#literally everywhere. There are so many goddamn stairs. I tried to actually make something to eat today that was more substantial and more

[ghostprinceiii]

As soon as I get home I am never leaving my house again.

[partywithponies]

hi! i've only ever seen the bbc version of father brown and i've never read the books (i know, i'm so sorry), but i'm super curious about the different versions of father brown and you seem like an expert on each adaptation, so i was wondering if you'd be willing to give me a rundown of sorts on each version/series? i know it's a lot to ask and i may be opening the floodgates here, but there's not a ton of info online elsewhere and i'd love to learn more! thanks either way. ciao!

OH BOY YOU’VE COME TO THE RIGHT PLACE ANON

OKAY SO

As briefly as possible:

The books:

Proof people who complain about the BBC show being “too political” don’t actually know the books at all

Father Brown straight up calls capitalism “evil” and “heresy”

Chesterton says that millionaires dying isn’t a tragedy

Inspector Valentin betrayed us and broke my heart, ACAB I guess

Since every police officer he befriends lets him down in some way, Father Brown’s only real friend is Flambeau, who he goes absolutely everywhere with. They only go on holiday with each other. They’ve been all over the world with each other. I love they

Book Father Brown pretty much never does his goddamn job. We literally never in all the books see him giving mass or taking confession. The closest we get is when he gives an impromptu sermon after seemingly coming back from the dead, where he literally only says "You silly, silly people. God bless you all and give you more sense." then runs away to send a telegram. Useless priest. I love him. 

Book Flambeau is. Incredible. Amazing. Iconic. None of the adaptations have been able to fully capture book Flambeau’s true energy, for he is a walking contradiction who contains multitudes. If all the onscreen Flambeaus fused into one being, THEN you’d have something vaguely resembling book Flambeau.

Book Flambeau is MASSIVE. He’s at least 6′4, he’s broad shouldered, has huge hands, and his super buff. He can just. Pick people up and throw them. He can knock people unconscious with one punch. He fills doorways when he stands in them. He terrifies most people just by drawing himself up to his full height. He also has a very short temper and a very short patience. 

He’s very agile and athletic and can move silently, despite his size. He’s also a master of disguise, somehow. (Explain, Chesterton. Explain. Is everyone in this universe apart from Father Brown, Flambeau, and arguably Valentin massively stupid? Actually don’t answer that I’ve read these books)

Book Flambeau has a habit of flinging people full-bodily down flights of stairs when they anger him or threaten him or Father Brown. Book Flambeau also carries a walking cane with him literally everywhere that has a sword concealed in the handle, plus book Flambeau insists on taking pistols on holiday with him, even when he was just going for a peaceful fishing holiday in the Norfolk Broads. King. 

(Which all makes it so iconic that Father Brown, described as tiny and meek and sensitive, saw this man when he was still a hardened criminal on top of all this and said “THIS ONE I LIKE THIS ONE. I JUST THINK HE’S NEAT” and went off on a jolly through London with him.)

Flambeau’s past is extremely mysterious. We no nothing about his family or his childhood or where he’s from or why he turned to crime. We know he used to be a soldier, and a part of him misses it. We know he used to fight duels semi-regularly, and liked them to be fought the very next morning after they were organised. We know he always used to make sure to visit the dentist on time, even when he was a hardened criminal. (King of good teeth.)  We know he was in a gang at some point. We know he was a student at some point. We don’t know what he studied, but we know he knew Leonard Quinton in “wild student days in Paris”  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). This is literally all we know about his past before he met Father Brown. The man is a riddle wrapped in an enigma. (That’s why Flambeau is so big. He’s full of secrets)

(Fun fact: in the book universe Flambeau is famous and popular in America, so you could say that in universe Flambeau is America’s Favourite Fighting Frenchman.)

Flambeau also loves cats and children, believes in fairies, likes pointing out rocks that look like dragons, and likes giggling and mucking about on the beach with Father Brown.  A baby.

One time Father Brown called Flambeau “full of good and pure thoughts”, but I don’t think that’s quite true, Father. I think Father Brown just has endless faith in Flambeau.

Another thing I think is really neat is that it would’ve been so easy to have Father Brown be the genius and Flambeau his dumb muscle sidekick but that’s not the case at all! They’re both geniuses and they’re both each other’s sidekick, and in fact it’s Flambeau who’s the famous professional private detective, Father Brown is just an amateur. Father Brown is often defined by his connection to Flambeau rather than vice versa, both in the text (the text will frequently refer to them as something along the lines of “Flambeau and his friend the priest”, and on two separate occasions a long list of Flambeau’s possessions is ended with “and a priest”), and in universe (Father Brown himself is massively famous in America in universe largely because of “his long connection to Flambeau). I don’t know I just think it’s neat. 

One time a man threatened Father Brown with a gun and Flambeau just beat him unconscious and then Father Brown and Flambeau just drove away and left him unconscious on the path. It was awesome.

(I’m sorry I rambled about Flambeau for so many words I just. Really really like Flambeau you guys. Father Brown and Flambeau are like two separate crime drama character tropes, the hard boiled cynical P.I. and the cosy eccentric amateur detective, but together as a double act, and I just think that’s really cool.)

Father Brown himself is if anything even more mysterious. He’s just “Father J. Brown, formerly of Cobhole in Essex, currently London”, and he’s “Flambeau’s friend”, and that’s all. That’s all he needs to be.

I also really really love Father Brown himself. I love that he’s allowed to be cheerful and optimistic and childish without any of this making him less clever, and in fact he’s shown time and time again to be cleverer than grumpy cynics who are scornful of childish things. Like, the whole giggling childlike thing isn’t even some kind of act, he’s a genius who understands true human nature, and he also really really likes puppet shows and building sandcastles who telling fairy stories, he really does get a “childish pleasure” from seeing Flambeau swing his sword-stick, and he really does have “strong personal interest in tomfoolery”. I love him.

I must share my favourite book quote about Father Brown himself: “But neither of them is very like the real Father Brown, who is not broken at all; but goes stumping with his stout umbrella through life, liking most of the people in it; accepting the world as his companion, but never as his judge.” uwu uwu uwu I’m cry.

Chesterton just subverts all the expectations character wise, the cheerful bumbling priest is a genius, the violent criminal is a true hero, the noble police officer is a corrupt self-serving murderer. It’s great. We stan. 10000000/10

(I’m not very good at being brief, am I?)

Father Brown, Detective (1934):

The first movie! It’s completely ridiculous. I love it a lot.

It was released just at the start of Hays Code, which, among other things, stated that crime and immorality should not be glorified or glamourised, and all crime and immorality must be seen to be punished by the end of the film. In practice in the case of this film, this means two things:

Paul Lukas!Flambeau is the only Flambeau to actually go to prison (and stay there).

He’s by far the Flambeau who deserves it the least. Lukas!Flambeau never hurt a soul. He just wanted to be loved. #FreeMyBoyHercule

Okay but in all seriousness. There’s a reason I call Paul Lukas!Flambeau “Himbo Flambeau”. Where other Flambeaus are violent or dangerous or geniuses, Lukas!Flambeau is just a big dumb idiot who respects women and has a great sense of humour and writes all his letters in the third person like Elmo for some reason. I would die for him.

At one point Flambeau in disguise is talking to the police, and when the police criticise Flambeau, disguised Flambeau says “Oh but I assure! I have read many things about this Flambeau! He is a fearless, handsome fellow!” The absolute idiot. I adore him with my whole heart.

The film is set in London, like the books, but an idealised Hollywood version of London, i.e., almost entirely unlike London.

Walter Connolly!Father Brown is also entirely lacking in braincells. Look at these two idiot men:

I love them.

Oh oh! And the most important thing, the thing that carries over into most other adaptations? NEW ORIGINAL CHARACTERS!!

This movie invents a few characters that weren’t in the books, but the most important ones are Mrs Boggs:

She doesn’t really add much to the plot but she’s funny and I love her so I’ll forgive it. 

She’s Father Brown’s housekeeper, she’s basically just the fussing maternal female character archetype who fusses around in the background, but she does it well and plays it with charm so I’ll allow it.

(Honestly this whole film is just. Not *technically* good or original, but just so charming and with so much heart that I unironically adore it.)

She tries to make Father Brown drink his milk because it’s good for him even though he doesn’t like it, and keeps checking back in on him to make sure he’s drunk it, it’s literally like a mother and her small child.

She objects to policemen in the presbytery because of their “big muddy boots on the carpet” but is fine with just letting Flambeau in whenever despite the prevailing rumour in London being that Flambeau killed a man. We stan a queen of having priorities. 

When Inspector Valentine summons Father Brown to the station, Mrs Boggs pops up in the background, assumes Father Brown’s being arrested, and says “Oh dear, I knew it!” and it makes me giggle like an idiot every time.

The other, more important original character invented for this movie is my girl Evelyn Fischer:

I love her, I would die for her, she’s flawless.

She’s basically your typical bored and rebellious young aristocrat, but she has a chaotic streak that I adore.

She sneaks out of her family’s mansion to go to a seedy underground club/illegal gambling ring in Soho (I mean I assume it’s Soho, a seedy part of London in that general vicinity, at least. I’m not about to get bogged down trying to understand the geography of London according to Hollywood), flirts with a bunch of strangers for fun, then when the police raid the place and everyone else is panicking she stands stock still, cheerfully says “Oh goody, I shall probably get my name in the papers!” and has to be physically dragged out of the building by Flambeau.

Later on Flambeau breaks into her bedroom in the middle of the night and she’s just very calmly like “What are you doing?”, and even when she finds out it’s Flambeau, a man widely believed to be dangerous and violent, instead of being scared, she calls him an idiot right to his face.

She forms the third part of the main trio of the movie with Father Brown and Flambeau (RIP to Valentine, demoted to tertiary character in a loose adaptation of the one (1) story where he was the main character lol) and together the three of them share a single braincell and have to take turns with it, while Mrs Boggs fusses in the background at the trio’s increasingly bonkers decisions. 

The movie ends with Father Brown and Evelyn sharing an emotional farewell with Flambeau through the window of a police car and promising to look after each other until Flambeau’s released, wow poly rights.

The Adventures of Father Brown (1945):

The adaptation there’s the least amount of information about, but I’ve done my best to find everything I can find on it.

An American radio show made towards the end of wartime, it’s a bit of an odd one, and believe me Father Brown adaptations have gone some odd places.

Only two episodes survive, or at least if more do survive then whoever has them is being very selfish and hoarding them to themselves because only two episodes are publicly available anywhere, and the audio quality of those is a bit dodge. (Though that is to be expected, they do appear to be home recordings, from 1945. Honestly we should be grateful to even have two full episodes.)

If the actors I’ve found are the right people, this show featured by far the youngest Father Brown and Flambeau, at the start of the show the actor playing Father Brown was only 36 and the actor playing Flambeau was only 27. They’re BABIES. (Honestly I’d like to see more age variation in Father Brown adaptations, as I have extensively rambled about before, the characters have literally no canon ages in the books, I think people ought to be a little more imaginative instead of always building on the adaptations that came before, even if it is really cool to see traces of all the previous adaptations in each new one that comes along. It’s something I haven’t noticed as much in adaptations of other golden age detective novels, but the Father Brown adaptations do seem to be stuck in some kind of game of “yes, AND” with each other. I would REALLY like to see an adaptation where Flambeau is older than Father Brown though, it's just something we've never had before despite there being literally nothing in the books to suggest this can't be the case, and I just think it'd be neat.)

This show is really really painfully American, in a real old fashioned "golly gee whizz mister" kind of way, to the point it almost feels like a parody, and I honestly find it kind of endearing.

Even Flambeau frequently slips into a very American accent to the point that my affectionate nickname for him is "The All-American Flambeau", and it's great. He's great.

Honestly I could accept the accents and the slang, for some reason the only thing that really threw me was Father Brown referring to money in cents and nickels.

Needless to say, this adaptation is not set in London. It is instead set in Generic Unspecified Smalltown USA. It's fine. This is fine. I already have so many films and shows set in London, I can swallow my London pride and let America have this.

It's hard to get a real grasp on characters from just two episodes, but I like this Father Brown and Flambeau, even if they are a little overly serious, and even if Flambeau doesn't really do much. He may be a bit serious and a bit useless but All-American Flambeau stays up late anxiously waiting for Father Brown to get home safely and it's very sweet. What a good boy.

All-American Flambeau also carries handcuffs around with him for some reason? But no weapons? Why is All-American Flambeau one of the few Flambeaus not to have a gun? Oh well, he's still sweet.

The 1945 radio show also gives us some original characters, but they're very much side characters and not part of the main plot and it's very hard to get a good grasp on a character from just a few minutes of audio from just two episodes but here's what I could gather:

Nora is another fussing housekeeper! She seems younger and less maternal than Mrs Boggs, but I don't know if that's just because the whole cast was on the younger side. (Could the radio station not find anyone over the age of 40? Were they in short supply in 1945 or something? Ah well.) She seems dedicated to helping Father Brown get some peace and quiet that he never goddamn gets because someone always goes and gets themselves murdered. In both surviving episodes a knock at the door disturbs Father Brown’s rest, Nora opens it professionally, sees it's Flambeau, and immediately drops the professionalism and is immediately like "oh it's only you", so I can only assume every episode started this way. I do hope so.

Father Peter is a junior priest who answers to Father Brown and takes over his duties on his days off. He's implied by the dialogue to be considerably younger than Father Brown, Nora, and Flambeau, but if their actors are anything to go by then they're not that old themselves, and though Father Brown seems to talk to Father Peter like he's a literal child, he is still a priest so I very much doubt that's the case. He seems sweet and harmless, but he's only in one of the surviving episodes and only in that towards the end and mentioned briefly at the start, so it's hard to judge completely. It's highly unlikely that the reason he's not even mentioned in the later surviving episode is because he turned out to secretly be an evil murderer, but, this being a Father Brown adaptation, not entirely unfounded. (But no, he's probably just a sweet boy who exists to have exposition delivered to him.)

Father Brown/The Detective (1954):

The Alec Guinness movie! The one haters of any of the other adaptations complain that adaptation isn't more like, but in my humble opinion, actually the worst adaptation.

Like, I don't hate it! The cast is mostly stellar actors and if I just saw it as a movie on its own, it'd probably be fine. But as a Father Brown adaptation watched in context of the books and the other adaptations, it has a few issues imo.

Most glaringly it has Tone Issues. This film cannot decide if it's a comedy or not. The original posters certainly marketed it as one (see above) and half the cast are noted comic actors who were famous at the time for comedy, goddamn SID JAMES is in it, but the entire third act is played painfully straight, half the cast is mugging for the camera and trying way too hard to be funny while the other cast is giving extremely serious and subtle performances, like. I have no problem with a Father Brown adaptation being played for laughs, and I have no problem with a Father Brown adaptation being played for drama, both can work beautifully, but just PICK ONE, PLEASE

All of my other gripes with the film are very petty and nitpicky, this film calls Father Brown and Flambeau "Ignatius Brown" and "Gustav Flambeau" even though Father Brown has the canon first initial "J" and Flambeau has the canon first name "Hercule", and I hate it a lot. "Ignatius and Gustav" is the second worst thing any Father Brown adaptation has ever done to me.

My other petty nitpick with the movie is that it makes Flambeau literal nobility. The man is a duke. In my opinion Flambeau should always either have a completely mysterious past or be a nobody who came from nothing, someone who grew up with land and title and many servants and a family coat of arms, living in a whole entire castle with his family name and coat of arms engraved into the side of it, growing up and stealing from people, is a whole lot less sympathetic in my opinion. Like to be fair his parents are dead which is sad I guess and his castle has seen better days, but dude. You still own a castle. People who live in castles do not get to lecture other people about materialism.

THAT SAID, Peter Finch is still the best thing about the movie. I love all Flambeaus dearly, even the ones that are little bitches. He’s a bit of an emo “oh woe is me” sadboy, but he’s very charming, and actually good at disguises and being undercover, get dunked on Lukas!Flambeau.

Guinness!Brown likes to feed ducks and Flambeau calls him “the angel with the flaming umbrella”, which makes my inner Good Omens fan who loves finding parallels between Aziraphale & Crowley and Father Brown & Flambeau go 👀

There is one really good scene, in the Paris Catacombs. And by “good” I mean “really really bafflingly gay”:

I truly, truly do not understand how this scene was written, directed, acted, filmed, and edited without ANYONE saying “hey lads does this seem a bit gay to you?”

Father Brown, literally lying on top of Flambeau and pinning him to the ground, whispering: “I would like to set you free.” Flambeau, softly, gently smiling while his face is literal inches away from Father Brown, who is still pinning him to the ground: “Ah, now I begin to understand what you are.”

What the fuck, you guys. What the entire fuck. This scene keeps me up at night.

ANYWAY

This film is also not set in London. It is instead mostly set in a rural English village, and partially in Paris and partially in rural France. Paris is fun but I miss London.

This film also has some original characters. I should probably talk about them. 

This is Lady Warren:

She’s Father Brown’s friend, and she’s a Lady, and that’s all I can really tell you.

She’s very well-mannered and dignified and sophisticated.

She gives me the vibe that she exists solely because the writers decided they needed a female character but then remembered at the last minute they had no idea how to write women, so as a result she is almost entirely irrelevant to the plot. I don’t want to say I don’t like her, because she’s done nothing wrong and it’s not her fault, but like. Why is she here? Poor thing, she deserved to be plot-relevant, really.

She lives in a big mansion and owns some very nice things, and she gets annoyed when she invites Father Brown to lunch but he just stares blankly into space thinking about Flambeau the whole time. (Mood honestly FB. Me too.) 

She flirts a bit with Flambeau in one very pointless scene that came the hell out of nowhere, went nowhere, and was never mentioned again. It was like the writers realised how gay the previous Flambeau scene was and suddenly tried to convince me this man is a hetero. Nice try, writers. You can’t fool me that easily.

The other main original character is Bert:

Alright, own up, whose bright idea was it to put Sid James in a Father Brown movie?

Bert is a smalltime criminal who’s a friend of Father Brown, who Father Brown protects from the police, but tries to convince to get on the straight and narrow by getting him as a job as Lady Warren’s chauffer. 

This is would be fine, were it not for the fact he’s played by Sid James, who only knows how to play Sid James, and is just Sid Jamesing it up in every scene. I don’t have anything against Sid James. I like my fair share of Carry On films. But Sid James does not belong in Father Brown and I want to fight whoever decided he did.

Father Brown (1974):

LADS LADS LADS! It’s time for the first TV show, and it’s time for my favourite boys:

Oh! OH! How I love Kenneth More!Brown and Dennis Burgess!Flambeau. They’re just. So cute. My two special boys.

Not only that, but LADS! We’re finally back in London!

A gritty, dirty, London in the 1930s no less, with cool London buses and political unrest and grimy pubs and the constant threat of world war. Alexa this is so cool play London Calling.

In one episode Flambeau gets verbally abused by an anti-immigration right-wing zealot. :( My poor boy. :( 

(But it’s okay, shortly after Father Brown witnesses this, the racist shows up dead in exactly the place Father Brown earlier said would be a good place to commit a murder. Now I’m not accusing Father Brown of murder, BUT)

This show made the bold but valid decision to skip Flambeau’s redemption arc and start the show when Flambeau is already a seasoned and respected private detective who’s lived in London and been Father Brown’s closest friend for many years. As a result this Father Brown and Flambeau are ridiculously domestic with each other. Look at this peak Old Married Couple energy:

Oh! I just love them.

I would love to know how Burgess!Flambeau’s redemption went down though, because Burgess!Flambeau is BY FAR the least repentant of all the reformed Flambeaus. He proudly boasts about his crimes, he still believes he “deserved to succeed”, he still proudly talks about how “daring and outrageous” he was, which begs the question of why did he stop at all? Literally the only explanation I can think of is that he’s literally only doing this for Father Brown’s sake, which. uwu

Oh GOD I love Burgess!Flambeau. Obviously I love all Flambeaus a lot, and choosing a favourite feels like choosing a favourite child, but let’s just say: if the Flambeaus WERE my children, Burgess!Flambeau would be quite spoilt. My ~ Daring And Outrageous ~ boy.

More!Brown and Burgess!Flambeau are both really really socially awkward, uncomfortable in crowds, and nervously say “oh dear” a lot. They really are ridiculously cute.

They also only giggle and joke and act silly when they’re together, when they’re apart they’re both sort of sad and quiet and withdrawn. (This makes episodes Flambeau isn’t in a bit harder to watch because Father Brown is just kind of lost and lonely without his emotional support Frenchman, with three notable exceptions: that time Father Brown infodumped about the mating habits of whales at the Father Superior for a solid minute, that time Father Brown met a dog and reacted with unrestrained delight, and that time someone mentioned former criminals in passing and Father Brown’s whole face lit up and he started gushing about how Flambeau was living in London now and doing very well as a private detective, completely unprompted.)

This show also brought back book!Brown and Flambeau’s habit of always going on holiday together! Wonderful! We love to see it!

This show is also the first time in the entire Father Brown franchise where gay people are overtly acknowledged to exist! And Father Brown is non-judgemental! A roman catholic priest written in the 1970s and living in the 1930s who canonically isn’t homophobic! I have no choice but to stan forever!

You remember what I said about liking to point out Good Omens parallels? WELL

Kenneth More!Father Brown and Dennis Burgess!Flambeau both live in London

Burgess!Flambeau lives in a brightly lit, pale walled, airy and spacious, modern (for the time) London apartment, while More!Brown prefers gothic architecture and lives in an old, grey, cramped, stone building absolutely full floor to ceiling with books

They go out for intimate candlelit dinners for two at very fancy London restaurants 

Desperate people come to Flambeau because he “knows the game on both sides of the fence”

Father Brown responds with a quiet and miserable “oh dear” when asked to actually do his job instead of just watching plays and drinking wine

Father Brown calls Flambeau “my dear” at times and it personally kills me

I mean. I’m just saying.  👀

Now, isn’t there a third important character in the books? 

Oh yes of course:

HIM! THE BASTARD MAN! INSPECTOR VALENTIN HIMSELF!

(Nobody understands him! IT’S NOT! EVIL!)

This show is the literally only adaptation to include the Valentin betrayal and I’m not gonna lie. It’s a very difficult episode to sit through, it’s far darker and grimmer and more depressing than you would ever expect from Father Brown, but my god it’s done so well. Especially considering the teeny tiny budget they clearly had, only four sets are used the entire episode and the whole thing takes place inside Valentin’s house, but even that adds a certain claustrophobic atmosphere and just. It’s done so well.

I think the entire budget went on gore effects because the decapitated heads in this episode are disturbingly realistic for the time the show was made and genuinely grim to look at. Not to mention the intense downer ending.  Not to mention this was THE FINAL EPISODE OF THE SHOW

THE INTENSE DOWNER ENDING OF THIS EPISODE IS HOW THE WHOLE SHOW ENDED

God it hurts so much but I lowkey love it. 

Father Brown Stories (1984):

The second radio series, and the first BBC adaptation! 

Thrilling times for fans of actors being the right nationality for their characters, because after previously being played by a Hungarian, an American, an Englishman, and a Welshman, Flambeau is finally being played by a Frenchman, Olivier Pierre!

Father Brown himself is played by Andrew Sachs, Manuel himself. 

Not gonna lie. It’s kind of hard to figure out how to explain the radio show.

We’re? Maybe back in London? Honestly it’s really unclear.

Pierre!Flambeau is kind of adorable. He’s described as looking like book!Flambeau physically, huge and buff and terrifying, but he has literally none of the temper or predisposition to violence. 

Pierre!Flambeau doesn’t speak very good English at all, and oftentimes will react with “...What?” when he hears a strange English idiom or turn of phrase.

One time he says “Perhaps we should.. push on? SEE HOW I AM MASTERING YOUR ENGLISH IDIOMS” and it’s the cutest thing that’s ever happened.

To try and get better at understanding both the English language and the English people, Flambeau starts obsessively reading Alice in Wonderland and Through The Looking Glass, massive giant adorable boy.

One time Father Brown gets complimented of being academically minded and well read, and then asked if Flambeau is also a keen reader, and when Flambeau tries to say no, Father Brown interrupts and proudly and earnestly says “Oh yes! Monsieur Flambeau is one of our top Lewis Carroll scholars!”, it’s honestly adorable.

This adaptation finally uses “John” as Father Brown’s first name, as it should always have been! I love it!

This series said FUCK Father Brown having a mysterious past and no former friends or relatives! Now he has siblings, and friends who knew him before he was a priest who still call him “John”!

Father Brown himself speaks in a very sweet and soft and wavering way that makes my heart melt.

Sadly and unfortunately, I have to acknowledge the final episode of the show, which is the top worst thing any Father Brown adaptation has ever done to me.

It’s. It’s a crossover. With Sherlock Holmes. Actual goddamn Sherlock Holmes is in it. I hate it. I hate it so much. “Elementary, my dear Flambeau” shut the hell up, if this Flambeau won’t fling you down a flight of stairs then I will.

I deliberately avoided all Holmes-related media for THREE YEARS only for the awful man to spring up on me in Father Brown?? How could you do this to me???

I’m going to yeet myself into the sun, bye everyone.

(On the plus side, the Sherlock Holmes episode does have one of Father Brown’s parishioners recognise Flambeau as “a close friend of Father Brown and a frequent visitor to his room”  ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), so that’s nice I suppose. I’ll still never forgive the writers of this show for putting me through this.)

Father Brown (2013):

YOU ARE HERE.

I kind of see the current TV series as a culmination of all the adaptations that’ve come before? I can definitely see echoes of all of them in it.

And it’s great! I really really love it. I love it a lot. 

I think about it daily.

My one and only complaint I would have is that Flambeau isn’t in it enough. Not just because he’s my favourite, though I’d obviously not be fooling anyone who’s read all this if I said he isn’t.

And it’s not that I don’t love the show as it is, and find the one Flambeau episode a series always something really special, so I don’t know what I’d have the writers do, exactly. 

But it’s just. In literally every other version of Father Brown, Flambeau is the second most important character and the second main protagonist, and to have him in this show so little that some fans or reviewers call him a “minor character” and others call him a “recurring villain”, though I myself don’t see him either of those ways of course because he’s still Flambeau, it’s just kinda sad and painful, y’know?

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being silly.

Hopefully he’s a regular in at least the final season of the show. If I don’t get my favourite partners in crime solving I’m rioting. 

Anyway that’s my “””brief””” rundown on all the main versions of Father Brown!! I hope you liked it!!

[noladyme]

Chess. Chapter 3

Y/N never hurt anyone who didn’t deserve it. She only took what she needed, or what she felt others needed. She’d stayed out of sight for a long time, avoiding anything that could get her in to too much trouble. But for some reason Rick Flag shows up in her life, and in an instant, everything changes.

 TW: sexual harassment/assault, torture, sexual themes

I don’t know how many days passed. In the dark, days and nights flowed together; making it difficult to keep up a daily rhythm that made sense.

I lived from meal to meal. Not that I ate much of what they sent in, which was usually more of those little pellets in water; and every third meal, being something cold and mushy, that smelt conspicuously like canned cat food. It took me about 6 “meals”, to finally accept that this is what it actually was. With the canned food I’d get a thin slice of stale toast. This – along with a plastic cup of water – was all I consumed for a long time.

Every once in a while, I’d hear Griggs voice through the speaker, reminding me he was still there. He’d tell me to get ready; meaning I had to face the wall opposite the door, hands and legs spread. They’d come in then, the guards, usually fronted by the man himself, and flip over the mattress, pretending to search my cell for contraband.

That’s when he’d stand behind me, pressing himself against my back. His hands would wander, patting me down everywhere, even the parts of my body not covered by clothing. After a final squeeze of my asscheek; he’d turn around and proclaim; “She’s clean”. They’d back out the door, shut it, and it would be dark again.

During one of these visits, I’d had enough, and as Griggs hand wandered towards my groin area, I quickly grabbed his hand, twisting his fingers until I heard a crack.

“Bitch!”, Griggs screeched, elbowed me in the side; and as I feel to the floor, I suddenly had three guards on me, kicking me on my sore hip, and on my ribs. One of the kicks pushed the air out of me, and as I desperately tried to regain control of my breathing, they backed out the door, leaving me there alone.

Maybe 10 minutes later, the speaker howled in the darkness.

“That was not very nice, puss”, Griggs said. “You know, I’ve tried to play nice with you; even breaking the budget on those canned foods you’ve been getting. No more. It’s time you settle in for the long haul”.

Music played, at first at a low volume; but then increasing, until it felt like my head was going to explode from the sound. It would stay like that for about 30 seconds, before being lowered again. It continued like this; music turning up and down, with the highest volume being so intense, no amount of covering my ears seemed to help. My heart beat fiercely, and I could even feel the veins of my fingers pounding. I curled up in a seated position.

After what seemed like forever, the music stopped. I exhaled, and removed my hands from my ears; my biceps stinging from how long and forcefully I had been covering them. I laid down, ears ringing; and I could hear the blood pumping through my body. My ribs and my hip were pulsating in pain.

I closed my eyes, and my body began to give in to sleep.

The music started again. Same pattern as before. I screamed, but at the height of the music, I couldn’t even hear my own voice. That’s when I passed out.

---

“Chess”, a familiar voice called. “Y/N!”. I came too, slowly.

“No more”; I whispered into the darkness; lips and tongue dry.

“Cover your eyes. I’m turning on the lights”. I recognized the voice then. Flag. With great effort, I covered my face with my arm, curling up into a fetal position. I heard the sound of the fluorescent lights flickering on. Then footsteps and keys rattling outside the door.

“Three goddamn days? She’s been out for three days?!”, Flags voice boomed on the other side of the door. “Why didn’t you call me sooner?”.

The door opened, and through the crack of my bended arm, I saw boots walking towards me.

“We thought she was faking it, sir”, Griggs answered Flag.

I felt a hand on my waist, and winced in pain.

“What the hell did you do to her?”, Flag growled.

“She attacked me, sir. My men might have gone a bit overboard”, Griggs retorted.

I blinked, the light still too sharp for my eyes. Flag took a hold of my arm, pulling it away from my face. My eyes hurt, but I looked up at him. His expression was pained.

Putting an arm around my waist, he pulled me up into a seated position. I looked down at my body. I was filthy, covered in dust; and my arms and legs looked skinnier than the last time I’d seen them.

“Can you stand?”, Flag quietly asked me. His eyes were worried.

I tried to get onto my knees, but was too dizzy; and fell back onto my butt. Flag got behind me, and carefully slipped his arms through mine; lifting me onto my feet.

I was weak, and tried to take a wobbly step forward, falling back into his arms. He lifted my arm, and put it around his neck, dragging me with him.

“Help me out, Edwards”, Flag said, and a man with a stubbled face, standing a few inches shorter than Flag, took my other arm around his own neck. Half walking, half carrying me out of the cell, we passed Griggs, who was standing outside. I saw that his hand was in a cast of some kind; and smiled at the fact that I’d made my mark.

They walked me down a dimly lit corridor. Was I in a basement? The doors we passed were all closed, and I wondered if there were other prisoners behind them.

At the end of the hall were stairs, and the two soldiers dragged me up them, until we came to a new corridor, cleaner and brighter than the one we had come from. They took me to a room, sparsely furnitured with a metal table, and two chairs on either side of it. A clock over the door told me it was 3 o’clock.  Am or pm, I didn’t know. Interrogation, I told myself, and the men seated me in a chair, handcuffing me to the table.

On one wall was large mirror, which I knew would be a two way.

I looked at myself in the mirror. The person staring back at me was someone I didn’t know. Her face was gaunt, eyes dark; and she was black and blue on one side of her torso. Well hello, gorgeous, I laughed at myself.

“Something funny?”, Flag asked me, on his way out the door.

“Just that stick up your ass”, I answered, and smiled as brightly as I could.

He closed the door behind him.

One hand free, I ran my fingers through my hair; matted from my ordeal.

I waited for about 30 minutes. Something smelled rancid, and I realized it was me. I hadn’t bathed for who knew how long; but it would obviously have to wait.

The door opened again, and in stepped the woman from the van, followed by Flag, who was looking everywhere but at me. The woman sat down, and pulled out a paper file folder.

“My name is Amanda Waller”, she said.

“I know who you are”, I said, and leant back in the chair, trying for casual. “I also know you’re here to make me an offer I can’t refuse. Literally. You’ll kill me if I do”.

Waller smirked. “I won’t, but the guards at this place might. Apparently, you broke the captains favorite jerking hand”.

“So you’ve been listening in”.

“We have. And though I am not happy with the way things have turned out, it seems all of this was necessary to keep you in line”, Waller retorted. “Let me get down to the point. Me and the colonel here, lead a group of people with special skills. For some reason you know this already; so you probably also know that each of these individuals are people, who most of the good people of The United States would rather see behind bars, or even executed”. She narrowed her eyes at me. “Before I continue, please humor me; how did you know of us?”.

“I knew about you. I didn’t know about Mr. Tall, Lean and Grumpy here”, I said, and nodded my head in Flags direction. His expression remained calm, but his lips twitched once; revealing that my answer had made an effect.

“Hear that, Flag? Your cover remains unblown. Good for you”. Her cold eyes remained on me. “Now answer the question, Y/N”.

“There are whispers. About a cold bitch who is tracking people like me; to use our… special skills”, I repeated her own words.

“But there really is no one like you, is there, Chess?”. She stood up, and opened the folder. “Y/N Y/L/N. A.k.a. Chess. Short for Cheshire?”.

“Nah, that name was taken”, I smirked.

“Right. You don’t strike me as someone with martial arts skills and venomous nails”, she said, looking down at my chipped black polish.

“I can scrap with the best of them, if necessary”.

“I’m counting on it”. She continued. “B minus high school student, until you had a run in with Jervis Tetch, a.k.a. The Mad Hatter. Experimenting with a device he hoped would render himself invisible, he tested it out on one of his kidnapping victims. You”.

I winced. The memory of that event was something I’d rather have been left alone.

“It backfired. Without going in to the scientific details, it made you able to become invisible at will, without using the aforementioned device. He decided to use you for his own criminal activity, and for a few years, you worked for him as a cat burglar and spy. During one of his stints in Arkham Asylum, you decided to become an independent contractor”.

I sat up straight, daring her to continue. She sat back down.

“Burglary. Car theft. Stealing official documents from the FBI – impressive!”, she smiled. “Kidnapping of a senators daughter. Possession of an illegal drug substance?”.

“Actually those last ones were a two for one”, I laughed. “And it wasn’t so much a kidnapping as great weekend in Vegas. She was fully in to it. We almost got married”. The clerk at the chapel had refused to go through with the ceremony, because he was worried, we were under the influence of drugs. It might have been the smell of the half smoked blunt in my pocket that gave us away. “Stephanie? Tiffany? I can’t remember her name”.

“Melissa”, Flag said from behind Waller.

“Right. Melissa!”, I smirked. “You could bounce a nickel of her ass. Was she an ex of yours?”, I smiled at him. He scoffed.

Waller continued. “You’ve avoided arrest on most of your charges; I suppose, due to your condition”.

“My ability to smile”, I said.

“Yes, that’s right. Before you become invisible, you purr and smile. Is there a reason for this?”, she goaded me on. I knew it didn’t make any sense to be secretive, so I decided to be up front with her.

“I don’t know. That’s just how it is. When I need to disappear, my body vibrates, which sounds like a purr. The smile is what sends signals to my brain, to bend light around my body, or an object I’m touching; which then becomes invisible. Serotonin, dopamine… whatever. It works”. I sighed. “Where are we going with this?”.

“Task Force X, under the day to day leadership of Colonel Flag, has an opening. I want you to fill that spot”.

“Why?”, I asked, genuinely wondering.

“Because making things and people disappear is handy, in some of the missions the Force may have coming up”.

“But what is in it for me?”

“10 years of your sentence, per mission”, Waller replied, and closed the file.

“What sentence? I haven’t done anything in a long time”, I said, voice shaking lightly.

“16 months ago, judge Jeremiah Kelper disappeared for a week, before an anonymous tip led the police to him, bound, bloody and gagged, in a warehouse on Gotham Harbor”. Waller folded her hands in front of her, and met my eyes again. “When he woke up at the hospital, he was ranting about a “ghost” that had drugged him, dragged him to the warehouse; and held him for days, tied to a chair. The “ghost” had beat him several times with a pipe, and… well, let’s not get further in to that”.

I couldn’t help but smile. “Sounds like someone had it in for him”.

“Sounds like”, Waller half whispered. “I also know that Kelpers records are much cleaner than he is. But then there’s the money”.

“What money”, I asked, looking first at Waller, then up at Flag, who smirked at me.

“1 million dollars, cash, disappeared from a safe at Wayne Tower, two months ago. What did you spend it on?”, he asked.

Shit, they got me, I thought. “I donated it”.

“Some of it”; Waller said, and reopened the file. “987.000 dollars were donated anonymously to a local shelter for battered women, two days later”.

I leant forward; and Flag quickly took a step towards the table, putting his arm in front of Waller.

“Calm down, soldier”, I said. “From what I hear, The Wayne Foundation matched my donation to the same shelter, not long after”.

“You’re right”, Waller said. “It seems to me, you want to be one of the good guys”. I smirked again. “But you’re not. You’re a villain, Y/N – one of the bad guys. But you can make that badness have a purpose”.

I leant back again, and Flag relaxed, stepping back. He folded his arms – those arms – and leant against the wall, toying with the id-card attached to his t-shirt sleeve.

“Show me what you can do”, Waller demanded.

“I can’t”, I said, looking back at Wallers now surprised face. “I need energy to smile, and for the last – what – month or so, I’ve been living on stale toast and kibble”, I admitted.

“Flag”, Waller said, and the soldier took a candy bar from his pants pocket, and placed it in front of me. With my free hand shaking, I opened the wrapper, and put it to my lips. Taking a bite of the heavenly chocolate, feeling the wonderful sensation of sugar rushing through my system; I moaned.

“Mhmm”. Flag stepped back to wall again, looking uncomfortable at my sounds. I couldn’t help myself. “Got anything else in those pants for me?”, I purred; and as he quickly looked away from my face, I smiled.

Touching the table with my free hand, it went away in a mist, making the file folder look as if it was floating in midair.  Wallers eyes went wide. I kicked of one slipper, touching the floor with my bare foot, and suddenly, the floor was gone, leaving the three of us as if standing on clear glass.

Looking down, I saw a cell, no bigger than my own had been, though better furnished; with a cot, a toilet, a couple of nudie posters, and a tiny table. In the middle of the room stood a rugged looking man, clutching a toy unicorn in his arms. He looked up, eyes large; before looking towards Waller. He smiled widely, gold tooth gleaming, and though I couldn’t hear what he was saying, it was clear it was along the lines of “I see London, I see France, I see Wallers underpants”. Waller crossed her legs quickly, and looked at me, with a mix of horror and excitement plastered on her face.

“Enough!”, she shouted.

That’s when I made myself disappear before their eyes.

Flag and Waller looked around the room trying to find me, before Flag ran across the invisible floor, towards the chair, grabbing for what I guess he thought would be my shoulder, but ended up being my right breast. Confused at the softness, his brow furrowed.

My energy gave out. The floor, the table, and lastly my body, reappeared. Realizing where his hand was, Flag jumped back, looking at his hand, face reddening. “Thanks for that”, I smiled at him flirtatiously. He turned his back to me and clenched his guilty hand into a fist.

“I think I’ve seen everything I need to”, Waller said, standing back up again, picking up the folder. “Training starts tomorrow. Once the colonel has calmed down a bit, he’ll make sure you get a proper meal”. She went for the door.

“Waller!”, I stopped her dead in her tracks. “Tell me, did Kelpers balls ever pop back down?”.

She smiled crookedly at me. “I hear he’s going to need some reconstructive surgery”.

She walked out the door, leaving me with Flag.

Flag unlocked the cuffs, and pulled me up. “Think you’ll be able to walk yourself this time?”.

I leant towards him, putting my hands on his chest. Fuck, you’re firm, I thought.

“I might need a little help. Feel free to grab a hold of me anywhere”, I beamed at him.

Flag roughly put my arms behind my back, and cuffed them together. “Let’s go, kitten”, he scoffed, and pushed me in front of him, out of the door. My friends The Tweedles were waiting outside. “Get her back to her cell. Make sure the lights are on until 2200 hours. And get her a proper meal”.

As Tweedle Dee and Dum supported my still weak body walking down the hall, I looked back at Flag.

“You like me”, I flirted, and his face reddened again, before he turned around, and walked in the opposite direction.

[cockasinthebird]

Ahhh I love your work. 🥰🥰🥰❤️❤️❤️❤️😍😍 Ok au where Steve and Billy break up so Steve gets really drunk at a party and Billy has to go pick him up and basically take care of him the rest of the night, so Steve doesn’t like choke on his own throw up or do something dumb

Dear anon,

THANK YOU, I love you too!!! Which is why it pains me to say that.... I’m so sorry. This got SO SAD and I promise I didn’t intend for it to! But it just came out this way, and I hope you can forgive me!

-

Billy's not entirely sure what the fuck Steve is doing here.

Had he even been invited? Carol sure as fuck hadn't asked him to come, maybe Tommy did just to tease Steve; dangle his lost popularity in front of the dethroned King Steve, in hopes that he would be dumb enough to show up, to then just be ridiculed for having even had the thought that he was actually welcome around here anymore.

Billy nearly dropped his jaw when he saw Steve arriving earlier, but when their eyes met, his ex-whatever had quickly looked away and run off to probably grab the first drink in reach.

Maybe he's regretting breaking up with Billy? Not that there really was anything to break up, they were just having fun, just fucking around, literally. Which only makes the entire situation even more infuriating, the more Billy thinks about it.

There wasn't supposed to be any feelings or emotions or all that girly crap, just two guys blowing off steam together!

So when Steve asked him, “Why do you keep treating me like this?” and demanded an explanation as to why Billy continued to bully and agitate him so, all he could say was,

“What the fuck are you talking about, Harrington?” and really put pressure on his name there, as if to drive home the point that they're not beyond that.

And Steve had cried, not a big sloppy mess, but tears rolled, and he shouted that they were done for, then drove off before Billy could even gather enough thoughts to be coherent.

That was three days ago, and he really hadn't heard a single sound from Harrington since then, seen no hide nor hair of him till tonight.

Now he sees him everywhere he goes; no matter which room he moves to, Steve's there, looking back, eyes hooded and dark with all the alcohol he's swimming in, some even staining his nice polo shirt. Tommy had at one point earlier gone up to Steve, grinning wide and talking shit, but Harrington seem unbothered by it all.

Steve sits in the middle of a long couch, surrounded by people all with their backs turned to him, and as he swings back another of numerous beers, Billy finds himself staring like one would at a particularly morose painting, wondering what it all means, even though it's clear on the surface level and doesn't run that deep.

He himself stands leaning over a cute, short brunette, her hair falling down over her large breasts, a manicured finger playing with the buttons of Billy's open shirt. He's got an arm resting against the wall above her head, and even as she smiles all flirtatious and talks to him about something something parents not home something, he can't look away from the way Steve stares back.

There's too many thoughts in his head that even the alcohol can't wash away; things he wants to say to Steve, things he wants to do to Steve.

And he doesn't move till Steve does.

Limbs inept as he rises up from the couch, accidentally bumping into a girl who glares daggers at him, to where Steve mumbles out a sloppy sorry, sorry, before tripping a bit over the others legs as he tries to squeeze out from between the sofa and coffee table. But even as he goes through all the obstacles of a full house, Steve never looks away from Billy as he walks in his direction.

When he gets all too close, Billy looks away- can't stand being this close to Steve anymore, a torturous thing that he came here tonight to forget; to hopefully drown himself in pussy, or find a nice big dick, but all of that is impossible to look for when fucking Harrington is present in his life this way.

After counting down from five in his mind, Billy turns to look in the direction Steve went, just to catch the front door closing, and he immediately pushes off of the wall, abandoning the busty brunette here with now a shocked expression across her face, as he gives chase for another dark haired beauty.

Outside Steve fumbles with his keys, standing by the first car he found.

The music goes low as the front door to Carol's house slams closed, and Billy stands underneath the light of the veranda, hands deep in his pockets as he braces himself for the chilly evening air sweeping in from the woods.

“That's not your car,” he calls out to Steve, who jumps a bit at the sudden voice.

Steve looks at the white Ford that he's spent nearly a minute trying to get into, muttering about why the fuck doesn't the key fit. Then he looks at where Billy has stepped down the stairs and is making his way over.

He huffs out drunkenly and moves to the next car, a dark green Honda and tries again.

“Still not your car.” Billy stands now only a few feet away, watching with a slight frown at how Steve continues to shuffle over the sidewalk to the next car in a long line.

And counting from here, there's a good seven cars more to go or so before they reach the BMW.

“What are you doing here?” he asks and finds it maybe a tad bit amusing how frustrated Steve grows.

“What's it look like?” Steve slurs back and tries a key that isn't even for any car in the world, but rather his front door. “I'm trynna get home.”

“Not at this pace you won't,” Billy mocks and shrugs a bit. “Try the next car.”

Steve doesn't argue, probably can't, and he moves on to a dark blue camaro.

But before he gets to have a chance of scratching the nice, expensive paint job, Billy interrupts with, “Here, let me try.” And fishes up his own keys from his back pocket.

Almost like magic, Billy's keys works wonders, and the passenger door opens up to allow for Steve to stumble inside.

Billy takes long strides to the other side and lands with much more stability in the drivers seat.

“This... this isn't my car,” Steve says with the purest form of confusion, as if he's just woken up from a coma thirty years later to discover all sorts of new things. He touches the leather seat, opens and closes the glove compartment, looks between the front seats into the back, yeah it's definitely not his car.

“No, it's my car,” Billy speaks all matter of fact, firmly so as to ensure that Steve understands what's happening.

He looks over at the other; almond eyes squinting through the darkness and haze of inebriation, and Billy's heart beats uncomfortably, if he were to tell the truth for once. He wants to reach out, brush away the bangs that falls down Steve's forehead, kiss those bumbling lips, caress the moles on his cheek, his chest, his legs.

“Why am I in your car?” Steve mumbles and looks out the window, away from how Billy is caught wanting.

“I'm taking you home, put on your seat-belt.”

The car roars as he sparks it alive.

“Why?” Steve asks but doesn't hesitate to do as told, although with shaky hands that could be from the alcohol or nerves.

“Because you're a drunk mess and I'm a goddamn fucking saint,” Billy grumbles as he pulls out from his spot and onto the street.

“Oh so now you decide to be nice to me?” Steve laughs without joy and thunks his heavy head against the cool window.

“I have my moments.” Billy grins, but refuses to let silence fall upon them, because that's when there's time to think, which is the last thing he wants right now. “So, why did you come tonight?”

The tense energy here palpable as Steve thinks too long on his answer, which spills out carelessly, “Because I wanted to see you,” and there's almost a sob.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington-” Billy groans and rolls his eyes, but Steve cuts him off,

“Don't call me that,” with a more apparent sob now.

“I can call you whatever I want.” The hand on the wheel tightens. “Princess. Dickhead. Amigo. Pretty boy.” And he steals a quick glance at where Steve stares out the window; street lights flashing like stars in his wet eyes.

“...Steve,” a whisper not meant to be heard, and perhaps it doesn't.

The silence between them is painful. Billy bites at his nail to hopefully keep himself from blurting out all the wrong things. Steve snivels occasionally, his breathing labored.

Driving from Carol's place to Steve's feels like it takes years through uncertain darkness with no saving grace, no light at the end of the tunnel, a vast eternity in where Billy keeps fighting his own inquisitive thoughts.

Because why is he doing this? Why is he helping out Steve, who was the one to end whatever it is they had going on? Why is he looking at Steve's lonely hand?  Wanting to reach out and hold it. His own hand aching for the touch, like a childish need to play with the flame of a lit candle. So he grips the steering wheel harder till the strained skin hurts.

Till they pull up into a driveway that isn't empty. A black, sleek, shiny Cadillac sits all prideful in front of the grand house.

And it runs freezing cold down Billy's back, eyes pinned to the slumbering windows, hands still choking the leather.

“Are... are your parents home?!” he hisses out.

Steve moves as if he was just abruptly awoken, and blinks hard to still his focus. He leans towards the dashboard to peer out the front window and sees his father's car.

“Oh, yeah, they showed up some hours ago. Took me out to some fancy restaurant for dinner, but...” Steve slumps back into his seat and moves to get comfortable. “They still don't know how to talk to me.”

Billy finds himself in the same situation now. He watches how twisted Steve's expression is; a distressed pull of the lips and an anguished brow knit together with tales of distant parents and a lonely childhood. And maybe Billy is starting to understand a few things about Steve.

Who pulls his knees up to his chest to hug himself, shrink a bit, fleeing whatever is undoubtedly coursing through his mind.

A sight that makes Billy sigh, loudly in exasperation, and then backs up the car.

“W-w-what are you doing?” Steve stumbles through his tears as he realizes they're now driving away.

“I...” Billy starts off with, eyes hard on the road and both hands on the wheel. “I don't know.”

“Where are we going?”

“Just-” Billy stops himself from raising his voice too loudly, and takes a deep inhale as to calm down, refusing to meet the way Steve is staring. “Just... don't worry, ok?”

Although he's drenched in worry himself, uncertainty dripping down the back of his neck as his own nerves heats him up unbearably so.

Neither of them talks at all as they drive through the woods, underneath the cloudy skies that threatens with rain; teases with a few drops here and there upon the windshield.

And somehow they end up by an open field - more specifically the location for the 4th of July fair that stood loud and colorful a few months back. Billy hadn't been thinking of any place in particular, rather he was spending all his mental power to not think at all, lest he'd start having doubts about... everything.

“Did you... did you bring me out here to, what, beat me up?” Steve sounds legit scared, and it hurts to hear.

Like a thousand paper cuts across Billy's heart, and he cannot keep back the anger that bubbles up at something so ludicrous. “No I'm not gonna fucking beat you up! Jesus!” he growls out through gritted teeth, which doesn't exactly help his case.

For Steve holds an unblinking stare aimed at Billy, expectant of only the worst things, which probably isn't completely unfair, because he hasn't exactly been... nice lately. Or ever. And even though Billy often refuses to apologize and feel bad for his behavior, it's a challenge to stay an asshole at times like these.

Because even if his father is all too present in his own life, he understands the lack of parental love that probably makes Steve the way he is. And he feels pity. Which is gross and unfamiliar, but it sits so strong around his bleeding heart. Which just makes him angry, and lash out, then fight the regret and... start all over again.

“Get in the back,” he demands, but as soft as he can, of course.

“What?” Steve asks with brows raised to the sky, eyes wide in... shock? Disbelief? Something that might be a sign of distrust and anxiety.

“Please?” Billy tries but it feels horrifyingly wrong on his tongue – like he was mispronouncing some foreign name.

“Why?” Steve remains in his seat, curled up like a depressed child. Which... he might just be.

And Billy groans out his irritation and rolls his eyes, but he tries to say it in a nice way, “Because, I can't take you home like this, and we can't go to my place because... yeah, and we can't exactly go to a motel anywhere this way either.” He pauses and hopes that Steve catches on, but alas he remains in confusion. “We're going to sleep in my car, so get in the back.”

Steve still doesn't move. Disbelief clear in his expression, and maybe it takes him a bit longer to process everything due to the countless drinks he's been pouring in tonight, but when Billy gives a somewhat kind nod towards the backseat of the camaro, Steve finally moves between the seats.

Billy follows right behind, and sits as far away from Steve as possible, who sits like a ball of despair against one window, and god fucking damnit it feels like watching a puppy get kicked, how pathetically Steve whimpers with his face buried in his knees.

“Fucking... come over here,” he grumbles out and spreads his legs.

The poor wounded puppy looks up, brown eyes wet and hair a complete mess, and he hesitates.

“Come on.” Billy pats the spot between his thighs. “We'll keep warm if we sit closer.”

It proves enough of a friendly invitation, as Steve moves closer, slowly, as if he's approaching a sleeping dog wearing a spiked collar and muzzle, waiting for it to try and bite.

But all he's met with is a soft hand that goes through even softer hair, as Billy gently pats him on the head and allows for Steve to settle in between open legs and against a warm chest.

They don't speak, for what is there to say that one won't remember and another will regret? The only coherent and recognizable emotion that Billy can find in the tornado of feelings is anger. A fury that isn't technically Steve's fault, and directing it at him would only be unfair, because he isn't the one struggling with his own feelings towards another guy. No he's ardently clear about it all, which spills from his lips as he falls into slumber against the beating of Billy's heart.

“Billy?” he whispers and closes his hand around the unbuttoned shirt.

“Yeah?” And Billy knows what he's about to say. He fucking knows it; won't be the first time someone has been that foolish.

“I think I'm... in love with you...”

He can feel Steve's heartbeat go rapid where their bodies are pressed rather awkwardly together. And Billy sighs through the nose. The muscles in his jaw twitch, a lump grows in his throat, and he looks out at the stars in search for a world where everything is better. Where everything could be.

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

[hyunsracha]

alone with you — bang chan

word count: 1.8k

summary: unfortunately, you were a bit of a living cliche.

you weren’t a fan of classic romance tropes

star-crossed lovers, bad and good kids, enemies to lovers, etc.

you thought they were stupid and cheesy and- who even falls in love with their enemy?

unfortunately, you were a bit of a living cliche

you weren’t exactly a good kid, you just didn’t like getting bad grades

being at the top of your class didn’t make you a good kid, okay? you..you were edgy!

right,,,,anyway!

since you were a good kid, you were obviously head over heels for….

that’s right! a bad boy

and he was your best friend! even better!

you met chris when you were in 6th grade, after he punched a kid in the nose for calling you ugly

“i just felt like punching someone and he has a punchable face...i didn’t do it for you...WHY are you smiling at me like that???”

you’ve been thick as thieves for the past 6 years

but were you close with the rest of his friends? not really

he had 8 others he kept in his inner circle, and they were all like him

leather jackets under white t-shirts, black jeans and black high tops, you get it!

some of them even sucked on lollipops during school, they liked being That stereotypical

i’m looking at u jisung

jeongin had suggested that they smoke to seem cool and edgy but he got a whack on the head from woojin so that didn’t happen

chris’s friends liked to call you a square as an insult, like you lived in the fucking 40s or something

but! you couldn’t get rid of them!

they fucking followed chris everywhere like little puppies!

“what are you guys doing here -___-”

“well chris is here so we’re here too!!”

“can you leave?”

“why would we do that?”

it was kind of exhausting

as much as you Liked chris, you just wanted to hang out with him as a friend :((

and you tried! many times! to ask him to hang out, just the two of you :(

but his boys always showed up and made it 10

like one time, you guys were at a cafe by your school, just drinking hot chocolates and talking

you guys had a seat by the window...you had said it was because you wanted to feel the sun on you

but you actually just liked how pretty chris’s eyes looked when the sun hit them :(

then you heard knocking on the window

“goddamn- what do you guys want?”

“CHRIS MY MAN!! HOW'S IT GOING :DDD” jisung had yelled through the window

changbin pulled on his arm, dragging him towards the front door where everyone else was heading

you had sighed

of course they had to come and ruin things :(

but chris didn’t seem to mind, so it was whatever ://

you actually didn’t mind his friends that much, it was just that you couldn’t get rid of them

chris would walk you to your classes, and the rest of his lil gang would follow behind

even jeongin. who was like two grades below and his classes were on the top floor

one night, you were watching tv in the living room

it was disney channel

moana was on! were you just gonna ignore the opportunity to watch moana?

no!

your parents were out at one of their fancy business dinners or whatever, you weren’t really listening

so you were alone

and it was fine, you were alone all the time at home, but this time … something felt off?

like it was a friday night, and you were watching movies with snacks and blankets and everything was so soft and warm

what was missing?

your parents? no, you were fine without them

but it was Someone...you just felt like you needed Someone

you were lonely

of course you wanted chris, but you would’ve taken anybody who wanted to hang out with you

and behold, there was a knock on your door!

you leaped up, basically sprinting to the door

it could’ve been your 50 something year old neighbor, but if it was someone to talk to 

then !!!!!

you flung the door open, your eyes widening at the sight

your best friend, mr chris bang, his head hung low, his hands clasped behind his back

“hi channie...what’s up? where are the others?”

he just walked in, heading to your bathroom

d-did he just show up at your house to pee?

he left the door open CHRIS CLOSE THE DOOR WHEN U-

“where’s your first aid kit?”

“what?”

“first aid kit. y’know, bandaids and shit?”

“why?”

“i need some fucking first aid, y/n, why else would i ask? for funsies?”

“ok dickhead.” you walked into the bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink

then you got a look at his hands and his face

his knuckles were cut up and covered in blood

and he had a cut on his lip, and a few on his cheek

...how was he still so pretty?

wrong time y/n, but ur thoughts are valid!

“christopher.”

“my name isn’t christo-”

“chan.”

“it’s literally just chr-”

“chanstopher.”

“what the fuck”

“what happened to you?”

“i…i fell down the stairs?”

“chris,” you pushed his shoulder down, pushing him to sit on the toilet seat, “i thought you said you wouldn’t fight anymore.”

“i haven’t been fighting, i swear it! this guy just annoyed me.”

“what did he say?”

“just shit about my mom.”

you nodded.

you knew from years of friendship that chris really loved his mom.

his dad split when he was little, and it really messed his mom up.

she was still working on making herself better again, so chris basically raised his little sister by himself.

you sighed, pulling out a cotton pad and wiping away some of the blood on his hands

“babe, you didn’t need to fight him. i mean yeah, he was being a dick but, you didn’t need to get hurt over it.”

“what did you just call me?”

your face flushed

“babe! like . the pig?”

“did you just call me a pig...babe?”

“ALRIGHT let’s get you cleaned up hahaha!”

you cleaned up his wounds, listening to chris hum

it was probably a song that he was working on with changbin and jisung

you always thought that chris was super talented, and that he could have a career in music

but he didn’t want that

whenever you asked about his plans for the future, he would just smile

“i’ll go wherever you go.”

“i mean like...for a job.”

“i’ll figure it out.”

you wrapped up his hands, your fingers bumping along his burning skin

chris was very affectionate, so you were no stranger to his skin

but every time you two touched, you still burned

you don’t really remember when you started liking chris

maybe it was when he punched that kid for calling you ugly

or maybe it was in 8th grade when he nervously asked you if you wanted to dance at your first school dance

or maybe it was in 9th grade when he showed up at your house to take you to homecoming.

you still remember the look on his face when he saw you all dressed up

“you- you’re so pretty.”

“what was that?”

“i said you look okay. let’s go, doofus.”

you stood from your crouching position, extending a hand for him to take

“i think moana’s still on...do you wanna stay for a little bit?”

you would never get over his brilliant smile

you two wrapped yourselves up on the couch, your legs draped over his lap

his hand rested on your thigh, absentmindedly tracing shapes into your skin, making you shiver

“so…,” you started after a while, “why aren’t the others here?”

“oh...i told them to fuck off.” his cheeks were red as he kept his eyes on the tv, refusing to look at you

“what? why?”

he didn’t respond, choosing instead to mumble about how he wanted to watch mulan after moana was over

“channie?”

he sighed, rolling his head back, “you’re the only person i wanna see right now. i don’t wanna deal with the guys or my mom or even my sister. only you.”

“was that supposed to be nice? i’m the only person you can Deal With.” you kicked at his leg

“hey! i Am being nice!”

“no! be actually nice to me for once!”

“i punch guys for you ALL THE TIME”

“that’s not nice you idiot”

“they say creepy things about you!”

“my hero.” you kicked his leg again, unable to keep the smile off your face

chris kind of had that effect on you

“okay fine. want me to be actually nice to you?”

“yes please”

“okay. you have the prettiest smile i’ve ever seen.”

“o-okay t-thank-”

“and the prettiest eyes. and the prettiest hair. and the prettiest everything. you’re so fucking pretty, you know that? i’ve always thought that. your heart is pretty, too. you’re so nice and genuine and you cleaned up my stupid cuts at god knows what time it is.”

“y-you’ve been nice enough now-”

“you’re everything to me. i don’t know where i would be if it wasn’t for you and your pretty eyes and pretty voice telling me that i’m better than this. god i….y/n i think i’m in love with you.”

a moment of silence

“no, i don’t think. i know.”

your heart was caught in your throat and you couldn’t breathe

“a-are you drunk?”

your voice cracked

smooth

“i drove here.”

“so?”

he slapped your thigh

“dick. do you think that lowly of me?”

there he was, looking at you, all pouty eyes and pouty lips, just telling you he was in love with you and then acting like nothing happened!

well, here’s your chance, y/n

take it

you took a deep breath, gathering all the courage you could from the air around you before slowly leaning into him

his eyes widened when he realized what you were doing, but then he closed his eyes and followed your lead.

you would never get over how you felt once his lips touched yours; fire.

the same heat you felt when he touched you, just on the inside

your insides were burning in the most painfully enjoyable way.

you pulled away first.

“okay, christopher.”

“that’s still not-”

“chan.”

“just call me-”

“chanstopher.”

“i don’t even know where that came from.”

“if you wanna be with me-”

“i do.”

“let me talk. if you wanna be with me, no more fights, okay? i don’t care if they’re talking bad about your mom, or your sister, or your boys. no asshole is worth you getting hurt like this, yeah?” you grabbed his hands, running your thumbs over his bandages

“what if they’re talking about you?”

“not worth it. no asshole is worth your pain, chris.”

“fine. i won’t fight anymore.”

“and tell your friends to fuck off more often. i like being alone with you.”

chris chuckled, a sound that make your heart scream.

“can do, babe.”

[polygarnstars]

part 1: 4, 12, 15, 18, and 19

If you think I’m going to have common sense and not answer all of these in a single post, I have Bad News lmao

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? Smart, mostly. “Gifted”. This very much Did Not Last lmaoooo

12. name of your favorite playlist? I literally never make playlists I’m a stupid fuck who uses their spotify premium to skip freely through all my thousands of liked songs on shuffle until I find something I want to listen to lmaooooo (Having said that: Rey and I put together a playlist for some characters we were entering a contest to win last fall which I titled Story and Song after the TAZ arc and also because we wrote Way Too Much for it and I’m Very Proud Of That)

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? Okay upon reading this I initially genuinely couldn’t remember any of the books I read in school because for the last several years of my schooling I just fuckin Sparknotes and TV Tropes-ed everything lmao... having said that, I do remember enjoying Maus! It was neat having a graphic novel assigned amongst all the “literary classics” that I couldn’t sit through a sitting of without falling asleep, and it may be the furry in me but the depiction of the characters/people as animals was Good :0c See, if all history was depicted with methods like this, I’d maybe actually be able to remember it ghfdjhgjfkdl

18. ideal weather? Depends on the day, but generally: Between like 65-80°F, not humid, not a lot of wind, and either sunny, partly cloudy, or drizzly but not outright storming. Basically decent temperatures without feeling like I’m walking through soup because of the humidity and weather that’s not completely gray and boring. Aka what Maine basically never is lmaoooo

19. sleeping position? I change positions every five minutes I swear to god (don’t take that out of context gfhdjbhvjd). Usually with at least one arm draped over a pillow that is Definitely Not Being Mentally Portrayed As A Character I Like To Supplement The Fact That I Did Not Get Enough Affection To Be A Functional Adult As A Child ghfdjknbhgfjdk

21. obsession from childhood? bold of you to assume i don’t still obsess over nintendo games (and just video games in general tbh)

23. strange habits? OKAY I COULDN’T THINK OF ANYTHING FOR THIS AT FIRST BUT I HAVE ONE NOW: MIDNIGHT FRIES

28. five songs to describe you? Speeding - LightsDaydreaming - ParamoreMusic - Mystery SkullsNo Lullaby - SIAMÉSLonely Dance - Set If Off+Bonus because it came up on Spotify while I was shuffling for songs for this and it’s a Mood: Pineapples Do Not Belong on a Pizza - Vargskelethor

29. best way to bond with you? I don’t know I usually just scream about ocs or video games with people and suddenly it’s been a year??? @riskreyes how has it been a year since we started talking but also how has it only been a year??? Wild bvhfdjkbhvgfjdk

30. places that you find sacred? Lmao I’ve never had anywhere like that really. Need a goddamn lock on my door :p I guess... the woods by my house? As a little kid before things got shitty my neighbor’s cousin or niece or something would go out there wandering around catching frogs and stuff in the spring or almost falling into the frozen streams during winter. When things started to go to shit in my life as a teenager I would hide out there to get away and nobody would find me. I haven’t been recently but the last time I did my friend and I walked along the train tracks and dove off into the woods by the side to avoid the amtrak coming by, it was great lmao. Uhh, other than that... I dunno, Boston and New York and New London all make me feel good to visit. Probably mostly because during those trips I don’t feel trapped in a dying land like Maine feels like bgvhfdjkhvgfjd

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? ......my entire wardrobe is my work outfit, excessive graphic tees, and jeans. So uhh... I dunno. I guess my NWTB shirts are pretty rad, I’d kick a dude’s ass wearing Nate’s merch

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? if i have to see another ad for some fuckin branch of the us military while i’m just out here trying to watch people play video games i swear to god-

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? Oh boy I don’t know how weird these are but do you want a list??? I can give you a list hang on- In 4th grade we had a day of class where we all just had a party and ate chips and salsa and stuff because the pats won the super bowl and our teacher was Obsessed- In middle school my math class started working out of college textbooks, which is a bit much when you’re 11, advanced classes or no. Yet somehow none of the other students had any problems with this- Also in middle school, the school counselor really wasn’t very Good at his job so I usually just ended up playing Rock Band in his office instead of talking out any of my Many, Many Problems. I played the drums, for the record- Also in middle school, one time I straight up fell down a flight of stairs? Like, a full flight of stairs. Fuckin somersaulting down the stairs. The binder I was carrying broke open, papers went everywhere, my arm got cut open somewhere along the way and started bleeding. I get to the bottom, the other students are staring at me in horror, aforementioned counselor fuckin steps out of his office which is, of course, right at the bottom of the stairs, all concerned because what the fuck a kid just fell down the stairs, right? And so I, laying on the floor disoriented and laughing, declare, and I quote: “That was fun, let’s do it again!”- THE MOTHERFUCKING MAC AND CHEESE MUFFINS IN HIGH SCHOOL. Macaroni and cheese baked into the sweet batter of a muffin. I refused to touch the stuff but a friend of my did and it was bad enough he had to go to the trash can and fucking empty his stomach in it.- SAID FRIEND ALSO MANAGED TO GET A CARTON OF MILK THAT EXPIRED A MONTH BEFORE SCHOOL STARTED AT THE START OF ONE OF OUR YEARS IN HIGH SCHOOL and if I didn’t trust cafeteria food before that sealed the deal on me Never Trusting It Again- OH BUT SPEAKING OF CAFETERIA FOOD one time in the old school before the renovation, in like freshman year I think? I laughed so hard a piece of spicy chicken strip flew up my windpipe and got stuck in my nose and it was too big for me to snort out so I had to suck it back down and for the rest of the day all I could smell was burning- ON ANOTHER FOOD RELATED TOPIC down in the library I was on my iPad and 3DS because I had Long Since Given Up On School and some asshole dudes threw a rotting orange at me and it splattered all over the screens of both? So I picked up the remains and chucked it back at them and yelled “Do you wanna fucking NOT?” and they all ran off. The librarian heard me yell and saw me throw the orange back at them and she just didn’t give a fuck lmao- The librarians at my school were cool as shit really during one of our years we had to do x hours of volunteer work so I did some adjustments to the library catalogue for mine but the thing is I was fast enough at it that there really wasn’t enough to fill up my required hours so instead of giving me more to do they just sort of let me and my friends hang out playing Yu-Gi-Oh and called that good lmao. (For the record I only had one starter deck so I let my friend pick half of the cards and I would use the half she didn’t want. I managed to fuckin WRECK her with throwaways it was Iconicque)- OKAY ONE LAST LIBRARY STORY on the last day of finals I was hanging out in one of the smart tv rooms in the library right? My last finals weren’t for a few hours and lord knows I wasn’t gonna study, ADHD ass couldn’t do that and I’d already given up on school lmao. So I fucking... I brought my Wii U to school, hooked it up to the smart tv, and just started playing Splatoon there in the library. One of the librarians walked past to check on everyone, stopped at my room, watched me play for a minute (I noticed her and just sort of nodded and waved like ‘Sup’ so she Knew what was going on), and then just LEFT. Like, she didn’t give a fuck. Shoutout to the librarians, the Chillest- ALRIGHT LAST STORY LAST STORY I straight up never got all the credits I needed to graduate lmao. I was missing half a credit but they let me go anyway and to this day I cite the reason as being my high scores on the SAT/PSAT? I was the first student at the school in like, a decade, to have gotten an award from the National Merit Scholarship Corporation for my performance on them, and I guess they must have thought that me failing to graduate on time would look bad on them because, uh, yeah, it would, if people found out their teachers couldn’t handle a ~smart kid~ to the point that they did poorly enough to not even graduate with the rest of their class nobody would be willing to send their kids there lmao. And that’s the story of how I graduated when I wasn’t technically supposed to!!!

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? That’s a good fuckin question hey shit memory what was that thing that made us laugh so hard we couldn’t breathe again?...Don’t remember? Yeah I thought so lmaoI dunno, probably a joke in some let’s play? Or... god. Now that I think about it was probably the Slicer of T’pire Weir Isles moment actually. Holy shit, that was good.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? That I’ve ever tried? Jesus, I dunno, I have issues with texture more than flavor. I Refuse to eat my mother’s stuffing because it’s literally just soggy ass bread. In terms of pure flavor alone? Her shepherds pie. It’s just... there is no flavor. It’s like eating cardboard. I’m begging you, De, use seasoning. If I ever have to eat shepherds pie that just tastes like tin from canned peas and vague hints of unseasoned beef again I’m going to go on a murderous rampage.That said? F in the chat to Cameron for that mac and cheese muffin. Rest in pieces

73. favorite weird flavor combo? GVFHDJBVDN JUST GONNA MAKE ME SHARE THE DILL PICKLE/CHOCOLATE PUDDING PACK COMBO FOR ALL THE WORLD TO SEE HUH

93. nicknames? Gar, Garn, Lane, Bill, Master, Pants, Shortpants. The first three are self-explanatory, first two are shortenings of my name and then my masc/surname. The latter four come from usernames of mine - Bill from Bill Ciforce (If you stack a Bill Cipher on top of two other Bill Ciphers, you get the Ciforce), Master, Pants, and Shortpants from MasterShortpants in reference to one of Link’s nicknames in Skyward Sword

95. favorite app on your phone? Does the internet app count? No? Lmao. Spotify I guess :p Need me some Tunes

[bxcketbarnes]

A New Start (Part Two)

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x Reader

Words: 2400+

Author’s Note: Ayeeeeee part two is here. How does everyone feel about season 6? It’s crazy, right? Like, it’s not just me?? My god. I’ve gotten so many ideas that I want to do and I’m hoping to achieve all of them, but for right now... this lovely piece. Enjoyyy.

Part One

We found ourselves on a beach while coming out of the forest, where Murphy thought it was a good idea to go for a swim.

I giggle softly, having the itch to join him while everyone else was yelling at him to get out. He dived into the water and I bite my lip softly as we wait for him to come back up. After a few moments he did, everyone around me letting out a breath of relief.

"Well, c'mon guys, the water is fine," Murphy smirks, taking a few steps towards Emori.

Fuck it. I place my bag onto the ground, gaining Bellamy's attention. "Oh, no way," he mutters and lets out a scoff afterward. "Y/N, you're seriously not about to go in there!"

"I am. Why don't you come with me?" I smirk playfully and pull my shirt over my head, exposing the black bra I was wearing. I shimmy my shoes, socks, and pants off, tossing the jeans towards Bell before running into the water.

Murphy already had Emori in the water, hearing her yell at John while punching his chest before letting out a chuckle. I take a dive into the semi-cool water, not knowing the last time I actually went for a swim.

Oh, man. This is amazing. I look towards Bellamy as he stood in between Clarke and Echo, a playful smile on my lips. “C’mon Bellamy,” I call out and begin to walk towards him. Echo nudges his arm and I watch as the bearded man glance towards her to which she just wiggles her eyebrows, nodding her head in my direction.

Bellamy takes off his bags, setting them onto the ground before unzipping and removing his coat, the blue shirt he wore coming off next. The others start to set up camp as Bell walks into the water. I meet him halfway, chuckling a bit before splashing him.

“You’re crazy for keeping your shoes on,” I tell him while laughing, my eyes drifting down his torso.

“Princess,” Bellamy smirks and snaps his fingers in front of me face, “my eyes are up here.”

“Shut up,” I mutter before jumping onto him, trying to get him to go under. Giggles escape both of our lips as we wrestle, his arm wrapped securely around my waist. “Come on!” I laugh loudly, hooking one of my legs behind his and tries to get him on his knees.

I manage to dig my heel into the back of his knee, making him fall into the water. I hold my breath as we stayed under for a few seconds, feeling him unwrap his arm from around me. We pop out of the water at the same time, a victorious smile on my lips as Bellamy shakes his head, wet hair and water flying everywhere.

“You’re lucky that you’re cute,” Bell mutters softly before I realize how close we actually were. My heart flutters, reaching my hands out hesitantly and wraps them around his neck. I can feel his breath hit my lips as I distinctly had my eyes shut, my nails digging into his skin.

The two of us were mere seconds away from kissing when I came to my senses, abruptly pulling away from him. “I-I’m sorry… I can’t, I’m sorry,” I whisper to him, noticing the hurt in his honey brown eyes before I walk back to shore.

-

A swarm of bugs… Literally, my worst nightmare has come true. It was alright at first when nighttime hit on Planet Alpha, but it expectantly got worse. Jackson had gone off into the woods for something as the rest of us sat around the fire. Clarke was talking but I wasn’t really paying attention as I was lost in my own thoughts about what happened earlier.

“Wait listen,” Bellamy starts and I snap my head up, looking around frantically. “You hear that?” He asks.

“What happened to all the bugs?” Echo asks as we begin to stand up. What the hell…?

“Guys, you gotta see this,” Jackson calls out from behind me. The eight of us quickly walked over to him and notice that he has an insect in a glass jar. “Five minutes ago this thing ate a leaf out of my hand, and now it wants to eat me. Not only that it’s entire physiology-”

Jackson was cut off by Murphy smacking the back of his neck, killing one of the bugs. “Oh, look at that,” Murphy states as my eyes move towards the glass jar, seeing the insect freaking the fuck out. “Your pet’s pissed that I killed its brother.”

The group was quiet, the buzzing sound getting louder as I begin to feel my skin crawl. “What the hell is that?” Emori asks while glancing towards the direction of our fire pit.

We all glance in the general direction, my heart pounding against my chest. “Swarm,” Clarke mutters.

“It’s coming from the direction of the ship, we’ll never make it back,” Echo points out and I slightly begin to freak out.

“Everyone cover up. We’re heading to the beacon now!” Bellamy yells and I grab my jacket, covering my head with it as I grab my bags.

“What if there’s nothing there?” Emori asks as it began to get really loud around us.

“Then we’re bug food!” Murphy and I yell in unison while we run into the woods.

I constantly swing my arms, wincing as some of the bugs make contact with my skin. We lose Emori and the group stops in the middle of the woods. Murphy ran back for his ex-girlfriend as Shaw told Bellamy to grab the flare out of his bag.

Bellamy set off the flare, the bugs instantly flying away from it. “They hate the fire!” Bell confirms as we run a few meters back to grab Emori. All of us make our way towards the beacon again, hearing Shaw yell that it’s here. As soon as he stepped towards the tall towers he fell to the ground, screaming in pain.

“Shaw, get out of there!” Jackson yells.

“It’s killing him! Get him out!” Echo also yells as Clarke mumbles something to herself before running into the invisible barrier. She grabs Shaw, bringing him to the other side as I glance behind us to see more of the swarm coming.

“I’ve got three more flares,” Murphy states and I rip off my back, quickly looking into it to see if I have any flares stowed away.

“Clarke! We’re running out of time here,” Bellamy yells as we began to swat away the bugs.

Clarke stands beside a control panel and I watch as she types in a code before looking back at us. “It’s down! Hurry!” The blonde yells. The seven of us run over to them as quick as we can before Clarke turns the radiation back on.

Everyone crouches down beside Shaw as he grunts and gasps for breath. “Earn this,” Shaw grunts while looking up at Clarke. Jackson takes a needle out from his bag, going to help him when the pilot stops him. “Don’t waste it. Tell Raven… she deserves happiness. She doesn't think she does, but she does,” he hardly gets out and his gasping stops a few seconds later.

I press my lips together, trying not to let out any tears as we all sat in silence.

“Come on,” Bellamy speaks up quietly, “let’s bury him and start moving.”

-

After hours of walking the eight of us made it to where the radar said the beacon was. My lips part slightly as my eyes widen. Holy shi-

“They have a castle,” Murphy mentions briefly before we made our way deeper into the village. We began to knock on all the doors, not finding anyone home.

“Hey,” Emori calls out towards Clarke. Bellamy and I walk up to the two. “Alie?”

“I…” the blonde trails off and looks towards us. “Becca did the tech for Eligius,” Clarke realizes and a scoff leaves my lips while running my hands through my hair.

“Right. Destroy the world, two hundred years later they put you on a flag,” Bellamy sarcastically states before walking away.

I take a small stroll around the village, smiling to myself at how beautiful it is when a loud bang shakes me from my own world. I glance behind me, seeing Murphy standing in front of a now open door. I roll my eyes, going back to admiring the world around me. That kid has no idea how to stay out of trouble.

“No way,” I mumble to myself upon seeing a small playground. I jog over to the swings, remember seeing them in books on the Ark, and plant myself on one, swinging gently. A large smile comes to my lips as Murphy and Emori head towards the castle to see if they can get inside.

Bellamy makes his way towards me, Echo following suit as he sat in the swing beside me. “You look like a kid on Christmas,” he states with a smile on his lips.

“I basically am,” I tell him with a grin. I can hear the faint sound of music coming from where Murphy was, seeing him dancing and singing around.

Bellamy chuckles and pulls out the radio, speaking into it. “Raven, come in. Raven. Can you hear me?” He tries and doesn’t get a response. He lets out a sigh before getting up from the swing, his hand brushing against mine softly before walking into the building that Murphy kicked open.

Echo sits down beside me, the two of us watching Murphy as he ran down the stairs, singing his goddamn heart out while playing the air guitar. A laugh leaves my lips while shaking my head. “Dork.”

“You and Bellamy used to be together, right?” Echo suddenly asks and I tense up, looking towards the older girl.

I furrow my eyebrows together and nod my head. “Y-Yeah, we were. Why?” I question while leaning my cheek against the cool chain of the swing.

“It’s just I can tell you guys used to have something with what I’ve seen since we’ve been awake. You two almost kissed in the lake,” she points out and I let out a sigh. “Why didn’t you follow through? It’s obvious you still like him.”

I shrug my shoulders and glance back towards the direction Bellamy went in. “I don’t know… A part of me is still hurt that he ended things with me before Praimfaya. It was kind of mutual, but the more time I spent by myself, the more I thought about how I didn’t want it to end.”

“If it makes you feel any better. He’s still in love with you. He’s told me plenty of times,” Echo laughs and I can’t help but smile at the information. “You should go for it.”

I nod my head, getting up from the swing. “You know what… I should. I-I’m gonna. Thanks, Echo,” I tell her and she just smiles up at me, nodding her head. I walk towards the building Clarke is coming out of, giving her a small smile before stopping at the slightly ajar door. I took a deep breath before knocking, peeking my head in a couple seconds later. “Bellamy?”

“Yeah?” The curly-haired man calls out while turning towards me. I step into the building, shutting the door gently behind me.

Just do it. Just fucking walk up to him and do it. I think to myself as I get closer to him. “I-Hey,” I stutter and curse internally. Jesus…

Bellamy chuckles and leans against the table. “Hey. What’s going on?” He asks, knowing that I wouldn’t be alone with him after what happened at the lake. I take a deep breath, feeling my hands become clammy as I just continue to walk closer to him. “Y/N?” Bellamy mutters as we stand centimeters apart. My hand grips his jacket, pulling him even closer to me while I stood on my toes, connecting our lips together.

My eyes flutter shut as Bellamy wraps his arms around my waist, his lips moving against mine. I move my hands up his chest before they rest over his shoulders. I drown in the feeling of his lips on mine, my head spinning just a bit before a pull away from him.

His forehead touches mine, our heavy breathing mixing together as our lips were still brushing against each others softly. “I-I’m still in love with you,” I breathe out and open my eyes, looking up at him through my lashes.

“So am I,” Bellamy mumbles before reconnecting our lips.

-

The two of us walk out of the building together after a very heated makeout session. Bellamy held a book in his hands as we quickly headed over towards the two girls. “Echo, come here,” he starts and we stand beside Clarke. “Clarke, did you read this?”

“No,” she states as Echo stood beside me.

“Okay,” Bellamy mumbles and opens the kids' book, beginning to read it out loud to us. “Trees and plants give us shade. We need them every day. When the stars align and the forest wakes, it’s time to run away.”

Clarke takes the book in her hands as she continues to flip through the pages. “It’s not a nursery rhyme. It’s a warning,” she tells us.

“No! No!” Murphy yells loudly over the music and we look over to see him looking at the sky. I follow his line of sight, seeing the ship we came in fly into the air before taking off.

“They’re stealing our ship!” Miller yells.

My eyes move back towards Murphy as he stands. Emori runs down the stairs and attacks him and I hit Bellamy’s arm a couple times. Murphy lets out a scream as she stabs him in the shoulder. We all run over towards them, Clarke yelling at Miller to stop her.

“Emori, you’re gonna kill him!” Miller tells her as he and Echo pry her off of him, holding her back. I crouch down beside Murphy as Bellamy holds onto him.

“Emori, calm down,” Echo tells her as I look over at the three.

“He’ll do it to you too! He’ll do it to you, too! Aagh!” She screams, fighting their grip. “Let me go!”

I look over to Clarke as she looks into the book before her eyes met the sun. “It’s in the air,” she states, her line of sight moving to Emori.

-

Taglist: @writing-in-riverdale @imarypayne @cutie-potatox3 @esoltis280 @autumnleeann13 @antichxst @fanfictionistoogood

[demonsofhunting]

All My Sins - Chapter 5

Pairing: priest!Cas x demon!Dean

Summary: After Castiel finds the note in his apartment, things are getting dark. All he knows is that he needs to find Dean! But the things he encounters in the young man's house are everything but good...

Warnings: angst, lots of blood, a dead body...let's just say it's a pretty dark chapter

Words: about 1900

A/N: Oh my god, chapter five!♡ This one is pretty heavy, and our poor Cas has to get through a lot of shocks...I'm so sorry! *hides* With this one, the story is definitely heading into a dark direction - this is going to be one hell of a ride!

Catch up here ( Masterlist ) ♡

I hope you'll like it! Enjoy! <3

It is pretty cold outside. There's a heavy wind that blows through the trees near the road, making an weeping sound. Again. It sweeps through Dean's hair, tugs on his leather jacket, and makes him shiver.

He's staring out of the window of his living room, his nails digging into his hands, brutally.

There's a hunger inside of him.

A feeling that he tried to fight for so long.

He blinks, wants it to vanish.

But it doesn't.

It just gets stronger and stronger, forcing him to cry out in pain.

You have to give in.

No. He won't.

You can't fight it much longer.

Of course, he can.

"Fuck off," he growls.

He remembers the time two days ago, when he was lost in the night. A couple of hours before he called Cas to pick him up, his hands shaking in fear.

He remembers how it felt to cut a bird's legs of with a knife that he had in his pocket. How it felt to watch it crawl, trying to get away.

How its insides felt between his fingers, when he ripped its heart out as he got bored.

I'm a monster.

He wants to scream, to burn this fucking house down.

I can't stay. I have to go.

He wants to smite himself for being that stupid to let someone like Castiel Novak in his heart.

It wasn't supposed to be something that lasts longer than a few nights.

I wasn't supposed to fall in love.

At first, all Dean wanted was another one night stand, he wanted to have some fun.

But then things changed, and he just couldn't let it go. He was too selfish, to weak to leave Cas.

I...I don't want to hurt him. He's mine.

He's my only anchor.

He turns around slowly, his emerald eyes are scanning the scene behind him.

There's a body on the floor of his living room, bleeding.

It's a young woman. She stares at the ceiling with wide, empty eyes. There's blood running out of many long cuts on her body, caused by the knife that lies next to her.

Dean tilts his head, thoughtfully.

He had to kill her, it wasn't his fault.

She was the one who broke into his house, trying to steal something. Before he slit her throat he let her feel what it really means to burn in hell...

And damn, it felt good.

Way too good.

The young man's gaze flows over the furniture in the dark room, looking at every inch of it, carefully. He observes the old piano and the bookshelves beside of it. The carpet. The chandelier at the ceiling.

It took me so long to arrange this lonely house like I want it to be. And now I'll have to leave.

"Stop crying, Winchester," he scoffs under his breath, grabbing the two bags he already packed before.

Then he shoots the body on his floor a last, unimpressed look, and goes out of the house, closing the door behind him.

Dean walks to his beloved Implala that's parked under a couple of trees near the road. He steps in it, starts the engine, and drives away.

His heart hurts like hell, but he forces himself to smile.

Now I can do whatever the hell I want.

And nobody can stop me.

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

"Dean, Dean, Dean, please! Why can't you answer your goddamn phone?!" Cas mutters in panic. He sits on the floor, his arms wrapped around his shaking body, holding his phone with unsteady hands to his ear.

Nothing.

"Damn it!" the priest cries out, throwing the phone across the room. He leans back and forth, tries to calm himself down.

I...I just can't!

His gaze is still lying on the small note. The small note with the words that made his world shatter within a few seconds.

Tears are streaming down his face, he just can't help it.

"Fuck!" he growls, burying his face in his hands, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

I need to do something! I need to -

Suddenly, he hesitates.

What if something happened to Dean? What if that's the reason why he doesn't answer his phone?

A cold claw clutches around Castiel's heart, and he breathes in, sharply.

Who could have written it? A person I know? Or...?

His heart skips a beat.

Fuck!

No matter how hard Cas tries, he can't finish a damn thought! He's way too tired, too nervous, way too...damaged.

He counts to three again, forces himself to breathe in a static rhythm.

Calm down, Novak.

You can do this.

"Okay..." he mutters, quietly, "Okay..."

After a few heartbeats, Cas can feel his heartbeat getting slower again. His hands are still shaking, but at least he will be able to walk again.

The priest stands up, carefully. He runs one hand through his hair, and looks around.

Then he grabs his jacket, puts his boots on, and leaves.

I have to find Dean.

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

As he reaches the young man's house, he is nervous as hell. He looks around in fear as he steps out of his car.

What if the person who wrote the letter is following me? Right now?

He tries to hide the panic that is rumbling in his chest, and walks over to the house.

"Dean?" he whispers, knocking at the door, shivering.

He searches for a door bell, but can't find one.

Okay...kinda weird.

He knocks again.

"Dean! Please, open the door! Something bad happened! R - really bad!" he shouts, his hands bumping on the wood.

Nothing. Just the howling sound of wind flowing through trees.

"Dean..." the priest mutters, powerless.

That's it. Something bad must have happened to him.

His knees are about to give in, but he fights against it, and tries his best to stay on his feet.

He turns around, staring at the empty street for a few seconds.

Then he begins to walk around the house. He tries to look through a couple of windows, but most of the are hidden behind curtains...

It's dark inside.

It's not a friendly shade of dark.

What if he's hurt? What if -

"Ah...fuck it!" Castiel hisses in despair.

He grabs a big stone from the ground of the yard, quickly. Before he can overthink the stupid thing he is about to do, he already throws the heavy thing through a window.

He winces because of the loud shattering noise that comes a long with it. Panic flows through every inch of his body, making him dizzy.

It's too late to think about the consequences...

He breaks the the rest of the fragments out of the window, using his elbow, carefully.

Then he looks around, kinda surprised that no one in the whole street seems to notice what is happening.

Or they just don't care.

"Okay, let's do this," the priest says, nervously.

Gladly, he doesn't cut himself at the sharp edges of the fragments as he climbes through the hole.

As his feet are hitting the ground on the other side, he already knows that something is wrong.

He breathes, heavily.

It's too damn dark to see anything.

"D - Dean...?" he asks, carefully, his voice nothing but a hoarse whisper.

Silence.

If Dean's in here, he doesn't answer.

He swallows.

I have to find a light switch. Now.

He begins to move, slowly.

One feet after the other. His steps are making a creaking sound on the old wood.

The darkness seems to be alive, shadows are crawling over the walls, thickly.

If a serial killer would be in here, he would have already killed me because of all the noise I'm making...right?

Suddenly, he stumbles over something.

Something big and soft. He falls to the ground with a squeak, his hands are hitting the surface at first, then his whole body slams down as well.

Castiel coughs. A sharp pain pulses through his wrists.

Oh no.

He tries to get up again, wondering why the hell his hands are suddenly...wet?

What is going on...I...

The priest finally gets to his feet, stumbling again, but this time he doesn't fall. His shaking hands are stroking over something that feels like a wall.

Finally.

He walks a few steps, holding the contact to the cold, rough surface, until he finds the light switch, eventually.

"Oh, thank God!" he sighs in relief, turning the lights on with a rapid gesture.

That's it.

Then he begins to scream.

There's blood everywhere.

On the ground, on the walls, even on Castiel's hands and clothes!

No! This can't be!

The priest forces himself to stop screaming, he presses his bloody hands on his mouth.

Nothing he ever witnessed was as horrifying as the things he encounters in this room.

It must be the living room due to the big piano, the old sofa and the bookshelves, the TV...holy shit.

There's a body on the floor.

A young woman.

Her dark hair is sticky because of the liters of blood on it. Her throat has being sliced, brutally, and her whole body is covered in cuts and bruises.

But the worst thing are those deep, dead eyes, staring at the ceiling without any life in it...

And the bloody knife that is lying next to her damaged body...

Castiel can't move.

He already knows that he's about to pass out.

I fell right over the dead body a few moments ago.

I have blood on my hands, I smeared it on the wall...I...I'm covered in it.

Obviously, Dean isn't in here.

Maybe he's dead too. Actually, That's the case that is most likely.

Cas swallows, pulling his hands away form his mouth, slowly.

I have to find him.

He walks like he's in trance as he leaves the room with static, firm steps.

The priest walks the whole small house. He looks into the empty kitchen, the bathroom, walks up a couple of stairs that lead the bedroom just to discover that they're all empty.

Dean's not here.

He's not here.

The next thing he hears is a loud noise from down the street. A car that drives.

Nothing special, but in this moment everything seems scary to Cas.

It takes him a moment to realise what he's doing in here, it's like the priest is awaking out of a deep sleep which was filled with nightmares.

He looks at his bloody clothes, his hands...

Suddenly, he knows what to do now.

I have to get rid of the body. If the police arrives at this place, they'll think that I did it, because of my DNA that's practically everywhere.

His heart beats, fastly, and every damn beat hurts.

It hurts so much.

Castiel walks down the stairs, looking at the disaster in the living room.

There's a small, bad whisper in the back of his head, telling him that Dean was the one who killed this woman, since the young man isn't in the house.

But the priest tells it to stop.

There is no way Dean would be capable of doing something like this.

But as he begins to clean up the mess that came along with a murder that the priest definitely not committed, he can't help but doubt it.

Something bad happened in here.

And I need to find out what that was.

I need to find Dean.

{ A/N: CHAPTER SIX ♡ }

That was chapter five! Thank you so much for reading and if you would like to leave a comment or reblog this shit, I will love you forever! <3

Tag lists are open!

Destiel/Forever Tags: @adoptdontshoppets @rebeloftheseas @ablavalba @smodernlife @ignis-glaciesque @certaindeanwinchesterforcastiel @xsghn @trenchcoatsandfreckles @helpmeluci @legendary-destiel @leahslovelylibrary

"All My Sins" Tags: @emodestielshipper @emumag @waywardtricksterangel @didntwanderstillgotlost @angel-e-v-a

[activatingaggro]

INKTOBER - 18 - EXPOSED

CALICO KUANFU | 9.23 SWEEPS / 20 YEARS OLD

RICKSHAW CC-R, EAST ALTERNIAN SEA | 2,937 WORDS

CW: body horror, helms

If you're perfectly honest, you put up a good face of things, but you don't actually care that much about the other Rickshaws.

You love your community. There's nothing that you wouldn't do for II-J, and you know every face on it, even if you don't know their names. They're your people, and you're their leader. It's a role that you were hatched for, one that you were made for, and you could never be anything less than in love with the position, because it's carved into your very skin.

But the other Rickshaws are not yours. This has always been your greatest flaw, and your guiltiest secret, but that's just the fact of the matter. All you can do is try to work around it.. and when you get an opportunity, try to do your best despite it.

Case in point: you're on CC-R tonight, here to figure out why their engines keep sputtering, and, in the name of honesty, you kind of want to burn the entire place to the ground.

Everyone here speaks - well, literally every fucking language, pretty much. There were teals chattering away in Eastern at the bistro. There's been hands flashing in seadweller sign everywhere, constant little flits of movements to compound each spoken word. There's people speaking the imperial mainlander's tripe everywhere you turn, others slinging around some northern coastal variant, and constantly, constantly, there's fucking Standard clattering against your ears like rocks, nasal and harsh over the din of the rest of the Rickshaw.

You had to take out your worm five minutes ago, just to keep from going insane. Noise's never bothered you, but CC-R is one of the oldest Rickshaws, and it's over three times the size of II-J. This city's fallen into the waves more times than you can count, and it's come back larger each time, with the remnants forming the bobbing islands you can see off in the distance. "Those work off of solar power," Afzudi tells you. He's one of the only trolls on here who actually speaks Seacant, and part of you is desperately, soppily grateful to him for it. "You don't need to worry about those."

"Right, 'course."

Afzudi is the ceruleanblood who manages CC-R. He's shorter than you, like pretty much everyone on here, and bone-thin, also like everyone here. It's weird. There's a lot of things weird about this place, like the fucking language, but the starvation factor?

You've got the blubber stores to rival a goddamn seal, and half of your Rickshaw's passed seal and gone straight into walrus. That's part of the way II-J works! It's part of why you work so hard to make sure it keeps working. No one's ever so much as missed as a meal since you became Calico, one way or another, and no one's ever looked like Afzudi in front of you, so skinny that you can count each knob in his spine. It's weird. You hate it. But you hate a lot of things about other Rickshaws, from the language to the architecture to the starvation and disease that permeate them.

That's fine. That's why you're out here helping. Some folks compare trolls to crabs. They say if one pops up, the rest'll drag it back down into the basket, just to make sure none of 'em get free. You've never believed that! You've improved your Rickshaw.

You're going to improve the rest, too, one city at a goddamn time.

"So! How many helms do you have working in the main generator?" It's strange to walk through a Rickshaw where every building hasn't been reinforced and rebuilt. You've had your residents working for sweeps to redevelop the city, in a mixture of solid carbon-fiber struts and flexible panels that'll absorb the blows of the water, or the rain, or the rare bouts of gunfire. It's never looked pretty, but it looks better than this. The buildings in CC-J are just.. shanties, aluminum siding and wood that's been bleached bone-white over centuries of saltwater and air, and they sway in the wind above you as you walk. The only thing holding them up is the webbing stretched thick between all of them, shining like sails in the moonlight, and spotted with white bodies.

"Four? Five?" you hazard.

"Eight," he says, leading you past the buildings, and straight down an alley where there's pupas playing ulama. CC-R's got more sparkplugs than you've ever expected. They scatter into the air like kinglets when you approach, the rubber ball clattering to the ground in the aftermath.

You snatch it up and spin it on a finger as you walk. "Eight? Seriously? Like, not harshin' on you, dude, but - why? I know it's big, but --"

He shrugs. "Our infrastructure's just old, and it's easier this way." He looks back at you. The light here's weak. Shadow curves across the sharp planes of his face, deepens the hollows of his cheeks. But when he smiles, it softens him. "I was hoping you could help," he says.

Your stomach does a strange flop. "Right," you say, and you don't let your gaze linger on the way his mouth quirks, or the sudden surge of warmth in your voice. "That's what I'm here for!"

CC-R's engine room is buried deep within the rickshaw. He leads you from a shady plaza into a side room, and then down a winding set of stairs, where the chatter of the populace is finally fading, and the drone of engines is gradually replacing it. The original architects of the Rickshaws tried to make every surface sloped to force the seawater to run off, rather than collect. But the concrete here's straight. The engine's have to stay steady.

And biowire's a delicate construct. "Careful," Afzudi warns you as you walk. He's flipped on a light attached to his forehead, and the bug's glow casts an uneven glow: in the darkness, you can faintly see the outline of biowire pulsing on the ground, shadowy impressions that stretch as far as the eye can see. "We had to move all of them further downstairs, after the fifth century raid. It's not ideal, but it keeps people from getting at the engine. Hey, babe -"

A spider is slinking out of the darkness, its eyes focused on you as it steps over him. It's only the size of a dog, high enough to hit his ribcage, but there's venom spooling on the end of its mandibles, and you hesitate until Afzudi waves you forward. "She doesn't bite," he tells you. "You're with me, don't worry. Mum just keeps some of the extra bodies down here to guard them."

"Haha, no problem, dude. She's great! I love her, like.." Afzudi raises his eyebrows at you, like he's encouraging you to continue. So you gesture towards her, rolling your shoulders. "The whole smooth, shiny, bloodless carapace look? Really hot," you declare, then pause, because he's looking at you. The spider is looking at you. You're pretty sure, if you paid attention, even the biowire would be looking at you.

"Uh, not in a weird way, though. Like, I am absolutely not a spider-fucker, although I know that sentence kind of implied it, but no?" It's fine! You can save it, because Afzudi's smile has turned into a proper grin, like he's two moments from laughing. So you grin back at him, careful to show off your teeth, and step in close. "I absolutely person I am a person fucker," you say, earnest, holding out a hand, palm up. Then you curl the rest of your fingers in, until only your smallest one is out. "Pinkie promise, dude."

"You've talked about fucking my mum too much for me to shake hands," he says. "Sorry about that."

But he's still grinning as he starts walking, and when you laugh, he joins right in.

The underbelly of CC-R's much like the rest of it: wet, damp, and, as it turns out, totally moldy. There's webs everywhere as you walk, coating the biowire and the ceiling. ("It's to waterproof it," Afzudi says, and you're so glad you don't mind bugs.) But at least the mold's glowing, adding an uneven sort of light to things, just enough to make the shadows longer and deeper, and catch on all sixteen of eyes of the spiders that keep passing you by.

And eventually, shortly after the pressure shifts and your ears pop, you get to the core.

The helms, as it turns out, aren't any healthier than anyone else on this Rickshaw. It's the opposite! It’s.. honestly one of the most appalling things you’ve ever seen. Back on II-J, you keep your engines healthy, with columns that you replace annually, trolls trained up each cohort cycle specifically to work on them, and wire that’s custom bred to work with their systems. The whole system is hale enough that you don’t even have to run diagnostics: the engines’ll run their own diagnostics and e-mail them to you each week, keeping an eye on each one’s levels and needs, because it knows that each one will get a response.

The helms here don’t look like they could send messages, even if they wanted to. Each engine barely looks like it’s even alive. They’re hanging from the wires like skeletons, their arms bone-thin, the bodies bloodless and stark under the gray-white skin. There’s ash forming on them, like no one bothers to take care of them. There’s mats in the hair, like no one’s ever even thought to shave it.

"Holy shit," you breathe, and Afzudi starts to laugh, say something - then he catches sight of your face.

"Ah -"

You don't wait to hear what he's trying to say. You're striding forward, taking the first helm firmly by the chin and pulling its head down. It's so limp that there's no reaction when you pull an eyelid back. There's streaks all the way through it, black creeping like rot through the yellow of its sclera. When you release the lid, it takes a full five seconds for the skin to fall back down, and when you pinch the skin of its cheek, it doesn't even react.

It's so blanched, you're not even sure what blood colour it is. There's only the fuchsia of where the biowires cut into the skin, and the liquid flooding the veins pink.

The next one isn't any better.

You're not sure, at first, what you're feeling. There's just a certain cold numbness as you step from one column to the next, moving carefully to avoid the wires strewn across the floor. Because that's the only word for them. There's shards of scaffolding on the ceiling, jagged strips of metal where it once must've been, but it's long since folded under the weight of the wires. And the wires are everywhere. They're tangled in masses connecting the columns. They're stretching heavy across the walls, thick enough to pass as wallpaper, and oozing a viscuous pink slime that sticks to your boots as you walk.

It's hard to see where the floor end and the wires begin. Tripping down here's inevitable, really, and that's why, on your way to the seventh helm, your boot finally catches under one, and you fall directly into it.

The worst part of it all is that the helm doesn't react. It's a twiggy little thing, and you fall full-force into it, your hand scrambling at the jumpsuit just to keep yourself up. Your claws hook in, tearing into the fabric, and it's only last minute horror that makes you jerk your chin up, angling your horns back and away from them. It just means your face hits it instead, landing right in its ribcage.

It should've made it howl. When you scramble to your feet and back, there's heat blossoming across your face, and there's brown blossoming on their newly exposed skin. But all they manage is a languid blink, like someone stirring from sleep.

And the chill forming in your chest finally solidifies when they fall still.

"Are you okay?" Afzudi calls. He's still lingering by the door, watching you. From this distance, his face's a blur of darkness.

"Yeah." You're walking over, more careful this time, but Afzudi doesn't know you well enough to recognise the flat edge to your voice. He's only met you a handful of times. The other Rickshaws change leaders too often for them to really know each other: you're one of the only ones that's actually stayed the same, the past four sweeps. "I'm fine. You're going to need serious work down here. The biowire needs seriously cut back - that'll take about eight perigees to avoid shock, and then you'll need to start training it to stay in the scaffolds again. New scaffolds, obviously. Like, your helms need a full treatment, for the veins and the overall."

"The columns need rebuilt. I can do all of this, obviously, but - what brand is all of this, redHotx20? I'm not even going to bother running a diagnoistic, you've got voidrot trying to spread all the way through the lines. You plug in any bugs to this, or a technomancer, and all you're going to do is infect your tech. And -"

Afzudi reaches out, takes you by your shoulder. He's got long, calloused fingers, with gently tapered edges. They match the rest of him, rail thin and delicate in the same way. "You're sure about all of that?"

"Absolutely," you tell him. It's a shame. You'd liked him. "I'm thinking three hundred thousand, max, but at least one hundred and fifty, for all the work I'm going to have to do. And that's just supplies. I'll thread in some of our cultivar, but the medical work your engines are going to need alone is insane. And it's all going to have to be manual."

".. we don't have the money for that." He blinks at you, owlish. You'd thought he was handsome a few minutes ago, with his cheekbones and his frailty, but there's something repugnant about that weakness now. "We'll just get new helms," he says. "We have plenty of psionics on the rickshaw. It's their duty."

"Uh, no. You're not going to go and kill your people to play engine parts, when we've got the mainland right there, and reputable engine sellers, like, literally everywhere. Like, how do you not have the money, dude? CC-R's the biggest Rickshaw in the ocean. You have markets every perigee. Are you saying you can't pull together a few hundred thousand to keep your city from sinking?"

He can't even stop his people from starving. Of course he can't.

"II-J doesn't sell. You don't understand how it works," he says smoothly, like you're a pupa, and when your eyebrows shoot up, he shrugs. "It's not an insult. It's just a fact."

"I don't need to sell to manage a fucking budget. Show me your books, and I'll figure out how you can get the money together." He's already shaking his head before you finish. "Let me help you," you say, frustrated. "That's what you brought me here for. I don't know what you're doing wrong, but, like - your people are starving, dude. And your Rickshaw is dying, all the way down to your goddamn helms. Like, what the fuck?"

"I think," he says, "you need to leave. I appreciate your help, but -"

It's a shame, because you really, really liked him.

You don't like bullying smaller trolls. But he makes it easy. When he pulls his hand back, you snatch him by the collar and you slam him into the wall, one swift move that pins him right against his mother's webbing. She hisses next to you, surging forward, but you tut at her, pressing your hand harder against his collar.

He squeaks. She backs up, her two front legs rising in obvious distress.

"I'm sorry," you tell him, "that I'm having to shame you in front of your mom like this, dude. And I'm sorry that you thought this was a conversation. But it's not. Either you're going to listen to me, or else your entire Rickshaw is going to sink. Or else I'm going to spare your people, and sink it for you. Because this -"

You jerk a hand towards the helms. Everything on this Rickshaw is dying, from the buildings to the residents to the engines themselves, and -

You absolutely want to burn this entire place to the ground. But it turns out you do care about the other Rickshaws, more than you'd ever thought you could.

"- this is not acceptable. And you should know that. You're supposed to be the leader of this place. You chose to take on these responsibilities. You made this fucking choice!" You take a step forward. Your voice's dropping. It's not that you're unaware of his lusus right next to you, or the building tension in her body. But you know how lusii work. How many times have you used their desire to protect their charges against them?

And right now, you've got him pinned like a fly against her own webbing.

Afzudi looks at you. "You're supposed to protect them," you tell him, gazing into his eyes. "So, like, let me help you, and do your fucking job, man."

Then he holds up a hand. His lusus quiets, flattening herself to the ground in a clatter of keratin. "Fine," he says. "What do we have to do?"

[midyearflowers]

Not to be scary but I want to know everything abt ur cat

honestly ive done this to so many people it was only a matter of time before someone told me to answer every question so its cool lol

1. Name?: ive got 2 but ill use Smokey for this since i hand picked him as a kitten2. Fur color?: grey with a white patch on his chest, mouth, and feet like little socks. some patches actually turn brown in the sun and when he was a kitten he had stripes3. Any family you know (other than you)?: i met both his parents and he has two siblings however we only have him. and my other cat Princess is his reluctant roommate4. Age?: hes a grandpa now at like 13/145. Favorite toy?: we have these plastic cage balls with tiny bells in them and he absolutely loses his mind when he hears it6. Nicknames?: dumbass, weiner, goober, smoters, buddy, dumb butt, poop machine, my boi, the list goes on man7. Cinnamon roll or problematic fave?: problematic fave for sure. hes a little shit. but i would also die for him8. Length of fluff?: i guess he would be a medium length9. Any funny habits?: literally everything he does. he makes this adorable little noise thats basically the “???” noise and when he drinks out of the toilet he stands on his hind legs and daintily dips his head down. he also looks like a galloping horse when he runs and his tail does this weird curve10. How old were they when you met?: i hand picked him as a kitten when i was like 1111. What does their food bowl look like?: a fuckin mess cause hes a slob. its shallow cause if we put too much food he eats until he throws up, thus the dumbass nickname12. Indoor or outdoor cat?: indoor for the same reason as Princess13. Recent picture?: boop and boop14. Old picture?: precious baby15. Cuddly?: oh hell yes he loves to snuggle up in your lap or on your chest. he would sleep hanging over my dads shoulder as a kitten and loves to be in contact with you16. Ever changed their name?: no i gave them the most stereotypical name since i was 11 and kept it18. Eye color?: a pretty emerald green with a tiny little brown speck in the right one19. How do they express love for you?: hes always licking me. every inch of skin. and he sounds like a motor boat when he snuggles up20. How do you express love for them?: i smother him with kisses and give him the chin scitchies he loves21. Any theories on what breed?: no idea. i honestly dont know much about cat breeds. they are just.. cats22. Do they ever wake you up?: GOD YES every single goddamn morning he is in my face licking me and pawing me cause he wants food23. How much do they meow?: he never used to be very vocal, only making that “???” noise but he meows more now. mostly when hes curious about something and not getting answers or when we come home24. Any hiding spots?: if he can get under it he will be there. the bed, the table, your chair, the china cabinet, you name it25. Do they enjoy guests?: yes and no. hes pretty friendly if theres only one person and theyre quiet but the moment my cousins step in he is gone26. Lofty objects to sit on?: loves to sit on desks and the backs of couches/chairs. we put the ottoman by the window so he can sit there too27. Wear a collar? (and describe collar?): no collar cause they never leave the apartment28. How much shedding?: lots. not as much as Princess and ive managed to clean him up a bit but man for a while there i wanted to fucking shave him29. Do they enjoy brushing?: yes though he is always trying to rub his face on the brush and will not sit still30. Ever drink from the toilet?: yea and he looks so silly doing it31. How do they get your attention?: stares at me for an uncomfortable amount of time, sometimes he meows, most of the time he licks himself cause i hate when they do that right beside me32. Embarrassing thing they’ve done?: i once saw him trip up the stairs cartoon style, back legs went up over his head and i could practically hear the sound effect33. Weirdest thing they try to eat?: cat eats his own fucking vomit man. he is a vile creature who will eat just about anything34. Are they like your siblings, children, or friends?: he is my boi, my son, my precious companion35. What time do they eat breakfast?: before we leave for work so usually 7:30-8ish36. Do you cut their nails?: yes tho he doesnt like it one bit37. Do you think they understand you?: hes done things in the past that suggest he can tell when i need comfort but other than that hes an idiot38. Ever make fun of them?: literally all the time. im doing it right now39. Do you take their picture often?: my computer is filled with cat pictures like you have no idea40. Ever hiss at you?: not that i recall41. Ever try to scratch or bite you?: he goes for the bite all the time but im so used to it i dont care42. If you try to grab their paw, what do they do?: pulls away or tries to lick my hand43. Do they ever eat bugs?: he has a few times if it ended up on the floor. but mostly he just likes to stare at it44. Canned or dry food?: dry food. god help me if he only wanted wet45. Weight?: we used to make fun of him for being fat but honestly he has always been lean and solid. hes mostly heavy cause of his size and build.46. Ever got lost?: not lost per se but there was one instance where he somehow got out  of the house without anyone noticing (back when he was with my dad) and suddenly he was just in the window panting from being out and about. im so glad he came back cause we never would have known otherwise47. Do you buy them presents?: not really. we have so many toys as it is48. Do they respond when you call?: most times. if hes hyper and i over the top call him over he comes bolting49. Do they ever see other cats?: he grew up with two cats, one old female and the other a male around his age. now he lives with Princess50. Declawed?: unfortunately yes. i was too young to have any say and it was a long time ago51. Funniest expression?: his wide eyed empty stare52. Favorite place to be pet?: he likes chin and butt scritchies and will always move his head to meet your hand53. Worst thing they’ve destroyed?: nothing really comes to mind but he has ruined some plants by eating them and then the carpet when he threw them back up54. Give them a head kiss.: absolutely55. What time of the year is most exciting for them?: i dont think he can tell the difference56. Are they good at hunting real prey?: i doubt it. hes a little too hyper for his own good57. Do they ever attack nothing?: sometimes yea58. What are they doing right now?: no idea cause hes in the other room. probably cuddling with my mom59. How long have you had them?: his whole life so about 13/14 years60. If you could have them stay as a kitten forever, would you?: honestly he still acts like one so the only difference is the size. but i like him as an adult. more to cuddle61. Ever baby-talk to them?: all the time. certain nicknames i will say in a baby voice62. Favorite napping position?: he likes to curl into a ball and turn his head upside down63. Have you ever stepped on their paw?: yes :(64. Ever tripped you on stairs?: not on the stairs but just about everywhere else cause hes so damn fast65. Any ear hair?: i think? idk i dont really look in his ears66. Favorite view from a window?: he likes to watch birds and cars67. Describe why they are precious.: he has been my baby for so long and i picked him myself and i can tell he is happy with me68. Fit the cat stereotype?: practically to a T69. Chaotic neutral?: chaotic chaotic more like it70. Do they enjoy following/ keeping you company?: yes he follows me around if im home alone and wandering from room to room thinking out loud71. Are you their favorite human?: i like to think so72. Do they like tv?: not so much recently but we used to leave the aquarium channel on for him73. Favorite noise to make?: his “???” noise makes my heart make a “!!!” noise74. If they were a Neko Atsume cat, what would their momento be?: a string with a bell on the end

thanks for the questions!

[bananashemmo]

When We Collide (Part 6)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

Twenty-something tequila shots, four different kinds of drinks and a bottle of champagne later you would have believed you weren’t able to feel anything. The banging sensation behind you was loud as Luke had smacked your back against the door but you barely felt a single feeling.

His finger was almost furiously tapping against the ring bell to his front door, desperately waiting for Patrick to open up because he hadn’t had time to inform about your arrivals, his lips nippling onto your bruises ones.

Safe to say, Luke was right about his sayings when he said that first kiss wouldn’t be the last of tonight.

The rest of the night had been a complete blur to be exact. You remembered the first tequila shot that had been served by the bartender at Carl’s but from that and to the next twenty ones you started losing track of counting.

You had never expected to be this drunk but never had you had such a fun night either. You neither had expected that Luke would fit in in a crowd of your friends, sitting a bit misplaced in the middle of the boot like the others but they seemed to love him, mainly because he was the one constantly ordering the drinks.

The glares from Nicole had been obvious you were surprised Luke hadn’t commented about it. The way she had looked over at you with confused eyes and mouthing a few words you weren’t able to understand with so many other things going on around you told that she wanted to express something.

It was only for a short second you understood what was going on when she dragged you out to the bathroom to have a cigarette and a short pee. She wasn’t mad but you could tell that she was suspicious about the way Luke was acting around you and let alone the fact that he had showed up.

“I just think he needs the proudness of actually hanging around with me without getting scolded at or rolled with the eyes.” You had slurred against the doorframe while watching her, almost wanting to loudly grimace when you saw your drunken reflection.

“He always wants this confirm from me and I don’t understand why.”

Nicole looked at you with wide eyes while hovering over the sink just to get a bit of water from all the drinks that had been served, she was still curious but she wasn’t wearing the same expression as before.

“He constantly touches your thigh and you don’t say a thing about it?”

“He does?” You looked over your shoulder to look back at the booths where they were sitting, getting eye contact with Luke for a short moment and watched him blink with his right eye in reaction.

“I almost feel like I can’t feel a thing.”

“How do you get home?” She ran a hand through her hair because of the sweat she had created from the crowded room, at first nobody had been there but it seemed as if everyone wanted to show up after midnight.

“Come on Nicole don’t be like a mom I live right across from the street. If you’d like you can hold my hand and follow me over the street.” You commented and felt a hand ghost right above your bum making you stand up straight from almost hovering over the doorframe, eyes wide when you noticed it was Luke walking past you.

“No it’s okay I just wanted to make sure. Joey was supposed to be our ride home back to college but I’m not sure if he’s even able to ride his bike.” She explained but before she could say more Luke chirped in into the conversation.

“I gave him a check to pay a taxi for you.”

“Actually, that’s okay.” Nicole replied a bit confused, you couldn’t tell whether it was because she was surprised that he had done it out of nowhere or the fact that her boss was suddenly nice.

“No he took the money already so expect a cab to pick you up soon because he seems like someone ready to fall asleep over the table.” He pointed towards where you had been sitting, Joey hovering over the table with a lukewarm beer and eyelids heavy.

“Well thank you very much then.” Nicole mumbled, deep down inside happy that she wasn’t supposed to drive two on a bike with Joey.

“You’re very welcome Penelope.” Luke responded and adjusted the tie around his neck before walking out towards the back exit to get outside, you didn’t know for what but you shrugged it off and tried not to laugh by Nicole’s reaction.

“Will he ever fucking know?” She rolled her eyes and looked back to the mirror to put her hair into a pony tail not wanting to deal with the hotness and sweat in her neck anymore by her long beautiful dark hair.

“Maybe you should just write it in your forehead.” You commented with a small giggle, knowing that it would only piss her off even more.

“Maybe you should just make him learn that my name is not Penelope. I mean he even hired me before you and he still can’t remember my goddamn name!”

“I will try on Monday, okay?” You smiled softly and felt how the world was spinning to the point of if you let go of the doorframe you would fall to the ground.

It wasn’t the first time you had been like this but it had definitely been a while. Being out of college meant that you weren’t that much invited to parties and such things down by the parks, you really wanted to tag along but you felt a bit misplaced when it came to that.

But it was nice to actually feel free for once and when all the others had to study for Monday’s classes with a thick hungover you could just hover over your old bed with a cup of coffee and watch Cartoons in the screen. You didn’t have to worry about anything else than meeting up at Monday morning with a donut from the Danish pastry down by the street right across from Luke’s building.

“So I just called my chauffeur he will pick us up in less than five minutes.” He showed up from the back entrance with cold wind added along and you looked up at him confusedly.

“Us?” You quivered an eyebrow confused but you still had a faint smile on your face.

“Get your coat.” He replied and didn’t want to say anything before he left to get his blazer.

You stood for a few seconds trying to register what was happening, looking over at Nicole who raised her hands in the air.

“I’m not gonna comment on that.” She mumbled and walked past you knowing that now she definitely didn’t have to share the responsibility of your drunken ass, hurrying out of the bathroom to head back to Joey but not before looking over her shoulder with a very teasing smile.

“Welcome home, Mr. Hemmings. May I grab your-, Oh.” Patrick was quick to stop in mid-sentence, his eyes a bit wide once he had finally opened the door for you and Luke.

“Thank you very much Patrick. Do something decent and go read a book or something. I won’t need your assistance tonight.” Luke ripped off his blazer and grabbed your coat to almost force it into Patrick’s embrace.

“Will do sir. Goodnight.” Patrick mumbled in the same enthusiastic voice, watching as Luke literally threw you over his shoulder and headed towards the stairs that lead to his bedroom.

In fact he didn’t let go of you until you were right in front of the large white door, his hands pinning yours to above your head once you were finally down on your feet again.

“You have no idea for how long I’ve been waiting for this.” He drunkenly slurred, his thumb caressing over your chin and leaned in for a kiss.

“I think I do.” You mumbled back before he connected your lips, deciding to open the door as well and almost made you fall down to the floor if it hadn’t for been the nice grip he had around your waist.

His bedroom was nearly as you had imagined. The large windows that were tall like the ceiling, the large king sized bed with a million pillows on it, it had all the features Luke showed in his attitude. He had a long grey fireplace with a large TV screen above it, a few pictures here and there but you didn’t get the chance to give it a small look.

His lips were nearly everywhere possible on your skin, going from your lips to your cheek, nose forehead and neck. There was lust clear by every kiss and you almost couldn’t tell whether it was because of him or the alcohol that your legs had turned into jelly.

“Oh my god.” You gasped once he connected you against the white large dresser against the window, it was so harshly that you managed to knock down a white and blue vase that instantly crashed once connecting with the shiny marble floor.

“I sincerely hope that wasn’t expensive.”

“An Imperial - around $22.6 million from Hong Kong but who counts.” He replied casually as if it was nothing and by that it was as if you had turned sober for a second and looked up at him with wide eyes.

“$22.6 million? For a freaking vase? Are you insane?”

“What?” He questioned as if you were being ridiculous, his breathing uneven from the intense makeout session.

“You think I would have bought a lazy one from IKEA?”

“I can’t even afford a vase from IKEA!” You almost wanted to argue and took yourself to your head. You could already feel the hangover ready to pound and even if your head wasn’t clear you could suddenly feel a gutted feeling creep up on your spine.

“Luke this is wrong.”

“What? How can it be wrong buying a fucking vase?” He questioned unaware and took a step back away from you, biting down on his lip and trying to focus on what you were trying to say. He was, after all, to the point of being completely hammered you had never seen him like this.

“We are fucking wrong you ass!” You yelled and tried not to step onto the broken pieces of the vase, jumping over not so elegantly to stand by his bed, “You taking me home all the time, your weird flirting at work and all of the sudden us making out! It’s all just wrong!”

“Does this feel wrong to you?” He questioned and motioned between the two of you, your mouth opening but no words seemed to come out by his question.

You had no idea how you were feeling. Everything just seemed like one big giant bomb of something that couldn’t turn out to be something great yet you were still there. You had showed up, you hadn’t been the one to deny or reject him this time, there was something different going on.

“Okay I’m sorry I just imagined that we would be in some sort of cheesy movie where we pretend that we’re soulmates.” He suddenly laughed and took you aback completely, “I just wanted to pretend to be a movie star just for a short moment.”

Your mind scanned the many horrible names you could possibly call him by his sudden outburst, not sure whether or not you wanted to knock something into his face by the annoying smirk coming back to his features.

Even in his drunken state Luke was still his annoying persona if not worse.

“Come on don’t be mad.” He gently laughed and grabbed your hand, “I mean even though we don’t fit with each other doesn’t mean I don’t fancy you. If it hasn’t come to your attention for a while I’ve tried for nothing more than your attention since I hired you.”

You watched him as he intertwined your fingers just to pull you closer, the smell on his alcohol clear once your lips were close to each other again. You didn’t know what was best, smack him or kiss him.

“I’m not mad.” You stated, taking a step back but still had your hand in his, “I just don’t want to be like the others.”

“The others?” Luke quivered an eyebrow confused and his lips tightened, “What do you mean by others?”

“Your other previous assistants.” You commented like it was obvious and widened your eyes, “Don’t you do this with all your assistants? Try on them, want to sleep with them and afterwards you just fire them because you got what you wanted?”

“You really think I’m like that?” He questioned and for one second you actually felt like you had thought wrong about the whole situation, “Because it has been like that but not anymore. You’ve been one hell of a chase Y/N I must admit.”

“I fucking knew it.” You mumbled below your breath and wanted to turn around but he still had your hand in his making sure that you didn’t leave.

“No Y/N you can’t just leave okay? I might be an ass and I’m aware of that but please don’t leave because I know you can’t walk home on your own right now.”

“But I don’t want to stay here.” You argued.

“Why not?”

“Because if I do, I know we’ll end up having sex!”

There it was, the truth. Your clit had been pulsing since the first time he had touched your thigh this evening and your makeout session hadn’t made it any better. You hadn’t had sex in a while and the way Luke was making you feel was out of the ordinary.

If he could just for the love of god shut up for one second you could actually clear your mind.

“Fine, Luke. One night, we never speak to each other again about this and you fucking promise that one, you won’t ever talk to a woman like you’ve done before and two, you make sure that I won’t get fired after this.”

“So what you’re saying is you’re sleeping with me for the money?” He smirked while loosening the black tie around his neck.

“No I’m saying that I’m sleeping with you because I want you to shut your fucking mouth.”

“And how would you be able to do that-,”

Before he could suppress any other word from his mouth you forcefully pressed him against the marble pillar and your lips finding his. He wasn’t even surprised by your action, his fingers finding your hips and digging into the skin harshly.

“Well choice.” His smiled into the kiss and deepened it, slipping his tongue in between your lips and dominated instantly.

You couldn’t tell why you were doing this but enough was enough. A single thought of how horrible you would feel after this both regarding awkwardness and your hungover was quickly brushed off when Luke took off your shirt, letting it fall to the ground and buttoned down his dress shirt.

You had seen him nude before but you could still feel yourself losing your breath once he loosened the belt around his pants but teasingly waited until you were completely nude until he finally settled on stripping down completely himself.

He went down on his knees to slip down your pants, the position reversed and your bare shoulder pressed against the cold marble pillar. Once you had gotten rid of your pants and socks he couldn’t avoid the small chuckle.

“I see you’re wearing the lingerie I gave you.” He teasingly commented and his thumb gazed over the fabric right where your clit was hiding, biting down on his lip when he looked up at you.

“Just shut up and kiss me.” You moaned and pressed yourself further against the pillar, closing your eyes and felt how your nipples were clear visible through the bra fabric by how hardened they had become.

“Gladly.” He leaned up to unclasp your bra behind your back easily as if he had done nothing else in his life but that, the fabric falling to the ground by the help of you and discarded the expensive clothing to the ground.

He slowly gazed the skin around your panties, making sure to tickle right by the inner part of your thighs knowing that it would have deep affection, his lips finding your hip and teasingly sucking.

He didn’t stop but waited until you were becoming impatient, your breathing becoming slower but also deeper, stomach rising and falling by every second that passed by without any further progress.

It felt as if it had been forever when he finally decided to hook his rough fingers around the hem of your panties, falling down to the ground in the same pace as before and revealing yourself to him completely.

You were ready to say something again but before you got the chance he attached his lips to what he could, hand holding onto your bum to make sure you wouldn’t be wiggling or moving around to his disadvantage.

“Fuck.” You moaned almost in a small whisper when his tongue started to lick over your clit repeatedly, feeling how it started to pulse and send bliss through your whole body. It was that pit in your stomach that made all the bad thoughts vanish, erased and completely gone from your mind.

His hair was tickling against your stomach and with his hand still holding onto your bum firmly and sometimes giving it a small slap you were sure you could come undone within seconds. You didn’t want to admit but he was doing amazingly work down there you had barely predicted it.

He had the attitude but you had never realized that it wasn’t just a stupid façade he was keeping to try act like someone he wasn’t.

“Come here.” You said lowly once you felt your knees trembling, sincerely not hoping that he would continue because this wasn’t the way you wanted to come.

“I need all of you.”

He stood up from his knees with glistering lips and hair completely messed from your tucking, his thumb coming up to remove some of the juices and placed it into his mouth.

“Salty like you.” He just had to say it and at any other moment you would have scolded at him but your thoughts were too blurred to let you say anything. You needed him, you didn’t care what it took because with how his tongue had worked you almost couldn’t imagine what he was hiding behind his tight pants.

Still making sure to keep the eye contact with you he loosened the belt from his pants completely and let it fall to the ground, leaning down to discard the rest of his clothes and show how his tip was to the point of leaking with precum down his red shaft.

In one swift movement he leaned down to grab your thighs and lift you up, barely having the time to wrap your legs around his waist before he had you on top of his bed, pillows almost making you invisible in the large pile but it was definitely more comfortable than you had felt for a while.

There was something about his lips that made you feel in such bless you weren’t sure if it was because of the alcohol. He had nice lips there was no doubt, you even felt the small hole from what you assumed was a lip ring was charming.

It added a bit of definition to his otherwise always fancy attitude and you could just imagine how it must have felt to kiss with one. He had the thing with both being very gentle but also lustful and rough when kissing you and pressing you further against the pillow crowded bed.

“You know you just have to tell me if anything hurts but by how wet you are I assume it’s gonna be alright.” He said something for the first time in a while after yet another intense makeout session, his arms resting on either side of your head.

“I’m not the only one being ‘wet’.” You commented and leaned down to grab his shaft, running your hand over it a few times and watching as his eyes closed in pure bless.

It was amusing to see how much power you suddenly had over him. That was definitely the first time since your first meeting, the way he was slowly rocking back and forth to the pace of your hand making him harder and harder to the point of being close to orgasm.

When it was enough he leaned down to grab your hand and moved his member down to your entrance, just like he had predicted your folds were almost drowned with juices from when he had been licking you before and with a gentle push he was already half inside of you.

“I think it’s safe to say we both fucking are.” He commented and started to rock back and forth, wanting to find the right pace where it would be pleasurable for the both of you but also making sure that it wouldn’t be too hard for him.

With every thrust he gave you, you sunk further down onto the mattress. There wasn’t any doubt that he had been waiting for this as well, most probably not been with someone for a while because you hadn’t seen him invite anyone into his office other than you.

“Y/N I’m just gonna say this,” He breathed out, sweat forming on his forehead to the point of the sheets not even being cold anymore from being untouched.

“I’m drunk as hell and it won’t be long before I cum.”

“That’s okay. I think I’m too drunk to even get a release.” You held onto his hair again and swung your legs around his waist just to get that feeling of him hitting right in the spot, your legs trembling but you knew that would only be it.

Being so drunk only left you too unfocused to even see the final of a release and just the act itself was good enough for you. It was fine that he didn’t last for long because if you thought about it he could just pay back another time.

But would there be another time? You didn’t really understand what was going on but you couldn’t give it a second thought because Luke suddenly groaned loudly, his body completely still and holding onto you for dear life.

It was warm and fuzzy against your legs and thighs feeling how his member was pulsing with a drunken intense orgasm that left him completely breathless, almost to the point of falling on top of you.

“Oh my god.” He commented and fell onto the sheets next to you, his heart beating so loudly he was sure you were able to hear it too.

“High five for drunk sex.” He raised his hand in the air once he had folded the sheets over your sweaty nude bodies, the both of you looking up at the ceiling where small mirrors were reflecting you.

“High five.” You mumbled breathlessly and smacked your hand against his, feeling your eyelids grow heavy in tiredness but also a suspicious feeling creep up your spine by tonight’s events.

Part 7