#this isn't even close to all of em too I just rounded up all my personal favs AND YES THERE ARE A LOT OF THEM

[lady-quen]

End of the Line

"A lifeless mannequin, dancing on strings. Each string spoke to him in the thousand hushed voices of magic. It hurt. Each string begged him to usher his body back together. The Alchemy danced behind his eyes. A silver serpent, swallowing its own tail. It fucking hurt. It isn't over, it said. You made it so." "You killed your death, now live with it."

[Post-EoD drabble, 3k words, just exploring the consequences of people finding out my Commander a is a lich. Part of joint canon with @commanderteag (Maolmuire used with permission.) Angst, tw for decapitation, swearing, fantasy racism. I took some very mild creative liberties with the Pact status and the Void.]

Even times of newfound peace still had their work cut out for what remained of the Pact.

The original plan had been to dissolve after Jormag and Primordus. Then, after Soo-Won. And now, with Void stragglers remaining all around the world, he was in charge of the strike forces in a large-scale round-em-up-and-neutralize operation. Because of course he would be - the famed Pact Commander that he was. At least the rounding up part was easy, with choice waypoints repurposed into ley-line beacons at Taimi's suggestion. One he took gladly, with the haze beast as the precedent for Void's attraction to energy nexi.

At least, this time, his emotions weren't being used as the lure. Even if the calculations were just barely within the margin of error, his daughter's plan was working.

"Sir! We've got sightings in the canyon!" Elina, one of the scouts, reported. Maelmordha nodded, comms device clicking to life.

"Hundar Pike strike force! On my mark, unload all explosives into the valley!"

"Demolitionist Tirxxi reporting! All troops in position!"

Splendid. Despite last minute adjustments when the Void headed down an alternate path, everything was going more or less smoothly. Much easier this way - if this continued to go well enough, nobody would even have to engage the enemy in ground combat. He alone would likely be more than sufficient to pick off the leftovers. A bitter smile graced his features in anticipation. Ever since Aurene had departed into slumber, he could no longer count on that little miracle atop the Harvest Temple. And so, he had to make this work without her.

The Void was already dying out, but the last of it congregated in areas most affected by the late Elder Dragons. Though waiting was certainly an option, there was always the risk of further loss of life - and so, mobilizing the army for one final cleanup was the most logical course of action. The Commander's voice once again entered the channel.

"Site Alpha confirmed, reached. Team Alpha, on my mark... Now!"

He could feel the explosion from miles away. The ground itself shook as a decent part of the canyon collapsed into itself, burying the monsters below in a rockslide, clouds of gunpowder, and an avalanche for good measure. Freeform Void attempted to bleed through out of the cracks before dissolving into the air without particular fanfare.

He repeated the order for site Beta, cutting off the encroaching shadows and closing the valley behind them. Perfect. Like sheep herded to the slaughter - without the mind behind it, the chaotic element was as directionless as any other dragon minions left without their master.

Still, where it was directionless, it was certainly not a complete pushover. The final act drew close; Descend into the valley on-foot with Legion choppers monitoring closely from above. If it gets ugly, fall back. It shouldn't, but he was no fool to risk his troops like so.

"Lieutenant Tornbanner. Everett. Cinniod. Maolmuire. We're going in."

"Sir yes Sir!"

A small contingent of shock troopers under Tornbanner, Everett's medics, Cinniod's mages and Maolmuire would be more than enough to make quick work of whatever creatures still clawed their way out of the snow. There weren't many, and most were already far too dazed by the explosion and distracted by the ley line energy wafted into the canyon to be as much of a threat in close quarters as they used to be during the Canthan campaign. And so, in they went.

Two dozen pairs of boots touched the ground when suddenly, the Commander raised up an arm, signaling for the soldiers to wait. His gaze, fixed on the heaps of rubble, was unreadable.

"...Allow me to handle this by myself. Stay behind and make sure nothing sneaks up on any of us. Eyes and ears wide open."

He did have a rather poor track record with magical lures. It would be for the best if he went on ahead and cleared the way, with the others as backup but otherwise out of harm's way. The unmistakable spires of Brand crystals shimmered all around him in their rich, purple hue, framing an entrance underground. Kralkatorrik. Guess a piece of the old man remained beneath the canyon, after all. Not that completely erasing an Elder Dragon's influence from the world was easy, even for another one. Forces this old had their roots set firmly in the world.

A part of him wondered whether she really wanted to purge every last trace of her grandfather. These crystals, now dormant - in a sense, were they not the final keepsake she still had of him..?

Did she remember him? Were the Dragons not connected by some sort of Dream? Did it possess past memories, as well? Did she know what he was like before he -

Went mad. Razed billions. Slaughtered her mother.

Something turned deep within his gut, a familiar pain he did not expect. Visions of a burning blade, the same one that took his life - and an asuran prodigy, the only other mortal he had known who stood, with him, at the precipice of immortality. How did it feel..? To achieve the state he had. Locked within the chassis of a machine, mind uploaded into ones and zeroes. A novel form of life, if it could be called that.

Blish, do you think you were alive?

He descended further into the cave, Banner warband watching closely behind.

My golem body kept me safe, but... if anything happened to you, I'd never forgive myself.

Forgiveness. What a fleeting concept, comparably far easier to give than to receive. He stared into the brilliant violet. Hey, old friend... are you in there, still..? Do you "forgive" me?

Killing and corrupting... it's what you do. It's what you were born to do.

W - what?

A harsh left, swords pointed at nothing. Gold eyes blinking against the crystal gleam before turning to face his troops. The Commander gave a reassuring nod - nothing here, either.

He wasn't sure whether whatever he heard was a voice inside his mind or a product of stress. Perhaps both. Perhaps neither. The crystals had eyes.

Could a dead thing feel..? This wasn't Kralkatorrik. He was gone. And yet, there was a distinct sorrow within the air, and each step felt like moving through mud. He couldn't help but wonder: Did the beast regret all that he had killed? Was this a final vestige of his tortured soul, buried in hopes of never again seeing sunlight? Was what Aurene had been doing all this time..?

It wasn't just to erase his corruption. It was to erase his pain. Kralkatorrik, he... couldn't rest easy until he was gone to the very last, it seemed. But what about Blish? Was he gone, too, or was he suspended in that hellish state of darkness? Unable to pass on until the silent prison holding him was destroyed without a trace? Dear Mother, why did everything have to always end in boundless suffering?

And it was then that he realized. The miscalculation was not a miscalculation. They accounted for it, yes, but the Void? It hadn't been following the ley line at all.

It was following Kralkatorrik's torment.

The ground shook. Tendrils of black slithering through bedrock, snaking around Brand pillars.

Several malformed creatures emerged, taking on shapes of the long dead in a chaotic masquerade. Icebrood. Risen. Branded. Destroyers. Mordrem.

"Fall back!" Maelmordha wasted no time. This was bad terrain - a chokepoint. They needed to make it back out into the open, into a direct sightline with the choppers, should all this go south even faster than it was already going.

Wherever he was involved, things had a habit of turning to shit. SNAFU, indeed. At least then, his presence usually prevented the situation from escalating from merely "shit" to "fucked beyond measure and then some."

He was not about to let anyone die this time.

For you. Trahearne, Eir, Almorra, Blish, and too many others to count.

"I'll hold them back! Go! Go! Go!" A swift cut from Lædingr ended a charging Icebrood. Black ooze splashed his armor, sizzling where it hit. "Don't worry about me, I'll be right behind you!"

It was a lie. But, hah, he was very much planning on surviving. Call him a control freak - but this? How this ended was entirely up to him.

No more hesitation. No more loss. No more -

Vaughn Tornbanner's matchlock took out one last Mordrem before the Lieutenant herded his warband outside, the charr providing cover for escaping medics. Flame and lightning magic crackled all around them, lashing out against whatever unlucky monsters sought a bite of the Commander's forces. Here and there, phantom mirages of the fourth Knight of Thorn distracted and incinerated foes with beams of light.

There was more Void here than they had ever accounted for. Even in its death throes, it closed in like a storm.

The diabolist focused, and shade magic enveloped his form. The necromantic fire in his blades erupted into a blaze of blue, his once-gold eyes opening to the same, cold hue. Rows of fangs unfurled upon his chest, a full-body snarl.

In the shimmering dragon amethyst, he swore he could glimpse an image of a small and sickly asura. In life, Blish had mirrored Taimi so closely.

His lips moved, soundless. There was judgement in his eyes.

The front line of Void creatures suddenly stopped, phantom hooks digging into the mass of writhing shadow as his chains constricted all like hungry serpents. With a sickening crunch, the bodies before him were warped, limbs torn from their sockets, necks snapped, multicolor eyes fading in the flash freeze of death. He exhaled a puff of frigid breath, attempting to channel enough ice to seal over the entrance. In his chanting, Grenth's own magic - permafrost extending out of his palm in an explosion of crystalline shards.

The Void. It was trapped... finally.

"Commander!" There was abject terror in Cinniod's voice. Several people gasped. Maelmordha made a single step to turn around, dual blades still held firmly within his grasp.

"Everyone! Is everyone -"

There was the vague sensation of something cold passing through his flesh. A blur of black and technicolor, a flash of steel on his left - his eyes followed it, and then it was on his right. He... his neck... hurt.

Something strange happened to his vision and he watched his own body collapse with a thud against the ice wall. Rivulets of gold quickly seeping into black fabric as he convulsed and fell slack, Dromi and Lædingr falling from the grasp of still-twitching fingers.

"Holy shit." Someone commented, eloquently.

Vaughn's rifle and Maolmuire's blade made short work of the beast who had mysteriously gotten behind the seal.

"Commander..!" A cacophony of meaningless voices that only registered as though from underwater. Gibberish. People shouting, shuffling closer, then back again in sheer disbelief. Distant sounds of magic and gunfire, a yelled warning as more Void began to close in, this time having dug itself out of the avalanche resting outside. Someone at his side, clearly shell-shocked, calling for a medic.

What... what was... going on..? His senses, suspended and disembodied. He willed his hands to move and watched them do so, as though he were a puppetmaster observing his doll.

A lifeless mannequin, dancing on strings. Each string spoke to him in the thousand hushed voices of magic. It hurt. Each string begged him to usher his body back together. The Alchemy danced behind his eyes. A silver serpent, swallowing its own tail. It fucking hurt. It isn't over, it said. You made it so.

You killed your death, now live with it.

The body slumped against the ice seized, more sap spurting out of the stump of its neck. But his spirit held dominion over it yet. That foolish, foolish spirit. Fists clenched, feeling the familiar shape of sword handles. It was jarring. Utterly disorienting, but he closed his eyes, and he allowed the puppet strings of his curse to guide his movements. And he rose, like the countless dead he once commanded.

Now upright, the lich's body stumbled over to where his head lay. He released Lædingr and felt his own fingers in his leaves, and then he willed them to lift.

Only then did he open his eyes. Nothing but blackness and striking blue. Phantom pain pulsed throughout his flesh, and it maddened him. Even now, disconnected from his lungs, he let out a broken laugh - it seemed to reverberate, like the voice of a ghost. The Pact forces turned to face him. Several drew their weapons.

The implications of everything that transpired in this cave would wait.

"Just... let me handle this. Nobody dies here... but me."

He was the expendable one. He was the sacrificial lamb. And he was the wolf, draped in lambskin. Every death he took instead of another was penance. His every breath was a lie, for as long as nobody knew the true extent of the monster he really was.

Blish' mechanized voice echoed in his mind. This is the end of the line.

No more secrets.

That's right. He was the accursed; The Commander of Death. And all his fallen subjects haunted him.

Maelmordha stepped out of the darkness, Dromi hovering patiently next to his hand as he cast a spell. Without a shred of mercy, phantom fangs crushed the few Void creatures that still remained, grinding them into less than the dust they had come from. And then, all was quiet. Only the winter wind and the buzz of ley magic in his ears.

The Pact troops slowly approached, and with a deep sadness he realized most of their weapons were pointed at him. Their eyes, reflections of terror. And he realized he was still holding his head like a grocery bag.

The necromancer loudly cleared his throat - if a ghostly impression of doing so counted.

"...Excuse me." He fumbled for a moment to place his head where it used to be, making several adjustments before what seemed like blue fire began to knit his flesh back together.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Cinniod confessed, knees giving out as the elementalist violently dry-heaved into the snow. Several worried voices chattered, indistinct. Indecisive. He couldn't blame them - after all, they had just witnessed their hero turn out to be a villain. Perhaps Joko had been right - at least in the sense that both of them were abominations.

Perhaps the world would one day need saving - from him. But until then, he could still work to make it better.

"Soldiers."

His troops shuffled uncomfortably. They had every right to. Monster, someone snarled. He smiled.

"A good friend once told me.. to stop keeping secrets. I admit I fumbled that spectacularly. So, now, there you have it."

"Fucking knew you can't have killed a god." Vaughn spat, lips trembling over angry fangs. He raised his rifle, claw hovering dangerously over the lever. "Without selling your soul for power."

He laced his fingers, and smiled apologetically. There was no resentment in his eyes, only understanding. No words to make it better. Only open ears, to hear what was overdue. The price for this betrayal. At the very least, he had managed to keep up the act until the Dragon War was over. This operation? He would gladly step down if asked. Though Logan had been aware from the start, they both agreed on one thing: keep it under wraps. And if the cat ever gets out of the bag, then, well...

"Soldier." He addressed the charr. "While we're still on the field, your behavior is mutiny. Reconsider."

"Fucking bold of you to talk, monster!"

"And pray tell, what will shooting me accomplish that cutting off my head failed to?"

The Lieutenant snarled, but slowly lowered his gun. Bronze eyes gazing with nothing but pure disgust at the sylvari who seemed to be, despite all, a picture of flawless stoicism. All a part of his charm. Every liar needed a strong façade.

The Commander opened his mouth to speak. Maolmuire, however, had other ideas.

"Everyone! Don't you know the Void's properties have been evolving? Didn't you hear about the haze in the Gyala Depths?"

Maelmordha sighed. "Maolmuire..."

"It's messing with us. This is a mass hallucination!"

It seemed he had to be more... forceful.

"Maolmuire, stop! You've said enough."

"You're complicit, huh, you malformed weed?" Tornbanner sneered. "All you hivemind bastards were in on it from the get-go."

The necromancer focused his gaze on the Iron Legionnaire, something dark in his eyes that sent a shiver of dread up the warrior's spine. "I'm asking for the last time, Lieutenant Tornbanner. As for everyone else. I do not intend to falsify the truth, and welcome those who wish to report the incident to do so at their leisure."

He could feel an era close with his words. Despite everything, still he smiled. Time and time again, he found a way to smile in the face of those who doubted him. Always, he would.

"It is overdue that I stand in front of the Pact War Tribunal for my crime against Tyria and her people. But first... Lieutenant, report. Is everyone alright?"

Something shifted behind Vaughn's eyes. Flews slipping over jutting fangs - a predator that only stood down knowing its might to be no use. Not in front of a Godkiller. A Dragonslayer. A... whatever this man even was.

"Nobody was badly hurt... Maelmordha." The name tasted like venom on his tongue. "I answered you. So now, you'll answer us."

"I will, rest assured." Without further ado, the choppers descended, extending ladders. The necromancer looked away, turning his gaze to the sky.

"Everyone. It was an honor to be your Commander."

[300iqprower]

NERDCORE GOJO APPRECIATION POST

(because it's easier than gushing about all these songs individually)

and last but not least my personal favorite:

[reddesires]

Magnetic

Logan Howlett x Mutant Reader

Summary: There's only one way of satisfying your undying curiosity of finding out whether or not those fridge magnets will stick to the one and only Wolverine, who just happens to have an adamantium skeleton.

A/N: There may or may not be a continuation of this, idk yet.

It first started off as mere curiosity, the fact of knowing Logan's skeleton was enveloped by pure metal on the forefront of your brain.

Your eyes would constantly wander to the fridge that was decorated by various colorful magnets by the students, the cat and and the multicolored alphabet letters, especially catching your attention.

The growing need to know if those magnets would stick to Logan or not was just too irresistible to refuse as you snatch the grumpy cat magnet from the fridge door, examining the narrowed green eyes on the face of black feline. Yeah, it reminded you very much of the rugged mean mugging man who was all too unaware of your devious intentions.

Logan was used to your teasing antics of playing with his tufts of hair whenever you got the chance or somehow discovering all the new hiding places he hides his beer in, just to hide them elsewhere (he thinks it's your sixth sense at this point). He feels as if he's always on his toes when it comes to you, your mutation aiding you in somehow bypassing his enhanced senses, you find great joy in sneaking up on him when he least expects it.

So when you casually walk in the room that he's in with your hands behind your back with a feign, innocent look on your face, his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Oh hey Lo! Didn't expect to see you here!” The lilt in your voice and the sway of your body as you walk over only cause him to tense as he sits up straight, his eyebrow raising in question.

“You know I usually sit here,” his voice trails off as his eyes trail up and down, analyzing your body movement. “You're up to something.” You grin immediately, a laugh bubbling up as you round the table as if you're trying to corner him, and he doesn't waste time standing and quickly rounding the table from you.

“Hey, don't make me spill my beer,” He says warily, holding his beer up by the neck of the bottle. You smile deviously as you slowly trail along the side of the table, still holding the mystery item behind your back and he doesn't like how you're looking at him as he mimics your movements ready to bolt to the exit any second. “Okay, we're playing that game.”

He exhales exasperatedly as he immediately swerves and runs out the door, holding his beer securely as he hears you run after him. “Logan! Get back here!” The laugh in your voice is mischievous and he doesn't trust you as the two of you run past Jean and Ororo, they look after the both of you surprised as they never expected Logan to run away from you of all people.

“Get em, girl!” Ororo cheers as they watch you round the corner after Logan, he's trying to lose you by running in front of innocent students and taking unexpected turns and it isn't long for you to have him cornered.

“Aye, have mercy.” He says your name with defeat as he clutches his beer to his chest, he somehow managed to save it from even spilling a drop during the chase and it makes you giggle as you step forward building the anticipation before getting to him, and he only watches with a close eye as you do. Only when you're within an inch from him, your face almost intimately close to his, do you notice his adam's apple bob up and down with trepidation, his eyes fluttering slightly as he's aware of how close you are to him.

You slap the magnet onto his face.

He blinks once then twice as the magnet sticks securely on to his cheek. You gasp with unadulterated joy, a cheer pulled out of you as your curiosity has finally been fulfilled.

“It does stick! Oh, this is gonna be so fun!” His face falls as he realizes what this concurs. He's become your magnetic plaything as he remembers the millions of magnets that are currently adorned on the fridge door.

“No, don't you think about it.” He grumbles as he pulls the magnet off his cheek, the crabby cat image only intensifying his dismay for your new upcoming hobby. “Oh Wolvie, it's all I can think about.” You tease as you gently squeeze his cheek, walking away feeling rejuvenated.

[webslingingslasher]

Not to be annoying but I rlly hope u write some kind of blurb for the jealous frat!Peter when someone flirts w reader after they are officially boyfriend girlfriend bc u wanna assess what kind of relationship they'll have after all the emotional trauma and angstttttt (idk if u got my first ask though)

*cleaning out my inbox*

kisses scattered across your face woke you up, hair tickled your nose, and you showed you were awake by lightly pushing on peter’s shoulder. it's just too early.

'can't snooze me, trouble. you're the one that told me to wake you up.' another round of kisses, your wake up call isn't that terrible. 'c'mon, up and at 'em. you've got a midterm to study for, leslie's waiting for you.'

his reasoning doesn't make you move any quicker, it was on leslie for choosing saturday morning as peak study time. you weren't even able to hang at the party last night, instead you hunkered down in peter's room and lightly woke when he crawled into bed around one to tug you into his side.

'it's so early.' peter pouts against your cheek, 'you'll survive. you've been putting in overtime this week. i swear that you've hung out with leslie everyday.' it's true, and like peter said before your first study session 'you'll feel your brain grow, super proud of you.' there's no question you'll ace the midterm.

'promise me you'll let me sleep in tomorrow?' a flurry of kisses, you savor them, you know it's the last attack of the day. 'you got it.'

---

peter thought you could use a little pick me up, so, he gladly walked into the library doors with your favorite fast food. it might've been slightly selfish, because he knows he just won himself some brownie points.

it took him a minute, but he found you. back in the study section, lightly kicking your feet under the table. you were nodding your head while chewing on the end of your pen, peter's heart picked up; he couldn't wait to see the look on your face.

you laugh, he smiles. peter moves around a bookcase and comes to a sudden stop. sitting right next to you, was a guy. he had your total attention, no other sign of people around you, peter couldn't even try to pretend it had turned into a last minute group session.

peter finds it hard to swallow, it's not that you're not allowed to hang out with guys, it's the fact that you lied about it. was there ever a leslie, or was it code for this guy the whole time?

the answer will be in your reaction, and he's about to catch you. you don't see him coming, your eyes flash to the bag on the table then to the hand setting it down. you almost burst at the seams, a surprise visit and your favorite food.

'peter!' you wince at your tone, a nasty look from the table next to you gets a silent apology. 'what are you doing here?' you're already digging through the bag, you miss the inspection he's doing on your study partner. you also miss the way he's avoiding peter's eyes.

'just wanted to say hi,' you chew on a fry and hold your mouth closed while you pucker, a chaste kiss. 'hi.' you swallow and tap on the arm next to you, peter follows the motion closely. 'have you met peter yet?'

'uh, no.' he scoots closer to the table, you shrug and look up at peter. he has his focus on leslie, it seems more intimidating than friendly. when your study buddy looks to you for help, peter loses it.

'trouble? wanna come talk to me for a minute?' you frown, your fries are at the perfect temperature. 'but, you-' the look in peter's eyes tells you he isn't playing, a sense of urgency has you scooting your chair back.

the second you're ducked behind a shelf, it spits out. 'who the fuck is that?' peter's tone has you drawing your head back, it's sudden and aggressive. 'who, leslie?' he laughs, 'nice try, who is he?'

it feels accusatory, you take a slight step back. 'that's leslie, peter.' he snorts, 'and you left out the fact he's a guy?' the reason for his sudden change makes you feel dirty, you don't like how he's directing his words.

'i didn't feel like it had to be spesified.' peter nods sarcastically, 'so i tell you i'm hanging out with... jordan, and i've been around them for hours a day, for the entire week then you find out it's a chick and you wouldn't mind? not even a little bit?'

'it depends on what you're doing with her.' a dry laugh, 'you knew exactly what the fuck you were doing with that name shit. don't stand here and tell me i'm the idiot.'

he's making you feel sad, you don't understand how peter could think of you like that. 'i don't understand why you're so upset.' peter tugs at his snapback, scratching at his curls, he replaces it.

'because you're my fucking girlfriend.'

your arms cross, 'so i can no longer hang out with any other guy?' maybe you were being a little difficult, but he's the one that implied you were cheating, or at the very least capable of it.

'jesus christ, that's what you jump to? no, honey-' the name sounded sour, '-it's the fact that you knew i'd think he was a girl and you didn't try to change that.'

'i don't see why it matters.' peter feels like he's talking in circles and he really wants to break from the conversation because he can feel his frustration building, he's about to start saying things he'll regret.

'it doesn't!' you pull on his arm with wide eyes, your head spins to look around. peter brings himself to a whisper shout, 'it doesn't fucking matter, but it starts to matter when you lie to me.'

'don't make it seem like i'm cheating on you.' you tried to ease him down, like the two had nothing in common. it was the wrong choice of words, a fire blazed in peter's eyes. you stepped back when peter pointed a finger at you, for once, he's making you feel really small.

'you're the one who brought up cheating. go back to your fucking friend, i'm done.'

you try to grab onto his wrist, but peter shakes you off like you're nothing. 'peter,' he has no interest in what you have to say, you can't follow him, he's too quick. 'peter!'

when he's out of sight you look down at the ground and sigh. peter was right, you knew what you were doing by alluding to the fact leslie was a girl. and peter doesn't care when you hang out with other guys, but because you left that part out, you've been lying by omission and it makes everything seem worse than it is.

you just don't know what he meant by 'i'm done,' and you really hope it just pertains to the conversation. either way, you shuffle back to your table with a tail between your legs and hope to god peter would let you apologize.

---

gentle knocks at the frat door, you were scared that if you gave peter a heads up, he'd bolt.

'uh oh, you're in trouble.' ethan has a smug look, it tells you that he's been preparing for you to show up. 'how much?' you need to know your chances before you can think of your plea bargain.

ethan wavers, 'he was... upset.' you hold your face between your hands as you slide in, mumbling out a 'fuck,' before building confidence to move up the stairs.

you lightly tap on your boyfriend's door, when there's no response you slowly twist the door knob. peter's lying on his bed, ankles crossed while a book covers his face.

'peter?' the door clicks shut. you timidly step forward, 'petey?' nothing from him, just a slight adjustment and he's back to reading. 'did we break up?'

the book drops, you're looking right at him. 'no, we didn't break up.' you can breathe a little bit better even if he went back to glaring at words, the main anxiety was flushed. 'okay, good.' you reach the end of his bed, rubbing at his shin you try to soften him up.

'i love you.' peter has a very unimpressed glance when you capture his total attention by taking a seat, pushing into his thighs. 'i don't know why i didn't tell you leslie was a guy, i mean, i honestly forgot but when you started saying she... i didn't correct you.' your fingers twiddle with the band of his watch, 'and i don't know why, i guess i wasn't thinking about it like that. but yeah, i'd feel a bit cheated if you did the same to me.'

'you keep saying cheat.'

cheating is almost number one in things you should never do to your partner, but for some reason, it really hits something in peter. just saying the word, out of context, has him pulling from your touch.

'peter, c'mon, stop it. you know what i mean. i'd never, ever cheat on you. i love you too much. i was on the spot and i thought you were implying i was cheating, and i was trying to say i wasn't cheating but then i think you took that as a guilty conscious coming forward and admitting i was cheat-'

'please stop saying cheating. please.'

you hold your mouth shut, a sheepish look crosses over your face. 'sorry.' it comes out as a mumble, it's an uncomfortable silence. you don't really know what to say, or do. you smash repetitive clicks on the side button of peter's watch, when you take a peek, he's watching your hands.

you're really trying, but you need to wash away any idea of it from his head. 'it's just that i never want you to think i'm cheating-' you're shocked into silence when peter rips his arm from you.

'fucking quit it with the cheating, trouble.' you open and close your mouth like a guppy, nothing sounds right. 'i know you don't like it, but i just need you to know that me hiding that leslie was a guy didn't mean i was trying to-'

'say cheat one more time, i fucking dare you.'

you stay silent. 'i don't know how to fix it, peter. i'm sorry i lied, and i’m sorry i keep saying the 'c' word.' you jump at peter's stage claps, you never knew how sarcastic a noise could sound.

'there we go! that was hard, huh?' it leaves a bad taste in your mouth, you frown at him. 'you don't need to be so condescending.' peter snorts, 'and you don't need to be lying about girls who are guys that wanna fuck you.'

you freeze on the spot, pushing the words out like they'll make you puke if you think too hard about them. 'leslie doesn't want to fuck me.' peter nudges your back with his knee, 'you're cute.'

you shake your head, 'i mean it. he knows you're my boyfriend, i talk about you all the time.'

'that's so cute, you're so cute.' you push his arm, 'i mean it, peter! i promise he wants nothing to do with me, he even told me he likes someone else.'

peter plays along for the sake of it, 'oh, yeah? he does? let me guess... it's someone you know.' you light up, 'yes! he wouldn't tell me if we were friends, but he said i know her!'

'right, right. and she's super pretty, right? maybe a little outgoing?' it's impressing how well peter knows this. 'yes-' peter keeps going, 'maybe intimidating because she'd never notice him? and how she might not be into a guy like him?'

peter's ticked every single box; your eyebrows furrow, a supercut of every moment you've had with your study partner runs through your mind. you see where you've been dumb on hints, and how you very much are... the girl you know.

'and that might be because she...' you fill in the blanks with shame, 'has a boyfriend.' it's muttered in a deep tone, pitch mocking peter's next words.

a brew of frustration, not on peter, but on men in general. you can't even study without being hunted? and why the fuck does peter know the game so well?

'this is bullshit! what the fuck is your problem?' you stand and glare down at peter, demanding him to answer on behalf of the world's male population. peter holds a hand on his chest, 'what the fuck is my problem? i don't know, what did i do?'

'you!' you point at him, again, a placeholder for all feminine rage. 'you fucking- you're a... you're a man and you suck and why am i constantly fucking sexualized? all i wanted-' you suck in for air, you don't know why you feel a lump in your throat, is this something really worth crying over? yes.

'all i wanted was a friend.' no tears, you're full of anger again. who does that to a person? 'and the whole time i'm being baited? i just wanted to pass my fucking class, peter! i wanted to do it without your help and the second i don't have a fucking man tied to my hip, i'm being plotted against?'

'trouble,' peter's heart hurts and you can hear it.

'no! it's so unfair, and it's unfair that you'll never understand it. it's unfair that i have to live my entire life afraid of what's behind my shoulder. it's unfair that i can't be left alone. even when i make it clear i already have the person i want. it's just-'

you sink next to peter, he sits up to hug you. 'unfair. it's really, really unfair and i'm sorry i can't relate or understand. i'm sorry you thought you had a friend, i'm sorry you feel like you can't relax, and i'm sorry i rubbed it in your face.'

he did rub it in your face.

'you have plenty of guy friends with good intentions that would do anything to keep you out of harm's way. that includes calling out other guys that may not have them, but i could've been nicer. i'm sorry i'm just a man sometimes. i'll work on it, i promise.'

you melt into his touch, peter is very much just a man sometimes. but he's your man and always good at calling himself out when he needs it. 'is that why you thought i cheated on you?'

'the next time you say cheat, you owe me twenty bucks.' you ignore the quip, 'is it?'

peter scoffs as he rubs your back. 'i didn't think you were cheating, trouble. i was upset that my girlfriend was lying about who she was hanging out with.' a slew of kisses to your hairline follow.

'and maybe a little jealous.' you laugh, there's nothing for him to be jealous over, but he's super serious and pulls away to cup your face so you're looking right at him. 

'because you're my baby, and i need it to stay that way.'

[brotherwtf]

I’ve just been powering through all your request drabbles and I’m obsessed with them all! If you’re still taking requests can I please have more breeding kink? Listen I know, but I can’t help that I deeply feel John wants Gale knocked up and he won’t be satisfied until he absolutely exhausts himself trying. John begging, “just one more time please, we can do it once more, let me try”, while petting Gale’s stomach!? That’s the type of sexy unhinged behavior I’m hoping you can deliver. Please and thank you!

bestie I'm always taking requests my ask box is never ever closed keep em coming

ohoho but the way John is CONVINCED that he can get Gale pregnant, some animal part of him physically can't fathom the idea of being unable to impregnate his MATE (the lizard brain has taken over whenever John looks at Gale)

fucking him into the bed, muttering absolute filth about how he's gonna get Gale pregnant, this time he's gonna do it, he's gonna shoot so deep inside Gale that it HAS to take hold and put John's babies inside of Gale's womb, Gales too fucked out to even acknowledge what John is saying to him

maybe John keeps apologizing and apologizing after they're finished and Gales super confused, asks why he's sorry, and Johns crying and whining saying "sorry I can't get you pregnant I'm a terrible husband" and Gale's like "ah"

John begs Gale to let him try again only an hour later, says he can get it up again with Gale's help and Gales just like "sure" because he isn't exactly opposed to the idea of fucking John again

and this time John's absolutely feral with it, immediately sliding in and fucking with something animalistic, punching choked moans out of Gales throat as he fucks so deep into Gale

maybe Gale plays along, moaning about how he wants John's babies, wants to be fucked so full and round with them, and it only spurs John on more to fuck even more brutally into Gale

John's a little worse after the second round, cries and whimpers about how he's such a bad husband for not being able to get Gale pregnant, can't even get it up to try again bcs he's so tuckered out, crying into Gale's chest while he rubs a hand up his back, soothing John and telling him it's alright, they can always try again tomorrow

woah who wrote that

[tezzbot]

Hiiii I love the way you draw the trolls!! I know this is weirdly specific but how on Earth do you draw the hands ;w;

I've (mostly) got the hang of troll anatomy with the feet, torso- even the neck and head but my gosh I cannot get the hang of the hands and arms. Do you.. mayhaps, happen to have any tips for a beginner artist? Or possibly a reference handy?

This is kiind of difficult to explain bc in my head it's just. I Do It KGJFH which I know isn't exactly helpful so I am gonna try my best to explain my process

I am gonna be describing how I do it in My style so there's gonna be discrepencies between how I do it and how they look in the actual movies, but I hope it helps break em down enough?? Idk we'll see

Gonna need a diagram to help bc it's easier to show than tell so uhhh hey Branch

So, I know you're asking for hands but yknow arms are part of it lol, so the trolls in the movies do have arms that go from slimmer at the shoulders to wider at the wrists (there is a word for this. they taper?? I think?), I tend to exaggerate it a little just because it makes more sense in my head and for me personally is easier to draw, think of em as like little teddy bear arms lol

Some proportions in Trolls (and to how I draw anything generally lol) are incredibly flexible so it really doesn't matter how good you are at anatomy, the idea is to make it look good moreso than make Sense a lot of the time, as long as it looks vaguely right then you're on the right track :P

Now for what you actually asked for: The Hands!!

Troll paws are real nubby little things lol, but they do operate just the same as any other regular hand you would draw, just a lil more squart and missing a finger sgfdhf

Think in more Rounded Rectangles than anatomically correct hands. I think that instead of the three knuckle joints humans have, it is easier to picture them as having two (I think that's how it is in the movies anyway?? icr lol) The knuckle where the finger connects to the hand and then a single joint in the middle of the finger to allow it to yk actually bend LOL

Also drawing hands in general, The little chubby bits on the outside of your hand under your pinkies and thumbs are really useful guidelines for me personally, so it's good to know if that helps you too ^_^

As for actually connecting the hands With the arms - Again this is for my style, it's not really how it looks in the movies I don't think but, it's close enough that I get away with it FHGFJH

So, generally what I'll do is I'll connect the back of the arm to that first knuckle, usually making a little triangle where I guess the back of the hand is??? This can be squarshed and stretched as needed, I usually don't even think about it tbh but I did notice that it's there DSGFDHF

And here's just a couple other angles of hand arm connection. Otherwise, yeah, they do basically just work like regular ol people hands they're just a lil chunkier hehe

Also you can hide a bent elbow behind a hand nobody has to know.... as long as it lines up it doesn't matter... GHKFG

Thank you Branch for being our wonderful hand / arm model this evening

And I hope this was in any way at all useful!! If you'd like any more explanation or have any other questions feel free to lmk!!

[thegnomelord]

Congratulations again 🎊🎊🎊 Fully deserved <3

4 with Soap and Graves because I am a messy bitch who lives for drama!

Thanks! Finally finished with my exam so I can finally write aaand i overwrote again :Dd. Play the game HERE.

CW: SFW-ish, kissing, bruises, true GN reader, undertones of puppy play but nothing explicit. Graves and Soap being jealous hoes.

Graves nearly chips a tooth with how he clenches his jaw while he watches you and Johnny make out across the bar. The way Soap keeps your attention, the way he confidently grips your hips as he steals your ability to think and breathe never fails to make Grave's blood boil. It takes everything in him not to go to you when Soap slinks away, leaving you breathless and starstruck by the way he sways his hips.

"Yea look like yea want to devour 'em." Johnny mocks Graves like he's just won Olympic gold, saddling next to him. "Yea know you're out of league when yea height starts with a 5?" He throws a bulky arm over Grave's shoulders, bringing his face so close their noses almost touch. Phill can smell booze and you on Soap's breath.

"I'm not the one slobbering all over them like some mutt." Graves bites back and pushes Soap's arm off him. "Compensating for something there, lucky charms?"

Johnny's so drunk off you he doesn't rise to the provocation, "Oh, a dog ahm I?" He sticks his tongue out like he's ready to lick Phill's face to annoy him. "Want this Scottish mutt to bite yea then? Show yea who's the top dog 'round 'ere?"

Graves grabs him by the scruff, though he can't get the right grip to make Soap melt like you can, only earning a feral grin. "Do that, you're sleepin' in the crate doggy." Graves warns and it's impossible to tell if he wants to fight Soap or kiss him. Hell, Graves has half a mind to get Soap in trouble so he can have your attention squarely on him for a lil' while.

The sound of your laughter gains their attention, their heads swiveling just in time to see some man chatting you up. You laugh along to some joke, not noticing when the stranger places a hand on your back that wanders too close to your ass for both of their comforts. They share a look like they're prepared to go to war; Graves gives a little head motion towards you.

You yelp when their bodies settle next to yours only to relax when their colognes register in your brain, but you don't notice how they push back the guy you'd been talking to with their shared bulk. "Oh, hey guys." You're a little confused when Johnny wraps a hand around your hip, Grave's hand slinking into the back pocket of your pants. "What are you-"

Johnny cuts you off with a sharp tug on your hip. "We'll borrow this for a bit."

Your questions fall on deaf ears as they corral you into a hallway, hands on your shoulders and hips until your back's flush with the wall. "What's gotten into you two?" You manage to ask, an undignified sound leaving your lips as their bodies pin you further to the wall, someone's knee digging into your groin.

"Shush Bonnie." Soap purrs and seals his burning lips over yours, immediately pushing his tongue inside your mouth like he's trying to steal your breath. You grasp his front instinctively, jumping when you feel teeth scrape against your throat; Graves isn't idle, tucking his body into your side so his head is in the perfect height to bite down on your neck, teeth worrying bruises into his side of your neck until there's a dark backdrop of hickeys to make the indents of his teeth more obvious.

Graves grips your hair and pulls your mouth off Soap's, not even acknowledging the Scott's quiet 'hey!'. "Just makin' a statement, darlin'." Phill bites your bottom lip as Soap buries his face into the other side of your neck, the taste of whiskey on Grave's tongue distracting you from the sharp pain of Johnny biting you.

Your thoughts melt away after just a few kisses, barely able to breathe as they make a competition out of pulling needy sounds out of your throat, one always kissing you while the other sucks hickeys into your skin. Graves chuckles as he tugs your the collar of your shirt down enough to dig his teeth into your shoulder, Soap quick to follow after him.

You don't notice when the man you'd been talking comes looking for you, but Johnny does. He gives a smug smirk and tugs on your hair to raise your head. Your unfocused eyes and disheveled appearance is only secondary to the way the lights overhead darken the canvass of bitemarks and bruises they've made across your skin, making you look like you've been mauled by hyenas.

The soft little sound you make when Graves purposely sucks on a bruise has the man scampering away with an obvious tent in his pants, and your men are sure to reward you with wet kisses for unknowingly proving who you belong to...

[soultek]

Late To The Party - Roronoa Zoro x Female!Reader (One Piece Live Action)

💚As it's a certain someone's birthday today!💚

A/N: I feel literally late to the party myself with this - but there we are!

Also not the Zoro I ever expected to be writing for but I was just too inspired NOT to go for it!

100% inspired by 'Dance With Me?' by @alotofrandomfangirling. I read that fic, listened to this song and was like "Oh it's all fits nicely!" and then kinda ran with it! [BTW - you should OBVIOUSLY go and read her fic!]

Ahh... and also, for getting me through all this OPLA fangirling @alotofrandomfangirling this one is also 100% for you! 😁❤

Disclaimer: As usual, nothing except the reader character is mine (loosely based on my OG anime counterpart character Zoro!SO) I tried to keep him as close to his OPLA self as possible but I can't promise I didn't let a bit of his anime personality slip in but I have read this back so many times now I'm like 99.9% he's LA accurate!

Warnings etc: Drinking, mention of injury/scars, super mild cursing, established (secret?) relationship.

Premise: With a party happening in the port you happen to be calling in, you and the crew take the opportunity to be social. Zoro takes it as an opportunity to drink, but maybe that isn't the only reason he's going...

Words: 6325

Song Inspo: Late To The Party - Kasey Musgraves

---

By the time we get there Everybody will be drunk The chairs will be on tables And the band will be unplugged We're gonna look real good But we're gonna look real rude I'm sorry I'm not sorry that I'm Late to the party with you Let's promise when we get in That we'll try to get right out Fake a couple conversations Make the necessary rounds These kinda things just turn into Who's leaving here with who? But I just want 'em all to see me come in...

Late to the party with you Oh, who needs confetti? We're already falling into the groove And who needs a crowd When you're happy at a party for two? The world can wait 'Cause I'm never late to the party If I'm late to the party with you

---

Nothing was right. Every outfit you tried just ended up with a sighed 'No.', before being thrown in the corner. Everything else was done – hair and makeup went perfect; you were maybe even quick with those. But this... This was taking the time. Sure, you probably could throw on any old thing and get away with it - this wasn't some fancy dinner, or anything you had to look good for. Just a port with a party. But that was the point - it was a party. It was a chance to be sociable, dress up for a change. It was your thing. And you were late.

Snapping you from your thoughts with a jump, was a loud pounding on the door behind you. It was almost accompanied by a shriek, but luckily you saved yourself the embarrassment of that. Whipping around, you could feel your heart beating a million miles an hour - you didn't realise any of the crew were still here.

"Y/N! What the hell is taking you so long!?" Your eyes widened to the voice; now you were doubly glad you hadn't screamed. Opening the door ajar, you poked your head out and were faced with the unimpressed look of the crew’s resident green-haired swordsman. On second thought that was just his natural expression. You opened the door a little wider, halfway between asking a question and looking around to answer it yourself - was everyone else still here? Evidently, he wasn't done ridiculing you; "What the hell!? You're not even changed!? Even I got changed!" Your eyes focused back on him... Well, he wasn't wrong. He had changed his shirt. You indicated to the pile of clothes strewn on the floor, "Well I didn't know what to wear!" Now you were talking to Zoro, you might as well ask; "Wait, is everyone still here!?" His hands went to his pockets as he shuffled a little on his feet, eyes moving from yours, "No, but I said I wasn't leaving without you, now hurry up!" "…Hurry up!?" You folded your arms, eyes narrowed. You'd known him long enough to be able to read him pretty well, "Zoro, I bet you don’t even want to go!" He copied your crossed arm stance, "Maybe it's not my scene but if it’s a party, there’s alcohol." You couldn't help but roll your eyes, 'good lord.' Resisting shaking your head you turned your full attention back to him, glancing head to toe; "You’re going with your swords? Really?" Zoro was as defensive as you expected, "You never know what’ll happen." That seemed typically him. "Well…" You turned back to your clothes with a smile, finally deciding on something that would complement what he was wearing, "you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take mine." "Annnnnd that’s why I’m the better swordsman." You glanced back over your shoulder to shoot him a look. Despite how nonchalantly he'd declared it, the tiny smirk on his face said everything. “I am but a humble student, you’re supposed to be better than me.” He laughed, short, more like a bark; “Humble is the word you’d use, huh!? Interesting…” You turned your body fully back to him, hands on your hips. "Why would you even think I would debate-" You cut yourself short, realising that somehow Zoro was managing to stall time even more. So much for hurrying you up. "HEY! Will you get out of here and let me change!"

Sensing he was clearly enthusiastic; you gave him 15 more minutes before you headed back out on deck. He was standing with his hands in his pockets again, ankles crossed over each other as he leaned back on the railing. Glancing you up and down he gave a single simple nod. This was Zoro, so that was a complement and you would take it. There was silence between you for a moment, but the sound of a party was in the air. It was loud, it sounded busy. Exactly the kind of thing you liked. Exactly the reason it had taken you so long to get ready in the first place. And he knew that. The man in front of you however…

Zoro walked forward a couple of steps, slowly, looking around as if on high alert. He stopped not even a foot from you, brown eyes focusing back on yours. His voice was flat, but it was a distinct tease. "You know, a lookout not on deck is no good." You could have seen it coming from a mile off, but there was something about him that made you rise to it anyway. "Looking out for what?! We’re docked! You seem to believe you’re doing a better job, and you were still here.” He indicated to himself, "First mate. Lookout is not in my official job title." He was going to drive you insane. Your breath was deep but you held back the ‘my god, how did I end up with you!?' - for both ways he could take it and neither ending up in your favour. Instead, you cleared your throat and threw your hand in the direction of the port, “Can we just go please - if you’re so eager?! You did just rush me.” Zoro shuffled on his feet a bit more before he decided to respond with, “Fine.” That did not mean that he moved very fast at all, and you shook your head slowly, following him. Apparently, the draw of alcohol wasn't even doing it tonight. You did wonder sometimes, you really did…

Once you got down the gangplank, Zoro turned immediately left. You glanced to your right; exactly where all the light and sound was coming from. God help you now... You raised your eyes to the sky; 'idiot.' Instead of saying anything, you simply reached out and took his hand. Seemed like a natural enough thing to do... He was fine with it within the confines of a room training. Touch was okay there. But in public, you couldn't be sure. Not even on a currently deserted dock. But Zoro didn't jerk away, and even when he walked far enough for his arm to pull back when you weren’t moving, he didn't drop it. Turning back to you, standing rooted in place, staring at him. Your arm stretched as far as it would go with his doing the same, hands still together. You tipped your head in the opposite direction. Once again, not a word passed your lips. His eyes moved around you to the port, but he barely acknowledged it before walking back to you, and then in step. You let him dictate the pace - still super slow.

Zoro cleared his throat, deciding that he would comment on the situation. "I knew that, I was just taking the scenic route." You declined to comment that the scenic route was about to lead Zoro off the end of the pier. There was humour in your voice, “Every route with you is the scenic route…” You wouldn't say you struck a nerve, but there was something sharp in his voice. “What are you trying to insinuate?!” You opted to just shake your head again, amusement obvious on your features; even if it was clear, you were saying something. Zoro narrowed his eyes at you, keeping them on your face to wait for you to break. Unfortunately for you, it didn't take long to start giggling. Composing yourself a little, you came up with a decent excuse. “Hey, look, I just don’t want to lose you. It’s pretty busy.”

To your earlier point, the dock around you was dead, but the direction you were heading in seemed overly crowded. Zoro, still focused on the surrounding area, was halfway through raising an eyebrow to correct you - when he realised the joke. “HA. Lose.” Again, you said nothing, maintaining innocence. If that was the conclusion he wanted to jump to - correct or otherwise. For a minute or so you thought you'd get away with it, until you found your left hip bumped by not just one, but all three of his swords - which caught across your ankle for good measure, so his timing must have been impeccable. You paused your walk for a moment, looking across to him, clearly unimpressed. Rubbing your side with your free hand. Zoro merely shrugged, voice once again level. "Sorry." His first thought had really been to muss your hair or something, but that would have meant dropping your hand, and he really didn't want to let that go. It was also the perfect excuse when his swords were between you. In honesty you thought you probably did deserve some retaliation. "Maybe you should walk on the other side of me." "Not exactly my first thought, swordsman." Maybe you would have held his hand otherwise, but this had started practically... Now it was turning more romantic. Even if the words weren't. "If you had yours that wouldn't happen." "If I had mine things would be worse - probably for me." Considering you wore yours on your left hip you probably would have had to walk on his other side... "Yeah, that’s you up against me.” (It didn’t cross your mind he would be talking about anything except sword fighting until later.) “What!? I can’t believe you’d-” What did that have to do with anything!? “Name one time you’ve ever beaten me….” You remained silent. “Exactly.” Something within you felt determined to get him back for that comment - such had your friendship always been before it had become a relationship. “You know when I said that I bet what happened with Mihawk was awful for you and I was sorry you had to go through it?” Zoro almost smirked following your train of thought, “What? Not exactly feeling that right now?” The smile you gave him in response was crooked, “Yeaaah…”

So, his only option was to one up you, “Okay, well, next time how about I just put my sword through you instead of just barely grazing you. The AUDACITY!? This time he raised a gasp from you. You turned to retaliate, but funnily enough at the exact same time you gripped his hand a little tighter - this was play fighting. “Just barely—!? You call this just barely grazing!? I damn well needed stitches! It’s going to leave a mark!” Zoro listened, body half turned into yours, but he wasn't looking at you, continuing to stare in the direction you were walking. He simply indicated to his chest; 'really!?'. You knew you had no option but to drop it then - because fair enough. But there was still a deep cut across your left shoulder blade that he had left there. Instead, you sighed gently, turning back to the lights glittering off the water, everything was getting steadily louder as you got ever closer. You smiled again, “It’s okay. I know I’m the 5th wheel here…” Zoro frowned momentarily at your math; mentally counting the crew, before he realised you were talking about his swords. He shook his head in response, lacing his fingers with yours.

You weren’t quite sure how this had happened in the first place. It also wasn't meant to be like you were sneaking around behind the crew’s backs, you just weren't ready to be out in the open yet. You'd both been bounty hunters; Zoro mostly worked alone but very occasionally you had worked together. Had a couple of other good bounty hunting buddies too – and the four of you were a decent team. It hadn't taken long for you to develop a crush on him - and as a swordswoman yourself you were in awe of his skills. It was something you only ever strived to get better at. You'd pushed that crush back a long time ago in favour of friendship - after all, unless you were going to team up permanently (not his thing.) there was not much point in getting serious about it. Added to that, Zoro never at all seemed interested in romance. You had been content to just keep seeing him around. That was until rumours started flying around the community that the great Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro was now a pirate himself. Had joined a crew and everything. At first you had simply laughed it off as ridiculous. That must have been some other guy calling himself 'Roronoa Zoro' because there was no way in hell the man you knew was going to do that. How wrong you were, sufficiently curious to follow the rumours along until you both ended up on the same island. And sure enough there he was - with a crew calling themselves the Straw Hats. A crew you now found yourself a part of, having practically begged him to teach you after he'd kicked your ass yet again. (Like you weren't about to miss a bounty hunting opportunity - even if it was him.) Now you were, as you had pointed out to him earlier, a humble student.

The relationship element was new. You knew you weren't sure who or what started it, but it happened and it just felt like a good natural progression. Neither of you were really pushing that relationship aspect currently. You were close for sure, and you always kept close. ALL the time. (And if anyone on the crew was suspicious, they didn't call it out.) You held hands after training... When you were alone. It never progressed much further than that. Passed a confession and the agreement that you were, indeed, a couple.

Yet here you were, Zoro was not protesting holding your hand on the way to the party. And hadn't he just been the one to link your fingers in this way? That hadn't been you.

Stepping up from the dock onto the port side you were both bathed in light. It went from just the two of you to apparently everyone else in the world who had descended on the little town. You weren’t sure where to look – there was so much to take in. The bustle of the people – of all ages – was secondary to the bright colours all around. Shops, restaurants, bars, and their patrons spilled out onto the streets – covered in bright neon decorations and constantly glittering lights. In the central square ahead of you, music played from an elevated platform; even from here neither of you could tell if it was a live band playing or simply amplified through a sound system, only that the gathering of people around it were dancing. All down either street was a collection of booths selling various foods, drinks, wears and even offering games to play, each one looking as busy as the next and all dressed in the same bright colours as the permanent stores. Happy voices called out to each other: both friends and merchant alike. It was more like a festival than a party and you wondered quietly if that was actually what you had stumbled upon. There was so much to see and do, standing up on the street you almost weren’t sure what to give your attention to first: but you knew it was going to be a fun evening. Zoro could feel the energy from the party hit you instantly; if he didn’t know any better, he would say you were vibrating – you had an entirely different buzz about you than you had 2 seconds ago walking with him down here. He could feel it all through your connected hands, see it in the way your eyes were almost sparkling (though, that could have been the reflection of the lights). This was your domain; you were as in your element here as he was with three swords.

Zoro instinctively pulled you closer - if you didn't want to lose him in the crowd this was the only way. "You know where they are?" "In case you didn't notice - which you did - I wasn't the one looking out for them!" "Right... Stay close. Don't let go." He pulled you forward, and tonight you decided you would just trust him with directions. The 'don't let go' hit different though; if he was going to drop your hand at any point it would be now - not only in a very public place, but the chance of any of the crew happening upon you at any second. You almost wondered aloud if it might have been due to him spending his time waiting for you drinking; loosening up a bit. It would have made sense, but it didn't seem like it. Zoro was going to the party for alcohol. If he had it on him back at the ship, why would he bother? Unless...

You were snapped from that thought by suddenly being pulled in another direction. Finding yourself steered towards a building labelled 'Bar.' Figures he'd be able to find that with no issue. You continued scanning the crowds; the crew must have been around, but also at this point were long gone to you. And Zoro was clearly interested in drinking, pushing the door open with the most enthusiasm you'd seen out of him all night. But he wasn't just holding your hand for the sake of holding it. He knew men. You had dressed up for this because you had a social side. If he didn't clearly indicate who you were with, you were as likely to end up in trouble as anything. Another reason to keep those swords on hand; if anyone dared try anything he was sending clear signals. In the bar the crowds were even more dense, and you moved closer to him, free hand coming across your body to touch his arm; if you were going to hold his hand any tighter it might actually hurt. Still, Zoro couldn't help his little smile. You scanned the gathering more, swallowing hard at the realisation of how many eyes were suddenly on you. Drawn not just to yourselves, but also more closely to the points of connection between you and your entwined fingers. Your gaze flicked back to him, still solely focused on leading you to the bar - if Zoro had noticed this attention, he paid it no mind. You almost envied that. You were very aware of how gorgeous he was - you weren’t blind! You were unlikely to be the first or only girl to ever have fallen for this man. You were just the lucky one that had him…. Somehow! If you were any other girl in this room, you'd be jealous, too.

After what felt like an age, you finally made it to the edge of the bar. He brought your twined fingers up to it, unlinking your hands but keeping them close, leaning forward to try to find the barkeep. At this point the aged wood was littered with empty glasses and bottles. You hoped for the sake of your partner the whole bar wasn't already dry. Without even asking you were both presented with a beer, "Ahh! What can I get the lovely young couple then, eh? First one is on the house!" Zoro was clearly irked by the descriptor - but got straight to the point, "What have you got? Bottle of your best...?" He waited for the suggestion. "Well, uh, I'll have to see, sir! I would expect most things are out by now, but I'm sure I can find something." "Okay. Then," Zoro's sigh was deep, like he was trying not to think about it being the only reason he came down here. "I'll have a bottle of whatever you have left!" He turned to you, look pointed, "Clearly, we are late to the party."

You were about to commend him on just the one - realising suddenly you were going to quickly become the 6th wheel in this relationship to alcohol - when you were interrupted by the overly loud calls of your captain. "HEEEYYY!! ZORO! Y/N!!!" You barely had time to turn before Luffy was throwing his arms around you and pulling you together in a three-way hug, "Where did you go!? We were worried about you guys!" "Ah, blame her. She takes too long!" You punched Zoro's arm playfully, but you returned your hand to resting next to his on the bar. Luffy said nothing - likely oblivious as ever; but you could bet if one person in the crew didn't care, it would be him. Luffy grinned, "Well it doesn't matter! You're both here now! Ahh you gotta try the food, it's so good!" You turned back to the busy room, watching everyone else laughing and joking together. Luffy and Zoro followed your eyeline. Zoro's hand brushed against yours for your attention before he nudged you, "Go on." "W-what about you!?" You whipped back, a little too quick to protest. Luffy looked between you. "I'll be fine here. Besides, I can keep an eye on you from the bar. That's what you want to be here for, go have fun." Fun definitely didn't seem like the word Zoro would use, but this wasn't about him. It was about you. You looked to the bottle of beer you'd been given and pushed it towards him, "Here, just in case they can't find you anything else. I think you need it more than me!" Turning to Luffy you smiled sweetly, rubbing his shoulder, "Look after him for me!" "I will do!" Luffy grinned, Zoro just shook his head. But you knew he had everything he needed right there. You let your eyes linger on his and focused on that touch for just a moment longer, before you slipped from under the arm of your captain and went to make yourself sociable with the other crew and townsfolk. Surely Usopp, Nami and Sanji were in here somewhere... Glancing back over your shoulder you watched Luffy take your place, chatting excitedly to his first mate. He had Zoro's full attention; it made your laugh to yourself. You were going to end up so many wheels back you might as well have not been in this relationship...!

You were social, it was one of your greatest strengths. It was easy to make friends. It made it easy to get information. That was how you used to do your bounty hunting. You could talk to anyone and everyone easily. You liked listening to people's life stories - hearing about all the places they were visiting. The islands you’d landed on; about what there was to do in the area, even if you never went yourself. You liked talking about the tiny East Blue island you'd grown up on. You had enough stories from sailing across the East Blue yourself. And you could twist the crews’ stories into something a little less... Pirate-y. You always enjoyed it, you always had fun. If someone asked you to dance, you would. If someone wanted to drink with you, you were down. Tonight... Tonight you realised that even in your element, you were not having fun. Not as much fun as you wanted. Not alone.

You hadn't thought about it before. Hadn't considered when you were getting ready that it would ever be the case. You expected to have a good time with the crew - your relationship and anything that might happen with it tonight was an added bonus to something you loved doing. But in the middle of the conversation, you couldn't help realising how much you didn't want to be there. At least... Not in the company of these people.

You looked back over your shoulder to the bar, and were almost surprised to see not only was Zoro alone once more (you would have put money on either Luffy dragging him along, or Luffy dragging everyone else over to him), but he was staring at you. Clearly, he wasn't going to take his eyes off you tonight. When Zoro said he was keeping an eye on you he meant it. And maybe he’d never say it out loud, but with you looking like this, that wasn’t the only reason. The two bottles besides him were finished. But whatever the bar man had managed to find him was unopened. He turned slowly to it, before wrapping his fingers around the neck and dragging it off the bar. Gesturing with it towards you, before tipping his head back towards the ship. You smiled, and suddenly it was the happiest you had felt all evening. In that moment you knew exactly where you wanted to be. And tonight, where you would rather find yourself.

He met you by the door as you politely excused yourself from the conversation, this time taking his other hand and making sure to walk on his left. The knowing smile on Zoro's face indicated he knew you were learning. A tiny piece of your felt bad, as he opened the door back into the night air - the crowd was a little thinner, but the party was still in full swing. It felt like you were bailing, you'd been late and you were leaving almost immediately. But it wasn't as if people could say you hadn't turned up. Luffy at the very least had seen both of you there. But there was something inside you that stirred in excitement at the thought of sneaking back to the Merry with a bottle...

If you had gone at a snail’s pace to get here, you practically ran back. Or you would have thought you had, considering how giggly and breathless you were, despite not having drunk at all tonight. Yet. With the bottle in his hand that was clearly going to change. Zoro removed his sword belt, propping them up against the wooden railing of the ship, before blowing out a breath and settling beside them; back up against a pillar, he stretched his legs out in front of him, placing the bottle between them. You shook your head, sitting yourself down in front of him with a grin. At least out here it was quiet, the air was cooler. Zoro closed his eyes for a moment, tipping his head back; allowing you to trace the lines of his face. His jaw and down his neck, up over his broad shoulders and down his toned arms, to his fingers. You thought for a moment about the skilful way he could un- and re-sheath his swords. How any just-so movement with his fingers would move those blades to make perfect strikes. You hadn't been present for the fight with Mihawk that had made the scar across his chest. That was a little too much to think about, but the shirt you were coordinating with tonight exposed enough of his chest for a part of it to be visible... But you still couldn't imagine Zoro losing. Even when you could imagine just how incredible the 'World’s Greatest Swordsman' was.

You bit your lip, thinking about your earlier jab, and suddenly felt terrible. "Hey, Zoro..." "Mhm..." He initially kept his eyes closed and head tipped back, but when you didn't continue, he changed his position to look at you. With your eyes and expression a little guilt ridden; he couldn't help tipping his head in confusion. You took a breath, and although it seemed like you wanted to look away from him, you didn't: "What I said earlier about the Mihawk fight... You know I didn’t mean it, right?” Zoro almost chuckled - that was debatable. But he had known you was joking with him. "Y/N, you worry too much." "But I still-" "Of course, I do." It's what you wanted to hear - so he would satisfy that. You sat back on your hands with a smile, this time voice a little sweeter; "And what I said about being with you being scenic… you know I did mean it, right?” You had realised the hilarity of saying every route with him was the scenic one, and that depending on how you'd said it, how it could have been either a sarcastic tease on his sense of direction or a very smooth romantic flirt. Internally you'd kicked yourself for not realising sooner and now - despite it being obvious at the time which you were going for - you wondered which way he’d actually taken it… Zoro cracked a grin, clearly he'd noticed it too. “Oh. You mean I am the view.” Even though, by the look on his face, you knew Zoro understood you hadn’t meant it that way. Yet, you couldn't help but blush a little, “Glad we could agree.” “That would be a first…” You were compelled; you leaned forward and smacked his leg. It was likely always going to be a knee-jerk reaction to his teasing. That just made him chuckle, and he picked up the bottle again, cracking it open. "Should I get some glasses?" "Glasses?" Zoro scoffed, "Hell no. Now c'mere." He beckoned you forwards.

You couldn't help being intrigued, but as you moved to the side of him, Zoro grabbed your waist, pulling you to sit between his legs. For a minute you struggled, both shrieking and laughing, pushing against him enough that he had to physically hold you in place. You relented, giggles still rising in your chest as his arms wound around your waist. Head propped back against his chest you looked up at him. "Okay fine, you win!" "I'll just chalk yet another one up." "Ah, keep them, I'm never beating you." "Wow." He smirked again, "Did we just agree on two things? Careful, Y/N, we might be on a roll!" You nudged his face with your palm, "Hush!" Causing Zoro to grab your hand and interlink your fingers again. The movement caused his piercings to run together, making them chime softly. You focused on them dancing for a moment, unable to help yourself from reaching out and making the gold ring together again. Zoro simply shook his head at you, picking up the bottle he'd just opened (and somehow in all that hadn't spilled everywhere.) and taking a sip. "Whatever helps you amuse yourself." "One per sword?" "I'm not even answering that." "Hey, it's a valid question!" After all, you had a multitude of piercings in both your ears and didn't carry nearly that many weapons. He ignored you, holding the bottle out. You accepted it gratefully and read the label; "Any good?" "It's alcohol, even the bad stuff is good." "Yeah, no," you sighed, "that sounds like you." You took a drink and concluded that this one was indeed, pretty good. Taking another sip, he smacked the top of your thigh, "Hey! No drinking the whole bottle, I waited too long to get that one!" You almost choked, "And you won't get any if you make me spill the damn thing!" "You do that, I'll be throwing you overboard and telling the crew you elected to stay in town." "Thing is I wouldn't put it past you..." You handed the bottle back to Zoro, making yourself comfortable against his body, "I'm just saying a good boyfriend wouldn't do that." You heard Zoro huff a laugh as he lifted the bottle to his lips again, "Ah, I never promised to be one of those." "What? A good boyfriend?" "That's the one." "Well. A girl can dream." "That's all you'll be doing." You let out a laugh then, a full-blown belly laugh. "I know you're determined to ruin this, but you can't. It's not happening. This is exactly what I wanted." "Me?" But he left it there, fingers of the hand not holding the bottle finding yours again.

You sat in silence for a moment, the only sound your breathing and the back and forth of the liquid in the bottle every time he took a drink. Further back, the dull hum of the party, and the waves lapping at the side of the Merry. Inspecting the bottle once more Zoro realised it was nearly empty. Looking down at you in his arms he realised your eyes were closed. "Hey..." He tried softly, so not to wake you if you were asleep. "Mmm?" Your response let him know that even if you weren’t, you weren’t far off. "You want any more of this?" "Oh, no." You shuffled a little more, head moving to his shoulder, opening more of your body to the warmth of his, Zoro found himself pulling his legs in closer to aid you with this. "It's yours. You said it yourself; it was hard to come by. And I know it was the only reason you were going anywhere near the party." He stared at you for a moment, and then between you and the bottle. Your eyes were closed, so you didn't see his next soft smile. "Well, maybe it wasn't the only reason." You didn't respond, but he saw the smile on your face grow.

By the time he'd finished the drink you were asleep, and even when he moved himself to get a little more comfortable - careful with you still in his arms - you didn't wake. He'd have to be vigilant, glancing to his swords... Just in case anyone did think they were about to come on here and try to mess with you, or the ship. Come to think of it, where were yours...? ‘Ah forget it, I could handle it myself.’ He looked back down to you, peaceful. Pressed up against him, Zoro suddenly noticed how warm you were. How the air had a distinct chill to it the later into the night it became. (Heck, maybe it was early morning now. But there was no way of knowing - especially with none of your crewmates around.) Delicately he brushed some of your hair out of your face, before pressing his lips fleetingly to your forehead. Closing his eyes, he propped his head on top of yours, position of his body protective to your smaller form. He almost laughed to himself - when the hell did something like this happen? "Goodnight, Y/N..." * * *

It was not the scene the crew expected to return to, that was for sure. Looking between each other and trying to determine who might have had any indication that you were in any way a “thing.” Clearly, you and Zoro had been just that good at keeping it under wraps. Not that it mattered much now; nothing could have been more obvious! “What. The. Hell!?” Sanji was the first one to gain anything near composure enough to talk - although not composure in general. Nami and Usopp had to move quickly to hold him back; “I’m going to KILL that moss-head!” “Sanji! No! Wait!!”

Nami internally cursed herself for not being the first one on the ship. If she had been, she could have kept the rest of them away and would have had pretty good ammo for blackmailing you both for Berri. Ah well, no good thinking too much on that now. “I, for one, think it’s sweet.” Sanji scoffed. “Maybe she’ll lighten him up a little! God knows he needs that. Always so damn serious! And unsociable! I would welcome that change.” “Not with her though!” Sanji made another noise of discontent, making Nami sigh. As if Sanji would be fine with Zoro being with any other woman – on this crew or otherwise? She looked back to the scene; cuddled up together and sleeping soundly. It was late - maybe even early - and the air was much cooler than it had been before, rolling in from the sea. “Can one of you get a blanket? Last thing we need is either of them catching a cold!” Luffy - who had just been staring at you up until now, trying to add it all up in his head; it would explain how close you were at the bar but also… - suddenly sprang into life: “I’LL DO IT!” Nami grabbed him, clamping her hand over his mouth, “Stop yelling you idiot! You’ll wake them up!” Sanji actually thought that was a great idea - but he wasn’t exactly the person who was going to go against Nami’s wishes.

Luffy’s version of quiet was more of a shouted whisper, and he sounded out his words in their syllables for emphasis. “Sorry. I’ll get it!” Nami placed her hand against her forehead watching him walk off in big slow steps - she truly was surrounded by idiots. It was a good thing she loved them.

By the time he came back, she’d managed to successfully move Usopp and Sanji on. And once he handed her what she’d asked for, she began ushering Luffy away (which, considering him, ended up only being a few feet further back.) Rolling her eyes, Nami sighed again, unfurling the blanket, and throwing it carefully over you both. She tucked it as much as she thought she’d get away with before it woke you up and stood back admiring her handy work.

Luffy looked between you and her, “Soooo… will they be alright now?!” “I think so…” Nami turned to him, and pushed, “Now will you get out of here and give them some quiet!” “Well, what about you!?” “I’m leaving too! Honestly—!” “Okaaaaay….!!” He protested as if he wasn’t protesting and walked away.

But when Nami turned back, she almost jumped. Zoro’s eyes were open, and he was staring at her. From the expression on his face, she couldn’t tell if he was impressed or not. She decided she’d probably rather not enquire. After a little while of unnerving her on purpose, Zoro closed his eyes again. But he spoke, voice quiet. “Thanks, Nami.” She smirked, because this was her chance. He’d just left that door wide open and she wasn’t missing the opportunity. “You’re welcome. But you guys owe me!” He sighed - knew it! - this much more of discontent, “Of course.”

---

One swordsman down, two to go! 😁 💚🖤💛

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Sparks

Originally published on my wattpad: slvt4em1lyprenti2s

Summary: You and Emily have had tension for a while now, and it finally breaks.

Word Count: 2k 

Fluff, implikation of nsfw, normal case details, being held by an UnSub (extremely briefly)

Pairings: Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

!NOT PROOFREAD!

Emily's pov:

This case is dragging on, and on, and on. We know who the UnSub is and we're keeping a close eye on him but we have no solid evidence to pin him yet, so we're basically waiting on him to kidnap another woman. 

He stalks them at clubs and then whisks them away with his 'charm' and they think they're getting lucky. But they're not, they're getting an early grave. It's sad but c'mon men are stupid and cruel and disgusting. Ugh men. 

It's hard not to prove the lesbian stereotypes.

Anyway, we're running out of options because this guy just isn't biting, we think he's cottoned onto the surveillance we have in him and is therefore not going to kidnap another woman. We're sitting ducks. We just need a woman he can't resist to waltz into the club he's in right now to resolve this problem.

"You ready?" I hear Hotch say. My interest piqued I look to see who he's talking too and my eyes fall on the y/h/c haired beauty I get to call my best friend. Although I wish it was more. She's in a red dress thats stops around mid thigh, a slit that goes too far up for my liking on her left leg and a plunging neckline that makes it hard not to stare. I come to my senses as I hear her angelic voice.

"Ready as I'll ever be, I didn't imagine I'd be spending my Saturday chatting up a serial killer but here we are." She chuckles, got I could listen to her laugh all day- wait what. She's going to chat up the UnSub?

Rossi must've seen me coming and realised what I'd head as he said "Uh oh, here comes your girlfriend y/n/n." The team all laughed at this as they saw me coming. I wasn't going to stop her from doing her job but I sure as hell wasn't letting her go in unprotected. 

"Take this." I hand her a small pistol that can fit in her clutch, remembering I had been in a similar situation before. 

"Thank you em." The blush on her face is evident to everyone in the room, thankfully no one mentions it. 

As she stuffs it into her clutch she spins to face me and pulls me into a hug. I grip her tightly, my hands resting on the small of her back as I take in her scent. 

"Be careful, please." I plead quietly.

"I will, pinky promise, you know I can't break pinky promises." As she finishes her sentence her pinky makes its way round mine and we each kiss our hand. It's a little tradition we have when we promise something and really mean it. 

Me and y/n/n have had tension for months, I'm not even 100% sure she's into girl but hey, I can dream. 

After this little display Morgan started making kissing noises to which he received a middle finger from me and a 'yeah you wish you could watch' from y/n/n which made the team laugh even harder. 

"As amusing as this is, we have an UnSub to catch, so come in everyone. Let's get going to the SUV's." Hotch said over our laughter.

Time skip to when you are in the bar

Reader pov:

Jesus christ. I didn't know anyone's ego could be this big. He's talking to girls left and right as if he owns them, as if it's his right to talk to them. I actually might throw up. Hotch, Derek and Emily are positioned in different places throughout the bar and Jj, Rossi and Spencer along with SWAT and local PD are surrounding the building so, I'm completely safe.

I fix my face as he looks in my direction putting in my best smile and giving him a flirty wave. He instantly smirks and excuses himself from whatever meaningless conversation he was having with this poor girl and makes his way over to me.

"What's a pretty lady like you doing alone on a Saturday night?" He asks while touching my lower back as he walks up next to me, leaning against the bar.

"Just looking for a friend, you know, the usual." I respond, dragging my finger along my glass of lemonade. 

"I could help with that." He whispers into my ear. God I could punch him right now.

"I'd like that, you wanna get out of here?" I propose trying to get this done as soon as possible.

"Whoa slow down little lady, I gotta get you a drink first. Get to know ya a little." I internally roll my eyes because what he means is 'Whoa slow down, I need to drug you first.' 

He clearly senses my hesitation and puts the dots together. 

"You're not here for a friend, are you?" This time I actually roll my eyes and that's enough for him as I then feel something cold and metal press against my ribs. Shit. 

"Don't make a scene and walk with me." His words are like daggers. Or maybe that's just the actual dagger pressing on my side. Who knows? 

"Eric Mannings, FBI!" I hear Hotch shout with Emily and Derek right behind him, guns out, pointing at him. Immediately my position is flipped, there's now a knife on the throat, not my side. I'm in a headlock, about to get my neck cut and the only thing I can think about is how bad this guy smells and how hot Emily looks in her FBI vest and with her gun out.

He is going back and forth with Hotch until I see Emily out of the corner of my eyes, getting a better position. Uh oh, this is either going to end with a bullet in his body or, Emily's badge and gun on Strauss' desk. I can only hope for the first option. Everyone has been ordered to shoot if they have a clear shot which is exactly what Emily had right now. BANG! I scrunch my eyes as the shot rings awfully close to my ear. 

I feel the grip on my loosen as he falls down on the floor, shot in the neck. Wait why was that hot- OMG STOP. Emily immediately rushes over to me and helps me away from everyone as Derek crouches to check his pulse and everyone else from the perimeter comes in. 

"Hey are you okay?" Concern evident in her voice. 

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay." I lie through my teeth. In all honestly even though I acted okay, I did just get held with a knife at my throat by a homicidal maniac, so you know, kinda shaken up. 

"No you're not." Her tone gentle yet commanding.

"No, I'm not." Tear prick at the corner of my eyes, threatening to spill. 

"Oh honey, come here." She pulls me into her warm embrace and I cling to her.

Honey.

Honey.

Honey.

Like sure we have nicknames but a pet name? Never crossed that line before. Does that mean.. No stop being delusional she'd never like you back.

A few tears escape my eyes as I lay my head on her shoulder.

"Let's go home yeah?" She says, as she begins to guide me out the bar and into one of the SUV's.

"Yeah, that sounds nice." 

Time skip to when you're  back at Emily's apartment.

"This isn't my place?" I question as we pull up to the block of flats.

I look around the familiar neighbourhood and realise we're at Emily's place.

"I can take you home if you want I- uh I just thought you wouldn't want to be alone after what happened, I know I wouldn't. But, I can leave you alone if you want?" She rambled as her hand subconsciously rests on my thigh. My breath catches in my throat slightly at this action.

"No, no, em. It would be really nice to have some company actually. Thank you." A blush creeping onto my cheeks, thinking about spending the night with Emily Prentiss, alone. 

As we walk out the car and into her flat, our hands intertwine. It sends sparks through my body, as cheesy as it sounds. We finally make it to her flat and she gets her keys out, unlocks the door and we walk in. 

"Make yourself at home; do you need anything?" She asks, instantly fussing over me.

"I'm okay, em, really. I just need you." Now it was Emily's turn to blush. She looked to the ground and muttered a quick, 'I can do that' as she walked me to her bedroom. 

I was passed a pair of old sleep shorts and an oversized hoodie with the words 'FBI Academy' written across it. It was the comfiest jumper I've ever worn; and it smelt like em which was a massive bonus. Emily made her way to the bathroom giving me time and space to change into my pj's. 

As I was slipping my shirt off so I could but on the jumper she gave me I heard the bathroom lock click and the door swing open quicker than I could cover myself. 

"Oh god! I'm sorry!" She squeals covering her eyes. 

"It's okay em don't worry about it! We're both girls, nothing we haven't seen before, right? And plus, I still have a bra on." I try to tame the   blush that's infecting my face, but that fails as soon as she responds to my words "I wish you didn't." She says it so quietly I think I imagined it. 

"What was that?" 

"Nothing." 

"I mean I wouldn't object to it, if you're being serious." 

"Really?" 

"mhm"

She creeps closer to me, our faces inches apart. Her warm breath fans across my face as my arms lace around her back as hers reach for my hips. 

"Honey you have no idea what you're doing to me right now." There it is again, that damn name. If she keeps that up I'm going to melt.

"I think I have some idea." 

"Oh really?" 

"Yeah, I think I do."

"Prove it." 

Without a seconds hesitation I smash her lips against mine in a heated kiss. The months of built up tension, flirting, jealousy, all spilt into this one kiss. I feel her hand travel from my waist to the back of my neck and she pressed my head in and deepens the kiss. Her tongue grazes over my bottom lip asking for entrance which I happily grant opening my mouth. I let out a small gasp as she pushes her tongue into my mouth, instantly dominating and not leaving an inch unexplored. 

We pull away and the look in her eye tells me all I need to know. She gently guided me to her bed until my knees hit the edge and I sit down. I shuffle back and she sits next to me pulling me into her lap. 

"Promise me something." Emily says abruptly. "Of course, anything." I respond, wondering where this is leading.

"Be mine, forever. Be my girlfriend." Her dark eyes lock with my y/e/c ones and I immediately respond, "I want nothing more than to be yours em." That's all the incentive she needed to kiss me with that same passion again. Hungry lips make contact with my collar bone, nipping and sucking at my skin, already leaving marks. 

This was going to be a long night, not that I'm complaining though. 

A/N: LMAO THIS WAS SHITEEE. It's okay though it's 1am so cut me some slack and I started writing this ages ago and completely forgot what I was planning to write so I just made it up as I went along. Sorry for the crappy chapter!

ALSO PLEASE LEAVE REQUESTS!!

[kirasworldofwords]

Okay so. I can't stop thinking about that pregnant Seb drabble. So...once their kid is born and some time has passed. Maybe Sebastian thinks about what Kimi said and he starts trying to entice him to knock him up again 👀

I love the way you think, Em, he so would-

And because I know it would make you happy, have this drabble. 🫶🏻

It had been a little over a year since their daughter was born, and every time Sebastian looked at her cute little face - which held many of Kimi's features, like the shape of her eyes, for example - he couldn't help but remember how it all came to be.

Him ending up pregnant with his mate's child, growing life in himself for the very first time in his own life.

His mother was over the moon when they told her. His father as well, although he was in disbelief at first. The man was barely fifty and already on the way to becoming a grandfather of a little baby girl - the sheer thought of that would freak out anyone at first.

Kimi's parents were just as ecstatic, happy to know that their Alpha son carried on his family line. They were even happier to learn that their granddaughter wholly took after her father in terms of assignation - much like Kimi, their little princess turned out to be an Alpha.

This meant Sebastian was now outnumbered. But he'd live.

Recently, though, he couldn't help but think about how his pregnancy went. How wonderful of a journey it had been for him, and how much he actually missed being pregnant. And he could tell that Kimi missed seeing Sebastian all round and cute, too.

As such, he came up with a devilish plan.

Let's entice our Alpha into getting us knocked up again.

Oh, how often he thought to himself 'Vettel, you are a genius' as he impatiently waited for his next heat cycle, for once hoping it would be a stronger one. And the universe apparently heard his voice, seeing as it didn't disappoint.

One night, Kimi was in bed peacefully reading a book, reading glasses on his nose, which Sebastian particularly loved. Their daughter was fast asleep in her crib a room over, babyphone turned on and always on guard on her as well as her parents' bedside tables.

This was the perfect opportunity, especially given that he knew his heat was just about to hit. It was always a peculiar feeling the German Omega would get before it would hit - and usually, it'd hit during the daytime, but sometimes, it happened at night, too.

This was one such time.

Thus, as soon as he felt the first wave of lust and want crash down on him, Sebastian made it his mission to pester Kimi.

"Kimiiii... My heat is coming on..."

The Finnish Alpha looked up in slight interest, disregarding his book. The change of smell coming from him could be noticed for miles - the way his scent suddenly changed from peaceful to interested, the kind of scent that made Sebastian shiver in anticipation.

"Oh? It's pretty late this time, isn't it?"

Sebastian only pouted and shrugged, his cheeks already tinting pink as the first bead of sweat rolled down his forehead. He made quick work of pushing himself onto Kimi's lap and straddling him, leaving him no time to think about his next move.

"How about we use this? I'd love to have another pup with you, Schatz..."

The smirk on Sebastian's face was all Kimi needed to draw himself a picture of the situation. He wordlessly closed his book and laid it aside, his glasses following on top of said book before his hands wandered towards Sebastian's hips, gripping them lightly.

"You little menace... It's barely been a year. Are you really sure?"

The scent Kimi gave off was gentle and caring, yet interested still all the same. The Omega on his lap cradled his Alpha's face in his hands, drawing them closer together as a desperate look crossed his face.

"Please, Kimi... I want you to get me pregnant again, please... I loved being pregnant last time, I really did... and I'd love to feel that feeling again, Liebling..."

He pressed a quick kiss against Kimi's lips before leaning in to his ear, whispering into it enticingly.

"Knock me up, Alpha... I know you want to. I'm so ready for it, bitte..."

Kimi's mind refused cooperation for a moment, having successfully crashed from Sebastian's enticing begs for the Finn to impregnate him again. Once it finally went up and running again, however, he swiftly flipped them, damn near ripping his sweet Omega's underwear down and off before he made quick work of burying his first two fingers inside Sebastian, making him moan hungrily.

"What my sweet Omega wants... he shall get. We'll try for another pup then."

[sequinsmile-x]

200

It's a normal case, or as normal as a case gets for them, right up until it isn't.

-x-

Hi besties!

As the title of the fic may suggest, this is my 200th fic!!! Which is insane and amazing and just about everything in between. I just want to take a moment to say thank you to all of you. To anyone who has ever read, commented, reblogged, left kudos or interacted with my work at all.

It is a real pleasure of mine to continue coming up with new ways to write these two being idiots in love for you all, and I'll be here continuing to do so as long as you're all here reading.

So, this is kind of a thank you to all of you. A true Vic special, and I hope you enjoy it.

Please let me know what you think <3

Here's to the next 200 I guess!!

-x-

Words: 7.5k

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Emily Prentiss Whump

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily yawns as she pours two cups of coffee, the smell alone enough to push away the final remnants of sleep. She stirs Splenda into the cup intended for her, and is just about to take a sip when her phone rings. She pulls it from her pocket and smiles when she sees Penelope’s name on the screen as expected, her own version of the same call that pulled her and Aaron out of bed only 30 minutes prior. 

“Hi Pen,” she says as she answers, smiling as she feigns ignorance, “Please tell me you’re calling this early just to hear my voice and not because we have a case.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you peaches, but it is for a case,” Penelope replies, sounding far too awake for the time of day, “Hotch has asked for you all to meet at the jet as soon as you can, it’s scheduled for take off in an hour.” 

Emily smiles as she feels arms wrap around her from behind, large, warm palms that had become a source of comfort to her for months settling on her abdomen as he pulls her backwards. She leans back into him, settling into the embrace she knew she wouldn’t get enough of over the coming days. 

“Typical Hotch,” she replies, more for the sake of Aaron than her friend, her enjoyment in winding him up never-ending, “He doesn’t understand us mere humans need sleep.” She barely covers a laugh as he pulls her even closer in retribution, his lips against her neck as she bats at him. 

“Are you ok, Em?” 

“I’m fine, Pen,” she says, turning her head to narrow her eyes at her boyfriend, “You know how needy Sergio can be first thing in the morning,” Aaron smiles at her and winks. She shakes her head at him, only half listening as Penelope talks about how much she misses Sergio, “Well,” Emily says turning in Aaron’s embrace, leaving her pressed between him and the kitchen counter, “He’ll have to come to stay with you one weekend.” She has to pull the phone away from her ear because of the responding squeal, something that has even Aaron wincing, and she draws the call to a close, “Thanks for the call Pen, speak to you when we’re in the air.” 

As she hangs up she feels Aaron’s hands trail up her back, and she raises an eyebrow at him. His only response is lean down and kiss her, capturing any chastisement before she can say it. She smiles into the kiss and wraps her arms around his neck, letting herself enjoy every moment when it was just the two of them before they had to pretend they weren’t together. 

It had been three months since their first date, and it still made her smile when she thought about how uncharacteristically nervous he seemed when he asked her out. They’d been close since her return from Paris. Aaron didn’t expect anything from her other than her honesty, something that the others never seemed quite ready to bear. He understood what it was to face your monster and come back from it different, to feel changed and yet so desperate to fit back into your old life. A square peg in a round hole. They were building something new together, a life they both fit into, and she knew this was it for both of them. That they loved each other. 

Even though neither of them had said it outloud yet. It didn’t worry her, she didn’t need the words, and she knew they were both a little gunshy after everything life had thrown at them. 

She knew he loved her. It was clear. She could see it in his eyes, the way he’d look at her when it was just them and Jack, as if she was the answer to a question he didn’t know he’d been asking his whole life. She felt the same way about him and for the first time her future seemed mapped out in front of her, everything certain after decades of not knowing what she wanted she now knew. She wanted him. 

“You,” she says, pressing her lips to his again before she pulls away, “are playing a dangerous game Aaron Hotchner.” 

“I can’t help myself,” he replies, kissing her cheek before he reaches past her to pick up the coffee she’d poured for him. She shakes her head at him and hums in response, “We should get going soon.” 

She nods, “You head off and I’ll follow,” she says, smiling at him as he wraps his arms around her, “One day we can drive in together.” 

The secrecy was purely practical at first whilst they figured out all of the details, although she couldn’t deny that she also found some enjoyment in sneaking around with him, but she knew it was time to tell the team. The family they had both found in the most unlikely of places. 

“We’ll tell them when we get back from this case,” he assures her as if reading her mind as he kisses her once more before stepping away from her. He finishes his coffee and places his empty mug in her kitchen sink, “Then we won’t have to hide anymore.” 

She smiles at him, “I like the sound of that.” 

“Me too,” he replies, picking his go bag up from near her front door. She feels words she’s been resisting for weeks now trying to break free. Words she knows will one day be something they exchange whenever they part ways, a greeting and a goodbye of sorts that would never lose its meaning, no matter how much they said it. 

“Aaron,” she says, and he turns back to look at her, his key to her apartment in his hand as their eyes meet. She loses her nerve, a ridiculous need for the words to mean something the first time stopping her, and she smiles, “See you on the jet.” 

He smiles in response, and she can’t help but wonder if he’s seen right through her like he always seemed to, “See you on the jet, sweetheart.” 

___

Aaron clears his throat to cover a smile as Emily walks onto the jet. Their eyes meet as she places her bag in the overhead storage before she takes a seat next to him at the table, the only space left by the team. 

“Nice of you to join us, Prentiss,” he says, maintaining a straight face as she flicks her eyes to him, her hands grasping at the file JJ passes her as she sits down. 

“Sorry, sir,” she replies, purposely pressing her thigh into his for a moment, her scent briefly overwhelming him, “It won’t happen again,” she turns to look at him, her eyebrow raised, “Sergio was being a pest this morning.” 

He smiles at her, a flash of a thing he knows only she will see. The team make small talk as the plane is prepared for take-off, and he can’t help but be distracted by her the entire time, highly aware of her presence in a way, if he was honest with himself, he always had been. He feels like a spectator as she smiles and jokes with their friends, her smile something he could see his future in. 

He was in love with her. It was a type of love that went deep, so much a part of him now he didn’t remember how it felt to not love her. He wanted to tell her. He had done a couple of times when she was asleep, her body pressed up against his, but he always lost his nerve when she was awake. He knew she was the same, that she loved him but struggled to find the words, but they had time. Time to figure it out, to get through the things from their pasts that were holding them both back. 

When they are in the air he pulls the file up on his table, a silent sign to the team that it was time to get started. 

“I don’t know how much Garcia told you when she called,” he says, watching as the rest of the team, Emily included, open their files too, “The local police in Ferndale, California have asked for our assistance with what appears to be a serial murder case.”

“Four women, all fitting the same description, in positions of power in their jobs, killed in the same way,” Dave says, sighing, “That’s a lot for a town with a population of less than 2,000.” 

“Exactly,” Aaron replies, “That’s why we’ve been called in. They don’t have the resources for one murder let alone four, and the similarities between the victims were enough to convince the Section Chief we were needed.” 

Emily hums and flicks onto the next screen on her tablet, “All women in their late 30s or early 40s, all…” She drifts off as she’s confronted with the images of the driving licence of the victims. They were all brunettes with dark eyes and striking features. All of them tall, or at least tall for a woman, and seemingly single. They all looked like her. She clears her throat and looks up at JJ who was sitting opposite her, and it was only the expectant look on her face that makes Emily realise she’d stopped midway through a sentence, “All similar looking.” 

“Clearly this guy has a type,” Derek adds, blowing out a breath, “They must remind him of someone.” 

“His mother or a girlfriend,” Spencer says, flipping through his paper files, “It’s the most common replacement that killers of this type are looking for. The career choices of these women seem to be important too, we have a doctor, a lawyer, the principal of the local high school and a cop.” 

“The police officer is different, Officer Taylor,” Aaron says, frowning, his eyes lingering on the pictures of the victims, the similarity to the woman he loved making his stomach churn, “She was new, a beat cop, who hadn’t had the chance to climb the ranks like the other victims.” 

“He still took a trophy though as he did with the others,” Derek says, “Her police badge.” 

“Maybe that one was personal?” JJ offers, “She was known to him maybe?”

Aaron nods, “That’s a good place to start,” he says, “When we land JJ you go speak to Officer Taylor’s family and see if there is any information that can be gained from that, the rest of us will go straight to the precinct and set up.” 

He looks back at the victim's pictures, the way they’d been left in the street like they were nothing, their humanity stripped from them, and his heart feels like it is in his throat. He only has to close his eyes to be able to picture Emily in the same way, memories of what he’d seen in Boston twisting together with the images in front of him to bring his worst fears back to life. 

He’d already lost one woman he loved, he refused to do it again. 

He turns to Emily and hopes he sounds more sure than he feels, “I want you partnered with me on this one Prentiss,” he says, watching as her eyes flash with confusion as she looks towards Derek, “Derek can be with Dave.” 

Her tongue peeks out to lick at her bottom lip, and she swallows down fury she knows isn’t fair. They all would have seen it, the way she fit the victim's profile, and she knew all he would want to do was protect her, no matter how misguided that might be. 

“Aa…Hotch there's no need-” She catches her use of his first name fast enough that she hopes the others don’t notice, but he cuts over her before she can finish.

“It’s not up for debate.” 

He stares at her, and a flash of him, of her Aaron, peeks through from behind the Hotch mask, and she sighs, “Of course, sir.” 

She meets Derek’s eyes and he furrows his brows at her and she shakes her head, asking him silently to drop what she was sure would be further questioning. She hopes they can resolve this case quickly, and that the heavy feeling in her stomach was nothing more than misplaced caution. 

___

For two days it feels like they are getting nowhere. 

Despite it being a small town, the victims don’t know each other. Two of them had gone to high school together but were barely acquaintances, and one had moved to town when she married her, distraught, husband. Officer Tayor was still an outlier, a choice from the unsub that made little sense beyond the fact she matched the physical description of the other victims. 

Her partner, Officer Johnson, said she was a good cop. Kind. That she’d go the extra mile for the people of their town and those she tried to help. 

It didn’t make sense, and everyone was getting frustrated. 

“How are we ever going to catch this guy,” Emily asks, rubbing her hands over her face as she looks at the crime scene photos again, still internally grimacing as she looked at the women who could be mistaken for a relative of hers, “Nothing about this makes sense.” 

“I have an idea,” Dave says, sighing, “But I don’t like it.” 

Aaron turns from where he’d been looking at the board they’d pulled together and he looks at the older man, “What is it, Dave?” 

Dave stands up, his hands in his pockets as he paces the room, “We can talk around it as much as we want, but we have someone in this room who fits the victimology perfectly-”

“Absolutely not,” Aaron says, cutting Dave off before he can even say it, his chest tightening at the mere idea of putting Emily in danger. 

“Now, wait a second-” Emily starts, her shackles rising at his dismissal of Dave’s idea, and she doesn’t know if Aaron is reacting as her boyfriend or her boss. 

“We are not using you as bait, Emily,” he says, her first name slipping out as he looks at her. If the others think it’s odd they don’t say anything, all of their emotions high after a couple of days of no progress. 

“It’s not like she hasn’t done it before,” Derek says, an attempt to reason with Aaron that falls short when his words register in his head at the same time as everyone else's. Emily looks at him, her eyes flashing with hurt and he curses under his breath, “Shit, Em that’s not-”

“I’m not saying we put her out here in a short dress with a flashing light over her head that says ‘free to kidnap,’” Dave says, his own irritation clear, “But if we let her take the lead with the press, put her face on the local news as the Federal Agent who is going to take this guy down we might draw him out.” 

“I said no,” Aaron says as if Dave hadn’t spoken, “We need another plan. Not that one.”

“Now hang on-”  Emily chimes in, frowning at him, but he cuts her off again. 

“I said no,” he repeats, shouting at her in a way that gains the attention of the officers on the other side of the glass partition. He blows out a shaky breath and looks around the room before he walks towards the door with purpose, “Excuse me.” 

The room falls into silence after he leaves, the team slightly shellshocked by how quickly an argument had escalated, and Emily sighs, shaking her head before she follows him out, a half-formed excuse over her shoulder to the team as she goes. 

She finds him quickly, well aware of how his brain works, and she walks into the supply closet he’d shut himself into. She pulls the door closed behind her before she turns to look at him. She studies him, sees the tension in his shoulders as his eyes are fixed on her floor, and she presses her lips into a tight line.

“Are you ok?” She asks her concern for him, her love for him, overriding anything else, even her irritation. He nods in response and she rolls her eyes, “Aaron.” 

He looks up at her and nods again, “Yeah. I will be I just need a minute.” 

They fall into a brief silence and she crosses her arms over her chest and looks him up and down, choosing her words carefully so she doesn’t start a fight with him in the supply closet of a small town police precinct.

“Would you…” she sighs, biting the inside of her cheek, “Would you be this resistant to Dave’s idea if we weren’t together?” 

The question feels like a kick to the gut and he puts his hands on his hips as he considers his answer. He knows he’s reacting emotionally, that he’s allowing how he feels for her to cloud his judgement, but he knows it's not because they are together. He wouldn’t risk any of them at this stage yet, not when so many things were still unclear. 

“We don’t have enough information,” he replies, staring at her, “If there was someone out there going after people who looked like Dave I wouldn’t put him in that position yet.” 

There’s a moment of silence and then she laughs, and he can’t help but join in, the noise a siren sound to him. “Well,” she replies, “mores the pity,” they settle down and smile at each other, the small gap between them feeling like miles. She reaches out and links her fingers through his, squeezing his hand before she lets go, well aware anyone could come along at any moment, “I’m ok, Aaron. And once we have the profile-”

“Once we have the full profile we will reassess,” he says, clearing his throat, “I will reassess.” 

She nods and smiles at him, “Thank you,” she places her hand on his arm, “Everything will be ok.”

He nods and she leaves, giving him a moment alone, and he just hopes she’s right. 

___

It’s dark when she steps outside for some fresh air, her mind as worn out as her body was. The lack of sleep from working ungodly hours on this case getting to her. She blows out a steady breath as the cool air hits her, refreshing in a way it rarely felt in the city. She leans against the alley wall behind the precinct, and she looks up to look at the stars, wishing she’d brought her phone with her so she could pull out the constellation app Aaron had made her download on one of their recent dates to check what she should be looking for. 

She loses track of time a little as she looks at the stars, and idly thinks about making sure her, Aaron and Jack went somewhere soon where you could see them like this. She turns to head back inside and walks straight into somebody, everything in their hands flying across the alley floor. She looks up and sees it’s Officer Johnson, his eyes wide as if he hadn’t anticipated anyone to be out here. 

“Oh shit, sorry,” she says, bending down to help him pick up what he’d dropped.

“No need to help Agent Prentiss,” he says, an edge of panic to his voice, “I’ve got it.” 

“Don’t be silly,” she assures him, “It’s my fault,” she picks up a police badge, frowning as she looks at the number, “091220,” she says, “Isn’t that Officer Taylor’s badge number?” She starts to stand up straight, “I thought the unsub-”

She’s cut off by the click of the safety of a gun being turned off, and she looks up to find Officer Johnson pointing a gun at her, “I told you, I didn’t need help.” She reaches for her gun but he shakes his head, his finger sneaking closer to the trigger, “No, I don’t think so,” he says, “You’re coming with me.” 

“You should think about this carefully,” she says, putting her hands up, wishing beyond anything that she had her phone, or that someone from the team would come looking for her, “I’m a Federal Agent, this won’t end well for you.” 

“I think that ship has sailed,” he says, his nervousness giving way to something more chilling, an emptiness to his eyes she couldn’t have expected even moments ago, “Now give me your gun, and come with me.” 

She considers going for her gun anyway, her fingers twitch in the air. She was fast, she knew that, but Officer Johnson’s finger was too close to the trigger. There’s a part of her that knows that before Aaron she would have risked it, she would have taken the chance that she could at least disarm him, even if she got shot in the process, but she can’t do it. She can’t risk hurting him by putting her own life on the line unnecessarily. 

Johnson makes the decision for her anyway and pistol whips her, the pain sharp against her temple as it reverberates around her head, making her dizzy as he turns her, his spare hand pulling her gun from its holster and dropping it to the floor before he twists her arm behind her back. He presses the gun into the back of her neck and she shivers as he leans in close, his breath on her neck.

“Now, walk.”

___

JJ finds her gun. 

She steps outside to call Will so she can say goodnight to Henry and she spots it on the ground, the barrel catching the low light of the street lamps. 

Aaron feels time slow down when it dawns on them what it means, memories he’d rather forget from just before he had to bury Emily flooding back as they realise she is missing. He yells at the lead detective when he tells him the CCTV camera over the alley is broken and had been for weeks, the one chance at a half-decent lead dead before it even really had any life. He feels on edge and useless, everything he had never told her, always sure they’d have more time, haunting him. Regrets he swore he would never allow himself to live through again after Haley died threatening to drown him. 

He paces the conference room, his senses overwhelmed as the local cops mobilise, a missing Federal Agent the thing they had seemingly needed to light the fire under them. Despite how quickly he can see them working it doesn’t seem like enough, their urgency not matching with his. To them, all they could see were the potential headlines - that the FBI came to help and got caught in the crossfire. They didn’t care about Emily as he did. 

They didn’t love her. 

They didn’t know how she took her coffee, or how she liked to snuggle at night, something she had sworn him to secrecy over. They didn’t know she cried at the kid's movies she watched with Jack, or that, despite their jobs, gory movies made her cringe. 

He can feel all the love he has for her bubbling up as anger, spilling out from him as he grunts in frustration. 

“They aren’t working fast enough.” 

“They are doing the best they can, Hotch,” JJ tries to reason with him, “We decided we’d stay here in case the kidnapper called.” 

“It’s not good enough,” he shouts, his voice a roar that carries out into the main bullpen. He shakes his head and clears his throat, “It’s just not good enough.” 

“Hotch,” Derek says, trying to keep his cool, “You need to calm down. The last time I saw you like this…” he drifts off and Aaron sighs as he watches the final pieces click into place on the other man’s face, and he shakes his head, “Damn it.” 

Spencer frowns, his confusion clear as it briefly takes over his concern, “What's happening? The last time you saw Hotch like what?” 

Derek crosses his arms, his jaw tight as he locks eyes with Aaron, “The last time he was this het up was when Foyet had Haley.” Aaron clenches his fists at the comparison, at the mention of his ex-wife's name, and he shakes his head. 

“But that doesn’t make sense,” Spencer says, “They-”

“Emily and Hotch are together,” Dave cuts over him, as he looks at Aaron, “How long?”

Aaron sighs, “It’s not important right no-”

“How long?” Derek all but demands, his fury rising and Aaron feels his matching in tempo, their emotions rising as all too familiar feelings of fear for Emily’s safety take hold. 

“Three months,” Aaron answers, swallowing thickly, pushing down bile that attempts to rise at the thought of that being all the time he ever got with her, “We’ve been together for three months.”

JJ chokes out a laugh, “Pen kept saying she thought Em was with someone, but we had no idea it was you.” 

Derek shakes his head, “Why is it whenever she goes missing we find out she’s been fucking someone she shouldn’t be?” 

The room falls into silence, Derek’s fury suffocating everything else in the room. Aaron feels frozen on the spot, weighed down by anger that greets him like an old friend. He clenches his fists and turns to look at Derek, his jaw so tight he can almost hear Emily joking about the wear on his teeth, her usual quips about buying him a retainer floating around his head. 

“What did you just say?” Aaron asks, turning slowly. Derek seems to realise he’s crossed a line, regret flashing in his eyes, but he doesn’t back down, squaring up to his boss like he couldn’t fire him on the spot. “What did you say?” 

Dave steps in between them, a hand on each of their chests, “This isn’t-”

“What gives you the right-”

“Both of you, shut the fuck up,” Dave shouts, cutting over Derek before he can chastise Aaron, before he can try to make something that is precious to him sound anymore seedy than he already has, “This isn’t helping, and it certainly won’t help us find Emily.” He turns to Aaron, “Go make a coffee and come back,” and he turns to Derek, “Go talk a walk. Get some fresh air and sort your head out.” 

“But-”

Dave presses his hand into his chest a little firmer, “Go take a walk.” 

Derek looks past him again to Aaron, both of their faces stern before they do as instructed. Derek stalks off without looking back, and Aaron turns to head towards the kitchen before Dave stops him.

“Aaron?” 

He turns to look at his friend, furrowing his brow when Dave offers him a half smile, odd and out of place in the otherwise still tense room. 

“What?” 

Dave shakes his head, “It’s about damn time.” 

___

Emily does her best to keep track of where she’s being taken but her head hurts too much to fully concentrate. She knows he’s taken her out of the main part of town, the streets pitch black. 

They come to a stop next to a barn, the building barely discernible against the dark sky. Johnson pulls her out of the car, his hand so tight around her arm that she’s sure it will leave bruises, another brand of violence left behind on her skin by a man just because he could. He drags her inside, and into a back room. He switches on a light that barely illuminates the room, forcing her to squint so she can look around. 

The room is barren, void of anything except walls that seemed to be made from rotting wood and the solitary lightbulb that hung from the ceiling. She spots dark patches on the floor, stains left behind by what she knows is blood if the iron smell lingering in the air was anything to go by. 

“Is this where you brought them?” She asks, saying the first words either of them had spoken since he’d led her towards his car. She turns to look at him, her eyes now adjusted to the low light enough to see that his nervous energy had returned, a clear sign that he had no plan, that he was doing this because she’d accidentally caught him out, not because he had intentions of taking her, “Is this where you brought the others?” 

He stares at her and throws his handcuffs onto the floor, the sound of them scratching across the ground echoing around them.

“Put those on,” he demands, staring at her. She looks at him, her arms crossed over her chest, and he sighs, pointing his gun at her again, “Put them on. And get on the ground.” 

Emily sighs, knowing that she just had to buy enough time for the team to find her. She had no doubt that they would, Johnson was clearly not the mastermind they thought he was and had likely left a trail of breadcrumbs for them to follow. She just had to stay alive long enough for it to mean something.

She had to stay alive long enough to tell Aaron that she loved him, and that meant complying with what Johnson wanted. 

“Ok,” she says, kneeling down on the floor and reaching for the cuffs, securing them around her own wrists, “Did you know any of them? Apart from Officer Taylor,” she asks, looking back up at him, pulling at the cuffs to show they were on properly, “You look about the same age as the first two, did you go to school with them?” 

“They were always stuck-up bitches,” he says, shaking his head, his voice full of venom, “They didn’t even acknowledge me in high school then they went off to college, came back even more up their own asses,” he clenches his fist, his anger visceral and clear, “And that other bitch, she turned me down. Claimed she was happily married but I could tell she wanted me.” 

Her stomach turns at how he refers to the women he killed, like they’d been nothing more of an inconvenience, and fear starts to simmer in her veins, “And Taylor?” 

He shakes his head and scoffs, “She got a little too close. She realised I knew them all. It was only a matter of time.” 

“So you killed her?” 

“She was just like the rest of you,” he shouts, turning to look at her, his hand tight around the handle of his gun, “Full of yourselves. So self-assured, while guys like me just get left behind.”

She swallows thickly, trying to adjust where she was sitting, her knees already aching from pressing into the hard floor, “It isn’t too late to just take me back. We can talk to my boss and-”

“You mean your boyfriend?” 

It shocks her, stunning her into silence for a moment before she regains her composure, “What?” 

“I’ve been watching you,” he says, and it takes everything to maintain her facade, to look unaffected when the way he looks at her makes her want to scrub her skin until it hurts, “I saw the two of you in the supply closet, you looked cosy. You’re always looking at each other.” 

She blows out a breath before she replies, “He’ll find us,” she says, purposely not confirming or denying what he’d said, her voice full of nothing but confidence, “It’s only a matter of time, and it would be better if-”

“Stop telling me what to do,” he shouts, his hand shaking as he points the gun at her, and she nods sharply, closing her mouth firmly. He backs out of the room, his gun still trained on her, “Stay here, otherwise that boyfriend of yours will find your body in the same place they found the others.” 

He slams the door closed, and she hears it lock from the other side. She listens as his footsteps get quieter, indicating he’d walked away, and she shuffles across the floor to lean against the wall, her knees protesting as she straightens her legs out in front of her. 

The team would find her. He would find her.

He had to. ___

None of them sleep. Part of him knows she’d be furious at them all, even though she’d do the same if she was in their position. It would make him laugh, her lack of self-preservation, if it wasn’t the root of his concern.  

By the time the sun rises, he's exhausted, shrugging Dave off as he tries to suggest he goes back to the hotel for a few hours. Her things were in his room, her pjyamas under one of the pillows on his bed. He couldn’t sleep without her, the sound of the soft snoring she always denied was her in the morning his favourite lullaby. 

“It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Spencer’s voice brings Aaron back to the room, his focus sharp once again as he turns in his chair to look at his team, “What doesn’t make sense Reid?” 

Spencer sighs and shakes his head, his eyes still fixed on the case board, “Emily was a spy. She’s well-trained,” he turns to look at the rest of them, “She couldn’t just be taken by anybody.” 

“So you think it’s more than one guy?” Derek asks, his voice void of all of the fight that had been in it earlier.

“Or someone she didn’t think she had to be on alert around,” Dave says, standing up straight, shaking his head as he figures it out, “It’s a goddamn cop.” 

Aaron clears his throat and nods, “That makes sense,” he says, “She would have trusted him, or at least wouldn’t have considered him a threat,” he stands up, with adrenaline he doesn’t expect flooding his body, “What was the name of Officer Taylor’s partner?” 

“Officer Johnson,” Spencer says, his eyes going wide, “I heard one of the other cops saying he called in sick. He came in for less than an hour last night and then left.” 

There’s a moment of silence as the realisation washes over all of them, the air in the room somehow thicker than it had been since they first realised Emily was missing. It’s broken as Derek shakes his head.

“That son of a bitch.” 

It snaps Aaron back into action and he looks at JJ, “Call Garcia, get everything you can on this Officer Johnson. Financials. Property. Assets. I need everything.” 

“Right away, Hotch,” she says, her phone already out of her pocket as she dials the familiar number. 

Aaron feels a hand on his shoulder and turns to find Dave standing behind him, “We’ll get her back Aaron,” he says, squeezing his shoulder, “And then you’ll both have a lot to explain.”

Aaron half-heartedly chuckles, the sound catching in his chest, “Once she’s safe, I’ll tell you everything.” 

Dave raises an eyebrow at him, both of them turning to look at JJ as she says she’s got something, a property on the edge of town, before their eyes meet again, “Everything?” 

“Ok,” Aaron says, reaching for his bulletproof vest, “Maybe not everything.” 

___

He pays no attention to Officer Johnson as Derek kicks the door down and almost simultaneously fires a bullet that disarms him, his gun clattering to the floor as he reaches for the wound in his shoulder. 

All of Aaron’s focus is on Emily as their eyes meet across the mostly dark room, and he releases a breath he’d been holding since he’d last seen her. It had only been a few hours but it had felt like days. 

His knees hit the ground when he reaches her side, the crack of them echoing around them but he doesn’t feel them as he cups her face, tilting it as he looks at the cut on her forehead, making her sigh as he touches her like she’s made of glass.

She feels like she might, her body aching from sitting on the hard floor all night, and her wrists sore from the cuffs. 

“Are you ok?” He asks, an edge of desperation in his voice, and she nods despite the ache in her head and lets him fuss over her, burying her face in his neck as she breathes him in. He moves her head, a hand on each of her cheeks as he rests his forehead against hers. “I love you.” The words escape without him meaning them to, surprising both of them equally as she huffs out a laugh, her breath skipping across his cheek, “Em, I-”

“I love you too,” she replies, closing her eyes as she takes a moment to try and slow down her breathing, basking in the comfort she always found in him, “I love you so much.” She hears someone clearing their throat and she opens her eyes to look past him, her eyes meeting Derek’s. She sees something in them that she doesn’t understand, her head too sore and her brain too tired to try and figure it out, and she pulls back to look at Aaron, “Can you undo my cuffs?” 

He nods, shouting a request for keys from one of the local cops over his shoulder, something he’s given within seconds. He releases the cuffs and it feels like a relief as she stretches out her hands, wincing at how the raw skin of her wrists feels like it’s being pulled apart.

“Do you think you can stand?” He asks as he stands up himself. Her response is a roll of her eyes as she tries to stand up herself, falling straight into his chest as she struggles to get her footing. He wraps his arms tightly around her, holding her to him as she grasps the back of his shirt, “I’ve got you.” 

She smiles at the double meaning, pressing her face into his chest as she breathes him in again. She doesn’t care about the fact the team are watching them, their curiosity making them look over every now and again in a way she hopes they don’t think is subtle, but she doesn’t care. She knew he’d blow their cover the moment he found out she was missing, and all she wants is him. To assure him she was ok, that he’d done what he hadn’t been able to do for Haley.

“Thank you for coming to rescue me,” she whispers, turning her head so only he can hear her, a private moment between the two of them even though they are in a room full of people. He holds her impossibly tighter and kisses the top of her head. 

“Always, sweetheart,” he replies, pulling back to look at her as he tucks some of her hair behind her ear, “Although, let's not make a habit of it.” 

She nods, her smile quickly turning to a frown as he loops one arm around her shoulder and shifts to place the other under her knees, clearly attempting to pick her up. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Carrying you out to the ambulance,” he says as if it was obvious, and she raises her eyebrows at him. 

“Ok, there are two things wrong with that sentence.” 

“Em,” he says firmly, his eyes swimming with desperation as he looks at her, “Please. You can barely stand, you clearly have a head wound and maybe a concussion. Just…let me. Please.” 

She stares at him for a moment before she briefly presses her forehead to his shoulder before she looks at him again, nodding, “Ok,” she says, cupping his cheek so she can stamp a kiss to his lips, “Ok, but if you even think about complaining about your back in the coming days-”

“I won’t,” he says, lifting her up into his arms before she can change her mind. She wraps her arms around his neck and rests her head against his shoulder as he carries her outside. 

Her headache gets worse the moment they step outside, the daylight bright against the pounding inside her skull. She groans and buries her face in his shirt. He heaves her closer, walking past the ambulance with Officer Johnson in with purpose, his jaw tense as he hears him complaining about the pain he was in. 

“I’ve got you,” he says, repeating his words from inside as he kisses the top of her head. She hums into his shirt, her words muffled so he feels them more than he hears them.

“You always do.” 

___

“I’m fine,” she says, groaning as she settles back into the hospital bed she’d been all but forced into, “This is ridiculous.” 

Aaron smiles at her and lifts their joint hands to his lips, kissing her knuckles as he sits in the seat next to her bed, “Sweetheart, you have a concussion,” he says, his eyes soft as they meet hers, “And they said you needed fluids,” his eyes drift to the IV bag hanging on the other side of her bed, “It’s just one night.” 

She scoffs, “I guess,” she looks him up and down, watching how his focus is on the bandages on her wrists, his thumb tracing the edge of one of them. She knows he was blaming himself, as if he’d have been able to stop what had happened even though, in the end, it was simply bad luck that had her taken by the unsub, “If I’m here all night you might as well come join me in this stupid bed.” 

He sighs, his eyes drifting to the bandage on her forehead covering the stitches he’d counted as the doctor did them. The last thing he wanted to do was cause her more pain. 

“Em-”

“Don’t argue with me,” she says, raising an eyebrow at him. “I’m hurt.” 

Aaron chuckles mirthlessly and stands up, knowing it was a lost cause before he even tries to argue with her any further. He kisses the back of her hand once more before he lets it go.

“You play dirty.” 

“You know dirty I can be,” she replies, winking at him, taking delight in his laughter as she sits up, making room for him to slip in behind her in the bed. She sighs as she settles against him, sitting in the cradle of his hips as he wraps his arms around her, careful to make sure he doesn’t disturb her IV. “That’s much better.” 

“You’re definitely comfortable?” He asks, and she nods, resting her hands over his and linking their fingers together. “Sweetheart-”

“If you even think about apologising for something that isn’t your fault, honey, you’ll be in trouble,” she says, tilting her head to look at him, her smile soft as his responding sigh lets her know she was right, “He was devolving anyway, I accidentally caught him trying to throw away his trophies,” she shrugs, “It was bad luck. We would have figured it out regardless.” 

He shakes his head, holding her a little tighter, “I should have protected you.” 

She’s sure that on some level it should make her angry. That the feminist in her should be furious at the idea that she needed protecting, but she knows he doesn’t mean it that way. That his past always lingering just out of sight, a phantom he would never quite escape. Something that she now lived with too because she loved him. 

“I don’t need you to protect me, Aaron,” she says, squeezing his hand, “This is what I need. Right here. Ok?” 

He doesn’t entirely believe her, and he can’t quite shift the guilt that was still burning in his chest. He knows from experience that he’d get used to it, the sting of it fading over time, so he nods, “Ok.” 

She smiles and kisses his jaw, “So,” she says, her eyes flickering with mischief, “If I’d known all it would take was getting kidnapped for you to tell me you love me, I would have done it weeks ago.”

“Em.” 

“What?” She asks, feigning innocence, “Too soon?”

“Far, far too soon,” he replies, shaking his head at her, “It might always be,” he pauses for a moment, swallowing thickly before he continues, voicing the concern that had been bothering him since he said the words to her when he found her, “I mean it, you know. It wasn’t just because I was in the moment. I mean it.” 

“I know,” she assures him, “I mean it too. I love you,” she says for good measure, her smile widening as he beams at her. 

“I love you too,” he replies, releasing one of her hands to cup her cheek, dragging her in for a kiss. He rests his forehead against hers and sighs, “The team are going to be unbearable.” 

She groans, shifting so their noses brush against each other, “Do you think you can threaten them with something to make them stop? At least until my headache has cleared?” 

Aaron chuckles, and nods his forehead gently knocking against hers, “For you, sweetheart? Anything.” 

-x-

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[adleryoung]

"None o' them ever showed up," Burnside grumbled. "Woulda been nice to have a Changeling or two, but nooo … Anyways, what was I sayin? The few bits o' magick that Arse actually taught Rebecca turned out all forest related. That accounts fer these here woodsy get-ups we is a-wearin. Can't get the students to wear 'em cuz they don't think it's 'authentic' enough. Well who's the dadgum ELF, huh? Everbody's a dang expert all of a sudden! I'm gettin off topic again. Rebecca figgerd a few thangs out on her own, but she's still a novice. I offered to teach her ma best stabbin magicks, but she refused. Won't learn nothin that way! AN she kicks up a fuss when I try to teach the other members. Anyways, our main goal has been to build a coven o' Seelie witches (which I go along with outta niceness) that follows Fuma, an' get em ready to serve the Elf Lord when he finally arrives."

"That's you," Rebecca explained. "You've arrived at last."

"I useta have a big ol' time," Burnside continued, "guardin the coven an dealin with angry mobs whenever they'd come round lookin for trouble, but lately ma stabbin arm's been gettin rusty. Nobody round these parts cares to harass us about witchcraft much no more. What I hear, it's all considered 'scholarly folkloric study' nowadays."

"Mainstream posers," Rebecca muttered with a note of bitterness.

A moment later, we emerged into a clearing where I saw a number of young femmes performing various tasks. One was stirring a large cauldron, another was reading a book while waving a small twig in the air, and another was hopping from one foot to the other and twirling around. When they saw us approaching, with Rebecca leaning on my shoulder, they dropped what they were doing and rushed over.

"Oh my goth!" exclaimed the one who was actually dressed like a witch. "Mithtreth Coven Leader, are you all right?!"

"She's fine," I answered. "She just had a very nasty shock, and needs to lie down."

As the witches-in-training helped Rebecca to a bed, Burnside leaned close to me and whispered, "It's like I told ya. The typical ones that'd wanna run from society are outcasts and rejects what's just lookin to get petty revenge on ever'body who was mean to em in school."

The witch who had been twirling around came scampering up to me. "Are you he?" she breathed excitedly. "Are you the legendary white elf who will lead us all to greatness?"

"Uh… Maybe?" I stammered, taken aback by her outlandish costume and ridiculous-looking scepter coated with gold foil.

"Then I bid you welcome, brother," she declared, extending the star on the end of the stick toward me. "I am Fiona Mac Cumhal, last scion of the Tuatha. It's spelled 'coom-hall' but it's pronounced 'cool.' Isn't that Cumhal? Ha ha, just a bit of humor."

"This here specimen," Burnside muttered, "is Fiona McGillicuddy."

"The name given me by my adoptive mortal parents," Fiona sniffed haughtily. "Even now they seek me in vain, little knowing that I have escaped to this vale to rejoin my kind and claim my heritage."

"She ain't no Changeling," Burnside stated via Elfmind. "Can't do the simplest cantrip, an is completely deaf to Elfmind. Her folks know exactly whar she is, too. They think this is some sort o' camp school whar the gals learn the folkways o' ancient Eire. Pay us good money to keep 'er here, else I woulda sent her packin' a long time ago."

[meetmypointlessaddiction]

So It's Gonna Be Forever

Summary: Joel Miller and Emily Harper have been best friends since 2nd grade and at the end of freshman year become something more. Will they last or will their new label ruin it all.

OR

Joel Miller gets some lovin' because god knows he deserves it.

Chapter 1

Warnings: Mentions of rough childhood and some violence between father and son but that isn't for another few chapters. Mentions and allusions to smut but never actually turns into smut.

I understand that this might not be everyone's cup of tea so if it's not for you, just don't read.

If there's anything that is possibly triggering that I haven't mentioned in the warnings please let me know as this is not beta'd and it is very possible that I've missed something.

Series Masterlist

Words: 2,757

Joel Miller was extremely unlucky. His mother died halfway through his sophomore year and his father spiralled into a good for nothing drunk, leaving him and his younger brother Tommy to fend for themselves. When their father hit his lowest points, Joel was always the one to take the blame, not wanting Tommy to be too badly affected and from there sprouted a routine of protecting and doing everything he could to not disappoint anyone else. 

Emily Harper had been a friend of the Miller’s ever since they met on a playground in their neighbourhood. Since then, their relationship had only grown from strength to strength, the pair eventually becoming something more than friends at the end of their freshman year. However, being the best friend/girlfriend of Joel Miller came with some additions. It also meant that she was close with Tommy, the two never far away from each other. Her parents loved Joel and Tommy like their own sons, often inviting them round for a dinner they knew would otherwise be forgotten about once they returned home. 

“Come on, Joel. It’s one night away from him, please? He can even stay with my parents if he wants to.” Emily begged, tugging on Joel’s hand. The pair walked home together every day, Tommy meeting them there after walking with his friends. Every Saturday, the popular kids threw parties for the seniors, usually celebrating a football win. 

“Em, please? I really don’t wanna go, maybe next time.” Joel tried, trying desperately to wriggle his way out of it. Joel Miller was not a partying kind of kid, preferring to sit at home with Tommy, preparing himself for the next screaming attack from his father. “Listen, you know I’m not a social kind of guy. Why don’t you come round, I’ll find some beers from somewhere and we’ll kick back and relax.” 

“If we’re not going to a party, I’m not sittin’ in your place again, the cable doesn’t even work most days. You’re not workin’ tomorrow, Tommy ain’t got nothin’ planned, come over, have dinner. I’ll get my dad to buy a few beers and they might even let Tommy have one, no harm no foul.” She shrugged and Joel contemplated it. It was a Friday night, their dad wouldn’t be back until the early hours of the morning and he would pass out before he had the chance to go looking for either of his sons. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll wait for Tommy and then we’ll come over with a change of clothes. An hour, tops.” Joel decided, the pair coming to a stop outside the Miller Household. “We won’t be long, ok?” He muttered as she pulled him in for a hug, kissing his cheek. 

“Do me a favour, cowboy? Stop bein’ so damn stubborn all the time?” She teased, punching his arm. “We have this conversation every Friday and you always use Tommy as your get out of jail free card. Come up with a better excuse. I love you.” She laughed, walking down the street, Joel trying to find it in himself to tell her those same words back. 

While Joel and Emily told each other most things, the Miller’s home life was kept a secret to the outside world, only a few details being revealed. In truth, the reason Joel never left Tommy alone with their father was because of the disaster that happened with his mother. From then on, Joel took on the protective role over Tommy and refused to let anything happen to the 14 year old. 

Joel busied himself by collecting the takeout containers and bottles of beer that had piled up since his dad’s return last night and him leaving while the boys were at school. Joel wasn’t much of a chef but his mother had taught him enough of the basics to be able to keep him and Tommy alive and fed, Joel having given up on trying to give his father anything other than a new bottle of beer. 

“Joel! We goin’ to Emily’s place again?” Tommy yelled through the house as he opened the door. “Joel?!” Joel snapped out of his daydream and turned to face his little brother. 

“Sorry bud. Yeah, get a change of clothes and your toothbrush and you can head over. I’ll finish cleanin’ up his mess and then I’ll follow you.” Joel nodded at Tommy, pushing his head jokingly. “Maybe we can get Carol to trim these locks of yours.” 

“Not a chance, man. The ladies love it!” Tommy cried, moving from his brother’s attacks on his hair. 

“Ah, the intelligent ladies of the 9th grade.” Joel mocked and Tommy rolled his eyes, shoving Joel with his shoulder as he walked to his room to pack a bag. “Let Em know I’ll be over as soon as I can.” He reminded Tommy as the boy set off out of the door. 

“You know that she’ll be over to help as soon as she sees me turn up on my own.” Tommy replied and Joel chuckled to himself, wiping the puddle of alcohol that had spilled by the couch. Joel often found himself working as a maid in his own house, Tommy doing his best to help out whenever he wasn’t getting distracted by a new comic book his friends had let him borrow. 

“What did I tell you about leavin’ that to your dad?” Emily scolded as she walked in the door and Joel laughed, dropping the rag onto the counter. “He expects it now so he’s never gonna try and clean it up himself.” 

“I’d rather not come home to maggots in takeout boxes, I’ll be completely honest.” Joel quipped and Emily huffed, walking into Joel’s room and shoving some of his clothes into a bag. Joel watched as she picked up a white shirt of his that had been stained a reddish colour. “I put Tommy’s jersey in and it stained all the white stuff.” Joel answered the unspoken question and Emily frowned. 

“I liked this shirt.” She mourned the loss of her favourite shirt by holding it up and catching a whiff of the laundry detergent Joel used to clean his clothes. 

“Correction, you like stealin’ it any time I come over.” Joel teased and Emily rolled her eyes. “Take it, I sorta managed to shrink it too. There are a few others you can take, may as well go to a better home, right?” 

“You just like seeing me in your clothes.” Joel nodded and Emily smiled, shoving a flannel and a clean pair of jeans in the bag as well as another pair of underwear. 

“You expectin’ me to sleep buck naked, sweet cheeks?” Joel asked, reaching into his drawers to pull out a pair of sweatpants. 

“No but you always sleep in your boxers anyway so I don’t see the issue. Free up baggage space for the snacks I will force you to go and get me later, duh.” She stated and Joel chuckled, shoving the sweats into the bag and slinging it over his shoulder. When the pair arrived at Emily’s house, Tommy was standing at the stove, stirring whatever it was that Carol was making, trying his best to be helpful. “Joel, how are you honey?” Carol attacked him with a tight squeeze and a dozen kisses to the cheek. 

“I’m doin’ good thank you, Carol. Is Jerry still at work?” Joel asked, receiving a knowing look for Emily’s mother as he set his bag at the bottom of the stairs, ready to take up to the spare room later that night. The small talk continued for a while before Emily took Joel’s hand and dragged him up the stairs, closing her bedroom door behind them. Her lips were pressed against his and he grinned, holding her hip with his free hand. “Christ, baby. How long you been keepin’ that to yourself?” He teased, resting his forehead against hers. 

“Still don’t understand why we can’t just go with it, it’s not like anybody really cares what we’re up to, Joel. Nobody would bother us. We could at least tell Tommy.” She whispered before he leaned down and kissed her again. Footsteps on the stairs brought them out of their bubble and the pair pulled away from each other, a knock on the door making Joel walk to the other side of the room and make himself look busy. 

“Em, your father’s home and dinner is almost done.” Carol said through the wood of the door and Joel smiled, nodding at her to open the door. Carol’s face appeared as the door swung open and she smirked. “Ok, lovebirds, downstairs or I out your asses.” She threatened and Joel gasped, his hand flying to his chest as he feigned distress. 

“You wouldn’t.” Emily threw a shoe at him and he laughed, walking over to her and kissing her temple. “I’m kidding, darlin’. Come on before your dad kills me.” Your mother had known about the two of you for a while after you had failed at sneaking Joel out one day during junior year, the anniversary of his mother’s death leaving him needing a little comfort. Since then, she had always covered for the pair of you, accepting Joel into the family officially, and surprising you with a box of condoms which you threw at Joel’s head the next time he entered through your bedroom window. 

“What the fuck? That the greeting I’m getting now?” He groaned, rubbing the spot on his head where the corner of the box had hit. 

“You asshole. Because of your clumsy ass, my mother has taken it upon herself to provide us with condoms and a daily reminder that she doesn’t want any grandbabies just yet.” Joel chuckled, looking at the box and pressing a kiss to Emily’s forehead. 

“I’ll have to tell her thank you, been meaning to buy some more. Goin’ through ‘em like crazy, sweet cheeks.” He whispered, pressing a kiss under her ear and she gasped, pushing him back. “Hey, at least she ain’t threatenin’ to chop my dick off. Would make the experience really borin’ for the both of us.” He huffed and she just rolled her eyes. 

“Joel Miller, you say nothing to my mother about the condoms or I won’t give you a damn reason to use them.” She hissed and he pouted, throwing the box into Emily’s bedside table with a smirk. 

Joel and Emily set the table while Tommy helped Carol carry out the plates, placing one in front of each seat. Emily sat across from Joel, Tommy sitting next to Joel while Jerry sat at the head of the table, Carol sitting beside Emily. “So kids, coming closer to winter break. Joel, Tommy, any plans?” Tommy tensed beside Joel, who shook his head. 

“I’ll pick up a few more shifts at the garage, save up for my own truck. Tommy is going to a festival somewhere for a few days, which week?” Joel asked, nudging Tommy with his knee, shooting him a questioning look and Tommy nodded, glad the topic had moved on. 

“First weekend in.” Tommy commented and Jerry, Carol and Emily nodded, Emily’s legs tangling with Joel’s underneath the table. 

Once everyone had finished their meals, Joel and Emily offered to clean up while her father went to shower and her mother and Tommy made themselves busy around the house, Tommy flicking through some magazine he’d brought with him. “What was all that about?” Emily asked as she handed Joel another plate to dry and put away. 

“All what?” Joel asked, sending her a confused glance. 

“Tommy losin’ his voice. That never happens.”

“Ma used to take us out a lot in the winter break to my Aunt’s cabin and to markets so I guess it’s just become a soft spot, that’s all.” Joel reassured, kissing his girlfriend’s temple. “It’s cute that you worry ‘bout him but I promise that he’s ok.” Emily nodded and Joel smiled, putting away the last of the dishes before he was being dragged into the living room to watch a movie with Emily and Tommy, her parents heading upstairs and calling it a night. 

“When are you two gonna hurry up and fuckin make out?” Tommy muttered after watching the two of them throw popcorn at each other for 10 minutes, a handful hitting him every so often. 

“Hey, watch your damn language.” Joel scolded and Tommy rolled his eyes, throwing up a middle finger towards Joel who took another sip of his beer. “Ain’t it past your bedtime anyway?” Joel grumbled, the distance between him and Emily making him irritable. 

“You just want me to leave so you can cuddle your girlfriend, fine. You guys think you’re bein’ so sneaky but I’ve know for ages.” Tommy teased and Joel flipped him off. “I’m surprised you don’t remember actually. I’d snuck in after leavin’ Andy’s a little earlier than expected and you two were fuckin’ bare ass in his bed. Didn’t take a genius to figure it out.” Tommy shrugged and Joel and Emily blushed, Joel throwing a pillow at his brother and shooing him upstairs. “Fine, don’t answer me but for the love of God, if you ever fuck in his bed, put a pillow behind the headboard. Hearin’ dads headboard is disgusting but yours?!” Tommy gagged and Joel snickered, Emily pushing her feet into his ribs. 

“G’night Tommy.” Joel muttered as Tommy made his way upstairs. 

“Don’t be too loud.” 

“Shut it, Tarzan. Go to sleep while your brother gets the best-.” Tommy ran up the stairs, not wanting to hear the rest of her sentence, and Joel and Emily burst into a fit of silenced giggles, not wanting to wake up her parents. 

“You’re cruel, darlin’.” Joel muttered, letting Emily curl into his side and she smiled, pressing a kiss to his shirt covered chest. “C’mon, I’ll take ya up to bed before you start droolin’.” He teased, pressing a few gentle kisses to the crown of her head and her cheeks before, liting her into his arms, a giggle escaping her lips. 

“Jesus, Joel. A little warnin’ next time.” She complained and Joel smirked, using his elbow to push the handle down on her door and throwing her on the bed, dropping down beside her. 

“You usually love it when I take you by surprise. Oh, Joel. More, baby, move.” He pitched his voice a little higher and threw his head back, Emily swatting at his chest. 

“Was gonna blow you tonight but I’m rethinking my plan.” Joel scoffed and raised his eyebrows, calling bullshit. 

“You wouldn’t risk it with your parents bein’ home and my brother in the room next door. ‘Sides, I’m expected to be seen on the couch in the mornin’ when your dad leaves for work and if he finds me fuckin’ blissed out in your bed, I’m dead.” Joel finished his rant with a kiss to her lips and then stood, making his way towards the door. 

“You could stay. Pops is working the night shift tomorrow so he’ll probably lay in until noon. He doesn’t normally look in anyway, not until he knows I’m up and changed. Nothin’ more than an innocent snugglin’ and smoochin’, right?” Joel chuckled, kissing her again and laying back down next to her. 

“A lil’ snuggle an’ smooch ain’t never done us any harm before. Fine, but I ain’t takin’ my shirt off. He’d come to conclusions.” Joel complained, changing his jeans for the sweatpants he had thrown into his bag but taking his shirt off anyway after receiving multiple kisses across his chest and those pleading eyes that he could never say no to. “You know, my dad’s goin’ away with his fishing buddies next weekend, they’ll probably spend the entire trip in a bar but it means I’ve got a free house. It falls on a weekend where Tommy is going to his friends for a football game so we could rent a few movies, get a few drinks and just kickback for a few nights if you’re feelin’ up to it.” 

Emily just smiled, settling against his chest with a content hum. “Lemme think about it and I’ll let you know.” She replied through a yawn and Joel smiled, pressing his lips to her temple and rubbing his thumb over her jaw. 

“Get some sleep, sweet cheeks. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” He assured, settling down next to her and pulling the duvet up to her chin. 

“G’night cowboy. I love you.”

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[ominous-corridors]

Where Snake and Lions Roam--A Sebastian Sallow Fic

I post on Wattpad, AO3, and Quotev

"Sebastian! You need to stop. This isn't you!" She said. She was pleading with the boy. He wasn't himself. He hadn't been himself in a long time. 

The surrounding catacombs were cold. The smell of desperation hung in the air. 

This isn't him. This isn't him.

"You don't understand! Em, please. This is the only way. I can control them! With this I can control the curse inside Anne!" Sebastian said, holding up the Relic they found in this very crypt, all those weeks ago. She was trying to watch over him. Keep him safe from all of this. She thought that maybe, if she could be there with him, she could guide him down the right path. She was wrong. She was very wrong.

How could he have gotten so lost? The Dark Arts are not the answer. She feels like she doesn't even know him anymore. 

She sighed, walking up to him. The gap between them closed. She looked up at him, looking into his eyes. There was so much pain. So much. "Please, Seb. Please listen to me. This isn't right," tears forming in her eyes as she realized she was losing her best friend. That he was losing himself. 

He started to lift his hand to her, parting his lips to speak. Before he could make a sound, his uncle rounded the corner.

Oh, no.

"Sebastian! Boy, have you lost your mind? I've told you before, and I will tell you again; there is no cure. Stop this. Stop this now!" Uncle Solomon was furious. But there was something about his eyes. Sadness. He was losing his nephew. His family.

"Solomon, you have no idea the things I can do. I can save Anne! You gave up on her! I will never forgive you for that." He spat. Emilia looked as he tensed. She could see him clutching his wand, moving his hand ever so slowly. He was preparing to strike. She knew him too well. 

"I am done with this, boy. Accio Relic!" Solomon waved his wand and took the Relic from Sebastian. Once again making a small motion the Relic disintegrated in his hand. 

"No! How could you do this! You are not my family!" Sebastian's voice echoing through the halls. She watched as he went to raise his wand, a faint green beginning to form on the tip. 

Oh, no. Oh, no no no no no. He can't do this. He will never come back. 

She ran in front of him, taking his face in her hands, "Stop this. Stop this right now. This isn't you. You are being blinded by the Dark. You love your Uncle. You cannot do this. Please, I beg you. Think. Use that big head of yours and think!"

He looked down at her, tears welling up, "I failed her. I failed Anne. I failed everyone. I-" Suddenly the Infiri began to rouse. The gurgling growls growing louder. They looked at each other then back at Solomon. They all knew what was about to happen.

"I'm sorry," Was all he managed to get out before turning to face the room full of dangerous creatures. She turned, back to back with Sebastian. 

Just like old times. Old times with someone she didn't even know anymore. Who had he become in this search? And for nothing? How could he be so foolish? Becoming someone else, losing their friendship in the process, for nothing.

The three of them began throwing fire in every direction.

____________

Hogwarts Legacy AU

Gryffindor Emilia Findley has been Sebastian Sallows best friend since their first year. Though they do not share house, they share a bond that cannot be broken. At least they believe it can't. After almost losing him to the Dark Arts she isn't sure what their sixth year will hold.

[decadentpandawasteland]

Hello friends, today is Day 5 of my writing exercise. I was going to link yesterday's and today's, but honestly, finishing that section was really difficult for me. I plan on eventually publishing it, but it's going to take time. Instead, I wrote something on revenge. The plan was to go more fantasy with it as I've been playing a lot of Baldur's Gate 3 (around 160 hours. No, I don't have a problem) Anyway, I hope you enjoy! As always, I greatly appreciate any kind of feedback and support.

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Prompt: Revenge is all I haven't lost.

“Damien, you need to calm down,” Rost said, running his hands through his long hair.

“Why? Why should I calm down when they're out there, living a happy life?” Damien fired back, mania was seeping into his voice. “They've taken everything else, why not take my fucking calm too?”

“Boy, it isn't about that,” Rost started, but Damien cut him off.

“They took everything Rost. They took my mother, my father, they even took my eye.” Damien said, pointing at his closed and scarred right eye. “Why do they get to take whatever they want?”

Rost almost slapped the man. “They can take what they want when they have the backin’ of a fuckin’ dragon. Have you lost yer mind? You know just as well as I that there's no stoppin’ a dragon when it eyes a treasure. It'll take ev'ything you have, just because you have it.”

A glint passed through Damien's eye. It was the thought of a mad man escaping a deserted island, a junky creating a plan for one more hit. All he needed was a little time.

Rost had know Damien for only a few months, but that was a look he'd seen on many men trying to get even with The Brood. “What’ver you're thinkin’ ain't going to work boy!” He said, trying to plea with the single strand of sanity that was still holding Damien together.

That strand broke.

“It'll want it. If all I have left is revenge, it'll want it,” Damien whispered. A madman’s smile threatened to rip his face in two.

“What're you blatherin’ about boy?” Rost asked, too afraid of what the answer will be. “Be careful of what comes out of yer mouth. Brood has eyes and ears all ‘round.” Rost was right, of course. The ale house the two men sat at was mostly empty, save for the bard tuning his instrument in one corner, having a jovial chat with a less than enthused barmaid.

Paranoia had kept Rost safe over the years, so when the kitchen door had seemed to have stopped part way open when Damien spoke, it was noticed. He had even caught the barmaid throwing glances towards the pair. Better safe than sorry.

Rost held up a hand to silence the newly minted madman Damien was becoming and waved down the barmaid. With a gracious look, she left the bard and came to greet the two men.

“Oy, lass. My par'ner here has never had yer pum’kin ale. Mind grabbin’ us two?” Rost asked in a cheery tone. “Maybe e’en a shank or two if you got ‘em.”

The barmaid looked annoyed, but Rost showing a silver coin immediately shut down any rude comments she was about to make, adopting a more friendly tone, “Right away, sir.”

“We'll eat n’ leave so the eyes of The Brood don't think anythin’ of us. Don't care if you ain't got no appetite. Sho'el it in or I'll do it fer ya.” Rost whispered to him. Damien's eye was beginning to get wide with manic energy, but the ale helped bring him down to an even keel. The two men ate and drank, eventually settling into an awkward, but normal conversation. Rost made sure the barmaid was well tipped to forget any conversation she had previously heard, which she graciously obliged.

(This is a WIP)

[hellsitesonlybookclub]

It Can't Happen Here, Sinclair Lewis

Chapter 21-22

CHAPTER XXI

IT was not only the November sleet, setting up a forbidding curtain before the mountains, turning the roadways into slipperiness on which a car would swing around and crash into poles, that kept Doremus stubbornly at home that morning, sitting on his shoulder blades before the fireplace. It was the feeling that there was no point in going to the office; no chance even of a picturesque fight. But he was not contented before the fire. He could find no authentic news even in the papers from Boston or New York, in both of which the morning papers had been combined by the government into one sheet, rich in comic strips, in syndicated gossip from Hollywood, and, indeed, lacking only any news.

He cursed, threw down the New York Daily Corporate, and tried to read a new novel about a lady whose husband was indelicate in bed and who was too absorbed by the novels he wrote about lady novelists whose husbands were too absorbed by the novels they wrote about lady novelists to appreciate the fine sensibilities of lady novelists who wrote about gentleman novelists—Anyway, he chucked the book after the newspaper. The lady's woes didn't seem very important now, in a burning world.

He could hear Emma in the kitchen discussing with Mrs. Candy the best way of making a chicken pie. They talked without relief; really, they were not so much talking as thinking aloud. Doremus admitted that the nice making of a chicken pie was a thing of consequence, but the blur of voices irritated him. Then Sissy slammed into the room, and Sissy should an hour ago have been at high school, where she was a senior—to graduate next year and possibly go to some new and horrible provincial university.

"What ho! What are you doing home? Why aren't you in school?"

"Oh. That." She squatted on the padded fender seat, chin in hands, looking up at him, not seeing him. "I don't know 's I'll ever go there any more. You have to repeat a new oath every morning: 'I pledge myself to serve the Corporate State, the Chief, all Commissioners, the Mystic Wheel, and the troops of the Republic in every thought and deed.' Now I ask you! Is that tripe!"

"How you going to get into the university?"

"Huh! Smile at Prof Staubmeyer—if it doesn't gag me!"

"Oh, well—Well—" He could not think of anything meatier to say.

The doorbell, a shuffling in the hall as of snowy feet, and Julian Falck came sheepishly in.

Sissy snapped, "Well, I'll be—What are you doing home? Why aren't you in Amherst?"

"Oh. that." He squatted beside her. He absently held her hand, and she did not seem to notice it, either. "Amherst's got hers. Corpos closing it today. I got tipped off last Saturday and beat it. (They have a cute way of rounding up the students when they close a college and arresting a few of 'em, just to cheer up the profs.)" To Doremus: "Well, sir, I think you'll have to find a place for me on the Informer, wiping presses. Could you?"

"Afraid not, boy. Give anything if I could. But I'm a prisoner there. God! Just having to say that makes me appreciate what a rotten position I have!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I understand, of course. Well, I don't just know what I am going to do. Remember back in '33 and '34 and '35 how many good eggs there were—and some of them medics and law graduates and trained engineers and so on—that simply couldn't get a job? Well, it's worse now. I looked over Amherst, and had a try at Springfield, and I've been here in town two days—I'd hoped to have something before I saw you, Sis—why, I even asked Mrs. Pike if she didn't need somebody to wash dishes at the Tavern, but so far there isn't a thing. 'Young gentleman, two years in college, ninety-nine-point-three pure and thorough knowledge Thirty-nine Articles, able drive car, teach tennis and contract, amiable disposition, desires position—digging ditches.'"

"You will get something! I'll see you do, my poppet!" insisted Sissy. She was less modernistic and cold with Julian now than Doremus had thought her.

"Thanks, Sis, but honest to God—I hope I'm not whining, but looks like I'd either have to enlist in the lousy M.M.'s, or go to a labor camp. I can't stay home and sponge on Granddad. The poor old Reverend hasn't got enough to keep a pussycat in face powder."

"Lookit! Lookit!" Sissy clinched with Julian and bussed him, unabashed. "I've got an idea—a new stunt. You know, one of these 'New Careers for Youth' things. Listen! Last summer there was a friend of Lindy Pike's staying with her and she was an interior decorator from Buffalo, and she said they have a hell of a—"

("Siss-sy!")

"—time getting real, genuine, old hand-hewn beams that everybody wants so much now in these phony-Old-English suburban living rooms. Well, look! Round here there's ten million old barns with hand-adzed beams just falling down—farmers probably be glad to have you haul 'em off. I kind of thought about it for myself—being an architect, you know—and John Pollikop said he'd sell me a swell, dirty-looking old five-ton truck for four hundred bucks—in pre-inflation real money, I mean—and on time. Let's you and me try a load of assorted fancy beams."

"Swell!" said Julian.

"Well—" said Doremus.

"Come on!" Sissy leaped up. "Let's go ask Lindy what she thinks. She's the only one in this family that's got any business sense."

"I don't seem to hanker much after going out there in this weather— nasty roads," Doremus puffed.

"Nonsense, Doremus! With Julian driving? He's a poor speller and his back-hand is fierce, but as a driver, he's better than I am! Why, it's a pleasure to skid with him! Come on! Hey, Mother! We'll be back in nour or two."

If Emma ever got beyond her distant, "Why, I thought you were in school, already," none of the three musketeers heard it. They were bundling up and crawling out into the sleet.

Lorinda Pike was in the Tavern kitchen, in a calico print with rolled sleeves, dipping doughnuts into deep fat—a picture right out of the romantic days (which Buzz Windrip was trying to restore) when a female who had brought up eleven children and been midwife to dozens of cows was regarded as too fragile to vote. She was ruddy-faced from the stove, but she cocked a lively eye at them, and her greeting was "Have a doughnut? Good!" She led them from the kitchen with its attendant and eavesdropping horde of a Canuck kitchenmaid and two cats, and they sat in the beautiful butler's- pantry, with its shelved rows of Italian majolica plates and cups and saucers—entirely unsuitable to Vermont, attesting a certain artiness in Lorinda, yet by their cleanness and order revealing her as a sound worker. Sissy sketched her plan—behind the statistics there was an agreeable picture of herself and Julian, gipsies in khaki, on the seat of a gipsy truck, peddling silvery old pine rafters.

"Nope. Not a chance," said Lorinda regretfully. "The expensive suburban-villa business—oh, it isn't gone: there's a surprising number of middlemen and professional men who are doing quite well out of having their wealth taken away and distributed to the masses. But all the building is in the hands of contractors who are in politics—good old Windrip is so consistently American that he's kept up all our traditional graft, even if he has thrown out all our traditional independence. They wouldn't leave you one cent profit."

"She's probably right," said Doremus.

"Be the first time I ever was, then!" sniffed Lorinda. "Why, I was so simple that I thought women voters knew men too well to fall for noble words on the radio!"

They sat in the sedan, outside the Tavern; Julian and Sissy in front, Doremus in the back seat, dignified and miserable in mummy swathings.

"That's that," said Sissy. "Swell period for young dreamers the Dictator's brought in. You can march to military bands—or you can sit home—or you can go to prison. Primavera di Bellezza!"

"Yes.... Well, I'll find something to do.... Sissy, are you going to marry me—soon as I get a job?"

(It was incredible, thought Doremus, how these latter-day unsentimental sentimentalists could ignore him.... Like animals.)

"Before, if you want to. Though marriage seems to me absolute rot now, Julian. They can't go and let us see that every doggone one of our old institutions is a rotten fake, the way Church and State and everything has laid down to the Corpos, and still expect us to think they're so hot! But for unformed minds like your grandfather and Doremus, I suppose we'll have to pretend to believe that the preachers who stand for Big Chief Windrip are still so sanctified that they can sell God's license to love!"

("Sis-sy!")

"(Oh. I forgot you were there, Dad!) But anyway, we're not going to have any kids. Oh, I like children! I'd like to have a dozen of the little devils around. But if people have gone so soft and turned the world over to stuffed shirts and dictators, they needn't expect any decent woman to bring children into such an insane asylum! Why, the more you really do love children, the more you'll want 'em not to be born, now!"

Julian boasted, in a manner quite as lover-like and naïve as that of any suitor a hundred years ago, "Yes. But just the same, we'll be having children."

"Hell! I suppose so!" said the golden girl.

It was the unconsidered Doremus who found a job for Julian.

Old Dr. Marcus Olmsted was trying to steel himself to carry on the work of his sometime partner, Fowler Greenhill. He was not strong enough for much winter driving, and so hotly now did he hate the murderers of his friend that he would not take on any youngster who was in the M.M.'s or who had half acknowledged their authority by going to a labor camp. So Julian was chosen to drive him, night and day, and presently to help him by giving anesthetic, bandaging hurt legs; and the Julian who had within one week "decided that he wanted to be" an aviator, a music critic, an air-conditioning engineer, an archæologist excavating in Yucatan, was dead-set on medicine and replaced for Doremus his dead doctor son-in-law. And Doremus heard Julian and Sissy boasting and squabbling and squeaking in the half-lighted parlor and from them—from them and from David and Lorinda and Buck Titus—got resolution enough to go on in the Informer office without choking Staubmeyer to death.

CHAPTER XXII

DECEMBER 10th was the birthday of Berzelius Windrip, though in his earlier days as a politician, before he fruitfully realized that lies sometimes get printed and unjustly remembered against you, he had been wont to tell the world that his birthday was on December twenty-fifth, like one whom he admitted to be an even greater leader, and to shout, with real tears in his eyes, that his complete name was Berzelius Noel Weinacht Windrip.

His birthday in 1937 he commemorated by the historical "Order of Regulation," which stated that though the Corporate government had proved both its stability and its good-will, there were still certain stupid or vicious "elements" who, in their foul envy of Corpo success, wanted to destroy everything that was good. The kind-hearted government was fed-up, and the country was informed that, from this day on, any person who by word or act sought to harm or discredit the State, would be executed or interned. Inasmuch as the prisons were already too full, both for these slanderous criminals and for the persons whom the kind-hearted State had to guard by "protective arrest," there were immediately to be opened, all over the country, concentration camps.

Doremus guessed that the reason for the concentration camps was not only the provision of extra room for victims but, even more, the provision of places where the livelier young M.M.'s could amuse themselves without interference from old-time professional policemen and prison-keepers, most of whom regarded their charges not as enemies, to be tortured, but just as cattle, to be kept safely.

On the eleventh, a concentration camp was enthusiastically opened, with band music, paper flowers, and speeches by District Commissioner Reek and Shad Ledue, at Trianon, nine miles north of Fort Beulah, in what had been a modern experimental school for girls. (The girls and their teachers, no sound material for Corpoism anyway, were simply sent about their business.)

And on that day and every day afterward, Doremus got from journalist friends all over the country secret news of Corpo terrorism and of the first bloody rebellions against the Corpos.

In Arkansas, a group of ninety-six former sharecroppers, who had always bellyached about their misfortunes yet seemed not a bit happier in well-run, hygienic labor camps with free weekly band concerts, attacked the superintendent's office at one camp and killed the superintendent and five assistants. They were rounded up by an M.M. regiment from Little Rock, stood up in a winter-ragged cornfield, told to run, and shot in the back with machine guns as they comically staggered away.

In San Francisco, dock-workers tried to start an absolutely illegal strike, and their leaders, known to be Communists, were so treasonable in their speeches against the government that an M.M. commander had three of them tied up to a bale of rattan, which was soaked with oil and set afire. The Commander gave warning to all such malcontents by shooting off the criminals' fingers and ears while they were burning, and so skilled a marksman was he, so much credit to the efficient M.M. training, that he did not kill one single man while thus trimming them up. He afterward went in search of Tom Mooney (released by the Supreme Court of the United States, early in 1936), but that notorious anti-Corpo agitator had had the fear of God put into him properly, and had escaped on a schooner for Tahiti.

In Pawtucket, a man who ought to have been free from the rotten seditious notions of such so-called labor-leaders, in fact a man who was a fashionable dentist and director in a bank, absurdly resented the attentions which half-a-dozen uniformed M.M.'s—they were all on leave, and merely full of youthful spirits, anyway— bestowed upon his wife at a café and, in the confusion, shot and killed three of them. Ordinarily, since it was none of the public's business anyway, the M.M.'s did not give out details of their disciplining of rebels, but in this case, where the fool of a dentist had shown himself to be a homicidal maniac, the local M.M. commander permitted the papers to print the fact that the dentist had been given sixty-nine lashes with a flexible steel rod, then, when he came to, left to think over his murderous idiocy in a cell in which there was two feet of water in the bottom—but, rather ironically, none to drink. Unfortunately, the fellow died before having the opportunity to seek religious consolation.

In Scranton, the Catholic pastor of a working-class church was kidnaped and beaten.

In central Kansas, a man named George W. Smith pointlessly gathered a couple of hundred farmers armed with shotguns and sporting rifles and an absurdly few automatic-pistols, and led them in burning an M.M. barracks. M.M. tanks were called out, and the hick would-be rebels were not, this time, used as warnings, but were overcome with mustard gas, then disposed of with hand grenades, which was an altogether intelligent move, since there was nothing of the scoundrels left for sentimental relatives to bury and make propaganda over.

But in New York City the case was the opposite—instead of being thus surprised, the M.M.'s rounded up all suspected Communists in the former boroughs of Manhattan and the Bronx, and all persons who were reported to have been seen consorting with such Communists, and interned the lot of them in the nineteen concentration camps on Long Island.... Most of them wailed that they were not Communists at all.

For the first time in America, except during the Civil War and the World War, people were afraid to say whatever came to their tongues. On the streets, on trains, at theaters, men looked about to see who might be listening before they dared so much as say there was a drought in the West, for someone might suppose they were blaming the drought on the Chief! They were particularly skittish about waiters, who were supposed to listen from the ambush which every waiter carries about with him anyway, and to report to the M.M.'s. People who could not resist talking politics spoke of Windrip as "Colonel Robinson" or "Dr. Brown" and of Sarason as "Judge Jones" or "my cousin Kaspar," and you would hear gossips hissing "Shhh!" at the seemingly innocent statement, "My cousin doesn't seem to be as keen on playing bridge with the Doctor as he used to—I'll bet sometime they'll quit playing."

Every moment everyone felt fear, nameless and omnipresent. They were as jumpy as men in a plague district. Any sudden sound, any unexplained footstep, any unfamiliar script on an envelope, made them startle; and for months they never felt secure enough to let themselves go, in complete sleep. And with the coming of fear went out their pride.

Daily—common now as weather reports—were the rumors of people who had suddenly been carried off "under protective arrest," and daily more of them were celebrities. At first the M.M.'s had, outside of the one stroke against Congress, dared to arrest only the unknown and defenseless. Now, incredulously—for these leaders had seemed invulnerable, above the ordinary law—you heard of judges, army officers, ex-state governors, bankers who had not played in with the Corpos, Jewish lawyers who had been ambassadors, being carted off to the common stink and mud of the cells.

To the journalist Doremus and his family it was not least interesting that among these imprisoned celebrities were so many journalists: Raymond Moley, Frank Simonds, Frank Kent, Heywood Broun, Mark Sullivan, Earl Browder, Franklin P. Adams, George Seldes, Frazier Hunt, Garet Garrett, Granville Hicks, Edwin James, Robert Morss Lovett—men who differed grotesquely except in their common dislike of being little disciples of Sarason and Macgoblin.

Few writers for Hearst were arrested, however.

The plague came nearer to Doremus when unrenowned editors in Lowell and Providence and Albany, who had done nothing more than fail to be enthusiastic about the Corpos, were taken away for "questioning," and not released for weeks—months.

It came much nearer at the time of the book-burning.

All over the country, books that might threaten the Pax Romana of the Corporate State were gleefully being burned by the more scholarly Minute Men. This form of safeguarding the State—so modern that it had scarce been known prior to A.D. 1300—was instituted by Secretary of Culture Macgoblin, but in each province the crusaders were allowed to have the fun of picking out their own paper-and-ink traitors. In the Northeastern Province, Judge Effingham Swan and Dr. Owen J. Peaseley were appointed censors by Commissioner Dewey Haik, and their index was lyrically praised all through the country.

For Swan saw that it was not such obvious anarchists and soreheads as Darrow, Steffens, Norman Thomas, who were the real danger; like rattlesnakes, their noisiness betrayed their venom. The real enemies were men whose sanctification by death had appallingly permitted them to sneak even into respectable school libraries—men so perverse that they had been traitors to the Corpo State years and years before there had been any Corpo State; and Swan (with Peaseley chirping agreement) barred from all sale or possession the books of Thoreau, Emerson, Whittier, Whitman, Mark Twain, Howells, and The New Freedom, by Woodrow Wilson, for though in later life Wilson became a sound manipulative politician, he had earlier been troubled with itching ideals.

It goes without saying that Swan denounced all such atheistic foreigners, dead or alive, as Wells, Marx, Shaw, the Mann brothers, Tolstoy, and P. G. Wodehouse with his unscrupulous propaganda against the aristocratic tradition. (Who could tell? Perhaps, some day, in a corporate empire, he might be Sir Effingham Swan, Bart.)

And in one item Swan showed blinding genius—he had the foresight to see the peril of that cynical volume, The Collected Sayings of Will Rogers.

Of the book-burnings in Syracuse and Schenectady and Hartford, Doremus had heard, but they seemed improbable as ghost stories.

The Jessup family were at dinner, just after seven, when on the porch they heard the tramping they had half expected, altogether dreaded. Mrs. Candy—even the icicle, Mrs. Candy, held her breast in agitation before she stalked out to open the door. Even David sat at table, spoon suspended in air.

Shad's voice, "In the name of the Chief!" Harsh feet in the hall, and Shad waddling into the dining room, cap on, hand on pistol, but grinning, and with leering geniality bawling, "H' are yuh, folks! Search for bad books. Orders of the District Commissioner. Come on, Jessup!" He looked at the fireplace to which he had once brought so many armfuls of wood, and snickered.

"If you'll just sit down in the other room—"

"I will like hell 'just sit down in the other room'! We're burning the books tonight! Snap to it, Jessup!" Shad looked at the exasperated Emma; he looked at Sissy; he winked with heavy deliberation and chuckled, "H' are you, Mis' Jessup. Hello, Sis. How's the kid?"

But at Mary Greenhill he did not look, nor she at him.

In the hall, Doremus found Shad's entourage, four sheepish M.M.'s and a more sheepish Emil Staubmeyer, who whimpered, "Just orders— you know—just orders."

Doremus safely said nothing; led them up to his study.

Now a week before he had removed every publication that any sane Corpo could consider radical: his Das Kapital and Veblen and all the Russian novels and even Sumner's Folkways and Freud's Civilization and Its Discontents; Thoreau and the other hoary scoundrels banned by Swan; old files of the Nation and New Republic and such copies as he had been able to get of Walt Trowbridge's Lance for Democracy; had removed them and hidden them inside an old horsehair sofa in the upper hall.

"I told you there was nothing," said Staubmeyer, after the search. "Let's go."

Said Shad, "Huh! I know this house, Ensign. I used to work here— had the privilege of putting up those storm windows you can see there, and of getting bawled out right here in this room. You won't remember those times, Doc—when I used to mow your lawn, too, and you used to be so snotty!" Staubmeyer blushed. "You bet. I know my way around, and there's a lot of fool books downstairs in the sittin' room."

Indeed in that apartment variously called the drawing room, the living room, the sittin' room, the Parlor and once, even, by a spinster who thought editors were romantic, the studio, there were two or three hundred volumes, mostly in "standard sets." Shad glumly stared at them, the while he rubbed the faded Brussels carpet with his spurs. He was worried. He had to find something seditious!

He pointed at Doremus's dearest treasure, the thirty-four-volume extra-illustrated edition of Dickens which had been his father's, and his father's only insane extravagance. Shad demanded of Staubmeyer, "That guy Dickens—didn't he do a lot of complaining about conditions—about schools and the police and everything?"

Staubmeyer protested, "Yes, but Shad—but, Captain Ledue, that was a hundred years ago—"

"Makes no difference. Dead skunk stinks worse 'n a live one."

Doremus cried, "Yes, but not for a hundred years! Besides—"

The M.M.'s, obeying Shad's gesture, were already yanking the volumes of Dickens from the shelves, dropping them on the floor, covers cracking. Doremus seized an M.M.'s arm; from the door Sissy shrieked. Shad lumbered up to him, enormous red fist at Doremus's nose, growling, "Want to get the daylights beaten out of you now... instead of later?"

Doremus and Sissy, side by side on a couch, watched the books thrown in a heap. He grasped her hand, muttering to her, "Hush— hush!" Oh, Sissy was a pretty girl, and young, but a pretty girl schoolteacher had been attacked, her clothes stripped off, and been left in the snow just south of town, two nights ago.

Doremus could not have stayed away from the book-burning. It was like seeing for the last time the face of a dead friend.

Kindling, excelsior, and spruce logs had been heaped on the thin snow on the Green. (Tomorrow there would be a fine patch burned in the hundred-year-old sward.) Round the pyre danced M.M.'s schoolboys, students from the rather ratty business college on Elm Street, and unknown farm lads, seizing books from the pile guarded by the broadly cheerful Shad and skimming them into the flames. Doremus saw his Martin Chuzzlewit fly into air and land on the burning lid of an ancient commode. It lay there open to a Phiz drawing of Sairey Gamp, which withered instantly. As a small boy he had always laughed over that drawing.

He saw the old rector, Mr. Falck, squeezing his hands together. When Doremus touched his shoulder, Mr. Falck mourned, "They took away my Urn Burial, my Imitatio Christi. I don't know why, I don't know why! And they're burning them there!"

Who owned them, Doremus did not know, nor why they had been seized, but he saw Alice in Wonderland and Omar Khayyám and Shelley and The Man Who Was Thursday and A Farewell to Arms all burning together, to the greater glory of the Dictator and the greater enlightenment of his people.

The fire was almost over when Karl Pascal pushed up to Shad Ledue and shouted, "I hear you stinkers—I've been out driving a guy, and I hear you raided my room and took off my books while I was away!"

"You bet we did, Comrade!"

"And you're burning them—burning my—"

"Oh no, Comrade! Not burning 'em. Worth too blame much, Comrade." Shad laughed very much. "They're at the police station. We've just been waiting for you. It was awful nice to find all your little Communist books. Here! Take him along!"

So Karl Pascal was the first prisoner to go from Fort Beulah to the Trianon Concentration Camp—no; that's wrong; the second. The first, so inconspicuous that one almost forgets him, was an ordinary fellow, an electrician who had never so much as spoken of politics. Brayden, his name was. A Minute Man who stood well with Shad and Staubmeyer wanted Brayden's job. Brayden went to concentration camp. Brayden was flogged when he declared, under Shad's questioning, that he knew nothing about any plots against the Chief. Brayden died, alone in a dark cell, before January.

An English globe-trotter who gave up two weeks of December to a thorough study of "conditions" in America, wrote to his London paper, and later said on the wireless for the B.B.C.: "After a thorough glance at America I find that, far from there being any discontent with the Corpo administration among the people, they have never been so happy and so resolutely set on making a Brave New World. I asked a very prominent Hebrew banker about the assertions that his people were being oppressed, and he assured me, 'When we hear about such silly rumors, we are highly amused.'"