#what little girl hasn’t had that moment of ’oh. i’m too much. i won’t be accepted as the person i really am.’

[femvaylin]

I’m gonna start screaming I love Vaylin so much I can’t breathe

[the-doomed-witch]

SHOWER THOUGHTS

Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader (no pronouns used)

Summary: Wanda just kinda ✨punishing✨ you

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: 18+ ONLY; MINORS+MEN DNI. not proof read. masturbation, exhibitionism but like in private?, top!wanda, degradation, kind of praise?, shower sex, heavy orgasm control, vibrators, oral (r receiving), fingering (both), etc etc you get all that. this is smutty

Author’s Note: well anyways hi i randomly had a ✨thot✨ about the shower thing, hope you like it ;)) besides, wanda with nipple piercings 🤤

(gif credits to creator)

MASTERLIST // NAVIGATION // REQUESTS CLOSED

— ✦ —

The absence of Wanda was frustrating. Whenever she was off to work related trips, she always left with you begging for more. “Don’t touch yourself when mommy is away, okay baby?” she says, every single time before she leaves. And you nod like an obedient pup. So you are used to it all.

But it was different this time, she’d been gone for too long a trip. The heat between your thighs has been throbbing for days now. And today, it’s time for her to return.

Unfortunately for you, her flight has been delayed, and she’s gonna take a few more hours to arrive. You, a fully frustrated and wild driven person, had to wait another 6 hours for Wanda to come and take care of you.

It can’t be hard, a bit of dry humping here and there at every given instance should work for a few hours. Except it clearly doesn’t.

You do your everyday tasks, trying to distract the tingling sensation underneath. Fuck, it’s hard to even walk around in the supermarket. You go back home and lay down on the bed, try to sleep, and whatnot.

You estimate about 2 hours before Wanda reaches home, so your hands instinctively reach the belt around your waist, unlocking the buckle. The pants go down, and along goes the black lace you specifically picked out for the day.

Gently goes first finger in, then goes the second. Insert a third one, and you’re panting heavily. It’s not even close to the magic of Wanda’s hands. Wanda’s hands. Oh. You daydream of her fingering you instead of yourself. Soft, little moans and pants.

“Guess who hasn’t been a good girl for mommy.” you suddenly hear a familiar voice and freeze in your actions, fingers still deep inside of you. A part of you is overly excited to see her after more than a week, the other part is scared of all the things she would be doing to you just because of this.

“M-mommy I was so tired. I’m so sorry.”

“We’ll get to that later. But first, let me see how you fuck your dumb self honey. Move your fingers, show mommy what she’s taught you.”

You shift your position in bed to give her a better view of it all, legs spreading wider and wider. The wet sloshing sounds fill the bedroom when you thrust your fingers in and out of the pussy, as Wanda enjoys the show.

As your moans grow louder, she grabs your wrist and holds it in place. The sudden loss of pace made you shudder from head to toe. “Mommy!” you scream out loudly.

“What? You thought you could come despite not following my orders? You thought mommy wouldn’t punish you? What a whore.”

Her hand reaches your neck, holding you in place as she climbs on the top. Slowly, she bends down and captures your lips in a deep kiss. She then pulls away and caresses your forehead with her other hand, whispering, “I missed you, detka, so much. Care to take a shower with me? I could really use a hot shower today.” With a strained voice, you mumble a yes.

— ✦ —

She pulled your wet naked body against hers, behind you. Taking the handheld shower in her hands, she held it against your throbbing cunt. It felt fucking good, but the pressure was shaking your entire body.

“Tell mommy you’re sorry for touching the pussy that belongs to her.”

“I’m s-o-sorry, mommy. I promise I won’t do this again.”

“Say it again.” So you repeat it. “Tell me that this pussy belongs to me and me only.” The pressure of the water had left you incapable of speech. You pause for a moment and stutter, “Th-” Before any other word comes out of your mouth, she sets it to full speed. God.

“Say it, bitch. Or do you want me to punish you?” she pinches your right nipple hard and you let out an animalistic moan. Your back arches, as you keep a grip on the tiled bathroom wall and the fogged glass on the other side to stop yourself from falling down. “This p-pussy is all y-yours, mommy. N-no one else’s.”

“Good.” she speaks in a sultry voice against your earlobe. Her right hand is completely focused on ruining your cunt with just a hand shower, and the other is gripping your body. You can feel her wet tits behind you, along with their piercings.

She moves your slick hair out of her way and starts leaving bite marks all over your shoulders, collarbone, neck, and back. With each bite, you let out more and more shrieks. It all comes down to you asking permission to come, and her denying it.

She places the shower back and you arch at the loss of all the friction. “Let mommy play a little more.” she says, and you submit once again.

Throughout the steamy shower, besides relaxing herself, her hands glided along your whole body. She would grab your breasts, chin, waist, neck. Occasionally, she inserted a digit inside of you, and pulled out immediately. You would take it all just as she wanted, sometimes holding her tits and nibbling on her piercings, too.

It was a pleasing torture till she brought you back inside the bedroom, wrapped in a towel.

Wanda tells you to lay down on the bed. So you do, and spread yourself all over, finally excited for her to get rid of the burning sensation you’ve been feeling down there. She rummages through a drawer, searching for a nice toy for her to use.

Back to the bed, she brings a vibrator. “Aw honey, look at you, so needy that your legs are so apart. Why don’t you have some patience? Let mommy take care. I’m gonna tie your hands now, okay?” and here you nod like a pup yet again.

She ties your hands behind you, and makes you sit up. She sits opposite to you, and turns on the toy. Finally, you think, it’s the moment. She licks its head seductively till it’s drenching in her saliva before she places it on her own folds. “M-mommy-”

“Not now baby, mommy wants a good time for herself. You can watch her come, and maybe get to taste it if you’re good.”

Wanda’s moans are heavy, as she tortures her clit with the toy. Her legs tremble, trying to close in but she keeps them apart for you to see. The second you moan at the sight of her, she comes hard, making a mess on the bed.

She shifts her body, and rubs all of her cunt against yours till you are covered in her juices. Your now oversensitive body gives in and you come against her. She pulls you into a deep intense kiss as you both grind against each other. Drops of sweat roll down her face as she tries hard not to break eye contact with you.

Her hands grab the vibrator again, and she places it between the two of you. As if drinking your screams down, she holds you in for a kiss for longer than you could keep it. You come again, and when her fingers find their way in, you do it once again.

— ✦ —

“Mommy please. No more… hurts.”

“One small taste would do, baby? Can I taste you once again? Just a lick, I promise.”

“Mmhmm”

She goes down, and tastes your messy cunt, humming as she eats you out. You twitch at her nibbling on your folds. Your hands grab her auburn hair to pull her head away, but your thighs close in on her. You release yourself undone all over her face yet again. She gets back up, placing her lips against your lips softly, letting her tongue give you a taste of yourself.

She doesn’t stop soon, but when she does, your entire body is quivering and so is hers.

“Fuck Wanda, that was so… so fucking hot.”

“Oh Y/N… you don’t know how fucking needy I’ve been for as long as I’ve been away. I needed you so bad-” Looking at her state, she hasn’t clearly finished yet. You begin pumping your fingers in and out of her rapidly. Her head rises up as her chest contracts and expands with her puffs. She repeats, “Oh goodness- so bad.”

Her lips once again clash against your in a sloppy kiss, she’d been obviously desperate but hesitated to show it, unlike you.

“Wans, I love you so much. I’ll be a good girl next time, I promise.”

“Oh malyshka, you are a good girl to me. You’re my good girl.”

[moonstruckme]

Hey!! I’ve spent most of my day catching up on my reading goal for the year, on your blog. I love your writing!! I wanted to know if you could write something poly!marauders where the reader comes home from work early due to chronic pain (winter weather sucks sometimes), and the boys take care of them? Pls add your own spin however you see fit! Hope your day is going well! :)

And happy holidays!

Thanks so much lovely, you're too sweet <3

modern au

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“Breathe, angel,” James reminds you, eyeing you worriedly as he sinks into downward dog. “Deep breaths.” 

“I’m breathing,” you sigh, following him down. The movement, the stress it puts on your legs and back, aches, but you feel better than you had when you’d come home. 

You weren’t expecting James to be here (he typically likes to get out of the house on his days off, too energetic and cabin-fever-prone to stay in) but he hasn’t let you have even a moment of peace since you’d come in the door, unannounced and several hours from the end of your workday. He’d first tried to get you to go on a walk, but the frigid weather outside is what had doomed you in the first place so he’d settled for pulling up a short, low-intensity yoga video on his laptop. 

A small part of you resents him for it, just a little. The smarter part of you is grateful. 

“Just a bit longer,” James says, likely sensing your growing discontent. “After this we can get you a warm bath. Or a massage, if you like.” 

You hum a weary thanks. Either of those sound great, but a nap would be spectacular. You want to evanesce. Sink into a sleep beyond pain. 

The serene voice on James’ laptop guides you into a cat-cow pose, but you’re only starting your first cat when you hear the click of the door opening. You turn to James in confusion. He won’t quite look at you. 

You recognize the loud clunking sound of Sirius kicking off his shoes a moment before he comes into view. 

“Ooh, yoga.” He’s smiling, but there’s a watchful quality to his gaze as he drapes himself across the sofa. “Mind an audience?” 

You shoot James an accusatory look. “Why’d you call him?” 

“Excuse me,” Sirius says, reclaiming your attention. “Do you not want me here?” 

You give up on the yoga, sitting on your mat. “I don’t want you to have to leave work,” you say quietly. 

Sirius tsks, sliding off the couch and moving closer to you. “I couldn’t have been productive while I was worried about you anyways. Figured I’d save my boss the money.” His smile slips, a tiny pucker appearing between his brows. “You alright for a hug?” 

You answer by opening your arms, and he gathers you up. He doesn’t squeeze the way he normally might, hands careful on your back, but it’s still nice. 

“How bad is it?” he asks, turning his face to mush the words lovingly into the side of your head. 

“Not bad,” you murmur. 

“I’d say it’s pretty bad,” James contends gently, “if you had to come home from work.” 

You turn your head to look at him, offering a sheepish shrug. “The yoga helped some.” 

James’ smile is lopsided, eyes flickering with relief behind his glasses. Sirius isn’t so easily convinced, loosening his grip on you so he can see your face. Despite how used to it you should be, it’s still an effort not to shrink under that gaze. You’re not sure what he’s looking for, if he finds it or he doesn’t, but a few moments later Sirius’ hands slide up to your face. He kisses the skin next to your nose lightly. 

“Let me make you some tea, sweet girl,” he says, standing. “You’ve had pain meds already, yeah?” 

You hum that you have, and James says after him, “Not the chamomile, it’ll just make her sleepy.” 

You try not to sulk as Sirius calls back, “I’m not new here, Potter.” 

James is trying to get you back into the yoga when the door opens a second time. If you hadn’t gotten there by process of elimination, the soft, considerate footfalls would have let you know who it was. 

“Oh, hi,” Remus says when he finds you and James already waiting for him. Pity softens his expression as his eyes fall on you. “How are you, dove? Is the yoga helping?”

“It was,” James grouses, though his little smile lets you both know he’s only teasing. He extends his arms out in front of him, beckoning with his hands. “Come here, give us a hug. She got to go first last time.” 

Remus doesn’t put up any argument. James stands as he comes forward, weaving one arm over Remus’ shoulders and the other under. 

“I am ailing,” you point out. When Remus angles his head on James’ shoulder to give you a concerned look, you add softly, “Not terribly, though.” 

Remus chuckles, pushing a spindly hand slowly up and down James’ spine. The other cups the back of his boyfriend’s head, sinking into his plush nap of curls. “I think you’ve worried him down to the bone,” he observes. 

There’s a noncommittal hum, followed by a muffled smacking sound as James kisses Remus’ shoulder. 

“Have you considered that I’m just soaking up all the hug I can get?” 

“Nefarious,” Remus murmurs lovingly. 

“I leave the room for two seconds, and of course a lovefest commences.” Sirius strides in with a steaming cup of tea. “It should be outlawed. I feel swindled and scorned.” 

“You got to go first,” James argues, but Remus extricates himself from his hold anyway, folding a leg under himself to sit on the couch. 

“Irrelevant.” Sirius sets your tea down on the coffee tables, using his free hand to wave James off. “Do either of you want tea?” 

“No thank you,” Remus says while James shakes his head. “You didn’t give her chamomile, did you? Because that will only—”

“No,” you all say, you rather mopily. 

You scoot towards the table and reach for your tea. Sirius settles into the couch, leaning his back against Remus’ side. 

“Alright,” James relents, shutting his laptop, “we can call it quits on the yoga. We were basically at the end of the video anyway.” His big hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing gently. “Want one of us to get a bath ready for you, lovie?” 

A whole new ache starts up, right in the center of your chest. You set your tea back on the coffee table, too hot to drink, and lean your head on James’ shoulder. Your throat clogs slightly. So, so sweet to you. A bath does sound nice, but you’re not sure you can commit to it. That’s at least a half hour between you and sleep. 

“Thank you,” you say, making sure he hears the sincerity in the words, “but I think I just want to go to bed.” 

James’ sigh is so soft you think you’re not meant to hear it. “It’s a bit early for that yet,” he says, thumb swiping back and forth on your shoulder. “How about a massage?” 

“I’m tired,” you complain, and you try not to whine but a bit of it comes through anyway.  

“I know, love,” Remus says, leaning his elbows onto his knees so that his face is nearly level with yours, “but if you nap now you won’t be able to sleep tonight, and then you’ll be tired all over again tomorrow.” He reaches across the coffee table, the tips of his fingers brushing yours. “This is to help you, I promise.” 

You let your little sigh fan cool air over your tea, raising it again to your lips as you nod. 

“Go for the massage,” Sirius says. He raises his eyebrows at you, grinning like he’s letting you in on some sort of secret. “Trust me, babe. Jamie missed his calling with that one. Hands of an angel.”

You look over, and James is grinning so hugely you wonder if his ears pop. “Alright, fine.” He shrugs, feigning reluctance. “After I’m done with her, you can have next turn.”

[heartaces]

𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 SHADOWHEART EDITION ⟶ part two / part one

“some sacrifices just aren’t worth it.” 

“we’re on our own… though i suppose we’re used to it by now.” 

“seems you’re determined to put our mutual trust to the test. pity.”

“what? now you’re resorting to threats?” 

“the more i find, the more curious i get.” 

“quite the gossip, aren’t you? wouldn’t have thought you cared.” 

“i’ll keep a spot for you. it’ll be just like old times.” 

“that’s a bigger fight than we needed to pick. not the subtlestest of assassins, aren’t you?” 

“you’re lucky i managed to catch up with you when i did. we’re both lucky, in fact.” 

“first they take her friends, then they steal her face? some people just don’t understand boundaries.” 

“you’re lucky i’m feeling kind.” 

“you are adorable, though perhaps a little inattentive.”

“most of the things you say still sound like you’re in a two-copper paperback read by little girls.”

“i won’t pretend the thought hasn’t crossed my mind once or twice. or… more than that.” 

“perhaps happiness lies elsewhere for both of us.” 

“we’re in this together, but i’ll happily go it alone. my faith will keep me company.” 

“i’m sorry, for - creeping up on you with a dagger. it won’t happen again.” 

“i don’t think i’ve ever had a confident quite like you.”

“now that you have the truth, please don’t make a big fuss about it.” 

“you couldn’t resist the allure of the shadows? i don’t blame you. it’s the only power that truly counts.” 

“you did what was best for you. don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“i’m sure someone will write a romantic ballad about this one day. hopefully not a tragic one.” 

“perhaps i’m a better liar than you then.” 

“that’s no ordinary darkness. it feels powerful… and familiar.”

“i have everything i need to make new memories.” 

“considering all we’ve been through, i think i was very lucky to find such favorable company. and attractive company too, no less.” 

“we did what we had to do. and by that i mean - never bring up the subject again.” 

“i’ll never be able to fill the place by my side where you should be standing. and i’ll never forget you. not a single moment.”

“i’m afraid my gratitude is all i have to offer. and a kiss, of course.” 

“i’m just waiting for you to get really desperate before naming my price.” 

“that silver tongue of yours is dangerous - bravo.” 

“honestly, what did you think was going to happen? you’d develop a taste for it?” 

“i suppose that goes to demonstrate just how desperate we are.” 

“worse things have been shoved in your face lately.” 

“i trust you more than most, but i’m sorry, that’s too much to ask. that’s my responsibility.” 

“most would consider us enemies, not friends.” 

“i don’t need your tough love. i need to be left alone.”

“i like her. she looks like she could throw me over her shoulders and carry me to safety. should, uh, the need arises.” 

“if i wanted a tail, i’d kill a cat.”

“oh, don’t pout. you walked right into that.” 

“it’s good to know you’re not entirely without a sense of humor.” 

“careful, in future - you can’t just stick your hand in every strange hole you come across.” 

[mattyriddlegf]

The Stupid Closet (18)

Hello! Happy Sunday release day, I’m so sorry it’s late!!

I want to dedicate this chapter to Maggie Smith who passed earlier this week. Professor McGonagall, we’ll miss you so much <3

Enjoy!!

—————-

You walk out together, walking down the hall, “you know I never thought you’d be so sappy” you mention casually.

“Well you’ve never seen me in love.” He looks to the side to glance at you, “and I’m not that sappy.” He adds.

“Yes you totally are!” You chuckle, watching him try to deny it.

“I’ve turned soft haven’t I?” He asks, throwing his head back as he walks.

You stop walking and he notices, him stopping too and looking at you, “you haven’t turned soft” you mutter out.

You look up into his eyes, him looking back and forth and between your eyes and your lips.

He pulls you in and kisses you gently.

You pull away after a moment, “how much do you want to bet that Pansy is drunk off her ass right now?”

“I know better than to take that bet.” Mattheo tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear before Draco turns the corner and spots you.

Mattheo clenches his jaw, “what do you want Malfoy?”

“Lovely that I ran into you guys but I wasn’t looking for you.” Draco says sarcastically.

Mattheo rolls his eyes before Malfoy continues, “I’m looking for Theo. When we got back earlier, he seemed off and then he left.”

“What do you mean he left?” Mattheo asks.

“I mean he’s gone. He hasn’t come back to celebrate.” Draco responds before continuing, “I’m gonna check the prefect's bathroom, he’s stolen my keys before.”

Draco takes off in that direction. You turn to Mattheo and speak up, “I wonder where he is…doesn’t seem like him to skip out on a quidditch win party.”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine…” Mattheo trails off looking at the ground.

You grab his chin and lift it up so he looks at him, “I’m sorry he won’t talk to you. You don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Mattheo shrugs it off.

He avoids your eyes as you look at him sympathetically until it hits you.

“I know where he is.” You say.

“How?” He asks.

“He told me this story about you two when we were together and he said it’s where you two became friends.���

“The clock tower.” It finally dawns on Mattheo before you two take off in that direction, holding hands.

When you turn the corner and see the clock tower, Theo is sitting underneath it, on a stair step.

Theo lifts his head up when he hears your shoes on the concrete, shaking his head and scoffing.

“Unbelievable.”

“What happened Theo? Why’d you leave the party?” You speak up softly.

“What happened? What happened was I saw you guys break off from the group. I saw you guys go in that potions closet.”

You let out a breath as Mattheo lets out a soft, sarcastic laugh.

“Theo…” you start.

“No, no, no. I don’t want to hear it. I’m tired of pretending to be okay about this.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his legs.

“I’m sorry.” You say softly.

“Why did you even date me? Hm? Was it because I’d sleep with you?”

“I-“

“I didn’t know you were that desperate.”

“Theo, shut the fuck up man.” Mattheo speaks up.

“Oh that’s rich coming from you. I always defended you when you drank every day and slept with a different girl every chance you got but you still had to take mine. My girl.” Theo stands up, heated.

Mattheo clenches his jaw before taking a step forward, stopping him with your arm.

“Look Theo. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I fucked up and put you through that. You can hate and ignore me for the rest of your life for all I care but you have to stop taking it out on Mattheo. He didn’t…” you look to Mattheo before looking back and continuing, “he tried to stay away and I pushed him. It wasn’t until he told me he loved me that-“

“He loves you?” Theo asks. He turns his gaze to Mattheo, “you love her?”

Mattheo blinks, avoiding eye contact with Theo.

“I could’ve loved you.” Theo says quietly, staring at you.

“I know.” You respond with little breath to spare.

“Despite what you might think, I don’t sleep around. I don’t date just anyone. You meant something to me.” He explains, almost like he’s pleading.

“You meant something to me too. I didn’t want to hurt you. You have to believe me.” You return the sentiment, pleading your case.

You maintain eye contact with each other for a moment before Theo speaks up, “you could’ve come talk to me.” His eyes shift to Mattheo.

Mattheo steps forward, standing beside you now, “I didn’t know how to. You were my best friend and I didn’t know what to say or do that sounded okay.”

“Are.” Theo responds.

“Are?” Mattheo asks, confused.

“You said I was your best friend. I still am.” Theo smiles softly, showing just a tiny bit of remorse.

Matthew looks down at the ground, trying to hide his relief.

“Theo I really hope you forgive me. Eventually, at least, I don’t want us to hate each other.” You say softly.

“I don’t hate you. I just…” he lets out a breath, “I need time.”

“Sure. I can do that.” You smile gently as you back away, holding Mattheo’s hand, “we’ll see you back in the common room, right?”

“Yeah I’ll catch up in a bit.” Theo responds.

You smile one more time, relieved that you had this talk. While it was uncomfortable, it was needed.

You back away with Mattheo and turn the corner before letting out a breath.

You look at Mattheo and place your hand on his cheek, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He responds before cupping your jawline, kissing you passionately.

“Hey maybe not here” you mention to him, implying that Theo was still close by.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t help myself.” Mattheo smirks as he rubs his thumb across your cheek, still cupping your face. “Hey, I’m gonna stay for a bit, you ok going back alone?”

“Sure. I’ll see you later.” You smile and start to walk away. After you get down to the end of the hall, you see Mattheo turning back towards the clock tower.

You walk back to the Slytherin house, very content with how today has turned out.

When you arrive back, the celebration is still in full swing. Draco walks back shortly after you out of breath, “I couldn’t find him.”

“D, we took care of it.”

“What?” He asks, squinting his eyes.

“Mattheo’s with him right now. It's all good.”

“You mean to tell me I’ve been running around the castle for the last 15 minutes trying to find him for no reason?”

“Sounds like it.” Blaise speaks up, laughing as he takes a sip of his drink.

‘I’m sorry’ you mouth to Draco as he rolls his eyes and walks up to his dorm, leaving the party behind. Typical Malfoy meltdown.

Theo and Mattheo walk in together, still talking. Blaise looks over to you and you smirk before he looks back and engages in their conversation.

Everything seemed ok. Finally, for the first time this year, everybody you cared about was in a good place.

You go over and link your arm in Mattheo’s, your hand on his back, his arm around your waist.

The celebration seemed to go on forever but you didn’t mind, eventually it was just your group of friends and a few others lingering down in the common room before you all decided to finally go to sleep.

You and Mattheo reach your dorm door. He connects his lips with yours, slowly. After a moment he pulls away, “Thank you.”

You smile softly and place your hand on his jaw, him placing his hand on top of yours.

“Goodnight Matty.” You say quietly.

“Goodnight my love.” He pecks you on the lips one more time before lightly squeezing your hand and walking away, back to his own dorm.

You open your dorm door and walk in. You lightly close the door behind you and take a deep breath.

Everything was ok.

Tag list: @helendeath @mayamonroem @princessluvssleep @hatakemrs @feistyfox47

@malydiavsss @shadybutter @swamp-box @iamdnb

[unicyclehippo]

ooo maybe perhaps imodna “28. …as a lie.”? love love love your writing style. no worries if this isn’t the vibe! I’m sure anything you write will be phenomenal

‘do you know what your problem is?’ delilah says oh so casually. laudna is busy folding the laundry (lalala!) and her hands keep moving and smoothing each shirt and sock and her magic drips over holes in imogen’s socks and her head turns so she is looking right at imogen with a perfect replica of her smile, over-wide, borderline painful, like all the love in her hurts a little getting out (because? because she has too much of it? because if it doesn’t hurt it’s not love?) but there’s a glint in the gem at her throat and a glint in laudna’s pretty eyes and it could be sunlight but it’s not.

‘you,’ imogen says, like she’s bored. would she buy that, though? can delilah tell how electric she’s gotten? she definitely can. laudna’s eyes go wide and hungry and hot, dragging down imogen’s arms; it feels wrong, like when she was young again and couldn’t get men’s thoughts out of her head (damn the things i’d do to that girl).

‘don’t be nasty,’ delilah laughs, throaty. ‘i’m giving you advice. you should be thanking me.’

‘i’ll thank you to get the fuck out of laudna’s head.’

delilah pulls laudna away from the laundry long enough to wave a dismissive hand. ‘nonsense. she wants me here.’

it sounds true, is the problem. but she’s a liar. imogen shouldn’t be talking to her. it’s early and she wants to be asleep in bed but laudna wanted to wash their clothes properly, the magic didn’t clean things right, it had to be done properly and now she’s folded their small clothes into a bag and delilah is smiling at her like she belongs, like laudna’s just a dress to slip on slip into. and laudna wants her there. does she?

‘your problem, imogen—may i call you that? your problem is a lack of planning. ambition, too. you’re very powerful but what good is power without direction?’ delilah lingers on her scars. the red glow at her fingertips. she licks her lips, or laudna does (lalala).

‘shut up.’

‘you won’t get what you want by hoping. and certainly not by praying these days. why don’t you—‘ she walks laudna’s fingers across the tabletop, across the back of imogen’s hand. vile woman. ‘put all that power to good use? what are you afraid of?’

a city block levelled with a scream. the world gone hot and white, burning away. everyone’s minds open before her like toy chests for her to paw through.

‘are you done?’

delilah sighs. when she speaks again, she’s lost the purr; she sounds more like herself, more like laudna has recently. matter-of-fact. brittle sharp. ‘i’m trying to help you, girl.’

imogen wants to kill her again. laudna’s face doesn’t look like her face anymore; it looks like skull, muscles, skin. eyes. ‘i. don’t. want. your. help.’

‘you’ve scared yourself into standing still. can’t go forward, too afraid of the power. can’t go back because you won’t give up what you’ve gained,’ delilah laughs. ‘you may hate me, dear, but you must know that you’re just like me?’ her hand touches imogen’s cheek, thumb wandering laudna’s favourite line over her cheek, freckle to freckle. it feels like laudna, which is to say, imogen has lost again. ‘she’ll do anything for you. she’s such a sweet girl. and so much more willing to comply now that she has something to lose.’

‘you’re sick.’

delilah tilts her head. a maybe, a yes, a what does that make you? a which one of us hasn’t pulled away?

‘you should ask her what happened to the willmaster,’ delilah suggests. ‘what she did alone in that little hole you all carry when no one was watching. when you do, ask yourself,’ delilah sighs against her cheek, so sweetly, laudna’s breath morning mint fresh. ‘what else is she hiding from you? what else has she given me?’

delilah touches the side of her neck and then—then she’s gone and laudna says ‘oh’ and ‘imogen?’ and ‘i think i…might have lost a moment there, darling,’ and ‘are you alright?’

imogen leans into the hand on her cheek, the thumb that jumps from freckle to freckle. she curls a lightning-warmed hand around the back of laudna’s neck and kisses her, very gently.

‘yeah, honey. all good. you done with the laundry?’

[muav99]

GAMER BOY Drabble🎮 🤭

Boyfriend felix, felix x reader, switch reader, teasing, soft dom felix, PinV

(Unedited)

Its a Monday night and Felix is finally off work!

You want just one night to spend with your man. But of course, he’s playing a video game with the boys. Probably Genshin if you had to guess.

All you want is attention and all his attention is on winning the game

But you have a cliche but smart plan obviously

Step 1. See what he’s up to

You open the door to your room and he’s sitting there in the dark with his little blue light on playing Genshin.

“My cute little nerd” you think.

“Hey baby whatcha doin?” You ask walking over to him

He peeks his head up from the monitor and smiles

“Hey baby just playing with the boys i’ll be done soon kay?” He says sweetly pecking you on the lips

“Mhm” you reply

Step 2. See what he’s paying attention to

Again cliche but you’re pretty sure it’ll work.

You have this gorgeous night dress thats real short, pink satin, lace flower bodice, open back. Its his and your favorite.

You put it on open the door again

You walk over to him pecking him on the cheek and then go to rest on the couch behind him

He turns around for a brief moment and smiles but goes back to the game

“He’s completely oblivious” you think and huff quietly to yourself

You play on your phone kind of watching him for a bit in hopes of a realization or even a glance from your boy. But nothing. He hasn’t even looked your way.

Fine. Now its time for phase 3

Step 3. Get down and dirty

You walk over to felix and he pushes his headphones to the side of his head

“Hey gorgeous I’m almost done I promise I…”

You start rubbing your hands all over his shoulders and exposed neck. Tracing your fingers on his upper half. Doe eyes in full effect

“I…..um….Im almost done baby I swear” he pleads quietly

You ignore him of course

He puts his headphones attempting to stay focused on the game

He can try but it won’t last

You move his chair backwards a bit and find a comfortable spot on his lap

He wraps his arms around you and continues playing with his head on your shoulder

“You wanna play too y/n?” He looks at you with a cocked brow

“Yeah sure!” you say innocently

He begins to teach you the controls and showing you the ropes

No playing the game isn’t your plan. Playing with him is.

You slightly bounce on him “excited about the game”

His breath hitches slightly but motivates you to keep playing

“You’re…….a natural babe” he says softly

“Thank you” you spin around to face him as an excuse to roll your hips

He may not be saying it but he’s paying attention now. You can feel it. Literally.

Poor guy is throbbing and hard under you

Time for more, he’s gotta give in soon

You adjust yourself frequently acting uncomfortable and you apologize frequently, being so sorry you aren’t finding the right spot to sit

At this point he knows what you’re doing.

The game is completely out of his mind now, and he’s fully focused on how you feel.

He grips your hips with his hands and squeeze harshly

You gasp slightly trying to keep up with the game

“You seem distracted you ok babe?” He asks you speaking breathily in your ear

No. He will not turn this on you. You’re too bratty for that.

“I think im gunna win felix” you say looking back at him

“Oh yeah?…”

“Yeah” you reply rocking your hips back and forth and side to side

His face collapses in your neck absolutely gone. He cant take it anymore. Its too much. He needs you now.

“You’re such a naughty girl you know that?” He groans into your ear voice dropping

You whimper

He lifts your skimpy night dress and pulls your panties to the side.

“Stand up” he tells you demanding

Oh he’s serious now. Oops

You stand up and watch as he pulls his boxers and sweats down to his knees

Now this. Is the attention you wanted.

“Are you just going to stare or are you going to sit?” He asks staring into your soul with his dark lusty brown eyes

“Oh so now you’re talking to me again thats nice” you chuckle

He grabs you by the waist and pulls you to him

“You got what you wanted hmm?” He remarks

“I did” you peck him on the lips and turn around

He lines himself up with you and slowly eases you down on him

You’re slowly easing down taking him inch by inch

“God ur so fucking wet” he cries

You moan finally fully sitting on his lap

His hands grab on to your thighs and squeeze tight

“Move” he begs

You start moving up and down and up and down. His hands controlling your hips now

You both moan in pleasure

He whimpers loudly leaning into the crook of your neck. His hips thrusting up for more

“You feel so good baby” he moans deeply in your ear

“I’ll…..pay more…..attention to….you im….sorry…”

“Im…..sorry I teased…..you” you cry out hitting your high

“Felix more” you scream

You both are circling and thrusting into each other hitting that one spot

The sound of the leather chair squeaking for the whole house to hear

He reaches down and rubs on your clit and he bites his teeth down on your neck

“Felix FELIX” you scream reaching your O

loud screaming, skin slapping, what a show this would be

He squeezes your breasts and you both finish

You both pant trying to catch your breath as you pull out of him

“That……was so hot” felix says looking at you running his fingers through his sweaty hair

You chuckle

He stands up “you know I love you y/n, i’ll make time for both okay?” He kisses you on the forehead

You smile

“Lets get all cleaned up now hm?” He suggests grabbing your hand

“Felix wait” you say covering your mouth with your hand

“What??” He asks worried and puts his hands on your shoulders

“I think you left the mic on”……

Hehe hope you enjoyed!!! I wrote this on the airplane lmao I was beyond bored ❤️

[beastofburdenxo]

Raising Catherine chapter 3

Catherine has turned 18, and things are getting complicated. MINORS DNI 2k words

tags: masturbation, Voyeurism (Tommy is literally a peeping Tom), use of alcohol, possible non con if you squint.

It was Catherine’s 18th birthday. Tommy decided to take her on a picnic like they did when she was little to celebrate. Just the two of them. It was a nice sunny day out as he laid out the blanket and she took the sandwiches and other snacks out of the basket. “Happy birthday, love,” proclaimed Tommy as he pulled a little box out of his pocket, “A little something for my not so little girl.” Catherine opened the box to find a little ruby pendant in the shape of a heart, with a petite gold chain. “Oh Tommy,” Catherine cried out, “You shouldn’t have! It's beautiful!” He took it to help put it around her neck. “Thank you so much I love it!” Tommy kissed her forehead, “You’re welcome sweetheart, every woman should have at least one good piece of jewelry, eh? I saw it in the store window, and I just knew it belonged around your neck.” Catherine was so giddy about her new gift, and it brought joy to Tommy to see her like that. He loved making her happy, regardless of if others thought that he was giving her special treatment. He thought that she deserved it, after all, he made a promise, didn’t he?  

“Oh, won’t be long now and you’ll be leaving me behind, eh?” Tommy joked. Deep down he knew that one day she would, and that brought him deep sadness. “Oh, stop it Tommy, I'm just now 18. You act like you’re some ancient old man just withering away!” Tommy laughed, “Well dear I am pushing 40, sometimes I feel older than that.” “Well, you don’t look it,” Catherine replied, “Who knows, you might get married off before I do! You might just be leaving me!” Tommy was married years ago, before she came into the picture, but his wife suddenly died. He doesn’t speak of her much, but paintings of her are all over the house. “I’m sorry Tommy,” Catherine finally realized what she said after a moment of silence, “I know it’s a sore subject for you. Forget I said it.” Tommy gave her shoulder a soft nudge, “It’s okay, love. Being married feels like a lifetime ago. I’ll always love her, but I know she would want me to be happy with someone and marry again if I so choose. I'm not against it, it just hasn’t happened. Besides, why on earth would I marry and leave my girl behind, eh? You are stuck with me I’m afraid.”  

A comfortable silence follows as they begin to dig into their food. “Would I make a good wife, Tommy?” Catherine suddenly asks. Tommy almost chokes on his sandwich, “Y-Y-Yes you would,” he manages to sputter out, “You are smart, funny, talented, respectful.... And quite the beautiful woman.” Catherine turns away at this, as she doesn’t want him to see how flushed her face is at his compliments, “Any man would be lucky to have you, love. Why? Is there someone in mind?” Tommy asks lightly, not wanting to let on that his blood is boiling. He isn’t ready for her to marry off. “No, I was just wondering.” Tommy puts on a small smile at this, “Don’t worry too much about it, love, you have plenty of time for all that. Focus on your schooling, you are almost done. Top of your class, eh? My smart girl?” Catherine throws a grape at him; he dodges it with a laugh. “Plenty of time,” he thinks to himself, “Plenty of time, relax Tom. No need to take your gun out again. Relax. She is still yours.” After the picnic, there is more celebrating to be had at the Garrison. Arthur snuck Catherine a shot of whiskey, “Just between us, yeah? Tommy would have me shot if he found out.” With a wink. Polly baked a beautiful cake, and everyone had a great time.  

That night at home, after a few more drinks snuck under the table, Catherine made her way to Tommy’s bedroom. He was still up, sitting in bed with his usual paperwork. “There’s the birthday girl,” he exclaimed, “Did you have fun today?” Trying her very best to walk right, she made her way closer to him. “I-I-I did, Tommy,” she managed to get out, the whiskey was starting to get to her head. “Can I sleep with you tonight? Pleeeease?” Tommy raised his eyebrows at this, “Now Cathy dear, you aren’t 12 anymore, it’s inappropriate to share a bed with me now. You are grown, what if the maids find out? What then, hmm?” Sitting on the bed to keep from falling over you chuckle, “Who cares? If they tell you can just fire them, right?” Tommy swats her with his papers, “Catherine Michelle, you know better! What has gotten into you?” Coming closer to her he smells it, “Have you been drinking?! Damn it, Arthur!” This causes her to fall over with a case of giggles. Tommy takes off his glasses with a sigh, “Alright, get in. Only because you’ll probably be sick in the morning.” Catherine clumsily makes her way under the covers. “Go straight to sleep now. I've got a busy day tomorrow. And from now on you will sleep in your bed!” Catherine curls up next to Tommy, trying her best to hold back her laughter, “Well of course Mr. Shelby sir.” Tommy just rolls his eyes with a smile, “Good night, Cathy, I love you.” “I love you too Tommy, no good night kiss?” Catherine cackles. “Oh, for God sakes, go to sleep!” 

It was a long night for Tommy. The whiskey put Catherine right out, but he just couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop looking at her, she looked like a little angel next to him. He knows that he fussed at her, but deep down he wouldn’t care if she slept with him every night. And she was right about the maids, they could easily be fired. He loved having her next to him, even in an innocent way like this. Things could easily be not so innocent; he could just reach over and take her at any time. But he showed restraint. She deserved better than him, even though at the same time he wanted no one else to have her. Let's just say things have gotten complicated since she’s gotten older. He decides to get up before the restraint wears off and try and do some work. At his desk, thoughts of her in his bed keep running through his mind. Catherine lying there in a little silk nightie, beckoning him to her. Him sliding the straps gently off her shoulders as she steps out of it for him. Gliding his hands over every inch of her body. Her smiling at him as she undoes his pants for him.... “Stop it,” he thinks to himself, “Just stop it, Tom. It's wrong to think like this.” But it’s too late, his body has reacted to his little fantasy. His erection out and proud, demanding attention. From Catherine specifically.  

“Just go over there and take her,” a little voice demands, “She is pretty much yours; you’ve scared every other man in town. Give her what you know she wants from you!” While arguing with the voices in his head, he is oblivious to the fact that he squeezed his pen so hard it burst. Ink is all over his hands, and his paperwork. He notices his hands and throws the pen across the room in frustration. “Tommy...” A little voice comes in the doorway, “I woke up and you were gone.” Catherine walks into his office rubbing her eyes. Tommy scoots his chair up just in time to hide his problem. “Sorry love couldn’t sleep. Thought I'd do some work and made a mess instead.” Holding up his dirty hands, “Do you care to go get me a wet rag sweetheart? Before it dries.” In the time it took catherine (still half drunk) to get a rag and come back, Tommy managed to calm himself down. It's a good thing too, because when she made it back, she pulled his chair back and plopped down on his lap. She grabbed his big hands and proceeded to try and wipe the ink off. “I’ve got it, go back to sleep love.” He told her to try to get her away in case of another surprise appearance, but she wouldn’t hear of it. “It’s alright, I've got it. You’ll wind up getting ink everywhere.” She looked so cute on his lap, drunk and sleepy while still trying to concentrate on his hands. “You’ve got something else for her to concentrate on, eh Tom?” the voice teased, making him tense up. He lightly pushes her off his lap, heart racing. “Go on to sleep Cathy, it’s late now, eh? You need to sleep the rest of that whiskey off.” She stands shakily, putting the rag down on his desk. “Tuck me in?” she asks, her eyes big and sweet. Tommy can’t take much more of this. “Go. Now.” he points sternly across the hall, “Don’t make me carry you like a sack of potatoes.” This causes Catherine to pout, but she leaves like he asked. But, not without mumbling, “You are mean Mr. Shelby.”  

Many hours later, or what seemed like it, Tommy decided to try and sleep again. His hands are still slightly gray from the faded ink, he assumes he’ll have to wear the rest of it off. Reaching the doorway, he sees Catherine lying in his bed, moonlight coming from the window making her glow. She is breathing heavily, at first, he thinks she’s in the middle of a drunken nightmare. Then he hears it, A soft whimper coming from her lips. He can’t see one hand, but he sees the other squeezing her breast. She is neither asleep nor having a nightmare. She is masturbating. In his bed. He stands frozen, watching her. Catherine’s big eyes are closed in pleasure as her hips start to rock. Tommy doesn’t know what to do. Does he ignore her? Help her? Leave? With all honesty he wants to watch her, especially since they are now alone in the house. The maids left hours ago. He is afraid that she will eventually notice his shadow looming in the doorway, so he sneaks into his own bedroom. Her eyes are still closed, back softly arching exposing her hard nipples through her gown to him. He grabs the cover while she is still at work, and slowly pulls it off her. Her pale legs spread in the moonlight for him. He moves to the corner farthest from her, hand now in his pants at the sight of her.  

Tommy can hear just how wet she is in the silent room. He is fascinated by every sweet sound she makes. She is just so pretty. Just for him. He times his own strokes with hers, biting his lip to stay quiet and hidden from her in the dark. “Tommy...” Catherine whispers, “Tommy...” Hearing this causes Tommy’s eyes to roll back as he silently comes all over his hand. She was touching herself to the thought of him. She was for sure his now. In a moment of pure bliss, she cries his name one last time as she comes all over his sheets. Her whole body was shaking. Tommy can’t take it anymore; he must go to her. He fixes himself and goes to bed, taking her in his arms. “Shhh, Shhh,” he coos in Catherine’s ear, “That’s it, I'm here now.” He rubs her back as she comes down. “My angel, thinking of me, eh? Such a good girl. I love you so much.” Catherine is still quite drunk and doesn’t realize that he watched the whole show. “I love you too, Tommy. Will you tuck me in now?” With a chuckle he replies, “Yes sweetheart, but let me clean your hands first.” He goes to get a warm wet rag and now it’s his turn to clean her up. He puts the cover back on the bed and puts her underneath it. Catherine scoots over for him, and he sits right on the wet spot she made. He lies in it with a smile. Knowing that she is his just as much as he is hers. She just may not remember it tomorrow.  

[hayleythesugarbowl]

Hey, would you consider writing headcanons for Thomas Barrow if he had a teen sister reader? Similar to the being friends with one. Maybe about their home lives before Thomas was employed at Downton, their relationship, when Thomas went to war, and if (when old enough) sister reader joins her brother at works at Downton.

Also, loved the Thomas Barrow series! It was so sweet and very well written 😁

Would really appreciate it! Don’t worry if not! Xx

thomas barrow & teen!sister!reader headcanons

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • thomas barrow masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

a/n: thank you so much for this request!! thomas is actually my roman empire and I love writing for him. I’m currently in s2 in my rewatch and I’m in love with him all over again. anyways I’m so glad you liked my thomas series that makes me so happy and i hope you enjoy this too <3 also I don’t usually add cuts for my headcanons but these ended up being rather long so read them after the cut !! 🍒💋

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

being thomas’s teen sister would include…

ok so…

thomas definitely read to you when you were to little to read on your own

he once scared you so much that you were sure you were going to get eaten by the monster in the wardrobe 

and he had to sleep with you in your room for a week after that

as you got older he became so freaking protective of you 

he would take the blame for your mistakes

and secretly pass you all his desserts

he would tell you everything that he wouldn’t tell anyone else

like how he wasn’t interested in any of the girls in your village

when he went off to work at downtown you cried for days 

and he looked away as he left so you couldn’t tell that so did he

he would write to you every week 

so much so that—

“fancy that, thomas has a sweetheart”

“well there’d be a first, no he’s writing to that sister he’s so fond of”

“oh leave off, o’brien, i can write to whoever i like”

he would try to hide his troubles from you in his letters but you could always tell that something was the matter

when you got the news that he had to go to war, you couldn’t eat or sleep for weeks not knowing what was happening to him 

and amongst his prayers to live every night he prayed you were safe at home 

when he was taken off the front lines and sent to be a medic at the hospital you were so relieved that you convinced your parents to let you go visit him

you gave him the biggest hug of his life and he didn’t let you go

when you became old enough and expressed your interest thomas got you a job at downton as a maid

he probably got some other maid fired in order to do it but we just won’t talk about that 

anyways once you got there he made it his job to teach you everything you’d need to know 

and make sure you were taken care of

all of the other servants loved you from the moment they met you

mostly because thomas is a different person when you’re around 

“i’m sure thomas’ll find some way to scheme his way out of it and make me look like the fool”

“not anymore, he’s gone soft now hasn’t he? what with that sister of his around. rubs off on him, i reckon”

you become close friends with Anna 

and, when she begins working there, Baxter, who you’ve known since you were a kid

you two definitely complain about and tease Thomas much to his dismay

he’s totally walked in on you telling a story about him from childhood and had to endure teasing for weeks 

“…and his britches just ripped right down the center.”

he always, after much pestering on your part, confides in you about everything 

(jimmy, his job, richard, guy) 

and values your ‘young, bright opinions’

you made him mittens once and he wears them whenever he can 

even though they ‘itch like the devil’

one time one of the footmen showed interest in you and thomas went full older brother mode on him 

and you assured him you you didn’t need his protection 

until he jilted you and you let thomas give him a piece of his mind and hold you while you cried 

you read the papers together and you love hearing his commentary on everything going on in the world

if something’s bothering you he’ll get it out of you one way or another 

“go on, (y/n), you can tell your brother thomas”

and he actually gives really good advice

he recognizes how he doesn’t know how he’d go on without you sometimes

and how even when no one was there for him you were 

thomas just cares for you so much 

and (even though he’d never admit it) loves you more than anyone or anything else in this world 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this!! have a lovely day babes <3🩰🪐

[unecoccinellenoire]

33+50, gabenath? I love these fics so much, whenever I see one no matter what it's about I get excited to read it because of how much I love your writing. Keep up the great work <3

"Alright sir," Nathalie pushes her chair away from her desk, reaching for her phone, "That's-"

“You done for the day.” He keeps his eyes firmly on his screen. He won’t betray his weakness to her. “I’m aware. You don’t have to keep announcing how delighted you are to be away from me.”

“I was just being polite sir. Letting you know I wouldn’t be around for anything else you needed.”

He can’t help looking up as he scoffs. “Oh come off it Nathalie. You haven’t ‘just been polite’ to me ever since you decided you hated me.”

Her hand frozen above her phone since his interruption moves back to her side and she straightens up. “I wouldn’t describe it as decided to. Personally if we were going to use the word decided then I’d call it the time when you decided to disappoint me more than I ever thought you’d were able to do.”

Anger surges up his throat like acid, and were it any softer his grip on his stylus would break it. “You don’t have to stay you know.”

“You know why I stay,” her voice is quiet but firm and this time she picks up her phone and puts it in her pocket as if she plans to leave.

“Because you don’t trust me with my son. Or to understand that I failed. That I lost. That the only reason I’m not infamous right now is because some teenage girl thinks she loves my son. And that I’m stupid enough to try again.”

“That’s not the only stupid thing I worry about you doing?”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe you should think about it,” she pushes her chair in with a final movement and turns and-

“Nathalie,” he doesn’t know when he reached out for her but there his hand is extended in front of him, the stylus on the floor.

She’s stopped, frowning, she almost looks worried though he won’t delude himself it’s for him.

“We need talk,” he says.

She inhales, then, “alright.”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid.” He pauses, but she doesn’t take the obvious bait and somewhat gratified he continues, “and you know Adrien will tell Ladybug if I do anything to him.”

“I don’t actually.”

Her tone is light, but he can hear the strain hiding behind. He’s not good at recognising emotions. Not without his Miraculous. Maybe not even with his Miraculous. But Emilie had used to do thatback when she was getting sicker and sicker. She’d done it enough times to burn that fake unconcern into his eardrums, and so he can recognise it now.

“Oh for-“

“I’m not blaming you actually. Or- I guess I am, but I’m to blame too and Emilie. Adrien,” she sighs, “Adrien doesn’t really know how things should be. Or when something goes past the awkwardness that would be expected in these circumstances to-“

“Adrien wants to move out.”

Her eyes widen, just a little, for a moment. “Adrien’s 15.”

“I’m aware,” he grits out, “but as he points out I was willing to send him to London. And on a world tour.”

“I was supposed to be with him on that.”

“If I don’t let him go he’ll run.”

Nathalie presses her lips together. “Where’s he want to go?”

“Where do you think,” he scoffs, “his lady’s.”

“That seems…unwise. I thought they were still on the outs.”

“Apparently they’ve made up,” then it hits him, “he hasn’t said any of this to you?”

Odd that. For Adrien to tell him and not Nathalie.

“I know my and Adrien’s relationship must seem undamaged to you,” Nathalie says, “but that’s because we had months to make up while you were, er-“

“Dead?”

Her nods tightly. “So. I was still Mayura. I countermanded you but I didn’t give him the rings. I don’t know that he truly trusts me yet. But then, I might be overthinking it.”

“How so?”

“Adrien doesn’t like disappointing people. He might not have told me because he knows I’d disapprove. And because he doesn’t want the argument. Easier to get you to present it as a fait accompli, and after all you are his father. If you’ve signed off on it then…”

Gabriel marvels, “I never thought Adrien was that sly.”

“He was Chat Noir beneath our noses all that time.” Her shoulder shifts in what could almost be a shrug, “and like I said, a lot of it is him being non-confrontational I think.”

“Chat Noir is plenty confrontational.”

“He’s finds it easier behind a mask. He’s like you that way.”

Something in her presumption making that comparison like she knows him grates at him, makes him want to get under her skin too, to prove she doesn’t know him as well as she thinks.

“I don’t think I was that different as Gabriel or Monarch near the end.”

“No.” And her lips purse again, “You weren’t.”

He draws his hands behind his back, reminded as he is every time he does it of his bare ring finger, “the thing is Nathalie, with Adrien leaving there’s no need for you to stay. You can go.”

She cocks her head, “are you threatening to fire me?”

“Threatening you? I’m giving you an out. I know you hate me. I know you want nothing more than never see me again. That- to you that mistake I made for unforgivable. And I’m telling you that you can go. That I’m not going to do anything stupid. I know I’m beaten, and soon Adrien is going to be out of my reach. You can leave Nathalie. Go back to your old profession and-“

“Stop!”

“What?”

Her shoulders rise and fall and then she strides over to him, “Gabriel Agreste, do you think I can just go back to my old work? When I’ve been your personal assistant for years and years and what I did was illegal before that, and-“

“Alright,” it’s his turn to interrupt her because he is so so tired of hearing this, “I ruined your life just like I ruined Emilie’s and I’ve ruined Adrien’s. I get it. I’m a terrible person. I’m so unlovable my son wishes I wasn’t his father, my one time best friend only stays because she feels she has to guard me as atonement or something, and my wife would hate me if she could see me. I get it. And I don’t need you here reinforcing that every day and making us both miserable when- mumph!”

Her hand on his mouth abruptly stops his speech.

Despite the fact they’re still her human aquamarine it feels like he’s looking into Mayura’s eyes not Nathalie’s. There’s an intensity to them that freezes him like a gorgon making it impossible to fight back.

Not that Nathalie probably wouldn’t win anyway despite his greater reach. He knows she still trains, relishing that she’s healthy enough to do so again.

“Gabriel Agreste.” She hisses out his name, “you are an idiot.”

He’s about to lick her hand in retaliation for that when-

“How dare you care yourself unloveable to my face when I’ve loved you for years?!”

His lips part in shock against her hand and she pulls it away again looking ready for a fight despite her confession.

“But you hate me?”

Nathalie looks frankly unimpressed. He can’t blame her, he hadn’t meant to say something that sounded that unintelligent.

“Love can’t just be extinguished in one moment. Not that you didn’t give it a good try afterwards, but then,” he sees the movement of her throat as she swallows and, “you died. And you know it wouldn’t have hurt so much when you failed me if I hadn’t loved you so much in the first place. But you know that much. I suppose that now you don’t have your Miraculous-”

“I didn’t actually.”

“What?”

“Know.”

“But- your Miraculous.”

“I didn’t realise it was love,” he pinches at the bridge of his nose, “we know that Miraculous didn’t suit me. Or maybe I was deluding myself. But- you still…”

She nods tightly.

“Ah.”

“Quite.” Nathalie says, “So maybe you’re right. Maybe I should go.”

“I-“ can’t let you leave now you’ve just said that, but he can’t say he loves her back either- not yet anyway,“if you think that’s best.”

“What I think best is for Adrien not to move in with the family of the teenage girlfriend he still wasn’t worked out all his issues we. So. Yes, I’ll move out. But I’m taking him with me.”

That’s- “that’s a much better plan. Yes, find somewhere suitable for the two of you and I’ll pay.”

“You don’t-“

“He’s my son.”

“Alright.” She relaxes, “I’m not sure about the job. I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone.”

“I told you. I won’t do anything stupid.”

“And will you talk to anyone about anything that isn’t work?”

He can feel his shoulders slump. “I suppose you have me there. But then we haven’t spoken about anything but work or Adrien since I came back either.”

“No. We haven’t. I guess I have been punishing you.”

“It worked.”

“It’s doesn’t feel as satisfying as I expected.”

“You know,” he muses, “there’d have to be a transition, you couldn’t just leave your job immediately.”

“That’s true.”

“That’s time for me to do better. If you can think of anyone who’d want to be around me.”

“Harry’s always been pretty forgiving of your moods.”

“That’s true. And perhaps there’s someone else who might like to spend some time with me socially. Once she’s no longer working for and living with me.”

For once the amusement “Me?”

“You don’t have to. But perhaps we could go out for dinner? Visit a museum and you can explain everything to me?”

Her lips curve up, “that sounds like a date.”

“It was meant to.”

“You’re sure?”

“I am. ”

“Then- yes.

[blorbologist]

Trick or treat! Veth!! 💛

Treat! Had this in mind for a few days - though it's mostly Veth/Yeza modern AU fluff <3

--

“Honey?” 

“Yeah?!” Veth hollers, bagging the sandwich and fruit slices and maybe a couple chocolates and neatly crimpling the bag shut. Sure, their apartment is right above his shop, so he could just make himself something in the kitchen… but she likes giving him a hand-packed lunch. It’s the little things. Especially today, when he has a meeting with those pharmaceutical bigshots. Her heart swells with pride - her Yeza, her smart man. 

Yeza rounds the corner, still in his nightshirt, with one of the button-downs she hasn’t seen in a while thrown over his arm. “I - oh, thank you -” Even years later, he loses his train of thought when he sees her sometimes. Just has to pause and plant a kiss to her temple. She’s the luckiest woman in the fucking world for every moment she can make this genius speechless. 

Still. There was something like worry in his tone, and he can’t be worried now of all times. She won’t let that be. “What is it, Yeza?”

“Oh! Yes.” He presents the shirt to her, pointing out a missing button, the threads sticking out like splinters or shards of bone. (Veth has to blink that away.) “Do you know if we have any spares? I know these things usually come with one or two, but I didn’t want to mess up your collection. Or steal from it.”

“Stealing’s fine.” Veth dismisses it with a wave of her hand. “Besides! You wouldn’t find it there anyways.”

Yeza blinks. “Oh.” And then, “Oh. Why?”

How, he asks, because he’s her husband and he knows her. He knows that she has thousands of buttons - big ones, little ones, rare antiques, modern takes, the whole shabang. She’s taken them from blouses and pants, labcoats and purses, craft sections and trash cans, even well-dressed fucking teddies. Thoudands - a pretty fucking great collection, and one she’s proud of.

He knows, and he knows she’d never pass up on a button. Not even the most bland and boring and beat-up ones. (Those were a little too much like a little girl forgotten in the back of every family picture, and she treasures those most. Well. Almost most.)

Point is. Veth? Not having a button she had easy access to in her collection? Definitely cause to ask why.

So Veth pulls out her necklaces. 

It’s all buttons, of course. And she’s pretty sure Yeza is vaguely familiar with the mess of them, if not the individual dimes and moons and eyes of color.

She points to one - kinda squished behind two big flat ones - and pries it into the light with her nails. And then she pulls the necklace over her head, the familiar clatter some sort of protest.

“I kept it here,” she says, already fiddling around for her knife - well, some people would call it a dagger. “Not to be weird or anything. Just - all the ones from your shirts. Or Luc’s. They’re just spares, right? And I figure, if I have them on me, part of you is with me. Always.”

That always hangs between them, heavy. The buttons move in her hands. Click-clack. She gets to finding the right thread to cut the one Yeza needs loose. “Anyways! It’s silly. And means that if you need them, I have them here. Here:”

There it is. She angles her knife to cut the beige button loose. The needle and thread should be in - which drawer was it -

Yeza’s hand is on hers. Gentle, but firmly easing the blade’s edge away from the button.

“Always,” he echoes. Clears his throat. “Actually - you keep it. I’m sure there’s another fancy shirt I could wear.”

“Are you sure?” Veth asks, oddly shrill. Not sure why. “Sure? Because - Luc didn’t do the laundry last, night, and -”

He squeezes her hand, runs a thumb over her knuckles. His eyes are creased so perfectly, shiny (the best, crisp black buttons) behind his glasses.

“I’m sure, honey.”

Yeza eases the necklace back over Veth’s head, smoothing the buttons among their kin on her chest. And then he’s rushing off for another shirt, yelping when Veth slaps him on the ass as he scrambles past.

🎃Trick or Treat! Send me an ask and you'll get a trick (angst) or treat (fluff) ficlet in return! 🎃

[autumntouched]

I’m still coming up for air but wrote a little something if you’re interested…

Meet Celeste Elena Seresin-Trace

Natasha startles awake, unsure when she drifted off. The house is more quiet than it’s been since she and Jake brought Celeste home. Her mom and Gabby must be out, leaving the new little family alone.

Jake sits with Celeste cradled in his lap, her head supported tenderly in his large, capable hands. His leave is so short that he’s not wanted to miss a moment of the exhausting cycle of diaper changes and feeding and hours spent staring at the tiny, sleeping being they created, treasuring every shift, scrunch, and wrinkle of her delicate features. She already has Natasha’s darker hair (oh the heartburn!), but her eyes have yet to settle. Jake would have to pry it from her, but she hopes Cici ends up with his green eyes. Spending so much time taking care of the baby also means he hasn’t shaved since the day they went to the hospital, and Natasha is fully appreciating the rare shadow of facial hair on her husband.

He doesn’t seem to notice she’s awake just yet, and Natasha keeps her eyelids lowered to listen to the soft conversation he keeps up with their daughter. “Don’t tell your Mama, Cici, but you might be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met. Of course, she’s neck and neck with you because I’m one lucky guy.”

Celeste’s tiny arms jerk in response to his words. It will be several weeks before her smile is more than a muscle reflex, but Jake insists that she smiles the most at him.

They’d had several first names picked out for her, although Jake was adamant from early on that he loved Natasha’s middle name and wanted to pass it on to their daughter. Elena means “light” and that’s what his two girls are in his life. He’s probably figured it out by now, but Natasha can’t resist Jake when his sweet, sentimentality slips past his cocky guard.

Celeste is perhaps a little on the nose for a girl with pilots for parents, but they both liked how pretty it sounded and how the vowels of her full name sailed so smoothly along the tongue. Natasha still chokes up remembering Jake murmuring it to her while he cradled her to his bare chest in the hospital, his hands then still slightly awkward as he adjusted to holding so tiny a person. Having a baby has turned both of them into saps.

“Whoa there, Ci,” he yelps quietly when Celeste jerks. “Strong as Mama already. No one’s going to mess with you, are they? And don’t worry, Daddy won’t let them.”

God help whoever dares mess with their little girl, Natasha thinks. Especially if she has Jake’s wit and penchant for verbal annihilation. They’re going to get a pair of tongue lashings they might never forget. Or recover from. The thought makes her huff a laugh, and both Jake and Cici look over at her at the same time.

Cover blown, Natasha fully opens her eyes. “I am not bailing you out for harassing a four year old at daycare,” she capitulates.

Celeste’s mouth opens and closes now that she knows Natasha’s awake, and Jake reluctantly relinquishes her to be fed. They learned quickly that their daughter will give them a short grace period to notice she’s hungry before she unleashes a full blown, bleating scream for food.

“I would never harass a child,” Jake scoffs. “Just have a firm conversation.” He helps her adjust the pillow to support Celeste while she eats. Natasha has only enough attention to spare to give him a skeptical look as Cici becomes more impatient about being fed. The defensiveness melts from his face, and he brushes her damp hair from her forehead to place a tender kiss there.

Natasha feels pretty lucky too.

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Surrogate: A Malevolent Podcast Fanfic

The King in Yellow has a plan.

The first part works, and Arthur Lester is broken.

The second half blows up in his face. John has gone mad, and Hastur’s adopted daughter is upset, but that’s not all.

It turns out a certain Outer God wasn’t done watching that show, and when he arrives with director’s notes, not even the King in Yellow can refuse him.

AO3

----

This fic is fluffy AND dark?

I took the Emotions Box and dumped the whole thing in without a hint of self-restraint.

CONTENT WARNING: It includes one of John and Arthur’s absolute lowest points, and though not explicit, he suffers from suicidal ideation. He does not act on it, but it’s there.

Proceed with caution.

-----------

Faroe is a year and a half old, and she must sit on his lap to reach the keys of the piano.

She plays a low F sharp.

“Yes! Now… here. This comes next.” He plays the next few notes an octave above middle C, high and sparkling.

His voice is deep, and it is terrible, but she is not afraid.

She giggles, and—slowly—mimics it, two octaves lower. F sharp, G, F sharp, D—and after a trepidatious moment, the final F sharp.

“Very good! I’m so proud of you. My smart little girl. You’re so good. Who’s my little girl?”

A giggle, such a tiny sound, like her throat hasn’t even finished developing, and she is simply too young to be self-conscious. “Dadah.”

She’s playing the low notes. He’s playing the high ones. Is there meaning to this? Some hidden portent?

No. It simply happened that way, and he does not know if he should try to find reason in it.

She is remarkable. “Such a good girl. I’m very proud of you, Faroe.”

“Love you, dadah.”

#

Faroe is two years old, and trying to sing.

She has a range of about six notes (fitting for her developmental stage—he’s checked), but she hits them with an accuracy unusual for her age.

It’s not precise, of course. She skips from note to note as lightly as a hummingbird between flowers, never firmly landing on any, but brushing close enough to share the sweetness.

“Faroe, my darling. Such a good girl.”

“I love you, daddy.”

Maybe the fucking human was right not to have let go of this.

She truly is remarkable. Continually surprising in her cleverness, and her ridiculous humor, and her effusive love.

Regardless, her skills and self change nothing.

Faroe’s specialness only emphasizes how much Arthur Lester deserves what’s coming.

#

Faroe is two and a half, and who could have guessed how she’d take to the harp?

Confining her to one instrument was such a human thing to do, and he hadn’t even considered it. At his prompting, she tries them all.

Wind instruments, she doesn’t care for.

Percussion, she enjoys while inventing uncoordinated dances, but does not like to play.

Brass is much the same as wind.

Piano is all right. She shows talent, but no joy.

But string—oh, string.

Anything with strings, she loves, and embraces, and becomes in some sweet way he cannot define, but must be human magic: her small, clumsy movements going smooth, her tiny, pudgy fingers caressing with grace far beyond her years.

She would have absolutely been considered a prodigy among the short-sighted humans. She will be so much more than that now.

Curious, that he finds himself making plans for her beyond the end of this plan. If all goes as originally conceived, she won’t even be alive to—

“Daddy, look,” she says, and catches the harp strings with each succeeding finger as easily as she breathes, tiny digits curling to pull sound toward herself like muses gather dreams.

Remarkable.

If her father was anything like this, perhaps he could understand the Piece’s... reluctance.

But of course, no. He had seen into Arthur Lester, down to his core, and found him only distasteful.

“Daddy?”

“You’re doing so well, my darling. I’m very pleased with you.”

Her smile carries a weight he’d never imagined. For him, she plays some more, an uncomplicated and unsullied worship, given freely with no expectation of remittance.

She checks as she does to make sure he is watching, and it is in this brief, mortal moment that Hastur realizes he’s fallen in love.

#

This was not the plan.

He watches her play among his dancers, those sharp and terrible creations—watches her bound without fear between them because she has never been hurt, never known pain beyond the negligible bump or scrape.

That is according to plan.

She is healthy and lovely, and absorbing knowledge at a rate his study has shown him is unusual for humans, even at her developmental stage.

That, too, is according to plan.

But he no longer wishes to finish the plan as intended.

Is this what the Piece went through? This… illogical abandonment of principle and pride?

Perhaps.

Though he still could not see why. Faroe was worth some flexibility. Arthur was not. What a disgusting creature for the Piece to have latched—

“Daddy, are you watching?” she calls, darting between sharp and stone-hard dancers, who would be dangerous for anyone who had not grown up among them.

“Always, my dear,” he says, and it is true.

So the plan must change.

The result could still be the same.

He is a god, and absolutely has the right to change his mind.

#

Faroe is three years old, and the timing could not be more perfect.

He's been leaving clues for Arthur over the past year, burning hints, plastering Arthur’s life with reminders of what he’d lost and what he’d done.

An unending stream of them, merciless, too subtle to dismiss.

And with constant pressure, there’d formed a crack in that ugly human psyche.

Seemingly nothing. Left alone, it would heal.

Unless one applied a wedge just so, and then hit.

It was crucial to act before she grew much older, before she became too self-aware to demand penance from strangers. Crucial to act when she still lacked the ability to analyze, to question (beyond the endlessly-repeated “Why?” which he had decided was more to hold his attention than to gather knowledge).

Crucial, to do this before she could develop too much empathy. The Piece’s human was nothing if not pitiful, and he would not risk the plan going sour over that.

“We have guests. I need you on your best behavior, darling. Will you make me proud?” he says to her, unbothered by her wriggles, by her curiosity, by her constant personal quest to see if she can climb out of his tentacles (she cannot).

“Yes, daddy!” she agrees, which has to be enough.

They are here.

#

It wasn’t hard to bring them. A little pressure here, a few disposable cultists there, and the Piece and his thing are arrived.

The Piece is worried. Has been for a few months now, certain that something is very wrong with Arthur, but he cannot identify the cause.

They step into the dark, those two—Arthur Lester frowning at gloom he cannot see, John Doe narrating as usual.

The King has chosen a room they do not know, a place John would never recognize, because this plan has been in the works for years, this particular moment envisioned many times, and it has to be just right.

He waits until they’re too far in to turn around.

Come too far to run, to leap back through the silent, slowly closing door.

Too far to do anything but receive.

“Hello, Arthur,” says the King in Yellow, and steps forward in a bloom of light like the heavens opened to augur him.

It is everything he wanted and more.

Arthur’s horror—delayed, because Hastur chose the right day, and Arthur’s sanity is already trembling and painful.

The Piece’s rage—immediate and tinged with terror, because he knows that this setup will have no flaws, errors, or ways to escape.

Arthur tries to shoot him.

Cute.

“Now, is that necessary? I merely want to talk,” says the King in Yellow, and extends his reach to simply take the gun from him.

He might have broken Arthur’s hand. Well, humans are fragile.

The screaming is annoying, though, because it catches her attention.

“What’s wrong with that man?” she says, her voice quavering in the way it does when she’s becoming upset.

And Arthur hears her.

The gasp, the freeze. Beautiful.

“This is a bad man,” says the King in Yellow. “There he is, do you see him? He is very bad. What do we do when we have been bad, Faroe?”

He uses her name on purpose.

That isn’t enough, though. That isn’t nails in the proverbial coffin.

Not that it's a coffin he’s going for. This is a wedge, designed to split.

“What?” says Arthur in a tiny, weak voice.

The Piece has, to the King’s pleasure, gone silent in shock.

Good. That will make this even easier.

“We say sorry,” says Faroe, dutifully, the mental exercise pulling her, fortunately, away from looming empathy.

Arthur? whispers the Piece.

Hastur lets Faroe down.

Slowly. Taking his time. Ensuring the Piece sees how comfortable with him she is, how utterly at ease, because he will tell Arthur.

She… she’s… in his arms, Arthur, the Piece says, slipping by habit into describing things for the blind fool. She's not even afraid.

Yes. Perfect.

She looks… about three, maybe four? I can’t tell. Health blooms in her cheeks. She wears… his yellow, a sort of… single, wrapped uniform, comfortable and loose, along with yellow flower barrettes in her hair. Oh, Arthur—she’s coming closer.

“I can’t,” whispers Arthur, which could mean anything, and then he falls to his knees.

Just bang, right down, sure to bloom those fragile joints blue and yellow within the hour.

How many reminders did it take to bring Arthur to this place? How much effort from the King’s agents? It was all worth it, because it worked.

This is the moment.

He has sown those seeds, and now, he will harvest. “Go on, Arthur. Apologize to my little girl. That is what we do when we are bad, is it not?”

Arthur, she… The Piece runs out of words.

Regretful, that Arthur Lester is physically healthier than he was the last time they met. This might have just killed him, before. Oh, well.

“Faroe?” he whispers.

“Yes, I am,” she says, confident, not quite mature enough to read his defeated body language, his stricken face, his pallor so drained that he looks a little like blue-veined cheese.

“Go on, Arthur,” Hastur says, his pleased rumble filling the room, packing itself into the silences. “You owe her an apology.”

“Faroe,” whispers Arthur, and makes the tiniest move.

“If you touch her, you will be very sad at what happens next,” Hastur warns.

Because that is what he had planned.

Because—

Because.

He can still say it. He doesn’t have to mean it.

Arthur clenches his fists and does not touch. “Faroe?”

“Yes,” she says.

He makes one, broken-sounding sob.

“You should say sorry,” she instructs him. “Since you were bad.”

And… there.

Right there. It’s not an audible thing. It’s not visual. But oh… there it is.

Three years in the making.

More than that in the planning.

Right there, the moment of a mortal mind going snap.

Arthur? Arthur!

The Piece felt it, too.

Good. Hopefully, that would speed this along.

“Faroe,” whispers Arthur Lester. “I’m s… I’m sorry, Faroe.” His breath comes fast, shallow, and wet. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry!” He covers his face with his good hand, and he is sobbing now, if that is even the word—vocalized sounds on every exhale, high, pained—more pained than those he made with a broken leg, if Hastur remembers clearly.

Which he does.

“I’m sorry, Faroe! I’m sorry, Faroe!”

Arthur! Fuck, Arthur! Arthur!

It’s a little much for Faroe.

She doesn’t know what to do. Her distress is rising, and that’s according to plan, to the original plan, which Hastur is now struggling to follow. She’s beginning to cry a little—damned empathy, combined with confusion, maybe fear.

He can comfort her after. It’s all so close. “Now, John,” he croons, and he is chiding, gentle, firm. “You know that’s a waste of energy, don’t you?”

The Piece ignores him. Arthur! Arthur!

Faroe reaches up and pats Arthur’s face. “You said sorry. It’s okay, now. It’s okay.”

He startles badly, so badly he almost falls over, but lowers his hand.

He can’t see her. He still stares in her direction, as if caught in a wondering horror beyond imagination.

“I forgive you,” she says, because that’s what she’s been taught to do.

Then absolutely done with this overwhelming scene, she turns around and skips back to Hastur.

To her dad, even if he’s not her father.

He gathers her up, relishing her fearlessness, her familiarity, and lets her squirm through his loose tentacles like her own personal playground.

Arthur is quiet.

Kneeling still, his hands limp at his sides. His head is down.

Oh… oh, it is satisfying. Every inch as much as he’d hoped.

Arthur! Fuck, Arthur, don’t do this! Arthur!

“Are you ready to come home, John?” says Hastur, almost gently.

Silence.

He sighs. Stupid stubborn Piece.

“Daddy,” whispers Faroe, which isn’t much of a whisper. “He looks weird. He’s weird. Why is he weird?”

“Well, Faroe, he’s done a lot of bad things.” There’s no point to this if he’s not going to rub it in. “But maybe now he can do a good one. What do you think? Should he do that?”

“He should be good,” she says, thoughtfully, and then returns to wriggling through his limbs for fun.

“The good thing would be to let go, wouldn’t it?” says Hastur.

Arthur agrees.

Of course he does. He’s thinking… well.

Arthur has no plans to live much longer after this is done—but even this low, he doesn't want to drag John with him.

Hastur will grant him a single point for that.

Time for the finale. “John,” Hastur says, warm. “Come home. There will be no punishment. Come on, now. You’ve been released. Can’t you feel it?”

Arthur!

The left hand rises, feels along Arthur’s unresponsive face.

Hastur sighs. This is the only part he couldn’t fully plan out. “John. It’s time.”

No response.

Really? Really?

Maybe he didn’t understand his toy had broken. “If you stay in him, you’re going back to the Dark World.”

Finally, he gets a response: Good.

What? “Excuse me?”

Good.

The left hand slides over Arthur, as if making sure his organs have stayed inside.

Arthur hasn’t moved at all beyond breathing.

Arthur. Talk to me, Arthur.

Right. Now it was time for some nails. Hastur tickles Faroe.

She giggles—that free, wild sound only small humans seem able to produce.

Arthur slowly curls down over himself, wrapping himself tightly with his right arm, head completely down. “She’s happy?”

What? Yes, she’s happy. Arthur!

“John,” says Hastur. “I have done you the courtesy of using your… chosen name. He’s already released you. Do I need to take you? I’d hoped to spare you the indignity.”

The sound that comes from the Piece, then… isn’t right.

It’s not a sound Hastur can immediately place. It isn’t a growl (the Piece lacks the vocal cords). It isn’t a roar.

It’s some kind of… groan.

He doesn’t know how to interpret it.

Kill me! John demands. Because if you don’t…

“If I don’t… what?” says Hastur, sounding calm.

He isn’t calm.

This part isn’t in the plan. This is where the Piece should realize his vehicle is broken, and—

The left hand keeps roaming, sliding up to wipe away the constant flow of tears, even thumbing away snot (ew!).

As if care of Arthur Lester matters more than dignity.

Arthur, he whispers.

“John,” Arthur whispers. “I’m sorry.”

It was her birthday, or something today, right? the Piece says. You’ve been fucked for months, but today… you’ve been moving like you’re already made of broken glass. That’s why he picked today, isn’t it?

“She’d be… she’d be… eleven, John. I…”

I’ve got you, Arthur. The left hand cups Arthur's downturned face.

“I know.” It’s barely audible. “I’m sorry. I…  I think I’m done.”

Arthur, no. Arthur, no! Arthur!

“Excuse me,” says Hastur. “We were in the middle of a conversation.”

Fuck YOU! the Piece suddenly bellows. What have you done? How dare you? How dare you?

From within the folds comes a tiny, shocked gasp. “He said a bad word,” Faroe whispers loudly.

Oh… Hastur is so proud.

She heard the Piece! The minimal magic training he’s given her worked! She heard it!

“He said a bad word,” Faroe says, louder, because she hadn’t got the expected response.

“You’re quite correct, my darling.” Hastur shifts his limbs enough to lift her free, head popping out of writhing, black tubes. “What should he do, then?”

“Say sorry,” she says, automatically, which is even better, because now there might be a second—

John Doe laughs.

It is a… strange laugh.

Wild, unhinged, too far, like electric shocks in the guise of sound.

Instinct makes Hastur pull Faroe back into himself, hiding her between his many limbs.

Oh, go ahead, says the Piece. Go ahead, use her again. Do anything you want. It won’t matter.

“Excuse me?” Definitely not going according to plan.

The left hand slides over Arthur’s face again, his lips, his eyes. Arthur turns his head away, but the hand turns it back, gently cupping his jaw. Arthur. I’ve got you.

“I…”

I know. You’re done. Arthur… it’s all right. You have my permission.

Arthur exhales like he hadn’t breathed this whole time, and turns his face toward that hand. “Thank you.”

They just came to some weird suicide pact, right in front of him, without so much as a by-your-leave.

“So I have to just take you, then?” says Hastur, sharp.

Go ahead.

He’s too accepting of it. “You think to resist?” Hastur scoffs.

Not at all. I intend to make every deal with every demon I can find. I intend to gather every syllable of forbidden magic and cursed spell I can earn. I intend to hover and hide and hone in vengeance until to come near me is to be cut. I will destroy you for what you’ve done to him.

Well.

Right, so.

Um.

It's just a human. “Fool,” says Hastur, sounding a lot more sure than he is. “I’ll simply keep you isolated until you calm down.”

Go ahead. I can do a lot on my own, isolated, with nothing to risk.

“Nothing to risk but yourself.”

You already destroyed the part of me that matters.

This was getting ridiculous. “Then perhaps I’ll send you to the Dark World instead—apart from him, separate. He kills himself, he’s going a different path than you—you know this. And I’ll simply fetch you after a few thousand years.”

Go ahead. We both know what happens to beings who go down to death with only vengeance as their fire.

At last, Hastur growls.

He’s tried not to do that, not to frighten Faroe; he knows the sound scares her, and it does so now. She stops playing, goes still, emits a tiny, frightened gasp.

“I am not angry at you, Faroe,” he says, low. “You’re all right. Stay hidden, all right?”

“Okay, daddy,” she whispers, but she is still afraid of him.

Afraid of him because of them.

The fucking Piece. “How dare you defy me like this? You think you’re going to win anything? You think I can’t outlast you, overpower you, wear you down like a stone in the sea?”

I think you broke what was mine, and I am going to make you pay even if it takes me until the end of time.

Drama. It couldn’t be anything el-

“Okay, okay, cheese and crackers, rock and a hard place, we get it,” says a new voice, and a thing appears in the middle of the room.

That is an Outer God.

Hastur stumbles back, too shocked to think clearly, physically buffeted by the presence this thing brings.

An Outer God in the form of a human, an Outer God standing right there like the suddenness of a created sun, burning everything near.

What? How? Why?

It's wearing a suit identical to Arthur’s except rumpled, somehow giving the impression that it was out carousing until all hours.

It is barefoot, and its feet leave red, smoking prints.

Outer Gods bring chaos. Outer Gods bring death. Outer Gods bring carnage.

Faroe. Of them all, she is in most danger.

Whatever it wants here, it can have it, and Hastur does not hesitate further.

He tries to take her away.

And… he can’t.

Can’t.

He tries again, harder.

It comes with a weird zap, like his attempt to access his own power has been short-circuited, and that has never happened to Hastur before.

The Outer God has to be doing this.

Faroe. Faroe. He has to protect her.

“Well, this isn’t ideal,” says the Outer God, striding right over to Arthur and the Piece as though they’re the most interesting thing in the room—and as though the King in Yellow, the Shepherd God, doesn’t even exist.

Absurdly, Hastur is offended.

“Lemme see, lemme see. Oh, oh, there we go,” says the being in an utter mockery of tenderness, and tilts Arthur’s face up.

Arthur doesn’t respond. Whatever is in him that would have responded cracked about ten minutes ago, and he lets the Outer God do whatever, tilting his face from side to side.

Kayne, growls John, familiar, dismissive, and Hastur is completely confused.

“Well, fuck,” says Kayne. “You broke him. You fucking octopus. You broke him!”

What?

Kayne, go the fuck away if you’re not going to help me hurt him, says the Piece as though addressing this being wasn’t the maddest thing Hastur has ever seen.

It should fill the Piece with terror. What the fuck was happening?

Hastur tries to leave again.

No good.

He tries to just… put her away, to slide her into a tiny pocket dimension.

He can’t even open one.

Unfamiliar feeling is speeding his own breath now, so unfamiliar that it takes him a moment to realize what it is.

Is he dying?

No. This is fear.

Actual fear.

He keeps Faroe hidden deep in himself, as protected as he can.

Kayne—the Outer God—turns slowly to look at him.

And the unfamiliar feeling spikes.

He was wrong. This isn’t fear. This is terror. Debilitating, weakening—

“Oh, you don’t know terror yet,” says this Kayne (that can’t be his real name, the fuck kind of name is that), and turns back to the Piece and his broken toy. “See,” says Kayne. “This is why I stopped after the music box in Carcosa. Didn’t want this to happen. Well… fuck.”

John makes a low, angry noise. You want some chaos? Something to watch? I’ll give it to you! Give me the power to hurt him. Do it now.

Kayne snorts. “The effective way to do that is to kill her, fuck her up, rip her to pieces, and that’ll hurt your guy a lot more than it would him, even now.”

Hastur's breath catches.

So... his plan seems to have well and truly blown up in his face, though why it did—

“Oh, you think so, squid for brains?” says Kayne, turning to look at him again (and Hastur wishes he would not because every time he does it’s like switching out his ichor for bitterly cold helium). “You fucking cephalopod. I won't even give you the courtesy of saying cuttlefish because they are smart.”

Hastur makes one small, lost noise.

Give me the power, growls John.

“No, no, no. I was watching this. I wasn’t done.” And the Outer God begins pacing.

Released, Arthur slumps back down again.

Hastur peeks at him. Arthur is… waiting. Waiting to die. Waiting until he’s sure Faroe won’t see, hear, experience anything that might upset her, that might even give her so much as a bad dream.

Even now, at a point so low he might as well have dug it with his face, Arthur is considering Faroe’s welfare above his desperate need to just end.

Fine. It's deserving of another point, at least.

“You fuckers killed Iroh,” says Kayne, still pacing.

“What?” says Hastur.

“Four books down to three, all because of this. Ugh! I. Was. Watching. That.” And suddenly, so suddenly, so fast Hastur cannot see him move, Kayne is right there, right in front of his face, disparate heights be damned, and one of Kayne’s hands has pierced through his arms to just brush Faroe with his fingertips.

Ichor sprays.

Hastur flails, because now he has to protect her from his wounds (she’s mortal, so mortal, it would burn), because this monster has damaged him so quickly and with such ease that if he’d wanted to kill her, he could have, and Hastur wouldn’t even have been able to do anything to stop it.

Kayne starts pacing again, one arm dripping with Hastur’s black, hissing blood, leaving stains along the floor that send up rising smoke. “Right. Okay. How do we fix this, babes? What do you think? We could wipe it and do a full reboot, but I don’t wanna. That takes too long, and I really don’t have that kind of patience.”

Hastur is healing, yes. He is.

Slower than he should be.

Faroe has picked up on his terror, and she begins to cry. “Daddy?”

Oh. Oh, no. No, this is worse. This is worse than—

Kayne is right in his ear, lips brushing the cowl. “Than anything? No, we haven’t even gotten near that yet. Better not upset her. I’m not in the mood for the sound of babies screaming.”

Hastur makes one, low sound. “Faroe, it’s… I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Daddy,” she whimpers, unable to see or hear what’s going on, merely responding to his fear, his tension.

“Try harder,” Kayne, and pinches the end right off one of Hastur’s many arms.

The pain is—

Hastur is not used to pain.

He’s had pain, sure. Sometimes. Way in the past of forever, when he was still new, and pecking orders had yet to be established. More recently, when the Piece was torn away.

This isn’t pain like that.

He is surprised into a roar.

Faroe screams.

She’s three. All she knows is her daddy is upset.

He has to rein this in. Protect her. Keep her sa-

She’s gone.

“No.” Hastur bellows, searching himself. “No!”

Faroe Lester Yellow is in Kayne’s arms.

“No!” Hastur roars, and lunges.

Right into some unseen barrier he cannot pass, and it is immediately obvious she can’t hear him anymore.

She’s hyperventilating, clearly confused, staring up at Kayne.

“Well, look at you! What a big girl you are,” he says with such a warm, kind voice, with such a warm, kind smile that of course she responds, focuses on him, begins to calm, because what else would she know to do? “Hello, MacGuffin," he says.

“Hi,” she says, still tear-streaked. “I’m not MacGuffin. I’m Faroe.”

“Faroe! You sure you’re not a MacGuffin?”

And it’s perfect delivery and perfect play, and Faroe giggles, swapping emotions the way small humans can. “Nooo, I’m Faroe!”

Kayne laughs, and oh, it’s warm and sweet, and oh, his hand on her back is sharp and long and darkening and filling with terrible power. “Oooh, I get it now. Faruffin, nice to meet you!”

That gets another giggle. “I’m not a Faruffin!”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” says Kayne teases, and his long, blackened fingertips on her back have begun to glow a terrible purple that leaves afterimages.

Hastur is hurling himself against the barrier with such force that he’s completely torn out the floor, exposing pipes and bedrock.

He can’t get through.

He can’t be heard.

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

And then two things happen at once.

Do it, says John, low and virulent, tightly holding Arthur’s other arm as if to keep him from just falling apart.

That is already shocking, but the second thing is even more.

“Kayne.”

It’s barely there.

Almost inaudible.

Arthur's face is turned toward the sound of his daughter’s voice. “Please. Please don’t hurt her.”

Kayne turns to look at him.

It’s even quieter this time, like a memory of sound. “Please.”

Kayne beams. “Well, fry me for dinner and call me baloney! We may not need to go salted earth, after all. Hey, Faruffin?”

More giggling. “I’m not Faruffin.”

“Sure. Know what just happened? Your daddy fell asleep, and oh, no! He had a bad dream.”

She gasps. “Oh, no!”

“You know what bad dreams are like, don’t you?”

Faroe takes that so solemnly. “Uh-huh.”

Hastur freezes, gasping. He’s exacerbated the wounds, and ichor hisses as it drops from his limbs.

“You know what he needs?” says Kayne like he’s playing a game, keeping her attention like a bauble on a string. “He needs to get his surrogate ass in gear so he doesn’t blow his audition for his new starring role! What do you think?”

What?

Faroe is struggling with this one. “You said a bad word,” she finally says, focusing on the part she could understand.

Kayne kisses her forehead.

He does it looking Hastur in the eye.

He does it with such unblinking, unyielding warning.

Faroe sighs, wriggles. Uncomfortable. Unsure. “Put me down.”

“Is that how we ask for things?” says Kayne, holding her close, gaze locked onto Hastur. “Uncle Arthur was polite. He said please.”

“Please put me down,” she says.

“Hear that?” says Kayne. “Hastur. What do we say when we want something?”

Hastur has never said “please” in his life.

Not beyond teaching her to do it, or teaching rebellious fools to beg.

Is that what he is now? A rebellious fool? “P… Please.”

“Eh,” says Kayne, loosening his grip so she slides right onto her feet. “C plus. Go on, Faruffin—your daddy needs some love.”

She can do that. She was raised in that, overflows in that, and if she sees him like this—

Hastur manifests an illusion.

Looks normal and welcoming as she runs for him, makes no sound as he cauterizes his own wounds so he doesn’t burn her with ichor, gives no indication of pain as he cooks off the spilling of himself before it can do her harm.

“Daddy!” she pronounces, and hurls herself into his many arms. “You had a bad dream!”

“I did,” he says, sounding calm, keeping the limbs he cannot repair back and out of reach. “But everything’s okay now. I have you.”

There’s a slight tremor in his voice.

“Better,” says Kayne. “B minus. Oh, but let’s get back to the interesting part.” He turns to Arthur.

Hastur is bizarrely insulted again, even in the midst of the worst horror he’s ever known.

Kayne crouches before Arthur, touches his chin, tilts his head up. “Say it again, Arthur. What you just said.”

Why? Seeing if his blasted mind could retain anything? Just to fuck with everybody? Hastur doubts Arthur will even—

“Please don’t hurt her,” Arthur says. “Please.”

Kayne sighs.

It is such a sound, too long, weirdly pleased. “How about that? It seems all hope is not lost, gentlemen. Hulu’s bought the rights.”

Hastur’s not sure he heard that right. “What?”

“Cartoon Network got in there for a bit, but that was all, you know, fuck the Fox executives, and who wants that? Predictable. No, no, no. No.”

Kayne, John growls.

“Quiet, Snippet.”

“Please.” It’s not even a whisper. “Not her.”

Hastur never thought he’d find himself agreeing with the Piece’s disgusting human.

Kayne snorts. “You’re lucky she’s so young. Some folks love messing with children, but me? No, thanks. They just don’t… feel it all, yet. Can’t understand what’s happening to them. Lack that special flavoring that comes with knowledge of inevitable doom. I fucking hate kids. They taste like oatmeal. Without salt.”

Arthur’s eyes are still leaking. He swallows. “Kayne, please.”

“I heard you the first time. No more speaking unless spoken to.” Kayne pats his cheek, stands, and claps his hands, sharp. “Here’s what we’re going to do: miniseries.”

What are you talking about? rumbles John. I need to hurt him.

“Shush. Ya boy is almost gone, but not quite. And you know what’s going to keep him around?”

Faroe vanishes from Hastur’s arms again.

And Kayne has one hand raised, one finger up, at Hastur, who suddenly knows if he doesn’t play whatever role he’s been assigned, he won’t get her back at all.

Faroe is in Arthur’s arms.

He didn’t even move to hold her. Kayne just did that.

“Daddy!” Faroe cries in startlement, pulling away from him.

Arthur lets her go.

Kayne goes down to her eye-level, on his knees, and holds her shoulders. “Hey, now, sweetheart! Easy, there. Aren’t you a good girl?”

“Yes,” she says, and wipes her face in her sleeve.

“That man needs a friend,” says Kayne. “He doesn’t have any. Isn’t that sad?”

“But… he’s weird.”

“He is weird! Wouldn’t that make you even gooder to be a friend to someone who doesn’t have any? I bet it would make your daddy super proud.”

She looks toward Hastur with such hope of approval.

Kayne turns his head all the way around like a fucking owl and smiles at him.

It’s so much threat couched in a mortal, human face that Hastur briefly cannot breathe.

He has no choice but to go along. “That would… be good. Yes, Faroe. It’s good to be…” What does Kayne want? “Friends to the… weird man.”

“His name is Uncle Arthur,” Kayne slides her over to Arthur again, lifts Arthur’s good arm, wraps it around her.

She’s stiff, uncomfortable, but trying. She reaches up and pats his cheek. “Hi.”

Arthur loses it.

It’s ugly crying, and suddenly he’s clutching her, even with his broken right hand.

Faroe is…

She’s badly startled, fully out of her depth.

But she doesn’t cry. She wants to make her daddy proud.

Hastur is proud.

He’s also terrified.

Faroe pats Arthur on the head. “Hey,” she says. “It’s okay. Hey, guess what?” And she starts to sing.

It’s the little lullaby Hastur has sung to her since she was first recreated from dust and memories.

A lullaby he’d never taught to her, but she’s smart, and so, he did not have to.

“Sleep my baby on my bosom, Warm and cozy will it prove. Round thee father’s arms are folding, in his heart a father’s love.”

Oh…

It works. Arthur’s horrible sounds slow and quiet. His breath still hitches, but suddenly, he’s rocking her, and he’s singing, too.

“There shall no one come to harm thee. Naught shall ever break thy rest. Sleep, my darling babe in quiet; sleep on m… father’s gentle breast.”

They sound good together, horrifyingly good together, and something deep in Hastur feels like it’s twisting.

“Gross,” says Kayne, and walks toward Hastur.

He cannot move. Cannot pull back. Knows no spell that would keep him safe .

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” says Kayne, crunching over ruined floor. “You hate him.” Arthur. “He hates you.” The Piece growls in agreement. “Thanks to this shit, he also hates her.” The Piece hates Faroe? “And Arthur’s just fucked, but only mostly.”

“He said bad words,” Faroe whispers to Arthur.

Arthur makes a sound that could be a broken laugh. “He did.”

“You know what I hate?” says Kayne. “Found family. It’s all forgiving, and loving past differences, and closer than a brother, and all that shit. But you know what I don’t hate?”

Silence, apart from Arthur’s still hitching breaths.

“I axed you a question,” says Kayne, light and sweet.

“What do you not hate?” Hastur manages, unable to take his eyes from Faroe.

“Forced family.” Kayne’s smile is terrible. It is supernova. It is world-wide plague. It is extinction and the finality of galactic collapse. “Everyone grinding in misery, suffocating, unable to escape or find relief or reach consensus. Everyone desperate to get away, willing to do whatever—leap over the side and drown, marry the wicked baron, whatever—but they can’t. Hey, Faruffin! Come here. I need to say sorry.”

She kisses Arthur’s cheek, makes a face at how wet it is, then heads right for Kayne, her little sandals slapping.

Why, Hastur thinks, did he never teach her of danger? Why did he keep her so safe, always protected, unaware of and unprepared for the realities of the universe?

“Love,” says Kayne. “It makes you stupid as fuck, didn’t you know? Oh, Faroe, I did it again! I said bad words. Aren’t I just awful?”

He does it with such exaggeration, with such faux warmth, that she giggles. “You should say sorry.”

“I’m sorry. I said bad words. Do you forgive me?”

“Yes!”

“Good girl. Now, run to your daddy.”

Which was pointed.

Which hurts Arthur all over again, and he flinches as though stabbed at the quick sound of her tiny feet racing away from him and toward another.

Wasn’t this happening because Arthur had broken? What the hell did Kayne want?

Hastur gathers her up. Hides her again. Knows it’s pointless, knows he can’t protect her.

There is nothing else he can do.

“You’re all going home together!” says Kayne. “All of you!”

What? snarls John. He’s back to touching Arthur with that hand, grounding, wiping at those unceasing tears.

“A miniseries works great at about six episodes, you feel me?” says Kayne. “So I think six years is a fair amount of time.”

For what? I’d sooner explode the fucking sun than go near him.

“Uh, did you even hear a word I said?” says Kayne. “That’s the point. Six years of absolute misery with each other until I decide whether to renew… or cancel with prejudice.”

“I don’t understand,” says Hastur.

“Heh. Maybe I’ll spice it up mid-way with more forcing. I’m thinking Larson and Yellow. What do you think, Snippet?”

What the fuck? No!

“Who?” says Hastur, baffled.

“That little sliver you’re missing?" Kayne says to Hastur. "The teeniest, tiniest bit? Don’t tell me you didn’t notice—that’d just be depressing! Oh, I stuck him in a century-old psychopath. He’ll be super spicy by the time he comes on board.”

Don’t you dare!

Kayne ignores him. “Arthur’s musical. You need music shit, right? Dancers, all of that? A composer?” says Kayne.

Were they still having the same conversation?

The slice—yes, Hastur had noticed, but it had happened when the Piece disappeared, so he’d assumed…

He can’t keep up with this. “I… I have a royal composer,” says Hastur.

“Oh, you’re right! Hnnng…” Kayne pretends to strain for a moment. “Welp, now you have a royal opening.”

“What? What?” Fuck. Hastur feels it, feels the shock of his people, feels the cries he cannot hear.  Karloff is dead. “What?”

Composer? The Piece sounds furious. That’ll hurt him!

“I seem to be getting through to you people very slowly, so I’m going to dumb it down,” says Kayne. “I don’t give a fuck about the pretty little princess right now. She's no fun to play with at this age. However.”

He lets the pause stretch just enough, like sinew tightening around everyone’s hearts.

“She won’t be boring forever. And I can’t imagine what I might get up to if I don’t have something else to watch when that time comes. Get it? So Arthur has a new job making music for his arch nemesis. Snippet—you’re gonna have to fix him. I’m not invested enough to fuck around with that.”

What? says John.

“You, Hastur, my ugly little decapodiform, are going to have to make space for all of that to happen. You’re going to have to do it while Snippet over here plots your death, ‘cause he doesn’t seem the forgiving type to me.”

“Is that supposed to frighten me?” says Hastur, defaulting to a phrase he puts zero thought into because he’s so overwhelmed.

“It should. I suspect li’l Arthur’s welfare is the only thing standing between you and… well, lemme put it this way: I’m not the only one of my caliber drawn by the note John’s soul sang when you succeeded in your fucking stupid plan.”

More Outer Gods?

Hastur can’t feel them. They’re so far beyond his power, which has always felt like enough, that he can’t even tell they’re there.

He hadn’t known Kayne was there, either.

“Helpless is a good look on you! Yes. There are more. Gathering like vultures. Oh, we are all hungry for what he’s doing now—but lucky! I got here first. There are so many deals being dangled…” Kayne smacks his lips. “But mine is the only one that accounts for Arthur staying alive.”

John says nothing.

As if this is true.

As if he’s… hearing things Hastur cannot, offered only to him.

Stay with me, Arthur, he says instead, stroking Arthur’s face.

“Why?” Hastur demands, unable not to, so confused why something like Kayne would care about any of this.

“Dense! You’re nowhere near as fun as the other guy,” pronounces Kayne. “Still—you better hope John doesn’t just decide fuck it and take one of those offers. I suggest being nice to the human you loathe with all your being.”

Hastur looks at the Piece, then back. Arthur is back to limp, head down.

Hastur is repulsed.

Kayne’s not done. “And of course, if nobody does it right, she becomes the spin-off. Get it now? You want her happy and well and all that shit? You’re all going home together, one big forced family. You get to raise her together! As a village! There’ll even be days off!”

Hastur feels sick.

He can’t recall the last time he expunged, vomited, expelled.

He just might now.

Together?

He’ll have to share his daughter?

Kayne sighs, tilts his head back. “Ugh. Well. We’ll see if this is worth it. Make good, peons, I don’t have all century.”

And he’s gone.

Just gone, with no surge of power to indicate his departure, with nothing to tip anyone off whether he’s even still here.

But he must be.

What note does John’s soul sing?

I hate you, says John. This isn’t over. Not after what you did to him.

“We have bigger concerns, you fucking idiot,” says Hastur.

Tiny, from within his arms: “You said a bad word.”

Hastur trembles from curl to cowl. “I did, baby. I did. I’m sorry.”

Arthur. Did you understand what just happened now?

Hastur stares. He’s never heard his own voice so… tender.

Arthur takes a long moment to answer. “I had her. In my arms, I…”

She’s all right.

“She’s happy? Safe?”

Yes.

Arthur slumps.

But she won’t be if you… if we go.

Arthur has definitely not processed anything. “What?”

“Damn it,” Hastur mutters. Did Kayne mean it? He has to accept music from that? Arthur’s hand is broken. “Tell him to hold out his hand.”

No, says the Piece.

Hastur growls. “Karloff was obedient. Your Arthur’s going to have to learn.”

Karloff was a pompous, perverted ass, who’d sooner fuck a trumpet than compose anything of beauty.

Faroe pops out from Hastur’s arms. “Say sorry.”

John wants to hurt her.

Hastur inhales.

It is startling, frightening, sharp. John has fixated on her as the thing that broke Arthur, the wedge used to spread that crack and split him like a log.

And if she is hurt, Hastur will be, too.

That’s not rational. That will hurt Arthur more.

The Piece is not okay.

Somehow, when Arthur broke, the Piece broke with him.

How?

It shouldn’t have done that.

How?

“What is wrong with you?” Hastur says, evenly.

You really don’t get it? Really? Look at his face. Look at hers. They’re similar enough that you can use your imagination and apply his expression to her. I know you’re less than I am, practically stupid, but you can do that.

“Less!” scoffs Hastur. “What foolishness are you—” And he glances at Arthur’s face.

She does resemble him.

She’s healthy and he’s not, pristine and he’s not—but the base.

The base is the same.

And almost against his will, he pictures that hollow, blank, defeated look on Faroe’s face.

Hastur goes very still.

Faroe pats his arm. “Daddy. I’m hungry.”

She’s… she is not broken.

She—

“John, I don’t think I can do this,” Arthur says so quietly.

For her. I understand I’m not enough.

“John, that’s not what I—“

We’ll start there. If you go, she dies. That’s Kayne’s deal.

Finally, it’s gotten through. Arthur inhales.

And then he does something Hastur would have thought impossible: in every sense, internally and out, Arthur sits up.

“I won’t let him hurt her,” he says.

And it is… remarkable.

Damn it.

It’s like watching flowers bloom on a dead and broken branch.

Fuck.

Faroe is not used to her needs being delayed. “Daddy.”

Faroe is not broken.

Trying to think of what it would be like to see her done unto as Arthur…

Hastur is more afraid than he was when Kayne appeared. “Yes. Yes, we… should all have something to eat.” Fear like this isn’t natural to him. He doesn’t like it. He tries to focus on the practical. That damned hand—“Tell him to hold out his hand.”

I’m not doing anything for you. You want to do something, you fucking do it yourself.

“Hey.” Faroe frowns. “It is rude to use bad words.”

John is not okay.

Hastur doesn’t feel okay, either. “Arthur,” he says. “Hold out your hand so I can heal it.”

You’d think a simple command (with a reason given!) would be easy enough for him, but no. Like everything else, Arthur has to make this difficult.

Arthur ignores him completely.

Solid choice for his new composer. This would work out great. “Arthur!”

Ha! says the Piece, as though he’s won something.

Hastur wants to break more of him. “Arthur!”

“Not yet,” says Arthur.

“What?” Says Hastur.

“Not yet. I… the pain helps. I can’t… not yet,” Arthur says.

The hell did that mean? He wanted to suffer? “Arthur, Kayne has given you a job, which you will do. I need to repair your hand for it.”

Arthur doesn’t want the repair. He wants his broken hand to reflect how he feels inside.

“Daddy, I’m hungry,” says Faroe, who is too young to grasp delayed gratification.

“We are all leaving,” says Hastur. “Once Arthur’s hand is healed.”

For Faroe, Arthur submits. “Fine.” He raises it.

Every single thing was going to be a negotiation, wasn’t it? Disgusting.

Arthur. We’ll get through this, John soothes.

“We… we will,” says Arthur, showing nothing as Hastur works his hand, though Hastur knows it hurts tremendously. “She… she’s happy?”

She’s perfect, Arthur. And… if we do this, I think she might even be safe.

Arthur hangs his head again, though this looks like relief.

This plan had gone so wrong. “Why is an Outer God interested in you?”

Arthur. He’s interested in Arthur. And we don’t know because Kayne doesn’t know. Arthur’s a mystery.

What?

That thing?

Hideous, flawed, hypocritical?

How could—

He looks down at the tiny human in his arms.

At Faroe, who watches him expectantly, waiting to be swept away and given what she needs, trusting him with such intensity that it feels like she’s caught him in a spell.

Hastur looks at Arthur and absolutely cannot see any of that.

But Arthur bloomed after being broken.

But Arthur entangled with the Piece to the point of self-destruction.

But an Outer God is paying mind.

So maybe he was remarkable, too? Somehow?

Arthur? Arthur Lester?

Fuck.

“Macaroni,” says Faroe.

“Apples,” negotiates Hastur.

Faroe makes a face. “Macaroni and apples.”

“Eat your apples, I’ll give you some macaroni.”

Arthur makes a tiny sound. It might have been… a good sound. Which would make sense, because Faroe is adorable.

Which… Arthur cannot see. Ugh. He’s still blind. Hastur sighs. How is the stupid human supposed to compose anything blind? Is Hastur going to have to fix everything himself?

Faroe isn’t done. “And a cookie.” She looks positively sneaky.

“No cookies until dinner.”

“But I made friends,” says Faroe.

This was true. “One cookie.”

Arthur reaches with his right hand and grabs his left. “I need you.”

Eh?

John makes a low sound. I’m sorry, Arthur. I should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve… should’ve protected you, somehow.

“I… you are enough, John. You are enough.” Arthur's voice breaks.

John’s responding sound is… a sob?

Some terrible sound, rife with feelings Hastur has never had and does not want to experience.

Whatever disgusting thing is going on there, he will not be a part of it. “Come. Composer and Piece. As if we have any choice.” He opens a portal.

It is such a relief to be able to do that again. To feel his powers again.

Though now, after this, they feel so small.

He has a daughter to feed.

He has plans to remake.

He has six years to ensure she is safe from an Outer God.

That isn’t possible, as far as he knows.

There has to be a way.

“I get to watch her grow,” whispers Arthur. “Should I be grateful?”

He took her from you! The only thing you should have toward him is hate.

“No. I… I lost her with my own hands, John. I can’t hate someone else for that.”

Ugh. Hastur’s not listening to this. He goes through the portal.

Six years.

John is growling as Arthur follows, trusting John to guide him. More to your left. He’s going to pay for what he did to you.

“I don’t care,” says Arthur.

I do.

Was Hastur going to have to protect her from the other half of himself, too?

No. No.

If Arthur is actually remarkable, and the Outer God isn’t full of shit, then Arthur will sway the Piece.

Faroe might do it on her own, too.

She’s good at love. It’s uniquely human magic, and Hastur knows no defense.

“Daddy?” says Faroe. “Who’s Larson?”

He has no idea how to answer that.

Maybe Kayne was… right.

Maybe raising her together, with others to help, would be better for her.

It would hurt him.

But if she would benefit, then… so be it. “I hope you’re ready to answer that, John, because I have no fucking clue.”

Faroe sighs. “Daddy, you aren’t supposed to say the bad words, especial.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” He hides her in his arms.

It’s all that he can do.

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

NOTES:

Ouch?

I don’t know. The bug bit my brain and I had to write it. My apologies.

Might I suggest this for something fully lighthearted to wash out your mouth, as needed?

What’s going to happen in six years? Oh… I have thoughts, but I decided to leave it open.

Does it count as found family if they’re forced? Kinda a difficult question, isn’t it?

The music Faroe is learning to play at the beginning is Faroe’s Music Box, composed by Harlan Guthrie. It’s part of CODA, the episode of the podcast that literally inspired this fic.

The lullaby Faroe sang to Arthur is here, with "mother" swapped for "father." It’s traditional Welsh, and honestly one of the loveliest things I’ve ever heard. Obviously, I’ve linked a big old orchestral version, but it works super-well in tiny voices, too.pain

[lovers-paradise]

What Do You Say To Taking Chances? - Rachel/F!Reader

 A/N: Written for @at1nyzen's request: Could you write a fem!reader or nb!reader X Rachel? Preferably like an enemies to lovers type thing. Reader was working at the bar before Violet and end up getting into an argument bc Rachel is jealous but she doesn’t tell reader why she’s jealous. 🙏🙏🙏

“You know what? I quit.”    It had left your lips so easily. Lil looks more than a little shocked, she hadn’t expected you to get so mad at Rachel but after months and months of needling one another, Rachel pushed you too far.    “You want to hate me Rachel, go ahead.... but I’m not giving up this job, so deal.”    It takes more time for you to really give up, no longer wanting the job and using your time away from the bar to work your way in with a local biker gang, soon rising through the ranks until you have enough money to step away from the bar. Rachel stares as you take your last pay, clearly considering something.    “Don’t worry Sweetcheeks, you won’t be missing me long.”    Your last words will bother her for weeks, you know that, but she’ll work it out in time. In the end she chases you, starting an argument that ends in you pushing her back so hard her back hits the wall.     “What? Scared of me now?”    She’s still trying to be tough but you can see the slight pain behind her eyes as she reacts, angry and hot in a way you wish bothered you less.     “Hardly.”    She’s still staring at you and you shrug.    “I can’t keep watching you be a bitch Rach... we used to be friends before I came here, maybe if I go we can get that back... or you can keep being jealous. Your choice.”    You go back after three weeks of running the gang, the old leader had chanced his arm and lost, finding himself beaten by your wiles as you raised more money with your half of the gang. A win that meant he was drummed out and you had control.     “Taking quite the risk coming here aintcha?”    Lil asks and you scoff.    “Princess still here? Still a brat?”    Lil shrugs and moves away after you pay for your beer, moving away from the bar even as you watch Rachel threading through the crowd. In the end it’s easy to see she hasn’t changed much. ‘Jersey’ fucks up, inevitably, but when the crowd gets rowdy enough to push and shove at the girls, you move fast, rescue Rachel’s little ‘russian’ friend, then push through the crowd again to grab Rachel’s arm, tugging her away from the man attempting to paw at her with a rasped ‘Oh get fucked’ that drags a reluctant laugh from Rachel.     She’s quiet when you pull her behind the bar, glancing at Lil who only nods a thanks then leaves you to it. Your hand is still wrapped around Rachel’s, the two of you silent before you finally speak.    “What’s with the jealousy, Princess?”    “Look at her, skinny bitch makes twice the tips I do.”    “Well, she doesn’t bite, does she?”    Rachel sighs, shakes her head then, surprising herself at the same time as surprising you, speaks honestly.    “I was so fucking jealous of you, you know, you had so much swagger, not faked... not... mine. Made me a little crazy honestly... you flirted with these losers so easy...”    “Yeah well, I didn’t care what they thought I was, only you... and you... seemed to hate me.”    “I didn’t... I just...”    “Just acted a damn fool.”    Your laugh is soft and she quirks a small smile.    “Yeah, something like that.”    “Well, buy me a beer on your tab and I’ll forgive you, Princess...”    She scoffs again, then sighs.    “Sure... but why did you put your ass on the line like that?”    “Fuck sake Princess, buy a clue wontcha?”    You mutter.    “I like you... like... like like you.”    “You do?”    “Yeah, idiot.”    She laughs slightly then, then leans into your touch when you tuck hair from her eyes, letting your hand linger at her cheek for a moment.     “So can we start over?”    “No...”    She pauses then.    “No, lets not start over, lets make it official already.”    She’s quiet, confident as she slips closer and finally kisses you, the burning jealousy finally dying out, finally turning into something closer to love.      Later, a week later, you pick her up from out the back of the club, smiling when she slips into place behind you on your bike, taking her home where, finally, the two of you have worked through the emotions behind all the jealousy and found a real, honest, love. 

[fanficshiddles]

Seductively Destructive, Chapter 5

Erin woke up to Loki’s arms wrapped around her naked body. Her heart started racing instantly at the thought of what happened last night. Her body was achey, a clear reminder of it too.

But when she suddenly felt the motion of movement, her eyes widened in panic. The tour bus they were on, it was moving!

She squirmed out of Loki’s arms and sat up at the side of the bed, reaching over Loki she peeled the curtain back slightly to see the sight of other cars going the opposite way down the motorway.

‘No! No, no, no! This can’t be happening.’ She panicked.

‘What’s wrong, doll?’ Loki asked sleepily as he slipped an arm around her middle and tried to pull her back down on the bed.

‘You said the bus wasn’t leaving till afternoon!’ She screeched at him and tried pulling away.

‘Oh… I must’ve been mistaken.’ He said nonchalantly as he managed to wrestle her back down next to him, easily keeping her in place with a strong arm. ‘No need to be alarmed, nothing can be done anyway. We can’t stop on the motorway.’ He purred and nuzzled her neck.

‘Loki… I need to get home.’ She whined.

‘There will be a train or bus station at the next city.’ Loki said as his left hand started wandering down her body.

‘I can’t… I can’t afford that.’ She whined and tried grabbing his hand to stop him. ‘Please… don’t… I’m sore after last night.’

‘Ohh my poor baby. Relax, this will make you feel much better again. And if you can’t afford to get home, well, I guess it means you’ll just need to stay with me while we finish the tour.’ He grinned against her neck devilishly as his hand slipped down between her thighs, but she had them clamped tightly shut so he couldn’t do much down there as his hand just managed to squeeze between.

Erin tried not to panic as the realisation that she was stuck with Loki and the band for nearly two months hit her… She had no money to get home herself, and clearly he wasn’t going to offer to pay. Even though he could afford to. There were still loads of cities left on the tour.

‘Come on, open your legs more for me like a good little girl.’ He nipped on her neck, making her whine.  

Her mind battled with her body for a moment, then she eventually let them fall apart. Earning praise and little nibbles on her neck from Loki as he began playing with her sore and tired body.

She completely melted into him again and it didn’t take long before he got her to orgasm. Then he simply wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

‘Do you feel safe with me?’ He whispered.

‘Yeah… of course I do.’ Erin turned her head slightly to look at him.

‘Well then, surely coming on tour will be fun and exciting, won’t it? You know I’ll look after you.’ He stroked her cheek softly with the tips of his fingers, making her skin feel alight as it tingled.

‘I… I know. I just, wasn’t expecting it. I don’t have clothes or much toiletries.’ She said quietly.

‘When we arrive at the next city, I’ll take you shopping for everything you need. Don’t worry, darling. Besides, we are staying in a hotel for the next few nights as the gig isn’t till tomorrow anyway.’

‘Ok… Thank you.’ Erin smiled, Loki then held her face softly and kissed her. Causing butterflies to flutter in her stomach again.

-

When they arrived at the next city, Loki and the rest of the band/crew went ahead to check into the hotel. Erin hung back for a bit on the bus to call Jane, to tell her what was happening.

‘Wait, wait, wait… He hasn’t kidnapped you, has he?’ Jane said in a slight panic.

‘No, no, he hasn’t. I doubt I’d be able to call you if that was the case.’ Erin laughed lightly.

‘Ok… You just don’t sound overly delighted?’

‘No, I am. I’m just surprised he wants me for that long… I mean, it will be fun. I should take this chance while I can and enjoy it. I just wasn’t prepared is all. But it will be good.’ She said confidently.  

‘What about your job, what are you going to do?’ Jane asked.

‘Uhm. I’ll just tell them the truth. If they still have my job there when I get back, then great. But if not then I’ll see about getting something else when I return. The hotel is always looking for people, I’ll find something.’

‘I guess so. It will be a great experience, one that would be hard to turn down. As long as you’re sure you’re all good?’

‘Yeah, I am, I promise. Had the night of my life last night. Even if this does end up just being a tour fling, it’s already been worth it.’

‘Well that’s good to hear. Just enjoy yourself and live it up. Though I will miss you being gone for months on end. Don’t forget about me while you’re living the life of luxury with your rockstar boyfriend.’ Jane teased, making Erin laugh.

‘I better get going, I need to get some clothes and toiletries sorted. He’s taking me out to get what I need. I’m currently wearing one of his band t shirts from the merch box.’  

‘Have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.’

‘There’s nothing you wouldn’t do at least once.’ Erin said knowingly.

‘Touche.’ Jane laughed.

Erin felt a bit better about the whole situation now, after having time to let it sink in and also speaking to Jane a bit. She had initially panicked, because it hadn’t been planned. But now, she was thinking of all the good possibilities that could happen in the next few months. It had always been a dream of hers to go on tour in some way. Now that was actually happening.

When she got off the bus, Loki was waiting for her not far from it with his suitcase. He took her hand when she approached him and he led her into the hotel.

They checked in and got their rooms, Loki dumped his suitcase there and then took Erin out shopping to get what she needed.

She expected to pay for what she needed, she had decided she would just have to go into her overdraft or little savings she had if need be as the tour progressed. But Loki wouldn’t let her pay for anything, he bought everything she needed. Underwear, toiletries, and of course clothes. A few pairs of jeans, leggings, tops and a couple of nice dresses for any parties they would have, which he assured her there would be.

When they left the last shop, Loki draped his arm around her as they headed back towards the hotel. They passed by a small Italian restaurant on the way and Loki stopped.

‘How about dinner?’ Loki offered. ‘I haven’t officially had you on a date yet, it feels rather wrong after what we did last night.’ He smirked.

Erin’s eyes widened a bit as she blushed. ‘Oh, yeah. That would be really nice.’ She squeaked out, not expecting him to even mention about dates or anything like that. Maybe this would be more serious than she had originally thought… Or perhaps he was just trying to be nice? Either way, she wasn’t about to turn down his offer.

As they were about to head inside, three girls went running up screaming Loki’s name. He turned around and put on a smile, even though the girls squealing and screams went right through him.

‘Loki! Loki! Can we get a picture please? We love you!’ They blurted out and kept giggling and squealing.

‘I was actually just away in for dinner and I’m with company, I’m sorry ladies.’ Loki said politely and he glanced at Erin apologetically.

Erin stepped forward and put her hand out towards the girls. ‘Of course he will be able to take a quick picture with you all. I’ll take it for you.’ She said kindly as she elbowed Loki slightly.

‘Thank you!’ The three squealed excitedly and one of them handed Erin her phone with the camera open.

Loki glared at Erin and raised an eyebrow at her in confusion. Erin just grinned as the girls moved in next to Loki to pose. Erin snapped a few pictures then gave them back the phone.

‘Thank you so much!’ They babbled and then left after telling him they loved him one more time.

‘What was that about?’ Loki asked Erin as he cupped her chin.

Erin shrugged. ‘If it wasn’t for all your adoring fans, you wouldn’t be where you are today.’

Loki grinned and leaned down to kiss her softly.

‘Plus, I knew they’d leave quicker if they got their picture.’ Erin giggled over his lips.

‘Oh really? How did you know that?’

‘Squealing and screaming usually means major fangirl just wanting a picture and to get up close a bit. If they had been calmer and cooler with their approach, then they probably would have hung around longer wanting to talk a bit.’

Loki chuckled and slid his hand down to her side, squeezing her a little. ‘Now where have you been all my life for these short cuts?’

‘Well, you’ve found me now.’ She shrugged and smiled widely.

‘Indeed. And I’m never letting you go.’ He purred low and linked his hand with hers before leading her into the restaurant.

[quinloki]

Birthday Request Event

"It's my birthday and I'll write what I want to \o/"

Gift Details ♥ Reader: cisfem!reader Character: Shiryu Kink: #3 Spanking Prompt: #12 "No Panties" Gift Giver: @theluckychemist

Summary: You greet Shiryu upon his return to the island. Unfortunately, your short skirt and wide smile are appreciated by more pirates than just you intended target.

Content Notes: punishment, vaginal fingering, degrading pet names, spanking (duh), someone's the boss in this relationship and it ain't the reader, size difference, possible age difference

This birthday party is 18+, consensual unless explicitly stated otherwise, and BYOB

You stumbled a few steps into the room as Shiryu shoved you inside. Your heels clicked loudly against the stone floor, the room turning dim as he shut the door.

Gathering yourself you straighten up and turn toward him, taking a step back even though he didn’t move toward you. You tug absently at the skirt you’re wearing, he’s already grumbled about it being too short, and you’re pretty sure he’s a little angry since you greeted him in it – much to the pleasure of Teach who couldn’t keep his stupid mouth shut.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” He questions evenly. He towers over you. Everyone on this crew did, but Shiryu was the only one who loomed on purpose. He hasn’t even stepped toward you, but you can almost feel him drawing closer.

“I… I should’ve waited in here.” You admit, heart pounding in your chest. “This outfit was… just for you.” You take a step back.

You’re not truly afraid of him, but he is intimidating. Shiryu has done nothing but protect you and please you since you accepted his advances some months ago. With the Blackbeard pirates taking over the town, being under his wing made things easier. Not that you couldn’t handle yourself, but fighting back pirates when you were trying to work was exhausting.

He steps forward, going over to a comfortable leather chair that was designed for someone of his height. After he settles in, taking off his hat and coat, he seats himself and pats his leg.

You move toward him at the beckoning gesture cautiously.

“Over my knee.” He says simply. Sternly.

You swallow hard, feeling your throat go dry, but you don’t argue, and just nod. You have to step onto a stool to be high enough to do so comfortably, but there was plenty in the room to accommodate the height difference between the two of you.

You put your hips over his knee, chest against his other leg, holding on as your body shivered in anticipation. It wasn’t fear, he wasn’t nearly angry enough to do anything to leave you afraid, but you knew a detail he wasn’t aware of yet.

“Such an obedient girl.” He muses. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due. You owned up and quickly corrected your mistake and didn’t argue about this punishment.” His hand on the back of your leg makes you flinch.

He hums. “No need to fear, I won’t – Oh?” His hand had slid up your thigh and to the curve of your ass, pushing the short skirt up and over your hips. “No panties.” His hand rubs your bare ass cheek and you hold onto his other leg as you start to shiver.

His tone, and his touch, have you on edge. You don’t know yet if he’s pleased or angrier than he was before.

“Shiryu…” You nearly whimper. “Please, I meant it as… as a surprise.”

“… Around all those other men.” He growls, palm rubbing your ass in a slow circle.

You shake your head. “I wasn’t th-thinking! I just want-wanted to see you! I’m sorry!”

“You’ll certainly think better in the future.” He assures you, hand leaving you for a moment before it lands sharply on your ass.

The sting pulls a strangled sound from you before you gasp to catch your breath. You know the drill with this sort of thing, however, so quickly as you can you cry out.

“One, Sir!”

The second one lands sharp and heavy and you count it out. The weight of some of the smacks are pushing you into his thigh, but you’re aware that he could shatter you if he choose to. As it was, the sharp leading sting quickly sank into something pleasurable.

The fourth smack carried the sting of the one before it, and you knew your cheeks were already turning red. The problem was that the fifth smack raised you up enough your legs came together, and you could feel your own arousal slipping down your thighs.

“S-Six! Haaa ♥ Sir!” You cry out, nearly moaning in pleasure.

Shiryu’s finger slides between your thighs, causing you to grip his pant leg and buck, squirming against the finger that’s teasing your entire slit so easily. He rubs your leaking lips a few times as you shiver and squirm from the sensation.

“My little whore is enjoying her punishment it seems.” He says in a voice dangerous but amused. He pulls his finger away. “Very well, if you cum before this is done, then I’ll have you gagging on my cock and locked up in a chastity belt for a week.”

You grip his leg a little tighter and do your best to concentrate. His threat isn’t nearly as much of a threat as he might think it is, but you also don’t want to test if he’d keep you in a chastity belt for a whole week.

The seventh strike rattles you to your core, and you nearly forget to count. You rush the words out just before the next strike lands, and swear before you cry out the number. Shiryu rubs your tender ass for a moment, and the sensation sends pleasure rippling through you.

Along with the understanding that he’s not going to make it too easy for you to survive this punishment without feeling the full weight of his promised threat.

The ninth strike was almost a failure for you. Just as you were trying to call out the count he pushed his finger into your dripping pussy and you practically cried out from it. The heavy, wet, squelching sounds made your whole body shiver for a moment before you managed to nearly growl the count out from between grit teeth.

When he pulled his finger out you almost sighed in relief, even as he smeared it clean against your thighs.

“You’re doing so well, (Y/N).” He praises. “Don’t count anymore, just endure it.”

The first smack was heavy, just like the nine before it. After that there was less weight to the smacks, instead they were snappy. The sharp pain had no weight behind it, but the stinging sensation turned pleasurable faster. They were almost love taps, and you could barely control the building pleasure even against the hot sting of the rapid spankings.

Some part of you wanted to squirm away, but just as you were sure you couldn’t take any more the assault stops. Your skin is hot, and tingling, and the soft cool air is almost too much to bear, as though it wishes to bring you over the edge itself.

“Cum for me, little one.” He demands, finger sliding back inside you, the heel of his hand caressing your sensitive ass as he works.

It only takes a moment and you do as commanded, clutching onto his leg, moaning your pleasure into the air as your legs and body twitch beyond your control.

Check out the event - requests are accepted until 7/31/2023 EST