#path to nowhere fanfiction

[nomorefstogive]

Our Dearest Sin Chapter 4: To Fix A Problem (Crossposted on Ao3)

Hello all, this is a copy paste of the newest chapter of my PtN fic on Ao3, as well as my way of letting all of you know that I am in fact, still alive.

Summary:

She was born to do this, to fix the mistakes of others so that those she serves could prosper, and now she once more donned that most dreaded of masks to fulfill her horrific duty, all to insure that the woman she loved would be safe. After all, she was born and made to fix problems.

Notes:

Hello again everyone, I am sorry for the rather lengthy delay that has occurred with me posting this chapter, and for my lengthy silence on tumblr, I was working on a variety of other projects, not just my other fics…namely the 40k plus word chapter for my Azur Lane fic, but also a subreddit that has cropped up that I am quite fond of, r/PrimarchGF. Before we begin, let us offer our thanks to JimBoReee for braving this mess of a fic and acting as our Beta for this chapter, they are a wonderfully talented and creative person so please go and check out their works, you will not be disappointed. A link to their profile: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JimBoReee/pseuds/JimBoReee That said, today we are going to take a slight detour from the wholesomeness and humorous atmosphere of our previous posts and instead take a few steps down a much darker path. I invite you one and all to take a moment to steel yourselves as this will be quite the departure from has been established as the norm of this story, I will attach some trigger warnings below for what this chapter will contain. TW: Murder. Torture. Attempted Murder. Attempted Suicide. Suicide Coercion. Blackmail. Abuse. Mental Torture. Psychological Torture. Hurt No Comfort. Yandere Themes. Shalom Being Angry. Non Consensual Touching, mentioned in one portion. Racism Against Sinners. Implied Homophobia. Manipulation. Mental Trauma. Physical Trauma. Etc. For those of you who are still here, then we welcome you one and all to this newest act in the play of this fic, with that said- Let the show begin!

To Fix A Problem

There is an old saying that goes, “When it rains, it pours”, and as the young man sat at the candlelit table, blood trailing from weeping gashes and narrow cuts as tears that gleamed ever so faintly amidst the light of the flickering flames of the twin candles that sat upon the table before him, eyes so empty as to be mirrors of the Void itself regarding him with cold disdain, he knew it well to be the case of the saying being more than true. 

Dimly the man thought of how this had come to be, how it was that was sat at this table of exquisitely carved mahogany wood, his blood and tears seeping into the plush velvet lining of the chair he sat within as he watched the figure across from him take in his suffering and horror, his cries and screams and blubbered pleas falling upon the sepulchral silence of the room and unflinching face of the one across from him as water upon a duck’s wings, failing to do not but display how futile such actions were in the face of the Absolute before him. 

Eyes heavy lidded with caked blood and stinging with tears shed and un-shed, rested upon the case before him, polished onyx metal of origin unknown casting not the faintest reflection of light and instead seeming to hungrily devour it with grandiose delight as it waited with baited breath for what it knew would come to pass. 

As his trembling fingers began to move to open the container, many times failing to pop the latches that held fast the case like the teeth of some abhorrent maw despite the almost anticipatory ease with which they popped open when he did manage to lay his fingers upon them, the man recalled with another heaving sob how all of this had begun.

It felt like days ago that waking had come to the man not with gentle caress of promises and wonders unseen, but with the bitter stinging whip of pain, a fog of agony such that it tinted the vision white and black as one neared the precipice of oblivion’s sweet embrace once more that would have served to engulf him whole once more were it not for the sudden jostling of the world around him, his bound hands unable to offer any aid as he was flung upwards, an already battered head connecting with solid metal, causing yet more constellations of agony to form.

Tears had slipped unbidden from his eyes, wetting the dried blood that had crusted them near to shut and allowing for the man’s narrow field of haze ridden view to expand somewhat as he his mind sluggishly tried to process just what it was that was happening, though such thoughts and questions were soon vanished as yet once more the world went white with agony as his body was jolted once more, something which prompted broken bones and cuts that had gone mercifully numb to once more sing out in a choir of hellish agony.

The exquisite agony of what felt to be a hundred-hundred razor thin cuts and several snapped and shattered bones should have made the man scream out, wailing like a child holding fast their parents hands amidst a blazing inferno, and yet instead there came but a low and wet groan, vocal chords unresponsive as the man came to be aware of an unnatural feeling of sluggishness that had seized him fast, the feeling having been hidden away behind the sensation of waking and the pain that had soon accompanied it.

His heart had begun to hammer in more than just pain, a sensation of dread enveloping him as a rapidly spreading slick of oil would upon the sea, lungs tried and failed to take fast breaths as each sudden motion caused supernovas of agony to envelop him, forcing him to slow his breath and to try and still his heart, a whimper slipping past the young man’s lips as he tried to take stock of the situation, though his thoughts were in too much a state of disarray to be anything approaching coherent or cohesive. 

Clarity came but ever so briefly, waves of frigid terror enveloping him in an all consuming grasp of such force that the breath he managed to take in left his lungs entirely during theme moments, gasps of horror and despair slipping from torn lips that parted into silent sobs that soon bled way to gasps of pain and then back into whimpers of agony as the clarity vanished once more under the tide of misery. 

Why was he here?

What was going on?

Why was he so badly hurt?

Why were his hands bound?

What was he in?

Where was he?

Again and again these question had come to him during those brief moments, though they were ever left unanswered as the man languished in his misery, his silent sobs growing as the jostling became more and more frequent, his body being cast against what felt to be walls of cold metal, his vision soon went black once more, oblivion swallowing him as a particularly hard jostle sent his head colliding with the wall behind him with such force that consciousness fled him.

As yet another latch upon the case came undone, the man thought to himself that it was far too kind that the striking of his scalp upon the unfeeling metal had not delivered him unto the merciful embrace of the most kind Oblivion, and had instead merely been the briefest of interludes for the pain to come, for soon enough he had been awoken again, the jostling having yielded way to the sound of metal doors being cast open.

He had not had time to even open his mouth before hands reached into the space he was housed within and seized him, his body crying out in agony as the towering figure tore him free of the container, manacles snapping under the strain with which they had torn him from them as he was cast into the mud, the Blue-Rain caressing him with frigid needles as he tried and failed to move away from the being that loomed over him, his movements stopping when he felt a hand seize him by the ankle as the figure began to drag him through the mud, his sobs of pain being drowned out amidst the downpouring rain.

His vision swam, dried blood and fresh mud now blinding him such that he could not discern where it was that he had been taken, only that around him loomed monolithic buildings and streets adorned with cracks and gaping wounds of craters and shattered windows and walls, the stench of filth and mud field his nostrils and the taste of dirt and blood flooded his mouth as he tried and failed to cry out for help before his captor began to haul him down the street, dragging him with a lone hand as though he weighed not but a twig’s burden to them.

Faintly he thought he not only heard his captor speaking, their voice oddly muffled as they spoke into what must have been a phone for a moment before they were silent once more, but that he also saw figures moving amidst the shadows of the buildings that loomed around him, empty windows and doorways seeming to form mocking sneers and cruel smirks that regarded his torment with perverse glee, yet when he blinked the figures were gone and only the iron grip around his ankle that drug him over cracked and shattered streets remained.

At times he thought he smelt something over the rain and filth of the streets he was being hauled down, something almost floral that seemed to mock his senses with its ever faint presence, though such a thing was swiftly banished from his mind as his captor paused in their march to lift a heavy hand and bring it down upon a door of cold metal that lay nestled in the shadow of a building.

After administering but a single knock to the door, the towering figure cast open the heavy construct of cold steel with deft ease, the same ease with which they suddenly flung him into the building, his ribs crying out in agony as a series of sickening cracks and pops sang out from within him as an agonized choir, the loudest and most vocal of said agonies there came when his flight at last ended, his body slamming into a metal pillar, the blow making his world turn white as his mouth parted in a silent scream once more.

As the white left his vision, and darkness began to creep in once more, his blurred vision faintly registered the form of his captor, weeping eyes alighting upon a towering figure clad in what seemed to be some form of uniform odd metal contraptions resting on their arms, and a sneering mask covering the lower part of their face, their visage made all the more horrifying by the baleful crimson scar that burned across their face, the glow of which reflected like hell-fire amidst their baleful eyes as they advanced once more. 

Oblivion claimed him with the blow of a boot to his head, and the faintest sound of mocking chuckles echoing from the shadows that now loomed to devour him. 

*Tap*

His reverie was broken by the sound of a single manicured nail tapping the wooden table, a look of disapproval flickering into those abyssal eyes as the figure across from him regarded him with glacial apathy, yet beneath that apathy and within that void that swirled were a soul should be within their eyes, he saw the faintest flicker of something that bid his trembling hands move with due speed, trembling fingers fumbling the latches once more before he at last managed to pop yet another open.

A flicker of a smile graced the face of the one across from him, sharp and cold, the edge of a scalpel ready to peel through his flesh and let him bleed across the floor before her…no it’s arctic gaze as the figure watched with cruel anticipation as yet another latch came open before the man paused once more, yet more plaintive cries and whimpers beginning to form on his lips as he saw the light of the candle ever so faintly reflect off of a dark amethyst gem that lay embraced in a band of silver.

The sight of it making his heart begin to hammer once more, tears beginning to trail from his eyes as he fought the urge to fall to his knees and beg and plea to the figure before him once more, he had long come to realize that even the most desperate and humiliating of please and cries for mercy would fall upon ears that seemed to be cast from the same glacial stone that the figure’s heart had been for all of the good that they seemed to do.

Indeed, all said please had ever managed to warrant from the figure was a disapproving look before they beckoned towards the towering woman that stood behind him, hands strong enough to pulverize bone lifting him up and then slamming him into either the pillar she had been leaning against or the floor before she tossed him back into his chair, a snarl of seemingly apocalyptic fury scorching its way from her throat as she seemed to be held back from taking his life by some unseen hand or order as she left him there before returning to her post.

Again there came a loud snap to fill the otherwise silent room, the shadows seeming to come alive as they writhed and danced in an obscene serpentine manner, tongues of darkness caressing his body and vision as her looked at the final latch on the case, faintly he thought there came, from depths unseen, a chorus of voices, mocking and derisive, so potent their disdain and contempt for him that his blood ran as ice, though with but a blink the looming darkness and mocking words vanished as his hand hovered over the final latch. 

Swallowing down a wave of vertigo and nausea, the man looked up at the figure across from him, bloodshot eyes of dark oaken brown caked in bruises and mud meeting glacial light purple eyes, as the man forced himself to speak up once more, his gaze flickering from the figure’s eyes to the ring that it had sat before it. 

“Y-you promise…” He coughed up a wad of blood and flem that landed on his pants, a moment being taken to catch his breath before he lifted his head once more to continue his final plea to the figure before him. 

“You promise me you’ll leave them alone? They…they had nothing to do with this…this was all me and those dumbasses, leave my family out of it.” His voice, hoarse and yet oh so faint, weak to the brink of shattering and yet resonating with the last few strands of great strength the man could summon forth filled the room, the stillness that followed his words seeming fit to crush him under its weight even as it deafened him with its intensity. 

For a moment there was only the sound of the the creaking of the attire of the figure behind him as he watched the thing in human skin across from him tilt its head in silent thought for several moments, light purple eyes looking down at the ring in contemplation before the figure at last spoke up, that haunting voice, the dulcet tone of the Devil as he purred in your ear, broke the silence as well. 

“As I told you before, I will not lay a hand on them, nor will any of my subordinates. So long as you keep your end of the deal, then nothing will happen to them, but should you fail… then I cannot vouch for their safety.” The thing finished its statement with that faux smile, something that would not have looked out of place on a mannequin of porcelain and plaster, yet upon the face of a human did not but lend to it a visage of something alien and horrific, a perverse mockery of human life so naked in its debauched falsity that it was sickening to behold. 

With a heavy sigh of relief, the man took a deep breath, the tranquil calmness of someone who knew that they now stood at the end of their journey enveloping him as he popped the final latch of the case, taking a single moment to take in a breath before he opened it and let his eyes behold the contents of the case.

In the same vein as the exterior of the case, the interior was made of a stygian material designed to gently envelop and shield the contents of the case, said contents being little more than a single vial, barely the size of his index finger and yet seeming to be as large as the very planet itself as it say there before him, the dark crimson liquid semeing to radiate a glow of baleful scarlet so intense that it cast some of the shadows of the room aside, the darkness seeming to flee the encroaching light as though it was the scythe of Death itself. 

Faintly, the man noted how the scarlet light seemed to have a mind of its own, tendrils and garlands of dark crimson and brighter scarlet energy hungrily caressing each exposed inch of the room that it could, wisps of energy caressing the towering figure behind him as a master would an obedient pet, with a similar gesture being granted unto the figure that sat before him, the crimson glow seeming to cast upon those light violet eyes the glow of hellfire. 

Still enveloped in the tranquility of finality did them an reach out and pick up the vial, sparks of a sensation not electric or searing or frigid, yet some perverse amalgamation of each of them racing through his skin and into his very blood like a tidal wave of jagged glass that cut and tore and shredded all it touched, leaving behind mangled wounds that soon found themselves smoothed over in a deluge of scarlet power that twisted and made mockery of the very nature of the human soul. 

His hand was no longer his own. 

Of its own accord, as though possessed of a will more ancient and malign then the hideous expanse of the cosmos that seemed to swirl and churn around the Scarlet Moon that had crested over the Broken Frontline in that very moment, did his fingers gently pop the cork off the vial, ever so carefully bringing it to his lips even as his body unconsciously tried to jerk away from the vial before him.

Those same hands that had nearly snapped him like a twig now lashed out once more, fingers seemingly formed of granite and rebar in their unyielding might digging into his face as his mouth was forced open, gloves dense enough that his teeth could have done not but ever so faintly tickle skin beneath keeping him in place as they and that was once his own brought the vial to his mouth and began to upend it. 

As the first drop touched his tongue the man realized that he had been wrong, it was not liquid, more some form of semi-solid gelatinous mass, perhaps more likable to plasma than anything else found in nature or crafted by the hands of man and monster alike, began to flow down his throat, the same alien sensation that had engulfed his hand now enveloping his body entirely as waves of agony like nothing he could ever no washed over him again and again. 

Faintly, he realized that he was seizing, his body rebelling with all that it had, each and every base cell and molecule warring against the horrific might that now began to dig into him with ravenous fury, frigid and molten glass shards tearing him apart over and over again as liquid tides of molten agony assailed him at the same moment clouds of scarlet suffering flooded his lungs, choking his cries before they could leave his lips. 

At once his body felt full and empty, as though each drop of blood, each minute molecule had gained great and terrible weight one moment, only to flicker out of existence and leave him adrift in a senseless shell of misery the next, with the constant fluctuations of sensations tearing at his mind, razored claws sinking into succulent flesh as the fangs of madness began to gnaw hungrily at his mind, pits of madness beckoning ever so sweetly-

“Stop.”

Yet to him was such mercy denied, for there came over the agony that drowned out all else a voice that was not a voice, a weight and sensation that forced itself into his mind with the might of an avalanche, power so suffocating that it left his breath frozen in his lungs as his bodily functions ceased in obeisance to the order. 

A triangular mark filled his vision, parting the sanguine and onyx haze that had so mercifully enveloped him the silver white glow of the mark burning with such radiance that he could do not but attempt to flee its encroaching blaze, though to no avail was this mental flight, for garlands of ivory enveloped him as razor wire, pulling him into a realm of burning light and searing agony, his mind bound and shackled fit to do not but linger at the whims of the Mark.

“OBEY.”

Words yet not words, sensations yet not sensations, thoughts not his own and yet born in his mind echoed within his head as the Mark seared itself into him, nameless terror enveloping him for reasons he knew not as he languished in the unyielding grip of the Mark and of its horrific Will, though more there came for yet another voice low and soft, like the most gentle of spring breezes came into his ears, words unknowable to him mixing with the scorching orders of the Mark.

At last there came reprieve, when he felt the most tender of touches upon his chin, his vision flickering to see a new pair of eyes, their color so eerily reminiscent of the Devil’s and yet somehow worse in the cruel delight that gleamed in them as that soothing voice purred into his ears once more.

“Sleep now.”

His world went black. 

For how long this lasted he knew not, only that when he at last came to his senses it was to yet more pain, his body crying out in a thousand-thousand different tongues as he lay sprawled across an ochre floor of an empty room, table and chair and case and Monsters gone, leaving him alone in a puddle of his own blood and bodily waste, bile forming a halo around his head. 

With a whimper of the agony of flayed and torn nerves did the man try and force himself to rise, his bones feeling like shattered glass that cut and tore at him from within as he tried to force his arms and left to obey, only to fail as he fell down with yet another cry, tears flowing freely down his face as he desperately called out for mercy, though mercy there came none, for alone he laid in his own waste and tears. 

How long had he laid there in misery, hours, days, weeks? 

He could not say, only that there came at one point amidst the agonized delirium that had enveloped him a caress so saccharine in its gentleness that he could not have ignored it even had his mind not been on the brink of total annihilation, and so it was that as that most delicate of caresses swept through his very soul that he found the resolve to once more try to rise. 

It was agony, near to the absolute most sublime in its totality and might, yet still it was less than what had once assailed him when he had tried to force himself to rise, and thus it was that he could grit his teeth till he heard them crack as he rose from the floor, a joyful cry slipping past his lips as he did so. 

His arms braced around the pillar that the Beast of the Monster had once rested against, the man felt tears begin to slide down his cheeks once more, though these were not just born of the agony that assailed him, but also of the joy that filled him at being able to move, to walk, to live once more. 

He had thought the Devil had meant to kill him with the poison in that vial, some form of sorcery born of land’s unknown no doubt, or perhaps even the result of some form of Witchcraft of those Abominations that were corrupted by Mania, perhaps it had been too weak compared to his own will, perhaps the pain had been the fullest extent of it’s promise of suffering. 

A low chuckle, delirious and maddened, slipped past his lips as he began to force himself to move through the building once more, each step prompting flashes of white hot agony to assail him, though even such misery could do nothing to stop his smile from growing and his heart from singing. 

Yes, the Devil had failed to kill him, and now he had the chance to go back to his family, this time wisened by his agony and suffering, at last ready to heed the words of wisdom his wife had spoken to him and try a new lease on his life. 

He would go home, hold his beloved and kiss her as if his life depended on it, then he would hug his children and kiss their foreheads, sure they would have to move, perhaps even leave Dis itself if that Devil’s words about what it and its fellows had discovered was true, but all of that paled to just being able to be with them again.

‘I never should have let that dumbass talk me into it,’ he thought to himself as he braced himself against the wall he knew to be near the door, ‘fucking idiot couldn’t even do the job right!’  

A flash of irritation tore through him at the final thought, his hand clenching into a fist before it struck the wall, tears beginning to fall once more as he thought of all he would have to do to protect his family now, the company so long built up would have to be liquidated, their assets joining it before they left Dis, their names, perhaps even their faces, needing to be changed to avoid being found by the Snake and its pets. 

All he could do is hope that the Devil kept her word and that the rest of the Snake’s Monsters did not find before him and his had managed to flee the city, but he-

There was something on the door.

He blinked in confusion as he saw a piece of white paper held fast to the door, perhaps by tape or glue he could not tell, the immaculate white paper standing in stark contrast to the dark metal of the door, and making it seem as bright as the sun to him as he walked towards it, drawn by that ever so delicate pull. 

With a final pained groan he managed to get before the door, his hands braced on either side of the metal door as he lifted his head to look at the paper before him, a single word staring at him in simple print.

A word that made his world go white.

The word in question?

Hush.

Line Break

He blinked as he came to his senses once again, his head throbbing such that his vision was not but a flickering haze of agony, objects being near one second and far the next,each of them enveloped in a haze of grayish white that left him unable to fully process just what it was that was going on around him, let alone where it was that he was.

Unbidden he tried to take a step forward, his footing giving out in the next moment as he landed upon his front, his chin striking solid wood with force enough that he felt his teeth crack within his jaws, blood beginning to drip past his lips and onto the ground as he let out another low whimper of pain. 

For several moments he laid there, his vision darkened near to total blackness as he tried to make sense of what it was that was going on as he rolled onto his side, curling into a ball as he tried to wait for the pain to fade enough so that he could try to rise once more, something which seemed to last several moments of laying amidst a pool of his own blood and what felt like a stick carpet that clung to his body.

What must have been a few hours passed before the man was able to force himself to rise once more, his vision swimming in agony as he tried and failed to brace himself against what he could only assume to be a wall, with his hands failing to grasp the material due to an odd wetness that clung to them, with him falling down once more, though this time he was able to stop himself before he could fully fall his slick fingers digging into the carpet with as much force as they could as the man tried to force himself to rise to his feet once more.

Once more did he wait for several moments before he rose again, this time crawling froth on all fours as he looked up, a glimmer of light passing through what seemed to be a cracked door beckoning him forth as once more there came that saccharine pull, this time it came as a spreading of morphine, dulling his pain enough so that he could rise to his feet and stagger through the door, the light blinding him for several moments. 

How he wished it had blinded him forevermore. 

The first thing he noted when his vision came back to him was the mirror that rested before him, his eyes alighting on a mud and filth and blood caked face as though it was the visage of a stranger, his eyes were so bloodshot that he could not even discern the original color of them, only the paths blazed by his tears revealed his fair skin and the freckles that adorned it.

‘I know everything about you. Who you are. Where you come from. Where your family came from. Where you work. Where you had your first kiss. Even where and when it was that you made love to your wife for the first time.’ 

A chuckle slipped from his lips as he leaned down, turning on the sinks taps to pool water into its basin to splash on his face, a sigh of bliss slipping past his lips as he watched more and more of his face, of himself, become visible as more and more of the mud and blood and grime fell into the drain, staining the once cleaned ivory to near black, though he paid it no mind. 

‘I also know where your children go to school, who their teachers are, who their friends are, and where said friends and their families live. Your eldest son, Marquel needs to brush up on his mathematics, a C- at his age is quite a poor showing, even your youngest Gabriel is doing better than him with a B+.’ 

Groaning in bliss he reached out to grab at a towel he saw resting near the mirror, savoring each moment it touched his yet tender flesh as he dried his face, a moment spent basking in the softness of the material of the towel before he removed it from his face and tossed it aside. 

Yet as he tossed it aside, something caught his eye, something that to most would have been the most innocuous and meaningless of things, and yet to him was as monolithic in its imposing grandeur and the terror that it managed to stoke in him, such a small and fragile thing that made him turn to the door and begin to tear free from the room even as pain assailed him in full once more.

The plastic soldier, standing at attention beside the small toothbrush as though it were its nations flag, caked in blood such that the whites and blues of its armor were drowned near to brown, watched him go with dead eyes even as the pain tore at him with ravenous fingers, the saccharine pull vanishing as a cloyingly sweet laughter rang out in his head, the agony joining it in a chorus of mocking misery. 

‘A snap of my fingers, a word spoken in a single ear, and all that you love and know can and will vanish into the aether as if it never existed in the first place…A threat? Huh, I suppose it is fair to assume that you would not understand the severity of your situation, perhaps this can help you understand things. 

*Clink*

The jeweler lied to you by the way, the diamond is nowhere near as pure valuable as she led you to believe, I believe hse overcharged you by about 235.23 Discoins, though that is not taking the changes that taxes have undergone since you purchased the ring into account.

I assume you understand me now, correct?’

His shoulder slammed into the wall with enough force that the drywall gave way to form a small hole that snared him in place for a moment before he was able to pull himself free and begin to race down the hallway, or rather try to race down the hallway as once more his footing gave out on him and he fell onto his front, carpet burn assailing his face even as he tried and failed to rise once more. 

Tears had begun to fall as rain from his eyes as his heart thundered such that all other sound vanished amidst the roaring backdrop of terror fueled adrenaline, his lips moving in incomprehensible cries and gibbering pleas that failed to rise above whimpers and groans as he forced himself to move down the hall once more, crawling his way forward once more, mad hope and terror fueling his flight. 

‘I’m glad to see you understand the weight of my words now Elliot, but you don’t need to be so afraid, I am well aware that you were not the only guilty party in this situation, in fact your role was quite minor, but it still warrants punishment. 

Though if that punishment involves your loved ones or not is up to you, if you do what I ask then your family will be spared any attacks by my hand, and I will do the best that I can to mitigate the actions of my fellows, though the most I can promise is a head start to escape them.

Do you want to hear my offer?’

Elliot could swear that there was laughter echoing amidst the agony, mocking and coy it haunted his every step as he tried and failed to force himself forward once more, his strength failing him as he fell down into the sticky carpet once more, though this time he was able to see just what it was that had made it so sticky.

‘All you have to do is take responsibility for your deeds and show that you are willing to earn your second chance, and while this may sound daunting, I assure you that it is not as difficult as you think.’

His eyes widened to the fullest they could, a sob slipping past his lips as he began to cry in full, a soundless shriek leaving his lips as he beheld the scene before him, his already frayed and tattered mind beginning to tear at the seams entirely, though merciful madness was once more denied to him by twin mental grips, forcing him to remain aware and cognizant of what it was that lay before him. 

Heaving sobs slipped past his lips as he began to blubber, his tears blinding him, though doing nothing to lessen the horrible clarity of vision that plagued him as he beheld the scene before him. 

‘All you have to do-’

At last Elliot found his voice, at last he found himself able to speak, and speak he did, a low whisper of a mind on the verge of shattering and yet denied such merciful oblivion, a word that once made his heart swell with joy but now tore at him with talons of burning ichor. 

“Mel-mela-melanie?”

‘-is Die.’

His wife’s severed head stared back at him.

Distantly Elliot noted that chunks of her scalp had been torn away to reveal the white of her skull, which had similarly been fractured and torn in many an area to reveal the pinkish hue of her brain, as though by the maws of some great beast, her eyes, once the most wonderous shade of sea-foam green he had ever seen had shared in her brains fate, as they seemed to have been torn free of their sockets, with not but ichorus tears to flow to mark where the eyes had once been.

Lips adorned with the light blue lipstick that she was so fond of had been torn and split such that her teeth would have been visible in many spots even had her mouth not been fixed into an expression of horrid terror and agony even in death. 

Her body…was everywhere.

Draped over the ceiling fan and across the chairs and couch, caking the walls and ceiling and carpets and even the table and TV, was her body, her skin and bones and blood and organs all laying in a chaotic mess that field the air with a fetid aroma that he was only now aware of, his senses having gone blind to it until he focused on the scene before him. 

With all the strength Elliot had left in his body he forced himself forward on his hands and knees, delicately lifting his beloved’s head to into his lap as heaving sobs tore from his him, filling the silence of the room, cries and anguished howls soon joining them as he found his breath returning to him as quickly as it left his burning lungs. 

Distantly he recalled the words Melanie had spoken to him nearly a week ago, when she had pulled him aside from their construction company’s meeting with that…Thing from the MBCC. 

‘I don’t care what you think about Sinners or about her! If this investigation goes well for us and we get the job, then we can have more doors open to us than ever before, so keep your mouth shut, smile and play nice or you had best be fuckign ready to sleep in that car of yours!’

As Elliot held his wife’s head close to him, his world becoming nothing but the howling cries of anguish that slipped past his lips and the warmth of what blood had yet to dry seeping from her mangled stump and onto him, he could not help but recall how he had thought her to be mad to even consider playing nice around such things as that woman and her pets, but now he knew better, his wife had been right the whole time.

As he cradled Melanie’s head he thought to himself of how it had come to this, how stupid he had been to even consider that fucking stupid plan to be anything more than the ramblings of a delusional fool spoken amidst a shared drunken stupor. 

A moment of joy at seeing a figure collapse to the ground in agony as a bullet tore its way through her chest, two cones of ice cream falling to the ground as she did so all while his cousin remarked how disappointed he was that they didn’t take her alive, was not worth the price of his beloved and his…oh…oh God no…

“Ma-Marquel? Gab-Ga-Gabriel?” He managed to choke out, a whimpering sob barely above a whisper at first, though soon he managed to force his lungs to cry it out louder, hoping beyond hope for a reply, though none there came. 

Tears spilling from his eyes, Elliot delicately set his Melanie’s head down on the ground as he forced himself to rise, his eyes roving over the living room and thankfully not alighting upon the mangled corpses of his children, though of little comfort was this when he was once again faced with the viscera painted walls of his living room, bile barely held back from spilling past his lips as he forced himself to turn and-

Something clattered on the opposite end of the hall…right where his sons shared room was.

It could barely have even been called a plan, being born of his anger at losing such a lucrative contract and his wife’s misplaced anger at him, alongside of his deluded fool cousin and his own hatred for both the Things that the Snake used as it soldiers and the Thing that lead the organization, her refusal of his advances, and the sickness on her face when he had tried to touch her, along with the punch she had given him, having only solidified his disdain for her to the point of the fools idea. 

Without a thought he began to race towards the hall with as much haste as he could muster as he called out his son’s names once more, barely averting falling face first onto the carpet several times as he did so, his mad dash ending when he rammed into the wall at the end of the hallway, his shoulder screaming out in agony, though he paid its desperate cries no mind as he turned to the doorway

Barely had the noise begun to grow before he had lunged forward, smashing aside the door with all the force that he could muster, the wood giving way under him with much greater ease than he thought it would, though he paid this little mind as he lifted his head to see what it was that had caused the commotion.

The first thing he saw was his children, their faces soaked in tears and mucus as they huddled together in a corner, Marquel having taken up the metal baseball bat he had given him as a birthday gift in defense of his brother, uncaring of the blood dripping down from a weeping gash upon his brow and what seemed to be a shattered arm as he stood before the trembling form of Gabriel, the youngest of his sons having closed his eyes and covered his ears as he wailed. 

The second thing that caught his eye was what it was that loomed over his children, and what was currently lunging at him, scything blades for claws aimed directly at his throat even as a maw of needle like teeth opened with a howling shriek to tear out his throat should the claws fail to do their mission. 

With a cry Elliot leapt backwards, narrowly avoiding the claws that came within a hair's breadth of his neck, the fetid reek of unwashed flesh adorned with scars and pockmarks that hung loosely from its unnatural form filling his nose as soulless white eyes set upon a field of sanguine tainted eyes met his own, hunger and hate beyond all sane comprehension burning as hellfire within them as the creature moved forth again. 

Yet helpless prey he was not, for with all the fury he could summon forth to protect his children he lunged forward meeting the beast charge with a shoulder check that sent it sprawling against the base of the bed, the creature barely having had time to right itself before Elliot was atop it, a wordless roar slipping past his lips as he seized its arms by the wrists, his head meeting its own with a headbut that made his vision blur, but prompted the beast to cry out as its head flung backwards.

“RUN NOW!” Elliot yelled out to his sons, barely having time to register the sound of what he assumed to be Gabriel racing past him as his brother cried out for him, the smaller child fleeing past his father and down the hall, with his eldest following him as soon as the beast let out a roar of its own and began to fight back, a snarl slipping past its lips as it slammed its own head forward in full, the headbut being made more damaging as the beast’s fangs sunk into the tip of his nose, the creature throwing its head back as it tore the chunk of flesh free from his face with a cry of pain. 

Though soon the pain faded as adrenaline seized him in an iron grip, his vision tunneling until he could see not but the creature before him, his hearing becoming not but the sounds of his thundering heart and the shrieking howls of the beast as the two fought, furniture being flung aside and shattered as the two grappled, Elliot narrowly avoiding the needle like fangs as he held the beasts hands by the wrist so as to avoid its claws.

For a time their battle seemed to be a stalemate, neither gaining nor losing ground until at last an opportunity came for Elliot to gain the upperhand in their struggle, as one of the boys stray socks, something he had reminded them time and again to pick up, was caught under the beast’s foot with the creature slipping backwards as Ellito took advantage of the space made to relinquish his grip on the beasts arms as he lifted his leg up and brought his foot down as hard as he could onto the creatures head.

A loud crack filled the room as the beast’s head met contact with the hard wood of the dresser, a whine that soon bled into a shrieking cry slipping past the beast’s lips as it tried to rise and lunge forward once more, only to be denied the chance as Elliot lifted up the closest object he could find, in this case Marquel’s computer monitor, and brought it down with as much force as he could on the beast’s head.

The first blow seemed to stun the creature as it fell backwards once more, its hands lifting up to shield itself from the following attack as Elliot rained down strike after strike, the monitor cracking and fracturing as he brought it down again and again, acrid brown blood that reeked of rot and decay tainting the monitor and the beast’s arms and the ground around it as the broken glass of the monitor, shattered after a hard blow, bit into its skin.

Howls and cries slipped past the beast’s lips as it fought to defend itself, one clawed hand slipping from over it face to grasp a handful of dirty clothes that it cast at Elliot’s face, the sudden act making Elliot lose his momentum as he had to swat aside the clothes, only to be met with the beast ramming into him with full force, the blow sending him crashing into the ground as the creature took the chance leap past him, cries of agony slipping past its lips as it fled in the same direction as his boys had run. 

A roar slipping past his lips, Elliot forced himself to his feet as he grasped the broken monitor once more before he tore out of the room, slamming into the door to his and Melanie’s room as he did so, any thoughts of racing inside to acquire the hand-gun he had under his bed being tossed aside as he heard a commotion near his front door, adrenaline and rage driving him forth to abandon all logic as he raced down the hall to where he could see the beast trying to claw open the door, one hand hanging limply at an off angle and the other so slick with blood it seemed to have given the door a new paint job.

Seeing a chance to finish this battle, Elliot raced forward, the monitor raised high as he prepared to-

*CRASH*

The wall beside the door erupted in a shower of drywall and plaster, a hulking form lunging forward with speed that it should not have been able to possess,one hand, the size of Elliot’s own head seizing the monitor and tearing it from his grasp before he could bring it down, the titanic hand seizing his wrist with a bone breaking grip as the other collided with his face with all the force of a sledgehammer, his vision swimming as darkness lashed hungrily at the edges of his sight for a moment before the figure brought another blow directly into his stomach, the blow nearly making him vomit as he staggered back before being jerked forward and hit once more.

The last sight he saw before darkness claimed him, was the creature that had butchered his wife and nearly torn apart his sons as well, seeming to flicker and shimmer, its form distorting and changing before his eyes at impossible speeds as soon he saw the form the creature had taken. 

His wife.

His Melanie caked in her own blood, a broken hand being held to her side as figures adorned in full black armor pulled her from the home.

Armor adorned with the symbol of a silver double-headed serpent coiled around an M. 

Line Break.

How long ago had that been…the passage of time had become so distorted to him that Elliot could no longer tell whether it had been hours, days, or even weeks since the day when his world had been torn apart.

He could only recall in vague distorted flickers the way that he had awoken in a brightly lit room, his arms and legs restrained as he sat bound to a chair, a woman with aqua colored eyes that seemed fit to glaze over in permafrost from the sheer intensity of the frigid glare she had fixed upon him,  standing across from him, her fingers clutching a clipboard so tightly that he thought it might snap in twain under the strain of her grip.

Vaguely, he noted how her lips were moving, each syllable seeming to come through gritted teeth as she spoke to him, yet her words were unintelligible, as though spoken through great volumes of water, with only the emotion present in each word reaching him, for no matter how hard it was that the woman tried to maintain the facade of a professional there was only so much she could prevent the seemingly ever growing fury that had taken root within her from seeping into her words.

Dimly he noted that she was not alone, his eyes were barely able to pick up the presence of two other figures standing with the woman, one whose gender he could not discern stood with a shield attached to their arm, their blue eyes were narrowed near to slits as visibly restrained themself from taking action.

The third figure was one he could not fully see, only vaguely registering that there was a figure steeped in the shadows in a corner of the room, a gaze as sharp as a razor blade fixated on him, with all the lethality of the same blade being drug across an exposed jugular, as the figure silently watched the going ons.

Faintly, he thought he smelled something floral…something familiar though he could not tell where from, when he focused on that corner.

“*** *** ******** ** **!?” 

The aqua eyed woman snapped at him, the words were  yet still unintelligible, though the sheer weight of the frigid anger that coated them in permafrost made all too clear that whatever it was she had said was something that required his attention, though he knew not how to respond.

But Elliot could not respond, his mouth refusing to move under his command, no words he wanted to say leaving his lips as the woman visibly grew yet more angered at his silence, with her seemingly at last losing the battle with her patience as she moved to stand before him, the weight of her glare increasing till he felt he would be ground into dust beneath it were she to not avert it soon. 

“******* **!” 

Again she spoke, and yet again he could not understand her, the distortion that enveloped her words seeming to mock him as he struggled to try and discern just what it was that was happening at this moment, his mind and body weighted down yet still by some form of torpor which served to only further hinder him from responding to the woman or making sense of what was going on in the room.

The woman seemed to only grow in her fury at his silence, her teeth visibly gritting against themselves for a moment before she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, an ominous stillness, like that before a great storm broke, enveloping her form before she turned about on her heel and began to walk away, seemingly calling out to the figure by the door as she moved to leave the room.

Desperately, Elliot raged against whatever force it was that held his tongue still, trying with all of the might that his enfeebled body possessed to try and speak up, to try and plead for answers to what was going on, where he was, and why he was bound…

And this time his body acquiesced to his demand, though not in the way he wished.

“She deserved it.”

At first he did not know where the words came from, for he could not believe that he was capable of speaking words so heavily coated in frigid acid as the those three words had been, but when he saw the woman go still, the eyes of her guard widening as their lips parted in surprise, he knew that they had come from him.

But he had not spoken them, Elliot knew that, he had not thought those words, nor had he tried to say them, so why was it that they had-

“What did you just say?”

At last the distortion passed, the words emerging from the depths of some sea of unintelligible gibberish to grace his ears with the frigid fury of a blizzard as the woman turned her head to look at him, the lone aqua eye that was visible seeming fit to catch alight with a flame of arctic frigidity as she gazed at him.

Beside her, elliot noted how the guard’s jaw had clenched their arms visibly straining with the effort it took to hold themself back from lunging forward and hitting him with their shield with all of the strength that they could muster, something they were prevented from doing but by their own professionalism.

Though that thin strand was in danger of soon snapping as their own temper began to grow. 

From the shadows across the room there came shuffling sounds as unseen figures clenched their weapons and readied themselves to lunge should the order be given or their tempers boil over too much.

Though none of this horrified Elliot more than the realization that it was not so much his body could not speak, as much as it was that he could not speak through his body, his form moving of its own volition as it spoke once more, his struggles against the words that began to slip past his lips being drowned out by the flicker of a blazing triangle and a wordless command that echoed as thunder in his mind.

‘OBEY.’

And obey his body did, as words began to pour forth once more, each syllable prompting the horror Elliot felt to grow, his eyes kept from widening in terror only by the commands that seemed to have seized fast his body in an all consuming grip.

“I said that whore you call your ‘Chief’ deserved what happened to her, all she had to do was spread her legs for someone like she does for all of you freaks and none of thi-” His words died on his lips as something struck him across the face with enough force to cast himself and his chair to the ground, blood beginning to drip from a split lip across his cheek as hands clad in leather gloves seized him by the collar and lifted him up as the shadows violently shifted and stirred, whispers of malice baying for blood held firm by a silent order from another.

Elliot looked up, his eyes meeting the aqua colored eyes of the woman who had eben interrogating him a moment earlier, her eyes were wide and her pupils shrunken to pinpricks as she held her clipboard before her, ready to swing it with all the force she could muster, though it was not her who had stuck him, for such an honor belonged to the third figure, who now stood before him in full.

A lengthy cane of silver metal was wordlessly lifted up to allow for the figure, a woman clad in a white hat with a feather upon it, a white coat, which hung loosely from her shoulders, a purple shirt with a dark plum colored tie, a chest harness, and a gray skirt and high black boots, to wipe away the blood and saliva that lay atop its base with a handkerchief held in black leather glove clad hands. 

With an unspoken command she directed her only visible eye, a green that seemed to have been engulfed in the frigid malice of the 9th circle of hell itself, to the guard who had stood beside the door, the figure offering a silent nod before they stepped forward, the crunching of the ground under their boots and the way the light cast their form in shadow as they loomed over him only serving to make Elliot’s heart hammer yet louder still as he braced for the attack to come.

Yet no attack came, instead the guard moved to seize him in an iron grip, self-control of near divine proportion battling with an inferno that burned within their eyes, waves of hellfire coming alight and threatening to sear away his flesh and bone and even his very soul should that control fail, though for now the rage was throttled, held fast in place by will and restraint alone as she sat him back up, pausing but to direct their gaze at the cane wielding woman after she had done so.

“Cinnabar, would you please take our little Songbird and go and get some rest,” her words were delivered in a tone that brook no dissent, steel as unyielding as it was sharp forming each words as she moved to stand before him, bidding the guard, Cinnabar, to move aside.

Again his lips opened of their own accord, words of hateful condemnation forming atop his tongue and readied to spill out yet again, though this time it was upon his own tongue they died for just as the first few slurs had begun to slip past his lips had their gazes met.

The fly looked into the eyes of the Spider.

Elliot felt his heart freeze, blood turning to glacial water as eyes of frigid emerald bore into his very soul like the fangs of a spider, faintly he noted the scar that rested above one her eyes, though he paid it little mind as the longer he stared into those eyes, the more he thought he felt the sensation of spider legs crawling upon him, strands of silk binding him fast as he tried and failed to get himself free from a suffocating grip as the woman watched him writhe.

Salvation from the terror that had seized him came in the most unlikely of forms as a voice spoke up from behind the woman.

“Director tha-” The Adjutant was cut off by the woman rapping her cane on the ground, a small series of spider-web cracks radiating from where the metal tip had struck the concrete below them, her hat now covered both of her eyes as she took a deep breath before she turned to look over her shoulder at the Adjutant, aqua meeting emerald as he silently awed at the Adjutant enduring the stare without flinching, let alone quaking as he did. 

For a moment their gazes were locked, with the somewhat smaller woman nodding her head at last as she turned to allow for the other figure to escort her out, though just as she had begun to walk away, and the woman’s gaze had turned back towards him, the smaller woman called out once more.

“Director.” The taller woman turned her head just enough to both keep an eye on him and to look at the woman over her shoulder, the smaller woman pausing to take a deep breath to steel herself before she spoke once more.

“Should I send… them in?” 

Again there came a brief pause, stillness such that Elliot dared not to even breath for fear of disturbing it enveloping the room in an all encompassing grip, a silence so deafening that even the thundering of his heart seemed to be swallowed amidst the cacophony of total silence.

And then the silence broke, words spoken with such naked cruel delight that Elliot could not fight the whimper that tore from his lips the phantom control of his body allowing for the action seemingly out of mockery of his plight as the woman turned her gaze towards him, her lips curling up into the smile of  a victorious predator.

The smile of a spider seeing a particularly juicy fly caught in its web. 

“Go ahead, the more the merrier.” 

The aqua haired woman offered a nod before she and the guard left the room, barely a few moments seeming to have passed before he once more heard the sound of approaching footsteps, the cane wielding woman that had been called ‘Director’ by the aqua haired woman not bothering to turn as a truly titanic figure entered the room.

Hair like midnight fell around eyes of burning silver, a sneering mask-

Silver eyes glared down at him from above a demonic mask, veins of blazing scarlet spread across the figure's face like fingers of hellsfire reaching out to caress them with a lover’s possessiveness. 

No.

No, no, no, no-

With but a pair of swift strides the woman had entered the room and moved to take her place beside the door, her eyes watching him like a ravenous beast would a cut of choice meat, bloodlust and hunger seeming to be held at bay but by the grace of some form of unseen restraint-

She leaned against the pillar behind him as he looked at the case before him, her gaze the silent promise of a guillotine blade as he fought down his sobs and terror as he tried to steady his trembling hands enough to open the case before him.

If she was here…if this beast was here then-

“Well, this is quite rare, Director Langley.” 

A voice that would haunt his nightmares till the day he died filled the room, soft and gentle, so delicate that it seemed as though a stray breeze could silence it forever, and yet that fragility did nothing to lessen the terror Elliot felt as a woman entered the room. 

Black heels clicking on the floor as a figure clad in a white dress and large coat entered the room-

His face was smashed into the stone floor with such force his vision swam, blood filling his mouth as a silent cry of pain slipped from his lips as he was made to prostrate himself before the figure sitting before him, his pain filled gaze and humiliated state reflected back at him from the mirror sheen of those shoes as the frail figure gazed at him with the weight of black holes behind her empty eyes. 

Light purple eyes met his own as rose colored lips curled into a small smile-

She watched him with a gaze more reminiscent of a statue than that of a human, no flicker of anger or joy, sorrow or fear, pleasure or pain daring to cross her features as he looked at the wedding ring she had laid on the table before him.

“Normally, you can’t stand to be in the same room as me, let alone work with me.” That ever so delicate voice spoke up once more as the woman moved to stand with this Director Langley, a small smile on her face as the other woman regarded her with an expression of such faux joviality a blind man could have seen through it.

“Don’t get used to it, Hush.” The way the Director spoke that name, Hush, it was as though it physically made her ill to even utter the first few syllables of it, let alone the whole word, something which the smaller woman seemed to pay no mind to as she patiently waited for her to continue. 

“I just want to make sure we get as much as we can out of him and your… talents alongside of our dear therapist will make sure that we get everything we need and more.” Again there came a tone of disgust and displeasure, her smile slipping into a thin scowl for but a moment before she turned her head towards the other figure that had entered the room. 

A woman holding a golden pocket watch stepped forward, her long hair flowing with every step she took, the coat she wore over one shoulder doing nothing to hide her form from his eyes, though it was not her beauty that made Elliot gaze at her, no that honor belonged to the look in her eyes as she drew nearer to him.

The anticipatory look of a predator who has cornered their meal at last. 

“Well then,” She spoke up, this new woman’s voice was the epitome of calm and elegant, and yet there was beneath that veneer of civility something else, something which made Elliot yearn to wrest control from his body and flee as the woman drew nearer to him even as the the grip on him-

‘OBEY.’

- yet firm remained.

For a moment he thought he saw one of the white clad woman’s eyes gain a marking, a white triangle amidst a spreading field of crimson, as her small smile grew ever so slightly into one that was both ever so gentle and yet ever so cruel as she looked at him.

The Director wordlessly lifted her cane up, allowing for Elliot to watch as she calmly tapped a hidden button on the top of it, allowing for a small compartment to slide open, a small black cylinder was removed from the compartment, with the woman opening it to reveal a syringe and a thin vial filled with an ochre colored fluid.

As the Director filled the syringe with the liquid, the newly arrived woman stepped forward, her long blond hair seeming caught in a spectral breeze as she ever do delicately reached into her own coat pocket to retrieve a golden pocket watch, the light glinting off of her glasses as her lips curled in vicious glee as Elliot trembled within the confines of his mind even as his body raged against his will. 

The curses and slurs fell from his lips as water until he felt the sharp sting of the syringe being stabbed into the side of his neck, emerald eyes watching with unspoken delight as his vision began to swim and blur, spectral hands reaching out to hold him fast as words once more became distorted as reality swam around him.

The final words he heard before oblivion swallowed him were-

“Shall we begin?”

Line Break

Shalom smiled as she saw the man before her, his body coated in sweat as tremors wracked his frame, his eyes bloodshot with pupils shrunken to not but a pinprick of darkness as his terror held him fast in an unyielding grip, his chest heaving as sobs and gibbering lunacies spilled forth from his lips in place of please and curses and slurs, the nonsensical babbling bringing forth no small amount of delight within the Hush. 

Idly, Shalom turned her head to inspect her compatriots, watching as Chameleon wordlessly tucked her pen back into her coat pocket alongside of her notebook, a series of notations regarding both the efficiency of their method of extracting information and an analysis of what could have been improved adorning it in the psychiatrists’ normal elegant penmanship. 

On the other side of the room was Langley, the Spider having taken a seat as she cleaned off her cane once more, wiping away small amount of blood and mucus that adorned it’s base after the man had made a rather tasteless remark concerning their Chief’s sexuality, the Spider and Rahu’s reply being something which had made Shalom exceptionally grateful for the absence of Schorl, though she wondered if the price she would be made to pay would be worth such an opportunity.

For a moment, her thoughts flickered back nearly a week ago, to when she had been leaving her room to visit her Chief as she rested in the Hospital Wing, to when she had heard the sound of footsteps approaching her, the form of her little Christina causing a small smile to cross her face as her detective walked in silence with her for several moments, Shalom feeling quite grateful for the silence as it allowed her to try and clear her mind and focus on-

  Christina began to hum, her lips did not move much as from her throat there came out notes of a delicate and gentle song, tender and full of compassion, a lullaby that would bid even the most stubborn into the sojourn of dreams…a song that Shalom had heard long ago…a song that had haunted her nightmares since she had heard it.

Her eyes had barely had a chance to widen before her Schorl fell to the ground, defenses failing in but an instant as onyx quartz cracked on impact with the ground as Christina continued to walk forward, even as Shalom stood rooted in place, the detective turning to look over her shoulder at her with a small smile before she beckoned her to follow her.

A low chuckle slipped past Christina’s lips as Shalom moved to stand beside her, the detective reaching out her hand to entangle it with Shalom's own, though the Hush reacted in a way she would never have done to her Detective, with her tearing her hand free as though the skin, a perfect mirror of her detective’s own, was a vice of scalding iron, a look of disgust crossing her face as the woman beside her paused to look at her with a hurt look on her face.

“S-Shalom? What’s wrong? D-did I do something w-wrong?” Christina said, her voice trembling with hurt as her lips curved downwards into a trembling frown, her eyes beginning to grow moist, a sight that should have made shalom feel the urge to reach out and embrace her detective, yet instead only made the feeling of visceral disgust she had felt upon her realization grow.

  “Stop. I told you not to wear her form around me.” The Hush growled out, her lips thinning as her eyes narrowed into a cutting glare at the woman who stood beside her, there was something she so rarely displayed in her words coating them, a sincere and honest emotion called forth from the very depths of her being, said emotion being a feeling of such deep seated disdain that it left her body trembling as it enveloped her, her rage only growing as the thing before her dropped it’s mask of faux hurt, lips curving upwards to release a laugh that normally would have made Shalom feel at ease, and yet now only made her feel dread.

“ Alright, alright my dear, ” The voice was wrong, it did not belong to the woman before her, low and sultry, velvet coated in saccharine sin that dripped and pooled around the young woman, each word perfectly designed to cause a haze to form in the minds of those who heard it, the unnatural allure that coated them enough to make anyone submit, though for Shalom it only made her disgust grow.

  “No more games.” In less than a blink her detective’s eyes had changed, an unnatural blue that seemed to burn with an internal light of unknown origin gazing into her own with such inscrutable intent that it left the Hush feeling the urge to take a step back and flee, though she was able to easily overcome the faint voice that bid her to run as she locked eyes with the…thing that was wearing the form of her detective.

  “Let’s talk, shall we Shalom?” Those eyes had burned her, scorched and seared and froze and tore at her very being even as they soothed and cradled and mended her, the words echoed in her head as though the thunderous shout of the Almighty itself,  something she often thought to be not far from the truth as the entity before her turned to look at her in full, a warm smile that left chills racing down Shalom’s spine gracing its face as it spoke up.

“ Let’s talk about how I can help you clean up this mess. ” Spoke the Devil to the Hush.

A sigh slipped past Shalom’s lips as she came out of her reverie, the Hush calling upon all of her experience to bury the unease she felt into the depths of her being, the dread at what the woman had done to blind the all-seeing eyes of Paradeisos swept aside in her desire to see the threat to her Chief removed, perhaps there would be a price to pay later on, but for now she would do all she could to insure that her Chief was safe, and should the price be high then she knew that Coquelic, Rahu, Christina and Langley would be able to see this mission through to the end.

  After taking a slight breath to steady herself, Shalom gently took out her tablet and began to make some amendments to her notes, sifting out old and new information automatically, even as her mind wandered to how all of this had begun, to when-

A warm hand entangled with her own, platinum eyes meeting hers as rose colored lips curved upwards into a smile that made her have to fight down the urge to pull out her camera and immortalize the scene in one of her many albums. 

Dimly she noted how she had been pulled to what she noted was some form of cafe, with the platinum eyed woman pulling out her chair and helping Shalom to sit at the table, the frailer white clad woman smiling up at her beloved Chief as she leaned down to place her lips to Shalom’s brow, the pair sharing a low chuckle as both of their eyes drifted shut, with them pausing where they were, Persephone basking in Shalom’s presence just as she did the same. 

Though all good things must one day come to an end, and in this case they came to an end with her Chief pulling away from her as she went to head into the cafe, wordlessly smiling at Shalom over her shoulder before she entered the building, the Hush taking the time to calm her own beating heart as she silently cast her gaze on a part of the crowd where she knew she felt ever so familiar eyes on her. 

Today was supposed to be her day with Persephone, but she knew it was too much to ask for her ever so loyal dog to not follow her, though she did admit it was amusing watching Rahu attempt to contend with the various men and women that were ogling her and attempting to flirt with her, Rosa, who had somehow been roped into this surveillance mission, seemed to be rapidly losing her battle with her own humor as Rahu once more whirled around to look at a trio of blushing and giggling young women.

A small smile crossed her face as Shalom shook her head for a moment at the scene before she heard her Chief call out to her, the Hush turning in her chair to see the Chief staggering towards her, seemingly battling with a pair of untied shoelaces and the inability to set down the pair of ice-cream cones she was holding, her battle with gravity seeming fit to nearly end with her triumph as she drew near to Shalom, a smile on her face-

*CRACK*

Something wet and warm splattered across Shalom’s face as she saw her Chief stagger, the frozen confectionery slipping from her hand as she swayed for but a moment before she fell to her knees and then her front, a pool of crimson beginning to-

“Shalom!”

She jolted to her senses, her eyes wide as she took a single low breath as she regained control of herself, her mask flickering back into place as though it had never faded in the first place as she tucked her tablet into her coat once more before she turned to look at the woman that had called out to her.

Rahu’s eyes raked over her face, picking apart every microscopic detail that they could as she tried to discern what it was that plagued her Mistress, with the answer seeming to come to her as she offered a low sigh of her own, barely audible behind her mask as she moved towards Shalom, the clicking of her heels on the concrete flooring being the only sound in the room, aside from the gibbering of the fool bound to the chair.

A brief sweep of the room revealing the absence of Langley and Chameleon, the Hush taking a moment to mentally berate herself for having allowed herself to lose herself in recollection, the gradual restoration of her emotions must have been taking more of a toll on her than she thought was what swept through her mind as she felt Rahu’s hands come to rest on her shoulders.

“The Spider and that Lizard have gone to get everything set up to go after the rest of this group, I told them you were busy thinking over everything and would join them in a few minutes.” Rahu said as she looked over her lady, a small smile from Shalom and a single step forward being all the prompt her ever loyal hound needed to give her a brief yet tight embrace, a much longer one could wait until later on when their current business was concluded.

“Thank you my dear, please go and let them know I’ll be joining them in a moment, I simply need to verify some information before I do so.” Shalom spoke up to her faithful guard, allowing for her hand to delicately cup her cheek for a moment before she let it fall to her side as she turned around, Rahu moving to fulfill her request as the the steady rapping of her heels gradually faded away until the door was at last shut and she was alone.

Or rather, she would have been alone were it not for the whimpering hype of flesh that sat before her, the sound of their pained cries would have made her feel something akin to pity were she not aware of the source of it, as such in the place of pity there came something approaching cruel delight in the form of a low hum that slipped past Shalom’s lips.

With a languid stride born of the desire to delight in the scene before her for but a moment longer, Shalom stood before the trembling form of Elliot, her lips finding their usual shape of an empty smile as she delicately reached out her hand and seized the trembling man by the chin, tilting his head to where he was once more forced to meet her gaze.

A part of her felt disgust at the way she felt such delight at the man’s cry of dread, knowing fully well how her Persephone would view such an action should she learn of it, but as she had done so many times before, and would do many times more, she hushed that part of her into silence.

After all, what Peresphone did not know would hurt no one’s heart.

‘What’s one more lie, to keep seeing that smile?’ Was the thought that allowed Shalom peace of mind, the knowledge that her actions, no matter how abhorrent, had brought about safety and stability for her beloved and those she called dear to her own heart, was more than enough to grant her a clear conscience as she did what she did best, what she was born to do.

Fix problems.

“To tell you the truth, I was trying to leave this part of me behind,” Shalom began as she lifted up her hand, ever so delicately cupping Elliot’s cheek in her hand, her tender grip did nothing to conceal the malice that swirled within her eyes, darkening them near to pitch as droplets of blood began to trail from where her nails pierced his flesh.

No words slipped past Elliot’s lips, merely another pained whimper that soon trailed off into a groan as Shalom’s other hand delicately reached up and wrapped itself around his throat, the Hush feeling nothing but cold satisfaction as she felt the man’s pulse thundering beneath her grip. 

“But people like you always find some way to drag this part of me back out…” She trailed off for a moment, allowing a weary sigh to slip past her lips before her mask returned to its natural position as the Mark flared into existence, the symbol reflecting in Elliot’s eyes as the man went rigid in her grip. 

Chameleon’s subliminal commands and manipulations would insure that the man before her remained unable to say a word about what had happened to him to anyone, and her own Mark would further reinforce the indoctrinations to the absolute of their control over the man, alongside of insuring that only the persona that had been crafted by Chameleon and herself would remain to see the light of day, while the true Elliot remained a prisoner in his own body.

Of course, she was not completely without some facsimile of mercy, his family would live to see a bright future, as she had promised him, though the mental scars would linger for many years but in time she was confident they would heal, and that none of them would go on to attempt the same foolishness their former patriarch had, plans already in motion to put them firmly under her gentle grip. 

Well, gentle so long as they obeyed that is. 

Likewise, she would insure that Elliot also got to live, perhaps he would even be able to see his family sometimes, and not the monsters that his other persona would claim them to be whenever it saw them, though his inability to tell them the truth of what had happened to him, along with the trauma of his actions and the revelation of his part in the attempt on Her Persephone’s life and the potential backlash they could face were it not for her mercy, would keep them from fully trusting him.

And now here she held the man, letting but one last flare of the Mark carve itself into his mind as she offered a final layer of subliminal messages and commands to insure that the man before her would never again no the beauty of a clear mind, or the warmth of the sun for that matter, ever again.

Those thoughts should have made her feel sick, to feel nauseous as she supposed was only right for someone committing so great a cruelty, yet instead it only brought her a vague sense of satisfaction at a job well done, and a sense of…well…she was not quite certain what to call the other feeling, some form of exasperation perhaps at the fact she had to do this, or perhaps it was a sense of justification?

She would have to sit down and sort out her emotions when she got the chance, perhaps she could even enlist the aid of Coquelic in this endeavor, the temptation of Flower Cakes and some new seeds for her little botanical garden should do the trick in buying her aid and silence, or perhaps she could approach that Flower that her Christina cannot help but wax poetic over.

But such matters could wait until later, as she at last allowed Elliot to slip from her grip and fall to the ground, the man curling into a ball as Shalom walked away, pausing but to offer one last glance over her shoulder at the shattered man behind her before she left him to the guards.

That the guards showed as little mercy to the man as Rahu had when she had found him, gave Shalom a sense of satisfaction, truly her Chief had chosen the most loyal of subordinates to stand at her side, the screening the Spider and her had put them through only ensuring these most loyal of souls were there to defend the one so dear to them.

Now she just had to hope they didn’t decide to introduce Elliot to any of the other Sinners before they got him to his cell, granted it would be no true loss to her if they did, but it would be quite inconvenient to have to clean up the ensuring mess and make certain that the Adjutant did not rat her out.

And speaking of the Adjutant, there she was, leaning against the wall of the hallway that lay between her and the room where her Rahu was waiting for her alongside of Chameleon and Langley, the aqua haired woman’s eyes meeting her own as she spoke up.

“I don’t know what you did to him, and for the sake of my peace of mind I’m not going to ask.” Nightingale spoke up, a sigh slipping from her lips as she reached into her pocket and pulled out a personal phone, her fingers ghosting over it for a moment before she spoke up again.

“Persephone’s vitals are improving, but she is still unconscious. Dr. Iron thinks she’ll need a few more days in that pod before she can be transferred to a normal bed, but she still can’t say when she could wake up.” Another sigh slipped past Nightingale’s lips as her fingers twitched once more, a flicker of moisture glazing her eyes before it was wiped away.

Shalom stood in silence as she processed the information, her mask slipping enough to allow for a small frown to cross her face as she kept her gaze fixed on the woman before her, allowing for the adjutant to take a moment to compose herself before she spoke.

“When was the last time you slept…Nightingale?” It was one of the very few times she allowed for herself to say the other woman’s name as opposed to her title, the other woman blinking at her in confusion for a moment before she offered another tired sign, her hand reaching up to rub at her eyes as she spoke up. 

“I…I don’t know…maybe 2 days, but I can’t say for certain.” Shalom tilted her head for a moment, a small sigh slipping past her lips before she walked towards her rival, allowing for her hand to rest itself on her shoulder, a small sense of amusement slipping into her heart as she saw Nightingale jolt slightly at her touch as she looked at her in confusion. 

“Go and get some rest,” Shalom spoke, a rare hint of compassion for the woman that had so vexed her upon her arrival at Minos and her attempts at gaining such a spot of favor with Persephone as the aqua haired woman held.

Nightingale said nothing for a moment as she looked at Shalom, before she let her head fall back against the wall, her hat wrinkling under the grip of her hand as it tightened for just a moment before it relaxed near to the point of letting it slip free as the Adjutant let her eyes drift shut for a few moments before she pushed herself off of the wall, allowing for Shalom to step back as she put her hat back on.

“I’ll be with Persephone, maybe I’ll be able to sleep if I can see that she’s alright.” The adjutant sighed as she began to walk away, a small sense of amusement flickering in her as she saw the way Shalom re-affixed her mask the moment the words slipped from her lips, a sure sign of her hiding her annoyance at the words.

“Give her my regards and tell Coquelic to get some sleep as well, some of her Flowers can fill in for her.” Shalom spoke up as she turned and began to walk away, though her steps were halted as she heard the Adjutant call out to her once more.

“Shalom.” Nightingale said, pausing as she looked over her shoulder at the woman behind her. “I know that you have some way of making sure that none of this will reach Persephone, that nothing you, Langley and Chameleon have done will reach her, hell maybe you even have a way of making the Sinners forget the things you’ve done, or at least keep quiet about them.”

Shalom said nothing, her silence being all the answer Nightingale needed before she turned her head and spoke up once more.

“You can trust Wynn, she’ll do everything she can to help keep Persephone safe, just don’t make her get her hands too dirty…she’s got too good of a heart for the kind of things you and the others have done.” Shalom nodded slightly at the words, already aware of the gentle heart the young woman possessed, something which reminded her of her Christina, and as such endeared her to the Hush in its own way.

“Shalom…Hush…” Nightingale continued, pausing for a moment as she took a deep breath before she continued-

“Give them Hell.”

The silence that enveloped the hall was all the answer she needed, the adjutant continuing her walk away as The Hush gazed over her shoulder at her, lips pulled into a thin frown as she made adjustments to her mental profile of the woman for just a moment before she resumed her own walk.

Perhaps there was hope for the Adjutant to become a truly worthy aid to the Chief afterall, but that was something she could ruminate over later on, for now she allowed for her mask to firmly fall into place and for the mindset of The Hush to overtake that of Shalom as she headed off to continue her work. 

Though, before she let that fledgling humanity, so long ago lost and so recently regained, slip away she allowed herself one last emotional thought, accompanied by a small chuckle as she opened the door to see Langley looking over her terminal as Chameleon cleaned her glasses and Rahu looked up at her. 

‘Ah, the things we do for love.’

Fin.

Author’s Note: Well, here we are everyone. We hope you enjoyed this merry mess of a chapter and that it lived up to the standard we have set for this fic. 

We apologize beforehand if it is not up to par with our previous chapters or if it has made any of you uncomfortable in reading it, admittedly this chapter took us quite a while to do as we had to try and get into the mindset of what someone like Shalom would do when angered, a task which is exceptionally difficult given not only her complex nature but also the state of her sense of humanity and morality, or rather her budding sense thereof. 

Part of us feels we failed to deliver simply by not being able to adequately reflect our own take on the dreaded Hush and how she has changed for both better and worse in the setting of this fic, that being her growing morality and humanity being mirrored by her growing attachment and fixation on Persephone and her willingness to do truly horrible things to protect her and the rest of those she loves. 

In such a verse we felt it easier to explore her anger, and the ramifications of earning it, from both the point of view of the recipient of said anger, and then end with the point of view of Shalom herself as she thinks over what she did and why she did it.

Please feel free to let us know what we did wrong and how we could improve in the comments below, as like we said this one was a tough one to write for the reasons listed above and several more, among them being this chapter taking a radically different approach than what we originally had in mind for it. 

With all of that said, stay safe and take care all.

[multiversetravelingjournalist]

Path to Nowhere: Cults, Cultures, and Cants project.

Cults, Cultures, and Cants is a fanfic worldbuilding project between me and some friends on the internet. It aims to deepen, expand, change, and add to the lore and setting of the Path to Nowhere gacha game, where the world is ending and hope gives way to mania, from the streets of DisCity to the white sands deep into BR-000 and beyond, as I, the creator, see fit.

Some things to expect of this project:

Cults: Sinners will have the ability to form "cults" by bonding with anyone of a certain mindset. Not unlike the chiefs Shackles. This system will strengthen the abilities "Patron" Sinner and grant new ones to themselves and their "Acolytes".

Cultures: This project will go deep into the nitty gritty of cultures, subcultures, and counter cultures that form within this setting, including their symbols, values, norms, and works.

Cants: Due to the effects of spiritually bonding with a patron, certain speech patterns within the cult will warp and change to the point of being unintelligible between members of one cult, another, and the mainstream cult that is DisCity. In reality, this is due to me, the creator, being a conlanger at heart and always looking for a chance to cram conlangs into any setting I get my hands on.

This is first and foremost a passion project. Anyone interested in this should not expect too much of it. However, I was never meant for the mainstream fandom anyways and love going my own way, so do expect to see some potentially risky (but still safe) head-canons to come into play. Other than that, I look forward to sharing this with you all and, hopefully, get some feedback and ideas from any and all of you who might be reading this.

< - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - > < - >

Editor's note: I changed the name of this project to Cults, Cultures, and Cants. This is purely for aesthetic purposes and that I love the alliteration.

I bolded the beginning of each explanation to separate the two and tie them to the title of this project.

I have also added some tags to better reach out to the community and have this circulate.

[risilence]

Hello everyone! I am still writing hahahaha I just get a bit distracted, but i promise I will go back to the other stories I've written ʕ๑╹ᴥ╹ʔ They will get completed!! Just give me some time ʕ ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥`ʔ

Originally I was going to wait to post this new story, but you know I decided to add another meal to my bill. ʕ•̀ω•́ʔ✧ Because I haven't learnt my lesson! Plus I want to give back to the RahuChief nation!

So without further a-do please see the link below for the full chapter and of course the small sample. I hope you guys enjoy it ʕっ•ᴥ•ʔっ💕

Please Read ME!

Night's Guard

Rahu’s memories from that point on became blurry and skittish. A mixture of her own screams, of her sword plunging into bodies, being slashed and pierced, biting someone’s face, Rahu’s mind was dyed red among the endless carnage that befell her. She couldn’t accept that she had failed, that her comrades had died, that she had lost Paradeiso’s first stronghold of this war. Especially one that was constantly emphasized as a crucial boundary that was necessary to block the barbarians of the east.

Back in her present mind, Rahu laughed emptily at the collage of memories. The mental angst driving her insane as she limped away with the undeserved title of sole survivor.

For whatever reason, she had somehow lived. Only managing to escape when she was tossed head first into an open barrel and kicked out of the way by someone who no longer held a distinguished face or voice. The barrel’s speedy getaway only stopping when she collided with a tree. The barrel, having kept her safe and hidden from the enemy’s eyes, shattered on impact. The force slamming Rahu’s head against the bark and granting her the freedom to lay unconsciously within the tall thick bushes that disguised her.

When she had awoke, Rahu was greeted with the smell of crisped bodies and burnt wood. She needed time to sort herself out before she had finally regained some sense of time and place. Not wasting another second, Rahu grabbed the nearest sword loitering around and ran back to her post. Ready to join the battle again if her team hadn’t already pushed back the enemy.

Preparing to fight again, Rahu couldn’t envision her team losing. Call it absolute fate or blind devotion, Rahu had never once believed Paradeiso would be defeated at any point of the start of this war. Only to drop her weapon when she saw the aftermath of this surprised attack.

There was nothing left of her fortress nor of her comrades.

Rahu could only think of one thing to do now at the face of such a defeat.

Report back.

So, Rahu moved. She moved with no sense of direction, with no care in her steps, her eyes hollow as she pushed on by mere instinctual duty. Slipping and stumbling as her mind attacked her with flashes of the battle, of her actions, of the aftermath.

She needed to tell someone, to warn them of how advanced their enemy truly were, but something deep inside of Rahu was dead. Dead and clouding her thinking as she eventually fell off the woods edge and plunged herself into a river.

Gasping and fighting with the little strength she held, Rahu was tossed and pushed along its currents as they moved her further away from the nearest town. Her last thoughts surprisingly peaceful as she believed that such an ending was more deserved for a solider like her.

…

When Rahu opened her eyes, the first thing that overwhelmed her senses was the grand disappointment of being alive.

Dull and done, she spent an unlawful amount of time merely staring blankly up toward the ceiling. Her immobilizing state lasting for as long as it took her to identify she wasn’t a prisoner of war either. In fact, being safe and sound had forced her to finally take notice of her surroundings.

Like tuning a radio perfectly to a station, Rahu focused in. She could smell medicine herbs, she could hear the sounds of someone humming, the weight of the blanket laid upon her, the wraps around her limbs and torso pinching her still, and the patch against her right eye.

“Finally awake I see.”

And now a voice.

“You gave me quiet the shock when I went to fetch water and found you face planted in mud. You should consider yourself lucky that you ran into me. Anyone else would have robbed you or slit your throat.”

The woman was sitting to her right, her temporary blind spot, and yet Rahu didn’t have the energy to move her head. Nor could she as Rahu soon discovered that her head was being held in place by iron support brace and cast.

“Don’t move around too much. Our towns doctor took a look at you while you were unconscious and she said your skin was the only thing keeping you together,” The figure sighed as her thin fingers came to brush Rahu’s hair away from her untouched left eye, “Just how many bones were you trying to break? Trying to set a new record or something.”

Rahu opened her mouth to speak, but found herself empty with air.

“Yeah… don’t try to speak either. You really are a walking miracle.”

Rahu had so much questions, so much curiosity, and it was as if the woman who had rescued her knew it too. At last, circling around the bed to join Rahu on her left side to properly converse with the wound soldier. A warm smile on her soft lips, her grey eyes full of passion and sympathy, dark midnight hair held up in a ponytail, her body thin as her hands went to help adjust Rahu up. Sitting her up enough so she could digest.

“Here. Drink this,” The woman brought a wooden bowl of bitter tea to Rahu’s lips.

Rahu merely stared into her eyes. Her own were nothing compare to the rejuvenated life rested upon those sharp eyes of her rescuer. Rahu instinctually protected herself by tightening her lips into a thin line in refusal of the strange liquid.

“I figured it wouldn’t be so easy,” The woman brought the bowl back to herself, letting the tea rest upon her lap as the stranger clarified her intentions, “I don’t blame you. You’re a soldier of Paradeiso, correct? I recognized their armor anywhere. And don’t worry, I hid it somewhere well,” the stranger sighed, “I imagine you realized now that you’re in Syndicate.”

[mireillexy]

Before - Path to Nowhere - Ninety-Nine

Have my 3am PTN brainrot after rereading what little Ninety-Nine fanfiction there is. Small introspective drabble. Enjoy.

Boiling hot and bloodstained. This had been her life as long as she could remember. 

Periods of cold, clammy darkness, laying on the hard floor of a cramped room, only interrupted when the reinforced steel door would open and either food or armed men would step over the threshold, guns unlocked and aiming for her head.

To ensure she would behave.

Periods of sterile, eye-hurting whiteness, strapped to a bloodsoaked chair as white-coated men filled her body up with tranquilizers; these moments a stark contrast to the sensory nothingness of the dark confinement she spent most of her time in. 

She would hurt, she would burn and she would scream. Until she was tossed into her room like a broken tool.

She had accepted this life; she knew nothing else.

She could not even remember a ‘before’. 

A time before countless needles were plunged into her. Before the white-coated men modified her body and induced mania. Before her blood boiled and her body writhed and transformed. Before her arms became those of a monster.

“Experiment ninety-nine is a success.” they had said, hauling her still burning body back to the cells. However, that day she didn’t pay much attention to the bubbling hot mania cursing inside of her. Neither did she feel the impact of the wall against the side of her face when the guards dumped her into her room. 

Her mind was filled with only one thing; one single word she repeated again and again.

Ninety-Nine. 

Ninety-Nine.

Ninety-Nine.

After all those years, she finally had a name. 

She became the monster called Ninety-Nine.

[her-reidiance]

Hey, I wrote a fic about Langley x Fem!Chief. Please enjoy.

[gayerthanthee]

HOLY SHIT I GOT EIRENE

[anthemofgvf]

Teacher’s Pet: Sam Kiszka x Reader Fanfiction

description: when college becomes more interesting from your history with your music professor, you decide to take him up on a private piano lesson to rekindle what once was.

word count: 6.6k+

trope: student reader x professor sam (college au!)

taglist for future fics

warnings after cut…

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warnings: large amount of plot, angst, smut (18+ minors dni!), voyeurism, soft dom! sam, fluff, teacher x adult reader, inappropriate relations, swearing, begging, fingering, oral (fem! and male receiving), handjob, overstimulation, praise kink, unprotected sex, minimal aftercare

a/n: this may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s okay! would also like to reiterate that reader IS a legal adult. i figured that would be clear considering this is a college au but i just wanted to state it once before the story itself does. all actions are consensual, and i do not condone un-consensual acts. with that being said, enjoy;)

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Starting college at Michigan State University at the age of twenty-one, you walked onto campus with a sense of anticipation and determination that set yourself apart from your younger peers. Your journey to this point had been conventional, marked by years of playing piano at home purely for joy, and finding an intense passion for music itself. Now, as a music theory major, you were ready to immerse yourself in the academic study of music, eager to delve into the intricacies of composition, harmony, and the structures that underpin the art form you love. Your path to college might have been delayed, but your passion for music had only grown stronger with time, making your arrival at the university both a new beginning and a cumulation of years of dedication.

But you were gifted a surprise on your first day in your "Music Theory 101" class when you sat near the front - only a few rows back on the far left, and your professor walked in. The cool fall air of Michigan allowed for him to wear a navy blue long-sleeve and a multicolored-purple scarf, with grey plaid dress pants. He clearly was taller than most, but the boots that he paired with his outfit granted him a few extra inches.

You started to analyze the features of his face, seeing something so familiar in him that you couldn't quite pinpoint. His long, brunette hair that held a light wave with a well-kept mustache and goatee. Something about his eyes were the most recognizable to you with the way they scanned the room slowly, then focusing in on papers on his podium. And as soon as he began to speak and introduce himself to you and your peers, the memories came flooding back into your brain, and you had to hold yourself back from gasping. But you couldn't contain your eyes from widening.

"Hello everyone," he began, "welcome to 'Music Theory 101.'" He said with a smile. "I'm Professor Kiszka, and I'll be teaching this course. I've been teaching music theory for about three years now."

You knew who he was. He was Mr. Kiszka, or Sam, as back then you were able to call him that because he wasn't the hugest fan of being called 'Mr. Kiszka'. He was your student teacher your senior year of high school in your band class. He would help your teacher as if he were a teacher's aide, yet also helped teach the class and was a mentee to your teacher. You couldn't even believe your chances of having him as an actual teacher, let alone even seeing his face again. And God, how he has changed from the guy you once knew. But he'd always be 'Sam' to you, whether you'd call him by his first name or not. You preferred not to take your chances anyways.

You and he had created a small friendship, or better described as a mutualistic relationship, but it went nowhere beyond because being friends would cross the boundaries that the school board had put into place. But it was more than likely for the better, because you had a massive crush on him that accumulated over time with the semester. You were keen to his wit, his attention to detail - his talent in music. Not to mention he had a great sense of humor and was outgoing that paired perfectly with his great looks. You remembered being saddened that you were not going to see him again after your last class of the semester, and while although he gave you a hug and a smile, he had said to you,

"You'll see me again, y/n, I'm sure of it," with a wink.

And somehow, he had predicted the future.

After he gave the class a short introduction, which you surely had missed from reminiscing about the past, he had begun to read down the list of students for attendance. Your heart began to bang against your ribcage with anticipation, with wonderance of if he would even remember you. After all, you were just another student he saw in the school day.

"Y/n L/n?" He had called out, searching for you amongst the crowd.

You shot your eyes up, looking at him as you lightly raised your hand and said, "Here."

He smiled at you, the same smile he always wore. His eyes lightly squinted, and his face lit up with a knowing expression.

"You went to Frankenmuth High School, right?" He pointed his pen out to you with his teeth still on display.

"Yeah, yeah I did." You nodded.

You felt everyone's eyes on you - all 40 something students that filled the lecture hall. He remembered you, and you had forgotten how nervous you would get when his eyes lingered upon you for too long. Surely your face was flushed pink for the whole class to examine, but you were praying the lights were dim enough to hide your complexion.

"It's nice to see you again, y/n." He nodded towards you, closing his mouth to soften his smile and focus his attention back onto the list and calling out other names.

The entire class all you could do was watch his facial expressions, the way he walked and used his hands in conversation and lecture. The way his hair flew with his head whenever he changed directions, the way his voice articulated words. And, surely watching him give the class a demonstration on the piano was going to be the death of you. Time had made him more attractive, and his knowledge of you was somehow a worser fate than going unknown.

He put his whole body into his demonstration, leaning into the keys and throwing his head back every so often. His shoulders would raise in a rigid motion, then relaxing back down whilst his fingers danced along the white keys. You began to press your thighs tightly together and place your fist over your mouth as you watched him intently. You were unsure of how you were going to survive this class for a semester.

But after that first day, he had called you over to his podium. Although the conversation was light, asking you how you've been, wondering what you were going to college for exactly, you couldn't help but feel unprepared to talk to him. He always had a way with words, and anything that came out of his mouth was pure poetry. You just felt like you were blabbing nonsense to him. But he cared what you had to say. He laughed at your jokes, nodded along to show you he was listening. He had not changed one bit after all these years, other than time aging him only enough to present himself as more of a mature adult, but his striking personality stayed intact.

As the semester went on, and you stopping by Sam's desk every so often after class, assignments were assigned. One big project that was presented was to perform a cover on the piano that showcased your level of talent on the keys - 30 measures to be exact. A different assignment was given to those who were incapable of playing the piano, which was to compose a piece instead on an instrument of their choosing, but you took the route of playing on the instrument you enjoyed the most.

With this assignment, he had allowed students to make appointments with him during his office hours for free lessons and guidance on their piece. And as soon as he had announced this, you had booked an appointment.

And that's where you were headed right now: A one-on-one meeting with Professor Kiszka. To say you were nervous was an understatement. His attention was all yours, and there was no avoiding his gaze by sinking into your chair. The only thing that you had repeated in your head was that he was no stranger, and you knew how to hold a conversation with him. Act normal, you said to yourself, act normal.

You pushed open one of the large doors of the classroom that groaned and creaked as it allowed your entrance. Sam had his back to you from across the lecture hall, hunched over as he played a song that was unrecognizable to you on the piano. Whatever it was, it sounded beautiful.

The doors slammed shut behind you as you walked in, which caught Sam's attention. He whipped his head over his shoulder as his fingers relaxed from the keys, and he lifted his wrist up to examine his watch.

"Guess it is that time, huh?" He said out loud, although he was mainly speaking to himself. "Come on in, y/n."

"Forgot I was coming in, Professor Kiszka?" You said with a smirk.

"I'm always forgetting the time as it passes," he chuckled lightly, "surely you'll forgive me."

You walked over to him as he rose from the bench with a light smile, extending his arm towards the piano to motion for you to sit. He wore an ironed white button down, and worn-out jeans that have seen better days. Casual attire: a bit astray from what he normally wears.

You stopped in front of him. "I guess just this once I will." You said to him, then taking your seat on the bench and keeping your posture straightened.

"Alright, y/n," he shook his head with a smile, "what's your song of choice then? Can't pick anything you've played for me before."

You cocked your head to the side as you gave him a pondering look. "There's no way you remember anything I played three years ago."

He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment, then looking down to you with a smile.

"Maybe I do, or maybe I don't. Just seems like you're trying to stall on playing your piece for me." He said to you. "There's nothing to be nervous about, y/n."

You shook your head with a light sigh. "I'll have to test your memory another time then."

He nodded at you. "So, what piece of music did you choose?"

"I chose 'Rhapsody in Blue,' sir." You spoke to him. "I remember you performing it for the class after finals were over, and I've been in love with the piece ever since."

He seemed almost shocked that he had made such an impact on you, one that was still intact after all these years. He gave you an earnest, genuine smile as he placed his hand on his heart.

"It means a lot to me that I played an influential role in your musical journey. Did you learn it after I performed the piece?" He asked.

You nodded with a giggle. "Embarrassingly yes, yes I did." You refrained from eye contact as you felt your face becoming hot.

He raised a brow. "So, this is a piece you're familiar with?" You looked back to him with a singular nod. "Then what is your reasoning for spending time with me during my office hours, y/n? I never knew of you to not be confident in yourself."

You stuck your tongue into your cheek. "Just wanted to make sure that I was playing the piece up to par, and I so happen to enjoy our conversations. Figured we'd be able to catch up a bit during this meeting."

"Is that so, y/n?" He smirked at you. His tongue ran across his bottom lip as he looked down at you. It was almost as if there were words that lingered upon his tongue, yet he was unable to muster the courage to let them roll off smoothly. He had opened his mouth for a moment, then shut it with a grin. "Well, then how about we see how well you can perform this piece, huh? If there's enough time after, I don't see anything wrong with catching up a bit more." His grin was near seductive, although he was talking about a topic pure as white. Something about the way his eyes captivated yours that had your body telling you to either look away flustered, or to hold onto his eyes to match his intimidating gaze.

But rather than look at him any longer, you chose to take in a deep breath in preparation to perform for him. You straightened yourself up once more and saw him leave your sight from the corner of your eye.

"Just a bit too tense, y/n." He said softly to you, placing his hands onto your shoulders gently. "Relax for me."

As if that sentence alone didn't have you feeling even more tense, you closed your eyes and found it within yourself to relax, and to forget that it was Sam's doing for making your nerves skyrocket.

You began the piece, fluttering your eyes open and playing it as you learned it. Some of your mannerisms matched the way Sam played the piece - at least back then, just because you admired how beautiful he looked whilst performing. You were certain that if he hadn't become a teacher, he'd be on a stage performing in front of thousands.

You were lost in the music, lost in your motions and the way your fingers traveled alongst the keys in perfect harmony. So lost that you hadn't realized Sam's hands had left your shoulders, moving to stand near the front of the piano, watching you perform. All you could do was focus on playing as perfectly as you could for him, because if you were to look up and see his admiring stare, you would have forgotten the rest of the piece.

And so, you finished, watching your fingers dance along the last few keys and resting your hands onto your thighs, keeping your eyes down only for a moment before cautiously allowing yourself to look up and see his chin resting into his palm, wearing a large grin that he never seemed to wipe from his face.

"That was," he began to stride slowly towards you, "near perfection."

You followed his movements with your eyes. "Near?"

He sat next to you on the bench, holding onto your eyes. "You lost yourself a bit with the tempo, is all. I'm not shameful to a bit of artistic expression, but that would be for another project. But it's nothing that can't be fixed quickly."

"So, then it's a good thing that I made this appointment, hm? Without your expertise I wouldn't have known to slow down a bit." You said to him.

He huffed a laugh with an amused expression. "What's your game here? Sarcasm or flattery?"

You took a glance at his parted lips, locking eyes with him again. "Your guidance, Professor Kiszka."

He shook his head at you with a knowing look yet dismissing your counter remark and sliding closer to you.

"Well, for one, you should raise your arms a bit higher above the keys." He slid his hands under your forearms and raised them up slightly, being ever-so gentle with his touch. With how close he peered over your shoulder, you were certain if you were to turn to him, your nose would brush against his.

However, you wouldn't have been bothered by it if it were to occur. The opportunity presented itself when he had willingly brought himself even closer to you. Whether you would dare to do it was not on your mind right now, as you were tuning into the feeling of his coarse hands holding your forearms and making them weightless.

You could feel his exhaled breath just barely hit the side of your neck, and your body almost reacted with a shudder. Rather, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and suddenly you had become more aware of how many breaths you were taking in.

"And to help keep tempo," Sam slowly slid his hands off your arms, placing his hand lightly onto your thigh, "I'll tap on beat." He said as he began tapping onto your jeans lightly.

You dared to turn towards him and flick your eyes at his parted lips, locking onto his stare and feeling the inability to look away. You were certain the face you were displaying was one of desperation, of want.

But to him, it didn't appear that way. "Is this...okay?" He had said with a hint of worry. Maybe he didn't want to read into your facial expressions too much.

"Yes, yes it's okay." You gave him a reassured smile, along with a small nod, and tore yourself away from his gaze.

You began to play once more, trying to keep your mind on your fingers hitting the keys at the right pace rather than the fact that Sam's hand was on your thigh. The act was supposed to be innocent, a teacher merely helping his student perfect their piece, but to you, it was hard to feel anything pure towards your professor.

With the way his chin nearly rested onto your shoulder, to his steady breaths that matched yours as you played, to the low humming you could hear in your ear as your fingers danced along the piano. How did he expect you to focus when he was closer to you than ever before? When all you were thinking about was how easily it would be to kiss him, to give into him.

"What's on your mind, y/n?" He whispered to you.

You had continued playing, trying to keep up with the tempo he had set on your thigh.

"What do you mean?" You said without missing a beat.

"I can tell you're not focused. You're playing the piece properly, but your mind is somewhere else." He removed his hand from your thigh, which caused you to stop playing.

You turned to him. "I'm just a bit distracted, that's all. I'm sorry, Professor." You pressed your lips together, flicking your eyes down to avoid his gaze. A low sigh escaped his mouth as he watched gravity tilt your head down.

But then you felt his finger hook under your chin, lifting it up to meet his eyes. Every detail of his face was on display, and you couldn't focus your eyes on a single piece of his complexion - it was all something you wanted to remember so intricately.

"Am I distracting you?" He took a glance at your lips only for a discreet moment, then focusing in on your eyes and searched within them for an answer that you had yet to put out into the air.

"Maybe," you began, "what if I said that you were?"

Your bold statement had nearly taken him aback, with his hand removing itself from under your chin, and a light chuckle with the shake of his head as he composed himself. His hand ran to the back of his neck, then finding its resting place on the top of his thigh.

He leaned back slightly, the playful glint in his eyes dimming to something more contemplative. "Then I'd have to ask why," he murmured, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. "Why do you find me distracting?" The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unsaid possibilities, leaving you teetering on the edge of where his mind was at.

You took a hard swallow, tugging at the inside of your bottom lip and praying that you weren't about to make an embarrassing mistake.

Your heart raced as you decided to take the plunge. "Because" you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "I've never been able to keep myself composed long enough around you. And, now that we're alone, it's become increasingly hard to even think straight."

His eyes widened slightly, the seriousness of your confession hanging between you two like a fragile thread.

He moved closer, his warm breath just barely grazing the tip of your nose. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he said softly, his lips hovering just inches from yours, leaving you breathless and wondering if he was about to close the distance between you. "But you know what the rules are, right, y/n?"

"Do you plan on getting caught?" Your question hung in the air, heavy with implication. You felt a shiver run down your spine as the reality of the situation hit you. How the proximity had almost fizzled out in between you, the way Sam held your eyes in the most captivating way, taking only a millisecond to peak at your lips before returning to your gaze.

"Didn't know of you to be such a risk taker, y/n." He said to you with a steady voice.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sam," you replied, your voice just as steady, matching his intensity.

His gaze flickered with curiosity and something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken more than it already was. "Sam?" He smirked. "As much as I like you calling me 'Professor,' I've missed hearing you say my name."

"I'll say it as many times as you want me to," you said softly, flicking your eyes to his lips before returning back to his gaze.

"Then start now," he murmured, his tone a blend of challenge and invitation. He inched closer, his breath mingling with yours, the space between you almost nonexistent now.

"Sam," you barely voiced.

"Again." He said as his lips were just barely brushing against yours. His hand gently traced the line of your jaw.

"Sam." You repeated for him.

He closed the remaining distance, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was a risk, practically whimpering into his mouth the second you got a taste whatever flavored ChapStick he wore.

His hand cupped your cheek, while his other hand rested on your thigh. You willingly fell into the touch, placing one of your hands onto his white button down, and the other beginning to tangle itself in his hair. You were merely breathless with the deepening of the kiss quickly becoming apparent, and now you were just desperate to run your hands under his shirt - to feel his warm skin under your touch.

Without unlocking your lips from his, you began to unbutton his shirt, and while he noticed, he allowed you to continue, pulling the shirt off of his shoulders and throwing it wherever it may land onto the ground.

His fingers crept under the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up to let every inch of your body feel that singular motion, and as soon as the tips of his fingers hit your bra, you were removing your mouth from his and finishing the job.

"You're eager." He teased at you, tugging at your bottom lip as he encapsulated your lips onto his again.

Instead of giving him a pitiful response into his mouth, you undid your bra with little struggle and threw it off of you whilst scooting yourself closer to your professor. His cold hands almost stung against your bare sides, yet soothed your heated skin as he ran them up slowly, finding your breasts and toying with them tenderly. A soft whine escaped out of your mouth, and in return, his mouth made its journey of running from your jawline, then to your neck, and to your collarbone.

Before you had even realized it, your hand was sliding down his chest, finding his bulge and cupping it. His groan vibrated against your neck, sucking lightly and digging his teeth into your neck as you threw your head back.

You had found yourself already breathless, squeezing your thighs together as your mind wondered to the inevitable. You lightly squeezed on Sam's bulge, hoping that he would mutter another sound for you to listen to.

But he removed himself from you with a heaving chest, unbuckling his belt as he stood up in front of you. While his eyes were first locked in at undoing the material holding up his pants, he then looked to you, pulling and shimmying off his jeans that were caught at his ankles. His briefs followed suit with his motion, and his cock sprung out in front of you.

Without hesitation, you had wrapped your hand around his length, keeping his eyes locked on yours as you pursed your lips and allowed spit to dribble from your mouth onto his cock. His mouth parted slightly, watching as your hand ran up and down him at an agonizingly slow pace. You gave him a small smile, one that had him caressing the side of your face and running his hand to the back of your head.

As he tousled with your hair, you pressed your lips softly onto his tip, then sliding him into your mouth. You watched as he threw his head back, groaning in a deep sigh and lightly tugging at the hair on the back of your head. You kept your hand pumping slowly at his base, while your head bobbed up and down his length.

The sensation of your soft, skilled mouth moving with rhythmic precision drew a deep moan from his lips. Your tongue danced expertly, exploring every inch, while your eyes remained fixed on his as he let his head fall back down towards you, drinking in every reaction. He was entranced with your motions and the way you effortlessly brought him such bliss.

His breathing had become unsteady, tugging at his bottom lip as he tugged your hair back which in return removed your mouth from him. You looked up to him eagerly, and in silence, he slowly fell to his knees at your mercy.

He looked beautiful bowed before you, unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans in a fluid motion, then dipping his thumbs under the denim, and wrapping his hands onto your sides that were hugged by the material. He slid them down slowly, and while doing so, you had lifted yourself up just enough to aid him in fully removing your jeans and panties. He had tossed them to the side, and once he looked back to you, your legs were pressed together.

You had found yourself shy with the vulnerability shared with him. Fully exposed to Sam, permanently imprinting this image of yourself in his brain that he would not dare to allow slip from his mind. His hands came to your knees as he noticed the sudden pink hue in your face.

"Open your legs for me, pretty girl." He said in a hoarse voice whilst he massaged your kneecaps. His demand was calm, and not one that meant to rush you. And you could feel the soothing, comforting energy that he was emulating in this moment that had you realizing he found you breathtaking - every single part of you.

So, you gave in willingly, looking at him with lustful eyes as you spread your legs apart slowly. His eyes were locked in onto your heat. Your bare form was being traced by his eyes, marveling at the curvatures of your body that seemed almost ethereal to him. He could not bring himself to speak a word, but rather sigh in reverence as his head inched closer and closer in between your thighs. It was if he was at your mercy, willing to give up anything and everything just to please you.

His lips pressed softly against the inners of your left thigh, and you had found yourself gasping lightly with a choked breath at the tender impact. Your hand relaxed at the back of his head as you massaged it, just as he did for you before, and a small grin curled onto his lips as he pressed more, soft kisses against your thighs, even sucking softly onto the skin. You were on the verge of begging for his mouth on you but resisted the urgency to see how Sam wanted to navigate himself around your body.

He raised his middle and ring finger to you, looking up at you submissively before uttering a soft, "open," to you. You quickly obeyed, parting your lips and letting him insert his fingers into your mouth, and resting them onto your tongue. You sucked slowly onto his fingers, swirling your tongue around his digits and allowing him to withdrawal them from your mouth.

And he kept his eyes locked on yours, watching intently for your reaction as he slowly inserted his two fingers inside of you. You gasped lightly, jolting forward with your back arched and your hands smashed onto the keys of the piano behind you as Sam curled his fingers. He broke from your eyes to see your hands clenched onto the keys and allowed a small smirk to curl onto his lips. He let that be his only reaction and continued to move his fingers.

You threw your head back as his other hand snaked up your body and lightly massaged your left breast. Your eyes were barely shut, mouth agape and allowing any sound bubbling in your throat out quietly. You had tugged onto the back of his head harshly as soon as you felt his tongue onto your clit, with your thighs squeezing tightly around his head and muffling your moans. As much as he wanted to push your legs apart to listen to every melodic sound that came from your mouth, he wasn't going take away from your bliss.

His tongue circled around your clit at a steady pace, with his fingers quickening to draw your moans out even more. You were tugging at your bottom lip as you rolled your hips into Sam's motions. You couldn't help but admire the view below you: your professor's eyes shut softly, seeming perfectly content in between your legs as he licked and sucked at your clit. He was already in tune with your body, knowing what made you feel good, and exactly what to do to send you over the edge.

You felt the knowing pressure in the pit of your stomach; a knot desperate to be unraveled by your orgasm. Your moans became strained - whiney.

"Sam, fuck, just like that." You slurred. Your hand had yet again found itself bracing against the keys of the piano, pressing a multitude of keys that didn't make the most beautiful melody, but the irony of that was it didn't matter what it sounded like. It mattered how it felt, which it perfectly conveyed.

You were arching your back away from the piano as your thighs trembled around Sam's head, calling out his name once more as your head fell forward and your breathing quickened. You alerted him of your orgasm, and all he did was continue his motions, calming them and seizing their existence after dragging out your high.

"You okay?" He looked up to you, removing his fingers slowly from your entrance and encapsulating them into his mouth to lick them clean.

You shuddered, and quickly swallowed and nodded at him.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay." You laughed lightly.

He rose from his knees, standing before you still fully erect. You had forgotten how perfectly carved his abdomen was, how desirable him in his vulnerably, bare entirety was.

His fingers pressed from below your chin, lifting your eyes up to his own and holding a soft smile yet again.

"Are you okay to keep going?"

You smiled at him and his concern that just barely washed over his face.

"Yes, Sam." You nodded, reaching out for his face and him almost immediately complying.

He smashed his lips onto yours as you pulled yourself up from the bench. Your bodies melted into each other in a feverish rush, hands frantically exploring once more to remember the feeling of each other's skin. His hand had found the small of your back, guiding you to rotate to where you were now standing where he originally was.

His mouth kept on yours, slowly sitting down onto the bench and losing your lips with the action. You stood before him, watching his eyes fall to your thighs, where his hands began running slowly up and stopping at your waist.

He met your eyes again with his tongue darting out in between his lips. His touch was both tentative and possessive, as if memorizing every curve and contour. You could feel the heat radiating from his palms and igniting that fire once more.

He pulled you closer, his grip firm yet gentle, urging you to straddle his lap. As you settled into him, he had a hand on the base of his cock, dragging it alongst your sensitive folds that had you whimpering from the slight overstimulation. He looked to you once more to look for any sign of discomfort, but you placed your hands onto his shoulders, and lined yourself up with him.

You had sunk down onto him slowly and could not help breathing a relieved moan. He, on the other hand, released a guttural groan as you fully rested with him completely inside of you. His hands gripped onto your hips, breathing already unsteady, and beginning to guide you at a slow pace.

"Shit, y/n," he breathed, "you feel so perfect." He watched you grind your hips into him and continued. "You are so perfect."

You ran a hand from his shoulder and to his neck, finding his cheek and giving him a lustful smile. You were warm around his bare cock, tight and sucking him in perfectly. Your mind was dizzy with the thought of this all being a reality unfolding at this very moment; dizzy with the way he was making you feel.

You began to bounce at a steady pace, feeling his hips buck into you lightly to help alleviate some of the work on your end. He could tell you were tired. You were lazily chasing your next orgasm, although desperate for yours again and to help him find his, but your energy almost begged to deny it.

His left hand found a home onto the piano keys for leverage, lightly wincing at the sudden noise that filled the nearly silent room. You looked at him and smiled lightly, holding back your laughter at the noise.

"Doesn't sound too good." You teased.

He shook his head at you, furrowing his brows as he battled full euphoria taking over his being and disallowing a response from him. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he tried to focus, the dissonant chord fading into the background of his awareness.

With a slow, deliberate movement, his thumb pressed into your hipbone, anchoring himself in the reality of your presence. The look in his eyes was a mix of passion and frustration, struggling to form words but failing as the intensity of the moment overwhelmed him.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise that you understood. His fingers flexed on the piano keys, creating a soft, accidental melody that echoed the unspoken rhythm of your connection. Even when he's not trying, he can make something beautiful out of a small mistake.

Yours and his's movements became quicker, both of you voicing your satisfaction with breathy moans, mixing swears and each other's names into the lustful air. Your hand ran to the back of his head, tousling with the damp hair and resting your forehead onto his. You both were a sweaty mess, which had you and him sticking to one another. It would be a battle to unravel yourself from him after this, but you warranted that.

He had a harsher grip onto your hip. His fingers dug into the plush skin while his thrusts became unsteady. He removed his hand from the piano and let you carry the pace on as his thumb circled onto your clit. You called out to him in a hushed moan, feeling your second orgasm creeping up quickly. Even though you warned him, he did not care. He wanted that.

"Cum for me again, y/n." He quickened his finger, pressing down onto your lower stomach. "Cum. For. Me." He repeated with gritted teeth.

Your eyebrows pulled together, locking your eyes with his as you reached your high almost immediately and pulled your head back from him with a hand pressed against his chest. You trembled against him and rode yourself through your high, with a high-pitched gasp shooting out from your mouth while you squeezed around him. And although your head was still fuzzy, you kept going for him.

He muttered your name in a warning, lifting you up from his lap just enough for him to pull out from you. You had sat yourself onto the middle portion of his thighs, far enough for him to finish himself off by painting his stomach and hand with his cum. You couldn't tear your eyes from him as he heaved and looked at the mess he had made, lightly chuckling to himself. You found his laughter and matched it, tucking your bottom lip behind your front teeth and smiling.

He reached for your lips once more, pressing a gentle, meaningful kiss onto your mouth as he cupped your cheek with his dry hand. And once your lips parted from his, you found the pattern of his breathing and controlled your own to emulate his.

He lifted his wrist to look at the time, and you in turn gave him a puzzled look whilst throwing your arms around his neck.

"Have another appointment today?" You said to him with slight disappointment. You had almost forgotten where you two were.

"I unfortunately do." He replied. "And I'd suggest we should clean ourselves up now and make it look like we did not just have sex on this fucking piano." He chuckled.

You quickly obeyed, standing up quickly and running over to his podium where he had a tissue box. You knew you were to return home and shower, but for now, this would suffice. Besides, you didn't know how much time you had before a student would walk in, so both of you focused on yourselves.

You had found your phone and quickly switched to the camera to make sure your hair wasn't too much of a mess, along with your makeup. Thankfully, it was a quick fix for anything out of place, and you took care of it while Sam finished buttoning up his shirt.

After you had placed your phone in the back pocket of your jeans, you walked over to him.

"Do you do this with all of your students?" You questioned him with sarcasm.

He shook his head with a breathy chuckle. "Only the ones I like." He shrugged, catching onto your teasing.

You giggled at his response, choosing to leave the teasing behind in fear of the unknown amount of time you had left with him. "So, I'll see you tomorrow for class then?" You rocked on your heels.

"Well, I'd hope so," he smiled at you, sliding his hand onto your waist and pulling you closer. "Will I start seeing you outside of class, too?"

You felt a rush of warmth from his touch, a sense of comfort that had now been familiarized to you. "I think we can arrange that." You said in a playful manner as you placed the palms of your hands onto his chest.

His thumb traced small circles on your waist, his expression softening with a mixture of desire and affection. "Good," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours once more. "I look forward to it."

After you had parted from his lips again, you reluctantly pulled away from him and made your way to the doors of the lecture hall. You were hoping that whatever student was to come next wasn't outside already, because by the burning sensation that filled your cheeks, you could not hide that something had occurred beyond the lesson with him. With your professor.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

taglist:

@hollyco @ageofhearingloss @sacredjake @mountain-in-springtime @ignite-my-fire @gvfsstardust @jakesguitarsolo @gold-mines-melting @digitalcalamity @demolitionndann @lipstickitty @joopsworld @gvfgal @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye @writingcold @stardustcatcher @absolutely--mental @hippievanfleet @haileygvf @gretasfallingsky @dont-go-home-without-me @indigofallingsky @sinarainbows @laneygvf @josh-iamyour-mama @starshine-wagner @lyndz2names @jjwasneverhere @mulberrimouse @starcatcher-jake @lallisonl @jordie-gvf @mindastreamofcolours @peaceloveunitygvf

[a-court-of-fics-and-errors]

Keep Moving Forwards, Part 12

Azriel x Reader Fic

Summary: After finally deciding to leave your abusive and manipulative mate for good, you find unexpected companionship with Azriel, the Shadowsinger of the Night Court. As you navigate the aftermath of your traumatic relationship, you struggle to understand where the mating bond went wrong and contemplate your path forward, vowing never to return to the past.

Find other parts here: Master List

To follow this fic, follow tag "Keep Moving Forwards Fic" or comment to be tagged in future parts.

Content Warning: This story contains depictions of extreme emotional manipulation and abuse, detailed descriptions of direct physical abuse, and scenes of men hunting women with implied sexual assault. Please read at your own risk.

Word Count: 2.1k

Author's Note: This is a multi-part series. Unlike my previous works, this fanfiction delves deeper than just fluff, exploring complex emotional landscapes. As I navigate this new writing journey, I kindly ask for gentle feedback. The topics addressed are profoundly impactful, touching many lives with diverse experiences. Please be gentle with yourselves and others. Healing is a journey, and everyone processes it differently. Be kind to yourself. Take what resonates, and leave what doesn’t.

Please continue reading, being aware of the above content warnings, ensuring you are in a healthy headspace. Give yourself time to process and be gentle with yourself.

Every muscle in your body screamed as you fell into the dark. You didn’t even know when you started to fall, but the air was sucked from your lungs as you plunged into the depths. Your arms rose above your head, fingers grasping desperately for something to hold onto, but the water that engulfed you offered no purchase. Your hair floated around your face like a dark halo as you thrashed and kicked wildly, the fabric of your nightgown billowing around you. Your eyes widened, mouth opening in a burst of bubbles as you let out a muffled, watery scream, sinking deeper into the pitch-black water. No matter how you struggled, you only sank further, the pressure of the water growing, squeezing the last bit of air from your lungs. Eventually, you stopped fighting, your arms going limp above your head, legs floating beneath you, hair drifting like seagrass as you descended.

From everywhere and nowhere, Azriel’s voice echoed in your mind, “I want this to be done.” You turned your head, your eyes burning as you peered into the inky blackness around you. “Life of luxury,” the voice continued to echo as you began to thrash again. “I know my own suffering,” the bodiless voice screamed out, overlapping with, “They don’t want to leave,” and “Do you want that?” All these phrases echoed over one another, blending into a cacophony of torment.

You brought your hands to your ears, pushing out an unheard, breathless scream as you shook back and forth, trying to shake the voices that were coming from your own mind. “Do you want me to rip them from their homes? Life of luxury. Do you want that? I know my own suffering. I want this to be done. Life of luxury. I want this to be done,” the voices overlapped, harmonizing with the voice of your mate, “What do you want from me? What do you want from me? What do you want from me?” The questions came first from far away, then as if someone were whispering in your ear, then from your left, right, close, far, above. You couldn’t place them as they screamed and whispered to you.

You slammed your eyes shut, releasing bubbles as you screamed in silent agony.You curled your knees to your chest, and then, with a thump, you found yourself on your knees, curled over, dripping water from your hair and body as you shook, coughed, and cried out water from your lungs.

“What do you want from me?” a voice asked, the voice of your mother.

“I want to see her,” said an unknown male voice.

“No,” your mother responded. You lifted your head from your hands and took in the black room you were in, the rock floor hard beneath you as the sounds of drips echoed against it. In front of you, you saw your mother’s face, shadowed and indistinct. Facing away from you was the figure of a male, also obscured and shadowed. “I won’t allow that,” your mother responded.

You wiped the water from your eyes as you watched, the only light in the entire room focused on them. “Mama,” you reached out to her, but she didn’t turn to you, nor did it seem she heard you.

“She is my child,” the male responded.

“She is nothing to you,” your mother shot back.

“She is my property.”

“She is no more your property than I am.”

“You cannot keep her from me.”

“You pay me by the hour, you have not bought my life or hers.”

“Think of what I can offer her, Sile. Where she can grow up?”

“As a bastard child? And what will become of her?” your mother spat back, venom lacing her words as she turned away from the shadowed man.

“She will be a lady of the court, educated.”

Your mother turned again, “I will educate her!”

“You? A whore? Educate her on what? How to make a male come as quickly as possible so you can reap the reward?”

Your mother raised her hand as if to slap the male, but he gripped her wrist as she fought against him. “You would dare to lay a hand on me?”

“Let go of me!” your mother screamed, her eyes wide in shock.

You reached your own hand out to her, trying to get to your feet, which felt bolted to the ground. As you called out “Mama!” your own voice was met with a smaller, child’s voice. From behind you, a small female ran forward, past you, to the male who turned, his face encased in shadows, unable to be identified. The little girl ran towards your mother. The male released her wrist as your mother bent to her knees and pulled the little girl, no more than 20 years old, barely a toddler, up into a hug, the child curling her face into her neck as your mother cradled the child’s head to her throat.

“So this is my daughter?” the male voice rang out, his hand reaching out to attempt to stroke the child.

Your mother turned around. “She is not your concern.”

“She is mine, Sile,” the male responded.

The small child turned her head, and when you caught her eyes, you realized that the child was you. What was this memory? Or were you so waterlogged you couldn’t pull fiction from reality?

“Mama?” the little voice cooed out.

“Come on, baby,” your mother turned to walk away. The male gripped her by her hair, ripping her back around as she screamed out in pain, the little child reaching up to her mother, beating on the male’s arms while screaming at him to let her go.

“You will not keep her from me. And you will not turn your back on me,” the male screamed into her face.

Your mother never let you go as the male leaned in close, whispering something in her ear as he continued to grip her and pull her in close despite her pleas. When he let her go, she fell to her knees as the male, still shrouded in shadows, turned and called out as he walked away, “You can’t hide her, Sile. Enjoy your life of luxury.” Your mother sobbed as she positioned her body over your own childhood form.

You felt soft, yet sharp claws growing around your mind, scraping through the blackness of the room, and then the scene was over. Your eyes shot open and you were met with Rhysand’s face staring down over you, sweat pouring down your forehead and back as you let go of the sheets you had clenched in your grip.

You gasped and shot forward as Rhysand's hands steadied you, “Shh,” he whispered, trying to calm your ragged breathing.

You wheezed, still feeling as if water was rattling around in your lungs.

In an instant, Nesta was by your side, her arms wrapped around your shoulders. Rhysand stepped back from the bed. “Just breathe,” she reminded you, positioning herself in front of you. Her soft hands cradled your face, her thumbs tracing calming patterns on your cheeks. You took slow, deep breaths in sync with her, your eyes locked on hers.

When you finally leveled out, you took in the other occupants of the room. Rhysand stood against the wall, arms crossed, looking at you with concern. Feyre, hair a mess in her sleeping dress, stood next to him, her nails to her lips. At the foot of the bed, Azriel's eyes were hardened and wide, his knuckles white as he gripped the bedpost.

You finally managed to ask, “What happened?”

Nesta dropped her hands to her lap. “You had a nightmare.”

“Why is everyone in here?” you asked, your voice shaking.

“You wouldn’t wake up,” Nesta said, her voice trembling. “I tried shaking you, throwing water on you, screaming your name—nothing worked.”

Rhysand stepped in, “Nesta called me to help. I entered your mind to pull you out.”

You looked at him, your brows furrowing as you brought your hand to your temple, trying to calm the pounding within. “You did what?”

“I entered your mind,” Rhysand explained. “It’s one of my powers as High Lord. I can see what others are seeing and alter their thoughts.”

“You were in my mind?” you asked, incredulous.

Rhysand nodded.

“Have you,” you stammered, “have you been in my mind before?”

Rhysand’s eyes widened a bit as he chose his words carefully. “You seem to have a natural ability to shield my powers.”

Feyre added, “When you first got here, Rhys tried to help calm you down but couldn’t get past a wall you had put up.”

“I wouldn’t have entered without a good reason,” Rhysand said.

You shook your head, swallowing the bile that rose in your throat. “What did you see?”

Rhysand paused. “I saw your dream.”

“That wasn’t a memory. That never happened,” you shot back.

“I saw what you were dreaming, then. And you were screaming inside. I also felt another presence—a male.”

Azriel gripped the bedpost tighter.

Your eyes flitted between Azriel and Rhysand. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Rhysand shifted slightly. “You never hear a voice other than your own in your head?”

You paused, considering.

“I ask,” Rhysand continued, “because it seems like a mated connection. It’s a bond, and yours was hidden, but I could still hear that voice.”

Azriel quickly released the bedpost, turning on his heel and leaving the room with a furious hiss.

Feyre’s face dropped as she pressed her hand into Rhysand’s shoulder, following Azriel out. Rhysand just looked at you, concern etched in his features.

You looked back and forth between Nesta and Rhysand, your hands clenching and unclenching the bed sheets damp with your sweat. Finally, you began, “What else did you see?”

Rhysand shrugged slightly, maintaining his serious demeanor. “Not much. You’ve built a very strong wall.”

Nesta turned over her shoulder to look at him. You tried to catch her expression but couldn’t quite make it out. Rhysand held up his hand to silence her before she could speak.

Nesta turned back to you, grabbing your hands in hers and offering a tight smile.

“I need to get some sleep,” Rhysand said. “Nesta, I’ll meet with you tomorrow.” Rhysand nodded in your direction, and you flashed him a thankful smile, tinged with slight embarrassment. Nesta didn’t turn to look at the High Lord, who quickly left the room, heading down the hall the same way Feyre had gone.

Nesta continued to hold your hands, her thumbs gently rubbing the backs. She swallowed, looking down and then back up at you. “Look,” she began, “you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I think it could help if you let me know even a little bit about what’s going on with you.” Her voice carried a slight plead. “You aren’t here. You always seem to be somewhere else.” She looked back down at her hands, her lips tightening. “I know what it’s like to be stuck inside yourself. And you don’t have to do that alone.”

You smiled lightly as Nesta looked back at you. “It’s nothing. I’m worrying you all for nothing. I just didn’t sleep well. Had a nightmare.”

Nesta scoffed slightly, and your eyes met hers. “Y/N, you’ve been screaming the same name every night. You thrash like someone is attacking you, you jump at every little sound, and if any male enters the room, you immediately tense up.”

You pulled your hands from Nesta’s, wrapping them around your knees, your face turned down.

“Y/N, I don’t want anything other than for you to feel safe,” Nesta offered.

“I do feel safe,” you responded.

“I want you to feel safe when you’re alone.”

You peered up at Nesta slightly. “Nesta, why are you doing all this?”

Nesta looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t know me.”

“Can’t I just want to help someone?”

You looked around the room. “Azriel brought me here, and you all have been generous in taking me in. But you don’t know me. You don’t have the time to be doing all of this, especially not Rhysand. And yet, you feed me, house me, care for me, and we’ve known one another not more than a few days.”

Nesta swallowed, just looking at you. “We just want what’s best for you.”

“Seems very generous.”

Nesta’s gaze turned slightly more distant as she scanned your eyes. You just stared back before you suddenly said, “Thank you, for everything, Nesta. But I think it’s time for me to go.”

You swung your legs over the side of the bed as Nesta tried to speak, calling out your name as you walked to the door.

“I’ll head out tomorrow morning,” you said, looking over your shoulder. “Please tell everyone thank you, for me.”

You could still hear Nesta calling your name as you walked down the hall, through the grand room, and back to your own suite, where you shut the door, laid down, and did not sleep.

To my lovely tagged readers, thank you for all the support and comments. It really encourages me to continue to write knowing that you all sit down with me for five minutes a day and get to peak into my head. Love you all!

@thatacotargirl @mcuamerica @lilah-asteria @florabelll @fightmedraco @marvelbros-oneshots @mariahoedt @quinzzelx @romantasyreader28 @minnieoo @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @annabethgranger123 @krowiathemythologynerd @scatteredstardustt @romantacyreader28 @caroline-books @slytherintaco @sevikas-whore @sidthedollface2 @405rry @sleepylunarwolf @acourtofbatboydreams @quiettuba

[sorrowsofsilence]

Burning Out • II

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x Fem!Reader

I was lost, but now I'm found Under the lights and in the sounds So let us sing and sing it loud That we're not perfect, but we're proud of who we are.

Noah Sebastian is lost. His crime-filled lifestyle is anything but perfect; but everything changes once he meets you.

Words: 3.8K

General Fanfic Warnings: 18+, explicit language, smut, alcohol, drugs, violence, mentions murder/suicide, panic attacks/anxiety, nightmares.

Authors note: Chapter Two: Something of the past- (EDITED: 09-03-24) songs are One of Us by the world alive and Broken glass by unprocessed ;)

new? start from chapter one here

THIS IS A FANFICTION USING REAL PEOPLE IN A FICTIONAL SITUATION! I AM NOT IMPLYING THESE PEOPLE WOULD DO THE THINGS IN THE STORY OR ACT THE WAY THEY DO IN THE STORY, IN REAL LIFE! IT IS SIMPLY FICTION, AND JUST FOR FUN! THINK OF THEM AS ACTORS LOL.

+

I smiled at the brunette, feeling grateful for his willingness to listen. He returned the smile and gave me a knowing look, almost as if he understood.

Noah's attention turned toward the houses we passed. His gaze was intense as he scanned each one carefully.

"Sorry for dumping all that on you," I said with an uncomfortable laugh. "I don't know why I just told all that to a stranger."

He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "We're not strangers anymore," he said. "More like acquaintances."

I felt reassured by his words and couldn't help but ask about him. "So what about you? You seem pretty mysterious."

Noah fell into silence, his brows furrowed in thought once again. His gaze scanned the grass intently as if searching through memories. Eventually, he turned back to me with a small grin.

“I’m…just Noah,” He said; but as I stared into his eyes, devouring his soul, I saw that he was much more than that. His eyes held a depth of emotion that hinted at hidden truths and untold tales. But I didn't push. After all, we had only just met.

"Well, 'just Noah,'" I said with a playful smile, "I'm glad our paths crossed today."

He returned my smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Me too. More than you know."

+++++

NOAH

Jolly's angry voice cut through the air as he yelled, "Where the fuck were you? We've been waiting for hours!"

I slammed the door of our dingy motel room, shooting him a sharp look. "Nowhere, mom. Not like you need to know," I retorted.

He stepped forward, getting close enough that our chests almost touched. "You’re right. I don't care what you were doing or who you were doing. But you know what time you need to be back and you're late," he scolded, pressing his finger into my chest.

I pushed against him, creating space between us as I furrowed my brow. "Fine, sorry. I lost track of time," I muttered, throwing myself onto the cot that served as my bed. I let out a heavy sigh and buried my cheek into the musty pillow. As I stared at the retro 80s carpet on the floor, I traced the faint outline of a bloodstain left by Ruffilo last week when he cut his knee open during a job.

"It's your turn, Noah," Nick Folio announced, plopping a backpack onto the table as he reclined in his chair with his legs crossed on top of it. He had a joint dangling from his lips, the smoke billowing out between his teeth.

"I hate doing this shit," I grumbled in protest, shaking my head as I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes for a moment.

"Too bad," Jolly snapped, his voice still laced with anger. "We all have our parts to play. Now get your ass up and do your job."

I groaned, forcing myself to sit up on the cot. The springs creaked beneath me, a sound that had become all too familiar in our weeks of hopping from one seedy motel to another. I rubbed my eyes, trying to shake off the exhaustion that clung to me like a second skin.

Nick tossed the backpack towards me, and I caught it reflexively. The weight of it made my stomach churn. I knew what was inside without having to look.

"Remember," Folio said, taking a long drag from his joint, "in and out. Quick and clean. No fuck-ups this time."

I nodded in annoyance, my throat tight. The last job had gone sideways, and we'd barely made it out. All thanks to me. Again.

“Just this one for the week brother. Then you don’t need to worry about it till next week.” Nicholas Ruffilo said, smiling at me gently. He knew I hated this. He knew I wanted it to stop.

He tossed me my gloves and mask, the fabric hitting my chest eliciting another annoyed groan from me. Grudgingly, I pulled on the black leather gloves to cover up my tattoos and shoved the mask into my pocket.

I couldn't contain my frustration any longer as I stood up. "How many more weeks do we have to put up with this shit?" I snapped, looking at Nicholas for support. He placed his hands on my shoulders, trying to calm me down.

"I know," Ruffilo said cautiously, knowing how on edge I was.

Jolly let out a bitter laugh. "What else can we do, Noah? Pull a million bucks out of our asses?"

I loved Jolly, I really did. He was my oldest brother for as long as I can remember- but fuck, did I ever want to punch his face into the wall sometimes.

The Swede sat back in his chair next to Folio and continued, "You know the deal. We do what we have to do to survive. How else are we going to pay back D?"

I shrugged off Nicholas' hand and muttered under my breath as I grabbed my combat boots and kicked my old black vans under the cot. As I leaned down and tied up the laces, memories of past jobs flooded my mind and regret weighed heavily on me, knotting together past mistakes.

Cracking open a beer, Jolly took a swig before saying, "Don't forget that you're the reason we're stuck in this mess."

My head shot up, eyes meeting his intense gaze. A red hue adorned my skin as my ears burned with embarrassment and anger, "What's that supposed to mean, you fucking prick?"

Jolly raised his voice, leaning forward in his chair with his elbows on his knees. "I'm tired of hearing your complaints, Noah. Do you think any of us enjoy this? Do you think we want to keep living this way? Don’t blame us for the work when you fucked us over first.”

My chest heaved with irritation as his words cut deep. "I was fourteen!" I shouted, spittle flying from my mouth. "I wouldn't have done it if you hadn't told me to in the first place!"

Nicholas reached for me, holding out an arm across my chest to force me back. I aggressively swatted his hand away and grabbed the backpack, tossing it over my shoulder.

"I never told you to do anything," Jolly growled, watching as my fists clenched and muscles tightened.

"You're the one I was supposed to look up to!" I yelled.

Jolly scowled, muttering between his teeth, “It's not my fault your parents died.”

Both Nick’s turned to look at him with furrowed brows of disappointment as my heart raced, my palms sweating.

"Don't you dare bring them into this!" I screamed, seething with anger and ready to pounce on the long-chestnut-haired man in front of me. Nicholas wrapped his arms around my chest, pulling me away. I struggled against him, closing my eyes in fury as I fought back the tears that threatened to spill.

Just an hour ago, I had been sitting with one of the most beautiful humans I had ever laid my eyes on. It was risky spending time with someone I had just met, especially someone like Y/N. She seemed so brave, so gentle...so worthy.

How could someone captivate me so quickly? It left me baffled. I knew I was completely infatuated with her, and I already found myself craving to see her again. I've gotten coffee from that same cafe almost every day for a year; it's the only stable part of my routine. Everything was always the same - the coffee, the customers, the servers...except for Y/N. Seeing her there threw off my rhythm. It almost felt like she was purposely placed there just for me- like a breath of fresh air in my dull, grey, lifeless world. There was something about her - the way she spoke, her mysterious aura, her quick wit, and those beautiful fucking eyes.

But here I was, my unworthiness weighing heavily on me, reminding me that I didn't deserve anyone's love or attention.

Nick snapped me out of my thoughts by offering me a hit of his joint, trying to ease the tension between us. I took a puff and handed it back to him, nodding when Nicholas asked if I knew where we were headed next.

"I've been looking at this neighbourhood near the coffee shop," I told them, trying to act nonchalant. "I scoped out some places earlier. Lots of elderly folks, so they probably have some valuable stuff."

“Don’t you think that area is a little risky?” Nicholas said, raising a brow, “We spend enough time around there...as us.”

I shrugged, “Close together and tight nit. Enough places to hide.”

Nick suggested bringing a gun for intimidation, and I agreed. It was all part of the plan, even though a small voice in my head questioned what I was doing.

My finger grazed across the metal. Even through the glove, I felt its cool, metallic texture, my mind jumping back to the woman held before it earlier.

What am I even doing?

Shoving the gun into my waistband I opened the motel door, “See you guys later.” I nodded to each of them, eyes lingering on Jolly for a moment longer.

“Text if you need anything,” Jolly said through gritted teeth, taking another sip of his beer, and avoiding my gaze.

I left the motel room and walked down the wooden stairs, passing the rundown vinyl wall that lined the entire building.

As I passed the paint-peeled doors listening to various arguments, and the sounds of sex. The familiar scent of weed and stale alcohol lingered on the cement, decades of grime living within the premises, never fully washing away. As pathetic as it was, it smelled and sounded like home. It was all I had.

I pulled my hood over my head, letting my hair cascade as a shield around my face, my legs carrying me through the neighbourhood. It was 12:3am on a Wednesday, the nightlife bare as only a few cars passed by me, unaware of my felonies. I wasn’t sure which house would be my victim tonight, but I prayed, to whoever God was, that it would be quick. Get in get out.

Placing an earpod in my ear, I scrolled through songs, before choosing The Apparition. Perhaps, if this is all a dream, I can go back to the time I met her.

But truthfully, ignorance is bliss; and I was tired of consciousness.

And yet, here I am, still haunted by everything that has happened.

And it remains With me to this day

No matter what I do This scar will never fade

+++++

Y/N

I signed off at my job, releasing a heavy sigh after a gruelling 12-hour day. The four-hour shift at the bar was a relief, but I still felt drained, knowing that I only had 8 hours until I had to be back at the cafe for another round.

As I walked out into the chilly 1 am air, I reapplied my red lipstick to soothe my dry lips. Thankfully, home was just a short ten-minute walk away, and the thought of my warm bed and my cat waiting for me kept me going.

But even in my exhaustion, I couldn't shake off the excitement of meeting Noah earlier that day. His charming smile and mysterious demeanour lingered in my mind, making my heart flutter with butterflies. Was this just a one-time thing? It was hard to believe that I went on a 'date' with someone I had just met, but then again, work was pretty much all I did. My life needed a little bit of thrill and adventure.

As I hummed to myself, hoping for a text from Noah in the morning, I pushed aside the dread of working again tomorrow. Lost in fanciful daydreams, I reached my townhouse and inserted the key into the lock; only to realize that I may have left it unlocked in the morning when I was exhausted.

Shit, did I really forget to lock it? That's not like me...

With furrowed brows, I opened the door and double-checked that it was locked before stepping inside. But something felt off - there was no sign of my orange cat Juice by the door as usual. And none of the lights were on, even though I always left the living room lamp on so it's not completely dark by the time I got home.

"Juice?" I called out nervously as an uneasy feeling settled in my stomach. Something was not right. The house was quiet and still as I made my way cautiously towards the kitchen.

"Juju baby? Where are you?" I called out, flicking on the bright kitchen light. What was once the comforting warmth of home, now turned into a thick sense of dread as I placed my bag on the counter, eagerly awaiting my cat's response. But instead of a familiar meow, I heard the floor above me creak in a rhythmic pattern that was definitely not feline in nature.

My heart pounded and my breath caught in my throat as I froze in place. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up as goosebumps prickled along my skin.

I strained to listen for any other sounds, but all was quiet except for the occasional rustle coming from upstairs. Adrenaline surged through me as I reached for the largest kitchen knife from the block, gripping it tightly as I crept towards the stairs.

My pulse thundered in my ears as I cautiously ascended the stairs from the kitchen. With each step, I couldn't help but think, this is how people get murdered in horror movies, you dumb bitch, but it was too late to turn back now.

Finally reaching the top, I turned on the hallway light and scanned the darkened doors illuminated by moonlight streaming through the windows. My bedroom door slowly creaked open and a figure emerged.

My heart stopped and panic seized me until I realized it was just my cat; wide-eyed and meowing. "Jesus Christ, cat!" I scolded, overcome with both fear and relief as I fell to my knees and scooped him into my arms. His soft orange fur was a welcome comfort as I ran my fingers through it, rubbing my face along his head. He didn’t pur like usual though.

"You scared the absolute shit out of me," I laughed shakily, kissing his head before setting him down. Juice wriggled free from my grasp and darted into my room. Shaking my head with a mixture of amusement and annoyance, I placed the knife on the banister and followed him, grateful for his presence in the otherwise empty house.

Perched on my bed, Juice hopped to attention as soon as I entered the room. His tail flicked back and forth eagerly as he stared at my mirrored closet, emitting a series of demanding meows. I flipped on the lamp next to my bed and approached him, reaching out to pet him. "What's wrong, buddy? Are you hungry?" I asked, even though I knew his bowl was full downstairs.

He continued to meow and I shook my head, pulling off my sweater and tossing it into the hamper.

"What is up with you-" I started to say before a gloved hand covered my mouth, muffling my words.

Panic flooded through me as another arm encircled my waist, holding me tightly against the stranger's chest, and my eyes widened with fear as I looked up at them, unable to scream for help.

I could feel their heart pounding against my back, their harsh breaths mixing with mine as they turned our bodies towards the mirror. Tears welled up in my eyes as I saw the reflection of the menacing figure behind me. Their entire body was covered except for their eyes and mouth, peering out from behind a black ski mask.

I whimpered helplessly against their hand as my stomach dropped at the sight of the gun poking out from their black cargo pants.

The most terrifying thing of all was the distinct scent of Dior cologne that filled my nostrils, making my heart race even faster with fear.

His voice, with its distinct accent, burned into my memory as he spoke the words that filled me with dread. In the mirror, I saw him - Noah. The cologne, the voice, it had to be him. I knew I should have never gone out with a stranger. How could I have been so foolish?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He said slowly, words filled with worry and caution.

Tears streamed down my face as I shook and cried, his hand still covering my mouth. He followed me home, and now I was paying for my stupidity. But I wasn't going down without a fight.

"I'm going to leave," he said calmly, "and you're going to let me. Understood?"

I nodded against his grasp, my eyes glued to his every move through the tears. He closed his eyes briefly before taking a deep breath, his body moulding into my back.

Did he know that I knew who he was?

There was no way I was going to let this asshole get away with whatever he had planned for me.

"Please don't scream," he said, loosening his grip slightly. As soon as he let go, I spun around and kicked him with all my might in the groin area.

He fell to his knees, letting out an agonizing groan as he held himself in pain. With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I ran into the hallway and grabbed the knife from the bannister.

"You fucking creep! You followed me!" I screamed, brandishing the knife at him. "You're a lowlife piece of shit! Get out of my house or I'll call the cops on your sorry ass…Noah." His name tasted like bile in my mouth as it escaped from between my lips.

While shaking with anger and fear, I pulled out my phone and dialled 911. Noah crouched in front of my bedroom door, pain etched on his face.

"I swear to god, Y/N, I didn't know this was your house," he said, desperation in his voice. "Please, don't call the cops."

"Why shouldn't I?" I yelled back at him, my thumb hovering over the green call button.

"Just...just please don't," he pleaded, pressing himself against the door. But it was too late for him to try and play innocent. I pressed the button and held the phone up to my ear as it rang, arm still holding the knife toward him.

Noah's eyes widened with panic before his hand reached for the gun tucked into his waistband. Time slowed as he pulled it out and pointed it at me, causing me to freeze in fear. The 911 operator's voice was muffled by the sound of my racing heart.

"Hang up," Noah whispered, his hands shaking with the weight of the gun. "Y/N, please hang up."

"Hello? Are you still there?" The voice on the other end of the line asked, repeating the question over and over.

"Y/N, please hang up," Noah repeated, his voice urgent.

“Hello?”

Noah held out his other hand, palm up as if inviting me to take it. It was a stark contrast to the gun he held in his other hand.

The phone fell from my grasp, landing on the carpeted floor with a dampened thud. He quickly reached for it and ended the call.

As he let out a relieved sigh, guilt washed over him. He hung his head and tossed the gun toward the bathroom before removing his mask, revealing the face I had been longing for just hours earlier.

The brunette looked shattered and torn as he watched me crumple before him, my panic attack consuming me.

“I-I didn't mean to scare you. I-I” Noah stammered frantically as he moved closer to me, “I can’t have the police involved- I can’t leave my brothers.”

I collapsed to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest while staring at the gun near the bathroom. Fear overtook me and I began to hyperventilate.

“I swear, I won’t hurt you,” Noah said as he leaned down in front of me and took hold of my wrists.

I struggled to breathe, trying to pull away from him but felt paralyzed, and my breathing became erratic as I felt like I couldn't exhale.

“Breathe,” Noah's hands were now on either side of my face, “please Y/N, just breathe!”

His eyes scanned my face with concern as he held onto me tightly. “Count backwards from 100 by threes with me, okay?”

“100, 97, 94, 91, 88…” Noah started and I followed his lead.

“85, 82, 79…” I managed to choke out and Noah loosened his grip on my face. He placed his hands on top of mine instead.

I wanted to run away in fear but at the same time, I was terrified that I wouldn't be able to breathe again.

Noah continued counting with me, showing me a steady breathing pattern and I followed suit. “58, 55, 52, 49…”

We finally reached zero and my breathing remained in sync with his. I pulled my hands away from him abruptly and hugged myself tightly as I scooted away from him, as if he were the most disgusting thing in the world.

“I don't know whether to tell you to get lost,” I said, glaring at him, “or thank you.”

Noah looked at me with concern before running his gloved hand over his face. Realizing he still had them on, he groaned in frustration and angrily ripped them off, revealing his tattooed hands.

I couldn't help but follow the outlines of the flower with my eyes once again.

“I know you probably won't believe me but I swear I didn't know this was your house,” he began, holding his hands up in surrender, his pleading eyes met mine.

He seemed so genuine and sincere that part of me wanted to believe him, but screw that.

“You’re right, I don’t,” I snapped back, “But why were you even in someone else’s house?” I wiped my mouth, realizing the smudged lipstick from earlier. I must've looked like a total mess.

Noah watched me intently, his gaze studying my lips.

“I- I swear if I could explain, I would,” he rambled again, avoiding eye contact and looking at the carpeted floor, “but-”

Three loud knocks at the door interrupted his sentence, and Noah's eyes widened as he stared at me, the colour draining from his face.

“This is LAPD!” A booming voice called out from the other side of the door. The doorknob jiggled, trying to open.

“Shit,” Noah muttered, frantically scanning the hallway for something. He stood up and looked around before turning to me, a realization dawning on him. Without hesitation, Noah ripped off his sweater and black tank top, leaving him shirtless in front of me.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I whispered-yelled, furrowing my brows at him in distaste.

“Kiss me,” he pleaded, kneeling in front of me again with an expression filled with fear and distress.

“Excuse me?” I now yelled a bit too loudly as the door below us rattled once more.

“LAPD! Open up!”

“I need you to kiss me, please,” Noah's intense gaze locked onto mine as he begged, “Just this once Y/N.”

I hesitated for a moment but ultimately gave in to Noah's desperate request. His hands gripped the back of my head, fingers threading through my hair as he pulled me towards him. With complete desperation, Noah kissed me intensely.

Chapter three

Tags:@crimson-calligraphyx @lma1986 @spicywhenspeaking @sammyjoeee @shilohrosechicken

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@anything-more-than-human @into-the-grey @amelia-acero @rumoured-whispers @artificialbreezy

[cgsf]

Teen Wolf fanfiction recs:

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski [Part 6]

"the one where Derek gets high" 🔒 (E) by nighimpossible | 1,167 | Derek needs to find a way to relax, and Stiles is more than willing to assist.

"Sevens and Eights" (T) by calrissian18 | 10,092 | Stiles has a bandage slung under his chin like a disembodied helmet strap when Derek first meets him. It’s complemented by a chipped front tooth and a scrape of road rash across his cheek.

"in case of emergency" 🔒 (G) by nighimpossible | 970 | Derek finds out that he is Stiles' emergency contact in a surprising fashion.

"You Saw Me Standing Alone" (E) by anonymous | 43,947 | A pack of alpha werewolves is burning a war path through Beacon Hills; Stiles shouldn’t have the luxury of trying to get laid.

"Water for the Baby" (T) by afullrevolution | 12,134 | Stiles always thought his touch telepathy was frustrating, but finding out someone's a werewolf while trying to knock them on their ass? That's just fun.

"I Walked with You Once Upon a Dream" (T) by afullrevolution | 9,319 | Stiles has already seen his future and is confused about his past (it's all a bit like dreaming). Scott is just trying to help and Derek doesn't know what is going on, but is more than willing to go with it.

"Once, Twice, Three Times" 🔒 (E) by kth | 3,898 | The Beacon Hills Strangler, as Stiles has come to think of their newest serial killer, seems to have moved on from killing virgins for the time being. That doesn’t calm Stiles at all though; he knows about patterns. Sometimes they repeat.

"We're very fortunate, indeed" (T) by MemeKon | 2,055 | "Do you really think we'd be good together?" Stiles says, out of nowhere, eyes faintly narrowed, nose scrunched. "Like, honestly? Because everyone goes on and on about it, and I think--" "Does this look like a good time to be thinking about that?" He replies, mind blank and teeth long and menacing, clenched with a strength that makes his jaw ache after a few minutes. Body tense, curled like an iron spiral. "Well, excuse me." He whispers, hands tight on his weapon, long fingers paled from the pressure. "Let's talk about this the next time we get together for tea and cookies, shall we?"

"Better Than Revenge" 🔒 (E) by kth | 7,330 | Deucalion pokes at the ground with his cane, narrowly misses taking out a baby spruce. “Mm, you know it isn’t really a party with just two, Hale.” He smiles and, yeah, Stiles is scared shitless but also a little bit turned on.

"It's like he's all that" (T) by MemeKon | 3,639 | Stiles is different. Stiles is not nice under any definition of the word, he’s such an asshole. Sure, he’s a good guy deep down, he punched Jackson square in the jaw when he mocked the McCall kid for an asthma attack that one time, and Derek knows he helped Erica Reyes get that video of her seizure taken down, but he’s so— "Fuck off, Derek." Stiles tells him without sparing him a glance when Derek sits next to him on chemistry. "I’m not up to play She’s All That with you, dude."

"Lay us down (we're young and in love)" (M) by MemeKon | 3,673 | For all that Stiles acts like he knows his own value, acts like he's the shit, deep inside he's just a kid that's... What? Never been touched? But he has. Been touched, that is. There's Derek, who's pressed his hands everywhere Stiles has allowed him access to; and before that... There was the girl, Heather? And before... And before nothing. That's it.

"You got me trippin', stumblin', flippin', fumblin'" (T) by MemeKon | 3,640 | Stiles gives him a lopsided smile, asks him, “are you gonna let me in or what, man?”, gesturing at Derek expansively with his long, nimble fingers, and Stiles’ shirt is maybe a little small on his growing frame, because with the movement of his arm it shows a sliver of skin, a little of pale stomach, and Derek has to clear his throat. “Yeah, sure.” He says.

"Like wine upon the lips" (T) by MemeKon | 1,673 | “So, the word's on the streets that you're some sexy polyglot,” Stiles says, wiggling his eyebrows annoyingly before he slumps on the couch next to him and puts his feet on Derek's coffee table, limbs akimbo, loose and long. “Sexy polyglot,” Derek repeats, raising an eyebrow, and pushing Stiles' feet off the table with his own. “Yeah, you know, sexy man of many languages.” “I know what polyglot means,” he replies.

"I'm gonna write another traveling song" (T) by MemeKon | 5,732 | They are in Santa Rosa when he gets the first text. 'im sorry' Derek stares at it for what feels like a minute but is probably twenty seconds. Still excessive. The phone beeps again. 'for the Kate thing i mean. i'm sorry for bringing it up and rubbing your face in it'

"Outer Dark: A Pornographic Fever Dream" (E) by ahab2692 | 3,030 | It’s inevitable, Scott knows that now. Stiles and Derek will happen one way or the other. The only question left is how much blood will be spilled between now and then.

"Response" (M) by MemeKon | 1,077 | “It freaks me out a little when you do this.” Stiles says one evening upon finding him waiting for him on his room, heart racing, palms smelling of cold sweat. It makes every joint on Derek’s body ache. He’s wet and half naked, recently showered, and the trail of hair coming out of his low hanging shorts leading up to his navel is sticking to his skin and making Derek’s brain short circuit. “It shouldn’t,” he answers, trying to tear his eyes away from Stiles’ lower abdomen, from his hips and his- “you’re pack.”

"Questionable Life Choices" (E) by cancelcompassion | 10k+ WIP | Derek is resentful, Stiles looks surprisingly good without a shirt on, and then Stiles decides to Chuck Norris the shit out of some stuff.

"You Were a Kindness When I Was a Stranger" (E) by DevilDoll | 8,092 | "It's not all handcuffs and spankings and learning to deep throat." This is an AU with consensual BDSM sex acts, in which Derek supports Stiles financially in exchange for a sexual relationship. Stiles is of legal age.

"Once Kitten, Twice Shy" 🔒 (T) by Jerakeen | 718 | “Awww. Who’s a happy wolfy.”

"Something Weird" 🔒 (M) by Jerakeen | 1,455 | "So I pretend-held your hand," Stiles says with half a shrug. "How was that weirder than me doing things to your dick?"

"A Handprint on the Door" (T) by mrsvc | 5,233 | 5x Derek and Stiles ended up sleeping at the same time (but not necessarily together), and the one time they did.

"A Long Way To Go" (T) by tekmessa | 10,572 | Five times Derek happened to come across Stiles by accident, and one time Derek chose to seek him out.

"Found The Place To Rest My Head" 🔒 (M) by Lapin | 5,468 | There are selkies being controlled, and a witch out for power, and there's Derek and Stiles. There's always Derek and Stiles, and if Derek has his way, it will always, always be that way.

"frat au" (E) by endversed | 32,318 | Derek is a closeted frat boy, and Stiles gets under his skin.

"Five" 🔒 (M) by Jerakeen | 333 | Five. Five of them. He must’ve said it out loud because Stiles is also staring at his hand now, shocked and frozen. Derek doesn’t have the courage to look into Stiles’ eyes—not now, not after this—but his eyes move anyway, as if magnetized, and lock with Stiles’ over their tangled hands. "This is real," Stiles says.

"From the Cradle to the Grave" (T) by jezziejay | 4,207 | It’s not that the sheriff doesn’t like Derek. It’s just that he thinks Stiles could do better. But Stiles has been an adult for over two years now, so he can make his own choices. Even if they are terrible.

"Heatwave" 🔒 (E) by Jerakeen | 2,816 | The drug is called heatwave. It supposedly emulates werewolf heats on humans. And yes, Stiles is stupid enough to take it on a dare.

"The Scent of Ink" 🔒 (T) by bloodwrites | 587 | Stiles was ten the first time he met Derek Hale. He's almost certain Derek doesn't remember.

"i'm hard up for some time in your sheets" (E) by ToastMaloneIII | 6,640 | Derek coos gently and rubs the cat’s cheek, smiling when he purrs happily. “He plays hard to get but he’s a cuddle fiend. When I get home from work, he’s all over me.” Stiles smiles at the two of them and Derek hums in response, “Oh yeah?”. He takes a sip of his tea, notes how close they are sitting, and stretches his leg closer to Stiles’ as he sets his mug back on the table. He tracks the flick of Stiles’ tongue across his bottom lip with hungry eyes, heat pooling in his belly as desire bleeds into Stiles’ heavy gaze. “In his defense, I would be too.”

"you got a fast car." (T) by paradis | 1,565 | Scott stares, horrified, at where Stiles is drenched in someone else’s blood, and Derek’s hands are covered, and his DNA is all over the body of the clawed up deputy he’d tried to revive. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Stiles says. He’s not shaking or terrified. “You should go,” Derek says, and Stiles blinks. Stares down at himself. Stares back at Derek. “I’m not going anywhere without you,” Stiles says.

"lay your weary head to rest" (M) by Petr1chor | 3,877 | “I know you like being protective of him, Stiles,” Lydia said, her snark sounding sharper than usual, “But he’s the one who is most trained, and most likely to hold his own against her if something goes wrong.” “Stiles, I’m perfectly capable of making my own goddamn decisions,” Derek snapped. “We’re going ahead, everyone get ready, we leave in half an hour.”

"It's Been Four Hundred and Ninety Days" (T) by paradis | 4,486 | It’s been four hundred and ninety days, and it took Derek forever but they’re at day one again.

"Shove" (E) by Qayin | 1,741 | So maybe Derek shoved him around a bit when he saw the kid, so what? That was innocent. Completely innocent. Right until the moment where Derek just couldn’t pretend that it was innocent anymore. Derek liked it.

"All My Kingdoms Turn to Sand" 🔒 (E) by elisera | 6,477 | The real question is what Stiles wants. If he’s looking forward to seeing Derek again because they’ll complete what they started a long time ago or if Stiles is nervous because he’s feeling apprehensive. There’s a real possibility that he told the pack to finally send Derek up in order to tell him thanks, but no thanks. A lot can happen in six years; people change and grow apart and it isn’t like they were allowed to talk.

"take a step before running" 🔒 (M) by magneticwave | 7,314 | Stiles wants to win for America, okay? He wants to bone that constipated expression off of Derek Hale’s face on a bed strewn with American flags while Bruce Springsteen plays in the background and a bald eagle watches through the window with a single tear rolling down its cheek.

"Tiny Houses" (E) by ohmyjetsabel | 77,138 | So this is what Stiles does. He lies in Scott’s bed and waits for Melissa to say she’s found someone to get it out of him, to cure him of the wrongness and the bad, and he dreams.

"Derek Hale's Hidden Talents" (E) by betp | 800 | Stiles and Derek are doing something they should be doing, in a place they shouldn't be doing it in.

"Option C) Some Bad Guys are Werewolves, but Not All Werewolves are Bad Guys" (T) by calrissian18 | 9,039 | Derek Hale—the Incredible Meat that Thinks—needs a math tutor. Stiles Stilinski needs something that will look better on his college applications than 'passable D&D Dungeon Master.' It's a match made in heaven. Er, right?

"Talking Shit About a Pretty Sunset" 🔒 (E) by whiskey_in_tea | 18,285 | Stiles leaves Beacon Hills on a Sunday morning. Lydia’s run the numbers and it’s not a sure thing by any stretch of the imagination, but supernatural evil seems mostly inclined to take the Lord’s day to rest just like humans do. He won’t make it back before Monday night but that’s okay, unless whatever comes after them is the actual apocalypse they should be all right— and if it’s the apocalypse his meager skills won’t be of much use anyway.

"the wind beneath my wings" (G) by verity | 1,230 | "Did you check any baggage?" Derek says. "Or is this it?" "You’re—" Stiles squints. "Me?" "Yes," Derek says, not very patiently. Good old Derek.

"Stand Here At The Edge Of Something New" (E) by Chiomi | 3,233 | This is Stiles’ last night of freedom before he’s married to a man he hasn’t seen in over a decade - not even photos, not even Facebook. He intends to make the most of it.

"Not Exactly Comfortable" (T) by entanglednow | 1,227 | "Ok, so this could be worse." Which, on the whole, is probably not the most reassuring thing for Stiles to say right now.

"Negotiation" (T) by entanglednow | 1,158 | Derek's usually really good at shoving him around and making it clear what he wants.

"195% Awake" (E) by accol | 1,316 | "Wait. Was that a zipper?" Derek responded with his usual breathing. Stiles pushed up on his elbows and pressed his phone hard against his ear, straining to hear what was happening on the other end of the line. ”What exactly is this emergency? Are you trapped inside a body bag? A tent? An evil zipper factory?”

"The Scent of an Oncoming Storm" (E) by accol | 13,203 | In the weeks after Derek becomes alpha, he and Stiles form a reluctant team.

"More" 🔒 (M) by coffeeinallcaps | 4,227 | Stiles had never liked Derek. Derek was good-looking, sure; but he was also surly and violent and deceitful and mistrusting and somewhat frightening and a terrible alpha and pretty much impossible to be around. At various points throughout Derek’s snail-paced recovery, Stiles almost considered leaving. But then Derek would do something like make a distressed little noise in his sleep or murmur “Stiles?” again, struggling to blink open his bloodshot eyes, and Stiles would just. Stay.

"Wolf Cub" (E) by moodwriter | 6,946 | A strange wolf is not supposed to touch another pack’s cub and that’s why, on a rescue mission, it’s Stiles’ job to take care of the wolf cub who’s curious about everything and everyone. Stiles is not used to werewolf children, and the pack is not used to Stiles taking care of a child. Their Alpha gets very confused about this, too.

"my heart's been offline" (E) by thepsychicclam | 58,893 | Derek and Stiles meet online, and Stiles has no clue Derek's part of a famous family.

"The Scientific Method" (T) by uraneia | 5,947 | Stiles’s life was so much easier before his BFF got super powers. “But, so, werewolves have super strength, right? And super speed. And better vision, and better muscle control, and healing powers, and stuff. And some of that’s probably, like, genetic, if you can be born a werewolf. Right?” “Yeah,” Scott says. From the perplexed look on his face, he doesn’t yet know where Stiles is going with this. “So?” “So what if you have condom-defeating supersperm?”

"Running Up That Hill" (E) by idyll | 23,575 | In which Derek fights the forces of evil and has no idea how Stiles started working for, or living with, him.

"The Pride of Bastet" (M) by fakinbrilliance | 13k WIP | Stiles is marked by the supernatural, Derek is possessive, and the whole pack is a bundle of feels as they try to work their way through it.

"Tender Offer" (E) by jedusaur | 482 | Derek pops his mouth off Stiles’ dick and says, “I opened a brokerage account.”

"spark like empty lighters" 🔒 (T) by extasiswings for elisela | 2,282 | Derek leaves. Stiles gets possessed. Derek comes back. What that all means...they'll figure it out.

"Falling Up" (E) by PalenDrome | 18,522 | Of all the things Stiles imagined could happen, he never thought he’d end up packless.

"The Nose Knows" 🔒 (E) by WhoopsOK | 5,454 | A spell misfires and Stiles winds up with werewolf powers and finds Derek’s scent… alarmingly appealing.

"Arrows Made of Desire" 🔒 (E) by loserchildhotpants | 6,302 | There's a MOTW, Scott's an idiot and a Bad Friend, Stiles has a magic bat (not a euphemism), and Derek submits to the mortifying ordeal of being known (true, but also a euphemism).

"Red, Red, Red" 🔒 (E) by loserchildhotpants | 9,460 | “Your tattoo.” “What about it?” “Just… it’s weird, I’ve been - uh. You ever, like, dream of something? Something you’ve never seen before, but then you see it out in the world?”

"One Mess at a Time" (E) by Tawryn | 2,807 | When Stiles was first accepted into his apprenticeship, Master Peter had told him he'd be placed into some hard situations. Stiles had taken that at face value. You know, figuratively. Good thing Peter’s cute nephew lives above the apothecary.

"Howlin' For You" (E) by Lenore | 33,050 | A college AU with strippers, crime bosses, and a mystery to solve.

"Never Been" (E) by Lenore | 4,202 | Stiles gets snared in a virgin trap. Derek to the rescue!

"Turn a Little Faster" (T) by skoosiepants | 3,207 | He shifts back and forth on his feet and tries to psych himself up. He can do this. He’s a badass werewolf, he can totally tell Stiles that they accidentally got werewolf married because—because Stiles was thinking about him, and happened to give him a token of his, uh, affection under the silvery light of the last full moon. Platonic affection, Derek thinks sourly, so he doesn’t get why his wolf feels all warm and fuzzy and bonded all of a sudden.

"We've Got Chemistry" (T) by dr_girlfriend | 17,892 | “So…” The man was at the door to a shed now. “The previous owners left everything, so I think there should be everything you need. But let me know if you need me to pick up anything, or if you prefer, you can buy it and I’ll reimburse you…” “Oh!” he said. “Because I’m the pool guy.” And that’s not what he meant to say at all. He meant to say, “You think I’m the pool guy.”

"until we wake" (E) by verity | 2,375 | "It shouldn't have affected Derek," Lydia says over the phone. "But maybe—because of your bond." "What bond," Derek says.

"Mix and Match" 🔒 (E) by Jerakeen | 6,141 | Stiles walks into the Beacon Hills alpha-omega mixer with a smile on his face and three condoms in his wallet.

"The Scent of Mate" (E) by Jerakeen | 1,543 | "You smell like mate."

"I'm tired and I'm wasted, irrational" (E) by LunaCanisLupus_22 | 8,171 | Derek reads the message twice just to be sure that he isn’t dreaming. 'Help,' it reads, 'accidntly kidnpd somr dudew.' He takes a moment to compose his reply. What the hell Laura?

"Fair Game" 🔒 (E) by blacktofade | 6,183 | It's all fun and games until someone has to pee. AKA: the one where Derek meets Stiles in a club and it's going great until Stiles disappears into a bathroom stall and leaves him to fret.

"Edges and Lines" 🔒 (E) by blacktofade | 3,630 | Derek likes Stiles in lingerie and makeup.

"Wild Living series" (E) by orbiting_saturn | 4,999 | Since the whole mess with Gerard, Stiles has been running on a drunk-dizzy burst of fear adrenaline. Like he’s courting death.

"Take Me to the River" (E) by orbiting_saturn | 3,215 | Stiles does that to him sometimes, bowls over everything important with the force of his personality, the mystery of his mind. It used to annoy and confuse Derek, but lately it just fascinates him.

"The Hazards (and Benefits) of Channel-Surfing on Friday Nights" (M) by herbeautifullie | 12,175 | "I totally have a boyfriend, dude. Shows how much you know." How was he supposed to know Scott would doubt him? It's not Stiles' fault that someone named Derek Hale really exists. It's also not his fault when his lie grows legs and runs so far he can't find it until it's too late – too late and standing right in front of him, gorgeous and annoyed and not at all the person Stiles made him up to be. Yeah, this could get bad.

"By and By" (E) by 1001cranes | 35,611 | Sheriff Stiles accidentally adopted a juvenile offender.

"To Blame" 🔒 (T) by blacktofade | 4,473 | Everything always seems to be Derek's fault, even when he's no longer around.

"Tangible Disasters" 🔒 (M) by saintsideways | 6,598 | Derek has spent years deliberately refusing to flinch from fire. He’s not about to break the habit.

"take my heart from me" 🔒 (NR) by Areiton | 23,188 | He didn't really mean to adopt Derek's pack of puppies. He didn't mean to make himself important to them. To Derek. He just wanted to keep them all safe. That's all Stiles ever wanted.

"another name for love" (E) by endversed | 36,910 | Derek is a single parent to a teenager. He's given up on love since losing his daughter's mother. Stiles is an FBI agent in town on the hunt for a feral omega. He might have something to say about Derek's stance on love.

"feels so good inside" (E) by endversed | 11,817 | Stiles receives a dick pic from an unknown number. He decides to grab the opportunity with both hands to do something about his pesky virginity.

"Not Exactly Comfortable" (T) by entanglednow | 1,227 | "Ok, so this could be worse." Which, on the whole, is probably not the most reassuring thing for Stiles to say right now. "Could be worse?" Scott hisses out, where he's scrunched uncomfortably on Stiles's bed. In a way Derek's body probably isn't designed for.

"pretty fragile things" 🔒 (M) by Areiton | 6,474 | Stiles Stilinski likes pretty things. Derek Hale just likes Stiles.

"hold my beer (hold me close)" 🔒 (NR) by Areiton | 3,252 | It was Scotty’s fault. One hundred fucking percent, Stiles thinks, stumbling under the weight of a two hundred pound very drunk alpha. Who, as luck would have it, is a cuddler. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"Textual Promise" 🔒 (E) by Areiton | 1,828 | Derek stares at the text for a long time before he goes for a run. Because this? From Stiles? This isn't something they do. He still says 'ok'.

"Large Vanilla Latte" 🔒 (G) by Areiton | 1,466 | The bell over the door clatters a cheerfully annoying welcome, and Stiles smiles as the man he’s going to marry strides up to the counter.

"Good Pup" 🔒 (NR) by Areiton | 1,719 | He isn’t surprised, when he walks into the loft and finds Derek sprawled on the couch, and Stiles tucked into his side, snoring softly, one hand clenched in Derek’s shirt to lodge him there while Derek reads over Stiles’ sleeping head. He looks happy, his eyes soft and body loose in a way that Peter hasn’t seen in years.

"Is This Unwise" 🔒 (T) by Innaz | 17,819 | Derek expects Stiles to react poorly, maybe even file a formal complaint and that’s gonna suck, but Derek won’t say shit cause he knows he deserves it, so he prepares an apology before Stiles has even turned around. What he doesn’t expect is Stiles to fucking drop.

"Please Have Mercy" 🔒 (E) by Innaz | 3,922 | "I-” Stiles licks his lips, eyes bright and wide with the shock. Balls in his court now. He could refuse, step away from the line they're toeing and laugh it off. But he doesn’t, just like Derek knew he wouldn’t. Because Stiles wants this. They both do, and that’s what makes it so fucking insane.

"The Shore of Dreams" 🔒 (T) by hannah_baker | 2,277 | Derek Hale finds himself helping Stiles Stilinski hide a body.

"Flannel and Brass" 🔒 (T) by hannah_baker | 3,554 | John Stilinski somehow finds himself in the middle of a casual investigation into his son's life. And isn't wholly pleased with what he finds.

"When Nothing Else Works" 🔒 (T) by hannah_baker | 5,915 | Sheriff Stilinski is slowly and begrudgingly accepting the fact that werewolves exist, regular bad things still do happen sometimes, and his son may or may not be dating Derek Hale behind his back.

"Let's Not Talk About It" 🔒 (E) by hannah_baker | 10,147 | “You can’t have a platonic romantic relationship,” Scott said when Stiles had tried to explain what had happened the previous night. “I’m not saying it’s platonic. Obviously making out isn’t platonic. But it’s not like, romantic. I’m not waxing poetic about his gorgeous hazel eyes or how ridiculous his biceps are-” “Really?” Scott asked, interrupting him. “Because it sounds like you are.”

"Kind of a Thing" 🔒 (T) by hannah_baker | 17,707 | “You’re ‘kind of a thing,’” his dad repeated, the quotations clear in his voice. “Well, I’m not sure what 'kind of a thing' means,” he said, getting up, disappearing to the kitchen briefly and returning with a beer, “but it’s 9:45, which means that 'kind of a thing' needs to leave in fifteen minutes.”

"You Are a Sap and I Love You" (E) by accol | 999 | “Here,” Derek said, shoving a large, fabric sack at Stiles like it had a live snake in it. Stiles pulled the drawstring open and looked inside. “Ha ha, very funny. Just because I broke the last one staking that vampire--” “Pull it out,” Derek said. Stiles let the fabric bag fall to the floor. His fingers wrapped around the grip solidly. “Is it safe?” Stiles took a slow swing. The bat felt like it was humming.

"Space Age Crystals" (E) by A Devil Like You | 1,235 | Stiles is just biding his time at a Christian College until his dad stops being mad at him and lets him come home. He didn't expect to catch the eye of Derek Hale, or to become the new subject of his devotion.

"Of Milk and Honey" (E) by A Devil Like You | 2,578 | The scent is everywhere. The gas station. The movie theatre. The grocery store. The top floor balcony of his house—just outside the French doors to Derek’s bedroom. Like warm honey and sweet cream still in its pail. It’s out there somewhere on the vast preserve and it makes his eyes flutter.

"bi awakening au" (E) by endversed | 34,332 | “Fuck that,” Stiles says, dangerously low. “I already did the closeted jock thing in high school. Like fucking hell I’d put myself through that again.” Derek’s breath catches in his chest. Stiles is – he’s incandescent, entirely lit up with rage. “I’m sorry,” Derek begins to say. “Just – don’t bother, all right? I’m not interested in being your first fuck over the rainbow. You wanna hook-up with a guy, see what all the fuss is about? Go to a gay bar and pick up the first twink you see. You won’t find it hard.” “I’m not –“ “Just leave me the fuck out of it.”

"all fucked up" (E) by endversed | 15,414 | Booty calling your ex-boyfriend might be a bad idea, but it's not like Stiles' heart can break any more than it has already, anyway.

"Shifted" (T) by LLAP115, Wolfspurr | 25,074 | Of all the stupid things he’s ever done, Stiles is pretty sure this one takes the record, but it’s like a reflex that he just can’t stop. As soon as he sees the witch turn to face Derek, hand raised in Derek’s direction, he just jumps.

"The Curve of Your Clavicle" (T) by WhoNatural | 6,264 | Derek's office rival might be the same person keeping him sane at night when the loneliness hits.

"Flowerwolf & Beacon Roots" (E) by alisvolatpropiis | 5,299 | Stiles turns away, towards the cooler of roses, muttering to himself under his breath, which of course Derek can hear perfectly well. “Great freakin’ advice, Lydia, ‘just bring up sex and tell him you’re cool with having a one night stand,’ okay, sure, that worked fucking beautifully.” “Okay.” The word is out of his mouth before Derek can even think about the consequences of saying it, something unusual for him. He wants Stiles however he can get him, it seems. “Okay?” Stiles eyes are wide when he spins back to look at him. “Yeah, okay. Let’s have sex.”

"Imaginary L'Oreal Boyfriend" (T) by WhoNatural | 2,753 | Stiles sets the bowl distractedly on the coffee table and mutes the TV. It doesn’t matter, his Imaginary L’Oreal Boyfriend’s commercial is only repeated once an hour, or so he’s noticed. "Who’s Derek?" he asks with genuine confusion. "The commercial guy," Isaac informs, gesturing at the screen like it’s obvious. "Doesn’t shave and looks like he just remembered something upsetting yet important all the time. Derek Hale?"

"The Last Song I'll Write About You" (NR) by WhoNatural | 1,890 | "So his face sells records, is what you’re saying," she says, and yeah, he’s been talking about the jerkwad for most of his lunch break, but that’s no reason for her to get that glint in her eye. “You must think it’s a pretty marketable face, if it can make someone’s debut album go triple-platinum in the span of two months.”

••••••

That is 100.

[multiversetravelingjournalist]

Cryptonian Conlangs: Help wanted.

I need to make a few languages, they aren't supposed to be natural, for a confederation of supernatural hackers, one faction of which can upload their own bodies as well as those they take with them into a digital world, Tron style. I want these languages to feel like programming languages and I have a few ideas on how to achieve that:

Labeling of parts of speech to clear up ambiguity.

Variable assignment as anaphora.

vocal bracketing to set apart different parts of a sentence and enclose quotes.

Every sentence starting with a line identifier that can be used as a sort of anaphora when referencing them shorthanded.

What else could I do to achieve this effect? Also, I might also look to esoteric programming languages for inspiration as well.

[risilence]

Wrong Killer! (Angell x FChief )

Here we go again!! Just as promised the poll has concluded and Angell x FChief has won. I've prepared a sneak peek of the fanfic to come! (Please note that there might be changes in the final draft!)

Wrong Killer! (Rating to be determined)

Angell pedal along her final delivery route, mind empty as she breezed through the streets with idle ease. She had been all too familiar with her neighborhood, with the sort of people that frequent the roads of daylight thanks to her change of occupation. It was actually pretty soothing compare to the levels of stress and danger from her old job. Now that Angell worked as a delivery persona for a local restaurant in downtown West Side, Angell felt a sense of peace that couldn’t be gained anywhere else.

Peace that was shaped in the form of delivering takeout to all sorts of lively customers, having a stable income, and getting to go home every day on time. Nothing else to worry about, it was just her and food now.

Approaching a pedestrian red light, Angell came to a halt. The apartment complex right across the crosswalk was her last deliver of the day, but she caught something much more interesting to her right. Toward this direction sat a rundown convenient store with two little munchkins loitered the empty parking lot. They seemed more jitter today than normal, so Angell decided it would be appropriate to deal with them first.

Once the red light turned green for the diagonal road, Angell biked her way to the two teens. Her wheels crunching the loose rocks announcing her approaching presences, “Busy guarding Zoya’s puppy again?”

Even though they could hear her coming, the two whipped their heads skittishly at her. Simmering down from their fight or flight when they recognized Angell, “Jesus! You almost gave me a fucken heart attack,” The shorter teen spoke as she ungripped her lead pipe.

“Making enemies again?” Angell asked. Parking her bike in front of them as the other teen waved her off.

“Ignore Hella, she just scared cause of the rumors,” The blonde teen acted tough, yet she wasn’t fooling anyone either. Angell could see her shoulders trembling a bit, the small ounce of relief now that an adult was with them.

“Oh, shut up EMP! I’m not scared!” Hella crossed her arms. Going to sit on the cement parking block, her eyes closed in rage as Angell unmounted her bike.

Angell hadn’t heard about any rumors at all during her routes. She grew ever more curious that the Legion possessed confidential information that she didn’t, “What rumors?”

“Just gang stuff. You don’t have to worry,” EMP clarified as she preferred to stand. Her eyes scanning the lot for any suspicious individual, the rumors having indeed struck fear into both girls as they remained vigilant.

Angell raised her brow, “I’ll buy you two drinks if you tell me,” And like a fish to bait, Hella folded at the promise of a slushy.

After buying the two girls a well-deserved icy treat, Hella began to explain, “See I’m only telling you this cause you’re nice to us,” Ignoring the fact that they had made a prior slushy deal, she went on, “But rumor has it that THE Black Cat of East Side is lurking in our turf.”

“Black Cat?”

EMP not wanting to be out down by her companion explained into further detail, “Yeah, the Black Cat of East Side. Apparently, this guy has over one million deaths to his name! Killing his enemies with his large saber sword, cutting his victims into pieces and eating them!” She chomped the air replicating his eating manners, Hella rolling her eyes though they appeared to be twitching with irritation as if she believed these rumors to an extent, “And no police or any gangs can catch him! They’ve sent special forces, gang lieutenants, and even assassins to get this guy, but they all turn up dead. Fortunately, he hates confrontation and avoids the spotlight when he can! Like a silent jaguar within the folds of his urban jungle… these are in fact his cities,” She acted out. Pouncing around the lot trying to scare Angell, “They say he’s a gun for hire… and if that’s true than the fact that he’s in our turf could only mean one thing…”

Hella sighed as she slurped her drink loudly. Warning EMP to be quiet, but the other was on a narrative high as she tried to get some sort of reaction from Angell.

“He’s here for Zoya’s head!”

“For fucks sake, shut up already!” Hella stood up and wacked her behind the head with her fist, “Angell doesn’t need to know this! You’re going to scare her.”

Angell kept a serious face throughout the whole story, unbothered by the dramatization as she hid her amusement well. But upon hearing that she needed to be scared, she merely excused herself from the conversation, “If such a scary person is here, then I’d better go home before it gets dark.”

Hella nodded, “If you see any suspicious individual, you come and tell us. We’ll come to save you,” And EMP flinched at Hella’s bold statement.

“You mean you’ll come running, I’ll go get Horo.”

“Y-You coward!!”

Angell left the duo bickering as she mounted her bike again. Crossing over to the apartment complex, she went on with her day as usual. Her mind thinking over the outrageous rumor spreading around the underworld of Syndicate’s finest gang. It was amusing, her lips curling ever faintly at how much the Legion’s underlings were freighting over her nickname. Pleased to know that her legacy hadn’t changed in ridiculousness as she picked up her bike and buzzed herself into the electrical door gates. The window doors sliding open as she ventured in, taking the elevator to the sixth floor as Angell carried her bike.

She didn’t need to worry about being seen, she still wore her delivery uniform as she stepped out from the elevator. Walking to her last delivery door, Angell buzzed the bell as she listened to the steps approaching the door.

“Coming,” The woman spoke as Angell smiled at her tone. Opening the door, Angell came face to face with Syndicates finest police director, Chief, “Angell! You’re finally home.”

[hms-no-fun]

in your view of things right now, with the political climate so hot coming into the election, and companies doing worse than ever in terms of amassing greed and power and fucking us all over... what do you think has to change to find a way out?

oh boy, what a question. i've got a BA in film studies. i pay my bills by making youtube videos and writing homestuck fanfiction. i am not an authority, i only kind of vaguely know what i'm talking about in any given conversation. but i do think about this question a lot, and i've been wanting an excuse to arrange some of my thoughts on the matter. so, you know, don't take my words here as gospel, or as a coherent platform, or whatever. i'm just a goat with some opinions who hasn't read enough theory but means well.

alright. as a communist my answer is always gonna be "proletarian revolution," but that's an endgoal we're currently nowhere near achieving. the path to getting there is impossible to truly know, because of course revolutions are historically contingent on an organized vanguard being prepared to take control in a moment of national crisis. we don't have a leftist vanguard in this country, haven't done since the FBI and state governments went to war with the Black Panthers. my ideal vision of an effective communist party is one unlike any that currently exists on a large scale in the USA, built by organizing communities to coordinate neighborhood needs, as part of city/county organizations coordinating local needs, as part of state organizations that etc. right now political parties are exclusively focused on electoralism. i want a party that can organize eviction blockades, free community daycare, reading groups, high-capacity cafeterias, and all manner of mutual aid. i want a party that can operate with solidarity, as the Panthers did by supporting the 28 day 504 sit-in that resulted in the passage of the Americans with Disabilities Act. an effective vanguard party interfaces directly with the working class and builds its policy platforms based on their needs with no apology, rather than the acceptable liberal half-measures we've grown so accustomed to.

but it's a loooooooong road to get even that far. and you might say such an organization would be offputting, but like. the Panthers won over a lot of moderates over time because they weren't just out on the streets posturing. they took care of people. we only have free school lunch programs at all because of them. this is the thing that drives me nuts about so many leftists today-- you don't win over a moderate or conservative by debating the merit of their ideas. you help improve the material conditions of their day to day life, thanklessly, as you'd do with everyone in that community, because you cannot adopt means testing by another name without selling off an essential part of yourself. slowly, over time, some of those people will be won over. it'll never be everyone, but it doesn't have to be everyone. it doesn't even have to be a majority. you can get a hell of a lot done with even just 30% of people, especially if those people are even mildly-disciplined members of a well-organized party apparatus.

so, okay, that's my sense of the broad strokes. i want a proletarian revolution by way of a militant vanguard party. not saying this is the ONLY way forward, just the one i think would be most likely to succeed under the right circumstances. but again, we're a million miles away from having a communist vanguard in this country. quite frankly, such a thing feels an impossible pipe dream at this exact historic moment. so the question for me then becomes, how do we create the conditions that would allow for such an organization to emerge, claim power, hold it long enough to build a substantial base, then act on it towards a revolutionary goal?

first you've gotta ask why it's so hard to imagine this fanciful 20th century ass operation today. obvious answers: it's fucking impossible for a third party to gain a foothold in the system as it stands, so let's fix that. ranked choice voting would be a good place to start. i'm no electoralist, but if we're presuming that the revolution isn't happening tomorrow then some element of its foundation must be in making our democracy an actual democracy that can reflect people's needs. repeal citizens united. put HUGE limits on campaign donations and make it harder to conceal donations through super PACs. redistricting is another essential piece of the puzzle-- there is precisely one map of every major usamerican city and it's the map of redlined districts where people of color were not allowed to buy property. look at wealth distribution in communities and it'll map 1 to 1 to historic redlining, guaranteed. we gotta fix gerrymandering, loosen restrictions on poll access (such as the ad hoc poll tax that is government ID requirements), and if we're really feeling frisky push for a mandatory federal voting holiday so that no one has to work on election day (which elections count for "election day" is a whole other quagmire of course). less obvious answers: the cops and the FBI are still imprisoning and murdering black, poc, native, and queer activists in broad daylight. the national prison population is an IMMENSE locus of potential revolutionary energy. some goals on that front: abolish prisons, massively defund the cops, and curtail the surveillance state. restore the convicted felon's right to vote, and otherwise remove the many bureaucratic roadblocks that artificially create the cycle of recidivism. put money into nationwide job training programs (NO PUBLIC-PRIVATE PARTNERSHIPS) not just for ex convicts but for everyone, for reasons we'll get to momentarily.

i focus on electoral reform at the start here because i think it's an illustrative example of just how sprawling the task before us is. my goal isn't to overwhelm you or make you feel doomed because "holy shit that's already a lot of stuff that feels totally impossible and you haven't even mentioned healthcare yet," but to hammer home that the class war is being fought on a million fronts. you will go completely numb if you expect any one person or organization to address all of these issues simultaneously and as soon as possible. in an ideal world, there are many many affinity groups working towards these ends all over the place, either as part of or in solidarity with our imagined vanguard. i'm trying to look at ways to materially improve the lives of people in our political economy as it currently exists, rather than just saying "we need revolution" and leaving it there.

alright then, so what about capitalism? another major factor in the systematic disenfranchisement of the working class is the role corporate employers play in maintaining the class war. nobody has time to participate in local political actions because everyone has to work crushing hours, and when they do have days to themselves they still have to personally drive to wherever things are happening and find parking, instead of grocery shopping, taking care of kids, just fucking relaxing, whatever. obvious answers: medicare for all. right now, healthcare access is tied to employment status unless you are COMICALLY poor (i just got kicked off of medicaid a couple months ago because i now make marginally more than the cutoff, which now means i'm paying $200+ more a month on healthcare and am now way more worried about money than when i was on welfare. what a great and functional system!). if you're afraid of losing your health insurance for any reason, then you are disincentivized from expressing any opinions you might have about the conduct of your employer by, say, quitting. just passing universal healthcare alone would cause some major turmoil in the US economy. invest in mass public transit with rigorous local neighborhood access, and now a hell of a lot more people are empowered to participate in civic duty. less obvious answers: get rid of at-will employment! make it much much harder for employers to fire people, and regulate the ability of corporations to do mass layoffs. this would go a long way towards throwing some wrenches into the methods corps use to invent economic prosperity through the creative application of spreadsheets. on top of that, let's nuke the absolute fuck out of means-testing for programs like food stamps, medicaid, social housing, or literally any other form of "charity" that made Reagan shit his pants.

speaking of means testing, let's talk about bullshit jobs. there are a TON of pointless, degrading, wasteful jobs in this country. corps playing middlemen to middlemen. endless state and business bureaucracy using hundreds of systems that rarely if ever communicate with one another, putting a huge administrative burden on working people while the rich beneficiaries of this exploitation get to launder their guilt through the public-facing punching bags of customer service representatives. too many people work at the office factory. there are a lot of industries that need to be massively curtailed if not outright destroyed, a fact that intersects with the threat of climate change when you include coal and oil jobs. it's not enough to get rid of these positions, you also have to have a plan for those displaced workers-- hence the job training program i mentioned before. if we actually want to see a transition into a more egalitarian society that doesn't run exclusively on fossil fuels, then there needs to be a pipeline that gives purpose to the people whose lives will inevitably be radically altered by the kinds of changes we're talking about. there's an important thing, actually-- we all need to be prepared for this line of questioning and have a good answer in the back pocket. there is no shift from pure capitalism to even lite democratic socialism that won't hurt some cohort of people that doesn't deserve it. unless you want them to fall in with the fascists, you're gonna want to have a plan for how to integrate them into the world you're trying to build.

here's a wildcard for you. a lot of folks are on that "break up the monopolies" grind these days, and i appreciate the sentiment. i also think we would be vastly better served in the long run by simply nationalizing the monopolies. obviously there are plenty of worthwhile concerns to be had about any usamerican government gaining that kind of control over anything at this precise moment, but we cannot let that impede the horizons of our imaginary. i don't want market reform, i want the abolition of markets. the internet should be a public utility and ISPs should be government institutions. tech needs UNENDING regulation as we are all aware. social media should be public and interoperable. there needs to be a rolling back of internet surveillance. i've been toying with the idea of a Federal Department of Digital Moderation as an intervention on the current fascist radicalization pipeline that is social media, but that raises so many other concerns that i don't have an answer for. mostly i just think that the profit motive needs to be excised from as many sectors of public life as possible, and nationalization is a pretty good way to get there.

affordable housing! lower rents means fewer hours at work to make ends meet means more time to spend with family & community means more chances for more people to participate in civic action. abolish student debt and make college free! and make it illegal for colleges to invest in shit like fucking israel! a more accessible system of higher education means a more educated proletariat. this wouldn't by any stretch automatically lead to a more leftist proletariat, but conservatives have worked very hard to curtail access to higher education and that alone is more than enough reason to push for it. i've really buried the lede here, honestly. to my mind, medicare for all, mass public transit, free education, and national rent control are THE milestones we ought to be aiming for in terms of domestic policy. it is simply impossible to estimate how seismically and immediately these four policies (if applied equitably and without means-testing) could transform civic life in the USA. any systemic social ill you can name has some connection to one of these four ideas. i personally hold prison abolition & police defunding as equally essential, but these are unfortunately a MUCH harder sell for a lot of folks and will require some solidaristic frog-boiling from the likeable progressives/socialists of the world to naturalize the idea. but then, on that front i'm speaking very much outside my lane, and would defer to the wisdom of actual abolition activists in a scenario where we were talking concrete policy.

then there's foreign policy. this post has gone on a long time and i'm not the person to talk about this at length, but: the united states military needs to be defunded, and its outposts across the world removed. to curtail global climate change, the american imperial project must end. our meddling in foreign affairs is directly responsible for the domination of capital, and so long as this and other western states exist as they do, no communist outpost is safe. then there comes the question of reparations. all those billionaires didn't invent their money, they stole it. in quite a lot of cases they stole it from US citizens, but they've stolen far more from the rest of the world. tax the rich at 99% and distribute billions no-strings-attached to african and pacific island nations? other countries deserve a right to self determination without the threat of foreign interference. our nation's wealth doesn't just need to be taxed and redistributed to working class usamericans (particularly black communities), it ought to be redistributed internationally to all the countries we've fucked with over the last century and a half. but that's a pretty late stage pipe dream.

i guess the last thing that i've been thinking a lot about is more esoteric, and certainly difficult to implement. i believe we need to seriously interrogate "progress" as a concept. right now our society is defined by technological advancements as encouraged by a capitalist economy. if you fuck around with old analog tech at all, you've probably said to yourself more than once "they really don't make em like this anymore." i think about that fucking Hot Ones interview with matt damon about how streaming has stabbed the established profit model in the heart, where he says something like "we had a pretty good thing going before they showed up." i think about small museums closing down in the pandemic because they couldn't turn a profit, small local shops closing down for the same reason. constant newness paired with engineered obsolescence. disruption of the equilibrium in order to steal profit. it's easy to argue that socialized healthcare is good because it's actually more cost efficient than private healthcare. but those are the terms set by capitalists. i believe that healthcare and profit-seeking should be mutually exclusive. i believe that some things are a public good, however small --museums, quirky shops, parks, art spaces, open lots, movies, music, theater, whatever-- and that these things should be protected from the market at all costs. the alternative is corporate consolidation of everything, as every piece of local color cannot compete with economies of scale and asphyxiates to death. i refuse to accept the idea that "progress" means throwing away anyone who specialized in the thing being progressed beyond. i refuse to accept the idea that "progress" is linear and exists beyond the purview of morals, values, and ideology, nor indeed that it is inevitable and in any event an unalloyed good.

i believe that it doesn't matter if making higher-quality clothes at greater cost in unionized factories is "less efficient" than fast fashion. all "efficiency" means is spread everything as thin as possible, just enough just on time regardless of context. it's a mask for robber baron bullshit. it's an attempt by the bourgeoisie to naturalize the laws of economics as if they were on the same level as the laws of gravity, and we just can't accept that anymore. there's that meme, "i want shorter games with worse graphics made by people who are paid more to work less and i’m not kidding." i think we ought to apply that sentiment far more broadly. if we truly believe in the dignity of a self-determined life, then we must agree that some things are above profit, above efficiency, and are worth doing right. i haven't quite nailed down yet how exactly to verbalize this idea in a way that can be easily & quickly understood. but i feel it intensely, and only moreso as time goes on. as we push for these seemingly-impossible policy changes, it's of equal importance that we not lose ourselves to the limitations of the system as it exists under capitalism. to transform the world we must transform ourselves. to save the world we must save ourselves. if we hold a value to be true, then it must be constant and uncompromising. we must agree that our lives are better off when certain things exist even if they aren't efficient or fail to turn a profit, and thus decimate whatever part of us has been raised to believe that efficiency and profit ought ever to enter the equation. of course, in any revolution costs quickly become a huge going concern. there will always be painful compromises in policy along the path, always disappointments and mistakes. no revolution can be perfect. but through all these material challenges, the world that must be needs a place at the table with us. impractical, impossible, unfeasible... necessary.

you will probably not live to see that world, anon, and neither will i. we are all in the long game now, and it can never stop with one good policy, one good politician, one needed win. it's everything or it's nothing. socialism or barbarism. it is this belief which guides me, that no one ought to suffer the indignities i've suffered in my years working for shit wages, struggling to find housing, watching family die from economic abandonment. that there is simply no reason for society to be the way that it is, and that "the world isn't fair" is no excuse when we are the engineers of that "world" in every way that matters.

anyway, those are some of my thoughts on the subject. i hope i haven't made a complete fool of myself here.

[pascaloverx]

To Begin Again

ONE

Summary: You're a new teacher at a large and influential school. It's a risky step for you, as you've been running from your ex for almost two years. But when Dumbledore asks you to take on a class at the renowned Hogwarts, you can't refuse. However, your life as a newly arrived teacher won't be easy. Especially when the other teachers don't seem eager to make friends. Or rather, two teachers in particular: Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Author's Note: Welcome, dear readers. Please leave your comments if you enjoy fanfiction. This fanfic takes place almost in the real world (with the addition of werewolves) and is not a wizarding fanfic. There will be some differences and changes in things from the Harry Potter story or other fanfics in the HP universe, but I promise to do my best writing this fanfic. There will be a love triangle coming in this fanfic.

AO3 LINK TWO

To flee is easier than to face your problems, than to confront the demons you left behind long ago. And your life has become an eternal escape. Not only moving from place to place, teaching from school to school, you were living a temporary life each time.  Until one day, a letter arrived, yes, a letter for you from London. It said that you were invited to teach temporarily at Hogwarts Academy. Dumbledore needed you. He was a great friend of your father. They even taught at the same time, but when you were born, your father and mother decided to move to the United States for some undisclosed reason. But Dumbledore's letter comes to you as a good excuse to cover your tracks. Restart.

"What a piece of crap. My cell phone is out of battery and I'm lost in the middle of nowhere." You mumble to yourself. No one is listening anyway. A beautiful full moon night is in front of you, lighting your way. Hogwarts, despite being influential, seems to be located in the middle of nowhere. You jump back when you hear a loud howl. Are there wolves near a school? Isn't that dangerous? 

You look at your phone wishing there was some battery left so you could call someone. Noticing that it might be dangerous, you walk towards what you think might be the path. One step hurriedly each time. But the howls get closer and closer. Until you see a sign saying that Hogwarts is nearby. But as soon as you look ahead you see a dog. I mean, something similar to a dog but bigger. Or will it be a very hairy man?

"Leave or I'll throw my suitcase at you. Whatever you are." You say threatening the furry creature with your suitcase. The creature seems to stare at you, but not understand you. At that moment you laugh at your foolishness. Now who in their right mind would try to reason with a creature that doesn't seem to reason?

"Listen, I don't want to hurt you. I'm against animal abuse and I've participated in campaigns to rescue many from the streets. But if you come any closer, I won't have any other choice." You speak and while the canine creature or something looks like it's ready to attack you. When the creature gets a little closer, you throw your suitcase at it. With all the strength and aim possible. And then you run. Run as fast as possible, hitting some trees along the way but maintaining your speed. You hear the creature's grunts of pain. Then everything is silent, you rest a little. Your legs hurt, your arms are sore and bruised. And then you hear a long howl that alerts you that the creature is coming. And then you run again, as fast as you can. 

"I can't believe I'm going to die here, like this." You mumble as you run. You're so distracted that you don't notice a stranger in front of you. Until you bump into him. Making you both fall.

"Fuck. Don't you watch where you're going?" The stranger speaks in a rude tone and you look at him in confusion.Isn't he noticing that you're running from death? Or is he not hearing the furry creature's noises?

"Shut up and follow me." You say, holding the stranger's hand and asking him to follow you. Why you helped him, you don't know. But you wouldn't be able to sleep with guilty conscience if he died. Strangely, he follows you a little further into the forest. But who designed a school that has a forest with ferocious animals on the loose? 

"Come here." The stranger pulls you close to a hiding place. Hideout that actually seems designed for this type of situation. It's a small hut covered in bushes. You think about saying something but the stranger covers your mouth and points outside. Your eyes follow the stranger's fingers and you observe the creature outside. From a distance this creature looks like something from another world, from a fantasy world. A werewolf better said.  The creature sniffs for a while and then disappears into the forest.

"You saw that?" You ask the stranger who is currently adjusting his somewhat long, silky, and slightly wavy hair. Sweat is dripping down his forehead, but he seems fine. I mean, he's attractive. I mean, what the hell are you thinking?

"I did see it, still got the ability to see after some lunatic knocked me down out of nowhere. And you're welcome, by the way." The man says as he rummages through a closet. You look at him indignantly. What do you mean you should be grateful to him?

"Sorry to wake you up from that illusion you're in, but it's you who should be thanking me. That creature was about to attack both of us, and I pulled you to come with me. So, Prince Charming, get off your imaginary horse and thank me yourself." You respond proudly, starting to feel the pain of the bruises you accumulated along the way. 

"If that's how you feel, would you prefer to go out into the forest right now and try your luck?" The man says mockingly, and you glare at him angrily. What an idiot.

"Look, I'm new around here, and I don't want to sound presumptuous, but you seem like a jerk. But unlike you, I'm going to appreciate your help. Thank you for helping me escape from the big hairy creature out there. Satisfied?" You say, swallowing your pride, and then you extend your hand to the stranger. He gives a smirk, almost charming. What a jerk.

"Very satisfied. But now that we're here, would you mind telling me your name? I find it strange to spend the night with someone whose name I don't even know." The man says, sitting on the wooden chair next to you. You, who are sitting in an armchair, look at him, feeling strange about the idea of spending the night together.

"My name is Y/N. And yours?" You speak to avoid seeming rude, but the truth is, you want to know the reason why you'll have to spend the night together.

"Sirius. Sirius Black." He pauses before continuing, "And before you wonder, we have to spend the night here because it's still out there. But don't worry, as soon as dawn breaks, I'll take you to Hogwarts." Sirius speaks, squeezing your hand firmly. You shake hands, and he looks at you as if trying to unravel all your secrets.

"How do you know I want to go to Hogwarts?" You ask, and he smiles as if he finds it amusing.

"Let's just say I have a good sixth sense. Now, I suggest you rest. Tomorrow will be quite a day for you." Sirius says, handing you a pillow and a blanket. You thank him softly as you watch him grab another pillow and lie down on the floor. It looks uncomfortable, but you're too tired to be polite and offer to sleep on the floor instead.

"Hey, Sirius. Thank you so much for today. I might not be alive without you." You say sweetly and sleepily as you settle into the armchair. Sirius lifts his head and looks in your direction. Wow, he's handsome.

"I echo your words. The only difference is that I'd be alive with or without you. But I'm grateful for the company. It tends to be pretty boring around here." Sirius replies before turning over to sleep. You try not to dwell too much on what he said and then let sleep finally take hold of you. When morning comes, Sirius seems a bit more grumpy than before. You deduce that he might not be a morning person. You both leave the cabin early and walk for a while towards Hogwarts. The journey feels almost endless, but when you finally arrive, you're dazzled. The beauty of the architecture almost makes it worth almost dying to get in here.

"Well, princess, you're delivered. I won't be able to come in with you because I need to go check on something, but I'm sure we'll see each other again soon. Until then, take care. I won't always be here to save you." Sirius says, kissing the palm of your hand before leaving without giving you a chance to respond. You find him presumptuous but decide to move on.

Walking through the corridors of Hogwarts, you observe children playing from side to side. A boy with glasses and dark hair is hitting another boy with white hair on the ground, which startles you. You immediately run towards them. As you approach, you manage to separate the two, pulling the dark-haired one off the light-haired one. They both seem a bit bruised, and as you separate them, you realize that the effort has caused you significant pain in your back.

"You shouldn't be fighting. At least I think so." You say with some difficulty as you feel the pain growing. It's strange that despite the dark-haired one being the aggressor, he seems to take you more seriously. Meanwhile, the light-haired one is smiling mockingly with his arms crossed.

"And who are you to say anything?" Asks the child, around eleven or twelve years old, with a bruised face but intact hair. He's the one with the light hair.

"You must be thick, Malfoy, if you didn't notice that she must be our new teacher. Or maybe I hit you too hard." The dark-haired boy responds, already angry again. He seems both fearless and temperamental.

"Stop. Both of you! I don't want to hear insults or nonsense in my presence. You, with the white hair, I am your new teacher, so I suggest you change your tone when speaking. And you, with the dark hair, violence is not a solution to anything, not even insolence. Both of you, go far away from each other and think about how to be better." You speak calmly but very seriously. Despite their reluctance, both boys stop fighting and move on.

You feel the pain in your back get worse and walk to the first place you see an adult. Until you find a room, which seems almost abandoned. There is no one inside. You observe the room that has some old books scattered around and appears to be someone's room. 

"Can I help you?" A male voice speaks from behind you. You turn around nervously thinking it's rude to enter someone else's room. 

"I need help..." You were going to say more, but you were startled when you noticed a mark on the face of the man in front of you. You figured he must be in pain.

"There's no need to be afraid. I got involved in a mess last night and was a little injured." The man says getting closer and you feel like you're being rude.

"I'm sorry, I imagine it hurts. I'm sorry for my rudeness." You say, getting a little closer and looking deep into the man's eyes. Eyes you felt you've seen before.

"No need to apologize. It really hurts. My name is Remus and this is my room." Remus speaks as you watch him and before you can say anything, you simply pass out. 

                       

 To be continued...

[g3nderyb1nder]

Hassian and Reth are clapping cheeks

Listen here y'all, are ya gonna tell me this two don't have some "friends to lovers to enemies"? Then I'm here to analyze some things i noticed since I started playing Palia (like, a week ago idk) 1. They don't like each other but in a strange manner, like, they don't even have time to interact to grow hate yk what I'm saying. If you check Reth's schedule you see that he leaves the Tavern at 5pm

But then, if you look at Hassian's, that's the exact moment when he walks INSIDE the Tavern

Leaving at least a minute when they maybe cross paths or whatever.

And i know that once a (week or month idk) Hassian provides meat to the tavern so they could talk in that period of time, but when Ashura tells you to talk to Reth about that and Reth gives you the mission to collect all them orders for the tavern because he's helping Tish: they don't even talk when Hassian brings the meat cause Reth's not there.

So, how they gonna "hate" each other if they don't have time for that.

2. They don't actually hate each other but them vibes are weird. Once I told something to Hassian about Reth and he said "I don't think about him that much to have a problem" like- sir??? I asked you what time it was??? Why do you even do my man Reth like that. Then he starts yapping about honor to Reth's family (because he's a cook and not working as a carpenter) and disrespecting shit; but why do you even care about his family's honor. Also Reth doesn't talk shit about Hassian, more like he's being goofy about him, but he's like that with everyone else tbh.

3. Also i once asked Nai'o something about Reth and he told me "you know how he es, always flirting with everybody" like-??? I know Reth tried to pull them moves on Hassian at least once.

4.The poetry. I haven't reached that mission, yet i know that Hassian is a poet because Reth told me out of nowhere??? Later Sifuu does the same and talks about Hassian being secretive about that, and if that's true, how the hell does Reth know about it.

Pause to excuse myself because maybe there's some explanation further on the story but i'm still around 2-level-friendships with everyone so idk yet.

5. Apparently, when you start to get them pins from the villagers, Hassian seems to be jealous when he sees you wearing Reth's pin, i know this cause I've been stalking twt to see if someone is as delusional as me; but what i noticed about this is everyone talking about Hassian complaining about Reth's pin, but I haven't seen anyone saying anything about a different pin from a different villager yk.

Pause again, same as before, maybe he says the same thing, but I'm still in the early stages to know-

6?. Not anything more about the game but I was the other day on Character AI when i started a chat with a Reth AI described as "a flirty majiri chef with a surprising secret", I was bored so I pulled the lgbtq card and told him that i heard that him and Hassian had been seen toghether a lot. My man didn't hesitate and told me they were M E S S I N G A R O U N D ???? Not doing illegal stuff, not bickering, not whatever. I went along with it and now they're gonna have a baby btw, I'll keep you guys updated.

7?. I'm not the only delusional bitch when i see ✨these✨

Stan twitter is on my side (credits to the original accounts btw) and there is ONLY ONE FANFICTION IN AO3 ABOUT THEM (at least the only I found), and of course I read it, and felt really sad.

That's all for now, hope you'd enjoyed it, and I'll be taking my pills now. Have a great evening.

[eddiediazismyhusband]

One Fan’s Thoughts on 9-1-1 Season 7

(fair warning this is about to be a long ass rant post so buckle up; if you, like me, get anxiety over speculation and discussion of the show, this may not be the post for you to read… but i need to get my thoughts out there because i have kept them bottled up for so long that it is taking a mental toll on me.)

there’s something so gutwrenching about laying awake in bed thinking about how you have been the closest you’ve ever been to actually seeing a queer ship you’ve stuck with for six years actually going canon just to be hit with an immensely overwhelming sense of doubt because every time the story presents a natural path to develop in that direction, the writers completely veer off in an insanely different direction despite constantly trying to push this narrative of “if it goes there naturally” while ignoring the plethora of times it already has gone there naturally but has been passed over for some insanely far-fetched plotline that contradicts points that have been set up in the past…

i’m not trying to put a dampner on things or worry anyone, and like i mentioned in my previous post i am NOT closing on buddie, but i still can’t help but feel cinical and pessimistic about it when it feels like Tim is just blatantly baiting us at this point. Like at times it doesn’t even feel like he’s actually open to exploring buddie when he is constantly retconning his own storylines from previous seasons, and making excuses every time he deliberately chooses to ignore the countless number of chances that crop up in the story, instead deciding that because he wants to redo hitchcock he’s going to rewrite the history he created in order to fit a convoluted plotline that borders on farse just to a) not give fans what they have been begging for for years, b) shoehorn in his vertigo fanfiction, c) stir up drama rather than actually giving us something pointing in a positive direction to combat the 5000 other depressing plotlines he’s trying to cram into a 10 episode season.

i really thought tim was going to bring back the old vibe we had before KR took over and messed things up, but so far this season has felt like a jam-packed rushed mess that resembles a middle schooler’s first forray into a wattpad angst fic, and it’s disheartening to have sat with the show since the first season just to see it fall off so hard w s6 b, only to rebuild hope that things might go back to normal w s7, just for it to spiral even further into jump-the-shark territory.

And this is not just about buddie. There have been numerous times this season that have just been recycled plot points from previous seasons rather than something new and fresh, simply for the sake of melodrama. Old plotlines that had been seemingly finished are being rehashed and recontextualized out of nowhere, characters are getting entire traits and development completely rewritten and replaced with something almost unrecognizable to newer fans, there has been very little positivity within the narrative to allow us to breathe between traumatic moments, and the few positive moments we have received have been lukewarm at best, and have done nothing but cause derision and hate to be spread throughout the fandom.

PR for this season has been a mess. At times it feels like Oliver Stark is the only actor who exists on the show, and that Buck is somehow the titular character— not that Buck’s coming out storyline is not important, it absolutely is, but the entire season should not be focused solely on him just because of a two episode arc that honestly didn’t tell us anything new about him besides canonically confirming what we’ve known to be true since the second season.

We have cast members stirring up drama by indulging fans through paid video responses, and cast members on live getting asked to weigh in on fandom drama that they honestly have no reason to be involved in. We have news outlets constantly being approved by the PR team to ask questions about a popular ship to bait viewers into watching the show when there has not been any concrete evidence either way of whether or not they actually plan to go there, dragging things out for another season when they have no confirmation yet in whether or not they will get a 9th season (and if they do, probably coming up with some other bullshit reason to drag things out), confirming that certain plot points were planned to happen in the past but for some reason now they are like “but that’s not what we’re doing anymore so you have to live with present and be happy with what you get.”

There is no reason why 6 years can’t be a long enough time for a slow burn. There is no reason for characters to be given increasingly convoluted arcs that callback to plotlines that have been otherwise nonexistent for years at this point. There is no reason to drag fans of a ship along just because you’re too scared to lose they’re viewership rather than just flat out saying “no we aren’t ever going to do it” or actually committing to it one of the hundreds of times the story opens a path to it.

No, the choices made this season were not “the only way” we could have been given the same dramatic beats. The choices made have not been some sort of end all be all to the story with no other possible outcome. Tim did not need to send the show off the rails the way he has just because he wants drama. Yes it’s a drama show, but there also need to be moments to breathe. Yes it’s a drama show, but that doesn’t mean you can’t let characters be happy. Yes it’s a drama show, but that doesnt mean you have to fuck up the narrative every time it starts going in the direction of something the fans have begged for for years just because you don’t want to give it to them.

It’s disappointing to see how careless they are being with things this season when previous seasons the actors and writers have been so cautious about what was said about buddie. now we have every interview mentioning buddie in some way, yet we only get told “idk 🤷” and see nothing concrete in the story to firmly hint one way or the other. It’s disappointing when you start feeling like you are being dragged along because a corporation knows that ship baiting won’t ever actually backfire/have a negative affect on them, so it ends up being a lose-lose situation for the fandom.

Maybe it’s because I have been burned too msny times by TV shows in the past, but nothing about this season or the PR surrounding it has given me faith that Tim or the writers actually care about anything other than viewership. Otherwise we would be seeing clear signs of the growing seeds of buddie, but so far all we’ve seen is the same framing choices that we’ve seen in every other season that are being made to deliberately keep buddie fans drawn in and theorizing when the writers have most likely already thrown out any plans that there might have ever been for buddie to go canon.

Mostly, I am disappointed in the fact that Oliver has been so heavily involved in pushing buddie speculation after being so careful to not lead people on in the past- i know that some believe that this was a sign that buddie is coming and he knows it is, but as the season draws to a close it feels more like he is just showing where his loyalty lies even though he knows the show isn’t going to take it there. I am not blaming oliver for buddie not going canon or trying to insinuate that he is queerbaiting in any way, but i can’t help but feel like i wouldn’t be so dejected about the way this season is going if he hadn’t started interacting with and sharing buddie content before any sort of confirmation was given.

now do not get me wrong i absolutely ADORE oliver and i am not in any way trying to attack him or speak against him in any way, I am simply saying that his sudden vocal support and campaigning for buddie is only going to add on to my disappointment in heaps if they don’t make buddie canon, especially after JLH said Tim made Madney happen bc she asked for it, but he still hasn’t made any sort of definitive move towards buddie after the same amount of time.

and lastly my disappointment also lies with the fact that ryan’s acting ability has been wasted on this crackfic plot… ryan is one of the most underutilized dramatic actors on the show, and the fact that the only serious arc he has gottne this season isn’t even that serious because of how out of character and preposterous it is is really disappointing. ryan deserves better, and eddie deserves better, and it is disappointing seeing him acting his entire heart and sole out in a plotline that makes his character out to be the bad guy in the situation when this is something eddie would never do under normal circumstances. Ryan’s talent has once again only been used to show trauma and this time it wasn’t even trauma that feels natural within the story, and especially after his recent interview it disappoints me that we are once again reiterating that eddie is somehow mentally unstable enough to have an emotional affair with a woman he knows nothing about just because she looks like shannon. Eddie has simultaneously had so much yet so little development, and seeing some of the theories of where his character is going in the context of ryan saying s8 will be a “reset” for eddie doesn’t fill me with excitement over where his story is going and actually makes me worried that we are going to see regression rather than progress for the sake of drama… i just don’t want to see eddie’s character revamped to a point where he has lost all of his development from the past 6 seasons just because Tim wanted to turn eddie’s plotline into a melodramatic telenovela.

Anyway, sorry for the rant— maybe it’s the stuff that’s going on in my personal life combined with the fear of getting played by yet another network tv show ship baiting that’s making me feel this way, but this season has left me feeling so pessimistic and cynical about the show as a whole, but mostly about buddie and it hurts. I love both of these characters dearly, and i want them to finally understand that everything they’ve ever needed in life they have in each other, but it feels like ever time we are on the verge, another wild card is played and it’s getting old atp.

i don’t say any of this to cause an argument. i don’t say any of this to poke and prod at people. i say this as someone who has loved this show and given it 7 years of my life who feels like my experience as a fan is being shat on in favor of melodrama rather than thoughtful storytelling… not to say there haven’t been really good moments this season, but overall, it has really soured things for me the way Tim has handled/taken the narrative in many ways, and I don’t know if I will be able to watch season 8 until i see concrete evidence that things will be better. i am not kidding when i say this takes the spot as my least favorite season after season 6, regardless of if we get any hope or not next ep… and that is what upsets me.