#putting this down to mould poisoning in my room

[dykefever]

a little snippet of a Christmassy r/s fic i'm working on ... hopefully out by Christmas :-)

[buckys-black-dress]

all the signs i don't read

a/n: guys!!! I'M OFFICIALLY DONE WITH MY FIRST YEAR OF UNI! i'm sooo happy to finally be done, i can focus on writing more for you guys this summer :) here's a lil somethin' i whipped up after my last final today. enjoy! xoxo, ali <3

wc: 2.5k words

[bucky barnes x fem!reader]

read part two here!

-

You never thought anything of it.

You never thought anything of it when every time someone would come into the room, Bucky would act like he couldn't stand being touched by you.

It was little things, at first.

You would be in the kitchen in the morning, making coffee for him and you. He would be holding you from behind, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. And then Steve, or someone else, would walk into the room.

And he would shake off your touch, like you were poison.

It never hurt less.

But it's not like you could ever make a scene out of it, or anything. Because nobody even knew you and Bucky had been dating for the past two months.

You had no one to turn to in this situation. No one knew you two were together, and you kind of messed this up for yourself when you agreed to all of this at the beginning of your relationship. Bucky had told you he wasn't really ready for PDA, and you had told him, in a haste, that it was fine.

But after two months of extremely close calls, your patience was wearing thin, and you know it sounds bad. But you've been extremely careful with him, always asking asking him if everything was okay before going further with anything involving physical touch. You always made sure you weren't crossing any boundaries, but it was starting to get frustrating.

You couldn't understand why Bucky could get all touchy-feely with Steve and Natasha when he felt like it, but was practically gagging at your touch.

You were currently cuddled up on his bed, watching a movie. You were on cloud nine, basking in the warmth of your boyfriend's touch. This was one of the rare instances where he would let you get this close. It was nice, and you made sure to always take advantage of it if the situation presented.

You could feel Bucky's gaze fixed upon you as the colors of the TV screen reflected onto your skin. Your eyes dip down to his, and a warm smile graces your face as your eyes meet.

You couldn't ever put into words how happy Bucky made you. You had liked him for so long before he even asked you out, and you were over the moon the day he had brought up wanting to take you out.

It was another night of dinner with just the two of you. Everyone else was on a mission, and since you two were the only ones left, you had decided to make the decision to make food for the both of you.

"James?" Your voice resounded through the empty kitchen and dining room.

"Yeah, honey?" He answered, painting your face red in a blush.

"Do you... just- nevermind." You shake your head, looking back down at your plate.

"Hey, look at me." He says, putting his hand over yours. "I was actually tryin' to figure out how to ask you this..."

Your brows are pulled together, wondering what he was talking about.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me, James." You reassure him. You were grateful that he was such a good friend to you, and that he trusted you enough to open up to you.

"I was wonderin'... would you like to... go out on a date with me sometime?" He asks, holding your gaze.

You're sure you look like a fish out of water right now, your mouth opening and closing in shock. He wanted to ask you out?

"I just... I like spending time with you, I like how you call me James, I like how you don't judge me and how long it's taken me to get comfortable here. I like how kind you are, and how you've always asked the others to be patient with me, so... would you like to go out on a date with me?" He held such hope in his eyes.

"I... I would love to, James." You reply after a moment of silence.

"I'm so happy you said yes." He smiles warmly. "But just... don't mention it to anyone? I don't want Steve or Sam on my case. You know how they can be sometimes." He smiles, and you nod at his request.

"Of course, James. I don't ever want to make you feel uncomfortable, we can go at your pace." Your tone was soft and understanding.

"Thanks, doll. You don't understand how much it means to me." Bucky returns your soft smile, and scoots his seat closer to yours.

His gaze was fixed on you, and while you were playing over the time in your head, Bucky leans in and pecks your lips gently.

"Hm, what're ya thinkin' of, honey?" He questions, sensing your mind was elsewhere.

"I was just thinking of that night when... when you first asked me on a date. How sweet you were." You smile coyly, leaning back in for another kiss.

Your stomach fluttered at Bucky's hum of approval at your actions. He deepened the kiss, motioning for you to fully sit on his lap. Bucky gently placed each of your legs on the sides of his thighs, his hands grasping your hips.

As he stared from your eyes to your lips, back up to your eyes, you felt lightheaded. This was the most intimate the two of you have gotten so far, and you feel the butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

Soon enough, your lips are back on his, moulding onto his like you two were made for each other. Although you two loved watching movies together in each others' rooms, (to avoid prying eyes, of course) you have never been so close to him before like this.

You felt yourself getting high on his affection, and once you had it, you didn't think you could ever go without it.

As Bucky's grip on you tightens, your hands move up to his shoulders, also moving to grasp them. Your hips move with a mind of their own, grinding against his lap.

You didn't think anything of it, but Bucky freezes at the action. His hands stop their gentle strokes along your sides. His lips pause their actions, and you feel him pulling away.

Both physically and emotionally.

"James, is everything alright?" You ask wearily, truly perplexed. Everything was going so well...

"I just... I can't do this, Y/N. I- I'm so sorry... I can't do this with you." He leans back, and limply moves his hands to flop onto the bed at his sides.

"O-Oh," Your voice breaks as you process his words. He didn't want you. This has all been a joke to him. Even in private, your touch made him uncomfortable.

"I... I have to go." You slide off Bucky's lap, gathering your belongings from the end of his bed and rushing out the door.

Without even a glance behind you, the door slams, and Bucky is sat dumbfounded on his bed. Why did I do that? He thinks to himself. Why did I say that to her?

As tears filled your eyes, you just pray that no one will see you. Unfortunately, your room was on another floor, and you think the stairwell would be the best option to avoid people at this point in time.

But of course, as fate has it, Steve is taking the stairs up. You can tell he's probably just returned from his nightly run, as he's sweating through his shirt.

You quickly wipe your eyes, hoping they look too puffy. Your nose was probably red, too, but just sniffle to clear it.

At the sound of your nose, Steve's head shoots up. Your eyes meet, and you plaster on possibly the fakest smile you've ever produced.

"Steve! How was your run?" You ask enthusiastically, trying to make it seem like you were just fine.

"Yeah, it was good. Took a bit of a longer route today. What are you doing here? You never take the stairs." He asks with a raised brow.

"I uh... I was watching a movie, and I had some snacks that were sitting a little heavy on my stomach. I thought a flight of stairs or two could do me some good." You shrug, trying to look as unsuspecting as possible.

"Are you sure you're alright? Your eyes seem a little red." Steve counters. He could feel that something was off.

"Y-Yup, I was watching a sad movie, you know how I get." You give a fake laugh, turning back around. "I have to head back, but good talk, Steve. Enjoy the rest of your night!" You practically yell while walking away from him.

The door of the stairs close behind you in a haste, and you take a moment to take a deep breath. You hated lying, but it's not like you could've said anything to Steve. He had no clue about anything having to do with you and Bucky.

While you locked yourself away to your room for the rest of the night, Bucky was still trying to process the events. How in the matter of a minute, he managed to shift your entire relationship. He was kicking himself, trying to figure out how to fix this. He couldn't seek out advice from Steve like he normally would in situation like this, or ask Natasha. Usually, she was the one to help him when it came to women these days.

But now, he was on his own.

And he was fucked.

So, he had two options.

One, go to Steve. Confess everything; dating you for the past two months, admit he was an idiot and didn't want anyone to know. Realize it would've been fine if everyone knew because everyone loved you. Try to win you back.

Or two, try to get you back on his own. And let's be honest, that option was not looking too good. Clearly, Bucky was clueless in this topic.

So now, he was left to stew.

That night, you drifted into a dreamless sleep with a heavy heart and a tear-soaked pillow.

-

The next few days were... rough, to say the least.

You could barely drag yourself out of bed. You would leave your warm blankets and pillows around eleven each day, which was unheard of for you. Natasha and Wanda would stop you on your way to the kitchen, and try to pry the problem out of you.

Sweetie, this isn't healthy for you.

Honey, just tell us what's wrong. We're here for you.

Y/N, we're worried about you. We love you, but you look horrible.

That last on made you crack a smile, but shook your head and headed in to make yourself a coffee.

For the first time in two months, you were only making coffee for you.

And fuck, was it killing you.

You so badly wanted someone to wrap you up in a hug, rub your back, and tell you it was okay. To tell you your touch was comforting, that they wanted to be close to you.

But of course, fairytales weren't real. You were alone again, and it seemed that it would stay that way for a long time.

No matter what you did, all you could hear in your head was James' words. I'm sorry, I can't do this with you. With you. With you. With you.

And you couldn't help but wonder. What was it about you that was so repulsive to him? You were understanding from the beginning. You just thought he wasn't ready for PDA, that he just wanted his privacy, you understood.

But what you didn't get was how James could have asked you out on a date, how he could've kissed you, for fuck's sake, and yet be so ashamed to be seen with you.

So you allowed yourself to only wallow for five days. You only gave yourself these next five days to feel sorry for yourself, whatever you needed to be pathetic for a few days, but that's it. After that, no more.

You were tired of feeling like you weren't good enough for anyone, like you were a burden. You were an amazing person, and if some people couldn't see that, it wasn't your problem.

You were done.

-

During your five days, you hadn't seen Bucky once. And of course, as your luck would have it, day two brought you your ex-boyfriend.

All in his glory, in the kitchen.

With not one, but two mugs of coffee.

His eyes meet yours, and you see a light in his. But you made sure you were quick to put that out.

"Do you need something, Bucky?" You all but sneer, and his soft smile drops.

"I just... I was about to bring you some coffee. Just how you like it, iced and black." He tries the smile again.

"No thank you, I'd rather make it myself." You turn your stare to the coffee machine, grabbing a capsule and sticking it in the machine before sliding it shut.

Bucky just stands there, dumbfounded. Again.

This seems to be a trend with you.

"Y/N, come on. Let's just sit down and talk about this. Let's go to your room, or maybe mine-" He begins, but you couldn't be bothered with him anymore.

"You know what, Bucky? No. If you want to talk, we can do it out here, for anyone to see. What are you afraid of? Me? Scared that someone will see you with me? God forbid, someone sees that you like me, right? God fucking forbid someone actually is proud-" your voice cracks in an ugly way, and even though you don't want to seem weak in front of him, you continue, "proud to be with me. I gave myself time. Time to understand why on Earth you seemed so... so disgusted to be with me. So ashamed.

And I got over. I am not going to let you make me feel like I'm anything less of a great person, and anyone would be lucky to have me. So screw you, and your secret relationships. I'm done."

By the end of your speech, tears had definitely made it down your cheeks, and your coffee was long forgotten as you turned to move out of the kitchen.

Bucky's eyes had widened at your words, realizing the weight of his mistake. He had made you feel so small, so repulsive and you thought all those things about yourself were true.

But they couldn't have been further from it.

Bucky loved you. He had only had you for two months, but in that short time, he was so hellbent on keeping you a secret. On showing the others that he wasn't weak, that he was still a big, tough guy. That he didn't need a girl to comfort him, or to help him through the nightmares.

But you were the best thing he ever had, and now you were slipping away.

But if Bucky is anything, he's a determined man. And he's determined on getting you back.

-

a/n: aw shit, what's gonna happen?? don't worry, i would never leave y'all hanging like this. part 2 will be coming shortly :) in the meantime, enjoy whatever this is. love, ali <3

read part two here!

[iliveiloveiwrite]

hi again!! i was the one who requested angst 10 and 15, and fluff 7 and i forgot to mention maybe with anthony bridgerton?? thank you!!

The Heart Wants What It Wants

Angst 10: “If you walk out of that door, do not come back.” // Angst 15: “This isn’t working out.” // Fluff 7: “Of course I waited for you.”

a/n: this broke my heart to write, I want to cry.

warnings: angst with a happy ending, mild swearing.

blurb requests are closed. 

Years Ago:

“This isn't working out,” The Viscount states when he enters the room, gesturing between you both.

You snort. “You could say that again. I told you from the beginning that you shouldn’t marry her.”

“Not me and Lady Simmons. Me and you.”

“What?” You ask, taking the blow as best you can.

“You’ve been nothing but rude to Lady Simmons since I declared my intentions, making comments behind her back and glaring at her when you think she doesn't see.”

“She isn't right for you, Anthony!” You cry, feeling the familiar burn of tears behind your eyes. “She’s after your money. She doesn't love you for who you are. She wants your title and nothing more.”

Anthony staggers back a step. “I never expected this from you,” He whispers, his tone displaying his hurt. “I thought you would always be on my side.”

“Not when your intended is going to do more harm than good.”

“What an awful thing to say.”

“I won’t apologise for stating the truth, Anthony.”

“Then I won’t stay to beg for one.”

“If you walk out of that door, do not come back,” You hiss, doing your best to keep your sobs at bay as you glare at Anthony Bridgerton. 

“I have no plans to,” He spits, hand on the door handle. 

One last look is shared between you both; the hate in the room palpable, but underneath the rage and the upset simmered a love that ran so deep it was practically moulded to your very being. 

Anthony hesitates for a single moment; questioning everything he’s ever known, but ultimately common sense is thrown out of the window as Anthony leaves the room, resolutely refusing to look back. 

As the door clicks shut behind Anthony, you sink to the floor, heart wrenching sobs falling from your lips. You bring a shaking hand to your chest, pressing it firmly against yourself as if the touch alone would keep you from breaking apart. What was the point? You wanted to scream, you had been smashed to pieces by the very man who had promised to never hurt you. 

Futile, pointless, useless. 

As the tears continued to flow, your heart broke in your chest. You were sure; you were sure that he felt the same as you, that he loved you as much as you loved him. As you laid on the carpeted floor, you felt the keen sting of unrequited love, hoping never to feel it again.

Now:

Anthony stares up at the white door, his hands shaking slightly as he radios himself to confront the friend he had been missing for years. He hadn't wanted to wait this long; had wanted to run to you the moment his relationship broke down, but the words exchanged that day were so poisonous he was certain you would never forgive him. 

So he stayed away. Heard of you from other sources; kept track of you and your wellbeing all through word of mouth. 

It was painful, but necessary. His conscious wouldn’t let him sleep if not. 

Now, years later, he stands at your door, hoping and praying you would let him in. 

A Butler answers the door after he knocks three times, and he is lead to the drawing room decorated in creams and golds. Anthony cannot help the shock that runs through his body when finds you in the room, dressed to the nines and a small smile on your face.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” You state, pouring out two cups of tea and offering Anthony a biscuit.

“You waited for me.” Anthony states plainly, stating the obvious with an emotion you can't decipher in his voice. 

“Of course I waited for you,” You sigh, smoothing out your skirts. “How long did it take to see sense?”

Anthony frowns and you hate the sight of it on his face. “A month into the courtship.”

You nod your head; refusing to point out that you had warned him of such events taking place. You remain silent, picking an invisible thread on your skirts. 

“It was my mother,” Anthony exclaims, breaking the awkward silence between you both, “She made me see what was happening and urged me to break it off before I bankrupted the whole family.”

“Violet Bridgerton is a wise woman,” You smile, thinking of the Bridgerton matriarch with the familiar ache of grief in your chest whenever you thought of a member of Anthony’s family.

“Yes,” Anthony murmurs, “She is. So are you.”

You raise an eyebrow in question. Anthony continues to speak, “You warned me and I refused to see it. Instead, I let Lady Simmons control my actions and it led to that awful day. I’m sorry.”

“You need not apologise, Anthony. I forgave you long ago.”

“You did?” He asks, shocked at your words.

“I did. I didn't want to hold onto the anger; it was beginning to taint my happy memories of you.”

Something inside of Anthony’s chest cracks at your words; he came here expecting hostility and upset, but instead, he finds you amiable and willing to forgive. It’s then that Anthony realises he’s been an arse about the whole thing.

“I ended things after a month,” He begins. “It took another two months for me to confront my feelings for you, why I reacted the way that I did. I suppose on that day I had hoped that my declaring my intentions would force you to confess what I hoped you felt for me.”

“What did you hope I felt?”

“That you loved me as I loved you.”

“You broke my heart, Anthony. Shattered it to pieces right in front of my very eyes.”

“I know, and somehow you’ve forgiven me.”

“Because I never could stop loving you. Months, years, I tried not to think of you and not to wonder whether you would eventually find your way back to my door. But the heart wants what it wants, and mine has decided that it wants you.”

“It does?”

“It does. It hasn't changed after all these years.”

Anthony closes his eyes at your words, sitting back in his chair as the words settle over his skin, putting to rest any lingering fears he had over today. In his mind, he could see it all play out - his future, the only one he has ever wanted and it’s always going to be with you. 

The heart wants what it wants, and his belongs to you.

[starshipsofstarlord]

God is With You, Even as You’re Sinning

Pairing | Sam Winchester x reader

Summary | it was your first time not killing a monster, and in its place, taking the life of one of your own. Guilt entraps you, and it is up to Sam to break you out of your pitiful hypnosis.

Warnings | mentions of death, blood, angst, guilt, some smut, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative unprotected sex, fingering, swearing, mentions of murder

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Fuck God. This was all his fault, everything was to be fair. He had left the world to continue on its own accord, the apocalypse threatening to spill over the planet and destroy it and all beauty that was lingering through the existence of humans.

They killed each other, and the creator of all could care less. It was his smallest problem, he didn’t mind that the murderer was succumbed to guilt, or how many restless nights that he or she endured. God was cruel, even if he held up a facade of being your ally, and trying his hardest as he supposed, to be your friend.

Your hands shook as you remembered the entailment of your mistake. It was a slip up, a vast and surreal experience that people usually learned from. But what were you supposed to do, not kill a human again? Yeah you had gotten that, after all, the initial deed had not at all been intentional.

There was the victim’s blood dried upon the outer layer of your skin, casting you in the perfect image of murderous intent. However, you had no thirst to kill, instead, your hunting of monsters, alike to many others partaking in a similar lifestyle, executed the mythical beasts to protect the human population.

It pained you truly, to know that you had killed a person. You hadn’t even spared the familiar body a second glance, and out of panic, you fled the scene, leaving the body of the city cleaner in the gutter, laying in the remnants of his friends’ and family’s waste, burying him in their crude excrement.

The thought alone, and the sight that was engrained in the peripheral of your mind had you feeling sick. Slowly, you plodded down the steps of the bunker’s entrance, surely leaving footprints trademarked in all kinds of grotesque evidence.

Without much care for what lay heavily inside, you dropped your duffel from your shoulder, allowing it to fall on the ground with a disgruntled clatter. Nothing meant anything anymore, not if you were indeed a real killer. Whilst some monsters had weaselled their way into society, ending their pathetic attempts at normality was different than taking away the life of an innocent and mortal bystander.

Often, with the darker and crueler species, there were reasons as to why they pretended to be of human birth. Mostly, it was so that they could feed from the naive flock, or kill for their own amusement. Either way, none of their reasons were good.

But now, you thought of yourself as no different than them. A creature that needed to be put down for their crimes. Filing, you breathed in, only inhaling the various moulds of putridity that was weaved into your hair, and stuck to your skin like a face mask.

“Should I call you Cassie now?” At the joke, a laugh from the speaker was triggered. He was quite amused with the sight of you, and thus, you sneered at the tall man, hating him a little bit more than usual.

“Your pop culture references aren’t appreciated Winchester, it’s more Dean’s street.” Shoving past him, his high shoulder floundered back at the harsh and ignorant impact, an expression of offence covering his stupid face. Like a fawn, he tumbled after you, watching as you walked sullenly into the kitchen, yanking the door to the fridge open, and extracting one of his brother’s store bought beers.

“I’m going to guess the hunt went bad.” Sam speculated, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, and staring expectedly down at where you popped the cap off the bottle recklessly with your teeth. He almost winced at the sight, but he wished to keep this arrogant demeanour up with you, it was a natural desire to piss you off, and he’d be pissed at himself if he let it slip out of simple pity.

“Guess correct. Well done, you’ve won a trip to Hawaii.” You waved your free hand mockingly in the air, as the other raised the liquor to your mouth, allowing you to wilfully gulp the bitter liquid down. At his presence that remained nursing over you, you cocked a brow, leaning forwards as you expectedly looked back at the moose. “Just leave me alone Sam, I’m not in the mood for putting up with your bullshit.”

He, however, seemed not to be phased by you wanting to be left alone, and instead, quickly snatched the poison out of your hand, leaving you throughly prepared to keep him right in the balls. “What the fuck?” You all but screamed at the not so jolly giant. In turn, he crossed his arms across his chest, placing the bottle down on the island.

“I could ask you the same y/n.” His tone was dominantly serious, causing you to cower back into your shroud of guilty conscience. “Tell me what happened on that hunt, of which i told you that you shouldn’t have went on alone, since you wouldn’t have been able to handle it solo.”

You felt demeaned by his words, they sparked an anger out from the firm pit of your stomach. But you knew deep down, he was getting through to you, which was something that you had not managed to even do by yourself. Air heavily passed through and out of your nostrils, as acidic tears pooled in your eyes; a crack was falling down your walls, and out of all people, it was Sam Winchester whom had caused it.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have gone alone, but you know what, I thought of what a Winchester would do. And then I remembered, I am sure as hell not a Winchester and I don’t have a brother anymore! Not now, he didn’t even know who I was earlier, didn’t even recognise a single genetically identical hair on my head as he watched me parade through the town, the very one that I ran away from when he was a baby and I was seven, wanting to hunt a monster. Yet, i didn’t kill a damn monster Sam, I murdered my brother because you’ve been right all along, I’m not fit for this job. I am a mess, so congratulations, you finally have got me to admit the one thing that you keep reminding me of.”

“Y/n...” Sam wasn’t sure how to respond, he felt the waves of shock ripple through his body. Never so freely had you been vulnerable around him, and here you were now, with very visible tears cascading down your utterly torn face. He understood it was an accident, and the times that he and Dean had tried to kill each other under supernatural circumstances had him wondering what if.

Shaking your grime tethered head at the sound of his cracked voice, you stormed past him, and immediately raced towards the shower room, finding to your luck, which had been non existent during the rest of the day, the halls were barren of life. Walking through the door, you tore your ruined clothes off, chucking them upon the floor without much acknowledgement, before you went under the warm spray of the shower head, trying to calm yourself.

To rid your skin of its evidential accessories, you had to scrub your skin until it was immediately raw. Everything within you ached, as you flicked back to the memory of the clueless expression that had been worn by your blood brother. It was probably a good thing that he didn’t know who you were, or else, he’d have known that his own sister murdered him due to her incompetence to listen to others.

Now, you were not even sure what were your tears, and what droplets of water belonged to the shower itself. For over an hour, you basked int eh warmth that seemed unable to cure your cold blooded system, turning the spritz off, and covering your body in a fluffy towel, that you were sure belonged to someone else, but right now, you could care less about who owned what.

As you reached the door to your bedroom, you found it to be preached slightly open, and as you pushed it the rest of the way, you saw Sam sat on the corner of your bed. You held your arms around yourself, insecure on the fact that beneath the stolen towel, you were nothing more than you. A wolf in sheep’s skin.

“Can I help you?” You bitterly asked, your eyes still burning from your own faulted loss. Sam breathed in, his eyes trailing up to your face, that was naked from any gruesome cosmetics or make up. The bareness to your completion illustrated an aura of innocence, and evidence that you were the same as him - human.

“That’s my towel.” The male hunter laughed, in hopes of changing the previous and well wounded subjected to ensure that you felt better. But what was he kidding, nothing could fill the void that you had dug in your own heart, nothing was closer than the bond between siblings, even if you were considered as strangers.

“Take it back then.” Too exhausted from your gruelling day, you dropped the material, your confident action making his eyes go wide, as he tried to look away from your exposed skin to respect your boundaries. It was impossible though not to allow his hazel hues to slip up the trunks of your thighs, up to- no, that was wrong, very wrong.

You had just lost your brother, not to mention, by your own hand, and he was prone to checking out your freelancing body, taking in every curve and twisted scar that was prominent to his speculating eyes. His eyes dropped to the discarded towel, which he had purposely left on the heating rail for later use, and then, they switched back towards you.

He stood, walking behind you as you looked through comfort clothes within your dresser. A light touch of his hand brushed your hair away from your neck, as he breathed a sweet hoax of hot air upon your scare. Sam was relieved that you didn’t reject the contact, and instead, pressed his lips upon the flesh, finding succession whence you hummed deliriously to yourself.

This interaction had been inevitable for a long time, but now no longer were the suspected intentions for such an exchange to be to release well endorsed frustrations. No, he was going to clear your mind for some sensual moments, and make your pretty little head forget for a moment that you had pained yourself in the worst of ways.

Turning, you laced your hands through his chocolate locks, massaging his scalp as you pulled him closer so that your lips could endure a rougher clasp against his. There was no passion, behind each contribution there was a spur of hunger, he grasped your ass cheeks, pulling you up to be sat upon the top of your heavy dresser.

Obliging his command, you spread your legs so that he could stand between their partition, his hands now running up the windows of your thighs. For a while, the pair of you did nothing more than make out, and cup a feel here and there, but soon after, Sam dropped to his lanky knees, leaving kisses in the wake of his descent.

His thumb and forefinger spread your fluttering folds, watching as your slit squirmed for attention. Sam licked his lips at the sight, running his middle finger up the expanse, until he came to your yearning entrance. Slowly, after making sure you were wet enough, Sam slipped his digit inside, you wiggling your hips to adjust to the thrust of his one finger.

To add to the sensations that were overriding your body, he moved his mouth to closer proximity, smelling the divine aroma that pulsed out of you. It was far too addictive to not get a taste, and thus,he pulled his finger out, sucking off your juices contently.

But that small sample just wasn’t enough, which encouraged him to dive face first into your pussy - literally. His long tongue teased your folds, slurping at the lips, and then switching to your clit to heighten the stimulation. He kept up a rhythm, using it as a pattern to push you closer to that edge, and he was surely certain that you were enjoying his oral work as you ground your face against him, moaning at his succulent administrations.

“Sam.” Oh god, was it pleasant to hear his own name fall out your mouth in such an erotic manner. It was far different from the way that you usually used it to snide at him, though, the thought of your regular treatment of him aided only to spur his lustful actions on. He wanted you to cum, for your juices to run down his face in waterfalls, looking as though someone had tried to drown him.

His work would not be complete until you found it difficult to even pronounce his short name. Digging his tongue in the hood of your clit, tracing around the protective area, his fingers returned to their earlier placement, and he quickened their pace until he could hear a satisfying squelch in the air.

Rapid sounds of parted moans raked from your mouth, your chest sticking out as you breasts heaved with your heavy breathing. It was noticeable that you were close, not just from that, but you were squeezing the circulation out of his fingers. “Fuck.” Left you in the form of a squeal, as you pussy wept its juices.

Sam was quick to lap everything that left you up, once more, tasting those that clung to his fingers. He went back in for another taste, but you tightly grouped his hair, pulling him away from your sopping cunt. “Need you to fuck me Sam, now.”

In an instant, the hunter stood, working precariously on undoing the buckle of his belt, and pushing all material that covered his lower half to the bottom of his thighs. He read already hard, and oozing precum. You swept your finger across the tip of his dick, bringing it to your lips to taste his foreshadowing seed.

Sam huffed at the sight,picking his prick up in one hand, and jerking himself a couple of times. And then, he aligned himself with you, rubbing his cock around your wet crevice a couple of times, slapping his tip teasingly against your puffy clit.

“Want my cock baby?” He asked, smirking as he watched you nod your head repeatedly. With that being all the confirmation that he needed, he pushed into you,feeling even more turned on as he heard you mewl, and watched the ecstatic expression cross your face as his dick fit inside of you all the way.

He grasped your hips, pulling out once before pushing in again. He repeated the action, his own eyes rolling to the back of his head at how tight you were. This would make you forget the cruel method of god, his story was not as epic as he though, for his characters were screwing against his will, basking in a distraction rather than the regretful pain that seethed in your trodden heart.

Another thrust had your nails clasping onto Sam’s covered back, biting onto his shoulder through the plaid, as you held back the tears that were trying to creep out of your blissful eyes. A few grunts left Sam, as his pace increased, and with every thrust, which only served to fuel him further, the dresser smashed into the wall behind it, most likely leaving a decent dent within the historical architecture.

“Gonna cum.” You told him, dragging him in for another tongue filled kiss as your cunt pooled around him, coating his cock in the honey from your delicious pot. He soon followed after, and for a moment, he remained against you, allowing you to bask in the comfort of his strange presence.

And then he pulled out, watching as his distraction dripped from your entrance, trailing down your thigh in a white streak. An orgasm smile was pulled onto your face, but it was certain to not last long for when you returned to the reality that laid waiting for you to return.

Sam stepped closer again, moving his fingers towards your cunt, and pushed his seed back inside of you, watching as your puffy pussy lips swallows any part of him that it could get. He would distract you for as long as he could, and then, deal with the inevitable.

[mosswillow]

Try again, and again, and again - Maybe you’ll be free this time.

Dark!Charles Xavior x Reader (fem), Dark!Erik (Magneto) x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Adult content, Rape/noncon/dubcon, oral (male recieving), manipulation, abuse, mind control, posessive behavior, glove kink, blood, violence.  

Word count: 2222

A/N: Eek, I finally finished this. I hope ya’ll enjoy it. This is different from my original plan of multiple parts. I like how this came out though, it feels right with the vibe of part one. Hopefully it’s the right amount of confusing to make it fun and interesting but not stressful.

By clicking keep reading you confirm that you are an adult over the age of 18 and understand that this content is dark and potentially triggering.

You’ve done this too many times, stood at this window remembering it all. It’s exhausting; you’re so tired, so worn down. It’s a lie, all of it. You never married him. He forced you into this, erased your memories and added his own. He stripped you of your agency, moulded you into what he wants. A happy wife, someone to control - to submit.  

“Are you ready to stop this now?” Charles hisses from behind you.

A tear runs down your cheek and you wipe it away with the back of your hand. You step back from the window and slowly force your body across the room to your “husband”.  

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling you down and kissing away your tears.

You close your eyes and let him kiss you. His tongue pushes in your mouth and you open for him, tasting the slight saltiness of your tears on his tongue.

“Let’s go back to bed,” he smiles.

You lie next to him and turn your body away, stiffening as he puts his arm over you protectively. Your life has always been like this since you were born, it was stupid to think you could ever find happiness in this fucked up world. You feel his hand snake down your body and take a deep breath before opening your legs for him.

He was the first mutant you ever met, found you scared and starving in an alleyway and gave you food - love - family. He made you feel like you weren't alone for the first time in your life. For so long everyone around you made you feel like your power was bad but he didn’t think that. He thought that your power made you better than everyone else. He taught you to embrace it, to carry your mutation with pride. He told you to never take abuse, to throw everything they did to you right back at them.

Comical, really, how the one who brought you to a place of acceptance, who taught you not to take abuse, turned around and abused you. He had taught you well, too well. As soon as the first bruise showed up you chose to leave. You deserved better.

“What do you think you’re doing,” He said as you packed a bag. You should have left while he was gone but it was too late now.

“I just need space Erik, some time to think about what I want.”

“No,” his voice was quiet but serious, the tone more alarming than any of the times he had yelled. it made you stop packing and look at him. He took a small step forward and you noticed the disheveled appearance. His leather costume was torn in several places and sweat was beading on his forehead.

“This is what I’m talking about, I need to be able to have my own life. You dictate everything and won’t even tell me where you go. You… you hurt me,” you grabbed your arm gingerly, looking at it and frowning.  

The familiar sound of metal being manipulated came from Erik and you looked up just in time to see pieces of silver fly towards you. Your wrists were suddenly encased and you tried in vain to move against them.

“Let me go,” you said.

“No,” he replied almost too calmly.

“I’m leaving you Erik, you can’t do this,”

He walked to you and ran a gloved hand over your cheek.

“I can do anything I want, baby.”

Your wrists suddenly slammed into the floor and he was grabbing your head, tilting it back so that you looked up at him. He brought his other hand to your cheek, smoothing his thumb over your lips. “Anything,” he said as he pushed his thumb in your mouth. The earthy smell and taste of his glove overwhelmed your senses and you struggled against him. It was no use though. He was stronger than you would ever be. You relaxed your jaw and closed your eyes and he removed his hand, replacing it with his dick. He grunted as he pushed into your mouth, slowly pushing further into your throat with every thrust. When his cum finally filled your throat you swallowed and kept your eyes down. He crouched in front of you and kissed your cheek before leaving to shower. He left you there all night and by the time you were finally released from your chains you were too exhausted to fight. He carried you to the bed and fucked you gently and you let him.

You spent months alone in the prison he created for you. He said you would be let out once he was confident you wouldn’t try to run or use powers but you weren’t sure that would ever happen. Even when you followed all his rules, when you acted like you loved him. He would still find reasons to keep you isolated. Your life revolved around him, a cycle of trying to please him, eventually acting out and the inevitable punishment that came with your rebelion. It wasn’t a way to live.

“You’re thinking about him.” Charles' voice has an edge to it, one you’re familiar with.

You nod and turn your face away.

“You’re not there anymore sweetheart, I’ll take care of you.”

Charles grabs your chin and forces your head towards him. He kisses you softly on the cheek and pulls you towards him until you’re settled against his warm body.

He’s the same though, it’s the exact same suffocating love you ran from almost two years ago.

It took five years of trying to finally do it. Erik made a mistake, He left the back door open and you took your chance without hesitation. The first barefooted step onto the dirt was euphoric. Being kept away from the earth was like torture. Silent tears fell as you dug your hand into the ground and felt it move. It sucked away the fear, leaving you with a sense of peace. You had power again, could feel it like electricity move through your body.

Sounds of fighting came from nearby and you hid.

You could feel where people walked. The earth was talking to you, telling you when and where to hide. You made your way to a helicopter and crouched in the back, making yourself as small as you could and praying that whoever was attacking would get away and take you with them.

You held your breath as a group of mutants piled in quickly and the helicopter lifted from the ground. You stayed hidden for an hour before someone noticed you. A woman, red hair and drenched in sweat looked at you.  

“Who are you?” she asked. her bright green eyes widening in shock.

“I’m not like him,” Charles says “You’re happy here,” The anger in his voice becomes more evident by the second.

“Stay out of my head!” you yell.

A headache starts burrowing into your brain and you cry out in pain.

“I’m not like him,” he reiterates.

You struggle in his arms, turning to your back and looking at him from inches away.

“You’re even worse. He always knew he was a monster, he wanted liberation at any cost, me at any cost. He was…” you search for the words to explain “a poisoned cup of water.”

You grit your teeth and stare in his eyes, bringing your face so that your noses almost touch. You don’t care, there’s nothing he can do to you that hasn’t already been done, no way he can hurt you more than he already has.

“You pretend like you’re a hero but you’re not. You're a glass of juice laced with the same exact pison as him. You look good and taste good but you’ll kill me the same way.”

He uses his power against you, reminding you who he is and what he can do. You scream as your body bursts into invisible flames. With Erik the bruises would remind you that it was real.  Charles doesn’t even afford you that. Everything with him is invisible, all in your head. They’re not the same, Charles is worse.

“Is she ok?”

“She’s fine Jean, give her some space.”

You groaned as you returned to consciousness.

“She’s waking up!”

You jolted up, turning your head to stare at your surroundings. The last memory you had was crouching in the helicopter, now you were laying on a couch surrounded by mutants.

“I’m Jean,” a soft voice said.

“I’m sorry I… there were no other ways out,” you whispered.

“We know,” You looked over to see Charles pushing himself towards you. He stopped and looked you in the eyes.

“We’ll take care of you,” He smiled.

You smiled back, feeling safe and free for the first time in a long time. The X-Men, you had found a true family at last. Everything was going to be ok.

You’re expecting him to knock you out again, for you to fall asleep and wake up his loving wife but The pain stops suddenly and you whip your head towards him in surprise.

“You didn’t take my memories?” you ask.

“I’m not like him,” Charles insists.

You sit up and pull your knees to your chest.

“Show me you aren't, let me go.”

He looks up at the ceiling and inhales.

“I can’t.”

It started so slow with Charles. He gave you personal lessons, treated you kindly. You started to actually fall for him.

But then a new mutant came in and the chemistry was like nothing you had ever felt.

Charles got jealous almost immediately. You slowly started to see him the same way you saw Erik, recognizing the signs, there were so many red flags. You weren’t going to stick around, you had to leave while it was still an option.

You packed a bag and ran without a word, finding a job far away.

You should have known better. It was your hope that he would just let you go but of course he didn’t. Charles found you easily, and he was angry. You had never seen so much rage, it was like you were looking into Eriks eyes. You begged him not to do it, cried for help.

They stood there complacent as he forced you to your knees and rewrote your history, wiping your brain for the first time. They said they were your family, you loved them, and they betrayed you.

“It would be easier if you just accepted this, I don’t like using my powers against you.” he says.

You roll your eyes. He does like using them, you see it behind his eyes every time he does it. He loves the power. You look at his face and see a slight twitch in his eye. The wheels start turning in your head, a theory forms.

“You’re losing your ability to control me,” you say.

He sets his jaw and you know you’re right. Your lips lift into a small smile as hope starts to bloom.

“What will you do once you can’t just erase memories?” you ask.

A headache starts again and you stare at him, fighting back. You’ve never fought back before like this, didn’t know you could.

“I’m going to leave you,” you say before the world goes black.

Jean was the one who made the memories return for the first time. She unlocked them for you, cried and apologized as you sat there panicking.

Nobody said no to Charles. he wanted you and they were too afraid of him to stop it, she told you. The team was happier, Charles was happier. They sacrificed you, pushed the abuse onto you so that it wasn’t on them anymore.

It was all a show.

Your husband of three years had only kidnapped you a week prior. It was stressful and confusing, you ran to the bathroom and vomited. Charles called your name from the kitchen and you bolted out of the house. You made it halfway through the yard before you were tackled and held with your hands above your head. The only thing you could reach was a little bow from your hair. You took it and jammed it into the ground, letting the earth take it and hoping that one day it could somehow help you. You had to fight, keep trying no matter what.

“Good morning my love,” Charles says.

“Good morning,” you smile back.

You give him a kiss on the cheek and stretch out before walking to the kitchen. You look out the window and your memories come back in a sudden burst.

You turn around to see him in the doorway. Fear washes over his face as he realizes how fast you escaped this time.

You smile and raise your middle finger at him. The window shatters into small pieces as your fist breaks through. Blood drips down your hand but you don’t care. You’re free.

“I’ll find you,” he calls.

Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll find you and bring you back, keep you locked up. Maybe he’ll add chains to your hands and feet like Erik did. He won’t chain your mind though, never again will he control you like that. He can try again, and again, and again but you’ll always break free.

[dhwty-writes]

A Whiny Bard

So, this is only loosely connected to Day 6 - Frostbite/Hypothermia for @witcher-and-his-bard ‘s prompt challenge. More fluff, yay! Have fun!

Summary: Jaskier is cold. And very persistent. 

Warnings: None!

Read on AO3

"Geralt," Jaskier moaned, a desperate look in his eyes. "Please."

"Hm?" he answered, smirking. "You want something, bard?"

"You know I do," he whined. "Come on, Geralt, you cruel, cruel man. You can't just leave me wanting like this."

He chuckled quietly without looking up from the sword he was cleaning. "Yes, I can. Patience, Jaskier, I told you so."

"But Geralt! You promised!" 

Geralt didn't respond. He had a job to do after all; a rusty sword could decide over life and death in the next fight. Jaskier knew that. He was just being a pest. 

And apparently, he was not done just yet. "Geralt," the poet whined again. "Ger-alt. Ger-alt. Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt, Geralt." It was a ridiculous behaviour for a grown man. "White Wolf. Mighty witcher. My most beloved friend, my hero, my protector-- honestly, I am just trying to get your attention and I'm running out of things to call you."

Geralt sighed and glanced over his shoulder. Jaskier was sprawled out in the middle of their bed and made grabby hands at him. He rolled his eyes affectionately. "Honestly, bard, you're more trouble than you're worth," he grumbled.

"Hah!" Jaskier exclaimed triumphantly. Apparently, he took it as a victory instead of-- well, ages ago it might've been an insult, but they were past that, really. 

"So, you admit that I have worth on your travels!" Jaskier continued babbling on. "Took you-- what, only a decade? That's progress, my friend! But still, incredibly rude. I don't even know why I put up with you-- and you're not listening anymore. Again."

'That's not true,' Geralt thought. He was always listening to even the most nonsensical of Jaskier's ramblings. Not that he'd ever let him know; his ego was already inflated beyond what seemed humanly possible. Any more and he'd probably die from it. 

Geralt wasn't quite sure why he did it either. 'In case he says something important,' he'd told himself in the beginning, but he knew that was a lie. There was rarely anything of note conveyed in these tangents.

He just-- liked them, he guessed. He liked how excited Jaskier was about everything, he liked hearing his thoughts, he liked-- He liked Jaskier. There. He said it. The thought alone was daunting, but--

"Geralt," the poet interrupted his train of thought with his prattling, "my friend, my pal, my mate, have mercy on me." There was a melodramatic sigh from behind him and the distinct rustling of Jaskier pulling the blankets tighter around himself. "Honestly, I tell you, I'll have died of hypothermia once you're done."

A tiny smile appeared on his face. Geralt thanked all the gods he had his back turned to Jaskier and the poet couldn't see it.

However, it seemed he had run out of luck with that one, for Jaskier continued: "My buddy, my partner, darling-" 

Geralt's head snapped up without his volition.

For a moment there was complete and utter silence in their shared room, only interrupted by the rushing of blood in his ears. 

Then, Jaskier huffed with delight. "Finally got your attention, huh? Let's see, I can expand on that... Geralt, my dear, my heart, my love. Dearest, why don't you come over here and warm me up? Would you like that, my life?"

"Jaskier," he growled quietly. His face was feeling very hot. And his heartbeat was much faster than normally. He knew that wasn't normal. It felt like being poisoned. Actually, he felt a bit faint.

There was a bit of shuffling behind him and suddenly two arms reached around his shoulders, gently prying the sword from his grasp. "What is it, my soul?" Jaskier purred, his lips dangerously close to the shell of his ear. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

He wasn't. He definitely wasn't. It felt like his limbs had been replaced with jelly, it was horrible. He never wanted it to end. But-- "Stop," he ground out, "teasing me."

"Oh, but I'm not," he promised and moulded himself against Geralt's back. He was almost willing to believe him. "It's freezing, dear heart. Come to bed with me, loved one, why don't you?"

At that moment, Geralt could feel all of his resistance melt away; he knew he'd do anything to hear those words again. Jaskier could have asked him to go run naked around town, he would have done so gladly. So, kicking off his boots and pulling his shirt over his head? That seemed like the easiest thing in the world. "Alright," he heard himself whisper for there was nothing else to do. 

"Great!" Jaskier exclaimed and pulled him backwards with him. The poet flopped down with a satisfied sigh, his hands extended towards Geralt. "Cuddle me!" he demanded.

He wanted to huff, feigning annoyance, but why should he? So, Geralt just lay down beside him and pulled him close. No sooner was he cradled against his chest that Jaskier tangled their legs together and smiled up at him like the cat that had caught the canary. "Happy?" he meant to grumble. Instead, it came out more like a purr.

"Almost," Jaskier replied seriously. "You see, hypothermia is nothing to joke about and I'd really hate to lose my lips to frostbite."

"Hm," he replied. "Couldn't have that."

"We absolutely cannot," the poet agreed. "Any remedies you can recommend, o mighty witcher?"

"Hm..." He was feeling nervous all of the sudden. What a stupid reaction. 'Nothing to do but take the leap of faith,' he told himself. "I could... kiss you."

"Oh, you absolutely should," Jaskier spluttered and pulled him in for a searing kiss. And, well, Geralt wasn't about to argue with that arrangement.

[mollymauk-teafleak]

“We’re not just friends and you fucking know it.” + ThanZag feels very fitting <33

<3333333333

Please consider reblogging and leaving a comment on Ao3!

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

It was when the door of the cheap motel room closed behind him that it really sunk in.

Just what he’d done. How alone he was now.

The silence pressed in on him from all sides and it was all Zagreus could do to lean back on the wall, sink his fingers into his hair and take long, slow breaths. If he tried to move, if he tried to let the thoughts in, he felt for sure he would break into a thousand pieces.

He’d done it. He’d left the old man, he’d done what he’d threatened to do for years and years, he’d thrown as many of his possessions as he could into a bag and he’d left. It had been one argument too many, a poisonous comment that had struck too hard, too many words that just couldn’t be taken back. He hadn’t even been planning on it, he hadn’t known this would be the one that broke him. He’d just gone into his room, slammed the door, packed as quickly as he could and left out of one of the mansion’s windows.

Zagreus had done what he’d fantasised about since he was a kid, over the long, hard years of his relationship to Hades becoming more tense and more strained. And it was only now that he realised he’d never once thought beyond that moment. He’d never decided what would come after the deep, deep breath he took once he was beyond the armoured gates.

It was bitterly funny. Hadn’t people always told him he never thought things through?

He’d driven here in a daze, paid for a room with too much of the money he’d been carefully hiding away for years, just needing to put something between him and the rest of the world even if that something had to be some filthy, moulding motel walls.

And now he was alone. He was alone and he hadn’t even said goodbye.

Zag’s phone had been buzzing like an angry insect since ten minutes after he’d left. Unable to face it, he’d shoved it deep into the pocket of his hoodie and let it rattle away accusingly. But it must have stopped at least for a while because now it sprang back into life and he jumped a mile.

Before he could think better of it, acting on reflex without driving to occupy his hands, he pulled it out and looked at the screen. No text, just a single emoji of a skull. Zag felt his heart squeeze painfully.

He didn’t want to be alone. He really, really didn’t. So, feeling wretchedly pathetic, he skimmed Thanatos’ simple, straightforward text- where are you- and answered with just the name of the motel he’d checked into. And he hated himself for how much he hoped.

While he waited, Zag busied his hands by making a truly awful cup of coffee. Probably not a good idea to give himself more stimulant but that's what was laid out in a little sachet next to a mug with a smudged rim and if he stayed still another moment he was going to start bleeding from the eyes.

He was sat on the bed, sipping it and at least getting some comfort from the warmth if not the flavour, when he heard the knock on the door. Rapped, precise, to the point. Just like everything else about Thanatos.

“Yes?” Zag looked up, biting his lip, “It’s, uh, it’s open.”

He looked like he had just come from work. His suit showed no wear, of course, it was neat and crisp and grey as it always was, his ornamentation fixed in place, the clasp collar around his neck, the single earring all catching the low streetlight from outside. The tiredness was only in his eyes, more hollow that usual, his mouth more downturned. He had known Thanatos his whole life and could read when that usually perfect, placid face was hiding exasperation and tiredness. Usually it was his fault.

“Was I even going to get a goodbye, Zagreus?” he murmured sadly.

Zag took a shaky breath, pushing his fingers through his hair, “I...I’m sorry...I didn’t think…please don’t tell anyone else where I am.”

“You know I won’t,” Than sighed, almost like the fact he needed to ask stung him, “What happened?”

“My mother,” Zag admitted, the word alone feeling heavy on his tongue, “I just couldn’t take it any more.”

“Is that why you left?” Than’s expression had gentled a little, he knew what a sore spot this was, “Are you going to go look for her?”

Zag opened his mouth before closing it helplessly and shaking his head, staring down at his hands, at the dried blood under his fingernails from where he’d scraped them down the tree he’d scaled to get from his window to the ground, “I don’t know. I don’t know if I can.”

There was a moment where the space between them seemed to grow before Thanatos lifted his head and stated simply, “You can. We can. I’ll help you.”

Zag’s eyes snapped up, wide and hopeful but scared to be. He swallowed and shook his head, “No. No, Than, I can’t ask you to do that. I can’t ask you to go against him, your job is everything to you!”

“It was,” Than admitted, unfolding his arms and resting them at his sides, though his eyes struggled to settle on Zag’s, “It used to be, I mean. Before...”

Zag frowned, not sure he wasn’t understanding because Thanatos was being obtuse or because he was being stupid or because his nerves were jangling with stress and too much coffee, “Than. I’m not asking my best friend to risk his whole life because I can’t sort out my shit.”

Now there was real hurt in Thanatos’ voice as his expression tightened and he groaned, “We’re not just friends and you fucking know it, Zagreus. So please don’t give me that. I came here for you, didn’t I, I went against a direct order from my boss and from my mother for you. I lied to them for you. Gods, the least you could do is not doubt me now.”

Zag’s mouth fell open. However he had thought this might happen, if this really was happening, it had never been like this. He was the impulsive one, he was the one who launched into things without thinking and ran his mouth off and ruined whatever he was trying to build with his recklessness. He always thought he would be the one to blurt out what had been happening between them for a while, when it became too much to bear or he didn’t keep his brain on a tight enough leash.

And the most he’d dared hope for was that Thanatos would kiss him back.

His friend flushed, shoulders coming up protectively, “I’m sorry, Zagreus. I shouldn’t be putting this on you right now, not after everything you’ve been through tonight, forget I said anything-”

“No, don’t you dare,” Zag stood, feeling everything in him ache across the gap between them, “Don’t take it back. This...Than, this is perfect.”

“Oh.” He’d never seen his friend surprised before, not like this. He’d never seen Thanatos lost for words but he was now, that small, soft noise apparently all he could muster in response to that.

Suddenly he was grinning, “I’ve felt so lost, I had no idea where to go or what to do or what to want next. But now I know.”

“You do?” There was the Thanatos he’d always suspected no one else got to see, written plain upon that lovely face with no armour to hide behind.

“Yes. I want you.” And it really was that simple.

They both surged forward together but Than was faster and they collided close enough to the bed that Zag was knocked back onto it. They were kissing immediately, hungry, messy, frantic kisses borne of wanting to do this for so long and unable to bear a second longer. It was like all their teenage years going up like flash paper, all the glances where they’d wondered maybe, if only, what if turned into pure need. Something tore as Thanatos pulled Zagreus’ clothes away, Thanatos’ jewellery was flung to the floor without a second thought for it’s expense. None of it mattered, just the sharp, wanton inhale of finally.

“My bag,” Zag panted as Than’s teeth grazed his nipples, skated along the neat, thin scars there.

“Mm?” Clearly his lover wasn’t listening and Zag found it hard to pull him away from what he was doing. But it was going to be hard to progress without the right equipment.

“My bag, on the ground,” Zag’s voice wavered as Than sucked and nipped, “Condoms, lube, it’s in there.”

Than’s golden eyes flickered up to him cautiously, he pulled up a little, lips swollen, “You’re sure? That’s what you want?”

Zagreus could have kissed him for thinking to ask, before he realised he could do that now. So it was practically into his mouth that he whispered, “Yes. I’ve wanted it for a pretty fucking long time.”

He was grateful for Thanatos’ ruthless efficiency, it was less than a minute before he was rolling the condom down his erection, crouched over Zagreus. He felt his eyes on him and looked up, smirking.

“Hope I’m living up to expectations?”

“Oh yeah,” Zag grinned shamelessly, not hiding where his eyes were focused, “You’re exactly as...well, impressive as I imagined”

“You’ll tell me more about those imaginings one day,” Than promised, though his cheeks were flushed as he leaned close and kissed Zag, hands sliding across to move his thighs apart.

It was those golden eyes’ turn to wander and Zag couldn’t deny he felt relief at the fervour he saw in them.

There was no more waiting after that. Than wrapped his arms around Zag’s chest and drew him close as he pressed against his entrance. Zag whimpered, shifting lower against the pillows, holding Than’s shoulders tightly.

“I’ll go slow,” Than promised, inching forward, eyes searching Zag’s face for any sign to do anything but move forward.

“Oh gods,” Zag choked out, breathing heavily, doing everything he could to signal for yes and more as his words failed him.

Eventually he was in him to the hilt and everything felt right. He loosely wrapped his legs around Than’s slim hips, as if to keep him there, not that Than was entertaining any thoughts of doing anything but fucking him, slow and deep and indulgently. As he rocked him against the thin mattress, Zag could only whine and beg nearly incoherently, one hand coming down to play with his cock as Than thrust. He always needed something to do with his hands after all.

Between that and the years of pent up pining, it wasn’t long before Zag was tipping his head back and gasping, “Fuck, Than, I’m there…”

Than nodded, kissing at his jaw, mumbling, “Yes. Gods, yes, Zag, with me. Together.”

“Always,” Zag whined before he felt everything tense almost painfully, paralyzed as his orgasm rolled through him. Thanatos was a moment behind, sighing his name as he came, whispering it like a prayer.

Afterwards the silence was back but this time Zag welcomed it. It was comfortable, safe, as long as he had Than’s arms wrapped around him. It was a moment he could live in without worry, without having to think about what came before and what would come after. There was only now and now was Thanatos.

Eventually they had to disentangle themselves and all the awkwardness that came with that, shifting the sheets below them so they weren’t lying in the damp spot, tossing the condom in the trash. But there was something a little giddy about it, they must have caught each other’s eye and giggled almost hysterically five times before they were cuddled up again, catching their breath in each other’s arms.

“Ah Zagreus,” Than murmured, kissing the top of his head, “Maybe I should think less. Good things always seem to happen when I do.”

Zag chuckled, “Don’t change too much. I’m going to need you.”

The arms around him tightened, “You have me, Zagreus. I promise.”

And it was then that it really sunk in.

Zag was never going to be alone again.

[umbry-fic]

On the Matter of Ears

Summary: Colette didn't always grow her hair out this long.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia, Tales of Crestoria Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Lutesse, Genis Sage, Arche Klein Relationships: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Lutesse Rating: T Word Count: 2756 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 26/06/2021

Notes+Warnings: Spoilers for the entirety of Lloyd's side story in Crestoria! Don't read this if you don't want to be spoiled!!

This goes into expanding some of the concepts the side story introduces and their possible implications.

~~~

"You need to start hiding these ears, Chosen," Lutesse said, tugging hard at the pointed ends of Colette's ears. It hurt, but Colette did not pull away, for she knew from experience that that would only warrant further punishment. Besides, it's not as if she wasn't used to it. "Maybe consider growing your hair out?" the elf suggested, rubbing at the ends of the golden hair that fell to the middle of Colette's neck, tucked behind her ears.

"But none of the other elves in the village have to hide their ears..."

The protest fell from her lips before Colette could stop it. She clapped her hands over her mouth, expecting a tirade of stabbing words to spill out of the chief's mouth.

Thankfully, it appeared Lutesse was in a gracious mood today, for she didn’t raise her voice into a thunderous scream as she usually did whenever Colette showed signs of impertinence. She only continued calmly speaking.

"All the elves who leave this village, no matter for what purpose, have to cover their ears. Your case is no different. Hiding them will help you escape the detection of any humans you come across on your journey, such that you may succeed in bringing glory to us instead of being hindered by those idiotic buffoons."

Absent from Lutesse’s face was the kind smile she presented in public. Instead, there was a small frown on her face and a furrow in her brow, a familiar expression that struck fear into Colette’s heart, for it heralded much worse. “And you’re not an elf, Chosen, even if you look like one.” Lutesse’s voice dropped into a dangerous snarl as she broke her regal posture to lean closer to Colette. Colette froze, heart stuttering in her chest as she resisted her urge to back away. “Pray do remember that you were given the honour of resembling our perfect forms, but that you’re nowhere close to it. You’re not even a half-elf,” Lutesse spat, venom dripping from the last word like it was a curse. “Understood?”

"Y - yes, Chief Lutesse… Crystal clear..." Colette whispered in reply, bowing her head and hoping that would be enough to appease Lutesse.

"And are you not tired of Lloyd pulling at your ears? Covering them will most likely solve that."

"I think that'd just invite Lloyd to pull my hair instead." Colette smiled weakly, heart swelling in envy at the faint tinge of fondness she could hear in Lutesse’s voice when she brought up Lloyd. There was no trace of that whenever Lutesse looked at her. There was nothing but cold detachment, one that translated into the way Lutesse touched her, like she was handling an object instead of a living, breathing person with dreams and desires. For a tool that was only useful for a singular purpose did not deserve love, only to be beaten back into shape with no care as to whether it would shatter, for any break could be mended.

"No matter. Start growing your hair out, Chosen. I expect to see it at your shoulders by the end of the year."

Lutesse walked out the doorway, ending the conversation with the unspoken "or else" choking the room.

Colette remained in the middle of the room, staring down at her shaking hands as tears rolled down her face. She was safe to cry, now that no one was here to witness it.

Moulded in the shape of an elf, but yet not one, forever lesser than one… Then what was she? Who was she?

~~~

When Lloyd finally awakened after his horrifying fall from the cliff, he never commented on her ears again. He used to tease her about their shape, sneak up from behind and pull on them until she flinched away. Even though the elves who trained her recommended that she stay away from him to prevent the bullying, she couldn't help but ignore that advice.

For there seemed to be so much pain in those russet eyes, even as he teased her relentlessly. She’d even caught Lloyd sneaking out at night multiple times to do nothing but lie atop the grassy hill and stare up at the skies, tears leaking out from the corners of his eyes. Longing for something that had been lost, perhaps his parents? She could empathise with that, the desire to be loved, to have a family.

There had to be more to Lloyd that he was hiding for some reason she couldn't glean, and she wanted to help soothe that pain she could see, in whatever way she could.

She didn't even mind the bullying all that much. It paled in comparison to the worst that Lutesse had put her through. And even if Lloyd treated her meanly, he was the only one of the children who dared to approach her, the rest shying away from the Chosen. It certainly wasn't normal, but it was the closest she was going to get to it.

And it was her fault that he’d gone over the cliff in the first place.

But when he awoke, those russet eyes snapping open to meet her worried, tear-filled blue ones, he'd forgotten everything. The way he'd treated her before, the shape of her ears that were now covered by the hair that reached her shoulders, her name, all of it. It became a fresh start, their new first meeting, and yet it felt like she was finally meeting the boy hidden away behind the front, the true Lloyd.

And what an incredible person that was. Lloyd treated her as if she was just like him. A child, a friend, a person. Maybe he didn't even realise that she wasn't human like him. Perhaps the fact that he was the only human in this village had slipped his mind, despite Lutesse stating it at least once a week, for that was just like Lloyd. Or perhaps he simply didn't care. She didn't need to know, for all she did know was that it made her heart soar. His presence made her feel so comforted, let her know that someone appreciated her for just being her. Helped her forget that… she wasn’t a person at all. And that was all that mattered.

Watching the way his eyes shined in wonder and a smile broke on his face as she revealed her wings before the Great Pasca Tree filled her with joy - that she could elicit happiness in the boy that had been the first to treat her as a person, the boy that she had fallen in love with.

But it would all have to end someday, right? What would happen once she fulfilled her purpose? Without mana, Lloyd would…

She didn't want that! Lloyd was a human, and Genis was a half-elf, but they were both so precious to her. Even Raine! They were all good people! And surely there was good to be found, even in those who lived outside the village. One just needed to look for it, to work for it!

But arguing with Lutesse proved futile, ending only with a stinging cheek and pooling tears, the line she always ended the argument with remaining in Colette's mind, like a poison that couldn't be purged.

"This was the sole purpose you were born for, Chosen. Without it, you are nothing. Worthless. Do you think your oh-so-precious friends would spare you a second glance if you weren't the Chosen? How about if we made another one of you? Would they even realise you’d been replaced? Or would they just continue on their merry day as if nothing has changed?"

Colette wanted to believe that Lutesse was wrong - that her friends would notice that something was up immediately, that they would know that she had disappeared. But the same doubts continued to plague her.

What made her… her, other than the fact that she’d been created by the elves?

Nothing...

It didn’t matter. If she chose to fulfil her purpose, or abandon it. Once she was no longer useful… Then it would be time for her to be thrown away, as any defective tool would be.

~~~

The outside world proved to be more magical than Colette could have thought possible, once she was finally allowed to step foot outside on the guise of the journey to tune the Great Trees. A journey that exposed her to so much and one that she wished could go on forever.

The flora and the fauna... All the people, the towns, the culture... It was all so colourful and exciting. Sure, it wasn't perfect - Arche shouldn't have been treated the way she was, and sometimes people could be petty and hurt each other, stabbing daggers into each other’s backs. But it was a work in progress, just like everything was. Much like the Elven Village had many areas that it could improve in, despite Lutesse and the other Elders harping on about its perfection. The world was imperfect, and that was made it beautiful and worth protecting.

Her desire to go against her assigned purpose was only further cemented, as she decided that she would do the same at the other trees as she had at the first. She would not go against the wishes of the trees themselves - to see this world continue to grow - for forcing the trees to destroy the people they loved seemed like the cruellest form of torture, one she did not want to wish on anyone. She would not let the selfish desires of others drive her, would not let herself become a vessel for the elves to carry out their egotistical destruction. She would not create a world where her friends, where Lloyd, was not allowed to live.

But she wondered how the people in the towns would treat her if they could see her ears, the physical characteristic that marked her as one of the elve's creations and the one thing she couldn't run away from. They treated her like a human right now, but her ears continued to burn under her hair. She knew she was just doing the same thing as Genis, but it still felt like she was lying about who she was - just another lie to add to the mountains that had left her mouth. The knowledge that she could never be normal, that she would never be able to fit in anywhere, writhed in her mind.

She supposed it didn’t matter. The path she had chosen to take would one day catch up with her. Lutesse would not let her off scot-free. Perhaps there was nothing she could do to stop Lutesse from replacing her with just another Chosen, but she would achieve all she could now.

Even if she was to be derided as a failure, even if she was to be abandoned and forgotten, even if she was to be punished for her transgressions and doomed to fade away into nothing more than dust…

She would work towards a world where her friends could smile. That was enough.

~~~

When Colette awakened in the middle of the volcano, with lava roaring around her and Lutesse’s contemptuous gaze trained on her, all she’s focussed on is Lloyd’s voice. The voice that she had grasped onto in the darkness, the rope that was extended to her and that had pulled her out.

She leapt into his arms without a second thought, hanging onto his words and the hope it gave her, the light that burned away the guilt that flooded her.

His hands ran through her hair as he continued to whisper in her ear that he wanted to stay with her, and do his utmost to grant her wish.

It was only when she walked out into daylight and fresh air again that the realisation hit her, with Lloyd’s hand gripped tightly in hers and her friends smiling faces surrounding her.

She was free, free to release herself from the title of Chosen. But… to do what, and to be who?

~~~

"I don't like my ears much," Colette whispered, removing the comb from her hair and setting it down on the nightstand, raising a hand to play at the locks that fell to the middle of her back, her right ear poking out of the golden veil. She didn't know what prompted her to speak up in the silence of the inn room, to finally blurt out a secret that had been securely locked in her heart for more than a decade. Only that she knew it was safe to say whatever it is she wanted, for the only one here to hear her was Lloyd, and she believed that he would always protect her.

"Really?" Lloyd replied, coming up behind her and running a finger over the shell of her ear, making her shudder from the sensation. He's so incredibly gentle, so different from all the other times Lutesse had forcefully tugged at her ears to punish her. She shouldn't need to recall those memories anymore, but she was helpless against them crawling back into the forefront of her mind. "I think they're beautiful."

"Thank you." Colette couldn't help the flush that filled her cheeks from the compliment Lloyd had paid her. "But... it marks me as Chosen, doesn’t it? It means I'm not human. I'm not an elf or a half-elf either. So... What am I? Where do I belong? What purpose do I have?"

Even now that she was free to journey together with her friends for however long she wanted, she was still plagued with the same fetters that dragged her down, screaming questions into a void that did nothing but echo her voice back at her.

"Hm..." Lloyd wrapped his arms around her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. A comforting presence, one that chased away all her nightmares. "You're just you - Colette. And that’s special. I promised to make a world where everyone can be happy and free. That includes you, and I promise I will keep going until you learn to smile freely. No one gets to answer those questions but you. And if you don't have the answers right now, then we can find it together. We have all the time in the world."

"Thank you..."

His hand came up, wiping away the tears that he somehow knew would spill over, as she placed her hand over his, interlocking their fingers. She let her eyes flutter shut in the comforting silence, knowing that she might already had her answer, even if she didn't have the courage to speak it yet.

That the place she belonged was right here, by Lloyd's side, fighting for his beautiful dream that she also believed in.

~~~

Maybe it's not that much of a surprise that the first place Lloyd kissed her was on the tip of her ears. It was just like him, to shower her with love, especially the part of her that she despised. In hopes that, maybe, she could one day accept herself.

It becomes his favourite place to kiss, over and over again, each time causing her to drop whatever she was holding, blushing. Always so tender. Ticklish, but filling her heart with a warm joy, and instilling her with the confidence to keep going.

~~~

Snip. Snip.

Colette watched the golden locks fall to the floor, calmly placing the scissors on wood.

There. Done.

Her beaming face was reflected in the mirror, her hair now a satisfying length that ended at her chin.

"Colette! Are you ready?" Lloyd's voice came through the thick wooden door, muffled and accompanied by knocking.

"Yep!" Colette replied, skipping over to the door and pulling it open.

"Oh! Oh, wow..."

Lloyd appeared dumbstruck as he stared at her new haircut, bringing up a hand to stroke the ears that were now exposed. Colette leaned into his touch, giggling.

"I was tired of hiding. So... How do I look?"

"You look incredible," Lloyd whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead as he took her hand in his. "Absolutely incredible.

"Shall we go, then?" she prompted, squeezing his hand. “I’m sure Genis and Arche are waiting.”

"We should. Before Genis starts making us do all the chores again for being late..."

The two of them walked down the corridor, laughing at what the other said, prepared to face another day.

~~~

Thank you, Lloyd. For always treating me as a person, one that loved and could be loved.

Thank you, for giving me the courage to just be me, and to find my own place in this world.

[little-fae-hero]

Death would be better ch.1

Who loves angst!! linked universe mixed with the fallen timeline. Warning for philologically abuse and mental manipulation (also some light reference to attempted suicide) 

-

Link struggled very weakly as he spat up a bit of blood, the demon king likely destroyed one of his organs with the throw he was just given.

‘The demon planned for this’ Link thought as he struggled to move trying to raise his head to glare at the bastard. He had been waiting in the temple, and Link hadn’t even noticed until it was too late. By the time the stones were put into place, Link found himself being thrown across the room, hitting one of the pillars.

The Gerudo king went into a room, likely what held the Triforce from what he heard from Zelda. However when Link felt the burning in the back of his hand in the shape of a triangle he knew his fate was sealed. Link would die at the hands of Ganon, the little glow on his hand says it.

“Navi, find Zelda. Tell her what happened. Please.” Link begged his little fairy friend to abandoning him; he knew he wouldn’t be able to get up in time and make his escape.

Link had to smack Navi to get her the courage to run away. Ganon finally came back into the room, glaring at the little hero who just glared back. This was the hero's death but he wouldn’t give Ganon the satisfaction of knowing he's scared.

Just then the Demon King glare becomes a smile, making Links glare falter; Navi had taken this moment to try to fly out towards the window.

Ganon snatched the fairy as she tried to fly secretly by the king…...Then he crushed the fairy.

“NAVI!!”

-

“NAVI!” Link screamed jumping up out of bed, breathing heavily trying to catch his breath.

‘It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream’ Link tried to say to himself, trying to calm himself down….’but it wasn’t a dream’.

Link could feel the heavy chain around his ankle that’s other end was hooked to the bed, a measure that was taken after Link had tried to jump out of the window.

Link didn’t know why Ganon hadn't killed him, honestly he wished he had been killed, it was better than the hell he was in now.

Ganon had been playing the role of Link’s ‘adopted father’, caring for him, trying to keep him to eat. He knew that Ganon was planning something big by keeping up his act. If it wasn’t for Link's fading memory maybe the traumatized child would have believed him.

The thoughts of his memories made Link curl back onto the bed trying not to cry. There are things he should remember, places and people that seemed so recognizable but yet their names escaped him, and soon after the faces would become a blur as well.

His latest frustration came in the form of a goron, a big chief with a big belly laugh that could shake death mountain but yet when he tried to remember his name it came up a blank; the details of his face slowly blurring in his mind. There was no doubt that if Ganon brought end for another ‘healing session’ the gorons and death mountain would be nothing more than wisps of memory, begging for attention from the back of his mind.

Link curled up into a tighter ball, the movement irritating the wounds on his arms showing the many attempts to end his personal hell.

‘Why couldn’t Ganon just kill me?”

-

“Why do you bother keeping the kid around?” “Yeah you should have just killed him” Koume and Kotake muttered to the Gerudo king from their brooms, as the gerudo king did everything in his power to ignore his mothers. He deals with their whining everyday so the ignore was par for the course.

“Answer before we poison the boy” Koume said, flying closer to her son, who glare intensified with threat. 

“You know damn why, if we kill the brat his soul will just be reborn. It will be impossible to get rid of him, like a cockroach” Ganon said with a sneer.

“Then why are you playing house? Why waste all these resources?” Kotake joined in obviously plotting to kill the child.

“Because imagine what will happen if that little brat is on our side?” Ganondorf said with a twisted smile “A young scared child toss by the side by the goddess. Eventually he will question what’s real, he will eventually give in and accept what fate has in store. Can’t you just imagine it?” Ganon said stretching his arms wide across the map of Hyrule. “Power and Courage both under my control, and my would-be-killer taking my word as law”

“So how long are you planning on playing house?” One of his mothers asked but Ganondorf had no idea which one.

“Until his mind finally breaks and he accepts his reality” Ganon said turning around to glare at his mother “It would be easier if two certain witches didn’t keep overloading his brain, nearly killing him” The two witches just rolled their eyes.

“Leave me be” Ganon said, turning back to the map as he gestures for his mothers to leave him be. Being left alone with his thoughts he started to review his plan. It would take a little more to break the little one’s spirit, but he knew he was on the right path. Grabbing the Triforce of power gave him a glance into the timelines, he could see what that child would become. That child's fate if he doesn’t die was to become a great warrior, something that could defeat a god. Why not mould that would be hero into his army's most powerful general? 

Speaking of which it was time to visit his son.

-

“Wake up my prince” Nifari said, throwing open the curtains of the room. It had been pleasant being moved into the wonderful castle, however her job had been assigned looking after the young adopted hero.

The young hero curled up under the covers trying to hide away from the world. The Gerudo smiled as she put down the breakfast porridge on the side table as she pulled the covers off the child.

The young warrior smiled as she physically helped the child move into a sitting position, it slightly broke her heart. Their king told us the story of them taking their rightful place in the castle. However she couldn’t help her heart breaking when Ganon told us the story of this little child. The child was cursed by the hylians to only see the evil in the world, filled with paranoia and fear. Maybe her smile and kindness could help break the stupid curse.

“Come on, it’s time to eat” Nifari said as she grabbed the bowl offering a spoon full of porridge to the child. Sadly the child moved away his face away, making the gerudo face drop; she had noticed how much weight the little boy lost. “Come on our little sun, eat”

The young gerudo words were cut off by the sound of a door opening, she looked up to see the king entering. She sat down the food and bowed towards her king.

The King all but ignored her and went to his adopted son. 

“Hey Link, how are you feeling?” The male gerudo asked as he went to go put his hand on the boys head. Link quickly moved away as best as he could, avoiding eye contact. The king just seemed to sigh before taking a glance over the boy.

“Has he been eating?” Ganon asked the gerudo in change of the prince.

“No sir, I’ve been trying to get him to eat but he won't,” Nifari said with her head down wondering what punishment might await her. However the king didn’t give her a punishment, instead turning back to the child.

“You need to eat, Link. Why aren’t you eating?” Ganon said in the softest voice he could, however that didn’t stop the kids from flinching away.

"I don't like it" Link whimpered out in a gravely voice that just sounded like it hurt his throat. Ganon expression read of shock, he had been convince the hero was mute, after his scream for his fairy the boy hadn't said a word, not a peep. However to Ganon this was progress.

"Well we can make something you like. What do you want to eat?" Ganon said in a voice used for kids, not knowing how insulting the little hero found it.

"I want meat. Steak, chicken, meat" The hero stated as he stares at the king. The king noticed how the boy scratched at the wraps on his arm, his past attempts with anything sharp.

"No" Ganon states clear as day "Your past behavior shows you can't be trusted with sharp objects. You will stay on soup and portage until I know you won't hurt yourself" Ganon lost the harshness in his voice trying to take on a softer tone "I'm sorry I can't do that. Is their anything else I can do to make you happy?"

Link's face just held a glare in a way Ganon couldn't read.

"I want Navi" Link states with as much confidence as he could. He knew what he was doing, he was trying to poke holes in Ganon's story, trying to make him mad. Maybe in the end Ganon will finally just snap and end his torment.

"Alright, I'll asked her mother if she can spend the night at the castle, I know you miss-" Ganon went off happily, as if it was the easiest request he had heard.

"No!" Link screamed "I want my fairy!"

Both Ganon and Nifari were taken aback.

"Link...there was never any fairies. Fairies don't exists" Ganon said softly.

"No!" Link screamed out jumping up from the bed "She was my fairy! My Guide and you stole her from me! You killed her!" Link made a jump at the Gerudo king however Nifari had grabbed him trying to hold him back.

The boy screamed many different things, mostly horrible names towards Ganon as tears ran down his face.

"Your majesty what's wrong?!" Nifari screamed out in a panic as she held the screaming boy to her body.

"This might be from the curse the Hyilans cast. We need to get my mothers in here" Ganon suggested.

At the suggestion of Ganon's mothers Link screaming turned up by 50%, full out flailing crying and screams for help. It had gotten so bad that Nifari  had to take some steps back or risk Link breaking out of her hold.

Right next to the bathroom's glass door

Link saw his opportunity so he reached his head to one side before swing it into the door.

CRAAASH

Link felt warmed and light headed, he could hear screaming around him but he didn't care as the darkness took hold.

Somewhere in the land a portal open up and 9 adventures with the same name stepped through.

The Link's walked through the portal, confused on which world they were in now.

"Does this look familiar to anyone?" Legend asked as they took at the dark sky. Many nodded no.

Time couldn't help a gut feeling he had as this hyrule looked so similar to his after his 7 year nap. But something in his mind was telling him it was much worse.

[mrepstein]

‘THE STARMAKER WHO BURNED TOO HOT’ (The Sunday Mirror - June 14, 1970) The above piece is an extract from journalist Godfrey Winn’s 1970 autobiography ‘The Positive Hour’

Brian Epstein built an empire around the Beatles - but he carried the seeds of his own doom

By GODFREY WINN

BRIAN EPSTEIN was the business brain behind the pop revolution of the sixties. He discovered the Beatles and made them millionaires. As a star-maker, Epstein's career was spectacular but brief. He was thirty-two when he died in August, 1967 - poisoned by an overdose of a sleeping drug. With his love of show-business, GODFREY WINN - Britain's best-known journalist - was a long standing friend of Brian Epstein and watched the pop impresario build a world wide entertainment empire. And he was close enough to Epstein to see the tragic consequences that instant fame and untold fortune had on the young genius.

I found myself one Saturday evening in 1963 climbing the stairs of an anonymous building close to Cambridge Circus, in London’s theatre-land.

In a barren, unfurnished room the walls, with their peeling paint, were decorated with posters of such plays as A Taste of Honey and The Miracle Worker.

i looked at the posters, and decided that there was a certain symbolism, a link here with the intriguing encounter that lay ahead of me.

I thought, too, of all the players who had rehearsed in this room for a multitude of productions: so full of hope that success was this time almost in their grasp, and so often to be reminded that half the members of the actors’ union, Equity, are permanently out of work.

Acclaim

Would it be different for the latest Merseyside group who, already acclaimed in the provinces, were about to have their most important challenge to date, the star spot on the Sunday Night at the Palladium television show?

The Beatles, with the hair-style that they made their own, were still not much more than a name to me.

A few days before I had talked with their manager and discoverer Brian Epstein in the lounge of the Grosvenor Hotel next to Victoria Station.

He was dressed in the kind of silk suit that pop groups wore like a uniform. But there, all comparison ceased.

For at that time he had not yet discarded the solid air of the middle-class Jewish back-ground from which he was sprung.

Unreal

Epstein’s tragedy was that, in surrendering one background, he became so overwhelmed by the trappings of the world into which the fantastic success of his proteges catapulted him that he was never able to put down roots into reality again.

This son of a prosperous Liverpool store-owner was the classic example of the actor manque.

He was nearly thirty when we first met, but as soon as he started talking of the time when he had enlisted as a student at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art, his voice had the eager lilt of a stage-struck youth.

A moment later his expression had changed. He was earth-bound once more as he described his return to Liverpool and entry into his father’s business.

And how, one day, while he was serving behind the record counter of one of his father's stores, a customer asked about a record made in Germany by an unknown Merseyside group.

And how he tracked down the record, later saw the group performing “for peanuts” at the Cavern in Liverpool, and sensed "something dynamic”; then peddled their tapes around London recording companies.

“And do you know, that tape, that very first record, Love Me Do, sold a hundred thousand. We were IN."

Just as I was in, now - the only spectator at the Beatles' private rehearsal for the Palladium.

Screams

Or rather, myself plus the tailor who had brought with him the four new suits, black like a matador’s, that Epstein had ordered for them to wear, replicas of his own. They put them on and pranced round the rehearsal room, bowing to an imaginary audience of fourteen million viewers.

“Ladies and Gentlemen: We are very pleased to be here at the Palladium.

Suddenly, uncontrollable excitement possessed them. The Palladium. The Palladium, they shouted out, screaming like their own fans, as other pilgrims have cried across the centuries. Jerusalem on high.

It was the youngest who spoke the introduction. He wasn't satisfied till he had taken them through it a dozen times.

"It's the moment before the curtain opens," Paul commented with the air of a veteran. “You finger your guitar and hope they won't start throwing things."

The moment they started to tune their guitars they seemed to fill the shadows of the lonely rehearsal room, darkening into twilight, and at the same time to grow in stature themselves.

The Beatles will always be held in high regard for what they have achieved by the unique sound of their music.

Having been among the first to recognise their talent, I feel I am in a position to suggest now that what has gone wrong somewhere along the line has been their inability, especially in the case of George Harrison and John Lennon, to pour back sufficient of the bounty that has fallen into their lap.

Perhaps it has been part of their appeal for the adolescents, that they themselves have not grown up in the full meaning of the phrase, any more than Brian Epstein was able to do.

Right up till his unnecessary, wanton death Epstein went on referring to his discoveries as his “boys,” seeing himself as the fifth member of the hierarchy, the eldest Beatle.

Then, when the group ceased performing together except for recording sessions, he could not help feeling to some extent excluded, even though he was still their manager - “the boss,” as they called him.

Dire

So in order to try to prove that he was someone big, in the theatrical firmament, in his own right, he started producing and putting on plays, with dire results.

He had all the money in the world to squander, but too little productive talent of his own.

Disappointed, and depressed, though he would not admit it, he finally turned to pep pills by day, and sleeping pills by night, a diet that was ultimately to destroy him.

Once he proclaimed to me, standing outside the Palladium: “All that matters is to have your name in lights.”

I could not persuade him otherwise, though I had persuaded him to spend the Sunday before the Whitsun holiday, making the journey all the way to Bolton in Lancashire, to hear an unknown singer in a pub, who had been recommended to me with such persistence and such enthusiasm by one of my readers, that in the end I felt it churlish of me not to do something about it.

Kinder?

The singer’s name was Michael Haslam. He was married and worked by day in a local tannery, and he specialised in singing ballads.

As it happened, Epstein was looking at that moment for a ballad singer, as a contrast on his touring bills to such of his properties as Billy J. Kramer and Gerry and the Pacemakers.

Otherwise, I doubt whether he would have ever listened to my suggestion, and in a way now I wish I hadn’t been persuaded myself to make the effort.

To have done nothing might have been kinder in the long run to the dark, tall young man, with the sort of looks which Elvis Presley first made fashionable, and the physique of a miner, who packed them in at weekends at The White Hart.

Except that if the Beatles’ impresario had not turned up that Sunday evening in Bolton, yet another pub singer might still be imagining he was there only because the luck of being discovered had just never happened to come his way.

Certainly the audience reaction that evening in Bolton was tremendous and entirely spontaneous. I can hear it, smell it how. Even so, I was not entirely convinced myself.

Undoubtedly there was a voice of some lyrical power, but did he also possess sufficient personality?

And how would he stand up to another environment, bereft of his regular admirers, alone on a stage, or in front of a TV camera?

Epstein brushed aside my doubts. On the spot he decided to sigh Haslam up, with the arrogant impetuosity of a Tsar.

Anxious

Two or three evenings later, Epstein and I met again, this time in my London home. We had arranged that he should pick me up and have a drink, en route for the Palladium.

He was eager for me to see another of his proteges, This time the girl, also from Liverpool, who through his astute judgment had with surprising sped reached what used to be the Mecca of all music hall artists.

Cilla Black.

In the fervent hope that one day Mike Haslam, equally skilfully projected, would reach the same goal, I accepted, though Miss Black’s nasal voice with its Liverpudlian vowels screaming at me over the radio at breakfast time had not created in my mind the most enticing of images.

Doubts

However, none of that was my affair. I could switch off the knob.

Whereas the other artist, uprooted and disorientated, was to some extent my responsibility.

In the forty-eight hours which had intervened, my initial doubts had only grown.

“After all, Brian, if I hadn’t dragged you to Bolton, you would never have heard of him.” Even to myself, it sounded like a self-accusation, but my guest again brushed aside my fears.

“Don’t worry,” he replied, with a rajah-like wave of his hand.

“But I do worry,” I protested anxiously.

“You shouldn’t. Don’t you realise, it’s nothing to do with you anymore. Mike Haslam belongs to me now.

“From this moment he is my discovery, and I shall look after him completely, change him, mould him, fit him into my set-up.

“All the credit, all his future success will be entirely my doing. You merely introduced him to me. Anyone might have done that.”

I was flabbergasted rather than relieved by this lofty declaration.

Rebuff

In an instant he had assumed the air of the great, international impresario slapping down a small-time sleazy agent who had dared to suggest that he should have a slice in the property value of the unknown name about to be groomed for stardom.

Of course, I wanted no financial stake in the young man’s future. I was not in show business in any shape or form.

At the same time, I surely had an ethical stake. A moral stake, if you like. Anyway, something quite different and rather more binding.

But I was meeting the real Brian Epstein for the first time.

Gone was the mask of mock humility, worn by the apparently modest young man fresh from the provinces, who in his original talk with me had praised and congratulated everyone except himself.

For the first time I glimpsed the strong streak of paranoia, which was swiftly to grow into a kind of sickness.

Welcome

Not surprisingly, I was dismayed and we had an uncomfortable evening, saved, as far as I was concerned, by the affectionate welcome I received in the dressing room of Frankie Vaughan, who was the real star of the show.

He and the boys in the band were deep in a poker session, but the occupant of the coveted No. 1 room broke off without a trace of annoyance and jumped up from his seat to offer us drinks.

How different had been my reception in the No. 2 dressing room.

Miss Black was seated in an ungainly position, her legs sprawled out in front of a portable television set, and did not trouble to get out of her chair, or to make any attempt at conversation.

After a few embarrassed moments, I backed out into the passage again, and it was then, at my suggesting that surely his new girl needed a matronly, experienced woman in attendance to help and advise her back-stage, that Epstein made the comment that having your name in lights was the only thing which mattered.

I expect he thought my suggestion was an impertinent one, though it was only intended to be constructive.

Unfortunately, I had already promised to have supper with him afterwards, and then to see his new house, and Miss Black, dressed in a black leather coat, more suitable for the back of a motor-cycle, came along, too.

Surprise

Not wishing to lie openly about my reactions to her performance, and searching for some topic of conversation which would be of mutual interest, I asked my host if he was contemplating adding any other female singers to the troupe of artists under his banner.

I am still surprised when I recall the reply I received, uttered with absolute and final conviction.

“No, I do not need any other women artists. Cilla is the Edith Piaf of England.”

Whatever she was or has become - and Miss Black has undoubtedly achieved a large and loyal following among her contemporaries - she is not another Edith Piaf, that great Parisian singer. How could she be?

Despite all Epstein’s confident assertions, Mike Haslam failed to float for long in the larger pool.

Symbols

Even while he was still alive I never talked with Brian Epstein alone again, after that evening at the Palladium, when in the small hours I found myself standing in a room in his house dominated by a row of telephones of different colours on a long desk.

Nothing else about the house, the modernistic innovations of which suited his temperament, left any mark upon my memory.

Only the telephones, those inanimate props of a tycoon existence, stare at me like a blown-up photograph on my desk. The symbols and instruments of a certain kind of power.

“I lift one receiver,” he told me exultantly, “and say to the operator ‘Get me a Hollywood number.’ I book in that call, and five minutes later I am talking to New York.

“Hardly have I rung off, when it is Australia on the line. Everyone wants me, everyone wants the Beatles. Everyone wants all my boys.”

“What about the time factor?” I asked. “For instance, when it is mid-day here, and perhaps three o’clock in the morning there, or vice-versa?”

“I don’t mind about that. I am ready to take calls all round the clock. I like it best sitting here by myself through the night, doing business. Big business.”

His usually deceptive, quiet voice rose to a crescendo: he was playing the big scene in the third act from all the stage and screen dramas of which he had been cheated by his inability to make the grade as an actor in the legitimate theatre.

But I had no desire to play in turn the part of the stage stooge, and fled from that house in Kinnerton Street to walk home through Belgrave Square, where at the corner of Chapel Street and Groom Place the nocturnal life of the fifth Beatle was finally to snuff out in the last of his London homes, whose larger rooms he had furnished in even more grandiose style.

Some months before that happened, he had a breakdown, which was hushed up, and then they put him in a private nursing home at Roehampton, in Surrey, which caters particularly for patients whose minds have been temporarily disturbed.

Guarded

After that he was never without a friendly and considerate bodyguard, who became his shadow.

Except on that final weekend when, in a sudden change of mood, he decided to drive himself from his country home at Heathfield, Sussex, back to London, though it was a bank holiday.

The Chapel Street house was only a stone’s throw from where my elder brother lives, and sometimes, when I was dining with my family, my sister-in-law, more in bewilderment than disapproval, would comment:

“Such strange people hang about Mr. Epstein's house.

“I suppose they are waiting, hoping that one of the Beatles will come out.”

That Sunday afternoon, when the news of his death broke, and the police cars drove up, the flower boys and girls in their peacock clothes left the Kings Road parade and crowded into Chapel Street, as though they were queueing up for a pop concert.

As far as I was concerned the epitaph was spoken by David Jacobs - not the disc jockey but the lawyer, with the looks himself of a film star - who acted for so many other names in show business beside the Beatles.

Freedom

Now that it was all over, the final battle lost, Epstein's adviser from the start spoke to me with a freedom he could not have done before:

“The trouble with Brian was that he had everything, and yet nothing.

“He had a strong family feeling, right till the end, and his loyalty towards the Beatles and his other properties, like Cilla Black, was fantastic.

“I suppose you could describe it as a kind of love affair on his side, but nothing stands still in life, and he was conscious that they were inevitably growing away from him, as they matured both as artists and people.

“This made him more and more restless and unhappy, though he wouldn’t admit it except in one of his increasing moods of depression, when all I could do was to remind him how much he was worth, in money and properties.

“But even that knowledge began to lose its flavour. It was then that he started taking pills to try to recapture the sense of euphoria he had had at the beginning.

“It was imperative for him to feel that he was still in the swim himself, not just taking a percentage of their earnings.

“I hoped so much that the house at Heathfield would make a difference.

“He had gone down that weekend for the Bank Holiday. But after dinner on that Friday evening, he suddenly changed his mind and drove himself back to London, alone.

“What would I have done had I known? It’s always so easy to be wise after the event.

“Sometimes one has a kind of instinct, and can act swiftly, but even then it can be too late, or impossible to protect the person indefinitely against himself, if the seeds of self-destruction are strongly developed in him or her.

“In this case we shall never know for certain exactly what happened. Except that he went to sleep again that night, and never woke up.

Loner

“In a way, I was closer to him than anyone. He really unburdened himself to me.

“He was not so much a loner, as a oncer.

“What do I mean by that? I mean that he was incapable of any lasting physical relationship with anyone. He was incapable of love.”

All too soon David Jacobs himself was to discover his own torments.

[samaelserpentine]

Boys Latin

"Jamieson is such a tosser." Eddie grumbled under his breath, his hands balled into fists, still bristling at the director's cruel words as he and Benjamin walked out of the late night rehearsal together. "He can be a right arsehole sometimes," Benjamin agreed, "but you can't let him get to you." "Ha!" Eddie laughed darkly, his nails digging sharply into his palms. "Easy for you to say, you're not the one he's chosen for bloody target practice." "He's only picking on you because you're new, and because you're good." Benjamin reassured him. "Oh yeah, sure," Eddie rolled his eyes, "I'm so bloody good that all he does is shout at me and complain about every little thing I do. If I wanted to deal with that shite I'd just stay home. In fact, he could take some tips from my parents. It seems like all they bloody well do these days is find fault in me and they're much better at ripping me to shreds than bloody Jamieson could ever be. I should invite him round for dinner, let them give him a few pointers on how to twist the knife more effectively." "Eddie, look at me," Benjamin commanded gently, and he did even though it hurt his heart to look into Benjamin's eyes. He had fallen for the other boy the first time they'd met, though he'd been too afraid to say anything or make a move, and he hated for Benjamin to see him like this; angry, frustrated, hurt and definitely not at his best. This wasn't the person he wanted to be around him. This wasn't the Eddie he wanted Benjamin to see, the flawed, terrible, deeply wounded one. The one who wasn't fit to be around other people, especially not good people like Benjamin. "You are good at acting." Benjamin said, gripping him by the shoulders and making his heart skip a beat at his touch. "Jamieson is a failed actor who directs for that reason alone. The reason he doesn't like you is because you're just starting out and you're already light-years ahead of him. He's just bitter and jealous and taking it out on you." Eddie snorted in disbelief and shook his head, looking down at his shoes so he wouldn't have to look at the other boy. Benjamin tipped his chin back up and gazed at him intensely, his warm brown eyes burning into Eddie's cool, blue grey ones. "And as for your family...don't listen to them. I don't know your parents but from what you've said about them in the past they sound terrible. You don't need people like that to try and tell you who to be or how to act. If they disapprove of you and your choices in life it means you're doing something right. You're a good actor and you're a good person, Eddie. Don't let anyone ever make you feel otherwise." Eddie felt a lump rising in his throat and he tried to swallow it to no avail. You're a good person, Eddie. No one, no one, had ever called him that before. But then, they'd had no reason to. He wasn't a good person. He was just as bad as his family. No matter how far he tried to run from them, from his past, he could never escape them or the person he'd been, the person they had raised and moulded him to be. It was in his very blood, poisoning him and everyone he touched. "I'm not a good person." He said softly, his voice breaking. "Yes you are." Benjamin said firmly, though he was speaking just as quietly as Eddie now, and still refused to break his penetrating gaze. "I'm not, Ben. I'm really not." Eddie said, feeling as though his heart was shattering into a million pieces. He had to protect Benjamin, he couldn't poison him just like he poisoned everything and everyone else. "Yes you are." Benjamin insisted. "I know you are, if I didn't truly feel and believe that you were a good person I wouldn't be - " Benjamin trailed off, as if suddenly catching myself.  "You wouldn't be what?" Eddie asked, his heart pounding. Benjamin looked down for a moment and took a deep, shaking breath before facing him again and speaking, his voice thick with emotion. "I...I wouldn't be...in love with you." Benjamin's words and their meaning hit Eddie like a freight train, almost physically knocking him back in shock. For once, he found he had no words, no thoughts. Never in a thousand years would he have thought that Benjamin, his Benjamin, could ever possibly feel the same. "Eddie…I...I'm sorry, I didn't realize...I..." Benjamin stammered, clearly misreading Eddie's stunned silence. "Ben, stop." Eddie said, putting his hand up to Benjamin's cheek and looking deeply into his eyes, his bottom lip trembling slightly as emotion threatened to overwhelm him completely. "I...I'm in love with you too." He confessed. He had never said those words out loud before. Not to anyone. He had never felt this way about anyone else before. It was exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. But he knew that in a world shrouded in a dark cloud of pain, destruction, hatred and lies, Benjamin and the way he felt about him was the purest, truest thing in his life. A light in all of that overwhelming and unrelenting darkness. And that was worth fighting for, it was worth the risk of letting his walls down and being honest about his feelings, it was worth whatever might come next, good or bad. If Benjamin loved Eddie as much as he loved him, he knew they could face it together. He wouldn't have to be alone. And maybe, just maybe, he could really be the good person Benjamin believed he was. "You do?" Benjamin asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper. A shy grin spread across Eddie's face and he nodded emphatically. His heart flooding with love, relief, hope and too many other emotions he wasn't used to feeling and couldn't even name. Suddenly a door banged open down the hall and they broke apart, flustered. "Bloody hell, it's Jamieson!" He gasped. "Come on!" Benjamin said with a crooked grin, his eyes flashing with excitement as he took Eddie by the hand and pulled him around a corner and then broke into a run, leading him to the first secluded place he could find - his dressing room. Laughing quietly as he closed and locked the door behind them, Benjamin leaned back against it and tried to catch his breath, looking so gorgeous with his dark curls disheveled from the run that Eddie couldn't wait a single moment longer. His heart pounding in his ears so loud that it drowned out all other sound, he took Benjamin's face in his hands and kissed him, letting himself melt into the warmth and love of Benjamin's embrace. He had never understood what people meant when they said they felt a spark when they kissed someone, he'd certainly never felt anything like that when he'd kissed anyone before. Until now. Kissing Benjamin was like being hit by a bolt of lightning that sent electricity racing through this entire body, it left him breathless, stunned and aching for more. "Why the hell didn't we do this sooner?" He chuckled softly. "Because we were both too scared I suppose." Benjamin said, shaking his head. "Well...I'm not scared anymore," Eddie said, smiling shyly at him, "are you?" "No way! I feel like I could take on the world right now." Benjamin grinned. "I feel like I could take on Jamieson right now, and my family." Eddie said, grinning back at him. "We'll take them all on then; the world, Jamieson, your family and anyone else who stands in our way, and we'll do it together." Benjamin vowed, taking Eddie's hand in his and squeezing it. "Together." Eddie repeated.

And in that moment, with the heaviness that had weighed on his heart like an albatross finally lifting, he truly believed that they could.

[sunriseverse]

"You thought I didn't love you?" Hermann sounds so lost. "No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I knew it, it's just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it's like my head...was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn't be able to take it. And I know that's not an excuse, and I don't mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never- I'm so sorry"

i. i got. carried away with this. oops. (also it's lowkey a continuation of my last prompt because i loved that concept so much lol)

--

"Newton," Hermann calls, from the store-room adjacent to the lab, "where did you put the phials of kaiju blood?"

Newt squints; stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember. "Uh...try in the smaller specimen fridge," he replies, "should be next to that sample of skin from Scissure, I think."

There's a few beats; and then Hermann's foot steps start up; the familiar one-two-tap, and he reappears, a phial in hand. "You ought to clean the storage room out more," he informs Newt, sternly. "I think there's mould growing on the walls behind the larger fridge."

"I cleaned it the other day!" he protests. Hermann gives him a Look. "Okay, I dusted and threw out the stuff that was already there before we moved the stuff in," he admits. "But—but I swear, I'm going to clean it out soon."

"You're horrible," Hermann grumbles. "If I get some sort of poisoning from inhaling spores, I'm going to force you to pay my medical bills."

"Horrible," Newt repeats, in a bad version of Hermann's accent.

Hermann sets the phial down on his desk, and props his cane against the desk and sits down; turns his computer on. "I hate you," he says, crisply.

"You love me," Newt grins; and snaps the yellow plastic gloves he's wearing against his skin. Hermann rolls his eyes, but he's smiling; now; just a bit; and Newt's heart aches to see it; wishes Hermann would grace him with it more often.

"Unfortunately, yes," Hermann drawls; and—he does, but not. Not the way Newt loves him, he's pretty sure.

Newt clears his throat; trying to get rid of the ache, and says, "By the way, Herc said that your dad was going to stop by later—bastard thinks he can come make nice with us now that we were proven right like you said we would be."

"Oh, lovely," Hermann groans. "Do you happen to know when?"

"Uh...not exactly? Herc said it would probably be in the evening though—" Newt stops. "Wait a minute, are you going to do the thing?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Hermann says, and types a bit faster, not picking his gaze up from the keyboard. Newt rolls his eyes; stops his work on Otachi's lymph-node; sets the scalpel down and rocks back on his feet, pulling his gloves off with a snap and gesturing as he speaks.

"The thing," he repeats, "the—the thing. You know, the one where you act like you're, uh, like you're me or something to piss off your dad? Come on, you know what I'm talking about—you used my eyeliner, Herms."

Hermann stops typing, finally; and his face scrunches up into an expression. "It's not a thing," he mutters. "I've only done that once."

"Because your dad's only come to the lab once before," Newt shoots back. "Now, are you gonna do the thing? Because you should totally do the thing. Actually, be extra about the thing because it'll be extra salt to the injury of the fact that his fucking Wall didn't work. C'mon, Hermann, I think I have some eyeshadow in my room."

"...you do?" Hermann asks; finally looking up.

Newt nods. "Yeah!" he says, and then, with typical Geiszlerian flair, says, "I can put some on you, if you want, and I think I've got some lipstick too, somewhere, you'll look wicked," and nearly has a minor heart attack right there, what the fuck brain to mouth filter??

Thankfully, Hermann doesn't seem to notice. "Alright," he says, "I'll go change into something more casual and then meet you in your quarters in...half an hour?"

"Sure!" Newt squeaks, and watches Hermann power off his computers and pick up his cane and leave the lab. "Oh, god," he groans, once he's alone. "I'm so fucked."

Half an hour later, after tidying up his stuff, he's pacing his room, various makeup items he managed to dig out, as well as multiple pairs of earrings, spread out on his—for once, neatly made—bed, trying to not freak the absolute fuck out and burst into flames.

There's a knock on his door. "Come on in!" Newt calls, and cringes at the way his voice cracks.

The door opens, and Hermann steps in, and Newt tries very, very hard not to stare at him. It's just—Hermann's wearing a loose, white button-up with the sleeves rolled up and two of the buttons on his collar popped, and fucking skinny-jeans. Newt has long accepted the fact that he's got, like, a raging crush on the physicist, but, jesus, he'd forgotten how fucking good Hermann looks in casual clothes. Not that he doesn't look aces in his normal clothes.

"You've got quite the collection," Hermann says, gesturing to the bed, and Newt blinks a few times to bring himself back to reality.

"Uh. Yeah," he says, and rubs the back of his neck. "I used to get all done up for gigs with the Rabbits, and I kept most of it. Um. Where do you want to start?"

"Eyeshadow and earrings, I think," Hermann says, decisively, and Newt hauls his chair from the tiny desk in the corner to the side of the bed so that Hermann can sit down and get a better look at them. After a few moments, Hermann choses a pair of double-helix earrings, and a cuff-and-chain earring, and puts them in. "How do they look?" he says, turning to Newt.

Newt snorts. "Nerdy," he says.

Hermann nods. "Good," he says. "I think I want the purple eyeshadow."

"Can do," Newt says, and grabs it, and a brush, and pushes some of the other makeup items to the side so he can sit on the bed. "Okay, close your eyes..."

After a few moments, he's got it on; and he pulls back. "Alright," he says, and squints, looking around for the little hand mirror he's like, ninety percent sure he got out—ah, there it is. "Your father's going to go red," Newt says, and he hands Hermann the mirror to let him inspect it. "It's gonna be great. I should record this."

"Do refrain," Hermann says, "if only because I don't particularly wish you to get threatened with a lawsuit."

Newt laughs. "Lovely," he says.

Hermann gives a hum. "You know, I think it's missing something," he says. "Perhaps...ah, Newton, do you mind if I ask you a favour?"

"Sure," Newt says, "whatever you need, Herms. For the greater good of annoying your dad, I'll do, like, just about anything."

"Would you mind...ah." Hermann swallows; glances down at his hands. He almost sounds...nervous. "Applying lipstick and kissing the collar of my shirt?"

Holy shit fuck oh my god, screams Newt's brain. His mouth, though, thankfully, for once, is on his side, so instead he just shrugs casually and says, "Sure, dude, I mean, if it'll piss off your dad," and grabs a stick of the dark, red lipstick, applies it with a surprisingly even hand, and kisses Hermann's collar, leaving behind a vibrant red mark.

"...yes," Hermann says; half-strangled, for some reason. "Yes, that will...piss off my father."

"Sweet—hang on, my phone's ringing," Newt says, and fishes his phone out of his pocket. "Yeah?"

"Mister Wall himself is on his way to the lab," Tendo says; voice slightly crackly, because the reception in the 'dome is shit.

"Alright, thanks, Tendo," Newt says, and then sticks the phone back into his pocket after the other hangs up. "Alright," he says, to Hermann, now. "Your dad's gonna be in the lab in a few, so we had better hustle."

"Right, I—yes," Hermann says, seeming to shake himself out of whatever daze he's in; picks his cane up and rises.

The walk to the lab isn't so much of a walk as it is a near-jog, keeping in mind Hermann's leg, and they barely manage to make it there before Lars does.

"Father," Hermann greets, looking up from where he sat down at his desk just ten seconds ago, but acting as if he's been there for hours, "to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Lars' face twists, and Newt, perched on the side of Hermann's desk, mourns the fact that he isn't able to take a photo of it. "Hermann," he says, and then, disdain dripping from his words like venom, "Doctor Geiszler."

"Newt," Hermann corrects, before Newt can, and smiles beatifically at Lars.

Lars makes a pained noise. "I will not...lower myself to your level," he sniffs. "Bad enough that I have to interact with you."

"Aw, you pissy that we were right and you were wrong?" Newt grins. Lars' scowl grows wider.

"I am here, Hermann," he says, refusing to look in Newt's direction, "not to listen to you or the man with whom you've been—" and here his face makes an even more twisted expression, and he gestures, first at Hermann's collar, and then, without looking, at Newt's face.

It takes a moment before Newt realises what he's implying. "Oh, no," he says. "No, no, no, nope, uh. No. Hermann doesn't. Hermann wouldn't—I wouldn't, I mean, jesus christ, dude, what the fuck, man—"

"Newton, shut up," Hermann hisses. His ears are red.

Newt absolutely doesn't, much to his own and Hermann's horror, both; just barrels on. "No, nope, we don't, like, we don't even get along, I don't—"

Hermann's hand slaps across his mouth. "I think you have better places to be, yes?" he says, to Lars, loudly; and, for once in his fucking life, Lars actually takes the hint and gets the fuck out of there. Once he's gone, Hermann pulls his hand away. "What was that?" he hisses. "Newton, you—what you said to my father—"

"Your father thought we were fucking!" Newt half-shrieks; because it's the first thing that comes to his mind. "I couldn't let him just—"

"Just what?" Hermann says.

"Just think that!" Newt exclaims. "I mean, Hermann, we—you and I, we—we're not. We're not like that."

"Why not?" Hermann says; and Newt has to fucking laugh at that; long and high.

"You're asking why?" he says. "Well, first off, you don't like me, Hermann, so jot that down, and secondly, I can't—I can't be around you without, without—" He snaps his jaw shut before he can finish his sentence. Before he can say, without wanting to scream, what can I do to be good enough so that you love me the same way I love you?

Hermann's face shutters. "Oh," he says. "I...alright."

Oh, god. Fuck. He's getting up, he's going to leave, fuck fuck fuck. No. No absolutely not he can't—he can't—

"I gotta go," he half yells, and bolts out the door before Hermann can even stand up all the way.

He manages to make it back to his room before he has to run to the bathroom and throw up, the vicious hurt humming brightly in what remains of the Drift at the back of his mind.

The next two days are the weekend, so he has an excuse to stay in his room instead of going into the lab and possibly running into Hermann. Unfortunately, staying all alone in his room for hours and hours isn't exactly good for him, and by Sunday morning, he's convinced himself that Hermann's going to hate him forever and never want to talk to him and it's going to be 2017 all over again, and—fuck, he can't do this. He's running circles around himself, worrying about what-ifs and working himself up and thinking over what he said to Hermann, implied about Hermann, about Hermann not caring about him when he knows full well that's not true, not true in the slightest, because, if anything, Hermann cares too much for his own fucking good.

Newt feels horrible about saying that, and he can only imagine how awful Hermann feels hearing it. He has to go apologise.

Thankfully, the halls are pretty empty, so he doesn't run into anyone on the way to Hermann's room. It only takes a single knock before the door's being pulled open. "...Newton?" Hermann says, staring at him. "What are you doing here?"

Newt freezes; the words drying up in his throat; eyes wide; and Hermann must recognise the look, because he sighs, and says, "Come in, you can talk when you're ready," and herds Newt inside, surprisingly gentle.

After a few minutes of standing, silently, Newt croaks, "I came to say sorry. For—for what I said the other day. And—and leaving."

Hermann nods. "Alright," he says. "I appreciate the apology, but I'll admit, I'm still...confused as to what you were on about."

"I thought you didn't love me and then when your dad came in and started saying that stuff I freaked out because I thought you were going to be uncomfortable and then you were going to leave and I freaked out even more and had to leave before you could leave me," Newt blurts.

"You thought I didn't love you?" Hermann sounds lost; like he's genuinely struggling to understand where Newt's coming from.

"No! I mean, yes, but no! I know that you loved me, remember? I told you that, and I knew it, it's just that, with my anxiety and everything, uh, it's like my head...was playing tricks on my heart and I had to leave, because if you left me I wouldn't be able to take it." Newt swallows thickly; fingers fidgeting at his sides. "And I know that's not an excuse, and I don't mean for it to be. I just, I never meant to hurt you, I swear. If I could take every word back, I would. I never—I'm so sorry."

"Oh," Hermann says; and sits down on the side of his bed.

"I'm sorry," Newt says, again. "I didn't—I wasn't thinking, I just—I freaked out, and I know I hurt you, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Hermann sighs. "Come sit down, Newton," he says, patting the bed by his side; and Newt does, tentatively; stiffly, at first, but within moment, finds himself leaning against Hermann, tears streaming down his face; and Hermann folds him into an embrace. "You're a ridiculous man," he mutters, quietly, but his hand is combing through Newt's hair, the action comforting. "I do love you," he says, after a few beats. "I...I know I may not always show it, Newton, but I care for you just as deeply as you do for me."

Against his best intentions, Newt snorts. "No you don't."

"Newton, I was in your head," Hermann says; and the eyeroll is nearly audible. "Trust me when I say that it's reciprocated."

"...oh," Newt says; dumbly; and Hermann lets out a quiet laugh.

"Yes, oh, you idiot."

"'m not an idiot," Newt grumbles; voice still thick, but no longer crying.

"You absolutely are," Hermann says. "Now, it's almost lunch-time, and I'm peckish—what do you say we go get something to eat?"

"Alright," Newt says; and then: "I know I already said it, but I'm sorry."

"Show how sorry you are by paying for my lunch," Hermann says. It's not an it's alright, but Newt doesn't expect it to be; doesn't expect Hermann to just accept his apology straight off the bad, and that's okay. He'll do his best to make up for it, and hopefully, eventually, he'll undo that horrible, vicious hurt that still throbs in the Drift.

Instead of saying that, though, Newt laughs, slightly. "Okay," he says. "I can do that."

[icehaloed]

“I find that answer vague and unconvincing.”

‘ ‘ that is his specialty. ’ ’

her dry answer came almost before she fully processed what their guest had said, startling ur out of her own thoughts  ( and out of the stack of parchment she had been searching ).  then, she looked up --- at the empty doorway where solomon had been before he had disappeared with an admittedly witty one-liner and a muttered addition of ‘teatime for me’.   so many things had changed significantly, but this?  this was exactly the same as ever.  for her, this was comforting because she had always responded well to quiet companionship, but she could understand how for anyone who was not used to his, well, solomonness, it could be rather strange how he popped in to give vague advice before vanishing like a cat in the night.

looking back at mary, she smiled in a hopefully reassuring way before her fingers met the edge of the parchment she had been looking for, easily recognised by the wax seal at the bottom.  ‘ ‘ he will be back in half an hour, tops, ’ ’ she went on with a shrug as she fondly rolled her eyes into the direction where she suspected him to be.  ‘ ‘ he’ll make himself his tea, drink it in peace as he works on his translation and then, he will return to swap translations with me . . . i think my translation needs some historical context clues and i need to verify the nationality of the author for that first . . . peregrande kingdom’s expansion politics really make proper academic work difficult, sometimes, ’ ’ she added with a righteous huff as she flipped through her parchment for a few brief moments before remembering that before solomon had appeared to sign off for his tea break, mary had been asking something.

pinching the bridge of her nose, she thought for a few moments, idly tapping the parchment against her table.  ‘ ‘ there are very few things --- elements that i’d deem un-make-able from a moulding magic aspect. i mean --- there may be academic debate if memory make is actually moulding magic, but i don’t believe you are interested in that particular discussion, ’ ’  she said slowly, counting down the ones she had looked into when she had worked on forcing ice --- brittle, brittle ice --- to bend to her will, to take the shape she assigned and to obey. there had been so many, some had made sense and had been easily available, others had been impossible to find books on because they had been guarded family secrets, and not even the smallest scrap of parchment had ever been made publicly available like glass make, something she had been very interested in.

‘ ‘ some would be possible but inherently impractical, ’ ’  she rambled on, ‘ ‘ i’d imagine that anyone would have a hard time holding on to anything made of a material that has a high temperature unless you combine it with research to make yourself immune to your own element. which is something you can do, but that’d probably take a couple months . . . if you have the right foundations for your research. ice is forgiving, in that aspect --- to a certain extent, you can train yourself to get used to it, no magic needed. ’ ’

what had been needed had been a lot of warm beverages and a good sense of self to keep herself from taking it too far, from damaging herself, but ur had always thought that no one should embark on the path of magic without.  she might not always have been the best teacher, simply because she had not had the time to clean her research up to come up with a curriculum, and  frankly --- she had had other problems at the time, too.  still, a regret that would perhaps follow her forever that she had not managed to teach her students the importance of common sense and a healthy bit of respect for magic in general and their own element in particular.  brats, really.

dropping her parchment on her desk and pulling books halfway out the shelf, she paced the room, stopping now and then to read a title before scoffing and removing the book from the shelf.  dying and coming back had changed her perspective on many things, but there were still authors she would very much prefer to never read again and that she would never recommend.  ‘ ‘ i have books on most common magics, quite a bit on poison make, actually, now that i think about it, ’ ’ she said with a glance towards the silent rows of book shelves that now looked rather ruffled. ‘ ‘ we did sort them all by affinity at some point, i believe, yes . . . my advice would be to start with books suited to your affinity.  you do know it, right?  otherwise, i do think we have that test thing in the cellar somewhere . . . it’s pretty and i would keep it upstairs, but it wasn’t viable in the past. ’ ’

and she had not wanted to know what it had been what had been killing ultear.  she had not wanted to put her tiny, tiny, oh so fragile  ( weren’t toddlers supposed to be, well, rounder? sturdier? )  daughter’s hand onto the pretty glass bauble to see if it had been ur herself who had doomed her child to such an early death.  she might not even have found out, a rational side of her tended to argue --- with the amount of magic ultear had possessed, that she had released uncontrollably, she might have blown the apparatus to pieces before a result revealed itself.

then, with lyon, with gray --- whether or not their affinity lent itself to ice make magic had not been on the forefront of her mind.  they had asked her to teach . . . and that had been all she had been able to teach them. or better said: it had been the only useful thing she had had left to give at the time.  her grief, her loneliness . . . she had tried to keep that to herself.

[fanficshiddles]

Caught in his web, Chapter 5

Chloe was in the shower, scrubbing herself with a scrunchie like crazy. She felt dirty, weird… It was confusing her how much she had enjoyed doing what Loki made her do. She hated him, really hated him. There had to be a way out of this, she just wasn’t sure how exactly.

Loki had told her to shower and get ready in one of the dresses. Then Ethan would take her downstairs for dinner with Loki. The thought repulsed her, was she seriously supposed to just act like everything was ok?

And he had confiscated her phone, so she now had no chance or hope of getting help from anyone. 

Chloe was cursing under her breath while she got dried off and then picked out one of the dresses. She went for the first one she had tried on, the green skater kind of dress. It was one of the ones she felt most comfortable in. After rummaging around the drawers, she was gutted when she couldn’t find any tights or leggings to put on with it.

‘Asshole.’ She hissed.

Giving up, she picked a pair of shoes to wear and then took a few minutes to calm herself down. Part of her wanted to just hide away in the room, but she didn’t want to find out what Loki would do if she didn’t make an appearance. And another part of her was a little bit curious as to what the rest of his house looked like.

She hadn’t been able to see outside yet, because it was dark and there were no lights on outside when she looked out the window. She had images of it being like a prison, with high walls and barbed wire at the top, no doubt guards and dogs wandering about outside too.

Slowly, she opened the bedroom door and gulped when she saw that Ethan was there waiting. He smiled at her and put his arm out to the side, motioning for her to follow him.

‘Loki is waiting for you.’ Ethan said when she started to follow.

They made their way down the hall, then down the curved marble staircase. She took the time to really look around now. It was obvious that Loki had money, it was a beautiful home. It wasn’t overly large, not like a mansion. But it had at least four bedrooms, she figured. She saw a maid bustling about, cleaning and doing various other things. She wondered if she knew what Loki was really like, or maybe she just didn’t care.

Ethan noticed her looking towards the front door. ‘Don’t even try it. You best stay in Loki’s good books. And even if you did get out the doors and past his security, you wouldn’t get far beyond the gates.’

Chloe felt defeated again, but didn’t want to risk it in-case he was being truthful. Which she had a feeling he was.

Ethan led her into a large room that was a kitchen, dining room and a lounge all in one. The kitchen was to the right with black marble top counters in a square shape and an island in the middle. There was a maid cooking dinner, busy at the oven. To the left of Chloe was a large wooden dining table next to huge conservatory doors. Then at the back of the room there was a few sofas and a fireplace with a huge TV above it, a small bar in the corner.

Loki was sitting at the head of the table, he stood up when Ethan led Chloe in and walked towards them.

‘You can go home now, Ethan.’ He nodded to him.

‘Cheers, boss. Have a good evening.’ Ethan nodded back then made his way out.

Loki flashed a wicked smile at Chloe, then he looked over at the maid. ‘You can go home too once you’ve served dinner.’

‘Thank you, Sir.’ The maid said with a smile, happy to be getting off early.

Loki turned his attention back to Chloe, he stepped into her space and rubbed her arms. She wanted to shrink away from him, away from his touch. But thought better of it. He used a finger to cup her chin, raising her head up.

‘Nice of you to join me. You look delightful, I may need to re-think what I’m having for dessert.’ He grinned, his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

He saw a brief flicker of anger cross her face, but it didn’t last long. She was indeed a quick learner.

‘Come, sit down.’ He motioned her over to the table. She reluctantly went to the seat he pulled out for her. He was acting rather gentlemanly, tucking her chair in too. He even placed her napkin on her lap for her and then poured her a glass of wine before taking his own seat at the top of the table again, next to her. If she wasn’t so scared and pissed off, she would’ve found him to be rather endearing.

She was tense, not sure what to do. Loki was sipping on his wine, keeping an intense eye on her while the maid dished up dinner. Her stomach growled, she never realised just how hungry she was. With the events of the day, she had just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep.

The maid was excused, which actually made Chloe feel even worse. Because now she knew that she was all alone in the house with him.

‘You’re not vegan or vegetarian, are you?’ Loki asked, already tucking into his food. He noted she was just staring at her plate, possibly wondering if it was poisoned or not.

Chloe looked up at him and had a brave streak. ‘What if I am?’ She blurted out.

Loki raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Watch your mouth, girl.’ He growled in warning, pointing his fork at her. ‘Eat. If you are vegan or veggie then you will go very hungry in my house.’

Chloe was so annoyed at that, but didn’t want to risk anything from the tone of his voice. ‘I’m not…’ She mumbled and picked up her fork to start eating small bites. But once she started, she couldn’t stop. She was starving. And the food was absolutely delicious.

‘Did your parents never feed you?’ Loki remarked, she was almost finished when he was still halfway through his. He didn’t get a response, just a glare while she took a few sips of her wine. Loki calmly put his cutlery down and leaned over towards her. His hand then shot out quickly and he gripped her hair tightly, making her cry out in pain as she grabbed the side of the table.

‘You will answer me when I ask you a question. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes!’ She squeaked out quickly, relieved when he released her hair and sat back, straightening his tie.

‘So, I shall ask again. Did your parents never feed you?’ He asked as he continued eating his own dinner.

‘Of course they did.’ She said through gritted teeth.

Loki raised an eyebrow slightly at her tone, but let it slip for now. He continued eating, keeping a close eye on her at the same time. He asked a few questions about her, what she liked to do, what kind of music she liked. She answered with as few words as possible.

Once Loki was finished eating, he pushed his plate to the side and clasped his hands together on top of the table, looking at Chloe attentively.

She had finished her wine and didn’t know what to do or say with the way he was looking at her. But then she decided to ask the burning question that was at the front of her mind. ‘What do you want with me?’

‘I think you know exactly what I want with you, Chloe.’ He growled low, then got up to his feet and walked around to stand behind Chloe. She jumped when he placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to whisper into her ear. ‘And I always get what I want.’

Chloe didn’t like the sound of that. She attempted to get away, but when she tried standing up, she was instead forced down over the table just at the side of her plate. Loki kept her pinned down with a hand to the back of her neck while he slid her plate further out of the way.

‘I thought you were learning, pet. But clearly not. Maybe this will help you to learn your place.’ He said darkly in her ear.

Chloe tried struggling under him, but like before he was just too strong and easily able to overpower her. But she didn’t want to just submit to him, to make it easy. Although it became more difficult when he grabbed her wrists and tied her hands together behind her back with his tie. He was far too skilled at that for her liking.

She started snarling at him and struggling again when he bunched her dress up around her waist and yanked her knickers clean off with one tug. When she heard his zipper being un-done, she knew there was no stopping him.

‘Please, don’t do this.’ She begged, in tears.

Loki chuckled, she could feel his warm breath against the back of her neck as he moved in on her. He kicked her legs apart and stepped in-between, so she couldn’t close them. ‘If you misbehave, you do not get any pleasure or say in this.’

He pressed the tip of his cock against her cunt, she tried moving across the table to get away but he held her firmly in place. She let out a loud sob when he started to shove his way into her, not taking time to prepare her or use any lubrication.

‘PLEASE! STOP!’ She screamed as he forced his way inside her body, making her mould to him. She felt like the wind was knocked out of her when he bottomed out.

‘If you behave like a good girl and do as you’re told, then you will enjoy our encounters. But you certainly do not deserve that privilege tonight.’ He said harshly, pulling back so just the tip of him was inside her and then he then slammed back into her roughly.

She could barely even scream now, it was too painful. It felt like he was tearing her apart from the inside. But there was nothing she could do while he took her from behind, using the weight of his upper body to keep her down on the table. Her hands were starting to hurt too from the pressure of being crushed between their bodies.

Luckily for Chloe, if it could be called luck, Loki angled himself in such a way that he started to hit the pleasure spots inside her. Making her start to lubricate naturally, making it a little bit easier on her. It didn’t feel so raw now.

Her body started to feel numb after a while. She tried not to think about it, to make herself think that she was somewhere else. Just waiting for it to be over.

And it was over, eventually. Loki grunted against her ear and his thrusts became more erratic, then she could feel him pulsing inside her as he came. Emptying himself into her. He was panting hard behind her, spurting a few more times before he pulled out with a pop. His cum dribbled down her inner thigh, making her feel disgusting, she couldn’t believe he did that to her.

Chloe didn’t move when Loki stepped back from her, picked up a napkin and used it to clean himself. He was glad he didn’t get any cum on his trousers. He dropped the napkin by her head and then untied her wrists. But she still didn’t move.

Loki patted her bum and then flipped her dress down for her. ‘Go on, off to bed with you.’ He growled.

She was shaking all over as she stood up straight, she couldn’t even look at him when she scurried off to bed. But each step she took, it was painful. She could still feel him inside her. And she couldn’t stop crying.

Loki grinned, pleased with himself as he went over to the bar and poured himself a drink. She clearly had a fiery personality, one that he rather enjoyed. Even though she was scared, she wasn’t afraid to try and push back. He had a feeling she wasn’t going to be the easiest to break completely, but he was certainly going to enjoy doing so.

[cinning-at-midnight]

An Unquenchable Thirst

Le Comte Ikemen Vampire smut fanfic #1

I don't do short fanfics, but here's some more kink for your October fetishes. ...

~~~~~~~~~

Chandeliers swayed overhead, dangling from a cathedral ceiling. The ballroom had a romantic glow, and the guests were all dressed in their finest attire. Hooped skirts and corset bodices spun like teacups on a carnival ride, while men in side-striped trousers and tuxedo jackets held them at an arm's length. The scenery was like a dream, and I observed in awe. 

Le Comte gently reached for my hand, and I looked up at him. The closeness of his face caused me to blush. "May I have this dance?" He asked me, and I felt my mouth run dry as I realized I'd had no dance lessons. Words fell from my mouth as though I were spilling alphabet soup, "Me? Dance? I-I don't think--" 

With the softest touch, Le Comte pressed a slender finger to my lips. "We came all this way, and I did help you find your dress." A teasing look flashed in his honey-colored eyes. I glanced once more between the exquisite ballroom dancers, and the sophisticated man before me. 

"Okay, but I--" before my sentence was finished, Le Comte had me on the dance floor, poised and ready for the next song. When the violinists started the tune for our dance, Le Comte took the lead as if he were waiting for this moment all his life. The corners of his mouth lifted in a smile as I started to twirl around him. 

In spite of myself, I felt overjoyed as Le Comte's hands politely held my waist so he could raise me for a second, leading me into the next turn. My stomach fluttered and a tiny squeak emitted from my lips, as I looked into his golden eyes. I felt for an instant that perhaps I was seeing longing in his expression, as he suspended me in the air. 

When the song ended, I felt my giddiness settle and my body sway at the sudden stop. Le Comte kept his hand on my shoulder, to help me get my balance. "You see? Dancing can be quite fun!" I smiled at him, feeling a tiny bit winded from the excitement. "Thank you for being my partner, Comte." I curtseyed for him, and he gave a low chuckle. "I couldn't deny such a lovely woman the pleasure of a dance." His reply was sweet, but I saw a flicker of sadness. 

Another noble--a vampire, no doubt-- approached Le Comte just then. "My apologies, please take a rest to enjoy the buffet spread." He barely looked me in the eye before walking away with the other man. His departure had me thinking about the conversation I'd overheard between Leonardo and Le Comte a while back. 

~~~

I had not yet learned there would be a ball, and I had been on my way to visit Le Comte when I heard quiet voices in his office. I stood outside the cracked doorway to have a listen. "Comte, you and I both know there are illegal vampires being made." Leonardo sounded calm. "We're starting to get threats in the form of letters and gift baskets, what would happen if cara mia  stumbled upon poisoned food?" 

Le Comte sighed, and I heard footsteps on carpet. "Leonardo, I take the safety of everyone in this mansion very seriously."  I could hear the striking of a match and assumed Leonardo had lit a cigarillo. "Would you help me arrange a ball, as a ploy to gather all of the local elite vampires?" "Of course," Leonardo replied, exhaling a puff of smoke. "Give me an attendance list and I can ensure everyone is accounted for." 

~~~

When I snapped back into reality, it was because a stranger had trailed his fingers along the small of my back. In my hand, I was holding a cracker with cheese. The man had his face inches from mine, and reached for the cracker and put it on a plate amongst the buffet items. "What's a little flower like yourself doing all by yourself?" His eyes were dark navy and as bottomless as the ocean. I caught my breath, "U-um, I'm here with Le Comte." 

I hoped my explanation would earn me an apology, and gain me my freedom. Instead, this strange man smirked at the mention of Le Comte. "Oh, I see, he brought you along to tease the rest of us." I blinked at him, taking several small steps backward. He laughed and extended his hand, grabbing my wrist in his firm grasp. "The name's Victor, but you can call me whatever comes to mind, Princess." 

I felt threatened, by Victor's aggressive hold on me, and by the demeaning tone of voice he was using. I quickly glanced about the room, but nobody was looking our way. I couldn't even see Le Comte. "Come, join me on the balcony. These parties are always so stuffy." He winked, with one ink colored eye locked on me. 

"O-only for a minute, Comte will wonder where I am," I explained. Victor bowed, still holding my hand, "Certainly." He planted one kiss on the back of my hand, and I swear I felt the tip of his tongue mark my hand. Victor and I stood at the doorway to the balcony and I began to panic. Why can't I find Le Comte? I wondered, scanning the crowd. 

Victor was getting impatient with me, and spun me by the waist so I was facing him. His chest was firmly presses against mine and he walked me backwards, pressing my spine into the moulding around the doorway. "Le Comte should know better than to bring someone as delicious as you to a vampire ball." My eyes widened as fangs protruded from the man's mouth. 

He poked his fang lightly, "They're real sharp, you'll only feel it for a second before your body goes into ecstasy." Victor's eyes glazed over with lust. "Then you'll be begging me not to stop." I felt my heart hammering in my chest, and knee-jerked as hard as I could into the man's crotch or stomach. Either one would do. 

I didn't look back as he doubled over in pain. I ran, and several guests watched with concern as I darted across the crowded dance floor. When I stopped, it was because I had missed a step  on my way out of the ballroom and tripped over my dress. A familiar voice called out to me, and when I looked up I realised that Le Comte had been running after me. 

Tears had been falling from my eyes, and I hadn't known until Le Comte approached me, as a blurry image getting closer and closer. "What happened?" He was calm, protective, and swooped me into his arms. I clung to his neck and continued to sob into his skin. It occured to me that I'd likely be getting makeup all over his nice collared shirt, but I only partially cared. 

Comte took me to a room just down the hall from the elegant gala. It looked like a study, and he seemed rather at home as he illuminated the room. I sat on the sofa, dabbing my eyes with a handkerchief. I sniffled when I saw makeup coming away onto the soft fabric. 

"Tell me what happened, angel." Comte pleaded, stroking my hair and wrapping his arms around my waist. I took in a couple of deep breaths, "Th-this guy, Victor, he wanted me to go to the balcony with him." I steadied my breathing and smoothed out the skirt of my dress, "But I couldn't find you and when he got me almost all the way outside, he--" I couldn't finish the words, as tears began to fall onto my dress.

Comte rubbed my back and squeezed me against his chest, "You're safe now, dear, but I do need to know if he hurt you." I sniffled, and let out a hoarse laugh. "No. I hit him with my knee and ran for it." I rubbed my nose once more with my handkerchief. "He did try to bite me, though." I could feel Le Comte's mood shift from behind me, and turned around to face him. 

He was looking down at his lap, with a darkened expression. "Did he-- did he touch you?" I remembered his grip on my wrist and how he held onto my waist. "He was very forceful…" I gently ran my fingers across my wrist and looked at the subtle red markings left there. Comte took one look at my hand and stood up. 

"You have to go back to the mansion, now." Le Comte used a stern tone, but again wasn't looking at me. "I'll be back later. Lock yourself in my room and don't answer the door for anyone." I slowly stood up, and walked toward Comte. "I-I don't understand." I said, reaching for him. He looked at me, and I saw that same sadness in his eyes as earlier. "I knew better than to bring you here, I'm sorry." 

Without another word, Le Comte left the room and seconds later, Leonardo showed up. "It's past your curfew, cara mia, let me ride home with you." I nodded, feeling disappointment welling up inside my chest. If only that song could have lasted forever… 

Back at the mansion, Leonardo guided me towards Le Comte's office as though I'd never seen it before. "Go on inside, lock the door and I will stay out here in case you need anything." I stared at him, all of the giddiness I had felt that evening had faded into a distant memory. "How about an explanation?" I asked him. Leonardo shrugged, "I can't give that to you, cara mia." He flashed me a self deprecating smile. "Go inside, please, or Le Comte will be furious." 

I entered the office, and sat on the sofa by the fireplace. The room was ornately decorated, and I had plenty of time to snoop, but none of the energy. I felt my eyelids grow heavy and started to fall asleep. 

When I awoke next, I was being rocked in someone's arms. Or, so I thought. When I came to, I realized I was being carried down a hallway. I rubbed my eyes and looked up to see Le Comte holding me. His expression was conflicted, possibly vexed, and I felt as though it was best to stay silent. 

At last, he opened a door and I expected to be in my bedroom. However, I was greeted by an unfamiliar king size bed. Delicately, Le Comte rested me on top of the bed spread. I looked at him with unspoken questions. "I'm sorry to wake you; I realize now I didn't specify between my office and my bedroom." Le Comte sat on the edge of the bed, his side facing me. 

Instinctually, I reached out to him. Le Comte looked my in the eyes for the first time since my attack. I pulled him closer, and he hesitated. Instead, I sat up and leaned on his shoulder. "Tell me what's wrong," I pleaded. Le Comte let out a quiet chuckle, as he had said something similar earlier that evening. 

"Victor needed to be questioned for several crimes, including your attack tonight." He explained. I nodded, "Is he creating the illegal vampires you're worried about?" I asked. Comte glanced at me and took my hand in his, "It's possible he is connected." 

I squeezed his hand, "I know you'll catch who is responsible." He gave a fleeting smile in return, "But will you get hurt in the process?" I blinked at him, "I wasn't hurt tonight, so--" Le Comte turned his body, pressing my back into the mattress. His eyes roamed my face, and he smoothed hair out of my face. 

Le Comte's fingers stroked my cheek, then slid down my neck, past my shoulders, and settled on the lacing on the front of my gown. My chest heaved, raising nearly to his face as he watched me breathe. His tongue slicked his lips and I felt a twinge of arousal at the sight. 

With one swift motion, Le Comte gripped the neckline of the bodice, and tore it open so that the fabric hung low past my shoulders and bared my chest to him. My heart pounded in my chest as Le Comte planted tender kisses on all of my exposed skin from the chin downward. 

In a growl, Comte spoke, "The idea of another man sinking his teeth into you brings out the worst in me." I trembled as he lifted my skirts, and tore away my petticoat. Now, only one layer of fabric hung over my legs and Le Comte carefully placed one of my legs over his shoulder. His teeth nipped at my thighs, as he lifted the remaining skirt towards my stomach. 

I started to moan from the anticipation as his face drew nearer to my core. Le Comte gracefully hooked his fingers under the elastic of my underwear and removed them in slow motion. I ached for his touch, and then he pressed his tongue to my heat. My back arched, and I felt as though I was levitating over the bed. Comte began fingering me and my body tensed around him. 

I couldn't keep quiet as his thumb circled my clit, while his other fingers remained inside of me. I thrusted against his hand, and then when  had nearly orgasmed, Comte stopped. He withdrew his fingers and began licking them clean, with his eyes locked on mine. My body yearned for stimulation, and I pouted at him. 

"Don't pout, or else I won't give you what you want," Le Comte teased. I bit my lower lip and whined. He reached down to remove his trousers. Comte slipped down from the bed and I heard fabric fall to the ground. With no warning, he reached for my ankles and dragged me towards the edge of the foot of the bed. His hand furiously worked on his cock before he finally penetrated me, unleashing a loud howling moan from me. 

Comte stood still as my walls adjusted to the full size of his hard member. I whimpered in ecstasy just before he started thrusting inside me again. My breasts bounced with the motions of our love making and Comte gripped my hips so he could thrust deeper each time. 

I was on the brink of orgasm, gripping the bedsheets firmly in both hands. Comte bit into the flesh at the top of my breast, and when the sting faded, I felt an unraveling in my core. Wave after orgasmic wave crashed over me, and I dug my fingers into his hair and bucked hard against him until his orgasm passed as well. 

I shook from my overwhelming orgasm and my legs felt like jelly. Comte climbed onto the bed and reached his arms out for me. In my sleepy state, I crawled toward him and rested my head on his chest, curling my body against his side. "That's my sweet girl," Le Comte said, kissing me on the forehead. 

We would go on to have sex two more times before daylight, and that's how my unquenchable thirst for Le Comte began. 

[the-gemini-systemii-blog]

Memories from our headcanon...

A BTAS sequel where Scarface meets Peyton Riley...  Originally typed out in a chat on Discord so it’s a little choppy but the boss did his best!

Arnold Wesker is the original ventriloquist and scarface is a "haunted" ventriloquist's dummy you will find out soon for a fact that he is haunted

 Arkham Asylum is steadily being renovated as a treatment center for the mentally ill

 and they were in OK hands but it was still called "Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane" at the time

 Big sad feels from the Boss, hearing that name

 I'm a Virgo, by the way

 my birthday is September 22nd 1993

 "I was extremely disabled, without my ventriloquist.  He brought me to life... But I had my own mind.  My own dreams.  I'm not speaking out loud anymore, by the way.  I'm communicating my moving my lips with my tongue."

(I'm gunna speak in parentheses by the way so the boss can tell a story!)  

Oh, thank you! I got real depressed thinking back on Arnold and the Asylum and to cheer me up Peyton went upstairs to work on my puppet.  He has a button eye now, and I got to meet Joanne, our staff member at the supportive housing where we live now... I slur like a drunk, haha, but Peyton’s going to be a great ventriloquist.  We're gunna make it big. 

It was still about making it big, back then, about three years ago, I was still with Arnold in Arkham Asylum.  It was about making it big in my tiniest wood grains.  But the immediate fight was much harder.  I needed to prove I had rights.  We were in therapy, and Harleen was saying "You think you'll still be Scarface without Arnold?" 

I remember banging my fiist on the table.  "I want to try!" I said. 

 "Give me the puppet, Arnold,” she said.

 Arnold splutters.  "This man... is very fragile... he does not believe..." 

"ARNOLD!"  she sais. 

He bows his head and hands me to her.  She does some dopey man voice, it's hard to resist with my iconic dummy, and says "Hur durr, I'm Scarface!"

 Arnold says "Try... opening your mind... a little..."  And as I turn my head to face her... as she turns the dummy around... she starts to get a really creepy feeling inside.  She gets a really good look into my eyes. I'm a posession spirit, and albiet weakly, I managed to posess Harleen Quinzell She takes the dummy off her hand, shaken, and her hand is stiff and white.  Arnold takes me back, and I sigh, thinking it was useless.  Thinking her mind was too strong.  Knowing what happens next. They put my puppet into miniature restraints and walk me and the ventriloquist down the hall to our room.  They lock me in.  They don't do that anymore.  But the doors were locked back then.

 I guess I should talk about me and Arnold, even though those weren't happy times. I'm staring out the door.  He's quiet.  He has asked, in the past, Do you want to talk, scarface?  And I always bark "Quiet!" I think he's a curse.  I should have treated him better.  But I needed brains. I was staring out into the hallway And the guards start teasing me...

 "Should we inject the dummy?" 

"Haha which one's the dummy?" 

I've heard it a million times.

 There's a new guy though, he's a little confused, but he's read my file. I'm a patient too he says "Hey, he's locked in, shouldn't we take him out of his restraints?" 

That depends on who's on duty. Jonathan Crane is very kind but often, we're restrained for hours. I'm just lucky they couldn't fit a straightjacket on my dummy. And they start talking 

teasing 

all kinds of ideas 

they talk about taking me away from Arnold 

about passing me around among the guards to see if I can break out

 I want them to

 I want them to so bad 

but they're too scared 

I feel my face --it's wood. The jaw moves. The eyes blink. But I feel a sneer. Usually when I become overcome with emotion, it bleeds into Arnold but this time it isn't Arnold sneering; it's Harleen. I see her in my mind's eye and then I hear her voice. My heart leaps.

 "HEY!  You dopes clear out! I got therapy with this one! " She’s running down the hallway with an empty sack over her shoulder.  I press my hands up against the glass.

 "Sorry Arnold,"  She says, "Your cellmate has a private session."

 I can't quite describe how I experience reality when I'm posessing someone 

her hands over my wooden body  I'm very aware of my form but I can feel her breasts bounce as she runs

 I knew from that moment that I wanted a woman to come into posession of me

 "Alright" she says, propping me up and looking into my eyes.  "You can stop that."

 I'm silent.  Playing dumb. "Creepy doll..."

  She closes my eyes and puts me in a bag. 

The next thing I know, I'm on my back, and there are fireflies in the air. My eyes are going crazy, my jaw is opening and shutting.  I put up a hand to steady myself and say "Arnold, are you drunk???"

 One of the dark silohuettes puts a finger to my lips and says "She's only a child."

And that's why I can't tell you what happened in the garden 

they say I'm not allowed to access the memories I made while posessing Poison Ivy's daughter

 her name was honeydew or raindrop or something like that

 and they said that I had been a dryad in a past life

my name was Woody Vines

They made my wood green again, and I got past life memories... strolling through poison ivy’s garden. I wore a brown fedora then. I  walked with a cane.

 bunch o' hoodoo ... maybe it's true 

either way they wanted to get me personhood

 but the best they could do was to drug arnold  with the same coctail they used on Harv and Batman to bring the alternate personality out and dominate the mundane controlling personality, to supress Harvey and Arnold and Batman’s civilian identity, whoever that is

 it involves fear toxin, but I don't know any more than that  I was transferred to the care of Jonathan Crane, who stopped restraining me and told me that he believed Poison Ivy to an extent and that at her request, if my dreams of finding a new ventriloquest didn't work out, my dummy would be laid to rest in the garden and Arnold and I wrote out extensive offers and contracts, but we couldn't get me independant personhood in the end... and I'm ashamed of this... I agreed to be sold as an object

 I talked to Jonathan 

I wanted a clean slate

 someone I could mould and train 

a woman, 

and I made my wishes known to some of my old mob connections, but it didn't work out at first

 Arnold wanted his money's worth

 the debate on weather or not I was an independant person had only driven up my publicity and my price tag and I got sold to someone sleasy from America's Got Talent who visited me for several sessions in the asylum, where he insisted he didn't want me restrained. I remember crossing my legs unsteadily as he tries to get his hand up my back. My stomache in knots, putting his stomache in knots. He probably didn't expect to be frightened. I was very nervous, and I could tell he was shocked. 

 His first words to me were "So the rumors are true... you do have a mind of your own." 

And I said "Could you say that again where the press can here you please?"

 He never told me his real name.  Only his stage name.  Burt Laughingstock. When I scoffed he shook his finger at me and said “names had power “Scarface...” 

“Woody...”  I said.  “We’re offstage.”  I loved having a real name.  I’m leaving out a lot of legitimate rehabilitation I went through in Arkham.  I was so tired of being tied to Arnold’s fears and repressed violence, and that name, Scarface, I don’t hate it, but he’s a character. I tried to make the best of it. But the first show he took me on turned out to be some kind of tell-all Behind-the-laughter crap, and when I found out... I bit his finger off. 

Little did I know, the sap had several documentations of his sound mental health and non-violent history, and he said if the dummy turned out to be evil, he wanted it destroyed. But Dr. Crane came through for me, saying that I hadn't committed an executionable offence.  I looked like hannibal lecter when they brought me to court with Burt as my ventriloquest... strapped to a board by my hands and legs... cage around my mouth... but I didn't struggle... I knew I had my personhood argument in the bag... and I like being feared.

 A mob lawyer came through for me and got me off on misdemeaner battery, with the heartrending defence that I had been sold to Burt as property when I had requested an open-minded female aide.  They paired me up with a female cellmate as a favor to Sean Riley, and that's how I met Peyton Riley... and that's how I ended up where I am today (That's the end of the boss's story!) Yeah, that's the end of my story.