#why are there so many options for corner beads

[pancakeke]

I just wanna hang some shit but no I gotta watch drywall installation videos first to make sure I know what I'm doing

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Sticking Point 6

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon, possible violence, illness, death, bullying, ableism, and other elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are sent in the place of your ailing sister to marry a stranger. (Regency AU)

Character: Loki

Note: I'm moving tomorrow.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me 💞

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

Love you all. Take care. 💖

The tension turns roiling. Even in such airy halls, you cannot escape it, not that you venture very far from your rooms. It seems with each interaction, your relationship with your fiance only grows more fraught. You needn’t wonder why. It’s the very same reason your own father regards you with derision. You’re defective, less than what he hoped for. 

You sit in the window seat, looking over the greenery that reflects Jade Garden’s title. It’s a home anyone would covet and yet it feels as a penitentiary might. These walls are unyielding and the isolation suffocating. 

Your visions drifts into the distance as the leaves turn to green smears blending into the dimming blue of the sky. You close your eyes and turn your head straight, leaning against the wall as you hook your arms around your legs. 

A banquet. It’s less than a proper debut. You’re not certain anyone would be expecting you, or even know who you are. Will they be surprised when they hear your father’s name?  

There are things you know. Things you must ready yourself for. Certainly, there will be jeers, mocking whispers, and errant giggles. Just the same as anyone ever reacted to you. Even the farmhands would echo your speech and laugh bawdily. It hardly matter’s your a lord’s daughter when you sound so ridiculous. 

You hang your head and sigh. It isn’t just one banquet, it is the beginning of a lifetime of events. You will not only face this one night, but many anon. You will be the one they speak of behind their hands and the joke at the card tables. 

You stand, made restless by your dread. The window darkens with the evening’s arrival. Doreen raps at the door and leaves a tray of supper. You pick at it but don’t eat much. You must keep yourself busy so your mind is not. 

You go to your chests. You will need Doreen to unpack these soon. It’s as if the longer you leave them full, the less assured your fate. You might still strap them up and flee. 

You know that isn’t truly an option. 

You take out a gown the shade of cooked pumpkin with an overlay that lends it a bronzish hue. The bodice is trimmed with an eyelet effect and the hem of the cap sleeves and skirt finely threaded with beads. You lay it out on the chaise and find a pair of slippers to go with it and ribbon for your hair decorated with black onyx and brass. 

If Edith could see you then. It should be her in your place. That thought rings louder and louder, bolstered by the constant disapproval. 

You back away from your attire, spinning so you won’t have to look upon it. You never thought to miss home so much. Not your parents, you’re certain they hardly grieve your absence, but for the familiarity, for the simple walls and memories. Edith is there, even gone, you know you would see her in every cushion and every corner. 

You go to the door and listen. As silent as ever. You emerge into the corridor and make careful progress on the pads of your feet. You come to the top of the stairwell and peer down on the foyer. For all it’s beauty, this place is rather grim. 

You descend and let your eyes lead you. You take in every ornament, every statue, every door trim, and every tile of the floor. You want to know it all. You don’t want to feel so lost. 

You find your way along to the sunroom. Upon your approach, the door opens and you falter. A lithe figure emerges. You press yourself to the wall, unready for Loki’s appearance. He has a snifter of liquor in hand as he glowers in the light of a lantern in his other.  

He steps towards you and pauses, lifting the light higher to cast over you. His breath escapes him derisively. He lowers the lantern and sniffs. 

“Like a rat, you skitter incessantly,” he remarks. 

“My Lawd,” you push away from the wall and angle away from him. 

“I am speaking to you. Do not go until I give leave to,” he demands. 

You stop and face him again, hands meeting in apprehension. 

“This banquet business,” his nostrils flare, “I will not be humiliated. Not as you have tonight.” 

“My Lawd, I have been twained in etiq—etiqwette,” you insist. 

He scoffs, “your manners hardly bother me. Certainly you might have some grain of awareness.” 

You seal your lips. He’s said it plainly, as you have. He might be able to close his ears to your impediment but it is with you always. 

“Perhaps you might keep your words to a minimum,” he advises, “select them wisely.” 

You stare at him, cheeks fiery and eyes tinging, “If you would wather, I might make an excuse. A sudden malady, my lawd. I’d hate to stain your chawacter.” 

His eyes roll to the side and his features sharpen, “more would be said were I to appear without my betrothed after my mother’s promises.” 

That he has referred to your nuptials is not so nice as it should be. He speaks to it as a sentence. You look him in the face. 

“It won’t eva go away,” you say. 

“Hm, I only need get through the wedding night,” he retorts and you can’t help but wince. 

You swallow, your hurt turning bitter. “As do I.” 

His head tilts and he squints. He lets out another snort, “pardon?” 

“My sista would’ve hated you,” you whisper. “You did not desawve to know haw.” 

“Be wary,” he steps closer. 

“You make an enemy of me, not I you,” you lift your chin.  

He’s silent. He shifts even closer. So near, you have to keep from wilting away. You stare back at him defiantly, heart beating. 

“You do not know yet what it is to have me as an enemy so you best mind your mannaws,” he mocks your cadence with his last word. 

Your lip trembles as he green eyes sparkle like dark emeralds in the lantern lights. Your chest is a flurry of hurt and anger. What have you ever done to him, or anyone, to make them so spiteful? You swing your arm against his to knock the snifter from his hand, sending a splash of alcohol across the wall and and his vest. The smell is acrid and sour. 

You back away from him, horrified at your reaction. You have learned to restrain yourself, to tamp it all down, to swallow it with a smile and say nothing. In that moment, you simply cannot. You shake your head as your face twists in despair. 

“I would wather an enemy, saw,” you hiss, “as I would be ashamed to call a cad like you husband.” 

His glare flashes and he sways as if he might lunge at you. He rights himself and his brow arches. His lips draw and his cheeks pale. 

“Very well.” 

He spins on his heel and stomps away, the light limning his silhouette sinisterly. You stare after him mortified. What has come over you? You were never bold or brazen or brutal to any. Edith would be disappointed. A gentle soul like her could never even think a hot word. 

You fall back against the wall and clutch your hands over your chest. Is this to be your life? Are you to live in loathing, not only of that man but of yourself. To be castigated for the lilt of your own tongue, the very pulse of your existence? You’d thought your father a villain but this man has proven himself worse. 

Worst than his distaste is your own futility, for he has assured you there is nothing you might do to appease him. As he is bound to you most miserably, so are you vowed to the same fate. Not even in that might you commiserate. 

🔹

You sit in front of the mirror, holding the brooch over the table, feeling the embroidery with the pad of your thumb. You turn it over and back again. It’s the only piece of your sister you have left. Every day she feels further away from you. Every morning, you awake, expecting to hear her, to see her, and she is not there, and you are not at home. 

You peer up at your reflection as your hand hovers over the painted wood. You’ve not touched a tress or cheek. You must ready, you know it, but your reticence is like chains on your wrists. You know what you are to face but knowing cannot make it any less unpleasant. 

A knock comes at the door. You call for the maid to enter, thinking Doreen’s come to remind you again of your pending engagement. The maid opens the door but says nothing, letting in the duchess instead. Lady Frigga is almost rapturous in a dressing gown of peach fabric as her hair is set already in tight curls around an elegant chignon. You stand, apologising for your misstep. 

“Dear, it is quite forgivable,” she assures, “I only meant to look in on you before the banquet, to be certain you do not require anything, but darling, oh,” she sweeps towards you and cups your cheeks, “you’ve not even begun. What is the matter?” 

“There is no issue,” you lie, “I mewely let time escape me.” 

You smile and gently pull away, turning back to the vanity. You open your hand and once more consider the pin. 

“Is this the dress you mean to wear?” Frigga asks as she crosses the room in a swish of silk. You peer over your shoulder as she looks down on the orange fabric. “It is a rather keen shade.” 

“Yes, my lady,” you answer in a dulcet tone. You cannot find a glimmer of concern for your attire. 

She sighs and returns to you, holding the ribbon you’ve chosen, “these are far too dour,” she touches an onyx, “haven’t you some pearls?” 

“Somewhaw...” You bend your neck, staring at the bluebird, at Edith’s handiwork. You remember the day she gave it to you and the way she smiled so proudly. How she pinned it on you herself and made you go around and show all. 

“Oh, dear, that won’t go at all. It would be nice for a lunch, no doubt, but not for a banquet,” she remarks and you close your hand around the brooch. You put your shoulders straight and face her. 

“I have a pawl band in my chest,” you resign and step around her. 

You go to the chest and sift around, careful not to let the brooch slip from your grasp. You take out the pearls on the ivory band and show it to her. She tuts. 

“It won’t go with this gown,” she insists. 

“Yes, the onyx--” 

“Mmp, I prefer pearls. Darling, you must be your best. It is your first social appearance. I do not say this to demean you, only to assist. I know your own mother cannot be here to see you debut but I cannot imagine her pain at this moment. So much loss. Both daughters at once, in a way,” she bemoans. 

Yes, you think of your mother too. You know she won’t be well. Nor your father. All their hopes and dreams dashed in a deficient daughter sent to carry a legacy on with a spiteful husband who mightn’t even have the stomach to deliver one. 

“I vewy much appweciate it, lady,” you make yourself smile, “I suppose it must be nawvs.” 

“Suppose it must,” she hums, “how about you wear the orange gown and I fetch you a feather pin from my own collection? I have a fabulous ostrich and topaz piece,” she assures, “and some black lace gloves. Ooh, yes, dear, we will make certain all is perfect.” 

“Thank you, Lady Fwigga, but it isn’t necessawy--” 

“You are to be my daughter, of course it is,” she preens. “Besides, who shall notice anything but how splendid you look?” 

She twists on her heel and your smile dwindles. You know what is meant. What she will not state plainly. Perhaps a fine outfit might distract from your crooked consonants. You sit on the stool again and watch her go. 

Even those who are kind cannot help their thoughts. She mightn’t be cruel about it, but you can hear the disappointment in her pandering cooing. You are not the daughter she wanted just as you are not the wife her son wanted. Just as you do not want to be as you are. 

[lilacella]

Non-magical AU, cop!James Potter, mafia!Sirius Black

Safehouse

A man of honor never associates with a cop. But a man of honor was also not supposed to break the code of silence - which was exactly why he was here. So he might as well scratch two off the list at once...

Part I

(read on ao3)

Next

A bead of sweat made its way down James' forehead, trickling down his face. A loud bang caused him to duck and he felt the bullet pass closely over his head. He grabbed the man by his side tighter.

"We need to make a run for the car," he said quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. Nothing could happen to him.

"That's stupid they will shoot us. Just give me the gun..."

"No! I am here to protect you and you will do as I say. Now, on my mark..."

James peered cautiously around the corner of the container they were hiding behind. Maybe this was in fact stupid. But he would not let Sirius know that. He inhaled deeply and then leaned out to fire a couple shots, 2, 3, 4, they had all hopefully ducked now.

"Now!" He pulled at Sirius' arm and they both started running towards the bulletproof car that was just a few meters away. A few meters without any cover. They were to slow. When they had made it about half the way, James could see one of the mafiosi pop back up, immediately opening fire.

Instinctively James threw himself in front of Sirius, tackling them both down. He could feel something hitting his side. An incredible pain shot through his body. He heard himself scream. Then more shots. But none of them hit him. Suddenly everything was very quiet. He lifted his head and saw Sirius cowering over him with a concerned look on his face. James barely registered that he was holding his gun. Then everything went dark.

**

Three weeks prior

"And this is supposed to be safe?" Sirius examined the interior of the black car with doubt. His contact from the witness protection program had said that the officers would pick him up with a bullet proof vehicle, but after one look inside he was certain that the only thing bullet proof about this car was the forged security certificate. The windowpanes were too thin and the doors clearly hadn't been enforced, judging by the hollow noise they had made when he'd gotten in. He also didn't like that he was accompanied by only two police officers, one of them young - about his age -, with these small, useless police pistols. If his family would decide to attack, they would all be dead, he was sure.

But he really didn't have much of an option. He had already packed his bags in the middle of the night, climbed out of the window of his family villa, snuck past the armed guards and had entered this accursed deathtrap.

Sirius knew he was doing the right thing. After pondering it for years, last month he had finally decided that he had to act. He had to get out of this family. Sirius was the oldest son of Orion Black, the current leader of the Black clan. Growing up in the mafia had meant that Sirius had learned quickly that the word family could be used in many different contexts.

"Family" meant blood bound. Not necessarily related, but fiercely loyal. It meant doing everything for each other. It meant being a unity, against everyone else. It meant that if you messed up, if you "dissapointed" your family, you'd loose everything. Potentially even your life. And yet he was about to do just that.

In a few weeks he would testify against them as a key witness. Laying it all out on the table. It wasn't because he had been caught and was in need of a deal. No. He had just decided he would no longer be watching. Not after what had happened on Christmas, four months ago. Even if it meant that he could die. It wasn't like he had anything to lose anyway.

"I assure you, this is perfectly safe," the older officer said with a reassuring smile that made Sirius' vigilant. He glanced over to the youger officer sitting next to him on the backseat, who gave him a nod. He had his hand on his gun and seemed quite tense. At least one person that understood the gravity of the situation.

"Let's just drive." Sirius tried to hide his suspicion. He relaxed into his seat and tried to stay as far out of the window as possible. They would be followed. It was unlikely that they would just get away like that.

They had been driving for two hours and Sirius started to think that maybe he did just get really lucky. Even the officer next to him, Potter, according to his introduction, seemed to have relaxed a bit. The other officer pulled up at an unfinished building. Ah, that was clever. They were going to hide him in a house that looked like it was still under construction, surrounded by high hoardings. This way you could smuggle him out easily if necessary and food or other supplies in without raising suspicion. The officer parked the car and got out. Sirius wanted to follow him, when officer Potter put a hand on his shoulder.

"Wait. Let me get out first. It is safer."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. What did he even want to do if they were ambushed? He'd simply get shot. But he complied. The police had told him to not take any weapons with him and Sirius had actually listend. Well, he didn't carry any on himself that was. So these two guys and their sad looking guns were the only thing between him and the eternal slumber.

He waited until Potter had opened the door for him and got out, Potter sticking to him like a shower curtain. Sirius thought this was a little ridiculous and the older officer seemed to agree.

"Sorry about my colleague," he said. "He is taking his job very seriously." Sirius was about to find out what that meant.

Potter had been assigned as his personal protection officer and would stay with him on the premises. Sirius took the upstairs bedroom while Potter slept on the couch, or rather laid on it, staring worriedly at the entrance door.

"Are you not going home at all? Aren't they swapping you out sometime?" Sirius asked, while opening a can of soda. Potter had been here for the last four days and he was starting to get a little concerened about the working conditions at the local police station.

Potter shook his head. "There is noone else. I mean, noone else who would do it. I wasn't supposed to either, but...I can't just leave an important witness all alone. It isn't right!"

Sirius frowned.

"So...You don't have an order to stay here?"

Potter shook his head again.

"I volunteered. I took vacation days."

"You what?!" Sirius hadn't been this perplexed in his life. Here was a young man, using up valuable vacation days to babysit him? Why on earth would he do that? This was so unnecessary. But also quite flattering, somehow.

"When you called, noone wanted to take on the witness protection. They are all afraid of your family."

"As they should be. Are you not afraid?"

"I am. But I also think you are."

Sirius took a sip and tried to appear unphased.

"Why would you think that?"

"You asked for witness protection. Why would you do that if you weren't concerned? And you are nervous. I heard your pacing at night."

Sirius laughed.

"Well...I'm not saying you are wrong." He walked around the kitchen island and plopped down next to the officer on the couch.

"What's your name?"

The man looked puzzled.

"You know my name. Potter."

"Yes but I feel after you've spent more than three days with someone it's high time for first names." He extended his hand. "I'm Sirius."

"James." The officer shook his hand, frowning a little. Sirius stretched out his arm on the backrest, turning towards James.

"James. Don't you have a family, James?"

"I'm not married, if that's what you're asking."

Sirius chuckled.

"Well, it's good to know. So don't you have parents? Siblings? Cousins..."

"Of course I have parents. Everyone has them."

"But you don't talk to them."

"I do."

"But they wouldn't care if you died."

"They would!"

"Then what are you doing here?" Sirius caught the mans warm brown eyes. "You should go home. Spend your vacation doing something nice. You can't protect me. If my family finds us here, I will die. And if you stay, you'll die with me. So don't waste your time and your life. Go home, James."

James stared at him for a few seconds, before shaking his head decidedly.

"Your chances of survival are higher if I stay. When I became a police officer, I swore to do everything in my power to do good and protect the people..."

Sirius interrupted him with a harsh laugh. This guy was filled to the brim with naive idealism. He had to be new.

"How long have you been a cop?"

"Twelve years."

Sirius stared in surprise. Twelve years? And he was still like this? He could hardly believe it. Then, an idea crossed his mind and the adrenaline rushed trough his body like an avalanche. His eyes immediately flickered to Potters gun on the coffee table.

"They bribed you didn't they? You're a plant. Supposed to make me feel safe so you can easily dispose of me. How much did they pay you?"

"What?"

"How much?"

"I don't take bribes! I never have and I never will!" James seemed genuinely offended. Either he was an oscar worthy actor or he was really one of the "good" cops. One that hadn't gotten spoiled yet by corruption and misunderstood corps loyalty. After twelve years... Sirius had to admit, he was impressed. And that made hin want to get James out of here even more.

He sighed deeply.

"Then you really need to go. I don't want you to get hurt."

James laughed dryly.

"Hey. I am the one protecting you. And I am way more capable than you might think. I will stay. And I will make sure nothing happens to you until the trial."

**

Sirius was awoken by a scratching noise at one of the plastered windows. A bird, maybe or a marten. No. He knew that sound. Someone was trying to pry the window open from the outside. Fuck, they had found him.

He was suddenly wide awake. Immediately, he rolled himself off the bed and crawled towards the door. He didn't know when the hitman would get the window open, so he needed to remain hidden. He cursed himself for not bringing his mini revolver up here. It was still somewhere in his bag, no chance to find it quickly in the darkness. Maybe he had started to feel a little too safe with James around. He shook his head at the thought. Ridiculous. The man couldn't do anything to help him. Exactly why he needed to get to him, quickly.

Sirius reached the door to the hallway and hurried down the stairs as fast and quiet as possible.

"James!" He hissed in a whisper.

James' touseled head popped up between a pile of blankets on the couch. His glasses were askew. He looked kind of cute like that...Not the right time!

"Someone is breaking into my window, we need to hit it!"

James shot up, readjusted his glasses and grabbed his gun. Within a split second his eyes shifted from sleepy blurriness to hard determination.

"Get behind me." He aimed at the stairs.

"What? No, we need to go! Maybe we can get out through the downstairs bathroom."

"The window is barred."

"I loosened the screws."

"What? Why would you do that?"

"So I can escape when someone breaks in upstairs!"

"But you are making it easier to break in from the fucking outside!"

Their bickering was interrupted by a loud crack and a thump from upstairs. He was in. Or she. Hopefully not Bella. No, Bella wouldn't have taken so long.

"Give me your gun," Sirius said.

James ripped his arms out of his reach.

"No! Bloody hell get back Sirius. Hide behind the counter," he whispered sharply. Sirius glared at him for a second but when he heard steps coming from the bedroom he complied. He grabbed a large knife and a heavy steel pan. No match for a gun, but effective enough on short distance.

A man appeared at the end of the stairs. A loud shot sounded, followed by a scream. James cursed. Had he been hit? Sirius popped up behind the counter, but James was still standing, though he was lowering his weapon. He gestured at Sirius to go back down, which he reluctantly did.

He heard James approaching the stairs before pulling out his phone.

"Yes, Potter here. We had an incident at the house. Yes, I am... No... Yes... Copied... Over." He hung up. Sirius peered around the edge of the counter but couldn't really see what was going on.

It turned out that the person who broke into Sirius' window had in fact not been sent by his family to assassinate him, but was rather a homeless man looking for shelter during a rainy night. He had expected the house to still be unoccupied and reckoned it a good place to sleep. Now, the poor man was brought to a hospital after being shot in the right arm. James hadn't hesitated, when his shadow had appeared and fired a shot, with intention to disarm the attacker. Surprisingly unerring, Sirius thought.

James closed the front door with a sigh. The last officers had vanished.

"Let's just hope noone saw you," he said to Sirius, who was climbing out of his hiding space in the pantry. "I will talk to my superiors about changing locations. It is too risky to stay here."

"I'll go back upstairs," Sirius said tiredly. A homeless person...James was right, maybe he was a bit jumpy at the moment. He felt a little embarrassed if he was honest.

"I'll come with you."

Sirius shot James a questioning look.

"After what happened I should stay close. What if it had actually been an attacker and he'd surprised you in your sleep? I couldn't have done anything to protect you."

Sirius rolled his eyes. James was overdoing it with his protectiveness. But some - quiet - part of him, found that he really didn't mind.

So he allowed James to follow him upstairs and dropped back into his bed. They had managed to close the broken window, but Sirius didn't feel particularly good about it. Having James here with him wouldn't be so bad...

James proceeded to sit down on a chair in the corner of the room. Sirius gave him a look.

"What are you doing?"

"I'll just be over here, don't mind me."

"You can't sit there."

"Why not?"

"Because it is fucking strange. I don't want you to watch me while I sleep!" He patted the mattress next to him. "Just lay down, for fucks sake!"

James hesitated, but finally lowered himself akwardly next to Sirius. Fully clothed, with his gun on his chest, laying stiff like a corpse.

Sirius groaned in annoyance. What was wrong with that guy? He propped himself up on his arm and picked James' glasses from his nose, before snatching his gun, putting both of them on the nightstand. James protested, but Sirius simply ignored him and instead proceeded to pull the blanket over the stubborn man.

"Stop acting ridiculous and sleep. If someone comes in, we either both wake up, or we die. That's just how it is."

Sirius curled up, facing away from James and closed his eyes.

But he couldn't sleep. He knew that James was there, laying only inches away. It made him nervous, but not necessarily in a bad way. After a couple minutes he gave in to the urge and turned around. James had his eyes closed, but Sirius wasn't sure if he was actually sleeping. Still, he used the opportunity to take a good look at him. He really looked good. His skin was brown, a bit darker than Sirius' own, strong jawline but his features still had a certain softness to them. His dark short hair seemed to be always a little messed up and his shoulders... God, his fucking shoulders. Sirius had noticed them before, broad and muscular, their shape faintly visible through his tight t-shirt. All of James' t-shirts were tight. Sirius wondered whether he knew what kind of effect that had. With his strong arms exposed, the fabric hugging his well built torso...

Sirius felt his mouth water and quickly turned back to the wall, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to get rid of the images that were flashing up in his mind. He needed to sleep.

Sleeping next to James was an odd experience. Sirius hadn't slept next to someone in a while and James...James was different somehow. He made him feel things he usually didn't. Like wanting to curl up in his arms, being held, secure and protected...Absurd! Sirius didn't need anyone to protect him. He was very capable of doing that himself, he always had and he knew that if it came to it, James probably wouldn't even be able to actually keep him safe, but still...He was almost yearing for it. He hated it. And with every day that they spend together, waiting for the transfer to a new safehouse, with James never leaving his side, it got worse.

"I don't know why this is taking so long," murmured James while absentmindedly rubbing his stubbly chin. Sirius tried his best not to stare, but it was hard. He wondered what it felt like to run his own hand over it...

James looked up from his phone.

"How's the crossword going?"

Sirius froze, caught, quickly turning back to the newspaper in front of him.

"Oh, it's finished. I moved on to the Sudoku section." He fidgeted with the button on his shirt, feeling James' gaze upon him. Why did this make him nervous? He wasn't a fucking schoolgirl! And James was a cop! A man of honor never associates with a cop. But a man of honor was also not supposed to break the code of silence - which was exactly why he was here. So he might as well scratch two off the list at once...

Sirius raised his head again and found that James was still looking at him. His eyes flickered away, when Sirius met them. Things clearly had changed between them since the break in. Sirius eyes grazed over James' face, down his neck, getting stuck at the outlines of his pecs under his navy blue t-shirt. He bit his lip, but letting it go again immediately, startled by his own reaction. This needed to stop! He was being childish and stupid and he should know better.

Just when he wanted to get up to leave the room and go literally anywhere else, James got up from his spot on the couch and dropped himself on the barstool next to Sirius, leaning his elbow on the marble countertop. His muscular forearm flexed slightly as he dragged the newspaper towards him. Sirius cheeks were burning and he prayed that he wasn't getting red.

"Is there anything in the news about you yet?"

Sirius shook his head.

"I suppose my family wants to keep it internal. But I am sure they have noticed..."

"Do you think they know why you left? What you will do?" James looked at him intently and Sirius couldn't help but get captivated by his eyes. Warm brown with a faint hint of green around the edges. He was so gorgeous... Sirius cleared his throat.

"They aren't stupid. So I suppose they will suspect it. But I could have just left, because I've had enough. It's not like it was all sunshines and rainbows before. At any rate, they'll be looking for me." Sirius was hit by a wave of anxiety, coupled with the urge to move closer to James.

"I won't let anything happen to you," James said as if he had read his mind. "I know that you think that I am rather useless, but I will make sure you are safe. I promise."

Fuck. Why did he have to say it like that? In that bloody tone. While looking at him like that. Sirius felt like his whole body was being drawn towards the other man, wanting to kiss him, to touch him, to be touched.

"I don't think you're useless," he brought out. His mouth was dry. He hoped fervently that James wouldn't notice his composure crumbling. "I just think that you are putting yourself in unnecessary danger."

"I'm a cop, that's part of the job."

Sirius laughed.

"You are an idealist, James. Cops don't put themselves in danger, they mostly do that to other people."

"Is that what your family taught you?"

Sirius flinched angrily. How dare he?

"I'm not supid, Potter," he snapped, James flinched a little at the last name. "I've seen enough to shape my own opinions. And I tell you, I've never met a cop that you couldn't buy." He crossed his arms and leaned back into the small backrest of the barstool.

"I can't be bought," James replied defiantly. Sirius smirked suggestively.

"I'm sure you also have your weak spots..."

James stared at him for a second, lips slightly parted as if he wanted to say something but being to stunned to speak. Then he quickly got up.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he mumbled and vanished towards the bathroom.

Sirius thoughtfully took a sip of his coffee, smiling to himself. Maybe he wasn't the only one with a questionable infatuation...

[bakageta]

Holiday 500 fic #4

@gallus-rising's prompt! Just as you are always thinking about Venom's tiny dinos, I am always imagining them wearing novelty chicken arms.

NO! Venom roared in Eddie’s head as he struggled to tap the add to cart button. He was sitting, as alone as he ever was these days, on the couch in his boxers while Venom’s former take home meal chickens scratched up the last of the feed on the area rug.

“Yes,” Eddie insisted with grim determination. Sweat beaded on his furrowed brow. His hand was frozen around his phone.

NO!

“Why not? We agreed you get to pick one thing for the chickens and I get to pick one thing for the chickens.” The sweat trailed down his temple and he blinked to keep it out of his eye. The distraction was enough for Venom to move Eddie’s thumb a few millimeters away from the phone’s screen.

It’s undignified! They hiss.

“They’re fucking chickens. They don’t have dignity.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Venom locked Eddie’s body to the couch, stiff, cramped, and unmoving. It punched out from his left side and darted into his face.

“Take. That. Back.”

“No.”

His symbiote snarled loudly enough to rattle Eddie’s chest and pressed forwards. It was a sound normally reserved for the worst of their meals. Not something that had ever been heard in their apartment. Another sound followed, an angry squawk that was more and more common. Sonny chased Cher across the living room and into the kitchen.

“Hey!” Venom whipped its head around to track the hens. “Leave her alone, Sonny! You are sisters! You should get along!”

Eddie sighed. “See, that's why they need something to do.”

“But they are sisters…” Venom grumbled.

“They’re also animals. You gotta give them stuff to do or they’ll figure out their own stuff.” Mr Belvedere had very much been a learning experience for Eddie. He figured that chickens weren’t that different in their needs–behaviorally at least–so he’d proposed enrichment to Venom. Unfortunately, the symbiote couldn’t pick a toy.

“There are too many options… What if they do not like what I pick?” Venom’s external mass buzzed with frustration. 

Eddie sunk into the couch with a sigh. “How ‘bout you pick two things, then? Since mine’s a two pack.”

“That is… Acceptable.” Venom perched its head on Eddie’s shoulder as its surface calmed.

Venom’s pause had been thoughtful instead of grudging. Eddie knew because his jaw hadn’t involuntarily tensed and his molars hadn’t ground against each other. “Great, fantastic, love it. What do you wanna get them, then?”

“The rocking perch and the cat tree,” Venom answered immediately.

“The. cat tree?” Eddie had already been subjected to a lecture on how cat trees could be used by chickens just as easily as they could by cats. Mostly for perching instead of scratching, but it had been backed up by multiple chicken keeping forums. Hopefully Venom would settle for something other than the two hundred dollar–

“The two hundred dollar Amarkat tree, yes.”

Eddie could see Venom’s shiteating grin out of the corner of his eye. “Fine.” They’d gotten an advance on the Life group settlement and the interview gig was looking good. They could splurge on the fucking yard birds. “But that means I can definitely get the novelty t-rex chicken arms.”

[aldbooks]

A Strange Melody - Chapter 5

@sunshinebingo

Read on AO3

Azriel’s wings tucked in behind him as he landed and carefully set Gwyn on her feet. Most people were a bit unsteady after their first time flying but she possessed a surprising grace, finding her balance with ease as she took a few steps towards the mouth of the sidestreet he’d landed in, towards the village proper, eyes wide. 

Coming to her side, he lay a hand on her back and guided her through the crowded square towards the village. It was market day, however, and the usually wide open space was packed with colorful carts and eager shoppers. The scent of sugar and spices filled the air from the various food vendors and Azriel only glanced away for a moment, caught by the smell of cinnamon, only to look back and find Gwyn no longer by his side.

Before he could panic, his shadows guided him towards where she was standing in front of a cart filled with patterned scarfs, running the soft fabric through her fingers. He started after her but, just as he reached her, her attention was diverted and she moved away towards another stall selling beaded jewelry, then another offering carved lanterns and another laden with fragrant flowers. 

He dutifully followed her through the crowded market, occasionally buying a trinket here or there that she spent a particularly long time lingering over, not really sure why he did it, only that the thought of her smile when she saw it later made something spark in his chest. 

Eventually, Gwyn’s stomach took the lead and they found themselves before a baker's stall full of sweet and savory breads, cakes and pies. He observed her as she exclaimed over the options, chatting happily with the proprietor, noting again that she seemed surprisingly unfamiliar with her surroundings despite being from the islands herself. 

At his suggestion, they selected a few pillowy rolls basted in garlic, butter and herbs, a couple of meat pies, and two slices of the honey drizzled pastries that were a signature dish of the islands. He had originally intended to take her to the tavern across the square that served his favorite stew and ale but Gwyn seemed so eager to try the baker’s fare, he couldn’t deny her. 

The moan she made as she bit into the pie stuffed with ground beef and loaded with spices, sent an unexpected pulse of heat through his body and he could do nothing but stare at her as she eagerly sampled from the bag in his hand, her hypnotizing eyes lighting with an almost unearthly glow of delight with each new flavor she tasted. He was so wholly lost in his study of her, it took him a moment to remember they were standing in a crowded village square. Between his towering frame, wings and shadows, and Gwyn’s fiery red hair and otherworldly beauty, they were starting to gather attention. 

Azriel cleared his throat, forcefully shoving down the spark of lust that had risen as he’d watched her and gently guided her towards the outskirts of the crowd, his shadows shielding them from prying eyes, particularly those of the males who had begun leering at her. Glancing around them, he realized just how out of place Gwyn was among the residents of the island. Her brightly colored hair and pale skin did not blend with the olive complexions and dark hair of those around them and he wondered anew where she had come from because he was positive it wasn’t here. Possibly not anywhere in the Night Court.

Just who was she?

Just then, Gwyn lifted a hand to wipe the corner of her mouth and he noticed something he hadn’t before. Peeking from beneath the sleeve of her borrowed sweater… was a dark, round mark, shot through with silver. Azriel froze as he stared at her wrist. He knew that mark, was intimately familiar with what it meant after spending years helping Rhys collect on his many bargains. Usually, his friend kept a certain- professional distance from the fae he dealt with as The Bargainer, and yet he had brought this particular client to his home… why?

Azriel shadows chattered indiscernibly around him, apparently unwilling to share whatever they knew of the High Lord’s bargain with the beauty. Blinking his mask into place before she could notice the direction of his stare, Azriel glanced back up at Gwyn who was just pulling out her dessert, giving it a curious sniff. The cinnamon sugar glaze and toasted nuts wafted to him, reminding him of his own hunger. Absently, he pulled one of the bread rolls from the bag and took a bite.

“So,” he said after a moment. “How did you end up at the palace? Do you not have family back home who are missing you?”

He nearly regretted the words when the brightness in her eyes dimmed suddenly and she stared down at her honey covered fingers. “No. My mother died years ago when I was young. I never knew my father. It was just my sister and I for nearly a century.”

There was clear pain and grief in her tone and Azriel gentled his own voice as he encouraged her to continue. “What happened to her?”

Gwyn heaved a great sigh, her shoulder slumping sadly. He wanted to wrap her up in his arms and wipe away whatever memory had stolen her light. But he needed answers. “She was taken one night by some sailors who thought she was-” her eyes suddenly flew to his and her mouth snapped shut, halting whatever she’d been about to say. Her freckles disappeared as her cheeks turned red and she floundered slightly. “Uh- she… was killed… A few years ago now. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed slightly at her abbreviated response but didn’t push. “I’m sorry… Do you not have friends or neighbors at least who might be worried about you?”

Eyes downcast once more, she brought the last bite of her dessert to her lips and sucked away the honey on the tips of her fingers. Azriel’s mind abruptly detoured into places better left unexplored at the moment and intentionally refocused on the conversation as she shook her head. “Not really. I’m friendly with my neighbors but we mostly keep to ourselves and Catrin was my closest friend my entire life. With her gone… I admit I’ve grown lonely.”

“Is that why you left?” It would make sense that someone alone in the world and still laden with grief might want to escape their own world for a while. Gods knew he and his brothers had done the same from time to time. Didn’t explain why she’d ended up making a bargain with Rhys and arriving at the palace- naked.

Her lips parted, her gaze flicked to his as her cheeks darkened once more. “Yes,” she answered slowly.

His shadows gave a hissing sort of laugh. Interesting.

“Ready to go back?” he asked, finishing the last of the roll in his hand. 

She nodded towards the bag. “Aren’t you going to finish eating?”

He rolled the top of the bag shut, his shadows swallowing it up into the void. “It’ll keep till I get home. I still have some more work to do before dinner tonight.”

Gwyn glanced at the market once more with a disappointed pout but nodded and allowed him to scoop her up into his arms. Villagers quickly moved out of the way as his wings spread and he took flight once more. She was silent on the flight back, simply resting in his arms, her salty sweet scent surrounding him as she leaned her head against his shoulder and he fought against the urge to steal her away somewhere until he solved the mystery of who she was and learned every one of her secrets. 

They parted ways when they reached the palace, Gwyn to the library where she’d been informed Nesta was waiting for her and him to his study. He had much to ponder.

[firespunalchemy]

San and Ashitaka Build

This pile (well, there's other stuff mixed in there) is in fact the San and Ashitaka costumes I built earlier this year. I tried to do a vaguely historical approach to shapes and materials since the film is also vaguely historical, but I used modern sewing because I barely know how to sew in general. This is also why I started with the bow.

To make a fake bow, for some reason I didn't like the usual PVC option, so I decided to make a long noodle out of EVA foam, carve it into shape with a craft knife, then add exaggerated wood texture with a wood burning tool. That then got covered in Worbla and painted with several layers of acrylic + a leather strap glued for a hand grip. The bow's 'string' is just thick elastic cord.

Arrows are dowel rods cut to length with EVA foam points at one end and foam fletching at the other. I accidentally made all his arrows the samurai's arrows (oops) and have no idea why I felt the need to not use real feathers. The quiver is just a muslin bag, pretty boring lol.

His sword is balsa wood and a napkin ring all glued together then covered in Worbla (featured here by another costume's progress). The blade and ring got spray painted metallic, the handle got a leather wrap like the bow. The sheath is just a foam box wrapped in fake suede, not really worth an action shot.

Ashitaka's (happi? haori? not really sure) took two attempts and still doesn't quite fit, oops. I dyed the fabric to a shade I liked, then used a YT tutorial on making the coat. His pants were bought online, and I made a lil pouch for his mysterious dried rations.

I fully just kind of made the sleeve happen; sketched a shape, cut it out, then continued adding scraps until I got something that fit okay.

Delicious bowl cut...his wig was a struggle, since I needed it to be rough and basic but not Lord Faarquad. It came out okay, but it truly is giving home haircut from the 80s.

Let's switch to San! Most of her clothes were bought, and I made the accessories. So this giant pile of fur will turn into a separated cape and hood. You may notice two tones of color there: I chose a longer Mongolian fur for the outside and a shorter Sherpa for the inside, because no one likes to see the raw inside of fake fur. There are curtain weights sewn into the paw shapes and front drapes of cape and hood to help them not fall back.

For most of San, I used Kinpatsu Cosplay's patterns as the base, and adjusted them to be slightly more masculine (and a lot longer) to fit my San. The apron was made of linen and hemmed so the outer edges can fray over time. We'll get to weathering in a minute (I did not take many WIP pics during making all of this).

I made the mask really round and the eyes slightly farther apart to up the uncanniness of it. The mask and ears got base coated in black matte acrylic, then color slowly added using sea sponge.

The dagger was made of a mix of foam and balsa wood that got glued together, then covered in Worbla. I spent way too long staring at the movie to decide the arrow shapes on the blade were raised rather than recessed. The blade got spray painted metallic, the arrows hand painted red, the pommel spray painted black. The handle got a leather strap wrap.

Her necklace was a mix of wood and stone beads, and three toofs made of some very crusty foam clay I had sitting around. They got formed and dried around paintbrushes to make the stringing hole, sanded, then painted with acrylic to get that old tooth look. San's wig was basically used out of the bag, and her accessories were just foam wrapped in fabric with shell beads glued on.

Weathering, the second most fun part of this build! I used a mix of dry brushing on acrylic paint in various brown and tan tones, spraying/splattering with a strong black tea, and using an airbrush to add dirt and wear to everything. A lot of edges and corners also got sanded to soften them and look less crisp and new.

And then we got fancy professional photos! If you're in Texas, check if Wild Momo Photography is heading to your con. She's fantastic, truly. Hope you enjoyed reading through this journey, and it's potentially helpful if you're building your own cursed prince and wolf girl.

[crescentcityhellmouth-rpg]

Out Of Character

Name/Alias: Koya Age: 29 NSFW Personal Preference: I’m comfortable with smut, but I prefer to keep it short and sweet under most circumstances or we can fade to black. Series/Season: S6. Canon Changes: Never turns into a heretic. Activity Level: Mostly on afternoons. Time Zone: EST. RP Experience: 17yrs on various sites. Best Mode of Contact: Discord.

In-Character

Desired Character: Malachai Parker Age: 22 OTP / NOTP: Malachai x Bonnie Housing: Hyperion Hotel. Room 222.

Interview questions.

01. Give us your thoughts on New Orleans?

☆°•》 "Overrated... Too many tourists and prop magic shops. The parties do get pretty wild though, I'll give it that." 《•°☆

02. Tell us how you feel about your species, and if you could change it what would you choose to be and why?

☆°•》 "I'm a witch with no magic. Do you really have to ask?" 《•°☆ ?

03. Please describe the most important person to you and why?

☆°•》 "Me, of course... I know, shocker." 《•°☆

04. Detail a specific point in time that has detrimentally changed you?

☆°•》 "I think it was more a series of events really. The day I found out I was a siphon, the day my parents and the rest of my coven found out, the day I learned I would never be allowed to merge with Jo, the day I killed my family... y'know.. The usual." 《•°☆

05. Explain (a few) bad habit(s) in detail that you’ve picked up over the years, if you remember when you started it describe that pivotal moment as well as what you’ve tried to do to cope with it?

☆°•》 "Compartmentalization. Which innately my therapist said wasn't such a bad thing. Until around eight years old when I started repressing all of my emotions. Then when mom and dad found out what I was counseling was no longer an option to try and fix me. So, y'know, I didn't really care to cope anymore." 《•°☆

Playlist.  

• Blood // Water — grandson • parents — YUNGBLUD • I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE — Måneskin

Paragraph sample.

Malachai was intrigued by the big easy. As far as he could tell it was nothing like Portland or Mystic Falls. Magic seeped from the earth and there was a shop on nearly every corner. He wandered into quite a few, but none held quite the legitimate stockpile of goodies like the Magic Box. & the owner, a petite little blonde thing, radiated something of a magical energy herself. One in which he never quite encountered before, what struck him as odd though is that she hardly seemed bothered by his mannerisms and as she hurriedly made her way into the back room to grab a restock of low inventory items, he briefly thought on how these damned emotions caused him to lose his touch. Minutes after that someone else made their way into the neat little shop, but he was almost too distracted to turnaround. That is, of course, until he heard her voice. & for a moment he stood there almost too stunned to speak. As if struck by some kind of a feeling he couldn't even quite accurately describe to turn around and face her, his heart racing as small beads of sweat pooled at his temples. ☆°•》"Bonnie," he breathed out her name, an inaudible whisper before he managed to muster up the courage to face her now. "Wolfsbane, huh," He mused weakly at first. "Regular fencing not doing its job? You decide to take matters into your own hands and put down that aggressive dog? I could help, y'know.. If you want me to." 《•°☆ 《☆°• 'If you want me to?' He thought. 'Dammit.' The swell of unidentifiable emotions now whirling inside him as he looked down at her, his cobalt blue eyes now bore into her emerald, green ones. Hoping she could see what he was struggling to feel. •°☆》

[aredpainting]

freewrite 07/19/2016

EJS

#1

Today it seemed like gravity was working against her. The second she woke from her numb slumber, the impact from a pillow being tossed across the room hit her. She stayed still, knowing all too well that if she returned hostile actions, the bruises scattered around her body would increase. Instead, a soft laughter graced her lips as she sat up. 

     "Why are you laughing? Don't you know what time it is?" A lanky figure appeared from the corner. A student, no older than Kara, hovered over her small figure. The figure hunched down, her finger smacking against the bandaged forehead. "You sleep so much! You know the rules–so, get up already!"

Obediently, the two-toned head lifted from the cushions. She followed the commands wordlessly, sitting up and standing to head towards the bathroom. "Sorry," she murmured in response. Shutting the door behind her, Kara found herself leaning against the sink. 

     In one swift motion, she heaved violently. A series of vomit–mixed with blood splattered across the counter. Her actions were silent, for if her roommates overheard the commotion she made each morning, she was positive they'd file for complaints. Once she finished, a sloppy hand guided across her mouth to clean the residue. Her free hand lifted, casting a spell to undo the mess along with the harsh stench. If there was one lesson she appreciated the most in class, it was certainly the series of spells that completed any house work. 

In less than ten minutes, she finished the process of washing her face, brushing her teeth, exchanging the old bandages for new ones and brushed her hair. While she did this, the voices outside her door happened to be the only background noise. 

     "She's so hopeless,"

     "I can't believe she was invited here!–Hey, you know what I heard?"

     "What?"

     "She's literally failing physicals! Like, how hard is it to move around and run? It's so sad! Her summons don't cooperate at all with her, too!"

     "Heh, what do you expect from a handicapped? I wouldn't be surprised if she's kicked out next term…"

     Her first classes were lax as usual. She sat at the very back. Her eyes roamed the paper, absorbing nothing while half-heartedly tuning into the lecture. Though she received fairly high marks in her general classes, the administrative insisted she attended periods that suited her age range. She already had a difficult time fitting in–they could only imagine how it would be in the next grade!

 Absently tapping her wrapped fingers against the paper, Kara found herself staring–unintentionally–at the student beside her. In seconds, they caught her gaze. "Hey, freak," they whispered, clearly disgruntled, "what's with the face? Can't you pay attention? I'd imagine all that's in your head is air." 

The group of students around them snickered. The girl blinked, returning to reality. Judging by the distasteful glances and scoffs, she was, yet again, the center of attention at the worst time. Smiling gently, she peered away. "Sorry." 

     By the last class before lunch, she could feel her heart sink into her stomach. Another drill? They had one yesterday–and the day before! Were they trying to kill her?! Many of the students grinned, eager to work with their partners and some had already casted their creatures. 

Standing aside from the crowd, Kara worriedly glanced towards the two capsules that disguised themselves as bracelet beads. Biting down on her bottom lip, she made the decision to summon Scout. Sha was never an option–he would only lash violently at her commands. Removing the bead from the assortment, she rolled it to the ground. 

In seconds, a mist of lavender air appeared. It only took moments for the familiar face to step from the smoke. "Yo," they said, waving a casual hand to the girl. 

With a quick survey towards the rowdy groups, a look of disinterest placed their content features. "Again?" They asked, already displeased. "I'm still worn out from the last two rounds," they grumbled, arms crossing, "and it's almost lunch!"

     Awkwardly, Kara shifted. "Yeah," she replied, unable to find the right words. Still, she turned to them, a look of determination replacing her furrowed facade. "It's going to be better today, though!" The girl said, a grin coming to her lips. "Let's do our best!"

Despite her clumsy nature, persistence always seemed to be the rebound. 

Scout shook their head, adjusting the hoodie they adorned before looking away. "I guess." 

     A sharp whistle cut through the festive chatter. Promptly, the students hushed. 

"For this exercise, we will be releasing three groups into the dome," explained the instructor, reading through the clipboard. "All three groups must complete the gym, along with the mock battle before the alarm goes off. You will be graded independently by strength, agility, reflexes and teamwork. Understood?" 

 "Yes," buzzed the students. 

     'No,' she thought, her grip loosening from the bar above her, 'please–for all that's holy, please don't let me fa–' As the thought passed, her fingers began to slip. The scene was excruciatingly slow–as if it was being played in effect for laughs. 

Swearing under her breath and meeting the wry expression of her partner, Kara fell back. Her head hit the mat, body sprawling pathetically before she shut her eyes in pain. 'I'm sorry,' she thought again, the stinging sensation of tears rising, 'I'm so useless.' 

They were doing so well, too! The two—for once–happened to get through the first rounds without any issues; she was fortunate that Scout was so willing to carry her about. The duo flawlessly breezed through the mock battle; the actions were rather predictable and with her quick thinking, they advanced early onto the gym. 

     Unlike Scout who saw no problems with the obstacles, Kara stressed immensely with the high platforms, complex sprints and dangerous leaps. She knew well enough her legs wouldn't respond well to the pressure followed by impact. So, as the weapon witnessed her bitter downfall, the alarm sliced through the terse silence. 

Her breath hitched, sitting up finally. The static rumble of laughter and disappointment around the crowd was all too familiar. Cautiously, Kara stood. She kept her gaze to the floor, absently dusting her skirt and adjusting the tie that became loose through the drill. She watched as another pair of feet appeared before her; glancing up, she was met with the agitated expression of Scout. 

     "What happened?" They snapped, arms being shoved into their jacket, "God, Kara, do you realize how dumb you made me look? For once, I actually thought we'd finish this thing." They sighed, exasperated. 

Her lips went agape, an apology beginning to form at the tip of her tongue. However, once she began to speak, her voice was drowned out by the harsh scream of the bell. The hordes of students rushed through the doors, eager for their free period. 

"Don't say anything," Scout continued, staring her down. "I'm tired of your apologizes. Don't you learn? Can't you see that you're the one being difficult?" With a snarl, they turned away, back facing the girl. "You know," they began, beginning to exit the dome, "maybe this was a mistake." Before she was able to retort, or reassure the weapon, they had already left. 

     A mistake…? Kara stood still, the burning effect of her nose increasing. Her breathing staggered, unable to take the backlash–unable to comprehend what she had done wrong–unable to wrap her head around the fact that she… she–this was a mistake. Their words held truth. She wasn't cut out to be a conjurer, nor was she cut out to even really be accepted in such a prestigious school. She wasn't cut out to possess magic, nor was she cut out to be alive. Why was she here? Why was she resurrected? Why didn't they leave her rotting? Why was she always the one who took the bitter end?

With the thoughts running through her mind, Kara hardly realized she was frantically chasing after Scout. Pushing through the doors, she searched for the bright jacket. The girl pushed her way through the crowds, hysteric to talk through her mistakes with her partner. When she found the tinted jacket, her fingers wrapped around their arm. 

"Scout," she said, her voice seeming to crack, "please–I'm sorry! I can do better, okay? I'm sorry…" Her words trailed off, falling into incoherent hiccups. "I'm sorry… Please look at me! I–I can make it up to you, alright?" 

Her grip tightened, desperately squeezing their arm. In a single jerk, Scout pulled away. Sparing a rather disgusted sneer, they resumed to walk away. 

     Ashamed, embarrassed and wordless, Kara watched as their figure immersed into the crowds. She stood still, shoulders drooped and expression left with pitiful agony. Why–why did this happen? Why was she so stupid? Why was she always messing everything up? Her delirium only rose once catching the disapproving remarks from the groups scattered around. 

     "Her summon left! I guess that's what she gets for being such a lazy conjurer."

     "Is she crying? Seriously? What is she, ten?"

     "Hey, if I was her summon, I'd leave, too. No way in hell am I putting up with someone like that."

No matter how much she wanted to deny the negative feedback from the crowd, Kara aimlessly found solace in their bitter words

They were right. 

Abruptly, she turned away. Faster than she sought possible, she sprinted from the building. No place to surely settle for, she escaped to the only area that would give her the silence she craved. 

While she ran wildly through the town, she thought of the countless–dauntless mistakes that occurred. The tears that she held so tightly began to spill. There was no use in hiding it now; she was a lost cause, nothing but a child that bit off more than she was able to chew. 

The water felt cold against her skin, unwilling to wipe away the mess once she arrived. Her cheeks were of stinging peach, large brown eyes filled to the brim with tears as her bottom lip trembled furiously.

 The house was tall, slim and held a very soothing atmosphere. She inhaled shakily, passing through the doors only to meet eyes with the man behind the counter. Her visits were common; however, the occasional stir of emotions that caused her to erupt were not. Still, he handled it quite well. Watching as she stumbled past the counter and into the yard that eased her roaring self-loathe, the man anxiously pulled at the hem of his sleeve. He was still very new to the idea of empathy, but quickly learned that despite her gloomy aptitude, Kara enjoyed her solitude. 

Once she was far enough from the patio and standing at her usual area, she very carefully let herself down. For the first few moments, the girl was silent. She stared aimlessly at the meadow before her, attempting to regulate her breathing and put her spinning mind to rest. This did not help. Instead, she lolled backwards. 

Her arms stacked around her face, blocking the sunlight from her eyes while the spiteful tears once more washed through her woeful features. ‘This isn’t fair,’ her mind screamed, ‘why am I the one who gets the tragedy? Why am I the one that’s always being put down for my efforts? Why am I the one who is so insufferable that no one sticks around? Why am I the sad excuse for a magician?’ The quiet cries became frantic sobs now. Her voice croaked, letting out an anguished yell before hopelessly cupping her face. Her volume peaked, aimlessly screaming at the sky, swearing and pointlessly breaking apart the persona created by the dejected pieces left of her younger image.

Worthless, no good, weak, disappointment, pathetic, naive, clumsy, irritating, waste of time, foolish, dopey, ignorant and most of all, a mistake. 

She rolled over to her side. Her wails piped down now. The field was once more hushed by silent sobs, rigid hiccups and flimsy exhales. 

Today, gravity was working against her. 

[fandom-collective-writers]

Flames of Jealousy (Diluc Ragnvindr x MC)

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Diluc Ragnvindr x MC(F)

Warnings: NSFW, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Penetration, Orgasm Denial

Written by: @voltage-vixen Prompt: Jealous Sex​

Notes: The MC featured in this story is a former traveler that is of age.

“Diluc, is everything alright? You’re not acting like yourself.”

Ignoring MC’s expressed concern, Diluc snaked his fingers tighter around her own, and proceeded to storm through the village at an increasing pace as he dragged her along for the ride. 

They had attended (unwilling on Diluc’s behalf) a gathering hosted by none other than the Knights of Favonius. Often one to avoid these types of shindigs where civilities were long forgone as the liquor poured throughout the eve, Diluc had exhausted all options of excuses for not attending when the former traveler he was presently dragging away had insisted upon making an appearance. The woman who had chosen to remain in Mondstadt in the stead of pursuing the journey her brother ventured on with after reuniting with one another; she had chosen to reside stationary in the great nation of freedom to remain by his side.  The least he could offer up was to stand by her side as the proud partner of the honorary knight.

That was until that bastard entered the scene. More specifically, that cryo bastard. Kaeya naturally was the object of the affection of many suitors; in which made Diluc question why the Captain of the Calvary had chosen to stand so closely next to his suitor. The two were exchanging what seemed to be innocent enough pleasantries-but it wasn’t until Kaeya flashed that panty dropping smirk in MC’s direction did Diluc find himself storming across the foyer.  

“Pardon. Allow me to extend my deepest apologies, but I’m afraid we must be taking our leave now. An urgent matter has come up at the guild,” Diluc explained to the nearby guests loitering in the grand hall. Latching onto her wrist, Diluc yanked MC towards the large doors to make an exit without allowing any sort of refutes. MC blinked in confusion at Kaeya’s perceptive wink, and waved a swift goodbye to Lisa and Amber before being dragged fully out of the castle. 

Damn, him. Damn, him all to hell! Who the hell does he think he is putting his hands on my woman?!

Furious thoughts of jealousy raged throughout Diluc’s mind, swirling around like the fury of a violent storm. Wanting to wipe Kaeya from his mind, the animosity shifted onto MC instead. Why in the name of the archons was she allowing other men (least of all one that drove him loony) to position themselves in such a close vicinity to her? Gods, did he love this woman more than his own life itself, but she was due for a lesson. He was going to instill a sweet punishment upon MC that she would never forget. Turning the corner, they soon reached the front of Angel’s Share. Throwing the door open to the closed pub, Diluc slammed it shut behind them before his hands were drawn to her body.

The wielder of pyro’s hands descended the trace of MC’s hips until they cupped the curve of her rear end. She breathed a wistful sigh as he fondled the sensitive mound of flesh. Flames of passion scorched through her veins, igniting her body in a burning desire so fierce, her knees trembled in duress at the grazing heat of the tycoon’s caresses. MC swayed into the embrace of Diluc’s chest, crashing into him as she fervently grasped onto his shirt to brace herself.

“Please,” a breathy whisper slipped from the purse of her lips. “Please, Diluc. I can’t wait any longer. Make me burn for you even more.”

Chuckling, Diluc drank in the sounds of MC’s moans amid lifting her up and settling her onto the counter of the bar. Yearning for more, MC’s hands were drawn to the back of his head. Tugging him closer, their lips collided with such a fierceness, her breath lingered, and a pleasurable tingling consumed the greedy inclination between her legs. 

Diluc longed to satisfy his dear MC. Gazing down at the woman in question, she was a sheer exquisite mess of beauty. Her dress was hitched above her hips, sweat trickling down her thighs. The pupils of MC’s eyes were coated in a desirous lust, and her tongue traced the crease of lips in anticipation of what she was aching for. Oh, great archons did he want to worship MC. Both in body and soul, the nobleman wanted to take her here and now, drowning her in all the whims his affections had to offer. 

Alas, his ravishing of MC would have to take pause. For flashbacks of Kaeya’s smug stupid face as he purposely taunted the owner of Dawn Winery danced into his mind. The way MC unsuspectingly smiled at the flirting ministrations the captain tossed her way infuriated Diluc. Never did he question her loyalty to him, but still….a tiny reminder of who MC belonged to wouldn’t harm anyone. In fact, it could even prove to be an enjoyable experience for the two of them. Slipping underneath the disheveled fabric of dress, Diluc caressed her thighs affectionately as he ascended higher until-

“Already, my ember? The real fun hasn’t even begun yet,” Diluc crooned, pressing two of his fingers against the wet fabric of the thin undergarment serving as a bothersome barrier for the woman writhing beneath him.  

Diluc’s grasp around her waist tightened while he nonchalantly guided his fingers up against her lingerie, rubbing circles of friction against the wetness of her slit. MC’s nails clawed into his chest as the digits on his hands pressed proactively onto her core, occasionally flicking the bud of her womanhood. Diluc nudged his forehead against hers and leaned in to lick the bead of sweat trickling down the side of her face.

“Your eyes are practically begging me to indulge you even more,” Diluc huffed. 

Making haste with his own trousers, his pants fell to the floor of the deserted pub. The pads of his fingers gripped firmly onto the trace of her silhouette. His clasp on MC was so tense, he could already make sight of the light bruises forging vividly, staining the surface of her skin. Concerned his jealousy consumed him with an out of line rashness, Diluc was about to withdraw until MC threw her arms around the base of his neck. Refusing to let her man pull away, she cradled him closer to dimiss the distance between them.

“Hold me tighter,” MC solicited, alluring to his carnal desire by batting her long lashes. “Remind me who I belong to.” 

 “Take care you heed not forget those words. Remember, you are mine, and mine alone,” his honeyed response melodiously rang into her ears as Diluc’s hips snapped forward to enjoin the pair as one.

Sensuous whimpers echoed yonder into the abyss of the tavern whilst MC entrusted herself to Diluc’s spoils. Reaching out to clutch the mound of her ass to brace her from the force of his thrusts, Diluc grunted in between the slaps of her breasts heaving down against her chest from the vigorous momentum of each gratifying movement. Diluc entwined his fingers in between MC’s, as her hitched breathing increased in volume. This response of hers was a telltale sign that approaching the final destination was within sight. He leaned in to pepper her fine skin in kisses, occasionally licking away at the beads of perspiration coating her. 

“Diluc,” she breathed, desperate to catch the breaths he stole, yet unable to deny the pining fueling her tantalizing lust.

“I know,” he murmured, lifting her leg to enfold it around the cut of his toned waist to allow him a more accessible angle of entry. 

“MC, everything about you is captivating,” he whispered. “Your very essence exhilarates the fibers of my very being. Never forget that.”

“Ah, stop torturing me, Diluc,” she moaned during the course of each of his lavish pecks that were assaulting the nape of MC’s neck.

“I shall cease the vexing of this punishment if you surrender and concede yourself over to me,” Diluc demanded, his tone raspy as he pined to bear witness to the scene of MC immersing herself while he drove her to climax. “Say my name-no, scratch that. Scream my name. Scream my name until that lovely voice of yours goes hoarse. Shout high and loud to the mighty archons that I’m the only one that will ever be able to please you.”

Halting the snapping motions of his hips, Diluc held firm and reached out to cradle MC’s chin. Tilting her gaze to lock into his own, he etched the part of her lower lip with his thumb. Tauntingly slow, Diluc slightly shifted the angle of his lower body, further inflicting torment on his squirming companion. Instead of bestowing the release MC was anticipating, the vision holder held her desire hostage by denying any additional penetration.

“Pledge yourself in a vow that your flames shall only ever be ignited by I. Do it. Do it now, and I will set you free from this heat.”

“Diluc, I-DILUC!!!!!”

An extravagant wanton scream escaped from MC, since despite Diluc’s request, he simply couldn’t bear to waste another moment and plunged deeper back into her core. The lewd sounds of her wetness resounded in the air as he pounded into MC, bucking madly, eager to remind her that it was him and him alone that would always be there to fulfill each and every one of her fantasies. It would be him, and him alone, that would allow MC to use him emotionally and physically as she sought fit to indulge in her heart’s content. 

Wrapped around each other, the lines of where he began and she ended were lost in the swirl of pleasure trickling down to the curl of their toes. The heat consuming them was greater than it had ever been prior to this rough lovemaking session, and Diluc chewed on his lip to will himself to hold on for just a while longer.

Come on, hang in there.. Not until MC is satisfied. I can feel her tightening around me, so surely she should be finishing any moment.

Diluc’s prayers were answered, because he felt the familiar tightening of her encompassing around him. A wistful sigh accompanied MC’s relieved one as her body quivered from the aftermath of her coils fluttering from reaching her ograsm. Her body heaved and her back arched down onto the counter of the bar. Heavy and dropping from the aftermath of pleasure, MC was ready for a post-sex slumber and cuddles with Diluc. Placing her hands on the wood counter, MC was about to drop down onto the floor when the grip of her man encircled her suddenly.

“Bold of you to assume we were finished with your punishment,” Diluc coaxed, ignoring the squeal when he flipped MC over. Her bountiful chest was pressed flat up against the hard finished wood of the counter. “You were quite the naughty little vixen today, my ember. Perhaps another round should help you more clearly understand the error of your ways.”

Flinching out of reaction, the tension faded away and MC relaxed onto the counter while Diluc sprinkled kisses on her bare back. She whimpered when his arousal pressed once again at her opening, but then groaned when he pulled back. 

“Fear not, my darling,” Diluc crooned, running his hand to tenderly stroke her back. “I plan on pleasuring you in all of our favorite positions until I’m satisfied that the fact that you are mine is engraved in your heart.” 

His fingers twined through her hair, and Diluc gave a slight tug to bring MC closer to him. She wiggled her bum in the air impatiently, and groaned when his lips touched the responsive spot.

“Diluc,” MC swooned, her words as wet as the happy tears trickling down the side of her face. “I’m yours, my hero. Only yours, for now until forever separates us.”

“Until forever…..,” Diluc mimicked her promise, and willed his body for another round. Those were the final words uttered as they were eventually replaced with incoherent babblings, moans, and whimpers from the delight of losing themselves in each other. 

The fates would ensure that Diluc and MC would live a prosperous future together. That much Diluc was sure of. Despite his perceptions, Diluc abided into a vow that for the rest of their days together, he would spend any amount of time reminding MC of just that fact.

[mrskittythulhu]

blue flames and red feathers (2)

part1  part2   part3

wattpad

(18+) Dabi + Hawks + (y/n) fem

Shifting from foot to foot on the sidewalk outside your apartment you waited for your coworkers to arrive. You spent hours shuffling from outfit to outfit until you ran out of time and settled on a blue skater dress. You didn’t care much for the heals but they matched. You knew that if you wore them your feet would be killing you later, but the lack of other options forced you to wear them tonight.

The drive to the club was lively with the radio blaring. You almost wanted to insist that they come back another night when you noticed the long line of patrons wanting to enter the club.  To your dismay one of the girls said she was a friend of someone who worked for Endeavor’s agency and got his rejected club passes. Hawks had told you before that many businesses send freebees to top heroes in hope of them coming. It was a strange type of marketing ploy.

After you each flashed your IDs to the bouncer you made it inside the loud thumping smoke-filled club. Bright lasers filled the dark space and low lights illuminated the bar and seating areas. You watched as your coworkers quickly flocked the bar grabbing shot glasses while you awkwardly maneuvered through the crowds. By the time you regrouped the boisterous group of girls were slamming their second shot glass.

Barely able to hear what the girls next to you were saying it was just easier to smile and nod at the conversation. Swiftly a couple of the girls from the group broke off to the dance floor. Wasn’t long before they were no long dancing with each other but dancing with strange men.

“Here drink this.” One of your coworkers nudged you for your attention handing you a swirling blue liquid inside a small glass cup. With a tight smile on your face, you thanked her. You knew you needed to loosen up the awkward tension was thick. Not wanting to be a wet blanket you drank down the glass. The burn of the alcohol caused you to let out strained coughs. When you regained yourself, you looked around see that your party had fully disbursed leaving you alone at the bar.

With wobbly feet you walked towards the restrooms in hope to text Hawks that you were not having a good time and wanting him to pick you up. Hopefully he wasn’t busy working far away. Between the uncomfortable shoes and the strange alcohol hitting your system each step became harder and harder. As you nearly fell over strong arms wrapped around your mid-section pulling you back into a hard chest. The thump of your body colliding with their then them colliding with a wall knocked you dizzy for a moment.

“Where are you off to little slut?” A deep voice whispered in your ear. A chill ran up your spine as you knew you could never forget the sound of HIS voice. You felt the scratch of metal on the back of your leg as his hand ran up your thigh. He was under your running a finger under your panties at your hip. His fingers felt hot against your soft skin.

“Are you off to fuck another villain in the bathroom?” Dabi was enjoying how your heartrate and breathing started to pick up. Your heavy panting causing your breasts to rise and fall. “That’s right you’re into heroes again. Guess you must be over that bad boy phase already.” Panic filled you from him knowing something so personal. You started to squirm away, but he gripped his free arm over you like a seatbelt leaving his hand light placed over your neck. He started to shush you while the hand under your dress was placed over your clothed core. His fingers pushing the fabric between your folds to soke up your moistier.

“Please Dabi let me go.” You sucked in your bottom lip as you let out a throatily moan from his touch. “I promise I wont tell anyone I saw you here. I just want to go home.” His nose was running along your ear, so you were able to hear him moan as if he was thinking over your words despite the loud music. “Please.” You begged with the prick of tears in the corner of your eyes.

“Alright.” His grip on your neck tightened but his large hands didn’t put pressure on your airway. “But I will be seeing you real soon (y/n).” The hand under your dress gave a squeeze of your womanhood and you jumped from the sensation. “Real soon.” He left a chase kiss at the back of your cheek near your ear. As quickly as his hands were on you, they were gone.

You spun around losing your balance in the process to see where he had gone but there was only a wall. With more urgency you made your way into the restroom. You frantically pulled out your phone but no answer from Hawks. After a deep calming breath, you texted him. If it wasn’t for autocorrect none of your rapid-fire messages would have been legible. Despite you promise deep down it would have been foolish not to tell your high-ranking hero boyfriend that a top villain was at the club. Taking a seat on the countertop you downloaded a ride share app quickly typed in your info and waited for the notification that your ride was here to get you.

“Shit.” For the second time you dropped your apartment keys to the floor. Your mind was still uneasy after your run in with Dabi. You didn’t even bother to tell anyone you had gone home. Only hiding in the bathroom like a scared child until your ride showed.

You had convinced yourself that the reason he was after you was to kill you. He knew you had told the police about him and wanted to tie up loose ends. This panic left you trembling. You took both your hands wrapped them around your keys and slowly managed to open your apartment door. A stray tear left your eye at the small victory. Rushing inside you slammed the door shut and locked it quickly. You peeked out the spy hole like a mad woman only letting out a deep sigh when you noticed the hallway was still empty.

Flicking on the living room light you only felt slightly safer in the walls of your apartment. You grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and went into your bedroom. Telling yourself that after a relaxing shower and good night sleep you would feel better. Chugging half the bottle down you felt the cool water chill your racing body. With quick movements pulled your skater dress over your head and tossed it into the hamper.

In the mirror you noticed the large wet spot on your panties from when Dabi had touched you. Slowly you moved a towards your lower half, but you stopped suddenly. In the corner of your eye, you noticed movement in the mirror’s reflection coming from behind you. As you looked over your eyes wide with fear as bright blue eyes stared back at you.

Dabi was leaning with his arms folded over his chest on your bathroom door frame. You spun around nearly loosing balance from your heals. The palms of your hands gripped the top of your dresser keeping you from falling over.

“W-wha..” Your frantic words trailed off.

“I told you I would see you soon.” He started to take long strides over to you.

“Ho- How did you get in here.” He didn’t answer with words only a blank expression and a shrug of his shoulders. Before you could ask another question, he was towering over you. Your eyes stayed locked with his fear kept you trapped in place. You knew what this man was capable of and images of your tragic end on the evening news filled your mind.

“A-are you here to kill me?” A sly smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He placed his hands on the dresser behind you trapping you in place. He leaned his face closer to yours with a hum in his throat. His nose lightly brushed along your cheek when he reached your temple, he placed a chase kiss to your skin.

“I was thinking about it.” He brought his hand up capturing your chin to keep your attention forced on him. “Would be a shame to get rid of such a fine piece of ass like you.” He ran his thumb over your lips on instinct you opened your mouth allowing him to run is thumb over your tongue while you lightly sucked it. “So why don’t you do what you do best and convince me not to kill you.”

His grip on your chin tightened as his thumb firmly pressed on your bottom front teeth. Your sucking stopped as he started to guide your face down. You slid to your knees and placed your hands on his hips. You looked up to see his blue eyes glowing with an unsettling desire. It was clear as glass what he was in your apartment for and its not like the night you shared together was bad experience. The only dread you had was having Hawks suddenly come home and catch you with a top villain.

“Do it just like you did when we met.” He removed his hand from your face while yours went to work on his belt. With nimble hands you undid the button and pulled down the zipper. With a shifting grip you laced your fingers at the top of his pants pulling them down to his mid-thigh. You were now face to face with his cock bulging beneath his shorts. He made it jump knowing you were staring at it.  You tried to hide your smile at the childish act as you slowly looked back up at him.

“Well? get to it slut. We don’t have all night and I have many other positions I plan to have you in before I’m done.” One of his hands slid across your cheek to the back of your head his fingers now laced in your hair. Slender fingers slipped under his waist band to pulling them down until his cock sprung free.

Dabi’s dick is beautiful, for several reasons. It’s long and curves upwards beautifully when he gets hard. There are visible veins along his length, but the one underneath is particularly thick and gorgeous. The perfect canvas for the Jacob’s ladder that he has going from base to tip. The Prince Albert piercing was new. He must have got it done just after you met because it looked well healed. The wide head of his cock is always so pretty and pink. You staired in awe watching the little beads of precum leak around his piercing it was especially mouth-watering. He’s not as girthy as Hawks, but those piercings and veins more than make up for it.

His fingers tighten in your hair as he felt you start to take him in. The taste of metal and salt was thick on your tongue as you tentatively sucked on the tip, and it just tasted so good. You missed what it felt like to have him in your mouth, in your throat.

You picked up his weighty cock, lifting it above your face, so that you could deliberately drag your tongue along his shaft, letting it slowly climb every rung of the ladder while he watched. In awe of how big his dick looked resting against your cute face. How fucking sexy you looked when you locked eyes with him, pupils already blown with lust from how desperately you wanted him to abuse each and every one of your holes.

The sensation of the piercings on your tongue was enough to have you clenching at the thought of him sliding inside you, scratching that itch in a way that you never would admit out loud. How could you tell anyone that one of your best nights was with a top villain. You moaned, a lewd, animalistic sound as you bobbed your head over his length, feeling your tongue dance over the piercings again as the metal fastened within his tip kissed the back of your throat.

He nearly came the first time you took him to the hilt and watching you do it again now was dissolving his restraint.  His fingers fisting into your hair to grip it tight, knuckles turning white as he held himself as still as he could in your throat, willing himself not to cum before easing your off his length with a choked groan.

“Shit, baby,” he murmurs, inhaling a deep breath as he slowly shifted his hips forward, rocking his length in and out of your mouth. He was loving the tears that fell from your eyes as you held back from choking on him.  “You love this dick, don’t cha, doll?”

“Mmhmm,” you mewl, humming around the head as your tongue swirled around the metal and pressed against his sensitive slit lightly flicking his piercing.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it,” he growls, his eyes closing as his head dropped back. You began to swallow down the thick hot ropes that hit the back of your throat. As he slowly slid out you continued to lightly suck on his tip making sure to not miss a drop.

“You wanna know what? I actually missed the feeling of being trapped inside that soppin’ cunt of yours.” With a bit of force, he pulled you up to your feet then pushed you on to the bed. Your palms flat on the plush bedding slightly hunched over. You felt a chill across your exposed body as you stood there in your undergarments and heals.

His lips attached to your neck as his fingers went to work to remove your bra. He continued his wet openmouthed kissed along your skin causing goosebumps to form. With a soft thump you heard your bra fall to the floor. He trailed his fingers lightly up your spine causing you to whimper in your throat.

A flat palm placed between your shoulder blades forcing your upper body down to the bed. Dabi leaned over you slightly using some of his wight to keep you down. His free hand started to run along your clothed womanhood. His middle finger pressed the fabric between your lower lips causing the material to become moist from your juices.

“You are such a slut getting off to my cock, what a horny little bitch. But your my bitch aren’t you—yeah, say ‘yes sir’.” He quickly removed his hand from between your legs to send a sharp slap to your cheek.

“Yes sir.” You sharply squealed out.

“Wonder what your little hero boyfriend Hawks would say if he saw you like this? Does he make you as wet as I can?” You ducked your head down in shame. For a moment in your lust filled haze you had forgotten about Hawks and the guilt was twisting at your heart.

A cold chill stunned your body as you heard the click of locks from your front door. Despite the low villainous chuckles from Dabi you were hyper focused on the sound of Hawks’ work boots thumping closer to your bedroom.

“Whoa? I thought you were going to wait for me?” Hawks stood tall in the doorway looking between you and Dabi.

“Hawks!” You called out in panic, but he didn’t react to you. A confused look spread over your face as you took in the words, he just said realizing they were not aimed at you. It was boggling to even fathom that your loving boyfriend in anyway was working with Dabi.

“Aww... look at the little plaything trying to figure it all out.” Dabi’s words were venomous and caused your stomach to twist. You couldn’t help the tears that started to flow from your eyes.

“Come on chickadee don’t be like that.” As Hawks walked closer to you, he removed his jacket and shirt. You felt Dabi shift behind you and heard the rustling of clothes he was likely removing his pants from around his ankles. Hawks stroked your cheek so he could tuck some loose hair behind your ear.

“We just wanted to share you. (y/n) I care about you so much would you really think I would let any harm come to you?” He always has a huge twinkle in his eyes and a silly smile on his face whenever he looks at you but right now there was something slightly dark there. He only had that look when he was in an especially sexual mood. That look always caused heat to build in your panties. His words started to echo in your head as you debated his offer. No harm had come to you so far when you were alone with Dabi in fact you were quite enjoying yourself. The image of both of them having their way with you was enough to get you to start rubbing your legs together to create much needed friction.

“Seems the little slut likes the idea.” Dabi leaned next to your ear. “Not like I really cared what you thought. This isn’t about what you want Its about what we want.” With force Dabi flipped you to your back causing you to squeal in surprise. You looked away toward Hawks to see him removing the last of his clothing.

Hawks’ cock might be nicest you have seen, he has a red tip with a vain running from the tip to the base on the top and the same on the bottom. He started to lazily stroke his length as he crawled on the bed next to your head.

Dabi grabbed your face to the point it started to hurt forcing you to look back at him. His free hand was held up and incased in a blue flame. Your eyes went wide with fear but you dared not to move. Hawks gently stroked the top of your head calming you down slightly but you refused to look away from the flame. His flamed hand went down to your panties and he engulfed them. The heat stung your skin but once enough fabric was gone so was the flame.

Hawks placed a gentle kiss on your forehead and whispered that you were such a ‘good girl’. Dabi slid his hand off your face to grip your throat giving your neck a stern squeeze. His pointer finger and thumb guided your face towards Hawks’ prominent erection. Dabi slid his free hand down into your core the heat that lingered on his fingers from his quark left a warm sensation inside you. Your lips went wide as you gasped from the pleasurable sensation allowing Hawks’ to slip himself past your lips. Dabi wasted no time and removed his fingers from your dripping core and began to slide his own length inside you.

"Fuck baby, yeh that's it shit-", Hawks says grabbing your hair, you let out a moan around his dick as he pulls your hair slightly. “Yeah, you enjoy taking me so well, don’t you, Chickadee?” He hits the back of your throat as he moans. He has his hands in your hair, tugging at it, throwing his head back in accordance with the bobs of your head. You start to bob your head faster, hollowing out your cheeks and using your tongue to lick the veins along his cock.

"Ahh~ yeh that's it good girl, suck my cock"

Dabi had his palms underneath your knees, your thighs pressed up towards your chest as his slender body loomed over you, his thick cock sliding inside your tight cunt with slow, hard thrusts. His blue eyes watching the way your tits bounced with each rut of his hips.

“Fuck, doll. You feel so fuckin’ good. Look at your sloppy pussy, taking me so well.” Hawks’ removed himself for a moment from your mouth. You whimpered when you felt Dabi adjust your thighs slightly, slipping your ass further up on his lap as he began to angle his thrusts at a different spot inside you, one that had your eyes rolling back.

Shoving his precum, and saliva-soaked prick back into your mouth until Hawks was sure he was going to cum. You were so keen on helping him, humming with excitement as he fucked your mouth.

You feel him twitching in your mouth, "Fuck baby gonna cum" he says as he holds on to your head in place, thrusting his hips into your face, his cock going deeper into your throat.

"Fuck.. ahh~ shit yeh fuck-" Hawks moans out as he shoots his thick cum into your throat, painting the back of your throat white.

Dabi’s thumb unrelenting against your clit as he began to draw random patterns against it, groaning when he felt you begin to clench around him. Your cunt clenching around his cock as a clear stream began to trickle from your tight cunt. 

Dabi’s eyes instantly looking between where your bodies were connected to watch the liquid seep from your body, splashing against his pelvis, abdomen and your thighs as he continued rutting his hips into you, enjoying the sight of you squirting all over him.

“Shit, that’s what I’m fuckin’ talking about doll, you dirty fuckin’ bitch.” The way your cunt was squeezing around him in the aftershocks of your orgasm had Dabi following you into bliss, bottoming inside you a final time as he came deep inside your quivering walls. 

When he pulled his softening cock from your tight cunt his eyes immediately watched the way your cunt squeezed around nothing, unable to resist slipping his fingers down to run through the mixture of your releases, feeling it damp against his skin.

"Your blow jobs really are the best baby" Hawks kiss your forehead, but your body was so numb and buzzing from the after shock of your pleasure you could barely feel it. Your head was dizzy and your vision was blurry from tears. While you felt the bed shift as they moved away from you everything went dark and you drifted off to sleep.

You awoke feeling over heated. Heavy lids opened to survey your surroundings. The heat you felt was Dabi and Hawks sandwiching you between their bodies. With careful movement to not wake either of them you managed yourself out of bed. With light footsteps you made your way to the kitchen for much needed drink of water.

You felt sore, humiliated, and very satisfied with what you remembered doing. Once your thirst was quenched you walked back into your room only to stop at the sight of Dabi and Hawks cuddled together. You held back you giggles and found your phone. After snapping your picture, you hid your phone in your underwear drawer and tossed on an oversized shirt and panties. When you turned back to the bed you could see golden eyes peaking at you.

He lifted his wing and lazily lifted his arm making a small space for you to come back to bed to. You didn’t know the extent of his relationship with Dabi or what it meant for your relationship now that you three all shared an intimate moment. Sleep called to you louder than the million questions swirling in your head as you crawled into place. Hawks kissed your forehead while you felt Dabi shift behind you grunting.

“Night boys.”

[rocorambles]

I'm am an utter Seijoh w h o r e thank you for asking 😌

I've always loved the idea of the Seijoh Third years au during the purge, going out into it as a unit to track down their darling (either manager or just someone they collectively have their eyes on) and bringing her back to their place for the worst best night of her life. Mattsun's horse cock, cockwarming in her throat while Makki and Iwaizumi make use of the rest of her. (I am wildly into double vaginal penetration)

And oikawa is manning the camera so they can remember this night for years to come. He can be patient, they waited all year right? He could wait an hour or two more. They have all night with her after all

YULI THE WAY THIS ASK HAD ME SCREAMING!!!! I needed to let it marinate in my inbox so I could do it justice and hopefully this lives up to your expectations~

Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Rape/Non-Con, Non-Con Video Recording, Degradation, Humiliation

Graduation is quickly approaching and it should be a time of excitement, celebration, maybe a tinge of sadness as the third-years prepare to move on with their lives and go on a new adventure. But all Iwaizumi, Oikawa, Matsukawa, and Hanamaki feel is frustration. They had all jokingly taken bets on which of them you’d end up dating, although there’s nothing funny about how much each one of them cares for you and wishes more than anything else that it’s them that holds a special place in your heart. But they had been so sure that you must love one of them, no one else even in contention in their minds. So imagine their surprise when you reject all of them. 

You’d rather be alone than with any of them? 

That’s not an option and quite insulting as far as Oikawa is concerned and they panic, heatedly whispering and seething to each other as graduation draws nearer and nearer, as the end of their time with you threateningly approaches. 

But they have one saving grace and they impatiently wait, nonstop planning and scheming as they work out your special night, hopefully the first of many as the yearly purge also draws near, thankfully just before graduation. Really, they couldn’t have asked for better timing and it’s almost like even God is on their side. 

The purge isn’t something you’ve ever worried about much, not something that a normal person like you has much to fear and you plan on quietly spending it safely locked away at home as usual, knowing no one has it in for you, that there’s no reason for anyone to be actively trying to hunt you down. So terror lances through you when there’s pounding on your front door, when the locked doorknob rattles and shakes as someone attempts to twist it open, when the wood of your door creaks and shudders under the force of the person trying to break in. 

But suddenly there’s strangely familiar shouting and the noises stop and you stare with hopeful teary eyes, practically sprinting to fling open the door when you place the voice in your mind that’s softly urging you to open up and throwing yourself into the arms of the handsome captain. 

Maybe in hindsight you’ll wonder why you didn’t question what Oikawa and Iwaizumi were doing at your front door, but in the moment, shaken by what had just transpired, you obediently lace your fingers with Oikawa’s and let him tug you to his house, closely trailed by Iwaizumi who scans your surroundings, before letting Hanamaki and Matsukawa pull you into a group hug when the three of you safely return to Oikawa’s residence where the five of you will ride out the rest of the purge together. 

It should be comforting knowing that you’ll be with four of the strongest men you know and you do feel safe, at first, but you feel uneasy the longer the four of them unabashedly stare at you, hungrily looking at you as if you’re a piece of meat, tensing at the question Oikawa asks. 

“Why aren’t we good enough for you?” 

To be honest, you had thought it was a joke when one by one, all four men had asked you out privately and it wasn’t until afterwards when you saw the genuine hurt on their faces when you turned them down that you realized all of them had been serious. It’s flattering. It really is. They’re handsome and athletic and you know most of the female population at Aoba Johsai would kill to be with any of them, let alone have all four interested in them. But you aren’t most of the female population and dating just wasn’t in your current plans. 

You flinch at the harsh scoff Matsukawa directs at you. 

“You’re not like most women? So this doesn’t make you feel anything?”

You screech as he abruptly slips a hand down the front of his pants and pulls out his cock in broad view for everyone to look, your hands trying to cover your face, but Iwaizumi’s hands grab your wrists from behind and Hanamaki’s hand on your face forces you to really take in the view in front of you. 

And what a view it is. 

You had heard rumors about just how massive Matsukawa is and you can now attest to the fact they aren’t just rumors and despite the blaring alarms in your head, you can’t look away, mouth going dry at the sight, which doesn’t go unnoticed by the tall blocker who mockingly laughs at you. 

“I thought you weren’t like most women? If you want it that much, I’ll give it to you.” 

You don’t have time to register what’s happening until you’re being shoved down to your knees by Hanamaki, face forcefully being squished against the cock, nose having no choice but to inhale Matsukawa’s musky scent, upper body splayed across Matsukawa’s lap while your ass is raised high in the air behind you. Your hands desperately try to scramble for purchase, trying to lift yourself up and away from your humiliating position, but they’re pulled back behind you once again by Iwaizumi and tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes as Matsukawa mockingly rubs and smears his shaft all over you, beads of pre-cum being rubbed all over your face.

“Now open up and don’t bite, otherwise you really won’t like what we do to you.” 

And you believe him, already terrified of what they have in store for you, hopelessness and helplessness flooding through you and keeping you docile when you register just how little you can do against all four of them, when sinking realization that even if you did miraculously escape them, there’d be no hope for you out alone during the purge. 

What choice do you have? 

So you listen, hoping that if you play along with their sick and twisted game, they’ll let you off the hook more easily, that you can just toughen up and get through this one night and flee far far far away from these monsters once the morning arrives. And you open your mouth, nausea roiling through you as Matsukawa’s tip slides past your pursed lips, his girth achingly stretching your mouth, his length bringing a new wave of tears to your eyes as your throat is completely violated, breathing becoming shallow as you desperately inhale as much as you can through your nose as your head is continuously shoved down, throat and eyes fluttering at how agonizing the feeling is when he finally bottoms out inside of you. 

Matsukawa laughs at the way your body wildly flails for oxygen, groaning at the way your mouth vibrates with your screams and your throat convulses when he cruelly pinches your nose shut with his fingers and it becomes an awful game of push and pull as he alternates between releasing and pinching, enjoying how much control he has over your body and your life. 

But you have more to worry about than just the man in front of you and you’re rudely reminded of that as a body slips underneath you from behind, hands holding your thighs in place as bodies move behind you. And you incoherently scream, unintelligible babble and gargles from around Matsukawa’s cock indicating just how stressed and panicked you feel as two objects grind and rub against your pussy. 

They’re not going to fit. They’re not going to fit. They’re not going to-

Your eyes go impossibly wide, body going rigid in shock and despair, mind trying to cope with the excruciating pain as two cocks insistently press against your tight opening, slowly, but surely bullying their way in, and a high-pitched keening scream pierces the room as your walls are brutally stretched wide, body feeling broken just from the two well-endowed men bottoming out inside of you. 

But your mind completely shatters when they begin to move, Iwaizumi painfully pulling your arms almost of their socket as he pistons in and out of you at a feral pace, Hanamaki forcing you to bounce up and down on his cock, jeeringly slapping your ass as your globes jiggle in front of him. And you don’t even know who or what you are anymore as your pussy and mouth are ravaged, used as little more than two convenient holes, pain and humiliation blinding you, and something far more terrifying beginning to bubble just below the surface as Hanamaki’s hand slides between your legs to play with your clit. 

You don’t like this. There’s no way you like this. You can’t feel good. 

But Hanamaki is insistent on making sure growing pleasure entangles you in its grasp, smirking at the way your pussy undeniably begins to clench, the way your hips begin to move on their own, the way arousal begins to drench both their cocks, the way beautiful wanton moans begin to fill the air. 

They love you after all. What fun would it be if they didn’t make sure you felt good too? And sure, maybe it’ll hurt a bit in the beginning, but you were made for this, made for them, and your body will get used to it, adjust for them. 

Oikawa watches in fascination, hand palming his own raging erection as he observes everything from the video camera filming, unknown to you. And it takes every bit of self-control not to join the fray, not to make use of that tight puckered hole of yours that’s so lonely and unused. But his time will come. The time will come when you’ll know what it feels like for every single hole to be stuffed full. The time will come when he’ll know every inch and crevice of all your holes personally. 

But for now he can sit back and watch as his peers break you in, as he secures the footage that will tie you to them forever. Because even when the purge ends, this video will still exist and he’ll have no qualms about sending it to any university you hope to run away to after graduation if you don’t forget about your far fetched thoughts and stay by their side where you belong. 

Did you really think they didn’t know about your silly selfish plans to stray as far from Miyagi as possible, as far from them as possible? 

It’s almost enough to make him completely lose his temper, the thought of you escaping them. But he reminds himself that it didn’t happen, that it won’t happen. And with that comforting piece of knowledge, he carefully adjusts the camera, zooming in on your tear and drool stained face and the way your pussy gapes wide as the two cocks relentlessly drill in and out of you. 

[theartistknownaslymond]

Whumptober 2022 day 28

Yes yes yes, I failed and fell behind again because I am too old for eight-hour late-night shifts on no food. Also the amount of wheels within wheels scheming going on in DK broke my brain when I tried to apply it to the AU - I just wanted to write the boys fighting!! I just wanted my intricate rituals!!

Anyway, after much whinging, I got there. Forever thanks to @stripedroseandsketchpads for encouragement and beta-reading :))

Anger Born of Worry | Punching the Wall | Headache

As Kay says: Jerott……….

And she’s not wrong! This was meant to be a gimme prompt because isn’t Jerott always worried!angry, but the scenes it would have fitted better were mostly beyond me to plot out in the AU (as this one nearly was), so instead we have Francis being worried!angry >:)

CW: references to GRM’s Crimes, and Joleta’s OD and SA. Jerott being a bit of an ass (he’s trying ok), Francis’s broken ribs don’t have a very nice time, there’s a little car chase and some references to racism in Jerott’s past (against him). But it’s mostly just Shenanigans.

---

Jerott waited until the sunlight shining on Archie's car winked out of sight. The vehicle rounded a bend beneath one of the Tweedsmuir hills, and with resolve, he pulled his helmet on over his long black hair and kicked the old motorbike into life. It was noisy, but no noisier than the clapped out old banger Archie drove, so Jerott was confident he'd be able to be subtle. He was determined that he wouldn't be left out of the pointless clash of egos between Francis and Geetesh any longer, and he was going to take the information he'd intercepted straight to Lymond himself - wherever he was holed up.  

He worried a few times that he'd lost track of the drummer, but the roads were quiet and there weren't that many options for Archie to have taken - he was clearly heading for Glasgow. Once they were in the city itself it was easy for Jerott to hide among the crowds of traffic, weaving and dodging between vehicles to keep something always between himself and Archie's mirrors. He wasn't cautious about inching up behind dirty lorries or buses - nothing about Glaswegian traffic could scare him since he'd learned to ride a moped amid the crowded chaos of Pune. Rather, it reminded him comfortingly of his teenage years learning the layout of the suburbs on his push-bike, out-riding gangs of thick-headed, unimaginative Paki-bashers - often with some adventurous girl from school riding pillion on his pannier rack and squealing if he took a corner sharply, using a toe to balance and push off the cracked tarmac.

He was enjoying the chase so much, in fact, that he had almost forgotten his anger by the time Archie stopped.

Jerott drove past the street Archie had taken and parked one over. He took off his helmet and reminded himself of why he was there, stoking, deliberately, the familiar well of anger inside him as he took a cigarette from the pocket of his leathers and placed it thoughtfully between his lips.

He waited on the corner of the road, leaning against smog-grubby brick and running through the events of the past fortnight. Everything he valued in his life seemed, since then, to have been coated in the same thick, clotting grime as the wall he leaned on. Everything concerning Geetesh and his promises and lessons, everything that Jerott had learned and contributed to since joining the Rajneeshees under Geetesh's aegis.

Still Jerott didn't want to believe his mentor was a bad man, evil or cruel. He'd retaliated with rage, as any brother might when worried for his sister after her overdose and miscarriage. He'd been unhelpful on the night Joleta's overdose had happened, yes, but fear did strange things to good people - surely that was a lesson from the ashram that Jerott could cling to?

Jerott unzipped the leather jacket he wore and fished inside it for his mala. He looked down at Rajneesh's smiling face and rubbed his thumb over the wooden beads, taking reassurance from the feeling of each one, warm and textured beneath his touch.

Forgiveness means touching the divine, for a moment. That's what Rajneesh said. What Geetesh said. Real forgiveness does not need to go through anger first, or judgement - it simply accepts the other for who they are.

Jerott had wanted to accept Geetesh like this practically since their first meeting. He'd basked in Geetesh's acknowledgement of him, of his confused sense of rage and frustration at the world. He'd been awed by Geetesh's generous charisma, his broad-minded, wide-questioning curiosity for life. Geetesh had shown him that all that was good and bad would exist whether or not he was angry at it - angry at his father's death, angry at the end of his engagement, angry at the lost opportunity to tour with his friend in a band - that it was better to accept this about the world and to focus on himself instead, and what might bring spiritual improvement to Jerott Blyth - or Swami Vadan, as he now was.

Anger did not need to be forgiven - unawareness did. And Jerott could imagine why Geetesh had been angry with Francis - imperfect, frustrating, mistrustful, selfish, hedonistic Francis. If Geetesh had dedicated his life to self-control, combined with an open, welcoming exploration of his fellow man, then Francis Crawford seemed by contrast to display the hypocrisy of one who lay down rules he didn't follow himself, who revelled in the isolation of his own ego and its creations.

But then again, did Jerott believe that Geetesh had been unaware of what he was doing when he had interfered with the attempts to resuscitate Joleta? Had be been unaware when he had beaten Francis until he could barely stand? It had not been done in some spur of the moment rage, Jerott had later learned, but as part of a coordinated and planned assault. Had Geetesh been unaware of what he was doing when he bribed a group of men to start a fight in a notorious nightclub? When the fight was fixed so as to kill or maim the one who stood between Geetesh's sister and a place in the touring band?  

Unfortunately, the spiritual lectures Geetesh had filled Jerott's heart with were not stacking up effectively against the facts, nor the sense of deepening betrayal he felt.  

Jerott stood on the street corner and tried to work out a way of saving the man he'd devoted the past three years of his life to. It seemed newly impossible with the information he'd learned Adam had been gathering though, and he hadn't come anywhere close to a plan by the time he recognised Alec Guthrie emerging from a door in one of the terraces. Still he didn't hesitate, and cast his cigarette aside, rushing forwards.

Guthrie's eyes widened when he saw Jerott. He raised a great paw of a hand, palm out, and shook his head.

"He doesna need ye here, young Swami..."

"Let me in," Jerott said more steadily than he felt, his voice a tone of warning.

"I don't think tha's -" Guthrie cut off with a curse as Jerott shoved past him with a violence the older man didn't expect from a wee hippy like him.

Jerott bounded through the doorway and up the stairs to the apartment inside. He let all the doors bang messily against the walls and muttered a cursory "Salām, brother," at Archie as he stormed past him in the open plan kitchen and went to wrench open the only closed door in the apartment.

"Jerott?" Francis wheeled from the notes he was making in one of a number of soft bound journals.

There wasn't much light in the little room - the window had its blackout curtains drawn and Francis sat close to a lamp with a low-wattage bulb in it. Even in this dim setting Jerott saw him turn pale. He sat very still, discomfort written in all the lines of his body.

"Vadan. I am sorry," he said carefully, though without specifying what for. It had been two weeks since they'd last shared a stage, after all, when Geetesh had driven Francis from it with what Jerott had not known was a coup de grace to his already broken ribs.

Jerott looked down at him wildly. "I picked up a call for you at St Marys. Thought I should deliver it myself."

Francis did not move.

"Adam's contacts tracked the guys from Bonkers. They say they can trace the bribes back to Geetesh. So you can add conspiracy to murder to your dossier," he cast a miserable gesture at the notes Francis was taking.

Francis swallowed, though it was barely visible in the deep shadows beneath his jaw. He held Jerott's gaze with a determination that bordered on something painful to witness. "Are those your words, or theirs?"

Jerott shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"I should like to know if you're here for the prosecution or the defence," Francis maintained caution, but there was a note of tartness in his voice now.

Jerott sighed and rolled his eyes extravagantly, awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "It... doesn't look good. I need to hear his side of it. I can't know until then. But...I saw how he was when Joleta...he didn't want me to revive her. I heard what Philippa saw from Adam. You could be pressing charges."

Francis' smile was grim. "So, it appears, could the Scotts."

"Will you?" Jerott's heart was running fast all of a sudden, and he told himself that he couldn't stomach the idea of Geetesh's strong, noble body restrained by cuffs and swarms of officers, by the smallness of a cell and a stand in the dock. These were places made for men without Geetesh's stature, without his greatness or potential. Geetesh had been on course, Jerott had thought, to change the world, one lost soul at a time - not to rot in some provincial jail for crimes borne of petty jealousy. Such things were below him, or so Jerott had thought.

Francis eyed him and then shook his head. "I am not at liberty to. Not at present."

Jerott didn't quite say Good out loud, though the thought was foremost in his mind. The police had none of the subtlety needed for dealing with a man like Geetesh. Not once, in any country he'd lived in - France, India, America or Scotland - had his experience with law enforcement corresponded to his understanding of justice.

Jerott nodded and licked his lips in relief. "Right, then I should tell you I've invited him to the studio to listen to the album. Mixing is nearly finished and I think, when he hears it, he'll realise his time here wasn't wasted. You should come too. Things don't have to end like this."

Francis stood up slowly, and Jerott lost the advantage of height - his friend had always had an inch of two on him, even without the extra lift of his wavy blond hair. "No, Vadan. He's not welcome at St Marys."

Desperately, Jerott sought for an argument that would work on him, that would make Francis see why this needed to happen. What would Geetesh say? That the beating had been salutary, a kind of catharsis for both of them? Jerott realised, on thinking this, that a fatal crack had opened up in the shell of his belief, and all the contrary, illogical things Geetesh had forged a kind of sense out of with his beautiful voice now oozed from the flaw, confronting Jerott with their unlovely truths.

But he couldn't, wouldn't believe this had all been deliberate, not in the way Francis wanted to think it was. Geetesh might still mend that crack - he might still reassure Jerott, as he had always reassured him, and things might be made right, piece by piece, if Geetesh could be shown to want to make them right.

Jerott met Francis' gaze unflinchingly. "I want to hear his account before you have him clapped in irons."

"I'm not about to have him clapped in irons, Jerott! Do you think I'd be scribbling in this damp little garret with the information I have if it was that simple?" Francis said sharply, and then winced and tried to hide it, stepping back with his hand poised over his ribs.

The gesture made Jerott's stomach flip unhappily - as though Francis had summoned a pang of pain on purpose, purely to remind Jerott what Geetesh had done to him.

"Oh, I see," Jerott shook his head bitterly and also looked away. "You're protecting yourself. If you go after him, he'll tell the whole world what you did to Joleta."

"There is more at stake than you realise, Jerott," Francis hissed. He seemed annoyed at the emotion he had just shown, and that just made Jerott's specific Francis Crawford-induced headache worse.

"Right," Jerott muttered, as though what was at stake to him personally - what this all meant for the relationship he'd thought he'd had with Geetesh, the goals he'd thought he'd been working towards - wasn't enough. "Well, I passed on the message about Bonkers. It doesn't make much sense to me that he'd do that and then be willing to let Joleta...to let that happen to her afterwards. But I'm sure you have your theories."

Jerott turned towards the door and Francis barked, "Wait!"

He turned, not at all sure what to expect from the command, but hoping for...something.

"I forbid you to invite Geetesh to St Marys again. It's my property and I will add trespass to the list against him."

Jerott's lip curled. "So everything else can stand, but trespass goes beyond, even for you?"

Francis stared at him until Jerott realised what he'd said and cursed even as Francis pointed out: "The very definition of trespass, wouldn't you say?"

"Piss off Francis, you always have to be such a smart-arse, don't you?" Jerott snarled, lunging back towards that impassive, carefully shadowed face again. "Do you think this is easy for me?"

His mouth flattened and Jerott supposed he was going to make some glib comment about how poorly Jerott's travails compared with those of Will Scott - as though the two experiences couldn't both be life-altering.

Before he could, however, the phone on his tiny desk began to ring.

Jerott shrugged and turned again, leaving Francis to get it - but instead, Francis lunged and put his arm across the doorway, mastering the pain the movement induced.

Jerott looked at the wiry limb with disdain. Muscled and taut, intricate with all the strength and memory his musicianship required of him, Jerott still knew it was attached to a weakened body.

"Don't, Vadan. I can't let you leave if that's really your plan."

"I don't think you can stop me," Jerott said coolly through the ringing of the phone.

Before Francis was tested on this, the voicemail cassette cut in. The recorded message wasn't in Francis' voice, and announced cryptically: Ye've reached the office of David Jones. Say yer piece an' he'll get back tae ye.

Jerott stepped closer to Francis' bare arm. He had no idea why Francis was using Bowie's real name as a pseudonym and nor did he want to know. "Go and answer it, David. You might still catch the caller - I'll see myself out."

Francis' knuckles whitened as he gripped the door frame. In the room beyond, Jerott saw Archie and Alec watching them with trepidation.

Jock Thompson's rollicking tones came through the speaker next: "Davey, I've got some people frae the ashram who remember someone o'the description ye gave me. I'll drop ye a call later and tell ye more."

Francis' jaw shifted slightly and he couldn't stop his gaze from snapping back to the phone.

Jerott just scoffed at what he heard. "Really? Digging into the ashram now? This isn't about justice, is it, Francis?" On top of all the persecution the Rajneeshees were facing - lawsuits, spurious claims and misleading documentaries - of course Francis Crawford had to find a way to get the boot in, too.

Francis just shook his head minutely. "It is - just not for me. I can't let you tell him about this, Vadan."

Jerott looked down in surprise to see Francis' fist poised at his side, readied to launch a punch, his knuckles adorned with dull brass.

His brows twitched and he thought about stepping back, but it would just give Francis more space to swing. Instead, Jerott grabbed Francis' wrist where he was blocking the exit, tightening his grip on bone and muscle with a warning of intent. Francis might get a punch in, and it wouldn't be pleasant, but Jerott could twist and wrench that arm in ways Francis would find equally unpleasant. Neither could say his training was conventional - Francis had learned a few dirty tricks from the mob, and Jerott knew from his Ayurvedic and yogic lessons about what the body was capable of and what it was not - but each understood that the other was strong, stubborn, and capable of causing damage.

Jerott locked eyes with him and squeezed his arm between his hands, moving minutely, threatening to twist and pull so that he saw Francis' elbow draw back in response. He'd survived group samarpan at the ashram, where the room howled and screamed, where fights could break out or any numbers of things could happen between bodies in a state of letting go. He'd learned to rise above the petty grievances he might once have been left with when one disciple shouted something foul at him or another singled him out with a punch or a kick. Everyone was simply driven by their own primal feelings, it was nothing personal.

Jerott drew a deep breath and stared into field of cornflower blue that had haunted his mind for longer than he'd care to admit. He tensed his body and then twisted like an eel and ducked under Francis' arm, moving too quickly for the punch that missed him, leaving Francis' limb unscathed and focussing only on reaching the door to the stairs.

Francis grabbed at the back of his leather jacket but his hand slipped on the smooth material.

"Stop him! Don't let him leave!" Francis cried, his voice thin with pain, and Jerott let out a grunt as Guthrie and Archie collided with him, two great stacks of muscle and beard that grappled with him even as he continued to wriggle and attempted to shoulder his way through the thicket of their arms.

They were surprised at the fight he put up, Jerott could tell, though he wasn't trying to hurt them, just evade them. He squirmed and twisted and feinted with his body-weight until he was able to slip free of his jacket and back out of the sleeves, escaping from their hold to be left breathing heavily in his rumpled red t-shirt, able to side-step the baffled Guthrie once more and head for the door...

Just as Francis slammed it and turned the key in the lock. He clutched the little Yale key in his fist and stood firm, his expression less an invitation to a challenge than a hard, blank wall.

Jerott just snorted and lunged at the hand with the key in it. Francis slipped away before Jerott could reach him, darting out into the room. Avoiding his ribs, Jerott grabbed for his wrists instead and managed to catch one, but Francis twisted and pulled free. Jerott pursued him, slapping after his clenched fists with dogged fervour.

Francis held his arms as wide as he was comfortable doing, away from his body, away from Jerott, jinking and dodging Jerott's attempts to snare the hand holding the key. He eventually backed himself into a corner though, and Jerott managed to get a grip on both of Francis' arms and wrestle him against the wall.

Archie and Alec gave them full reign for this elaborate scene, standing in the kitchen space with their arms folded and their expressions pitying and underwhelmed.

Francis was breathing hard, a wheeze of pain catching in his throat. There was a sheen of uncomfortable sweat on his skin and he looked pale and pained.

"Give me the key," Jerott said steadily. There was no anger in his voice anymore, he had far too much to concentrate on to be angry. A few inches away from him, Francis squirmed and tested his grip, and Jerott tightened his hold on those skinny wrists, pinning them to the textured wallpaper.

"I can't do that," Francis replied, almost as steadily.

Jerott had to release one hand to pry at the closed fist of the other, and when he did, of course Francis tugged his whole body away along the wall, aiming an open-handed chop at Jerott's elbow with his free arm.

Jerott saw what was coming before Francis did though, and released his wrist willingly, so that Francis stumbled away from Jerott further, faster than he'd expected, and collided side-on with a damp-warped piece of MDF furniture.

It wasn't solid enough to do new damage to his vulnerable ribs, but the impact was enough to make him blanch and force out a gasp of shock. Jerott saw his eyes widen before they scrunched shut and he collapsed against the wall, sliding down it with a groan.

The key fell from his hand and landed quietly on the lino floor. Francis didn't attempt to retrieve it - Jerott realised, a little guiltily, that he'd passed out.

He knelt to collect the key and frowned at Francis' expression, taking in anew the purple, bruised shadows sunk into his eye sockets, the chapped, feverish lips and high points of colour coming in blotches to his neck and ears.

Jerott looked up as Alec and Archie approached and sighed. "I didn't hit him."

"No, ye just waited fer a skaithed man tae exhaust himself," Guthrie folded his arms. Archie had bent to check Francis' pulse and temperature.

Jerott cast his friend another look of concern and stood swiftly, stepping away with his prize.

"Are you going to stop me?"

Archie cast Alec Guthrie a glance, his brow raised, his expression forbearing. "I make it a policy o'not gettin' involved in these kinds o'shenanigans..." Archie muttered.

Alec nodded. "Ye think the two o'us can kep ye? After such a...slee and canny struggle?"

Jerott tutted and tossed his hair out of his eyes, detecting sarcasm beyond Guthrie's thick burr. He picked up his leather jacket from the floor and dusted it off.

With one final glance back, he unlocked the door and left, annoyed that Francis has insisted on making things complicated.

[down-in-devildom]

hey, if you are ok with it could you do a Yandere MC with mammon? (kidnapping and gaslighting is optional but preferred). Headcanons also. Sorry if it’s not ok

Sorry it took me a bit to see this! I'm game though 🤗

Cw: gaslighting, verbal abuse, kidnapping, implied violence

Yandere MC w/ Mammon

*When MC first came to the Devildom, Mammon was less than pleased. After all, it was hard enough for him to live his life with his brothers all berating him for his sin without having to babysit

*After Mammon got a bit closer to MC, it was like a void was being filled. MC always knew what to say when he felt particularly down or shamed. They were so nice and that was a regrettable rarity for him unless some lesser demons or witches were trying to gain something from him

*Things started out small enough. MC would "comfort" him when they noticed that one of the comments his brothers made was particularly degrading or passive aggressive. Doesn't matter if he didn't read it like that though. It must have been pretty obvious to MC if they were so genuinely concerned about him

*Mammon started to rely on MC more and more. Yes, he was the one that was supposed to protect MC, but he feels so small now for some reason

*Soon, he starts feeling powerless without MC. He can't seem to tell when someone is after his power or wants to know him. The only one that was nice from the beginning was MC so they become a bit of a guardian

*"You can't seem to pick out good people to hang around with, huh?" "Poor Mammon, isn't it hard knowing that so many people don't like you? I can't understand why everybody is so mean." "I wouldn't wear that to the shoot if I was you. You already had to compete with Asmo for the cover, you don't want them to have second thoughts when you show up to the shoot."

*Mammon trusts you. You are his human and he is yours. Right? Right.

*One day, MC invites him out to a new club opening up in the human world. Mammon was greedy for your affection and attention and wasn't going to tell his brothers where you all were going. They would just want to tag along and try to steal you anyway

*Once in the human world, MC takes him to this abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the city. Not once did Mammon bat an eye about the lack of cars present outside or the silence of the building. Mc are his one and only human and always knew that they were doing, after all

*Inside of the warehouse, Mammon looks around a bit confused. There is only a makeshift mattress against a far wall and dirt and grime everywhere

*"Mammon, Avatar of Greed, I command you to obey. You are to remain here indefinitely until released from my order"

*Mammon's body suddenly feels like lead. He can't move a muscle and his body breaks out a bit in a cold sweat

*He tries to glance at them from the corner of his eye and swallow hard when he sees the look on MC's face

*Never before has a human given off so many conflicting emotions: adoration, envy, lust, power, and most of all, greed

*Mammon felt utterly stuck and shaken. What was to become of him? What became of his human? How long would he stay trapped by the pact that binds him

*No sooner had those thoughts popped in his mind, MC gave him a smile. The one that was reserved only for him. The one they used when they needed to comfort him, to guide him, and to protect him

*Mammon starts to relax as much as he can in his frozen and prone state. There must be a reason for MC to do this. They always know that is best and he trusts them with his life. He has always been greedy for their love and he will gladly take it in any form it comes in

*Even when MC pulls out a cursed dagger from somewhere within the dirty mattress and they walk to him, and run the blade lightly across his cheek,a small bead of demon blood peaking out from the broken skin, Mammon still trusts them

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND THE ASK!

-Leo

[ohworm-writes]

#02 - Tape Two | series masterlist

⮞ Beta Reader - @jschllatt​ ! thank you so much for proofreading this for me !

⮞ Pairing - Monster!Technoblade x Monster-Hunter!Reader ⮞ Summary - Bugs are not your favorite things to deal with, especially when it’s 10 times your size and chasing through streets after you. However, maybe a sight in the dark is worth the challenging day.  ⮞ Rating - Mature (SFW) ⮞ Warnings - violence , description of bug monster ( centipede ) , cursing , anxiousness ⮞ Word Count - 3.4k ⮞ Taglist - Open! Send an Ask or DM to be added

@ohworm-writes​​​ copyright 2021 | do not repost

Dead leaves crunch under your feet, and while the sound would have been satisfying in any other scenario, this was not the one. The small, nearly inaudible noise is enough to make you stop dead in your tracks, head poking up from your previously hunched position to look around. If you saw it yourself, it could have reminded you of a meerkat. The animals, as meek as they are, are quite the attraction.

Any sound you’d make would go fairly unappreciated. You see, out here, sound was not exactly one to be a best friend. It was an enemy, if anything. If anyone or anything were to hear you, to hear your location, you could be dead within seconds! Minutes, if you were a lucky one. A single noise, much like a fall leaf turning to pieces underneath your feet, is more than enough to cause fear to course through your veins. 

It’s almost a full minute until you move again. Sixty seconds stood in the same, and quite the uncomfortable, position. However, it’s much better to be safe, rather than sorry. Slowly, quietly, and carefully; you let your body move once more. Careful step after step, one foot in front of the other, simply trying to make it from Point A to Point B. Alive, preferably. 

You had set out more than a few hours ago, maybe… 7 hours or so? Given the position of the sun, which was a little further than its previous position in the center of the sky, it was enough to tell you that noon had gone, and the evening was nearing. Oh, how the time had passed, slowly albeit. Your anxiety and cautiousness never faltered. Never once did you stroll down the street, taking in the sights of what once was.

If you did, however, you’d be able to see the beauty of it. How the trees were full of life, spectacularly green leaves scattered across it by the thousands. How the flowers, some of which had poked through the asphalt of the streets, had bloomed in bright and captivating colors of all shades. How the streets, once filled with nothing but cars and people, had now been taken back by the land. Oh, what a sight it is, and what a sight you were missing out on. 

Even though you had overlooked the beauty of it all, you couldn’t deny that being out here was a breath of fresh air. Quite literally, in that sense. No, but especially because you were out here alone. On one hand, you could see it as another factor for you to be more aware than you already were. There was nobody to watch your back, to yell out if they had seen or heard anything. No, that was all your job now. You were the one to have all say in whether you made it to tomorrow. 

Without those thoughts, though, you could admire it. You had never had a moment to yourself, with it being always ruined by judgmental stares or offhanded comments. Now, you could listen to the beautiful silence that was loneliness. A shame, some could call it, how you’d revel to have moments like these alone. Why be alone when you could be out with friends or, hell, even people! Well, when nobody seems to take your side, though, loneliness is your only friend. It’s the only thing that you know won’t leave. 

Well, it’s the only thing you hope won’t leave, especially not now. 

Though, as they say, speak of the devil, and he will appear.

A clicking noise, much similar to the sound of steps, travels to your era. It’s far, but it’s audible. The crossbow, made at home in your hands, directs towards the sound in a fraction of a second. The way your body moves with such violence, it’s a wonder how you didn’t have whiplash from the movement. Everything around you seems to come to a halt at that moment. Not another sound, not a breath, no movement or sound at all. 

You stand at the corner of a street, tacky green arrows signs in the distance held up by a rusting chain to a stoplight to tell you which street is which. ‘4th Avenue,’ the sign ahead reads, and to its right, in the opposite position, reads ‘12th Avenue.’ On your right, there’s a barbershop, the red, white, and blue cylinder set to a stop out front. The windows are smashed in, shards of glass scattered along the pavement outside, and by the smell coming from inside, you can think that a little more than cutting hair happened there.

You hone your senses in on where the noise had come from, eye to the scope as you point your weapon in the previous sound’s direction. The arrow tip points towards the edge of the building, pointing into the street aside from it. When there’s no more noise, that’s when you panic. The worst thing you could experience out on the field was to hear a quite obvious sound, and then nothing. No indication if the sound had been there at all, or if it was something in your head. If it was there, then where had it gone?

To your luck, or not, the sound finds its place in your ears once more, the clicking sound much closer than the last time you had heard it. It’s almost like the sound a rollercoaster makes as it’s climbing the tracks towards a peak, slowing as it reaches the top. As the coaster reaches the top, there’s that brief sense of both dread and relief. On one hand, because you know what’s coming next. You know that soon, that calm would pass, and you’d dive downward into something you’re not sure if you’re ready to tackle head on. On the other, you know that this is the last of the peace, and you want to relish in every moment that you can.

And just like that, the coaster dives. 

From behind the crumbling brick of the likely once lively barbershop, something peeks to look at you. It’s low at first, whatever it was, maybe a foot off of the ground. But then, then it grows tall. Much taller than you, oh by quite a lot, that is. As it comes around the corner in all of its glory, you can see this plunge is far scarier than you’d expected.

The clicking noise had come from the legs of the monster, the skinny limbs coming by the hundred. The plates, like that of armor, plated across its back, face to and away from you, instead, its vulnerable purplish underside facing towards you. Looking up, the beast towering, you see its head. Large half-moon eyes on either side of its face peering down at you, antennas poking through the top. Large mandibles protrude from the side of its face, serrated teeth fully on display from its wide-open jaw.

That was a goddamn centipede, wasn’t it?

Its body wiggles as it reaches its full height, standing above you at twenty feet or so, its long shadow casting down over you. And then it pounces. The beast leaps towards you, mandibles spread wide as it dives directly towards you. At the same moment, you dash to the side, the trigger pressing down as it sends the arrow flying towards the underside of the monster. It pierces before the monster even touches the ground, a loud screech echoing from it.

It recovers quickly, twisting its head sharply, and you’re already bolting, making a violent turn down the street it just came from. It’s abandoned as you’d hoped, but not for long. With that many legs, it catches up with you quickly. The clicking, the thudding its limbs make as they collide with the ground, is something you won’t ever be able to forget. You dash from one side of the street to the other, taking the moments you have to reload the crossbow. 

It’s a task you’d wished was much easier right now, holding the arrow between your teeth as you pull the string back with one hand, the other shakily holding the weapon. To your luck, it clicks into place, and you spend no time loading it. You look over your shoulder, being met with the quickening pace of the oversized bug as it bounds towards you, a green drool dribbling out from its mouth. Now that it’s on the ground, it’s near impossible to get a worthy shot on it. 

You had looked over the file of the exact creature countless times while at the casino. Sleepless nights left to your own devices were all spent the same; hunched over your rotting desk, reading file after file on different monsters. While the words seem to blend before your eyes, the facts stay perfectly separated from one another. 

These creatures, rightfully referred to as ‘Giant Centipedes’, are a common Euclid,  mid-level monster. They tend to find a home in heavily wooded areas and marshes, few can be found scuttling down the abandoned avenues. Avenues, specifically that is. They’re around 60 feet long on average, longer or shorter depending on their age. They molt, which is a strange and unnerving occurrence that you, thankfully, have never seen yourself. When they molt, they’re most vulnerable, the plates on their back much softer. 

But, to your luck, the one chasing you must have been between molts, its plates at their strongest. The brown and purple-colored plates shine as the sun reflects off of them. However, this was not the time to admire it. Making another sharp turn, you race down another street, your friend in tow. It lets out a high-pitched snarl as sweat beads across your hairline, calm muscles burning at the exertion. You can hear your heartbeat in your ears, and your breaths, while even-paced, leave you gasping. 

With the crossbow held tight to your chest, your body at an angle as you sprint, you think about your options. One, fuckin’ hell, you better sprint as your life depends on it. Because it bloody does! Two, however, which is much more of a plan, was to aim for an opening, quite literally. You had to wait for the exact moment where either its underside was exposed, or something else. 

Looking back for a split second, you see it. You see an opening. As you move to aim the crossbow, fast as ever, you do one thing you had been terrified of doing the entire chase.

You trip.

Your body tumbles onto the pavement, with no more grace than a drunken man. You’re still holding onto the weapon, barely at that, but it’s still in your grasp. It hurts like hell, your body colliding with the asphalt, broken glass, and gods know what else. The clicking stops too, and the moment you regain your stability, you realize why. The beast is towering over you, much like before, but now you’re on your ass staring up at it. 

It’s not a pleasant sight, the green liquid dripping from its mouth and mandibles onto the pavement only a few inches away from you. Its body gives a little wiggle, almost giving itself a pat on the back for a chase well done. 

The crossbow, held in your dominant hand, sits to your side. Not because you had given up, ready to accept your demise, but rather because you were looking for an opening to shoot. Bringing the weapon out while the creature drools above you was suicide. You look up at its body, eyes trained for a moment on the arrow you shot at it, which found itself lodged in its middle. An excellent shot, if you say so yourself, especially with the confines of the moment. 

Your eyes trail higher, where its neck started and its body ended, you had no idea. The flesh molds together as one, just a long line of flesh. As you watch it lower its body ever so slightly, almost as if to smell you better, there’s your opening.

You yourself barely even react as you whip the crossbow out with lightning speed, holding it in your grip and aiming upwards. The creature can barely lower its body an inch, a snarl trapped in its throat as the arrow fires, piercing through the easy flesh of its lower jaw and coming up through the head. 

At that moment, all life leaves the beast’s body, its body falling limp above you. You’re barely able to make it to the side as it crashes down upon the place you last were, a dark green ooze dribbling as the wound bleeds out. Your chest heaves as you look at it, your body propped up with one hand as you stare at the dead beast, its lifeless eyes directed towards you. 

 As the coaster car pulls into the station, and all is calm. 

You let your body collapse against the pavement, a soft thud sounding from the action. A dry laugh sounds from your throat, a little noise to tell you that you lived. You let your eyes shut, the warm sun shining down on you as you let yourself relax for the moment. 

All pleasant moments find their close, and you’re back onto your feet. As much as you wanted to melt into the pavement at that moment, falling asleep under the gentle sunlight, you didn’t want to stick around for what other monsters could have heard you. You take only a moment to retrieve both of the arrows, cringing at the grotesque noise it makes as you pull it from the flesh, before heading back on the road. 

Your body is much more sluggish as you walk down the beat-up roads, eyes heavier from your previous antics. Most would feel lucky to be alive after something like that, but smarter people would shrug it off and keep going. Idiots revel at the moment, because as you do, you’re not paying attention, and that’s when the real challenges come for your throat. 

Hours drone on as you make your way down the streets, out of one town and into the next. You couldn’t waste time, especially with the sun falling lower and lower into the sky. Covering ground was the most important thing if you wanted to be back within 8 days’ time, and you did not intend to stay out here even a minute longer than you needed to be. 

Sweat covers your body as the sun beats down on you, the feeling of being not one you enjoy all that much. Your legs burn and add on to the exertion from earlier, you were more than just fatigued. The sky mixes with shades of pinks and purples, small clouds dotted here and there in the sky. It’s beautiful, and you stop dead in your tracks to admire it. 

You’d scold yourself later tonight, half-asleep with emotions roaring, but you take the moment now to watch in awe. As the sun drops lower and lower on the horizon, the colors come in darker shades; you smile. It’s not a fake one like you’re so used to putting on with others around, but it’s one filled with genuine joy. Your mouth falls open partially, a satisfying breeze passing by you, and there’s peace.

As the sun nearly dips fully out of your sight, you decide to call it a night. It was no use going around in the dark, as it would simply and truly be a call for death. So, with drowsiness settling, you make your way to the closest building. The architecture here differs greatly from Las Nevadas and the rural towns you had passed through earlier in the day. While it’s far more urban than anything you’ve passed, tall complexes towering high above you, it’s not a major city. 

The building closest to you is one of the shortest, only a single story to its height. From the burnt-out neon sign on the floor outside, you can tell it was a thrift store in a better life. The windows are, surprisingly, intact. Even with them being covered in dust, as you walk closer, you can see the pristine condition of the building.

Taking it as a safe enough option, you take hold of the dark handle on the door and pull. It takes minimal effort for the door to swing towards you, a smell of mold immediately taking to your senses. You breathe out roughly, pinching your nose as you walk in, closing the door shut behind you.

It’s as much as you’d expect a thrift store to be, which is rightfully not much. Hanger stands with countless dull and colorful items you’d never be caught dead wearing now fill the aisles. Small bookshelves display much more than books, leaving their contents out for you to gaze at. You can almost call the place cozy.

With a quick scope around the place, checking for monsters as well as broken doors and shattered glass, you deem it safe enough to stay in for the night. As if you had much of another option, seeing how all color had gone from the sky and the stars had shown. You set up a makeshift bed in the middle of an aisle towards the front, backpack hung up, and weapons nearby. 

It’s as perfect as it can be, and given the circumstances, you’re more than happy with it. Letting your back fall against the carpeted floor, head dropping against a pillow you had found behind the counter, you let your body sink. It’s surprisingly comfortable, with the rough and tacky carpet and the feather-filled pillow. Yet, it feels like the most comfortable you’ve been in your lifetime. 

As you let your eyes shut slowly, ready to be taken over into the realm of sleep, a soft light emits from the window, disrupting your peace. Your eyes open once more, trained to the ceiling, and you give out a soft huff. Well, if it wasn’t just your luck. Turning your head over, you look towards the dusted window, seeing blows of a bluish-green shade glow from outside.

Your body still lies flat on the floor as you watch the colors mold with one another, several strange blobs glowing from behind the glass. With a sigh, you sit up, all of that previous discomfort coming back to you at full force. You wince at the sharp pain that your back gives as you stand on your feet, muscles tight and sore. 

You grab the hatchet that was clipped to your bag, making your way towards the glass, the colors shining brighter as you near it. It could have been some daylight timer someone had set up in the past, or it could be a monster. Only a foot away, you bring your hand up to the dusted window, shivering. With a single motion downwards, you wipe the glass, ridding it of dust. 

With a row of dust gone, you’re able to look out through the window. It’s confusing when you first look at it, your mind not registering the green and blue figures floating above the street. But then, in a moment of both brilliance and stupidity, you realize. You take no time to hold the weapon at your side, swinging the door wide open as you gaze into the street. 

Gods, was it worth it. 

Glowing fish swim above the street and glide by your face. A green and blue bioluminescent glow radiates off of them, dully lighting up the street. You’re able to see their bodies twisting and their fins swishing if you pay attention close enough. A school of smaller fish comes right by you, moving swiftly by your face and into the sky. 

And, as you watch them float higher, you’re sent into a moment of awe as you gaze into the sky. Whales and fish and sea creatures alike float high up in the sky, moving between the glow of the stars effortlessly. You watch as one of the larger whales floats closer to the ground, tail swishing up and down as it propels itself through the air. Your eyes go wide as you stare, a childlike grin set on your features that even you don’t catch.

It’s… amazing. It’s wonderful in every way you could never imagine by yourself. The glowing creatures in the sky, swimming through its currents, are a sight you’d never been able to see in your lifetime. It’s something a child would squeal with happiness at, something that they, and you, would never forget. 

With a mix of awe, excitement, and delight, you spend your time admiring the creatures above. Wishing, to yourself and whatever gods may have heard you, that you could be like them one day.

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⮞ Technoblade Route Taglist - @cutiebear45 @kiki-is-the-name @hololizard @sunshinebutnotrainbows @valkyrieidunn @dominickle @err0rnan0 @lacunaanonymoused @ura-writes @jaciahbabes @mega-trash-cringe @itsberrydreemurstuff @theharborhooligan @maybeshroom​ @caliginous-skies​ @whalerus​

⮞ Author’s Note - A day late, but in my defense, I have no defense. I know I’ve done a lot of world building, but I do promise things are going to start rolling in Techno’s direction next tape! I really do hope that you did enjoy, comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! 

[thatharringrovehoe]

So I've been playing Dishonored which is my favorite game and this popped into my head so now you all have to suffer with me. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

He's so fucking cold. Like he’s been plunged into a lake mid winter and can’t find his way to the surface. Hands shaking, Billy sifts clumsily through the box of his mother’s things he keeps hidden in the back of his closet. He's found that if he thinks about the good times, picnics at the beach under the California sun, the thing oozing it's way though his brain losses just a bit of it's grip. Leaves Billy with enough motor function to stumble around his bedroom, trying to find the right pieces. And fucking hell it’s been so long since he's done this. He can remember helping his Ma when he was little, chubby fingers clenched tight in her cotton sundress as she arranged the items on the table just right. Pricked her finger to draw sigils in a language long forgotten, her voice a soft cadence through the bedroom as she hummed Billy’s favorite lullaby. No words, just a beautiful mournful thing. Humming a song of grieving loss. Billy doesn't know why he likes it so much.

“Remember baby. When you offer your gifts they have to be special. Well loved. Something that brings you joy every time you use it.”

His mother kept a pair of earrings on the cloth covered table. She never wore them when his father was home. Took them out and put them back on the little rickety stand in the back of her closet every day before he came back from work. Dangling silver daggers with the onyx beads. Billy shoved one straight through his left earlobe when he turned fifteen and has barely taken it out since.

His Ma told him that everything he built his shrine with had to mean something. Had to be something he treasured. From the fabric to the stand itself. So Billy tried his best. Draped his best leather jacket over the milk crate that held all of his favorite hair products. Placed his Ma's Fleetwood Mac album next to one of his mother's silver earrings (the one he always wears), arranged as neatly as he can manage. He’d had to prick his thumb seven times because to his dawning horror it kept healing over. Just another tally mark towards something being really fucking wrong. And he remembers the warehouse. Can still feel the slimy caustic sludge being pumped down his throat by a fucking tentacle. But he’d hoped it had been a dream, a nightmare from reading to many Lovecraft novels. Billy curses as he slices open his thumb for what feels like the millionth time.

Apparently not.

He's drawn the characters just how he remembers. His mother had made him practice every day, showing him each and every shape and line, drawn in colorful crayon. She gave him a cookie every time he got them right. Never hung them up on the fridge though. Didn't want his father to see.

He can feel the shadow creeping through his blood, dragging it’s claws against his veins. It might not know exactly what he’s doing yet, but it must be able to feel the intention. Billy thinks of ocean waves and a soft hand running through his curls. Fights the pull at the back of his mind to just give in. To sleep. His hands shake harder.

Fuck, where is it?! Billy combs through records and trinkets, a bottle of her perfume. He’s desperately hoping it didn't get lost in the move because his mother never taught him how to make one. Hell, he's pretty certain that he wouldn't be able to find the pieces he needs in Hawkins anyway. Not like Melvalds has a supernatural voodoo isle.

Then finally, finally he finds it. Lifting up his mother’s satin scarf it comes tumbling out to land on the floor with a clatter. Bleached white and beaten smooth by the waves, it's about the size of a sand dollar. Billy picks it up, places it in the palm of his hand. He still remembers the day he found it out on the shore. Washed up between some sea glass, the leather bindings still somehow soft even soaked with salt water. Etched with symbols and shapes Billy will never understand. When Billy showed it to his mother an unreadable expression crossed her face. It was that evening she showed him her shrine.

The rune seems to hum against his skin, an otherworldly song from far away ghosting past his ears. The thing that’s trying to Shanghai Billy’s brain writhes. It's angry, but more than that it’s fucking terrified and Billy has never been more sure of anything in his life. This was a good idea. But his limbs are getting colder, heavier. Whatever this evil piece of shit is it doesn’t like what Billy’s doing. He has to fight against the deadening of his limbs, crawling towards his shitty attempt at a shrine from his place on the floor. His vision is starting to grow dark when he finally clutches on to the milk crate, placing the rune between the earring and his cassette tape. And he knows that there's no guarantee. That whatever his Ma prayed to every night never shielded her from Neil’s fists, didn’t do a damn thing as the cancer slowly drained her down to nothing. That sometimes (most times) when someone would call out to the void the only thing they heard in return was their own disappointment. But he's got no other options. This is his trump card. His last resort. If this hocus pocus bullshit doesn’t work then Billy is up shit creek without a paddle. With a frustrated shout against the nightmare pulling him in, Billy begs.

“Please! Fuck, help me! I'll do anything, c’mon just- please!”

The air in Billy’s bedroom all of a sudden seems to shudder. The shadows flicker and meld together, reaching outwards. The sound of dry fall leaves blowing in the wind, a wail of a thousand dying worlds ricochets off the walls. Then nothing. Billy scrunches his eyes shut against the sting of tears. Fuck, of course it didn’t work. Story of his life. He called for help and just like always it doesn't mean shit. No one is coming to save him.

“Well well well. Certainly been a long time since someone summoned me like that. Very old school.”

Billy’s eyes snap open, the surprise and adrenaline enough to fight the heaving weight of his limbs to raise his head. And there, perched on his shitty milk crate shrine, sits the most beautiful boy he's ever seen. He's got hair the color of soil after it rains. High cheekbones and full lips, milky white skin dotted with a constellation of beauty marks. Billy didn't know what he expected but it certainly wasn't this. The boy god is dressed in a swanky leather coat the color of charcoal with pants to match. Eyes like an oil spill, inky black and endless. With a good look at Billy, they narrow dangerously.

“I thought I fucking told you not to touch this world. You want a repeat of last time?”

Whatever deity he summoned looks pissed as hell. Did he not do it right? Maybe the items weren’t good enough. That would be just his luck. He's so confused he almost doesn’t notice it right away. The shadow slowly working it’s way through his body has stopped, retreated a little even.

“I-... I don't know what you’re talking about. Please, there's something wrong with me. Something got put inside of me and I need it out. Please, help me.”

Billy hasn’t begged since his Ma was takin her last breath in that damn hospice bed. Didn't see the point when it always got you nowhere. But now he can't make himself stop. Cuz he's never been this scared before. The things this monster inside him wants him to do. It's so strong, like he’s fighting a steam roller. He's got no hope on his own.

The boy sitting on his best leather jacket stills. Cocks his head to the side slightly, considering. Then those pretty pink lips are spreading out into a gleeful smirk. Slides off the shrine to settle on his knees in front of Billy. Reaches out his hand to cup Billy’s jaw gentle enough it makes him want to cry.

“You can't get a good enough hold of this one can you? Interesting. Tell me trouble maker, what's your name?”

That voice, deep and ethereal, seems to echo from all around him. He can feel it vibrate in his bones. He wants, no, needs to answer.

“Billy. Billy Hargrove.”

The boy smiles now, all gleaming pearly whites. If Billy looks long enough reality starts to flicker. And for just a second all he can see is teeth sharp like knives in a Cheshire grin. There for a moment and gone in a flash. The hand on his jaw tightens just the slightest fraction.

“Well Billy Hargrove. You seem to find yourself in quite the predicament. That parasite sucking on your soul is an old acquaintance of mine. He's one nasty little shit.”

If a brain washing shadow monster could feel indignant he’s pretty sure that’s what's happening now. Whatever was hijacking Billy's mind has curled up somewhere tight, sunk it’s teeth in deep. Cornered like a threatened animal.

“Please, I’ll do anything you want. I can’t… I can’t fight it. It's too much.”

There’s enough tears leakin down his face that it's soaking the front of his shirt. The boy is giving him this look, almost amused. The longer he holds Billy’s jaw the more the monster losses his grip, and Billy is ready to do anything at this point. Because that thing stuck to his brain wants him to find people. Feed it people. Wants Billy to drink all the chemicals in the supply shed at the pool. Told Billy that if he tried to fight it would take Max first and he can't let that happen.

The boy seems to come to a decision, grabs Billy’s hands to help him shakily to this feet. He doesn’t let go even when they’re both standing.

“You know there’s not many who can fight his hold for this long. I'm impressed.”

He steps forward until his chest is practically pressed up against Billy's. He smells like ozone and smoke, bottomless black eyes trained on stormy blue. Reaches up to tangle his fingers into Billy’s curls, sending tingles across his scalp. Smiles wider at the small noise that escapes Billy's throat.

“I'll help you Billy Hargrove. But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Billy's nodding before he can even really register what’s being said. Anything. He'd do whatever this pretty boy asked as long as he keeps touching Billy like this. Gentle, with a reverence no one has ever bothered to show.

“I need you to kick this little shit back into the hole he crawled out of. Can you do that for me Billy? I wanna see how your story pans out trouble maker. Wanna see what you do when someone gives you a chance.”

Billy nods again, breathless. The boy chuckles, the sound saccharine. Like warm honey dripping down his spine.

“Gunna have to use your words baby.”

Billy swallows, the click of his dry throat loud in the warm personal bubble they’ve created.

“Yes. Yeah. I’ll do it. Whatever you want pretty boy, please.”

It comes out a whisper but the boy hears it all the same. The boy smiles bright, pulls Billy forward. Soft warm lips press against his own and Billy is floating. He's never been kissed like this before. Slow and deep, the boy's tongue pressing in to curl and slide. Stuff him full. Billy's shaking for a whole other reason now. Reaches out to grip the boy's coat, cool to the touch where Billy is burning. Fire rushing through his veins, and he's already so close just from this. Whimpers brokenly into the kiss.

The boy pulls him in impossibly closer, slots his thigh between Billy’s legs, pushes up up up. And Billy is right fucking there, grinds down as he swaps spit with an old god in his shitty bedroom with the peeling yellow paint and the door that locks from the outside. Can feel the tell tale tingle spreading behind his navel.

“ ‘m gunna cum! Fuck, more please!” Billy mumbles curses into the kiss, breath hitching as his balls draw tight. The boy smiles against his mouth, yanks his curls back to bite into the meat of his neck and Billy’s gone, pulsing rope after rope of cum into his underwear.

“Oh my- .. Fuuuuuck. Yes! Uhhhnn!” He's panting like a dog as he slumps forward into the boys shoulder. Gentle fingers card through his hair as aftershocks zap up and down his body. A kiss is pressed behind his ear, a soft warmth flooding his core. He can't feel the shadow anywhere.

“So good for me sweet thing. Makes me want to keep you.”

It's said so quiet, like the boy doesn’t intend for it to be heard. Billy presses his face into his neck. There's no heartbeat under the boy's skin.

“You could. I want you to.” Whoever this is, whatever he is, he came for Billy. Answered his literal cry for help when no one else did. He doesn't know what he has to offer but he wants to give this impossible boy everything.

The boy in question hums. Brings Billy's left hand up to kiss the back of it. His skin feels hot under his lips, bordering on uncomfortable. Like stepping on sun scorched pavement. When the boy pulls back there’s a tattoo on his hand. A strange design that looks vaguely like a compass. It's the same mark as the one on the middle of the rune sitting behind them.

“I haven't given my mark to someone quite so special in a while. Try not to disappoint me Billy Hargrove.”

The boy goes to pull away but Billy still has his hand clenched tight on his coat. Panic wells up in his chest. Doesn't want to end whatever this is quite yet.

“Wait! What’s-…what's your name?” Which is a valid question he thinks. And probably one he should have asked at some point before he started grinding his dick on the guys leg. Oh well.

“I've had many names, none if which would hold any significance for you. Call me what you want trouble maker. I'll be there when you need me.”

Billy believes him. Then between one blink and the next the boy is gone, tendrils of dissipating smoke the only evidence he was ever there. A deep voice whispers from nowhere and everywhere.

“Ask your sister about the monsters in the woods.”

On the shrine the only thing that remains is the rune, both his gifts having apparently been accepted. Billy gives a hysterical bark of laughter at the thought of some higher being listening to Fleetwood Mac somewhere out in the void. It gives him an idea. He drags his lips across the fresh mark on his hand, mumbles into his skin.

“Thanks Stevie.”

[ptrckjcne]

→ I NEVER GOT TO SAY “I’M SORRY”

Credits: prompt idea from @multiverse-mxdness​ cm discord writing challenge; “it wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Sean Hotchner | set sometime during season 12 Wordcount: 2935

After straightening out some things in his life, Sean decides to visit his brother. Little does he know Aaron’s not around anymore.

Read on Archive of Our Own or below the cut!

[ i might just start to release some more sean stuff, because 1, the fandom needs more sean, and 2, i have some ideas ]

tags: @hotchnerxo​ 

He never really felt comfortable around buildings belonging to law enforcement. It was something about them that triggered his fight or flight response, mostly in the direction of flight. It was funny, really, how he had spent his entire life running from the entire thing that his brother became; an enforcer of the law. However, Sean Hotchner didn’t trigger his flight response as he made his way to Quantico, one goal set in his mind; he was going to spend his lunch with Aaron. He was going to apologize for not being the little brother Aaron needed, he was going to apologize for never being the uncle Jack needed.

Midday meant a hustle at Quantico, agents rushing in and out between meetings, and other missions. For a brief second, he felt his breath catch in his throat, his heart beating so quickly, and loudly, he could hear every beat thudding against his eardrums. He didn’t belong here – sure, wearing his suit and tie, he looked the part, but Sean knew he didn’t belong. At the end of the day, it was the other Hotchner – the older, hardened and stoic Aaron who belonged here. Gritting his teeth, Sean adjusted his tie, loosening it slightly at his collar (though it didn’t stop the feeling that he was being suffocated), before stepping inside. The receptionist at the front desk almost looked like she had seen a ghost as she laid eyes on Sean; had Aaron told them all stories about him? No, he refused to settle on that being an option – revealing his life to anyone and everyone about his life.

“Hi there–,” Sean swallowed nervously, rubbing his thumb and index together, unbeknownst that it was also something his older brother did in uncomfortable situations, or whenever he found himself nervous for whatever reason. “My name is–,”

“Hotchner.” The receptionist cut him off, her words choked up in her throat. It caught the attention of someone standing a little further down, the agent releasing a light chuckle.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of him.” The agent spoke, noticing the surprised look on Sean’s face as his head whipped up, eyes meeting those of David Rossi. He didn’t quite know how, or why, the agent recognized him – though remembered how the Italian agent had been among those who helped Aaron working the case in New York City, the one which left Sean determined to straighten himself, get a grip of his life. “Sean Hotchner – right? Long time, no see.” David chuckled, placing a hand on the younger Hotchner–brother’s shoulder, pulling him along towards an elevator. 

“Yeah, I, uh–,” Sean pushed himself towards the corner of the elevator, prompting to stay as far from the other agents inside as possible. Beads of sweat were forming at the back of his neck, memories of his many times in small, crappy precincts causing his jaw to tense. “I decided to swing by, being in town for work and all.” He continued, lowering his head to avoid eye contact with those stepping into the elevator with them.

David glanced around, trying to see what was causing the uncomfort for the Hotchner. Sure, he had heard the grumbles from Aaron about Sean, but he had never gotten the chance to make up his mind on his own. “I’m sure everyone will be happy to see you.” The Italian nodded, tossing a quick glance around the elevator; he needed to tell Sean about Aaron, but right here, and right now, it was not the time to do so. Not with all these other agents around. 

The two of them got off at the floor belonging to the Behavioral Analysis Unit, Sean trailing behind David, almost like a kid. Truth was, that’s how he felt too, helpless and lost, as he stepped into the bullpen. He recognized Spencer, the scrawny doctor seeming confused to see Sean. Beside him stood a blonde agent – JJ – who tilted her head slightly. “Boy, do you look like your brother.” A voice spoke up, causing Sean to turn, looking right at Penelope – the team’s technical analyst. 

She had genuinely mistaken the younger Hotchner brother for Aaron when she stepped into the bullpen, his suit fitted perfectly on broad shoulders, a crisp white shirt collar poking above the collar of the jacket, his hair short and dark, though the second she saw his face, her heart sunk to the pit of her stomach. This wasn’t their long lost Unit Chief – it was just his little brother. “Hi Sean, how are you doing?” 

Penelope surprised him by pulling him in for a hug, burying her nose against his chest. He swallowed nervously, though returned her hug, resting his chin atop her head, his stubble scratching against her scalp. The rest of the team turned to them, joining in on the hug. Sean wasn’t quite sure why, but there was a certain sadness in the room, as if they had lost someone, and chose to find their comfort in his presence. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that his presence was among the things that had caused the sadness. 

“Come on, why don’t we head up to my office for a bit?” David suggested, his hand returning to Sean’s shoulder. 

He knew David’s office was next to Aaron’s, though he wasn’t familiar with the inside of Quantico, the layout of the area the BAU called their home. They passed one door on their way to David’s office, Sean tossing a simple glance at the door, the plate reading Agent Prentiss. However, it wasn’t until he heard the words – spoken by a man he didn’t know, a voice he didn’t recognize from the times he had met the team – that he realized something was wrong. “That’s Hotch’s brother? Doesn’t he know Hotch isn’t here anymore?”

Clenching his jaw, Sean decided to shake it off as he stepped into the office, David shutting the door close behind them. There was something oddly comforting about David’s office, a warm feeling, his nostrils filled with a combination of whisky and espresso. “I couldn’t help but hear what was said out there.” Sean spoke quietly, lowering his head a little, hands deep in the pockets of his pants. “That guy who said he’s not around anymore. Is it true? Did some psycho kill my brother while he was working? Or was it like that Foyet guy all over again?”

“Maybe you should take a seat, Sean.” David sighed, motioning towards one of the leather chairs by his desk. The Italian himself tapped a few times on his phone, before sinking down into the chair behind his desk, reaching out for two glasses and the whisky–carafe on his desk. “May I pour you a drink?”

“No thank you.” Sean shook his head a little; ever since Aaron had helped him out in New York, Sean had quit drinking. He had decided he didn’t want to live a life fighting the law. He wished for a life where he could be frequently in touch with his brother, and be an uncle to Jack. Sean Hotchner wanted his family again. “Can you just tell me? Is he okay?”

David was about to answer when the door opened, a raven–haired agent stepping inside. Emily Prentiss. “Hi Sean – I didn’t expect to see you stopping by. My name is Emily, I worked with your brother.” She smiled back at him, sinking into the chair at his side, before also turning down a glass of whisky, resulting in David shrugging, pouring another one for himself. “Is everything alright? Is there anything we can help with?” She turned to the Hotchner, eyes darting around his face as she studied his features. 

Neither she nor David were going to lie; as Sean had matured, age setting on him, he appeared to look more like his brother. He didn’t have the same hardened, stoic expression, and his brows weren’t furrowed the same way Aaron’s were, but he couldn’t lie about being related to the former Unit Chief of the BAU. He shifted in his seat, glancing at David, who let out a deep sigh.

“I was about to tell him about our dear friend, Aaron.” The Italian started, before motioning for Emily to continue, her jaw tensing as she avoided meeting Sean’s eye. 

“Right.” Emily swallowed nervously, absentmindedly adjusting her blouse as she shifted in her seat.

“He told me about Foyet.” Sean spoke up, though his voice was anything but loud – it was quiet, almost broken as he uttered the words. “He told me about it when you all came to New York last. He told me how upset he had been, how he had hoped I would be more interested in being a part of Jack’s life. How upset he had been when I didn’t come to attend Haley’s funeral. Truth be told, I barely even felt welcome at their wedding. He’s always held this grudge over me, I feel, but I can’t really say why.” 

That was a lie, of course he knew why. Ever since their childhood, Aaron had always been taking the hits – he was a punching bag for their father, gathering whatever energy he could to protect his little brother from curled fists and broken beer bottles. His time at boarding school had made life a living hell for Sean, who simply could not understand how Aaron had survived it all. It had shaped them into two different men; Aaron, who became a prosecutor and later an agent with the BAU, and Sean, who, looking back, regretted throwing his job opportunities out the window for whatever it was he had done. 

“After he helped me out, hauled my ass out of trouble, I decided to straighten up. I quit everything, took on a good job, and I even got myself a good girlfriend who is not just using me as a way to get drugs and cheap alcohol. I wanted to become better for him, for myself. I wanted to become better so I could be in Jack’s life, you know?” He paused, swallowing the lump that was forming in the back of his throat. One glance at Emily told him everything he needed to know; something had happened to Aaron, and he hadn’t been notified. “He barely mentioned whatever it was that hung over your heads in New York, but I could tell it was bad. Did something happen related to that?”

Sean refused to believe Aaron was dead. He couldn’t be. Surely enough someone would have reached out to him if that was the case, even if it was just a phone call, to tell him that the man he wanted to be more like, the man he aspired to be, had passed away, even if it was due to an explosion or a gunshot wound. At least, that was what he hoped would happen, if the case was that Aaron had passed.

“No.” Emily breathed out, seeming as if she thought through what her next words would be. “It’s a tricky situation Sean.” She continued, eyes locked on him as she waited to see if he would react, years of giving grieving families bad news having taught her that people needed time to understand the words she was speaking.

“It’s still a case we are investigating, but you are family, Sean–,” David’s lips turned upwards in a small, somewhat comforting smile as Sean looked at him, trying to fight the emotions that were building inside him. “Your brother, and Jack, have become targets for a very dangerous man, and have taken the opportunity to stay in witness security until the whole thing blows over.”

Witness security. The two words echoed through Sean’s head like a chant. He knew what that meant; somewhere, far out of his reach, was Aaron and Jack – though they were no longer Aaron and Jack. They probably had new identities, a whole new story about their life. Haley was no longer the ex-wife and mother who had passed away at the hands of the Boston Reaper, and Sean was a mere ghost of the past, someone they didn’t have the time or space for in whatever it was the two of them lived. He lowered his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to wrap his head around the situation. 

“I’m sorry Sean.” There was something genuine in David’s voice, the Italian’s words barely even getting through. “I wish I could tell you anything about when you’ll get to see him again, but I really have no idea.”

“I, uh–,” Sean cleared his throat, straightening up in the chair, releasing a shaky breath as he did what he could to keep his composure. Both Emily and David noticed it, the way his jaw tensed, his brows furrowing, making him look even more like his older brother, albeit a softer version. “Do you think I’ll be able to see him again? I don’t, uh, really know how all of these witness security or protection or whatever it’s called – I don’t really know how it all works.”

The room fell silent, Emily and David sharing a look, before she broke the silence. “We’re not really able to say anything about that, Sean. If I could, I would have, but at this point in the investigation and everything … We can’t, and I’m so sorry.” She stopped, and for a moment, Sean believed she needed a second to compose herself, to stop herself from succumbing to her emotions. Then he shook the thought away; all of these agents were probably like his brother, probably having learned how to compartmentalize their feelings to the extent where the job was bearable. “Until our unsub is caught, it is best for his and Jack’s safety that they stay completely off the grid.”

Once again, the room fell silent. Sean’s gaze flickered between the two agents. He wasn’t sure what to say, or what to do. He knew he had no rights to be upset, he had no rights feeling pushed aside by Aaron. This was something Sean had done to himself. Had he just tried a little more, maybe they would have been better.

Maybe they would have been more like brothers.

“I think I’m going to clear my head for a bit.” Sean swallowed, his voice raspy with emotion as he spoke. Emily’s gaze followed him as he stood up, buttoning the button on his suit jacket, though he already knew the button would come undone the minute he stepped out of the office; the fabric of his shirt and jacket still felt as if they were going to suffocate him, if not even worse now than when he stepped into the elevator with David. “Thank you, both, for telling me.”

He left before they had the chance to bid him farewell, emotions clouding anything and everything as he headed into the elevator. Aaron wasn’t dead – he was still alive, out there somewhere. Sean knew he was grasping for whatever he could, but he couldn’t not do it. Aaron was his brother. Aaron was his brother, who had been in danger, without even considering looping in on Sean. He knew he could only thank himself, the younger Hotchner brother having put himself entirely in this position on his own, but he still hated it. He still hated the idea that the two brothers were at a point in their relationship where they couldn’t communicate, not even about important things – like this.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure when he had gotten outside. Sean had been so wrapped up in his own head, locked in a trance with his own thoughts, not seeming to acknowledge where he was until someone grabbed a hold of his arm, yanking him back to make sure he wasn’t run over. Turning, he looked at Emily, her head slightly tilted and an apologetic smile spread on her face. 

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this.” Sean croaked, feeling his own eyes well with tears as he looked at her. “He’s my brother, I wanted to be more with him. I wanted to be more with my nephew. It wasn’t supposed to end with him going off the grid, not even knowing when I can see him again.” He lowered his head, not wanting to let her see him cry. She was a stranger to him, someone he didn’t know, yet he gratefully accepted her embrace as she pulled him close, nuzzling his face against her shoulder. “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

“I know Sean – I feel the same way.” Emily replied, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other rubbing comforting circles on his back as she held him close, allowing the younger Hotchner brother to weep against her, the thin fabric of her blouse getting damp with his tears. “He would have been here, had it been up to me, but this is his choice, and I respect it. Though, I won’t lie – I wish he was here. This wasn’t how it was going to end, and it’s not how I’ll allow it to end.”

Sean sniffled as he lifted his head, blinking a few times to get in control of his own tears, nudging himself out of Emily’s embrace. “You know what the worst part of not knowing when, or even if, I’ll ever see him again is?” He asked, his words almost coming out as a chuckle, a stupid defense mechanism as he noticed she tilted her head slightly. “I never even got to say I’m sorry.”