki family, Beatrix raised him to be a servant for his elder brother, Shuu.  She focused her attention almost entirely on Shuu, neglecting Reiji’s ambitious nature and his achievements.  

Reiji’s desire for his mother’s approval and attention never waned.  Twisting as the desire continued to be unmet, Reiji eventually burned down an entire human village, resulting in the death of Shuu’s human friend Edgar.  Reiji did this to punish and teach Shuu a lesson while also hoping to help and impress his mother, Beatrix.  Eventually Reiji even hired a vampire hunter to kill his mother in his desire to finally be acknowledged by her.  Instead of feeling at peace with it, he was dissatisfied that his mother was happy that he had killed her.

NEAR CURRENT.  Karlheinz manipulated circumstances to keep tossing experimental sacrificial brides at his children.  None could endure the blood loss, physical and emotional torment.  The sacrificial brides were too fragile and the Sakamakis broke their toys.  

CURRENT. A single sacrificial bride is surviving and enduring: Yui Komori.  Whichever brother obtains her will become the Sakamaki heir.  Without directly entering into a “relationship” with any of the Sakamakis, she endures her stay there.

Verses

Brief summaries of the verses for Reiji along with potential links for those less familiar with Diabolik Lovers but still want to interact with him.  For the sake of keeping things clean, encouraging community-wide and cooperative storytelling in roleplay, and not letting things get too crazy, verses will be limited.  More may be made over time as needed.

Summaries:

| DL Anime | DL More Blood Anime | Haunted Dark Bridal | More Blood | (Coming Soon)

VERSE - HAUNTED DARK BRIDAL

*This verse will be typically be the default, 'main verse'. In this, it is assumed that Yui Komori is staying at the Sakamaki household with some version of the first game having taken place. If the second game is included, it's with the idea that Yui stayed with the Sakamakis. Whether Reiji or one of his brothers winds up obtaining the Sacrificial Bride, Reiji’s life continues.

Verse Details | Tag: #V; REIJI; HAUNTED DARK BRIDAL

VERSE - MORE BLOOD

If for some reason it's absolutely necessary to differentiate between the verse above and a verse where More Blood has certainly occured, but Yui did not (at least initially) stay with the Sakamakis and instead is currently living with the Mukamis or was, until recently, still living with the Mukamis.  Rivalry abounds and attempts to procure Yui are likely.

Verse Details | Tag: #V; REIJI; MORE BLOOD

VERSE - MISC.

Posts that could take place in the Sakamaki or Mukami verses but involve duplicates (whether Yui or others) in the same scene in a manner that would be hard to pass off as typical flow for those verses.  Also includes nearly ANY time fellow characters are staying at the mansion, otherwise we’d end up with verses of 20+ additional characters hanging out in the Sakamaki villa.  

Verse Details | Tag:#V; REIJI; MISC

SITUATIONAL VERSE TAGS

#V; REIJI; UNIVERSAL

Posts that can easily be assumed to have occured in either the Sakamaki or Mukami verses, typically answering asks, etc. that aren’t directly related to events unique to their timelines.

#V; REIJI; WHAT IFS & #V; REIJI; ONESHOTS

Likely reserved for one-off threads exploring a “what if”, a romantic meme that would otherwise be inappropriate, etc.  If a meme doesn’t quite fit with one of the existing timelines, it’ll get one of these.

Trivia

Collects tableware

Good at finding killers for hire apparently, you go man

He reads very well

Sensitive when he gets drunk, whatever that means

He wants to bring his mother back to torture and kill her again

Tags

THREAD / WRITING TAG: #echoes in the halls; reiji

HEADCANONS:  #hc; dialovers; reiji

IMAGES: #itt // reiji sakamaki

MUSIC:  #music; dialovers; reiji

[bygosscarmine]

LOVE SHIFTS SHAPE

Sky High: Magenta x Ethan, post-canon

a multi-chapter reunion story, in continuity with Love, Unspoken

Magenta is dreading the reunion in a mild “I’m in a successful band that has nothing to do with my powers” sort of a way, but she looks forward to seeing the friends she’s kept up with at the party.

Then, for a second she doesn’t recognize Ethan in his adult form, and things long forgotten (like her break-up with Zach) feel all too relevant again.

Read Chapter One here.

Read Chapter Two here.

Chapter Three: Never Meet Your Heroes

Ethan glanced at Magenta, but she knew that any tension between Layla and her ex was of the kind that attends staying friends after a teen breakup.

"Warren was apparently in an accident," she said. "Layla says he's fine, but she doesn't want to leave the hospital."

"Oh, definitely," he said. "Wow. You going to go there?"

He looked around, definitely weighing his importance to the event as the chair of the reunion committee for their year, versus the claims of Layla.

"I don't think I can leave yet," he said. "You'll let me know what's going on, though, right?"

"Sure," said Magenta.

Their way was unblocked. 

After a little scuffle about whose car to take to the hospital, in which Ethan insinuated she didn't know her way around her own city, and she insinuated he was a misogynist (and possibly a racist, too) they drove their cars separately to the hospital so no one would have to get a ride back to midtown.

When they arrived, Layla was lingering in the vacant-feeling lobby of the ER in respose to Magenta's text.

"Oh, I'm so happy to see you," said Layla, and she threw herself on Magenta with a hug. "Both of you."

She more gingerly hugged Ethan, who folded her in and said, "I'm so sorry, how scary. Was he on his bike?"

"Yeah. Honestly, it's a wonder he isn't in worse shape. He's been insisting to everyone he learned how to roll properly. I went to that class in high school, too, but could never have done it."

"When did it happen?" Magenta asked, since Layla seemed to be about to cry with gratitude.

"About 4? I didn't know until they called me, half an hour later, and I was checking him in when I realized about the reunion..."

"Hey, hey, don't worry about it," said Ethan soothingly, recognizing a Layla stress-spiral coming on. "No one thinks you should be anywhere else."

"Have you eaten?" Magenta asked.

"No, no, I couldn't even think about it. But I will have to stay here tonight--well, they'll let me and I want to. I was thinking about going home, but..."

"Yeah, go. We'll stay here. Magenta and I can catch up a little and you can get a toothbrush, some snacks. Does your mom know?"

"My mom doesn't like Warren much," Layla said.

She was really distressed, to be admitting that so bluntly.

"Your mom doesn't want you here at the hospital without any support, no matter what she feels about Warren," Ethan said. "But if not, call Will's mom. We can help you tonight, but they'll help you over the next few days, OK? You don't have to do it by yourself."

They went with Layla, who continued to rattle along the things she was thinking of getting or tasks she needed to do while back at the house, until they got to the room and she fell silent.

They gingerly made their way in after, though there was clearly not enough room for so many around the bed.

Not even Warren could make a raw asphalt burn on the side of the face look good, and the bandaging on his arm was heavy, while tubing running to his other arm indicated pain medication or blood loss. Layla had a hand over her mouth and Magenta took her arm so they could go talk in the hallway.

"You said he was OK, but if he's checked in, does that mean he needs surgery?"

"They've got him under surveillance. I mean...well, whatever the medical word is. He's being monitored for any issues, because he was unconscious when the ambulance arrived. His arm was set but they'll do more looking tomorrow and see if it needs surgery. They just want to be sure he doesn't have any internal bleeding. He seemed lucid and normal when I got here, but he was still in shock, I think."

"Nothing wrong with being careful," said Ethan. "I expect they don't think anything more is wrong with him, but they have to follow procedure."

He was comforting Layla with this cool logic, and apparently it helped. Layla said, "Thanks so much for staying with him, guys. Call me right away if--if anything!"

They assured her and she walked out of the hospital wing.

After a short pause, Ethan opened the door to the hospital room, and held it for Magenta. She walked through it.

Warren's room had two beds, but he had no roommate. Magenta sat on the bed across from him, and frowned a little at the sagging movement as Ethan sat by her.

"Did you text your girlfriend to let her know not to expect you?"

"No."

Her eye fell from a watchful gaze on Warren's chest rising and falling as it should to the dark hand pressed into the mattress a few inches from hers. She was just thinking of asking some probably dumb question about the girlfriend when Warren spoke gruffly, "You clowns think you're nurses or something?"

"We're bodyguards, obviously," said Ethan, with all the mock-sincerity of a man who remembered being the smallest guy in the school for both freshman and sophomore year, and still spent his workdays at a computer screen.

"I can't sleep with you guys staring at me. Get out."

Ethan sighed with an elaborate shrug at the ingratitude, while Magenta told Warren, "We're blaming you when your girlfriend slits our throats."

She stalked out, rather relieved, and slumped into one of chairs in the waiting room beyond the rooms in this wing. The smell of hospital was overwhelming, but at least the beep of machines abated somewhat under the reruns of stilted game shows patter.

Ethan did not sit beside her again, instead taking a chair across the room, an awkward distance.

"What was your research project on, again?" she asked, having discarded the idea of asking about his current girlfriend as too loaded.

"Currently it's on the function of the amygdala in crisis, but I don't think you want the details on that."

"You said you were going to be doing research on supers, though."

"Yeah. So, a good deal of the research I'm doing now is comparing, to see if there are any significant variants between activity in the brain of those with powers and those without."

"Just to compare what makes the difference between us? Or will it build to something else?"

"Eventually, I hope to have enough data collected to do one on how minor and major powers differ."

This last phrase came out in a slightly different tone, and Magenta looked at him closely. His eyes shifted to the side, and he forced himself to stay still. It was important to him, this idea. He hadn't told her anything about it, had probably put her off with the bland sound of his research so he didn't have to mention it. Well, it wasn't like Ethan to not have a much bigger picture plan, which is why she'd kept asking.

"You think it may be an actually measurable difference, not just random?"

"No," he said, "I think that most people believe it is something innately different, and we need to prove that untrue or nothing will change."

There was a tint of anger in his voice that she understood very well, but still surprised her.

So she waited, eyes on him.

"You know what it's like," he said. "Even your own family are always vaguely disappointed in you, because your gift, which is just a part of your self, isn't enough. So some of us hide behind our big brains, and some of us hide in rock-n-roll."

"My mother didn't mind my super-power, actually," said Magenta drily, "just the rock-n-roll."

"Everyone else let you know that your power wasn't good enough, though, didn't they?"

"True."

Actually, Magenta wasn't sure if she would have been able to tell if her power was another disappointment to her family, in the medley of things that had become a wash of distance and reproach by the time she was old enough to really understand. She'd assumed so for a long time, but in one of her recent conversations with her mother, though it had ended stiffly, her mother had said, "I do not care what you do with your power, if only you will be part of the community. Why do you think it's better to leave?"

"I think," Magenta said, "that really it just layers over whatever family issues are already there. Then you come to the world with whatever cracks you have in your self-esteem and other people try to mask theirs by pretending only you have issues."

"That sounds like the seed of a rock song."

"Funny you mention that, did I tell you I write songs for a band? It's a pretty good band, too."

Ethan smiled then, a real smile--one that started as a grin, then as their eyes stayed on each other melted toward something sweeter.

Magenta's text tone interrupted, and she remembered he was going home to a girlfriend.

"Layla?" he asked.

"Yep." She read the message, Everything OK??? and typed back, Totally great, your bf is well enough to be a jerk, don't worry.

He could be a jerk on his deathbed, Layla typed back, with a cry-laughing emoji.

Magenta slid her phone back in her pocket, sat up and tried to smooth out her blouse where it had crinkled as she'd leaned on her knees.

"Who was the most changed tonight?" Ethan asked. For a bit they talked about who they'd noticed, who they hadn't seen. Then he said, "I saw Zack talking to you. Didn't seem like it went well."

"How could it? He refuses to grow up."

"I don't know. Don't get me wrong, I don't think he's great, but I think sometimes around certain people we revert to how we were when we were last around them, you know?"

"I guess."

She thought about this a moment. Her own immature response to Zach trying to reconnect in his blundering way. He'd never been subtle. She'd always been defensive. She sighed.

"You're right." She stood up. "I'm going to peek in on Warren, since clearly Layla is not busy enough to forget to ask."

There was something hanging in the air between her and Ethan that was too much like regret.

Warren was staring at the ceiling, apparently no longer wanting to sleep. He glanced over at Magenta, and said, "You clean up nice, kid rodent."

"Thanks. They burned all my choker necklaces when they signed us to the label."

"I wondered about that. Sorry I ruined your reunion, too." His voice was scratchy, as if his throat had been punched. She didn't know if that was just from pain or bruised ribs.

"I'm only sorry you ruined my plan to crash your place to play video games."

"What's Ethan doing here?"

"He came to check in on Layla, too. She needed to go get things to stay overnight, so we're staying until she gets back."

"No, but why would he do that?"

Magenta had not thought to wonder about this.

"A good excuse to leave the reunion?"

Warren gave his quick smile, only to wince slightly at the pulling on his scraped face.

"That makes sense."

Magenta left him and found Ethan standing in the hallway.

"I probably should get going," he said. "Layla will be back soon, and Warren's doing OK."

"Yeah, no need for you to stay," said Magenta, though she was a little disappointed.

"Which hotel are you staying at? You fly out tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah, I'm at the Royana. Have a good night," she said.

He had looked like he was about to say something, but her dismissal had stopped him. Whether she'd pre-empted herself from inviting him to meet up tomorrow or pre-empted him from having to make excuses to not meet her again, she wasn't sure. But they didn't hug each other goodbye, and that felt a little cold but necessary.

He had gotten tall enough it would have been an awkward hug, anyway. People around the same size were easier to hug casually.

Layla came back and Magenta left with a promise to bring her coffee in the morning before she left, so they could catch up.

Her hotel room was as nice as it had been when she entered it, but the air conditioner was turned too low. When she turned it back up, the kicking off of the fan left it too quiet.

She rolled into bed, and tried to let the unsatisfying day go.

There was the chime of a text from her phone. Checking to see if Layla had some news, she instead found that Ethan had asked, When is your flight tomorrow?

She ignored it, and put the phone back on the night stand, ringer turned off.

It buzzed at her again. Annoyed, she angled it to see. Don't be a punk. I should have asked earlier, but I was distracted.

Sure, he'd been distracted.

Are you texting me from your girlfriend's house right now? She furiously replied.

No.

Layla or no Layla, she turned her phone off.