#x | munday.

[vuulpecula]

✖ alright alright alright. what the heck has kept starbuck so busy ?! peep below the cut :) i miss y'all and as soon as the main reno in this dang kitchen is done, i anticipate being around a lot more. anyway, happy munday, ily'all xo.

my beautiful kitchen view ( the guy who cut that outlet hole literally works in construction -.- ); a snapping turtle from the pond ( fish incoming next week ! ); and a fun little picture from my last minute decision to tone my hair pink - enjoy i guess lol

[hope-to-hell]

The Quiet Game. Hector Munday x Reader. Noncon, coercion, exhibition kink, naked top clothed bottom, all around poor life choices (but this is smut so we do what we want). Mr. Munday is the strong, silent type. He is inventively cruel and yet. And yet he has needs like any man, even if his methods of satisfying them are more than unorthodox. And now that he has you, well, you’d better keep quiet. Unless you want everyone to hear.

———

You’re in his web now, you unlucky little fly, and now you play his game. Shiver here in the chill of his director’s suite and know that every ripple of fear across your skin only fuels his hunger.

Hush, now. Don’t make a sound. Match him breath for breath and maybe you’ll get out of this alive. Be still. Let him bend you down and spread your legs apart; let him cut and tear until you’re bare to him, clothing in shreds and ass prickling gooseflesh in this cold room. All the truly important parts of the console are switched off; there’s just an unblinking red light in front of your nose.

Is that— yeah. Yeah, that’s a mic and it is hot and that’s the game: take it quietly or every moan and whimper’s gonna be broadcast throughout the house. Bite your tongue bloody— or don’t. He doesn’t care. And which would be worse: your companions thinking all your little sounds are from some cruel torture, or them knowing just how gone with need you are? How could you explain the war that rages between mind and body, between the chill of fear and the thick wet heat of anticipation?

Oh, you pathetic little thing. So weak, so lost. He doesn’t even need that knife to keep you here, although it’s sharp and firmly in his grip, shining silvery right where you can see it. Point being, it’s a threat but it’s nothing against solid warm flesh and the soft whisper of cambric and wool as he digs the fingers of his free hand into the meat of your ass. It’s a dull bruising ache, leaving its echoes deep in your flesh when he flexes his fingers to get a better grip. Yeah, you like that, enough to push back as best you can into the feeling. You want it, yeah? Bad enough to beg for it?

Tch.

Giving up so easily? He isn’t even in you yet but anticipation is a bitch. And wouldn’t you know it, but he feels it too: he shifts closer and oh, he is hard— all his bulk is just a solid wall to cage you here, as his cock burns hot like a brand even through his trousers. If he ever smiles at all, if there is anything within him beyond implacable grim fate, surely something of it must be present here, teased out by the interplay of wanting and taking. If you’re lucky— if you make it through this to emerge aching and sticky in the predawn gloom— you’ll see what he looks like when he slips enough to let his human side show, and won’t that be a treat. So are you gonna play the game, sweet thing?

Shame might be one side of the coin, but the other side is animal need. It’s instinct: the kind of bone-deep wanting that’s got you biting your lips bloody to stop yourself from gritting out just fucking give it to me already. And yeah, he’s gonna fuck you raw; how better to conquer you completely than to bury his seed as deep as he can get. There’s the scratch of wool over your ass when he opens his flies just far enough to take himself in hand. Can you picture it? The way he stands silent, dressed like a man out of time, palming his cock for just a moment before he lines himself up and pushes in deep? Is he thick? Long? Does he know the angle that’ll tear your last bit of resolve to shreds? Oh, honey. This isn’t his first time around.

Quiet that mind of yours. Don’t try to hold those thoughts; let them blow away like smoke until all that’s left is pure sensation. Were you an animal, your entire life would be like this: fleeing, fucking, living with no thought to a future so uncertain it might as well not exist, each successive moment belonging only to itself.

There, can you feel that? The brush of his cock against you, slipping through your slick: one thrust, two, and he’s home. There’s no mercy in the way he shoves himself in you to the root, crushing you down against buttons and dials, hard enough that if tomorrow comes it’ll find you brushing fingertips over a pattern of aches in the shape of the console. Sweetheart, can you feel it? He may be cold behind the mask but he still breathes, still shudders with the pleasure of conquest, still exhales a hot wet ah into your ear. And then he moves. He is greedy, selfish; he takes and takes and takes but he’s crushing you down against the console just so and listen. Listen. If you think he doesn’t know what that does to you— if you think he doesn’t mean to hold you here in such a way that the very motion of your body sends lightning through your veins— then you’re a fool.

I can’t. I can’t. Please. It’s too much; you can’t possibly keep quiet any longer, not with the way he curves over your back, smearing sweat and slick and wouldn’t that be a sight: his vest and trousers rumpled, shirttails half-freed, with your shining wet need stained all across his front. The image bites its way into your core and wouldn’t you know it but he’s just a little more urgent, a little more ferocious when he feels the ripple of your walls around him. I— I need—

What do you need? Release, certainly, but your mind is unwinding and all your thoughts spiral out into nothingness. The only thing left is pure sensation: heat, desperate breaths, the chorus of your nerves that screams too much, too much, let me— let me— make me come.

Please. It’s soft, nearly inaudible, breathed out with the wispy unh of a body with no more room for air. It’s not a plea to let you go, but to give you more, and for a moment he is caught off-guard. This wasn’t in the plan.

His hand over your mouth, covering at first and then adjusting. Fingers dragging down, past your lips to rest heavy on your tongue, his hand bridle and bit and gag at once. He tastes of leather and salt and a whisper of blood. The razor’s disappeared somewhere but it doesn’t matter; all your senses now belong to him. The game he’s playing is distant, unimportant; you are filled with him from end to end and with each stroke he digs thick fingers into your mouth, holding your jaw open wide. Like this he pulls you back hard onto his cock, leaving spit and bruises at the corners of your lips. This is mercy.

This is torture, and it is sweet.

You can’t fight what’s coming, so let it happen. Let that lightning work its way up from your toes to curl brightly in your center. Relinquish yourself unto him; he has your mind already and now he will possess the undoing of your flesh as well. Feel the delicate balance between pleasure and pain, and know that neither exists alone but is only a mirror of the other.

Collect yourself. Nevermind the discomfort of your jaw relaxing back into place, or the gooseflesh that prickles your skin when he no longer rests heavy at your back. Breathe for a moment. You did so very well. And now the door is open, leading out to the warrens between the walls. He stands straight-spined and still at the console, armored with mask and apron to conceal any evidence of sin, but now he cannot hide how his blood pulses hot beneath the surface.

And now you have a choice: you can run shaky-legged and stumbling back to your companions and retake your place as quarry in the hunt. You can dive for the razor that’s on the floor just out of reach, and hope that you’re faster than he is. Each is expected. Understandable. Or you can turn against all reason and look him in the eye. You can tell him the least you could do next time is get me a blanket, and mark the way he tilts his head with interest. The choice is yours.

[redran6er]

Super quick kinky doodle of Du'met and Charlie

[gay-trains]

NSFW sketches of Du'lie cuz I was up late and clearly have too much time.

So After I wrote my fic...I made these which i guess one could think take place long after that Fic. When Du'met slowly but surely got Charlie to be his accomplice. Thing is Charlie is a good talker, Granthem isn't. So he makes the perfect ferryman. He even gets a new suit and all to look wealthy and charming.

The benefit to charlie is also that usually when du'met leaves his command centre he can no longer see everything everywhere but if charlie stays there, he can. And Charlie does care about making it fun for his partner because if Granthem has fun, he gets a real nice reward. That's how the man baited him into assisting him it started with small things. 'Just make the call for me.' followed by 'JUST pick them up once.' maybe twice. maybe three times. turning to 'just keep an eye on the cameras for me and keep me updated no pushing buttons required.' and from then on the jump to actually interacting and moving walls is a small one.

[108garys]

Mr Du'mets ❤

I think I was due for just the two of them for this au since my designing of murder castle masks started with Du'met creating a new persona for Charlie, it's a little scribbley and my pen smudged a little but nothing a dash of colour can't fix

I imagine if I get around to writing a follow up to bleeding hearts this is probably where that would end up in the long run

@kassiekolchek22 @delurkr @blubary @lonnitamongus @meitsuki24 @mythwood @tatjana-fantasy @mybrainrotforreal @eframschweigersskincells @eddie-brii @devilinlittlehope @ivycross @ultrabananapudding

[maria-rayro]

@milllkaa sorry it's just them 🤣🤣

[paramounticebound]

Hey! For those of you interested in the stuff I've been making at work, here are some pictures:

*read more do to artistic nudity

[mybrainrotforreal]

Like The Cat That Got The Cream

Heclie Cat Cafe! AU

A story about a man with troubled past that took his voice, is learning to love and a Barista who understand that word is not the only way to convey love.

I've written several chapters and they are basically spread out in my posts, so I think I'm going to tidy 'em up. Writing this is therapeutic to me and I hope the readers will get the same effect :3 1. Chapter 1 (it's actually the first concept of this AU, you can just skip this)

2. Chapter 2 - Cat Got Your Tongue

3. Chapter 3 - Cat's Cradle

4. Chapter 4 - to Land Like A Cat on His Feet

5. Chapter 5 - A Cat In Gloves Catches No Mice

6. (New!) Chapter 6 - Cat's Whisker Away from Tears

[miidnighters]

oh to be a sleepy grey cat in a bed under a desk while mum works up top to pay for ur biscuits

[compelledcurator]

Make your muses into pixel art! HERE

This is so cute, incase you couldn't tell we have Gambit, Rogue and The Goblin Queen - I got the idea from @riiese

tagging; @amischiefofmuses; @biblicallyaccuratemcu; @soulxremains and anyone else <3

[vuulpecula]

✖ alright, alright, alright. this weekend was kind of insane. i feel so lucky that i was able to see d.essa live ! the show was everything and just getting to hear the lyrics that have inspired my writing for years, getting to see her sing them, i am still in awe. the pictures i took though...not as amazing lol but i thought y'all might enjoy coming on my adventure with me xo. <3

Fig. 1 a miniature scale model of an old operating theatre (theater?) Fig. 2 a picture of the holiday market with the city in the background ( it was busy ! ) Fig. 3 that me <3 at the venue Fig. 4 the most decent picture i have lol

[hope-to-hell]

Wash it Away. Hector Munday x Reader. What do you think he does in his downtime? Surely he doesn’t just bathe in the blood of innocents; there’s got to be something of the mundane to balance all this out. Maybe he takes his coffee with cream, watching morning mist roll across the lake. And maybe you can find him in the bath after a long night’s work. Smut.

———

How was last night?

Even reflected in the shaving-glass, his gaze cuts deep. But there’s the slightest crinkle in the crows’ feet that have begun to gather at the corners of his eyes; a bruise blooms beautifully down his side, but he moves with almost languorous fluidity. The last few strokes of his straight razor are precise, steps in a long-perfected dance. Went well enough. He leans to set aside the tray that holds his shaving kit, soap and water sliding slickly down his back. Hn. A sigh— a letting-go— slips free as he reclines in the bathtub.

Could be better, could be worse?

As it is with all things.

It’ll be a few days yet before another batch of guests arrives. There’s wallpaper to hang, fuses to replace, and a thousand other little tasks that come with a place like this. Later this afternoon he’ll surely be out working in the curing shed, sleeves rolled to the elbow, surrounded by the sick-sweet odor of formalin and meat. It’s messy work that somehow always gives him an intense appetite for the pleasures of the flesh. As likely as not he’ll chase you down and have you right there on the path, stones and twigs digging bruises into your hands, your face, your knees and thighs— everywhere, really— as you drool and pant into the dirt.

But right now— go on. Get in the tub. Take advantage of this all too brief time when there is no pressing business to take care of yet. Enjoy this. Enjoy him. These moments are so few that each is precious, to be treasured in the long dark nights when he sends you to your room and says stay gone til morning. Well, what are you waiting for? Don’t get lost in pleasure’s absence while it’s right there in front of you. He lifts a hand just so and it's got you stripping down like your clothes are on fire. Climb on in and settle back against his chest. Flick that last little bit of soap from his jaw.

This feels nice, doesn’t it? He’s so warm, so broad, thicker than you ever would’ve guessed before you first saw him out of those clothes— bloody after an unlucky night, stitching himself up with fishing line and looking thunderous like you still living was the icing on the fucking cake— remember that look? Remember what you said to him? You haven’t got a suture kit? What kind of mickey-mouse operation is this? Remember how you could practically hear the gears turning in his mind before he shrugged and turned back to his work?

Remember when that bravado of tired-beyond-tired mouthing-off gave way and left this in its wake? It’s strange how these paths branch and reconnect, how the fearful thrill of survival turns into anticipation. Remember— He chuffs and wraps an arm around you. Don’t get lost in it. The water’s just this side of scalding, such that somewhere beneath these mountains of bubbles he’s rosy-pink except for where he’s a deeply pulsing red. Oh. Oh. Even though you know he’s hard and wanting, it still sends that shock of anticipation down to your toes when he brushes against your ass.

Go on, then. Raise up just a bit, just enough to reach for him and guide him home. There’s a slowness to the drag and burn of him inside you, but give it a moment, won’t you? Relax. Feel his arm barred across your ribs. Watch the subtle clench of his jaw as his free hand traces down your belly and beyond, and with the delicate pinch and roll of his fingers he gives you exactly what you need.

Keep your eyes on him. He remembers how you like it, how to pin you on him, how to coax your thighs just that little bit farther apart. Watch his lips part. Keep your eyes open. It’s tempting to invite the dark, to erase everything but pure physical sensation, but you don’t want to miss this. You’re going to come on his cock one way or another, but think of how sweet it’ll be to see him follow you down; if you watch his face you might yet see the moment when he comes undone, when just for a moment he’s stripped down to his purest self. He's close, seeming to grow somehow even thicker and Fuck. I’m so full of you. I can’t—

You will.

Go ahead. Fall. There’s nothing left to do but feel it happen, so greet the little death and let it in. And that’s a growl, deep in his chest; he grips you tight and pulses inside, but his hand doesn’t stop, not til you’re thrashing in his grip from overstimulation. Shh. That’s it, relax. This is good, isn’t it? The comedown’s slow and shaky; he will hold you tight until he softens and slips free, but for now you remain pinned here, filled with his seed. Breathe slow and deep. In, out. In, out. That’s it. That’s good.

[redran6er]

Happy pride month to the devil in me cast! 😊🏳️‍🌈✨

[108garys]

Bleeding Hearts

So this is the longest bit of writing I've ever posted, I know it's nothing compared to a lot of the wonderful writers in the dark pictures fandom but it's the longest I've ever posted all at once. So people seem to like the way I write Charlie's darker traits and I had this idea of what a true role reversal would look like and what would drive Charlie under the circumstances, as always if anyone has anything that they think I should tag then let me know(and also as usual there wasn't a lot of time between completion and posting)

It somehow just occurred to me that this is my first proper Hecile fic, at least the first to actually get completed and posted

@kassiekolchek22 @mistmoose @delurkr @eddie-brii @oblivious-troll @ivycross @lonnitamongus @maria-rayro @blubary @ultrabananapudding @ctrvpani @timethehobo

(one of these days I'll stop being so mean to Hector in my writings)

Charlie kept him grounded. Shortly before he'd met him Hector had buried his mother, the last of his family, cracked a career defining case and very nearly went off the deep end interviewing the vile man who truly believed Hector could sink to his level…

The day they'd met he'd come home knuckles bruised from where he'd struck the Beast of Arkansas, if others hadn't intervened Manny Sherman's execution may have came a lot quicker and when he caught a stranger in his home that night he understood that anything was possible.

Charlie had fallen to his knees and begged for Hector to understand, he wanted to write about the case. He was taken aback by the audacity that the man could blatantly trespass and feel completely justified in his actions; Ultimately kicking him out for fear that this comparatively petty criminal would end up on the receiving end of violence meant for a far worse monster.

That should have been the end of it but the next day he found the younger man on his doorstep, this time asking for an interview. Humouring this request had quickly escalated into something unthinkable. Hector knew there was something wrong with him, sleeping with a man who he'd only met because the other broke into his home and when Charlie had to go back to the UK and he agreed to a long distance relationship Hector confirmed that there was something very wrong with both of them…

Over the next few years they'd periodically visit and for the first time in his life Hector had a halfway decent work life balance, when the 2000s rolled around the idea of Charlie moving to the US permanently came up more and more and after living together for a full year Hector concluded his boyfriend was indeed crazy. He was a little too into true crime, it was his dream to eventually direct documentarys about famous serial killers, he was fascinated by them and cohabitation with an FBI profiler was fuel to that fire.

Hector knew he shouldn't but … Eventually sharing details of his cases became a regular occurrence, it was good to get it off his chest… He knew that he should be concerned that this excited Charlie but… His boyfriend had always been a little eccentric, he dismissed it against his better judgement.

Charlie started working the night shift at a local grocery store, Hector didn't mind since he also worked late most nights. Charlie kept working on his passions on the side and it was almost like they were married.

In the mid 2000s work became busier for Hector and he had to travel for his cases, Charlie didn't take it well… Hector knew his boyfriend had some pretty intense abandonment issues and made sure to call him every night and promised to check in with him as much as possible…

After a close call on an investigation he woke up in the hospital in a different city. Charlie had destroyed their place in his anxiety when Hector didn't answer his calls, he became the most attentive boyfriend anyone could ask for during Hector's recovery… Sometimes he worried what Charlie would do if he died… It was best to not think about it.

He hit the ground running when he returned to work, a new serial killer was on the block. With three known victims he started painting a picture. All were men in their early thirties with few social ties, one came from out of state, the other two had immigrated, all three wore glasses, their hair ranged from light brown to dirty blond but there was no mistaking it, they looked like Charlie…

At first Hector wanted to protect him from this information but he had to know. He promised he wouldn't let anything happen to him and Charlie clung to him any chance he could get… He needed to solve this case.

Months went by and more victims emerged. Stabbed in the heart, with no other injuries and an expression of shock… These men were clearly taken by surprise. When a body turned up a block away from Charlie's work, along the route he took home Hector couldn't take it anymore!

"I've been thinking…" Charlie looked up at him with those beautiful blue eyes of his, "Charlie, until this case is solved I-, I think you should go back to England." Charlie dropped his spoon into his cereal splashing milk across the table. "What!?" Charlie looked betrayed, his bowl was spilt. "You… You want to get rid of me?" Charlie asked in small voice, tears in his eyes. "No- I…" Hector took a deep breath, trying to find the right words, "Charlie I can't keep being called to crime scenes, seeing you in the faces of this bastard's victims, I just want you to be safe."

"Fine." Hector could deal with Charlie's temper, he could deal with his tantrums, but when Charlie was cold to him… Hector watched as Charlie got up from his seat and went to their room without another word, he decided to give him some space as he cleaned up the mess. Doing the dishes before going to check on him.

Hector stood in the doorway in silence… The room was empty!? Draws emptied, the room in disarray… The window wide open… "Charlie?" Hector didn't want to believe he was gone, he tried to call him only to feel his heart sink as Charlie's phone rang out in the room… "He couldn't have gotten far…" Hector reassured himself, throwing on his coat and getting his keys.

He spent all day searching for his boyfriend, this wasn't like him… Hector concluded that Charlie must be terrified and that the idea of being away from him scared him more. He kept his phone close at hand just in case Charlie went home and decided to call… He should've asked Charlie to take the day shift, or find another job, hell he made enough that Charlie could be unemployed!

The sun was setting as his mobile phone rang. Hector didn't even look at it before answering, before he could say anything he heard a colleague's voice on the other end. An eerie cold washed over him… His hands were trembling as he heard that another victim had been discovered, killed within the past few hours… He had to ask them to repeat the address a few times and as the call ended he stood on the sidewalk. Heart pounding in his ears. It isn't him… It… It can't be… He should keep looking, he couldn't abandon Charlie… But what if-?

Hector looked in the direction the crime scene… It wasn't far, "Forgive me Charlie."

This one was different… The victim had been killed with extreme malice, his face so disfigured that only his ID could confirm his resemblance to the others. Hector was conflicted… He was disturbed by the sight, horrified that the killer seemed to be escalating… But at the same time he was relieved that it wasn't Charlie and that made him feel like a monster.

It was just before sunrise when he came home, physically and emotionally exhausted,he heard the shower going and saw that Charlie had made dinner. What was he supposed to do?

Part way through having his reheated pasta and quietly reflecting on the past day Charlie came into the kitchen, he smiled like nothing happened. "How was work?" Hector didn't say anything, he wish he could say he was shocked, Charlie stood next to his chair, Hector leaned into his touch and just let it all fall away for a moment as Charlie wrapped his arms around him, kissing him on the top of his head. It wasn't until he ran his free hand over Charlie's arm that Hector noticed the bandage. He froze for a moment, turning to look at his boyfriend as the arm was pulled out of his grasp. "Charlie? What-"

"I hurt it at work." Charlie said defensively, Hector wanted to ask about specifics he wanted to talk about Charlie's actions or what he had seen but instead steadied his voice and started over. "I've had time to think…" his eyes followed Charlie as he moved to the other side of the table and sat down, a worried look on his face. "We we're both a little too hasty yesterday, I want you to be safe but there are so many other options before banishing you back to England." Hector picked at his food still a little nervous. "The best I can think of is for you to request the day shift or quit, I can support us, I just-"

"Okay… I'll call my boss, if I can't get my shift changed," Charlie looked away, "I'll trust your judgement." Hector let out a sigh of relief that they'd found a compromise. He finished his dinner feeling a little lighter and when he finally found his way to bed he slept a little easier. He never told Charlie what he saw.

The next week was a blur but Charlie kept Hector grounded. He could do this, he had captured the Beast of Arkansas… He could do this. He needed more than anything to solve this case.

Early morning on his day off he woke wrapped up in Charlie's arms, he never wanted this to change. Hector carefully extracted himself from his sleeping partner's grasp, taking a moment to admire how peaceful he looked. After his morning routine hector decided to catch up on laundry, he preferred to get things done on his off days. It was a running joke that Charlie claimed Hector would die if forced to actually relax. He was probably right… He paused noticing a balled up shirt pushed into a corner, a little out of sight, it was one of Charlie's button up shirts, it was dark red, Hector had bought it for him. the sleeve was torn up… It seemed clean, maybe even a little too clean? Perhaps Charlie gave up on repairing it after he washed it? Charlie probably felt bad about ruining it… Hector absent mindedly tucked it away, making note to ask Charlie what exactly happened at his work…

He couldn't get the most recent victim out of his head, the guilt he felt that he was happy it wasn't Charlie, the horror of knowing it could have been… They still didn't talk about it, maybe it was selfish but he wanted to only think about Charlie but… He felt like something was alluding him, why did they all look like him? He and Charlie had been living together openly for years now, he was certain that they'd be married one day… Was he being messed with? His name was in the news surrounding the Manny Sherman case… Maybe his private life was too public? It wasn't like they were screaming from the rooftops… He and Charlie were the normal amount of open about their relationship, maybe that was too much for someone in his line of work…

He couldn't sit still, he had to get out and put these thoughts into something useful. He left a note to let Charlie know he where he was going and left as soon as his washing was in the dryer. It wasn't unusual for him to work on his day off so nobody would be shocked if he took another look around the crime scene…

When he arrived at the old dockside warehouse he let himself in, the place didn't seem unusual… He put on a pair of gloves and got to picking over everything, looking for… He wasn't exactly sure what, but he was determined to find it. After over an hour of fruitless searching Hector stepped out side, lighting a cigarette. This side of the building looked out over the water, a chain link fence ran around the perimeter. Old and rusted, it may as well be torn down, as smoke drifted lazily into the grey morning, his mind was racing… As if in answer to an unspoken prayer Hector noticed something from the corner of his eye.

Where the fence met the building the chain link was separated enough for a person to crawl through, not remarkable in of itself as the whole thing was filled with holes but caught on the edge was a small strip of fabric. Dark red, bloodstained? He carefully removed it, placing it in a clear evidence bag… Maybe he was desperate... He was desperate, but this could be important. he stashed the bag in his coat, he'd drop by the house on his way to hand it off to forensics.

When Hector arrived, Charlie was writing one of his true crime things. Hector kissed him and poured a cup of coffee. He didn't tell Charlie what he'd found, Charlie hadn't asked about it… That was a little unusual but he must be focused on his writing, he figured he could afford to fold the washing before he headed for the office. After idle conversation, no that was underselling it… There was nothing more he loved than just talking to Charlie about anything and everything… It made him look forward to being off the clock, even if he knew he had a problem with actually staying off the clock.

He went went back to the laundry, satisfied with how productive the day had been so far, he didn't even remove his coat given he'd be heading out again soon. As he folded the clothes he stopped, his literal shred of evidence had fallen out of his coat pocket, he should put it somewhere safe so it doesn't get lost-

His brain crashed into a brick wall at full speed as his hand paused an inch above the bag… He stared at it, dumbfounded. It took him a minute to even articulate what the problem was and then… And then a few more dreadful heart wrenching minuets to actually get his thoughts to make sense but they didn't, it didn't make any sense… It couldn't… He'd prove it to himself, it was an stupid irrational thought. He grabbed the bag and dug out the shirt, laying it flat on the table. He kept his eyes shut. Deafened by his own heart beat as he smoothed out the fabric, feeling along the torn sleeve. He layed the fabric strip next to it in its clear bag… Hands braced on the laundry table as he breathes slowly, he tilted his head down. He'd open his eyes and feel like the biggest idiot in the universe… Maybe he'd been in this field for too long, maybe what he and Charlie needed was to get far away from it all but… He had to solve this, had to know.

He felt numb as he looked down, a perfect fit… He didn't move, didn't breathe, if it was possible he's sure his heart would have stopped… He was an empty shell and his boyfriend was a serial killer… Part of him died when he even considerd suspecting Charlie, he felt dully that his life was over… He couldn't live with himself if he turned Charlie in, his career was over either way, he'd either be the washed up profiler who couldn't even see the truth right in front of him or he'd be found out as the rogue agent who intentionally mislead the investigation to protect his lover-

"Hector?" Charlie stood in the doorway, Hector didn't move, didn't respond. He stared blankly down at the torn shirt as he heard Charlie's footsteps behind him. His heart started beating again as Charlie wrapped his arms around him, he could breathe… Charlie kept him grounded, kept him together. He blinked away tears that threatened to fall from his eyes as Charlie moved to see what he was looking at. He froze, just as Hector had, a shocked gasp escaped Charlie. Hector tore his eyes away from the shirt as he turned, wrapping his arms around Charlie, holding him firmly to his chest. They stared at each other, shaky anxious breathes filling the small room…

"Why?" It was barely audible but the single word carried the crushing weight of the world, of everything they had and could have had… Charlie pleaded with him wordlessly to take it back, to turn his head and forget what he saw… Tears started to stream down his face and Hector couldn't help but reach out, his hand stopped short of Charlie's cheek. He couldn't do it, he couldn't hurt Charlie and he couldn't pretend he didn't know what he knew. He asked again, more insistently. "Why did you… Why did you do it?"

Charlie stepped back, Hector had loosened his hold when he was sure Charlie wasn't going to run from him. He watched as his boyfriend rubbed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Anticipation clawed at Hector as Charlie looked at him calmly. "I didn't want to share you, not even with the dead."

"What?" Hector spoke so quietly that he wasn't even sure he had spoken, was he having some messed up nightmare!? He knew Charlie was the jealous type but this!? Committing murder to… To make it so Hector thought of Charlie at all times… He didn't want to believe it, he didn't want to acknowledge that it had worked. "You're insane…" he shook his head, he'd known this about Charlie since they met, every single red flag that he'd actively dismissed and yet… He could have killed him, the day they met he was in such a dark place that he knows he could have done it, knew that man was right about him and deep down… He dismissed every single warning sign because he couldn't handle that fact. He looked Charlie in the eye and asked. "When did you start killing?" his voice was calm, like he was asking about a hobby, Charlie looked like he'd been slapped. He remained quiet for a moment, speaking only when he could no longer avoid the question…

"It was an accident."

"Charlie… Please…" Hector took a careful step towards him. "…tell me."

"it was before we met, I had just turned eighteen and was going out with some friends since we were finally old enough to drink back home," Hector listened as Charlie spoke carefully, "I had this… Friend, I'd been head over heels for him but I kept it too myself," Charlie wrapped his arms around himself, looking at the floor. "I always wanted to scream whenever he got a girlfriend but that night, free of the usual restraint I just… I yelled at him, shoved him and left him where he lay on the way home." Charlie looked back at Hector with a pained smile. "He never got up and nobody ever found out, said he fell and hit his head and… Well that's not the point."

"Nobody suspected a thing, I could have blamed my intoxication but… I said we split up sooner, it was easy… I thought if… If I could understand why it was so easy then…"

"That's why you're into true crime?" Hector asked taking another step, Charlie was crying again. "Were you hoping to find something that could rationalise away your guilt? Or your guilt for not feeling guilty?" Hector hated that it made sense to him, Charlie stepped back looking hurt. "Hector… What are you going to do?" they both knew he held all the cards here, he grabbed Charlie by the shoulders. Looking directly into his eyes. "You understand that we can't be together anymore, right? Charlie, our life is over… You never-"

"Are you going to turn me in?" Charlie asked bluntly, neither of them could handle this uncertainty anymore… Hector looked at him, he knew there was something very wrong with the both of them. His mind was made up and he refused to second guess himself. He cupped Charlie's face, kissing him deeply before preparing to go further past the point of no return.

"Listen to me, Charlie… Promise me you'll do exactly what I tell you." Charlie kept Hector grounded, he'd done so for years and without him… "Say you promise."

"I promise, Hector, I'll do anything." Hector was already dead, the future they'd planned had died the moment he suspected his love… Marriage, growing old together… Gone. And yet… He smiled at Charlie. It was going to be ok, he would fix it… He knew what he had to do…

--

Charlie Lonnit sat behind his desk at the office, researching for an upcoming episode of architects of murder, his employees chatting amongst themselves.

"Hey what about the bleeding hearts killer?" Kate suggested, "All his murders were committed right here in Chicago, we wouldn't even have to travel." She looked around for everyone else's input. "Didn't that guy exclusively kill men who looked like his boyfriend?" Jamie asked without looking up, she was fiddling with a damaged piece of film equipment, Erin had headphones on, generally ignoring the conversation.

"That's fucked up," Mark responded, "What happened to the boyfriend anyway?" Charlie looked up at them. "No one knows, he was still alive during the time of the murders but his name was kept out of the press for his safety," Kate scrolled through some information about the case, "I guarantee that poor man never wants to think about his evil ex again, I'd be surprised if he wasn't getting abused throughout the whole relationship…" she got up from the couch she was lounging on, stretching as she continued casually. "He probably celebrated when that bastard died in a fire."

"I'd like to believe they really loved each other," Charlie defended, "What the fuck Charles!? You're a real piece of work-"

The phone rings.

Charlie shushes her, Answering the call. Grateful for the life his love gave him…

[maria-rayro]

Charlie, seeing a cat at Hector's apartment: oh so cute! what's the name?

Hector, calmly: Holmes.

Charlie: oh, like Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective just like you, I see!

Hector: .... yes... like Sherlock Holmes. Of course.......

[caramelparrotcz]

Hello, I’m Claire 🤍🌼🕊️

I’m self-taught digital artist, horror gamer, writer, animator, creator of original characters, their stories (lore) and my AU fanfiction stories 🤍

Fan of The Dark Pictures Anthology: The Devil in Me 🤍🕯️

💌All my socials: @caramelparrotcz (caramelparrot)💌

💌I draw:

🕊️My AU fanfiction stories arts based on The Dark Pictures Anthology: The Devil in Me (AU TDiM)

🕊️My OCs arts, and their stories (original characters)

🕊️ OC x Canon arts

🤍Clarctor - Hector x my OC Claire

🤍Clarlie - Charlie x my OC Claire

#caramelparrotsstories

#clarctorsweek

#clarliesweek

🕊️ Less often fan arts

(video games/horror stories/cartoons/characters)

🕊️Birds (doves/pigeons/parrots)

🕊️Plants

🕊️Short animations

🤍Nice to meet you on my page and in my world of creativity🤍