#i...may have gotten away with the idea and theme and forgotten it

[rauchendesgnu]

jealousy will drive you mad

Time: 14h 37m Inspiration: El Tango De Roxanne

[dcxdpdabbles]

#holiday request

Another chapter of Alley Boyfriends, if you don't mind, I love it so much. If not, no worries. I love your work and love to reread your stuff. May your food be filling and your bills be paid!

Danny carefully adds the finishing touches to the seahorse he’s carefully designing on the surface of Tim’s mug of coffee. He’s been practicing his latte art because business has been slow at Heart Attack in secret. The previous week, he had seen Tim watching videos of strangers creating works of art using the foams of their coffee with blatant awe.

The Halfa will admit to the sight of wonder on Tim’s face when the flashier artist created swans with colored foam, and his heart gave the oddest flutters. It had been so brief but intense that Danny had feared a new power was unlocking in their living room.

Thankfully, the moment passed quickly, but Tim’s expression lingered in his mind. Danny had abandoned the piano to search somehow for videos of latte art within the next minute of that strange heart flutter.  

Danny had learned how to play from Wes in an ill-fated attempt to get the ginger to date him. Danny hadn’t been able to get the ginger to be his boyfriend, but he learned a skill he enjoyed. His parents bought him a second-hand stage piano that he had used for the few years he lived with them.

It broke sometime in senior year- he thinks Young Blood had blasted him through it- and he hadn’t bothered getting a replacement. Mainly because he couldn’t be concerned, as it was a hobby he hadn’t time to participate in once he got close to graduation. It would have remained a forgotten past time had the apartment not come with the grand piano.

The sound was so much richer, with a resonating tone that bypassed his skin and sunk into his soul. Danny could not let the thing of beauty go to waste. He often found himself sitting on the bench, letting his fingers dance off the keys, finding melodies and rhythms that welcomed him home like a returning hero of a fairy tale.

He didn’t think he was skilled at it, but sometimes, when he played, Tim would move closer. His eyelids would flutter close, lying on the nearby couch and listening to Danny play with a half-smile on his face. Sometimes, Tim would fall asleep, seemingly at peace, as Danny strung through Dance of the Blessed Spirits only a few feet away.

Despite all the coffee Danny had provided him with, Tim was starting to develop a better sleeping schedule. The bags under his eyes slowly faded, and he was physically fit. Tim used their apartment building gym all the time, but his skin was gaining a glow previously not there.

He also seems much happier. Danny checked off another box of Tim being a ghost in development, with his Heart Attack Coffee being a big part of his obsession.  Maybe it would not be his sole purpose when he passed, but Danny suspected that the coffee was associated with a good memory that fundamentally shaped Tim’s sense of self.

Danny didn’t like to think too hard about it. He’s gotten comfortable with death, seeing it as a natural part of life now that he spent so much time around the Death-Brought Ghosts, but the idea of Tim passing always twisted his heart into knots.

Sharp, painful knots that leave him fleeing from the dark thoughts as fast as possible. It would be years before Tim would no longer be part of this world. He had better things to do, like adding bubbles and seaweed around the seahorse and taking time to add as many little details as he could to create the scene of a lovely underwater image.

Danny finishes just as the kitchen clock- an expensive cuckoo clock that had golden trimmings, blending so well with the dark wood and gorgeous forest theme carvings that Danny had fallen in love with the second he spotted it at a street art festival that the pair had stumbled upon during a drive they took. Tim bought it when he realized Danny liked it, and it hung up that night. - goes off with a loud chime.

Another day has officially ended. 

His roommate would be up soon for whatever he does at nighttime, where he vanished for hours, coming home nearly always after witching hours, exhausted and bruised. Danny would linger in the living room for a bit if he was awake before heading to his room with a half-made excuse.

Tim would then sleep for a few hours before he was up again, rushing around the apartment to gather his things and be out for his daytime work. A lot of his job he can do at home, but Tim was important enough that he sometimes had to go to work in person.

In the three weeks that the two have moved in together, Danny hasn’t been braved enough to ask what his roommate did for a living. He knows Tim held some big corporate job- where and what he did there was a mystery- but his second job was vague and downright denied at worst.

Whenever Danny hinted so much about what he was doing at night, Tim moved the subject away. He didn’t flat out deny answering Danny’s probing, as more as he danced around the question so well, Danny found himself waltzing in a different direction before he realized what had happened. Tim had a silver tongue that was wielded like a sword, sharp, cutting, and deadly.

 It was mildly alarming, mainly because Danny had no idea what Tim was involved in. Something big, something likely bad. It could be the only explanation for the large amount of seemingly never-ending funds and the odd hours that Tim kept.

A boring office worker by day and who knows what by night.

He also always came back home half stumbling over his feet. There was even that one time when Tim had been half-dressed, his knuckles split, and hard anger set at his jaw. Danny had been caught up with a new show, only realizing the late hour once his roommate had practically shut the door.

The pair stared at each other. Danny bathed in the glow of the TV while Tim was shirtless and standing in the shadows of the front door. He wanted to ask thousands of questions, but Danny had only lifted the heated blanket- a gift from Tim- when he learned how affected Danny was by the cold. 

Tim’s face softened as he barreled into the warmth and snuggled into the couch cushions, joining Danny in watching a Korean rom-con that the Halfa had been in the middle of. He had no idea what the plot was or who the characters were, but by the end of the third episode, Tim’s head had fallen on Danny’s shoulder so deeply asleep that he didn’t feel Danny wrapped up his knuckles or carried him to his room.

Despite this, Danny didn’t move out. He didn’t stop providing Tim with his much-loved coffee. If anything, he took his worries, boxed them up, and stubbornly turned a blind eye to the worrying signs that Tim was showing.

A door opens behind him. Tim walks out, an overnight bag thrown over his shoulder as he speed walks through the living room. His roommate is scrolling on his phone, tapping a rapid-fire response to whoever he is chatting with. Danny could see the bubble messages screen even if he couldn’t make out the words before sighing. “I’ll be out all night. I’ll probably be back tomorrow around noon.”

A pool of dread piles in his stomach, but Danny pushes it away. “Alright.”

He holds out the mug, drinking in every facial feature shift as surprise blooms over Tim’s face before it melts into tenderness when he sees the shape of the latte art. It was painstaking to learn how to make a realistic-looking one on such a problematic canvas, but Danny is happy he spent time on it. After all, Tim’s favorite animal was the seashore, so he needed to make sure it looked good.

Only a few people knew that from what Danny gathered from Tim's few mentions while working on their three notebooks. He also thinks Tim doesn’t often tell people his favorites, but Danny has been paying close attention whenever Tim reacts positively to the world around him. The way Tim’s eyes sparkled when Danny clicked on a sea documentary where the small, shaped fish had been a main feature. Danny had found it adorable how Tim seemed unaware that he would randomly blurt out a new fun fact about the seahorses in the following few days.

“When you learn to make this?” Tim asks, curling his fingers around the mug. Danny’s heart leaps in his chest at the tender warmth glowing in Tim’s eyes as he gazed at him. Coughing into his hand, he waves his hand.

“I had some time since there hadn’t been a lot of customers lately. Ever since that Dr. Freeze threat, people have been avoiding the café.” Danny ignores the guilt he feels about that.

The other day, his powers had gone out of control after he made the mistake of going too long without using his ice, and when he developed that stupid head cold, he accidentally froze the street.

One coughing session later, the entire neighborhood ran to take shelter, panicking that the rouge had chosen their homes for his newest mayhem. Thank goodness the villain had actually broken out of Arkham the previous day, so no one batted an eye at the fact the ice surrounding a single barista was in the middle of closing up for the night.

“It’s amazing, Danny,” Tim tells him, quickly snapping a picture with his phone before he takes a sip. His eyelashes flutter as he savors the flavor, this one is the original Batman theme coffee that Heart Attack discontinued.

Danny found the receipt in an older binder while doing inventory. Tim had tackled him in an enthusiastic hug the second he tried it and recognized the familiar taste.

“Thanks.” He blushes, trying not to notice that the bubbles have shifted slightly, resembling hearts instead of circles. Moving his eyes away from where the foam disappears into Tim’s lips, Danny mentally kicks himself for being weird about his fake boyfriend’s drinking.

He picks up the mug lid on the counter, turning it around in his hands while Tim takes another quick sip. There is some leftover steam milk on his lips when he pulls away, and the colorful seahorse is gone now. His core pulses, making a shiver run down his spine as Tim’s pink tongue darts out to lick away the teal green.

Danny coughs again as frost gathers on his back. Thank goodness he can feel it on his skin, which means it likely hasn’t passed through his comfortable sweater. He hasn’t told Tim about his powers, and he isn’t sure he wants to.

Gotham is an anti-meta city. Tim was as Gotham as they came. He can’t stand the thought of his roommate growing to hate him, especially for something that wasn’t precisely meta, but was the closest thing he was.

He leans forward, carefully sealing the mug. This was one of Tim’s favorites among his collectible mugs, primarily because it could shift into a traveling beverage holder.

Tim smiles at him. “I’m heading out then. See you tomorrow.” 

“Bye, stay safe,” Danny tells him to walk him to the front door. He stands there, feeling like he’s waiting for something to happen. But he isn’t entirely sure what that is, so all he does is lean against the wall as Tim slips on his running shoes, juggling his drink, phone, and bag. Danny smiles warmly when Tim raises his mug at him in a fast toast before he slips through the door, leaving their apartment with a soft “Sleep well, Danny.”

The wood of their door seals shut without a sound- apparently, the rich didn’t believe in noise because everything in the apartment was somehow soundproof. Tim moved like a shadow, rarely making a sound. Danny, by comparison, sounded like a bull in a china shop.

Once, when Danny apologized, Tim laughed.

“I like it, " he said while lounging in the hot tub on the balcony. Danny was on the other side, the warm water doing wonders for the frost forming at the bottom of his feet.  Thankfully, the water hid it from Tim’s sight. “It’s like you breathe life into the apartment with your noise.”

“Stay safe,” Danny says to the empty apartment. “Come home tomorrow.”

He rubs his face and figures he should head to be. It was ten at night, but Tim clarified that he wouldn’t return anytime soon. He’s tired from the previous three nights when he waited for Tim to come home. Thankfully, his shifts had been moved to the afternoon, so it didn’t mean much if Danny stayed up until three am for his roommate.

He strides by his piano, running his hand along the closed case of the keys without seeing it, for his gaze is locked on the city that glows under his window. It’s been nearly a month, and he’s still not used to the view of Gotham from this height. The penthouse towers over most of Gotham, and the city seems beautiful from up here. A Decorative lie of the danger that waited in the wake of anyone down on their luck.

This place was like a Siren. Beautiful and alluring until its claws and teeth dug into someone’s skin, dragging them to the darkest depths where no one could hear their screams. He prays that whatever Tim is involved doesn’t let Gotham swallow him whole.

 Danny’s fingers accidentally come upon cloth, making him snap his chin down to see what had been placed on the wood and blink at the side of Tim’s discarded sleeping long-sleeve shirt. His roommate peeled it off earlier tonight when he wanted to walk around in his shirt sleeve and flung it somewhere to take a quick nap before he left.

His fingers close around the fabric, slowly bringing it up to his face, breathing in Tim’s distinctive scent mixed with the soft lavender of his fabric softener. Danny hesitates for only a few seconds before taking off his sweater and slips on Tim’s long sleeve, allowing himself to find comfort in the familiar scent surrounding him.

He lets his sweater pool on the floor in the living room as he wanders to his room, crashing under his blankets and pressing the fabric of Tim’s clothes to his face. Eventually, he is lured to sleep, dreaming of playing in Gotham’s largest theater, hands flying over the keys at a skill level he does not possess. He moves with the music, uncaring that the seats are empty except for one.

That one belongs to Tim, who watches him perform with the same tenderness as his latte art inspired, but instead of a drink, Danny’s music causes that expression.

It’s the best dream he had in a long while.

As he dreams, he is unaware of the figure checking in on him, hanging from a grabbing hook near his window. The figure smiles when its white lens notices how Danny is curled up in a ball before it zips to the roof, their cap flaring behind them.

When they land, they reach up to link on their com "Red Robin reporting for duty. Where is Dr. Freeze's last known location? I want him caught tonight."

"Good night to you, too," Oracle responds. "Any particular reason we're in such a hurry for the capture of Dr. Freeze."

"He's making it hard for the hard-working people of Gotham to work," He huffs, knowing the rest of the bats will correctly link his complaint to his roommate.

There is a loaded pause before Red Hood grunts. "I got good news for you then. Dr. Freeze has spotted this very afternoon. Meet up at Heart Attack by Crime Alley to compare notes in an hour."

"I'm on my way."

[summercourtship]

stay to burn (only to drown instead): chapter two: hard times in the city [part I]

masterpost | ao3 link

jonathan crane x reader; bruce wayne x reader; edward nashton x reader | warnings: canon typical violence, sexual themes | word count: 7813 words

DISCLAIMER: these chapters are not meant to be read alone. not every chapter has content for one of the three pairings listed. this is an ongoing fanfiction that I am cross-posting here on tumblr, not a series of one-shots.

chapter one

The rest of the semester passed quickly, your schedule filled with finals, papers, and studying. Your bruises faded within two weeks, your lip shrunk back down to its normal size, and you were finally able to look in the mirror without recoiling in shock. People quickly forgot that you’d been beaten up when not confronted by your wounds constantly, and they finally stopped asking what happened because of it. You returned to your usual seat in your classes and tried to stop your heart from fluttering whenever you saw the Bat Signal up in the sky. It didn’t really work- your stomach flipped every night it was lit, especially since you could see it from your bedroom window as you laid in your bed, the city’s constant chorus of sirens lulling you to sleep.

Your face may have forgotten that night, but you still remembered it very clearly. It had been a key factor in convincing your boss to stop giving you such late shifts (a request that he honored until he fired yet another person and the shop was once again understaffed). But at least he knew that you weren’t just being paranoid, he had proof that your fears were substantiated. On the other hand, you also knew that your fears were substantiated which made walking around for the first few weeks after the attack a complicated affair.

But you were doing better. At least, you liked to think you were. You had plenty of other bad experiences in your life, at least four of them from the past year, what’s another one added to that list?

You took a sip of your drink, grimacing as the door swung open and yet another happily smiling couple walked in. Whether you were reacting to the taste of your drink (you tried something new, and you didn’t think you liked it) or the fact that it was once again not who you wanted to see walking through the door (you had gotten the time right, right? Oh god, what if you’ve just been misremembering it this entire time? How embarrassing would that be?)

You distracted yourself from the mental rabbit role of anxiety you were starting to go down by looking outside the window. No need to panic, just take some time to watch Gothamites doing their thing.

Sunny days, like the one you were observing from inside the cafe, were rare in Gotham. The streets were full of people- families, friends, couples- milling about, enjoying the nice weather, bundled up in jackets and scarves. It was almost pleasant to watch them, the normal law-abiding people, have a good day. A day without checking over their shoulder, a day of pretending that Gotham was just like every other city in the country. You watch them trying to convince themselves that today was the norm, not the exception.

You took another sip of your drink, holding back another grimace at its overly sweet taste as it slipped down your throat. You had tucked yourself away in a corner and yet you were still paranoid that every person who entered the cafe was silently judging you, even when they didn’t glance around the small space or take in their surroundings at all.

You didn’t dislike cafes, at least not in concept. You liked the idea of going to work in them, of spending your day in the warm, ambient space to write papers or read books. But when you did take the chance and went to a coffee shop, you would instead find yourself self conscious and feeling like… well, like a fraud. Like someone who was pretending to be organized and studious rather than actually being it.

But the cafe was a better place to meet with Dr. Crane than his office, like he had initially suggested. You wanted to avoid being enclosed in small spaces with him for as long as possible. It’s not because he made you uncomfortable, not at all. It’s because you don’t trust yourself to not completely mortify yourself when you’re alone with him. And that is what made you uncomfortable.

The door to the cafe swung open, letting in a new burst of cold air as Dr. Crane strode in, his eyes immediately finding yours in the corner. He doesn’t smile as he walks to you but his expression isn’t cold either. You find yourself smiling as he gets closer. How could you not, when you were meeting to discuss something he talked you into? Something that obviously meant he thought highly of you?

“Hi.” Your voice was embarrassingly soft as he sat down, and for a moment you thought he didn’t hear you. You shuffled your things around, putting the idle work you’d brought back in your bag, making space for him on the other side of the table.

“I hope your finals went well.”

“Yeah.” You’re a bit too proud that you’ve managed to not stutter on any of the single syllable words you’ve attempted so far. “How goes grading?”

“It is both the easiest and most tedious part of this job.” Dr. Crane had a penchant for using a short-answer essay format on his tests, which you’re sure must take forever to grade as thoroughly as he does. At least next semester he had you to dump all that unsavory work on.

“And your other job?” The one over at Arkham? He smiled at this. Though smirked, you thought, might have been more accurate.

“Interesting like always.”

He doesn’t elaborate, which you have come to mostly expect from him.

“Are you going to order anything?” You asked, gesturing with your chin to the counter, painfully aware that you were the one doing the brunt work of carrying the conversation.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Go ahead.”

As he left to order his drink, you pulled your folder of papers for the class back out of your bag, eager to get into the meat of your conversation. You wanted to know everything about your job as a teaching assistant, any minute detail that would satisfy the curiosity that had built over the prospect of doing something completely new to you.

A small sheet of questions was the only paper in the left pocket of the folder and you placed that neatly to the side.

Lastly, you pull out a well worn notepad, flipping past all the year-old notes from your History of Gotham class project last year, all the disjointed ramblings that came after. Finally you land on one of the final pages of the notebook, scrawling the date at the top of the page, following it with TA meeting w/ Dr. Crane.

You didn’t necessarily like using this notebook, didn’t like seeing how the notes from your project changed from disinterested bullet points on local politics to paragraphs of observations and notes on the way the election was slowly dissolving because of one man. As it was happening it had been fascinating to watch in real time. After all, justice- true justice- was nice to see, especially in Gotham. But something must have fallen apart on the night of the election, at Gotham Square Garden. You’d seen hints of it when that car ran through the mayor’s funeral but seeing the absolutely careless disregard for human life as a whole- You stop yourself before you get lost in your thoughts, grounding yourself by pinching your thigh.

All of that to say that somehow, this was the only notebook you could find on short notice in your apartment, sitting out on your catch-all-dining-table like you’d just been using it. Had it been weird? Yes. But it was whatever, you only needed it for this meeting and then you could transfer the notes over to your laptop or a fresh, new notebook.

Dr. Crane returns with his drink, sliding back into his seat while placing it on the table.

“Welcome back.” You smiled as if you hadn’t just pulled yourself into and out of an anxiety attack. “If it’s alright, I have some questions about the job before we start- just some things I want clarified so I can know exactly what the expectations- your expectations- for me are.”

He nodded, allowing you to speak.

“So, my responsibilities are to just help in grading papers, take notes during class, and offer assistance to the students if they need it, right?”

“Correct.” He took a sip of his drink- coffee, you could tell by the smell wafting towards you. “As you know, I don’t use TAs often, if ever. I don’t need them. But I intend on taking full advantage of your being here.”

“And what does taking full advantage entail?” You’re scribbling a note on your notepad when you realized how the vague question could come across- the innuendo you’d only realized was present once you said it out loud. You look up at him, eyes wide. “What I meant to say was-”

“I know what you meant.” You can’t break your eye contact with him, but it’s too much and you need to sever this connection between the two of you before you say or do something that would be incredibly regrettable-

Luckily, he does the hard part for you and looks up at nothing in particular, in the mindless way people trying to remember something do. But it still strikes you as odd because you don’t think you’ve ever seen this man do anything mindlessly.

“This is an opportunity for feedback from someone who doesn’t need to worry about failing for giving me an honest opinion.”

You chuckled even though you knew he was being completely serious.

“You don’t read the student surveys at the end of the semester?” The school sent student surveys out to everyone at the end of the semester and were persistent in reminding you to fill them out. Like, email-every-day persistent reminding you that you only had a few more days left to complete them!

“I don’t trust half of the people who take my classes to give actual feedback that isn’t affected by what grade they ended up receiving.” The unspoken implication, then, was that he did trust you.

You were practically vibrating at the thought.

“Alright. I’ll try my best to be honest with you.”

“Good.”

“Great.” He smiled at you from over the rim of his glass, you could tell from the way his eyes narrowed. You finally broke away from his eyes to look at your drink, frowning when you realized you barely made a dent in it. What a waste.

The chatter of the cafe was getting louder with each passing second that neither of you spoke, the white noise filling the empty space between you.

You should say something. (But what? You have no idea what the limits of your strictly professional relationship with Dr. Crane are- what can you talk about, or is small talk even allowed?)

“I would like to ask you a question.” Dr. Crane easily breaks the silence between you, like he could see how you were freaking out inside and decided to put you out of your misery, allowing the cafe noise to go back to the background.

“Okay.” It’s so easy to agree with him. So much harder, as you have found, to disagree with him or refuse him.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. He was dressed as he usually was- a professional suit and tie, rimless glasses perched on his nose. His hair was slightly mussed, like he didn’t style it but instead ran his fingers through it a few times before deciding it was presentable.

“What do you want to do after you graduate?”

The question was not what you were expecting but it didn’t surprise you. At the point you were at in your college career, everyone wanted to know what your next steps were, what you had planned for your life post-graduation. Including you.

You shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. I’d like to write, maybe do research. Or work at a museum, in the archives. Gotham could use some clean-up in that regard- we should make public records more accessible to the public. It’s harder to hide corruption that way.”

“An admirable goal.”

“An informed one.” You shrugged. “We hide all of our documents behind layers and layers of red tape that even as a student who studies it, it’s incredibly hard to obtain access for any of the work I do.” You paused, taking a moment to think about the rant you had bubbling up inside you. It was a good goal, sure, but even as you described it, it didn’t feel right for you. “Buuut I’m not even sure I want to do that. The idea of spending my career entrenched in Gotham’s bureaucracy is… frankly exhausting, and I’m only thinking about it right now. I can’t imagine actually doing it for a living.”

You stopped, suddenly uncomfortable after speaking for the longest you ever have with him. And it was about Gotham’s archival system.

But from the look on his face- which you could pretty positively identify as ‘not bored’- he didn’t mind at all.

“From the writing you’ve turned in to me, I think you would do well in research, maybe writing papers. ”

Research papers? Sure, you enjoyed writing them when they were on fun topics, but if you were going to write, you wanted it to be something you’d find in a bookshop, not on J-STOR.

Still, you preened at the compliment.

“You think?”

“You have a good research voice.”

“Thank you.” It takes every ounce of willpower to not begin rambling about how you developed your writing style or why you write the way you do. That would be a surefire way to kill the moment, and you wanted to keep this moment going for as long as possible- forever, if you could. You wanted to ask him to keep lavishing praise upon you, like you’ve been deprived of it (and now that you thought of it, maybe you had been). They weren’t even in-depth compliments and yet you craved more like a drophead craved another dose.

“And where do you work right now?” You deflated with the change in subject. But, just like the one from before, it’s not an unexpected question. A good icebreaker, though awkward since you can’t return the question to him. Most of the conversations with him, you realized, would be one-sided like this. Him trying to learn more about you and you already knowing what his answer to the question would be if you asked it back to him.

“...A convenience store.” It shouldn’t be embarrassing to tell him, everybody works shitty jobs at least a few times in their life but especially during college. Still, going from discussing your strengths to admitting you worked in a job that utilized none of them was just a bit humiliating. “The job market in Gotham isn’t very accommodating to full-time college students.”

He nodded, his only response another sip of his coffee. But you could tell he was thinking, some fragment of an idea turning the cogs inside his brain.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He’ll see what he can do? What does that- oh.

For a second, you were simply surprised at his suggestion. Then you were desperate to convince him that, no, you didn’t need help in the job market, that he’d already done enough to help you with giving you the TA position, blah blah blah. Any reason you could come up with to get him to not see you as a down-on-her-luck-desperate-for-any-out-she-can-get girl but rather a professional-and-resourceful-young-college-aged-woman-who-is-making-do-with-her-life-situation-and-doesn’t-need-any-help-otherwise.

Your heart rate has spiked, thudding in your chest as if it was trying to burst through your skin.

“What? No!” You were sputtered as you tried to figure out the correct way to word everything you just felt in the few seconds it took to process the intent behind his words. “I’m not asking for help, Dr. Crane- I don’t want help. A shitty job is shitty, but it’s not the end of the world. I have plenty of time in my life to work jobs that will actually need something aside from good customer service skills.”

At the last second you remembered to smile.

For a moment all he did was make a low sound like a hum, the kind of sound someone makes when they’re contemplating something and all you could think about was that you were afraid you had messed something up between you.

“Well, the offer stands.” They should have been comforting, his placating words. But it was his tone, the way a secret meaning hid behind everything he said, that sent a shiver down your spine and not necessarily in the way you enjoyed. For the first time you understood what everyone else meant when they said they were afraid of Dr. Crane. That though he wasn’t physically intimidating there was something about his aura that set off alarm bells in other student’s heads.

“You’ve already helped me enough with this position.” If you thought your heart was beating fast before, it’s nothing compared to the rapid flutter in your breast, so fast you’re afraid it’s going to shut itself down. So you say the only other thing you can think of that might solve the problem but of course it comes out wrong. “I don’t need anything else from you.”

It was supposed to be a kind refusal of his offer to help, reassuring him that you weren’t a needy child but a grown adult woman who could handle her own problems, one who didn’t need help from her fucking psychology professor. But it came out like you were offended that he was the one asking and now he looked like he’d just swallowed something that had offended his palette and the taste was lingering for longer than he expected.

“Right-” Oh, how you hated the coldness in his voice, “-you do get a bi-weekly stipend. It’s not much.”

And you remembered why you hated refusing him so much. The distant way he spoke, how his eyes suddenly seemed to look anywhere but at you.

You nodded, staring down at your notepad, cursing the tiny pricks of tears hiding behind your eyes. Was it just your silly little crush that had you regretting every time you pushed back against him, every time you tried to make a decision that kept him from becoming an even bigger part of your life than he, admittedly, was already becoming?

Grabbing your bag and shoving everything from your side of the table into it, you stood, ready to make your escape. You’d discussed everything you’d needed to, right? You were free to leave, it doesn’t matter if it was sudden. He couldn’t keep you here, not in a public cafe, not against your will.

“I think I need to… go… um, my fish…” Any excuse to leave a conversation suddenly had left your brain the moment you stood up (you don’t have a fish). All you could see was him, suddenly looking at you not like he was affronted by you anymore but like he was simply confused (or perhaps, intrigued?). He raised his eyebrows, an unreadable emotion flickering over his blank face.

“Sit back down.”

His voice wasn’t aggressive. Instead it was soft, soft enough that you doubted anyone else in the cafe heard anything. But you did, your ears now hardwired to hone in on what he was saying at all times. You obeyed silently, embarrassment heating your face as you stared at your hands, resting in your lap and twitching from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

But which part was more embarrassing: you trying to leave so haphazardly, or the fact that he was definitely psychoanalyzing you right now, adding more tiny facts to his mental profile on you (if he had one at all, if he cared enough about you to bother taking mental notes on your behavior).

“I’m sorry.” Like his, your voice was quiet. But yours held none of the soft control his voice had, instead coming out meek and submissive. You force yourself to look up from your lap and into his eyes, knowing damn well what they did to you.

“Don’t be.” He took a sip of his coffee, maintaining eye contact the entire time. “I’m sorry if I came across as overbearing.” He offers no more explanation for his sudden suggestion, for his sudden insistence to play a larger role in your life.

Once upon a time, you’d read an article on some Buzzfeed knock-off site about what you shouldn’t say during an apology. A whole half of the article was spent discussing what you should avoid responding to an apology with. The article suggested opting for I forgive you or I appreciate your apology. Something that made it clear that you expected to not be treated the same way in the future, that you wanted a change in behavior. Do not, it said, reply with something that removes any guilt from the offending party because then they’ll see it as a cue that their behavior was acceptable.

But even with this knowledge locked away somewhere in your brain, the two poisonous words crossed your lips anyway.

“It’s okay.”

****

Your winter break flies by, your days spent either working shifts huddled by a space heater behind the store’s counter or taking notes on the assigned readings for Dr. Crane’s class, your desire to be overly prepared for the semester motivating you through every densely worded paragraph. You were bound and determined to impress him, to try and make up for the awful impression you must have made during your meeting in the cafe.

And, also, a tiny little part of you wanted to be something he thought about after he left the classroom, to be someone who didn’t just exist when you were directly interacting with him.

Was it wrong to want to be such a big part of your professor’s life?

The thought crossed your mind one day as you cleaned the bathroom of the corner store, spray bottle and rag in hand. Luckily it was an employee-only bathroom so it was a fraction of its potential grossness. But you were still glad to distract yourself from your task, sitting back on your haunches and frowning at your thoughts.

It’s not like you were manipulating him. And even though, yes, you were attracted to him, it didn’t mean that the things you were doing were so he’d see you in that way. If you wanted to do that, you would’ve worn sexier outfits to class not… leggings and a T-shirt that’s a couple sizes too big.

No, you just wanted him to remember you once you were out of his life. You liked the idea of one day being a story told to other classes, being heralded as Dr. Crane’s perfect student or his model TA. The one who did everything right and was rewarded for her hard work. No part of this had anything to do with your unrequited desire for the man.

With that settled in your mind, you turned back to the toilet, sighing as you grabbed the brush.

Then you blinked and suddenly, you were waking up on the first day of class, almost tripping over yourself and the giant stack of psychology books to get ready for the day. Or at least, it felt like that with how quickly the last two weeks of your winter break flew by. Your dedication to your routine only served to bleed the days together into one long study session.

You’d spent too much time the night before mulling over which outfit to wear for your first day as a TA. It must have taken an hour before you finally settled on a simple yet effective outfit that you didn’t get the chance to wear too often. It was professional yet still had some youthful energy, the kind of thing you might wear to interview for a work-study job.

You stared at yourself in the mirror, fussing over your hair. Realistically, no one would be looking at you for more than a few seconds but you still felt the need to look good for this. Partially because you felt the need to prove that you were where you were supposed to be- that it hadn’t been a fluke that you’d been given this position. And then, partially because you wanted Dr. Crane to see you and see that you were trying, even if it was in the smallest way.

A quick spritz of perfume and one glance in the mirror to frown at your face later you’re stepping into your nice yet practical shoes, grabbing your bookbag and phone, and heading out the door.

It’s not raining, but the sky is heavy with clouds. You have an emergency poncho in your bookbag just in case, still in its original packaging because you’d rather arrive home soaked than wear it, but luckily the forecast says the rain will hold off until your classes are over.

Your thoughts kept your mind occupied as you walked through the city, so much so that soon you looked up and saw you were at the same building you’d had Abnormal Psychology in last semester.

You climbed up the steps into the familiar building, sighing as you pushed open the door into the entry-stairwell. With a glance down at your phone, you saw that you were still thirty-five minutes early. You decide to spend the extra time climbing the multiple flights of stairs to the fourth floor. It’ll be good for you. Better for you to be moving than restlessly sitting in an empty classroom with nothing to do.

But climbing up the stairs only took a few minutes, even with you deliberately slowing yourself down. Soon enough, you were propping the door open and flicking on the lights of the empty classroom. Of course, you’re the first one in the classroom. With what you knew about Dr. Crane, he wouldn’t arrive until at least five minutes before the class began but you can never bring yourself to be so painstakingly punctual. Being early is much easier than being on time.

You pulled a desk from the front row and placed it perpendicularly to the podium against the wall, that way you were still able to observe the class and the lecture, while also differentiating yourself enough from the others that the students knew you were the assistant. You shrug your backpack into the chair, taking a moment to get your desk ready for class. Your notebook, some pens, the stack of syllabi Dr. Crane had asked you to bring were resting neatly on the desk.

You wouldn’t be able to set up the powerpoint for Dr. Crane, not having the access password for the projection system or the presentation itself. Maybe you could talk with him about getting that later, your strong desire to prove yourself the best TA ever leaving you eager to pile on more responsibilities to your workload.

Finally, once it seemed like you had been waiting an eternity in an empty classroom (but it was at most fifteen minutes), the first student wandered in. Oh god. Were you supposed to talk to them? What exactly was your relationship supposed to be with them- were you closer to an elevated student or to a miniature professor? What the hell was your job, again? Why didn’t you write this down somewhere you’d see it today?

The rest of the twenty-five students trailed in throughout your entire freakout, which only ended when Dr. Crane himself strode into the room, predictably five minutes before the start time.

He walked like somebody who had to learn how to be confident at some point in their life, like someone who wasn’t born sure-footed or with perfect posture. Which was honestly more intimidating than someone who had been confident since they learned to walk, because that meant he knew what it was like at the bottom of the food chain.

And you could tell from the way he carried himself now that he would never allow anyone to ever bring him back down to that level.

You watched him as he made his way toward you, the tiniest quirk of his lip betraying that he was pleased to see you. You quietly reveled in his pleasure, warmth curling in your stomach as you waited for him to approach you.

“Please hand out the syllabi.” He said, his voice quiet. Clearly only meant for you. You nodded, practically falling out of your chair as you scrambled to do what he requested as quickly as possible. The last time you spoke with him in person was that disastrous meeting at the cafe. After that, you’d only sent a few emails back and forth over the break to clarify small details and for him to send you the syllabus and lecture notes. The emails themselves were professional and distant, though you’re always relieved that he isn’t the type of professor to send you emails with the “Sent from my iPhone” tag still at the bottom.

Jonathan Crane took himself seriously. He expected others to do the same.

You passed the syllabus out, doing your best to avoid any eye contact with the students. You had made the decision while you waited for everyone to show up that you weren’t here to develop a relationship with them and you certainly didn’t mind coming off as cold if it helped to achieve this. Taking a metaphorical leaf out of Dr. Crane’s book.

But you’re not sure as you passed the papers out if you came off as cold and someone who should be respected or awkward and someone who’s completely out of her depth.

When you returned back to your seat, Dr. Crane had already pulled up the presentation for the day. Having been in a few classes with him before, you knew that he did the customary Syllabus Day, if just because he knew 75% of students weren’t prepared for actual learning on the first day. As if to prove that point, only three of the students even had out a notebook and pen, and only a few more were actually looking through the syllabus.

However, Dr. Crane giving students a lax first day didn’t mean he was also planning on easing the class into the course material. When you’d looked over the syllabus before class, you’d noted that there was a short writing assignment due on Wednesday already. And a book discussion on Monday (the book itself being 300 pages long and currently sitting on your couch).

As he started the class, you split your attention between watching him work and observing the class. And, of course, scribbling notes in the margins of your already overcrowded syllabus.

When you looked over the class, you tried to guess who would drop out when they got home that night. Which students thought this would be just an easy-A type of class (a class that would spend every class talking about a different phobia, or maybe just glorified therapy) and not the overly in-depth look on the function that fear and anxiety held throughout history and in the modern world. This was, you knew, Dr. Crane’s pet subject, the area of study he truly cared about. And hearing him talk about it, even just about the syllabus, confirmed this.

Where he was certainly interested during your Abnormal Psychology class last semester (less so in your Intro to Psych class that he must have somehow been roped into teaching), here he was passionate and more animated than you think you had ever seen him when teaching. Which wasn’t much, but it was still fascinating to watch. You were so used to his stoicism that seeing him in his element was… enthralling. Captivating.

You could watch him do this for days, no food or water needed to sustain you.

“If you looked carefully at your syllabus,” you could tell the class knew he was wrapping up by the way one or two of them have already zipped up their bags, waiting for the moment in every lecture where it's clear you’re dismissed, “you’ll see that there is a short writing assignment due on Wednesday. It’ll be graded by my TA-” He gestured over to you and your head snapped from where you were glaring at one of the students who had already put his stuff away to stare at Dr. Crane as he introduced you to the class, “-and don’t think she’ll go easy on you. She knows my standards.”

Hesitantly, you waved to the class, unsure of what else you’re supposed to do now that everyone was staring at you.

“You can find more information about the assignment in the syllabus, but if you have any questions email her. She’s… fully capable.”

Fuck. How the hell were you supposed to react to that?

“Alright. You’re dismissed.” He turned away from the class, who seemed to take a moment to realize they’d been released. With their eyes finally off of you as they pack up, you take a moment to let go of the breath you’d been holding since he’d acknowledged you in front of the class.

You watched them all leave, only one girl coming up to introduce herself to Dr. Crane. You pretended to look through your syllabus as he gave her a polite smile and not much else, resisting the urge to smile to yourself.

He never did that to you, not that you could remember. Not that you were the type to go introduce yourself to your professors, but even when you did stick behind to talk to him he seemed interested in what you were saying. No polite smiles (but no genuine ones, either) just his magnetized eye contact and conversation that said I’m listening to you.

She turned and left the classroom, not sparing you a second glance. The second the door closed you couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of your mouth.

“That was weird, right?”

“How so?” That same ghost of a smile was gracing his lips, a fragment of mirth in his expression. “She’s a freshman, probably heard somewhere that it’s good to introduce yourself to your professors on the first day.”

“I think those pieces of advice also include the TA.” You began putting your things away. “I didn’t hallucinate you saying I was grading that assignment, right?”

“Are you prone to hallucinations?” His voice was closer now and you startled, looking up to see him standing only a few feet away. He had moved so quietly, a cat stalking towards its prey.

“...Not at all.” You whispered, ignoring that you were lying a little. That you were deliberately excluding the few times you had seen the Riddler standing in a crowd only for him to (obviously) not be there. That was something you could never admit to anyone, especially not to Dr. Crane.

For a moment, he looked like he was debating what to say. Then it was gone, and he backed away from you again.

“Thank you, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

But as you left, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he wanted to say something else.

*** Tuesday was one of the few days in your week where you had absolutely no interactions with Dr. Crane. No classes, no office hours, no meetings. It was a weird realization to figure out that in your mind you viewed it as a cheat day, a day where your work didn’t matter even though your classes were all for your actual degree.

Your phone started buzzing in your pocket as you were walking back home from your class on the History of Intelligence and Surveillance and you had to fumble with your bag and the books you still had in your hands to pull it out.

You couldn’t help the groan that escaped your mouth when you saw the caller identified as Mom (heart emoji).

“Fucking hell.” You murmured before you swiped to answer the call. “Hey mom!” Your voice sounded so fake, too cheerful in your own ears. You wonder if she can see through it as easily as you can.

“Hey, I was just calling to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine, you know how it is.” You stopped to shove your books in your bag, throwing it back on before beginning to walk again. You winced when you realized how she would take that answer, how she always took any response to that inquiry.

“Are you still seeing Dr. Hill?”

“I’ve already told you, no.” You braced yourself, preparing yourself for whatever good-natured advice she was about to give. It was the well-meaning comments that hurt the most. The comments that made your heart ache from how much she cared about you but how little she actually understood.

“You really should see him still. Especially with what you went through last year-”

“I had anxiety before that happened.” You interrupted, so tired of explaining this exact same thing to her, to your therapist, to everyone who knew anything about the state of your mental health. “Plenty of people were there that night, I’m not the only one.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you were affected. I know how you are.” She fell silent and you couldn’t think of any response. Because yeah, you were affected by being a witness to a terrorist attack. You were affected by the knowledge that the man who claimed to want to clean Gotham had intended for you- and everyone in Gotham Square Garden that night- to die.

It would be a miracle if you hadn’t come out of that night unaffected.

“How’s dad?” Not your smoothest transition. But your conversations with your mom were always filled with them.

“He misses you.”

“I miss you guys too.” You were being genuine there. You knew what your response would lead to, yet you said it anyway because it was correct- it was the honest thing to say.

“Come back. I don’t know why you insist on staying in that godforsaken city.”

Honestly, you didn’t know either. You had been born in the city, had lived there until you were twelve before your parents had enough of the city and took you away, moving two hours away to a rural suburb. Quiet enough to be quaint, big enough to not feel abandoned. But somehow, for some reason, you had been called back to the city. It had a siren song, drawing anyone near closer and closer until they were trapped, unable to leave.

Like it or not, Gotham was your home.

“I’m not leaving, mom. But, um, my classes are going well!” Another clunky transition, but it seemed to work if her deep sigh was anything to go by. She had given up on trying to convince you to move home (for now). Besides, it was good to remind her that you were in the city for a good reason (for now). “TA-ing is interesting. A different experience, it’ll look good on my resume.”

“What was the class, again?” You heard her pour raw noodles into boiling water, the hiss of steam rising toward her phone’s microphone.

“It’s a special topics class. On the psychology of fear.”

“Psychology? Aren’t you a history maj- did you change your major and not tell us?” The sound of a spoon being put down quickly. She sounded hurt, and you know it's not because she thinks you changed your major. It’s the idea that you hypothetically wouldn’t have told her that makes her voice go soft and you can imagine the way her eyebrows must crinkle towards each other as she wonders what happened to her daughter, where did she go?

As much as you may dislike these conversations with her, you didn’t want to put her through that, not after everything else she’s been through with you living in Gotham. Not after everything she’s been through in the past year alone.

“No! No, I’m still studying history but I’ve added psych as a minor so… it’s all figured out.” You trailed off, not sure what you had meant to say there at the end, wondering what she really thought about it all. What would she tell your dad when you hung up, if she suspected something weird was going on. (Was something weird going on between you and Dr. Crane? Or were you just paranoid and horny and craving that all consuming intimacy that you hadn’t felt in a very long time if ever?) “Um, I’m almost back at my apartment so I’m gonna hang up now, if that’s alright.”

“Oh. Okay. We love you.” You could hear the hidden plea in her words. Come back home.

“I love you, too.”

Your phone went silent. You looked down at the terminated call screen before it faded back to your normal lock screen picture, frowning before putting your phone back in your pocket. You weren’t actually close to your apartment at all, but you’d grown tired of the conversation. It was always the same one.

Before last year, they’d only bring your coming home up every few conversations. But it seemed like every single conversation’s true meaning now was to convince you to return to them, to leave Gotham. That, and going back to therapy.

Therapy that you had attended, originally. But your therapist never seemed to understand what you meant when you spoke or that your problems didn’t start after the Riddler did his whole ‘attempting-to-destroy-Gotham’ thing, it just didn’t help. But you couldn’t articulate the things you wanted to to him and then he tried to give you little coping strategies that seemed to work fine for everyone else but never for you. So you stopped scheduling appointments, instead overloading your course load with psychology classes that you didn’t need for your degree. (But hey, now you had a psych minor.) Maybe if you took enough of them you could figure out what was off in your brain and fix it yourself.

It was wishful thinking but it was the best you could do. At least it made you feel like you were doing something other than practice breathing exercises.

The rest of your walk home was bitter, and not just because of the cold nipping at your nose and fingers.

The next day, the second day of Dr. Crane’s class, was the first real day of the semester that wasn’t just about course expectations. You got to the classroom at the same time as Monday, and there were the same amount of students in the classroom as there were on the first day (zero).

You pulled out your desk and threw your bag down, unzipping and pulling out your notebook and pen. You flipped to where you’d tucked the syllabus, looking over the part where Dr. Crane had written about the writing assignment. That was something you hadn’t read very carefully the first few times you’d gone over the syllabus, having not cared too much about it since you yourself wouldn’t be doing it. But now that you were going to be collecting it to grade, you wanted to know the exact parameters he had set up for the assignment.

…using the reading, analyze a moment in your life where you exhibited a fear response. Be thorough and descriptive when writing. This is an assignment to have you understand basic fear responses in addition to introducing you to how the writing assignments in this class will be assessed. Minimum 350 words. 5%

And even though you didn’t have to submit your own writing, you still thought about what you would have written. What else were you going to do while waiting for students to arrive?

The most obvious example, the one that comes to your mind first is, of course, the one that you wouldn’t use in a school assignment. The one that you would rather die than to write about to be assessed for a mere 5% of your final grade.

But you have plenty of other moments where you’ve been afraid. After all, you live in one of the most dangerous cities in the country. Everyone has felt fear here, even if they live a relatively safe life. Hell, you could just write about when you’d been mugged (and conveniently leave out who saved the day because the idea of writing that down was also a bit humiliating; it was so unrealistic even though it happened).

You’re distracted from your thoughts by the sound of someone sitting down, the telltale sound of a chair scratching against the tiled floor and a bag softly hitting the floor reaching you. You looked up from the syllabus, noting that the girl who arrived first was the same girl who stayed behind to introduce herself to Dr. Crane the class before.

You stared at her for a moment before clearing your throat quietly before taking the leap and breaking the silence.

“Hey, you can bring me your writing assignment.” Her head snapped up to look at you, her eyes wide, a flush creeping up her cheeks. You immediately felt guilty, both about scaring her just then and what you’d said about her last class. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Hey, she could’ve written her paper on that just then if it wasn’t due already.

“It’s alright.” She slipped out of her desk, a single printed paper in her hands. You took it with a smile, which only fell when she turned to go back to her seat and you looked down at the paper, doing your best not to start reading.

It hit you then that you were going to be reading these people’s personal experiences, some of which might be traumatic because not everyone has your aversion to sharing the bloody details of their past for a school assignment.

You repeated this interaction with every student who entered the classroom, your discomfort growing each time you told one of them to give you their assignment before adding it to the tiny pile.

Just like Monday, Dr. Crane entered five minutes before class started, striding through the rows of desks to get to the front. He looked over at you, eyes flickering down to the pile of papers you’d collected. He turned to the class, gesturing to you.

“If you haven’t, please hand in your assign-”

“I got them all, already.” You wouldn’t normally interrupt him but you were proud of yourself for managing to do something before he asked it of you. It was a small thing but it felt good.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips parted slightly, before turning back to the class. “Never mind, then.”

With that, he set up the presentation and began class.

part II

[dusknoir-whump]

A lot of self proclaimed dark fiction lovers ruin and destroy any and all discussions about dark media because their only understanding of media is as something that exists for their consumption. Their position is one that's filled to the brim with vapid consumerism and a remarkable inability to engage in any form of analysis or reflection of the things that they consume. It's gotten so much harder over the years to find communities of people who love dark media and disturbing stories who aren't just glamorizing it or doing it for some kind of aesthetic or because they find it arousing but because they have a genuine intellectual interest in the media or have lived experiences of horrific things and thus knows how flawed and corrupted the world is.

A story that glamorizes everything that happens and pretends abused kids and brutalized women are happy instead of showing their suffering and pain will never understand the depravity of man and thus fail to invoke any amount of true emotion or move the reader in any way whatsoever. Your work and the works that people pretend to love so much will be forgotten.

I remember how Killing Stalking got over ran by fetishistic straight women who just wanted to see two men fuck and they basically devalued and ignored the author and artist and instead bastardized her brilliant work because they were incapable of grasping the meaning or importance of the story itself. A story that tackled the way gay victims of domestic violence are far less believed and aided, the way fucked up mentally ill people can be taken advantage of by someone who is way more horrific than they could ever be, and the way that abuse can warp your mind, as well as why a victim may defend their abuser. I wish I could have seen people discussing the in depth themes and the suffering that happened. I wish people cared about the actual plot instead of wanting to see only the graphic scenes of assault and getting mad that there's plot. Killing Stalking was a psychological horror and as a horror and disturbing book and comic enthusiast it genuinely breaks my heart that so little people are able to care about these things.

A similar but different situation I can point to as something that just grinds my gears is the book Haunting Adeline and all those who obsessively defend it. Haunting Adeline is a book that tries and fails to tackle serious subject matter and instead continues to perpetuate myths, stereotypes, misinformation, racism, and antisemitism. I don't care that you find the idea of some hot man ravishing you to be excitable. I don't care if you get off to those fantasies but the problem is the target audience is the exact kind of people who would buy into bullshit QAnon theories. The kind of people who like Haunting Adeline are the same kinds of women who claim a water bottle on their car is a sign some scary evil brown man is going to kidnap and traffick them. This is a continued whitewashing of trafficking and trying to make it into a random act that anyone is subjected to when trafficking is a very systemic issue.

I was trafficked as a child and very likely my mother was the reason. I was raised in a cult and the youth group pimped out the kids. I was one of the kids this was done to and my mom was close with my main traffickers. I was a deeply neglected kid and since my dad was away from work for long periods of time I was easy to get to with my mom dropping me off at the cult every day. I wasn't trafficked for being white or white passing, I wasn't trafficked by chance or accident, I was trafficked by trusted adults close to me because I was so severely neglected I didn't know what normalcy was. Others get trafficked often because of issues with immigration and traffickers getting a hold of their papers, or they're targeted because their POC, especially with native women and girls getting trafficked because it's known the police won't do shit for native people.

Haunting Adeline had so much potential and I'm genuinely angry that it could have been a really good story. It could have tackled how a lot of vigilantes turn around and commit the same or similar crimes. Having a predator/traffickers hunter who brutally predates on a woman could be a very impactful story showing the juxtaposition of how he's perceived by others and who he truly is. If you actually handled trafficking realistically instead of bullshit QAnon blood libel and demonizing POC, and actually made the narrative have Adeline best friend have a realistic reaction to finding things out and be horrified but potentially forced to go along with things because of Zade is her boss- it would be so much more impactful. You could still call him morally grey. But of course it has to be for mass consumption it has to be for the white girlies who think they're the most oppressed people ever. It has to be appealing to them and we have to live in a fantasy world because accepting what trafficking actually is and portraying it well requires research and effort and actual care.

I don't want to talk to people who only like dark fiction because they want their hot book boyfriend who's incredibly evil but they justify every action for. It's okay if you do see yourself as having a hot book boyfriend or girlfriend. I fucking love self shipping. But when you use that to shut down conversation and analysis and throw a hissy fit every time someone points out the flaws of a media or ways it could be improved you're annoying and I want nothing to do with you. I also can't stand people who justify their attractions to characters by trying to pretend they're not bad.

Yeah I liked Hisoka and was attracted to him as a character, I still am in part attracted to him. He however is a monstrous character who is CANONICALLY a pedophile and obviously his actions are horrible. That's the point of his character. It's understandable that I, someone who has a massive history of being predated upon, would find a character with a similar behavior to my various abusers who groomed me in my childhood attractive. That to me just shows how well written he is because he hits those similar boxes. I can accept he's a fucked up guy and in a relationship would likely be an abuser. (To be clear Hunter X Hunter is not disturbing media, I just am using him as an example because it's a popular character)

All of this is to say. There's a reason I don't label myself by fandom labels they're too connected to this kind of behavior and attitude. I am obsessed with disturbing media, I am on and off into splatter punk. I am the least likely person to take issue with fucked up books and stories- but I also want them to be good. I especially love books for their whumpy elements because I'm into whump (shocker with this url).

[evasivaardilosa]

My playing of mk11 isn’t just frustrations though. Like, even talking strictly about rewards

I got both Jade’s and Skarlet’s klassic masks as random rewards, even though they are supposed to be only race against time/premium shop stuff. Also, unless I got the names translations completely wrong or my spreadsheet has some issue, I seem to have gotten two character tower items as random rewards. The brutalities and taunts come all the time but those were a skin and a gear, one for Fujin and other for Kano

Today I played as Frost for the first time in a while - I stopped doing so when I got stuck with her random rewards, and I had forgotten how fun it is. She is so fast. I love her so much

(I got to buy a Eternal Klash pack for her! I love her ninja costume so much and I actually managed to find it at the premium shop! A lot of the premium shop stuff is lovely but this may be my favorite thing from there and I managed to get it)

Also I am working on Sonya’s character tower now. I am still not sure if I will do them all by hand or by ai, but I plan on doing this one by hand

I was super happy to defeat Kronika as Kitana recently. I was almost giving up and using ai, but I was getting so close at times that I decided to keep trying and it did work. Not bad for a button smasher huh

I am also managing to clear the first tower of the lucky towers on the first try. Yeah, it’s as Sheeva and it’s using a cheap trick, but those modifiers are ridiculous and a win is a win

The meteor towers are not giving me the ones I want the most but I did get three skins for three characters from that D’vorah themed season, which I did mention in that post. That’s a win

I have enough konsumables to get me through all the towers I still need to beat, or at least it seems so. I worry because I am a worrier but I never got near to running out. I also have been getting some high level augments as random rewards which will be useful. Got some elixir from the lucky towers that I only tried to use this week and it’s as op as I thought it would be

(I wish they let me use those to summon a character more often. Let me pretend I am playing mk1 lol)

Doing the soul thurible tower all those times means I got a lot of lucky keys. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to do the lucky towers just now, I am getting a lot of brutalities and taunts which come super easily from regular towers, but they may come in handy when I start getting stuck with more characters

I have more than the max of coins the game can display. It seems it manages to keep track of how many, just fails to display. It wasn’t so hard but it means that I can spend them without worrying

It is frustrating that it doesn’t get much easier even after coming this far, it feels like it got harder instead. With the whole krypt being useless at this point and most towers not having any new specific rewards. I really wish having lots of in-game currency could buy what’s missing. But I still enjoy how far I have come in playing, I used to be unable to beat a single ai enemy not long ago. And I love looking at all the different looks the characters can have - I wouldn’t be going crazy to collect all the skins and gear if I didn’t enjoy them. Damn, I wish random enemies in klassic towers could use special skins - the kl ones, the dlc ones, etc. I never checked if they can, but never saw them using them. I would love to see those skins on my enemies too

(Considering it seems unlikely my family will play 2p versus with me at any point *sighs* I feel like whenever I get too intense about a special interest, I push everyone away from it. But anyway, I am not touching towers of time after I am done with rewards, race against time included. I will move to klassic towers or 1p vs to play for fun and play dress up. I wish my ai opponents used all the different itens i unlocked)

(Gotta start a mk club for autistics who button smash and only care about unlocking and looking at all the different combinations of skin and gear. Your save is linked to an online account not your console, so if we all play ps4, we can all bring our saves to the reunions at my home. We would just chill and play 2p vs with our customized characters and rank the itens and complain about how bullshit this system is)

[cranetreegang]

A Niffler, A Blind Boy, and A Clever Witch - Ominis x FemReader

AN: I tried out ChatGPT and inserted sections of this fic into it for feedback and it gave the idea of the secret compartment and the note left by Henrietta. Link Here if you wanna check it out :)

Summary: Ominis is dragged into a treasure hunt and rescue mission. While he enjoys feeling her excitement, he wonders if the guilt she feels about Sebastian is coming to a head.

Music to Enjoy - Playful 🎵 Little's Theme 🎵 Uma

Word Count: ~3,500 words

Read my other Ominis Fics Here

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Ominis is waiting for her exactly where she thought he would be. He’s on the floor, leaning against the wall, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower with the sun bathing him in a warm glow. The smile he gives her is far warmer though as he angles his head towards her.

“What trouble are you wanting to get into now?” He questions with a stern tone, but the smile tugging on his lips gives him away.

She plops down next to him with a wide grin, “I’m not getting into any sort of trouble.” 

He turns his head towards her with a raised brow.

“It’ll be the both of us getting into trouble. So the more apt question is: What trouble are we about to get into?” 

He chuckles with a slight shake of his head, “I should’ve known the mischievous feeling you’ve had all morning would involve me somehow.” 

She kisses his cheek, making him turn a bright pink, “Don’t pretend you aren’t just dying to know.”

He bites his bottom lip as he turns his head high and away from her, “Whatever do you mean? I am more than content to just lounge here.” 

“Oh? Is that so?” She lets out a dramatic sigh as she stands. “If that’s the case, then I would hate to pull you away from your sunbathing. Especially to some old, dusty ruins of a long forgotten treasure where a Niffler is in desperate need of our help.” 

Omins’ dark brows rise and his eyes widen, “Treasure? A Niffler? What in Merlin’s name have you gotten yourself into?” 

“It’s good to see I can still surprise you.” She beams - making him blush at how excited she is.

He sighs, “I’m going to regret this, but… what do you need help with?” 

She grabs his hand and tugs him to his feet then begins to lead him towards the Room of Requirement, “Well, I was hoping we could rescue this Niffler, named Rococo, together! It’ll be so much fun.” 

“And the treasure?” Ominis can’t contain his eager smile as she radiates pure enthusiasm. He hasn’t felt it in some time. Not since the catacombs. He’s quick to bury the thought before it arises. 

“It’s located at Henrietta’s Hideaway. Henrietta was a paranoid recluse and she filled her castle with all kinds of traps to protect her valuables. Which is where Rococo has taken a shine to. Which also means, there’s treasure ripe for the taking!” She giggles - opening the door to the Room of Requirement and letting Ominis walk in first. 

He laughs to himself as he heads inside, “So, let me make sure I’m understanding what we’re about to do.” 

She bustles about the room, shoving various potions and plants into her pack, as he continues,

“You want us to go into a recluse’s old castle - filled with all manners of traps - to rescue a pet Niffler and possibly find said recluse’s dusty valuables, that may not even be actual treasure or even still be there. Am I missing anything?” 

She hums then nods, “Yes. There’s also Ashwinders that have taken residence there and we’ll probably have to fight them as well.” 

Ominis grimaces - draping his school robe over a plush chair, “Ashwinders? Love, this isn’t sounding as simple as you’re making it out to be.” 

She sets down her pack on a table - covered in papers, quills, and books - and she wraps her arms around his neck. He holds her around her waist, pulling her tight against his chest, and he hates how easily he’s crumbling before she even has to speak.

“It’s dangerous. It’s reckless. And we’re risking our necks for a silly Niffler and whatever dusty knick knacks a recluse would think is worth protecting.” She brushes her nose against the tip of his then she presses her forehead to his. “But, it’ll be fun. And I wouldn’t want to go without you.” 

His features soften into a smile, “When do we leave?”

Her excitement floods him like a tidal wave and it takes everything in him not to be swept up in it. 

“As soon as I gather the rest of our supplies!” She kisses him. “Oh, this’ll be so much fun!” 

She parts from him and she’s a whirlwind around the room as he listens to her shove more things into her bag. He hears her mumbles of a checklist: Wiggenweld, Thunderbrew, Cabbages, and various other potions while he slips on a proper outing robe. He swells at how diligent she’s being when she pauses.

“Why are you surprised that I’m actually prepared?” She teases. “I don’t always run head first into danger, you know?” 

He flushes at being caught, “I know. I just enjoy bearing witness to your preparations. I find it adorable.” 

She saunters over to him with a smirk as she hands him his bag filled with potions and plants, “I am most certainly not adorable.” 

He tucks the bag into his robes then pulls her into him with a wide grin. He cups her cheek, noting how hot they are, then he whispers just above her lips, “You most certainly are.” 

He kisses her, flooding her with a tidal wave of his own emotion - which warms her from her head to her toes and sends shivers down her spine. She melts into him, running her hands up his chest to nestle under his jaw and on his neck. The bond between them flares to life and ignites their bones with a thrumming heat - it nearly buckles her knees. 

She has to part from him, and as she does it’s with a shuddering breath as the sensation of their bond settles into a more gentle hum. 

“Perhaps, if we don’t find any treasure, I can find another way to make this venture more worthwhile.” She whispers. 

His lips turn into a loose smirk, “Oh? And what did you have in mind?”

She opens her mouth to reply, but she frowns instead. What did she have in mind? Her hazy thoughts finally settle and she realizes what a promiscuous thing she just said. Before she can flounder out apologies and excuses, he cups her cheek and places a kiss on her forehead.

“Taking me to dinner would be much appreciated.” He soothes her worries with the gentle strokings of his thumb on her cheek. 

“I suppose that’s a reasonable reward for my dashing assistant.” She whispers, thankful a thousand times over for his kindness. 

She abruptly shoves herself away from him, “I swear. I could spend all day in your arms. But, we really must be going if Rococo is to survive!” 

He chuckles as he takes her hand, “Then lead the way, my Savior of Nifflers.” 

She rolls her eyes, squeezing his hand as she does, then takes them towards the exit. She pauses just before she reaches the door and Ominis can feel a sudden sadness - a guilt - creep up on her.

“What is it?” He squeezes her hand. 

She turns to him, “Do you think we should invite Sebastian?” 

Her question is quiet and innocent, but there’s so much weight behind it - it’s nearly enough to take the air right out of his lungs. He hates the feelings swirling inside her: regret, anger, sadness, longing, resentment. There’s so much ambivalence, it's hard for him to discern what troubles her the most. He’s not sure how to ease her - if he even could.

He sucks in a sharp breath then shakes his head, “Perhaps on the next treasure hunt. For now,” he leans down and whispers in her ear as if they weren’t the only two in the room, “I just want you all to myself.”

This doesn’t fully ease the sorrow and remorse lingering in the far edges of her being, but her excitement is starting to kindle once more. 

“I would prefer that as well.” She says.

=============================

Emerging from the floo’s flames, they’re quick to mount their brooms and take flight. While Ominis is a far slower, and more careful, flier than most, he appreciates her for letting him be on his own. He follows her with his wand - using her like a guiding light. She takes them high enough to avoid almost all the potential obstacles - like trees and protruding rocks - and he’s left to enjoy the flight. 

She starts to lower and he does the same until they land behind a jutting of rocks. She’s peeking around them and he joins her. 

There’s several people walking around a ruined structure. 

“Ashwinders. At least four of them.” She informs him. 

“I assume sneaking past is out of the question.” 

She smirks, “I suppose that’s an option. If that’s how you’d like to approach this.” 

She waits for his answer as he mulls over their options. 

“We could take out a few then deal with whatever is left.” He decides with a sure set of his jaw. 

“I like the sounds of that.” She casts the disillusionment charm and stalks towards her quarry. He watches her for a moment - as she pulses and radiates in his mind’s eye - before he does the same and follows after her. Wordlessly, he takes the opposite side of her and he hears the whisper of her Petrification spell. 

He swallows his apprehension as he approaches his first mark. He presses his wand up to the witch’s neck then whispers, “Petrificus Totalus.” 

The body falls to the ground with a thud and he waves his wand around to ensure they’re still undetected. The Ashwinders walk around the ruin with nary a hitch in their steps. 

Ominis releases a breath then moves in. His heart hammers in his chest, but he can’t deny how thrilling this all is. She’s right there with him, already taking out another wizard while he gets ready to do the same. 

“Hey!” An Ashwinder exclaims. 

Ominis casts Levioso on instinct towards the shout and the wizard hovers in the air. 

“Confringo!” 

Her fiery spell slams into the levitated wizard and they’re launched into a crumbling stone wall from the force of it. 

Ominis gathers himself and deflects an attack and counters with Stupify. Before he knows it, he doesn’t sense any more wizards standing; save themselves. 

“Not bad.” He smirks in her direction. 

“Come on. This way.” She grabs his hand and leads him down a winding staircase facing the crashing ocean and into the cavernous hideout. 

As they step inside the castle, the smell of must and decay hits them, and they are greeted by a large hall filled with cobwebs and moth-eaten banners barely hanging on the stone walls. She sneezes and coughs, and Ominis hands her a handkerchief as he surveys the area.

"Seems like Henrietta didn't have many guests over," he comments dryly.

She rolls her eyes with a snort, "Certainly not a place to host dinner parties."

Something shimmers in the fire light and she goes closer towards it. A golden Galleon lays on the ground and as she picks it up, she notices another Galleon a few meters in front of her then another - all leading further into the castle.

“This way,” she says as she follows Rococo’s trail.

They walk through the entrance when Ominis pulls her to a stop by gripping her forearm. She’s about to question him, when she notices what caught his attention.

Ashwinders walk around the foyer below them. A grand statue of a Hippogriff stands at the center of the room and is illuminated by the sunlight overhead. She draws her wand and Ominis shifts into a more defensive stance as they slowly sneak their way closer. They part - taking either side of the twin staircases - and she’s the first to attack.

“Bombarda!” 

Her spell explodes two of the unexpecting Ashwinders, and sends them flying in different directions.

“Confringo!” Ominis lands his fiery spell into one of the Ashwinders and knocks them onto the floor. 

Her and Ominis take care of the others with precise spellwork, and they continue on their way.

After what seems like hours of dispatching Ashwinders and solving puzzles, they finally unlock a room with a chest sitting in the middle and a Niffler stuffing his pouch with golden Galleons. They crouch just at the entryway into the room. She pulls out her brown, leather bag and looks to Ominis.

“On three, you’ll cast Levioso. And I’ll nab him.” 

Ominis nods.

“One… two…,” she gets ready to open the bag while Ominis points his wand right at the unsuspecting Niffler. “Three.”

“Levioso!”Ominis casts with a whip-like motion at Rococo. 

The Niffler hovers in the air and looks around in confusion. She opens the bag and sucks the Niffler inside, capturing the wayward pet. She laughs and Ominis matches her triumphant grin.

“Not bad,” he grins, giving her a warm smile. 

“Not bad yourself. We make a good team.” 

She walks towards where Rococo was pillaging and Ominis is thankful she doesn’t see the blush forming on his cheeks.

She opens the chest and gasps at the sight of glittering jewels and gold coins inside.

Ominis chuckles, "Looks like Henrietta had a thing for treasure after all."

"Does that mean I’m off the hook for dinner then?" She grins.

“Not in the slightest.” 

As they pack their bags with gold, they hear a faint rattling sound coming from the chest. Ominis investigates with his nimble fingers until he presses down on an indentation. A hidden compartment in the ornate treasure chest opens on the side, revealing a small wooden box. She looks at the box and Ominis with wide eyes while he grabs it.

Inside the box is a note, written in an elegant script: 

'To the brave souls who have found my treasure, I congratulate you. Please take what you wish, but do not forget to leave something in return. Remember, karma always comes back tenfold.

- Henrietta'

She raises an eyebrow, "What should we leave?"

Ominis smirks and he rips out a page from a long abandoned tome laying next to them. She tries to see what he’s writing, but he keeps his work hidden from her prying gaze. 

“‘To those who find this’,” he begins with gusto - making her giggle, “‘know you are too late. A Niffler, a blind boy, and a clever witch have made away with the riches. Where we plan to spend it all on frivolous things. Signed, The Niffler Nabbers.’” 

She laughs, “‘Niffler Nabbers’?” 

“I thought it had a nice ring to it.” He grins, enjoying her amused laughter.

Ominis taps his wand to the note and it folds into a beautiful crane. The crane’s wings flutter then take flight, gliding around the treasure room. She admires the crane with a soft smile while he takes her hand, kissing the top of it.

“Shall we go?” 

She reaches into her bag and sets three golden Galleons in the chest then she nods, “Let’s take one last look around in the other room. Perhaps there’s another secret there.”

They venture out from the treasure room back to the grand hall. Ominis walks over to the other side, waving his wand in search of any more hidden walls or compartments, while she wanders around. She ends up at the far end of the hall and her eyes transfix upon the towering, chipped statue.

With the afternoon’s warm golden light beaming around it, the statue looks majestic and powerful - like a symbol of some ancient magic or wisdom. She’s reminded of some sort of goddess of a long forgotten era. For a moment, she forgets about everything else and just admires the beauty of the sculpture - in hopes it may bestow some of its long lost wisdom upon her. 

She hasn’t moved in some time and Ominis takes careful steps towards her so as to not scare her. The feelings she had earlier in the Room of Requirement swirl within her and Ominis frowns at the heaviness she’s burdened with. Since they both agreed to not turn in Sebastian, they haven’t discussed the matter further. Ominis lets out a heavy breath at not doing so sooner. 

She senses him behind her before his arms wrap around her waist and he presses his head onto the back of her neck. 

“Sebastian worries me, too.” He whispers. 

She gasps at him speaking the very thing she’s been trying so hard to ignore. The guilt is crushing. Like she’s sunk deep below the waves of the sea. And with a great current, it shifts into a bitter tidal wave and her hands ball into fists - her body shaking.

“I am so angry with him,” she hisses. “He used me. He used his sister against us. He used you!” 

He holds her against his chest as she lets out a bitter sob. She grabs his hands and she urges him to hold her tighter - to stop herself from being swept away. 

Her head lowers and she lets out a shuddering breath, “I failed him.” 

“No. No, you didn’t.” Ominis turns her around and holds her closer to his chest, tuckering her head into his neck.

“Sebastian knew the choices he was making,” he whispers in her ear. “He did this to himself. He hurt us. He hurt you, me, Anne… and Solomon…,” 

Her fingers dig into his robes and she shudders. 

“This is not your fault.” He states. 

“It is though.” She pulls away enough to face him and his hands shift to her upper arms. “I never should’ve helped him as much as I did. My hands are just as bloody as his. Because I… I really thought…,” she lets out a bitter laugh and it twists Ominis’ heart to hear such a horrible noise from her. “It’s so stupid to say now, but I truly thought that wretched book had the answers. And everything would be okay. And you would have both of your friends back. How stupid is that!” 

“Stop. Stop that!” He clutches both sides of her face with anguish. “If your hands are bloody, then so are mine. I allowed him into the Scriptorium. I allowed him to torture you with an Unforgivable!” His features twist into a pained expression, causing her to whimper. He closes his eyes with a heavy breath.

“None of us are innocent in this,” he whispers. “We all had parts in this tragedy. So, cease this talk of you being the only one who is at fault. I will hear no more of it.” 

She holds both of his hands with a shuddering breath. She closes her eyes and she presses her forehead to his. 

“The worst part is - I want to pretend like none of it happened.” She whispers.

He shivers, “So do I. But, we all know we can’t.” 

“I know.” 

There’s a sudden resolve within her - one that surprises him. 

He strokes her cheek with slightly raised brows, “What is it?” 

“I haven’t been a good friend to him. I thought I was, but I’ve only enabled him.” 

“What are you saying?” He wonders in an apprehensive, quiet voice. 

She sucks in a sharp breath and she says, “Sebastian needs someone - now, more than ever. And I can’t fail him again. While you’re with Anne this summer, I’ll stay with Sebastian in Hogsmeade.” 

Ominis’ brows furrow, “Sebastian is not your responsibility. You have nothing to atone for!” 

“He is. And I do,” she states. “It wasn’t just Sebastian I failed. It was you, too, Ominis.” 

Ominis is about to dispute her, but she continues,

“You are the most important person in my life, Ominis. And I know Sebastian is an important part of you. And I did nothing to stop him. So, please, let me do this. Let me fix this.” She pleads. 

Ominis stares at her with his cloudy gray eyes, desperately searching for hers. The weight of her words and the determination behind them... he knows he cannot stop her. And he hates that she’s right. Sebastian was not meant to be alone in this world.

He nods slowly, “If that’s what you wish,” he strokes her cheeks with his thumbs. “But I’ll be checking on you both. And if you need anything - anything at all - you come to me. Promise me that.”

She nods, “I promise.”

He pulls her into a tight embrace and she buries her face in his chest. For a moment, they stay like that, lost in their thoughts and emotions. Then, she pulls away, her eyes fixed on the statue in front of them. She looks back at Ominis and she smiles - stroking his cheek in reverence. 

“We should take Rococo back.” She says softly.

He nods and takes her hand, “Come on.”

They walk out of the hideaway, side by side. The sun is starting to set, casting a warm glow over the valley and the air is beginning to chill. As they walk, they both know that things will never be the same again. But they also know that they will face whatever comes together.

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AN: When I think about the summer for the trio, I envisioned Ominis taking care of Anne since she's by herself. I doubt Anne would want Sebastian around right away. Which is why MC and Seb will be chilling in Hogsmeade or at Hogwarts and they start doing stuff into curse breaking and ancient magic.

Sorry it took so long to post. I literally have been brain rotting over this 7th year fic. It actually took a lot of willpower to finish this and i'm worried it's rushed at parts so sorry.

Hoping to get the rest of the chapters posted soon, so then i can start fully into the 7th year fic!

Any feedback is welcomed and thanks for reading <3

[offbranddrpepsi]

Attention hog

Pairing: Chamber X reader Theme: some nice fluff between you and chamber

SFW. No smut here folks sorry

Curled into your side sat your boyfriend, wearing one of your shirts, a pair of your shorts, and entirely missing his glasses. Despite him being taller than you he was curled like a small cat into your stomach, arms tangled around while his legs almost hung off of the bed. Your hand rested on the back of his head while the other scrolled aimlessly on your phone, occupying yourself. Sometimes he would fall asleep like this however right now he was pouting. What was the infamous designer pouting about you may ask? You were going on leave without him.  “Chamber,” your voice was almost scolding as he pressed his head deeper into your stomach. If he could live engulfed by you he entirely would. Nice and safe hidden by you without a care in the world. “We cannot go on leave at the same time all the time.” It half felt like you weren’t scolding your other half but were instead scolding a child who was throwing a fit. If the other agents saw him like this it would be the end of his carefully crafted image. When it came to you he cared little for how you saw him, at least at this point, so that meant him pouting like a child as well as other things. All you recieved was a groan and his arms tightening around you. You were entirely being crushed by him at this point and were growing annoyed. “Vincent.” With his name being voiced he slacked and froze. “If we keep taking leave at the same time they will figure it out sooner or later.” Whining he drug himself up to where his head now sat on your shoulder. You could feel his warmed face rubbing into the crook of your neck, his loose hair tickling the flesh there. Something was mumbled that you couldn’t pick up, only hearing the pitiful tone it carried. “Sweetheart please speak up I can’t hear you.” Adjusting to where his mouth was just level with your ear he spoke.  “I understand love,” It was flat and tired. “but do you recall what date is in the middle of your leave?” Thinking of all the holidays that could possibly come up you hit a wall. Christmas was months away, Chamber’s birthday had been two months ago, Valentines day was long past. Searching your mind you sat in silence for a moment before suddenly it struck you.  “Fuck!” You exclaimed somewhat loudly, your palm meeting your forehead. “Anniversary, sorry.” A small groan left your mouth as it was your turn to pout. How could you have forgotten that date so easily? It was nearing four years since the two of you had initially gotten together so it wasn’t like this was the first one. This relationship was one of the longer ones you’d had while it was Vincent’s longest. You felt like an ass for forgetting and felt even worse over scolding him for pouting. He had full right to want to spend that time with you even if it may mean suspicion, after all he had never kept someone around for that long let alone that close. “Okay, okay.” Quickly wanting to patch any holes you may have made you came up with a solution. “How about you spring it as an last minute emergency request? Like when Phoenix needed some mental health days after the Fade stuff?”  “Already done,” Irritation grew in your core at his words. “I cannot believe you forgot and were so upset at the idea of spending time with me.” There he was. There was your overly dramatic, needy boyfriend.  “You know, I may reschedule.”  “Non!” His face was quickly shoved back into your shoulder as his arms nearly squeezed the life out of you. Yep, that’s the infamous marksmen known as Chamber in all his glory, throwing a fit yet again. 

[rocorambles]

Surprise Interview

Pairing: Kenma x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Verbal Humiliation, Manipulation

Summary: Kenma sees if you have what it takes to be Bouncing Ball’s newest employee.

A/N: This is for @sugawara-sweetheart ‘s Decadence Collab. So excited to be a part of this collab and to be able to indulge in such a delicious prompt and theme. Be sure to check out everyone else’s works! As always, thanks for beta-ing @sawamooora ~

There’s a familiar peace and a new nervousness about coming back home for the holidays. Mostly because home isn’t quite the same home it used to be. You can feel warmth blooming in your chest at the thought of seeing your mom, telling her about everything and everyone (as if your daily phone calls aren’t enough), and just lounging around while she fills you up with her cooking. But you can also feel a certain shyness as you approach the house, a building that still feels brand new and strange to you.

Your mother had gotten remarried during your earlier college years after your father’s passing and you were elated for her. If anyone deserves all the happiness in the world, it’s her. You had met Mr. Kozume quite a few times and you have no qualms with the man. He treats your mother like a queen and even though you playfully gag as they sweet talk and kiss in front of you, you wholeheartedly approve of their relationship.

However, what you aren’t quite as prepared for is having a new step-sibling.

You don’t know much about Kenma Kozume. Well, not much more than the rest of the world does.

Professional gamer. Successful stock trader. Popular YouTuber. Founder of his own corporation.

You know exactly who your new brother is, but other than seeing him a few times in person at family gatherings and exchanging polite greetings, there’s no real connection. Which is why your heart races as you nervously ring his doorbell, anxiety already making your leg twitch as you wait for the door to open.

Your mother and step-father are on a couple’s vacation and won’t be returning for a few days.

(“We just want some romantic time together before we have a full house again for the holidays. Plus this is a great chance to get to know your older brother better!” You hadn’t even been able to get a word of protest in before she had laughed and hung up on you, leaving you speechless and on your own as you hesitantly texted Kenma, letting him know what day to expect you.)

Kenma is quiet as ever as he nods in greeting, silently leading you to your guest room before quietly telling you to make yourself at home and leaving to do his own thing. You let out a huge sigh of relief as the door closes behind him.

There’s nothing wrong with Kenma. He’s smart and successful. Maybe a bit on the quiet side, but that only adds to his down to earth charm. You know your mother and step-father adore him and you can’t blame them. Yet, you can’t help but feel scrutinized, seen so clearly in a way that terrifies you when his feline eyes gaze at you. It takes everything in you not to immediately scurry away whenever you’re in viewing distance of him, desperate to hide all the flaws you imagine he’s noticing and calculating. Your step-father had mentioned how Kenma used to be the strategist of his high school volleyball team, and has always been able to evaluate and accurately break down situations and people. And you believe it.

You’re just grateful the house is large enough to avoid each other and that Kenma tends to reside mostly in his home office and bedroom.

But even the founder of a company needs a break from time to time. Kenma shuffles towards the gaming room, only to blink in surprise when he sees you already inside of it, happily smiling as Animal Crossing visuals and sounds fill the space.

He had known you owned a Nintendo Switch, a piece of information your mom had shared to break the ice a bit. And it’s really no surprise that this is your go-to game. But knowing and seeing are two different things and he can’t help but let his own lips twitch upwards at how calm and relaxed you are tending to your garden, decorating your home, choosing your outfit.

Kenma’s never been good with people, has never been the one to initiate a friendship. He knows he should have made more of an effort to be friendly and welcoming to you as your new older brother. There’s a slight pang of regret in his chest when he sees how at ease you are while you’re unaware of his presence. His eyes are as sharp as ever and he locks in on the way your body slightly stiffens, fingers nervously fidgeting when you finally notice his figure in the doorway, words already stuttering an apology for using his game room without explicitly asking.

You look like a scared mouse about to flee from the claws of a cat. And it pisses him off.

He hasn’t made the best efforts to bridge the gap between you, but for you to fear him? That seems a tad unnecessary, and more than a tad insulting. It’s more than enough to make the sadistic streak in him want to give you something to be scared about.

But he’s never been impulsive and he just quietly sits beside you on the floor, reassuring you it’s fine to play, smirking when you sneak little side glances his way as you continue collecting fruits.

“Kozume, do you want to play-”

“Just call me Kenma.”

Entranced eyes watch as you grow flustered at his words, mouth silently testing the weight of his given name in your mouth. For once, Kenma could care less about playing video games when a shaky timid “Kenma” slips past your soft lips.

“Kenma, do you want to play something together?”

You have no idea how badly he really does want to play together, but it’s a game you’re not ready for. So he calls upon any restraint he has to pluck your device from your hands and change the game to Mario Kart.

It’s amusing how easily you soften besides him, brow furrowing in concentration, eyes intently and eagerly following the screen, any anxiousness quickly forgotten as you get into the game. He greedily watches as you pout when you make a mistake, as your eyes light up every time you pass someone.

If he had known how easy it would be to make you warm up to him, he’d have done this sooner and he genuinely laughs when you whine and fake glare at him as he wins yet another round.

He asks about school. You ask about work. He tells you about his childhood. You share your own stories.

It’s a comfortable rhythmic back and forth and he’s afraid of ruining it, but a certain question nags at his mind, a question he knows may ruin the entire flow of the conversation.

“You’ll be graduating soon. Have you decided what you want to do after college?”

“Kenma not you too!!!”

His shoulders relax at how well you react to the question, smiling at the way you flop onto your back and groan about how mom and dad are already on your case about future plans.

“I’ve been applying to places, but who knows. Maybe I’ll just work for you at Bouncing Ball.”

There’s a playful lilt in your voice when you say it, a giggle and teasing smile accompanying the words. But there’s nothing funny about it to Kenma and your smile falters a bit when you see how tightly Kenma’s gripping his controller, the way his eyes pin you down.

“Kenma? It’s just a joke. I would never take advantage of-”

You try to get up from your reclined position, only to whimper in confusion when Kenma’s hand on your shoulder forces you back down. And suddenly you’re pinned down by more than just his stare as he moves to straddle you, knees on either side of your body, hands next to your head, his whole body caging yours.

It’s a lighthearted joke in the family that if all else fails, you could always work at Bouncing Ball. A joke your step-father and mother always dish out when the arguments get too tense as the three of you talk about your future. But it’s become less in jest for Kenma, especially after Kuroo sent him a scandalous picture of his newest secretary kneeling between his long legs, lips wrapped around his cock.

It wasn’t the first picture, nor was it the last incriminating photo the older businessman had sent him. Kenma merely rolled his eyes before deleting the image from his phone, wondering when Kuroo would grow bored and find a new toy to play with. But he freezes when he sees the following text message from his long-time friend.

“You’re the CEO of a company, Kenma. Wouldn’t it be nice to have someone convenient around? A pretty warm body? I bet that cute new step sister of yours would look really good under your desk. Doesn’t she graduate from college soon? If you don’t make a move, maybe I’ll snatch her up right from under your nose. I’m due for a change of secretary soon.”

There’s absolutely no reason for the hot anger that lances through him at Kuroo’s taunting words and he grimaces at playing right into his ex-captain’s hands, already hearing Kuroo’s braying laughter in his head if the older man saw just how much his words affected him.

But initial irritation aside, he lets himself really think, really imagine what a life with you at his beck and call would be like. And he likes what he sees. He doesn’t delete Kuroo’s photos as quickly as he used to, replacing the female faces with yours in his imagination as his hands slip under the hem of his boxers.

He knows it’s a longshot, knows there’s a high chance you’ll continue your lives as is, never destined to exchange more than a few polite greetings at family outings. But now...now hearing you voice the idea out loud yourself, hearing the way his first name sounds from your lips…

Maybe it’s not the silly pipe dream he had believed it to be.

“I’m in need of an assistant if you really do want to work at Bouncing Ball, but you’d need to prove why it would be worth hiring you.”

He almost laughs at how you perk up despite the precarious position you’re in, almost ready to launch into an elevator pitch of your qualifications flat on your back underneath him. You’re quite the multitasker already and he groans at the thought of having you cockwarm him while he tests out a new video game, making you answer all his calls stuffed full of him and desperately trying to hide the lustful tremble in your voice.

But he’s not here to listen to your carefully crafted speech. (Guess you really were practicing for job interviews like you said you were. What a good girl.) And he firmly presses his lips against yours to silence you, taking his time to immerse himself in the way your mouths mold against each other.

Your taste, your smell, your warmth. It’s all intoxicating and he slips his tongue inside your parted lips, subtly rutting his groin against your body. He can feel your body jostle as you lift your arms and he waits for the weight of your arms to lovingly wrap around his neck, only to be shocked when you weakly press against his shoulders until he finally relents and pulls back just enough to look down at you in irritated confusion.

“We- we shouldn’t be doing this.”

It’s not the words that have him clenching his fists, not even the way your palms still timidly press against him in a laughably weak show of defense.

It’s the fear in your eyes, the way you look at him like he’s some monster. It's the way he can almost palpably feel and hear your desire to be anywhere other than here, with anyone other than him, wishing to put as much space between the two of you as possible.

It’s your rejection.

It hurts to know that he isn’t enough just as he is, that he needs to resort to less...savory and straightforward ways to entrap you. But he’s not Hinata or Kuroo. He doesn’t have an electrifying personality or roguishly handsome features and charm to woo you. He only has his cunning and sharp tongue.

And he fully intends on maximizing his gifts.

“Of course, you don’t have to. You can just keep on applying and getting rejected by every company you speak to, if they even bother meeting with you after seeing your pathetic resume. Average college. Average grades. Average major. Tell me, how many interviews have you actually been reached out to for?”

He’s going out on a bit of a limb, but his suspicions are right and he cruelly smirks at the way tears bubble in your eyes at his words, no comeback or denial rolling off the tip of your tongue. He had a feeling you were struggling from the bits and pieces he’s picked up as your parents quietly talk and fret over you actually being able to find a job after graduation.

“Our parents are too nice to say anything about it, but you know they’re disappointed in you, right? Have you noticed how they always avoid talking about how school is going or asking you about how job hunting is going? How they only ask me how work is going? It’s because they know you’re just a loser whose life is going to amount to nothing.”

“That’s not true! They love me-”

“I’m not saying they don’t love you, but doesn’t that make it even worse? Making your loving and caring parents worry and stress over you when they should be preparing for retirement, an easy life? Instead of letting them finally enjoy a carefree life, you’ll be their freeloader daughter who uses up all their remaining funds. Is that what you want?”

You really are too easy and his lips curl in satisfaction at the way you frantically shake your head side to side, fat wet drops streaming down your face, adorable sniffles filling the air.

“If you become my assistant, I’ll compensate you well. You can live here with me, have your own room, a roof over your head, all the food and clothing you need and want. Think about how relieved and happy our parents will be seeing you provided for, seeing us getting along. Isn’t that what you want? For them to be happy?”

He knows how close you are to your mom, how important this idea of a perfect family is to you. He knows how insecurity and doubt about your own capabilities torment you. And he knows you’re hooked on his claws when your hands that are still pressed against his shoulders drop limply besides you, not even a hint of resistance left in you when he leans down once more to rest his forehead on yours, one hand cupping the side of your face.

“This is all you’re good for anyway. Working underneath me.”

If you notice his pun, you don’t acknowledge it, too busy wincing and squirming as he harshly nips and bites a trail from your lips to your neck as he pushes up the hem of your shirt until your chest is on full display for him. There’s something experimental, cold, meticulous about the way he gropes and fondles your breasts.Your face heats in humiliation at how he treats you like one of the many game consoles he’s reviewed for his audience.

But you don’t do anything about it, telling yourself that this is just his version of an interview as he pinches and prods at you, meanly twisting your nipples and chuckling at your yelp of pain. You obediently let him spread your legs apart, only letting out an agonized cry as he tests your flexibility, staring at him with a trembling lower lip as he sharply tells you to shut up while scrutinizing your panty-covered sex.

“You really are made for this, aren’t you?”

You whimper as he nudges the small wet spot on the thin fabric, clenching your eyes shut in denial at how hot and wound up your body feels from his touch, unable to hide your gasp as he pulls the layer aside and rubs your aroused clit.

There’s something so different about the way his fingers slowly sink into your wet pussy, almost lazily curling against your soft walls, his thumb never stopping its careful massage on the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs. So different from your own fingers desperately thrusting in and out of you. So different from the drunk partners you’ve hooked up with at college and their sloppy, rapid, frantic movements.

You can feel something large, something intimidating slowly rising from deep inside of you, a volcano about to erupt compared to the bright and fast to fade shooting stars you’re used to. You’re scared. Scared of the intoxicating feeling, of how easy it is to grow accustomed to Kenma’s presence, of how his cat-like eyes are all you can see and think of.

How can something feel so wrong and so right at the same time?

That’s the last coherent thought you have before your world goes blank, pleasure rocking through you as you soak the carpet and your step-brother’s hand with your juices. You’re moaning as Kenma continues to rock his fingers in and out of you, fingertips insistently massaging your clit and g-spot as you ride out your orgasm, body trembling and convulsing.

But even when the tremors slow, when pleasure becomes something sharper, more overwhelming, he doesn’t stop. You wail, begging him to stop, to let you rest, slumping in relief when he finally drags his hands away from you, carelessly wiping the mess you’ve made of his hand on your skin, covering you in your own essence.

Your heavy eyelids threaten to flutter shut as you let exhaustion wash over you, already dreading having to get up and wash yourself. But you’re shocked back to reality as something hard begins to nudge at your still fluttering entrance.

“Kenma! No! Too much-”

You break off into a sob as surprisingly strong hands dig into your hips, holding you still as he pushes and pushes until he’s fully settled inside of you, balls resting against your ass.

You’re still so tight, your quivering walls clamping around the intrusion, and he groans at the thought of being able to sink into this hole every day, multiple times, whenever he wants. His cock is already aching from holding off for so long, from watching your body and face contorted in pleasure. Kenma can feel his end quickly approaching as you scream and wail underneath him, eyes rolling back in your head, drool trickling from the corner of your mouth. You look absolutely obscene and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of this side of you.

But despite the way his balls are tightening, despite the stutter in his hips, he’s determined to watch you fall apart once more, to see you shatter to pieces yet again. He grits his teeth, fingers reaching down to furiously rub at your already oversensitized clit, reveling in how your back arches, thighs shaking in overstimulation, and then you snap.

He wonders what his parents would think of their dear dumb daughter now, looking nothing like their silly angel, looking like a wanton used whore, incoherent garbled noises slipping past your lips as you twitch uncontrollably, your pussy milking him dry as he cums inside of you.

There’s only silence mixed with your pitiful whimpers as he slides out of you, grimacing at the sticky mess you’ve made of yourself and him. But that’s what your other hole is for and he orders you to suck him clean, admiring what a quick learner you are, eager to please as you noisily slurp and lick him clean, moaning at the taste of your combined fluids...

Maybe too eager and he shoves you off of him when you become too enthusiastic, his cock beginning to twitch in interest once more.

You look so lost, still sprawled out on the ground, staring up at him with wide imploring eyes as he pulls up his pants. So vulnerable and in need of guidance.

Good thing you have such a great boss to manage you.

“Not bad. Consider these next few days your internship and if all goes well, I’ll be more than happy to hire you as Bouncing Ball’s newest employee this summer. Now clean up this room and show me that my future assistant can do more than just be a slut.”

[donvilaro]

Checkmate

I had been thinking about this idea since Bri posted her event. Its just an unhinged AU that the mutuals will appreciate (I hope, hahahaha) @mrsgiovanna​ you could count this as a Giorno month prompt, from his biggest (superior) rival.   Yandere themes, kidnapping, general yandere notions

It was a plan that was years in the making, and finally it had come to bear fruit… Having just gotten off the phone with Giorno, Niccolo had felt a surge of mixed emotions. He had to admit, he was moved by the Don's distraught voice and the fact that Giorno had, in his desperation, turned to Bri's father for help. Niccolo made a mental note to be careful of giving anything away when speaking to Mahin, who had the ability to derail his entire future with Bri if he so wished to.

Leaving his study, his hurried steps could be heard approaching the east wing of the mansion- Bri had been acquired, her unconscious form lay in the suite adjoining his own. He wasn't going to make her share a bed with him immediately,  he had waited this long and her presence in his home was enough for him in the meantime. 

"Don Niccolo… " he nodded at Ava in acknowledgement, eyeing the sleeping woman on the bed before him. He reached out and examined her for any injuries and frowned as he trailed his fingers along the tear stains on her face, while Ava had started brushing the ends of Bri's hair with a sad smile. 

Without hesitating Niccolo summoned his stand and impaled her chest with one of the appendages he manifested from his spine and broke it off within her, sealing off her stand ability. After a few moments of just staring at her, he gave them the space and time to do what they needed to.  In just under two hours Niccolo's helpers had finished their work on the young lady and left her with Niccolo's consigliere, Fausto. The young man regarded Bri carefully, sighing in resignation as he called out his stand to enact the final bit of Niccolo's plan and would ensure that she would remain with his Don. He had been Niccolo's most trusted ally for the longest time, having grown up together. He was privy to all of Niccolo's plans, helped him to reshuffle Sangue Reale after his father's death and served as a voice of reason when the young Don got too carried away, however, as much as he tried, Niccolo was resolute when it came to Bri, ignoring all reason and rationalizing his own motives in any way that he could. Fausts stand, Forgotten, had appeared next to him, and had started to rearrange and delete Bri's memories so that nothing of Giorno or Passione had remained behind. Niccolo had returned to the room, to find Faust almost finished with his task. 

"It's done… you're going to have to be very patient with her… "

"I know that-" 

"I don't think you do, I've seen all her life events, she's been through so much… it's not too late, be the better man, give her back to Passione…" suggested Faust tentatively.

"I'm not a good man, and I know I'm selfish… Trust me, I'm not blind to my faults. I may not have the best abilities, but things fell into place for me to take her and so I did." It was the first time that Faust had seen this type of emotion flash in the Don's eyes, like pools of ichor swirling furiously. Niccolo averted his eyes though, his underbosses critical gaze had left him feeling unnerved, thankfully, his attention was beckoned to the girl who was stirring from her sleep. It was the curtain call for his master plan, and almost like a switch had been flipped, had his demeanor and gaze softened when he saw Bri's dark eyelashes flutter open. She wasn't defensive or poised to attack, but rather wore an expression of innocent fear, and recoiled from Niccolo when he gently placed his hand on hers. 

"Can you tell me what your name is?" Asked Niccolo in a mild voice, watching the confused girl trying to gather her thoughts and orient herself. 

"B-bri… my name's Bria Adal… my, my head hurts" she said through a grimace, clenching her fists against her temples. Niccolo gently grasped her wrists and brought them down to her lap. 

"I'm sorry, we can get you something for that, just stay calm, okay Bria? Breathe with me…" 

"O-okay…" 

"Oh you're shaking like a leaf… please don't be scared, you're safe here, I promise you, no harm will ever come to you, I won't allow it, okay?" Niccolo gently brushed her now chin-length hair away from her face, and tucked it behind her ears, revealing her teary eyes. "Please don't cry, everything will be okay I promise" the scared girl could only nod, and looked around trying to find some sort of familiarity in her surroundings. 

"I can't watch this," said Faust as he walked out of the room. Inhaling sharply, Niccolo left Bri's side apologizing to her and went after his consigliere.  

"Faust, wait!"

"I did what you asked- no ordered me to do, I've  messed with her mind, it's done, mission completed, you're on your own now!" 

"Keep your goddamn voice down, she's going to hear you!" 

"Good, maybe she'll run then," 

"Watch it Faust," 

"Oh? Have I offended you Don Vilaro? You know I've seen you do a lotta shit in the past, but you've had valid reasons… this? This is beyond selfish, you're ruining her entire life! Don't you feel anything watching her like this? A shadow of her former self?" Fausts words had wounded Niccolo, but he didn't retort because deep within himself, he knew they were true. 

"Look, I know, okay I know! Slowly things will get better and I can give her her stand back, she'll regain her strength but she's never using it to fight on my behalf, ever…  she needs to stay as far away from  all of this as possible," 

"Why are you so obsessed with taking her out of this world? She could probably hold her own against either of us. She's not your mother Niccolo,  but you're acting a whole lot like your father," any attempt at niceties would be useless now and Faust had realized he overstepped his boundaries. 

"Perhaps you should leave, I'll see you in the morning," said Niccolo in a chillingly calm voice, reminding Faust that it was when his anger was quiet that he was at his most dangerous.  

"I'm sorry-" 

"Just leave, please," without waiting for Faust to reply, he turned on his heels and walked towards Bri's room. 

When he entered he found her still on the bed,  hugging her knees to her chest. She still looked scared but was calmer than before. 

"Bria, are you hungry? What would you like?" 

"Just some water is fine," she said, offering a weak smile, which Niccolo returned as he called Ava and asked to bring up something for the young woman. 

"Are you alright?" Asked Bria softly, noting the change in his demeanor when the young Don had returned to her room. 

"Hmmm? Oh I'm fine, why?" A small, forced smile graced his face, not really reaching his eyes. 

" I heard what sounded like an argument, and you came back looking sad… did you and your friend have a fight?" 

Still so perceptive and caring even like this he thought to himself as he sat next to Bria on the bed.

"Something like that angel, it will be fine though, nothing you need to worry about,  you'll come to know Faust again, his mouth works faster than his brain…" Niccolo's description of his consiglieri earned a small chuckle from the raven haired girl beside him. 

"Who am I though?" 

"Have you forgotten your name? You're Bria,"

"No, no, who am I to you? What is my purpose here?" Niccolo extended his arm towards her, caressing her cheek softly as he thought of how to reply. 

“You, my beautiful Bri, are at the center of my empire. You’re the one I love most in this whole world.” 

“Oh… I…”

“Are you disappointed, my love?” He was troubled by the downcast expression on Bria’s face but waited for her to respond before reacting. 

“I am… in myself though… I can’t even recall something as important as that… I’m so sorry,”

“Bria, don’t apologize, please, none of this is your fault, if anything, I am to blame, it's my duty to keep you safe and I failed…” Niccolo held her close, placing a few kisses onto her hair. The manner in which he had spun the story had left no room for doubt and at that point Bria had no reason to question him thanks to Faust's seamless alteration of her memories. For all intents and purposes, she was just a girl with amnesia and was being looked after by her lover. Any feelings of guilt that Niccolo may have been harboring had all but vanished when he felt her in his arms. Years of pining, months of planning, and finally she was his. 

"I'm sorry for interrupting…" Ava spoke as she walked into the room with a tray full of little treats that Bria enjoyed. She continued, "I'm Ava, if you need anything at all, I'm always around, so please don't hesitate to ask," 

"Thanks Miss Ava…  there's something so warm and familiar about you…" 

"Well I should hope so miss Bri,"

"Please, just Bri, or Bria, anything else feels strange," Before agreeing to her request Ava looked to Niccolo for approval,  which he granted with a small nod. Perusing the spread that Ava had brought into the room, he had picked up a strawberry and offered it to Bri who took a small bite of it. 

"These are some of your favorites, if your palate has changed though, I'll bring you something else," offered Ava. 

"No, no this is fine, please don't, this is wonderful, thank you," Bria's polite decline brought a smile to the older lady's face, and the three of them made light conversation for a short while until Bria's tiredness had overpowered her will to stay awake. 

"Alright, we can continue this tomorrow,  you're tired my love," Niccolo gently pushed down Bria's shoulders and pulled the covers up around her. His thumb caressed her bottom lip as he cupped her cheek, but he fought the urge and kissed her on the forehead instead before leaving the room with Ava. 

The pair walked in silence for a moment before Niccolo spoke. 

"I suppose you're this quiet because of what happened with Faust," 

"It is upsetting, I'll admit. I've watched you both grow up, this isn't like you two…" 

"I know… I might have been a bit harsh. But so was he- comparing me to that tyrant,"  Niccolo looked down to meet the woman's worried gaze before he continued. "Not you too…" 

"I just don't want you to do anything you'll later regret, you're a good person… but this is bad Niccolo… Don Giovanna will come to look for her, so will her father. If anything happens to you-"

"You worry too much, I can take them on, both of them, she's worth the risk… but that's not going to happen, my plan is foolproof." 

In Naples, villa Giovanna was thrown into disarray. Disheveled in appearance with his eyes bloodshot, Giorno poured over the few hours of video footage which captured Bria before she had disappeared,  awaiting word from Abbacchio who had gone to Sicily with Mista to where she had last been seen. It was the strangest occurrence, the work of a stand user no doubt, and he had his suspicions regarding Niccolo, but didn't want to act until he was certain, fearing the position Bri might have been in, should his assumptions hold true. Under normal circumstances, Giorno would have already ripped Sicily apart in an attempt to look for Bria, however, one false move would have resulted in him losing his stand ability altogether. That was the potency of Niccolo’s stand, The Reaper. A rival that he might have been evenly matched with had he not been as aggrieved over Bria’s disappearance.  It was a game of chess and his queen had been captured, his defenses had been left wide open and Niccolo was poised to win. 

Check

[henrike-does-writing-sometimes]

The Realm of Mirrors Trilogy, In which a group of childhood friends discover the dark secrets hiding within the wall of the old castle in their hometown. Secrets which they’re more involved in than what they ever could’ve imagined.

Current Stage - Slowly but surely working through the first draft Genre - Low fantasy  Setting - The fictional city of Grimmvik, located on the west coast of Sweden Books - A shattered heirloom | A reflection of malice | A youthful demise

Synopsis - The old is swarmed in mysteries. Some are meant to be found, some to be forgotten. And some we wish would’ve stayed hidden. 

Returning back to his hometown Emil is finally reunited with his childhood friends, and although they never lost contact it feels incredible to be back together. With no limit on their time, meaning their new adventures are about to be spectacular. Although not even their wildest child-like imagination could’ve predicted what was about to come.

Grimmvik’s castle, now a beating heart of history and the arts, seems to be infested with ghosts and strange mirrors that act on their own. Strange things only they seem to be able to see are just a handful of the many unexplainable things that have started to happen. 

The answers are found within the castle itself, revealing the dark past of its prime and the horrors lurking within its dungeons. A shrine for an old mirror rests deep below their feet, whispering for them to come; once again calling for a dreaded history to repeat itself. 

Main Characters -

Emil Nimuel-Noreen: Adventure seeker and fun lover, not the brightest but he does his best. His head is up in the clouds more often than not. He has an easy time making friends and works very well in social situations. Longs to be and do something great and to change the world for the better. Might have gotten more than he bargained for. 

Tess Lundell: The seemingly most responsible in the group, though she doesn’t mind breaking a few rules now and again. She loves the arts, painting and poetry to be specific, and can often be found far away in daydreams. She has an easy time finding beauty in mundane things and can spend hours being lost in oil paintings and shiny rocks.

Ida Brolin: Intelligent but reckless, does dumb things for the fun of it. Or because she’s simply curious, something she’s mainly driven by. Although she maintains a professional and calm demeanor most of the time, she has a wild and chaotic imagination and is not one to keep her crazy ideas to herself. Nor does she fear testing her many theories. 

Astrid Ryu: Smug bastard but also baby. Is a major tease and actively encourages their friends’ dumbassery, they’re also the cause most of the time. They adore the unexplainable and unsolved mysteries, a firm believer in Mothman and cryptids of the like. Tends to throw away logic to have fun with “fake” sightings. Isn’t one to get aggressive but will cut a bitch if they have to. 

Jake Castner: The unofficial leader of the group and professional himbo. While not too comfortable taking the lead he falls into the role naturally being the most observant of the group. He’s most in his element when he’s designing and building, something he’s been doing for most of his life. Whether miniature figurines or lego sets of all kinds. 

Tindra Hellberg: Huge literature nerd, likes to dissect different works to find hidden meanings and symbolism. Which she has an easy time with, given her tendency to connect things that might not even be connected. She may not believe in them, but she really enjoys conspiracy theories and will often ramble about the possibilities of them being true.  

Themes - Dark Academia | Morality | Sacrifice | Death | Repeating cycles | Rituals | Tragedy | Bittersweet end | Humanity | Loss of innocence

Main Theme - Shatter me : Lindsey Stirling

Warnings - Violence | Death | Death of one (1) animal | Body horror | Gore | Abuse | More May Be Added

What I Got To Offer ? ANGST, diverse cast (LGBTQ+, ethnicity, etc.), friends sharing a brain cell, healthy relationships both romantic and platonic, mirror based magic system, fucked up and morally questionable mentors

Tags - wip : Realm of Mirrors | RoM Playlist

: Taglist - @waysofink​​ @metanoiamorii @fiercely-raging-writer @zonnemaagd @writing-is-a-martial-art @writing-with-l @chazzawrites @vacantgodling :

Let me know if you want to be added !

[gunterfan1992]

Episode Review: ‘Together Again’ (Distant Lands, Ep. 3)

Airdate: May 20, 2021

Story by: Jack Pendarvis, Kate Tsang, Hanna K. Nyström, Christina Catucci, Jesse Moynihan, Adam Muto

Storyboarded by: Hanna K. Nyström, Anna Syvertsson, Iggy Craig, Maya Petersen, Serena Wu

Directed by: Miki Brewster (supervising), Sandra Lee (art)

Across Adventure Time’s ten season run, the show explored a bevy of “mature” themes and story ideas—topics, like love, sexuality, depression, and grieving. The show also touched upon death, but the emphasis was usually placed on the emotional toll of a loved one dying, not really what happens when you die. We knew there were Dead Worlds and Death. We knew that there was reincarnation. But how does it all fit together? What does it mean? How does it work?

With “Together Again,” we finally have many of the answers.

This special opens with a marvelous fake-out episode simply called “Finn & Jake,” that sees the two steal a magical cartoon of 50-flavor ice cream before rescuing Turtle Princess and LSP from the clutches of the villainous Ice King. This is all deliberately anachronistic and over the top. Ice King is back to his season one ways, Finn has both arms, and he is still wielding his golden sword that he lost in season two’s “The Real You.” There’s lolrandom dialogue and silly monsters; it’s like a parody of seasons 1-2. But then, this adventure starts to get all wonky, and in time Finn realizes that he is in a some sort of trance or illusion: one that ends with Jake being buried in the ground. Suddenly, Finn awakens from his reverie. He’s an old man. And he’s dead. We’re then presented with a new title card that lets us know the episode is actually called “Finn & Jake Are Dead.”

Holy Glob! They actually went there.

Turns out Jake died years before Finn, so naturally Finn is super excited to see his best bud. But something’s wrong—he cannot find Jake!! They planned to spend eternity together. But all that Finn can find is his very own psychopomp, Mr. Fox (voiced by Tom Herpich, whose purposefully stilted line readings are the epitome of delightful). Finn rightfully assumes that Jake is in a different Dead World, and so, being the ball of spunk and energy that he is, he demands to meet with Death, only to discover that there’s a New Death in town (voiced by Chris Fleming). The episode eventually explains that New Death was the son of Death and Life, and after New Death killed his father, he became the sovereign of the afterlife. New Death hates his job and decides to just blow up all the Dead Worlds so he doesn’t have to deal with it all. (I won’t get too much into the details here, because there would be a lot of story to parse out.)

Finn soon learns that Jake has reached nirvana in the 50th Dead World, where there is nothing but peace and serenity. Finn nevertheless tracks down Jake, pulls him from paradise, but in doing so, accidentally lets New Death in, who promptly obliterates Elysium, sending all the enlightened souls—including those from different levels of the afterlife—to the 1st Dead World. This gronks up the afterlife, temporarily halting the reincarnation process.

Well, Finn and Jake are rightfully ticked, and so they haunt the material plane looking for Princess Bubblegum. She’s not home (more on that later), but Peppermint Butler is! After Ghost Finn and Ghost Jake explain the situation, Peppermint Butler tells them what to do: They need to find Life and explain the situation. The duo manage just that, and Life is rightfully angry that her kid has stopped the transmigration of souls. After Life gives Finn a McGuffin sword that can hurt Death, Finn and Jake return to his abode. A brawl ensues wherein we learn that New Death has been possessed… by none other than that spirit of the Lich.

That’s right, it’s the Lich! He’s back, and boy is he evil.

The Lich explains that by possessing Death, he can destroy the afterlife, thereby destroying a key aspect of reality. Naturally, Finn and Jake are not cool with this, and they engage in combat. After Mr. Fox grabs the McGuffin sword and uses it to annihilate the Lich and New Death, he is proclaimed the New New Death and sets everything right. Finn is slated to be reincarnated, and Jake is slated to return to the 50th Dead World where he and Finn will one day be reunited. As Finn is pulled into the wheel of souls, Jake suddenly decides to go back with Finn, too, “Just for fun.” The episode ends with a card letting us know that the episode is neither called “Finn & Jake” nor “Finn & Jake Are Dead.” Instead, it is “Finn and Jake Are Together Again.”

As they say, “And there wasn’t a dry eye in the place.”

If you were to tell me several years ago that the last episode to star Finn and Jake would revolve around them dying, I think I would’ve been upset. Not simply sad, but rather frustrated because “they all died” can feel like a cheap ending. But with “Together Again,” it all works. And a large reason that it works is because the show goes all in with their ideas. Finn and Jake don’t magically leap back into their old life (no, no, they very much do bite the dust). Instead, the special emphasizes the cyclical nature of life through the transmigration of souls. The episode ends with a beautiful scene of Finn and Jake, bound together as soul-brothers, being reborn into a new, mysterious (possibly Ooo 1000+?) world. It’s both aesthetically and emotionally pleasing; it doesn’t feel off the way over finales might. This is right. This is the way life works. “Round and round as nature goes,” and all that jazz.

I loved the series explanation of how death works. It seems that souls land in a specific Dead World, where they ‘marinate’ for a bit, presumably being rewarded or punished based on their life in our meat reality. After a time, they are then reborn. This process repeats, with each soul reaching higher and higher levels of enlightenment until they hit nirvana, which is the 50th Dead World. So in a sense, Adventure Time has a roughly Buddhist cosmology with a dash of Greco-Roman mythos thrown in for flavor. (As to what happens after a soul stays in the 50th Dead World for a long period is anyone’s guess, but I’d speculate that when all the souls in the multiverse have been purified and land in the 50th Dead World, they will all collapse into one another and form one perfect Monad. Perhaps this is the sphere of perfection that the beings who merged into Matthew thought they were connecting to? Who knows! It’s anyone’s guess!) I was a little disappointed that we didn’t get to see who Death, Prismo, Life, etc.’s boss was, but perhaps that’s a mystery better left up to the imagination!

One minor thing that I loved about this special was the number of characters who made cameos as well as all the callbacks that were made to previous episodes. Regarding the former: Finn and Jake’s canine family show up (including the oft-forgotten Jermaine!), as do Tree Trunks and her myriad husbands. Tiffany plays a major role in all these shenanigans as a “death cop” of all things. There is a delightful rogues gallery stuck in the 1st Dead World (including, among others, Maja, Sharon from “The Gut Grinder,” and Wyatt). In the 50th we find Ghost Princess and Clarence happily at peace next to Booshy, the weird spirit mentioned in the Pen Ward classic “High Strangeness.” As far as callbacks go, perhaps my favorite is the clap (from “James Baxter the Horse”) that Jake taught to Finn in case they ever do get separated in the afterlife. And of course, there are myriad references made to “Death in Bloom,” the episode that planted the seed for what this would grow into.

Going into the special suspecting that it would involve Death, I was curious how they were going to handle Miguel Ferrer’s character. (In case a reader is not aware, Ferrer played Death in episodes like “Death in Bloom” and “Betty,” but he sadly passed away a few years ago). The producers’ choice to feature him in a non-speaking cameo—despite playing a relatively significant role in the story—was wise; I’m not sure if I can articulate the exact reasons, but something about his role felt appropriate and not gross, as some post-mortem memorials can be. Speaking of which, the wonderful, lovely Polly Lou Livingston was featured for the last time in this episode as Tree Trunks, happily in heaven with her literal harem of husbands. It was funny, it really was, and I’m sure that Polly Lou would’ve gotten a kick out of seeing it on screen. (Also, this is a pro-Tree Trunks safe space. Any Tree Trunks haters will be chucked into the 1st Dead World with Wyatt.)

The biggest mystery in this whole thing, for me at least, is the question of Princess Bubblegum and Marceline. Several years ago, I wrote an essay about what could’ve happened to them in the Ooo 1000+ universe. I speculated that they peaced out and left Ooo behind. In this special, neither Bubblegum nor Marceline are to be found in the Candy Kingdom—Peppermint Butler seems to be the one in charge, given that he is now wearing Bubblegum’s crown. Likewise, the duo aren’t anywhere in the Dead Worlds either. Maybe the two of them skipped town and got a duplex in the Nightosphere? Who knows… I just want my favorite gals to be OK!

All things considered, “Together Again” was a marvel: An episode that managed to feel like a series finale even more than “Come Along with Me” already did without taking away from the series itself. An episode that managed to make the idea of dying funny. An episode that brought back the Lich in a way that wasn’t forced. An episode that made Mr. Fox the New New Death. An episode that gave us a beautiful ending to Finn and Jake’s story… as well as the beautiful beginning to a new one. I said it on Twitter, and I’ll say it again here: “Together Again” was the end of a sentence in a book with infinite pages. Truly, the fun will never end.

Mushroom War evidence: Everything takes place in the Dead Worlds, so not really. Perhaps a more eagle-eyed viewer can inform us...

Final Grade: That’s right, I’m gonna do it...

Post-script, I actually messaged Jesse Moynihan to ask about his writing credit. He told me that it was for an unused story idea that he had developed. I’m not certain, but I’ll bet it was a part of the cancelled TV movie they were trying to make during season 5, since that would’ve seen Finn and Orgalorg journey to the various Dead Worlds.

[littlemissnoname13]

Wisps of Smoke (Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!reader) - Part 5

Summary: y/n and Draco find themselves drawn to an abandoned classroom every night

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader ft. Theo Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini

Warnings: Excessive smoking, mature language and themes, smut labeled as ⚜️, 18+ content, reader discretion is advised, also Draco is kinda soft in this one. Just sayin.

A/n: Ik this was supposed to be the final part but I wanted to wrap things up properly. The last part will be dedicated to the ball itself.

A massive thank you to everyone that has read WOS. Your feedback makes me so fkn happy. I love you all sm.

Word count: 3700

Link to Part one, two, three, and four if you haven’t read them already.

My other stories are over here. And you can join my tag list here.

As always, Smoking is injurious to health y’all.

24th December

Home was just the way you’d remembered it. 

From the Goldchild Ivy covering the white colored walls and the stepping stones leading all the way to the main entrance to the way your parents kept nagging you about your “future” with Adrian Pucey.

“You still haven’t told me what kind of dress you’d like to wear to the ball.” Your mum reminded you after taking a small sip from her wine glass. 

“I don’t know mother.” You sighed,stabbing repeatedly at the sautéed mushroom on your plate. “Can’t I wear something I already own? Like the blue one I wore last year.”

“Well, what is Adrian wearing? May I suggest some colour coordinating?” 

“I really don’t know mother.” You coughed. 

“Well, why don't you ask him?”

“I can't.” You mumbled dropping your fork on your plate. The loud clanging sound earned you an eyebrow raise from your otherwise quiet father. 

“Why not?”

“We broke—we aren’t seeing each other anymore.” You said quietly before quickly standing up and dismissing yourself from the dining table before your parents could ask you a thousand questions.

As you walked away from the table and towards the balcony, you could still hear your parents calling after you while simultaneously speculating about just what you may have done to scare Adrian away. 

You weren’t going to tell them about Draco because you weren’t even sure what to tell them.

I broke up with Adrian because I’m sleeping with Draco Malfoy.

Yes, the one that is getting engaged soon. 

No we’re not together.

I may or may not have developed feelings for him.

Yes, it is inconvenient because I have no idea how he feels. 

Did I mention he is getting engaged? 

You tugged on the sleeves of your sweater to warm your hands up as you stared up at the surprisingly clear night sky splattered with only a few clouds and shimmering stars. 

You took it upon yourself to start counting the stars to distract yourself from thinking about Draco again.

Unbeknownst to you, Draco was standing on the balcony of his room trying not to think of you too. 

The only difference for him was that the sky was a little less cloudy where he lived and he wasn’t going to bother counting stars. 

“Happy Christmas Draco.” You whispered to yourself,staring at the shiny emerald ring on your finger. 

“Happy Christmas Y/n.” Draco mumbled into the night air as he fidgeted with your amethyst ring. 

~~~~~~~~~~

25th December

It was a surprisingly quiet Christmas Morning at the Y/l/n household. 

Your parents were still fast asleep when you walked towards the kitchen to fix yourself a cup of coffee. 

It was probably because your parents hadn’t quite processed your break up with Adrian and had spent their night discussing it.

Seeing it was Christmas, you decided to put a dash of white chocolate and whipped cream in your cup of caffeinated goodness in order to feel a bit more festive.

You were feeling anything but festive. 

There was a kind of dread crushing your insides when you thought about the ball. 

You’d have to watch him dance with her and kiss her lips at midnight. 

Fuck, you’d have to congratulate him after he slipped a ring onto her perfectly manicured finger. 

Just when you were about to take a sip of your drink, you heard a knock on your door. 

You frowned and walked towards the door because it was way too early on in the morning for anyone to come over. 

When you yanked the door open, you saw him of all people, standing on the other side of the door with his white blond hair messier than usual. 

He was wearing one of his rare genuine smiles that showed his pearly whites making you feel wobbly in the knees. 

“Draco—What are you doing here?”

“Happy Christmas to you too.” He said with the smile still fixed on his lips. “Tell me y/l/n is this how you greet all of your houseguests?”

“How rude of me.” You muttered to yourself still befuddled as you stepped back to let him in. “Come in, sit down. Cup of tea?”

“I’m actually in a bit of a hurry.” He said as he fidgeted with his blazer pocket. “Just came to drop off something—ugh hold this.” 

He placed a pack of cigarettes in the palm of your hand before fumbling with his pocket again. 

“Ahh. There we go.” He retrieved a lilac colored box from his pocket and brought it back to its normal size before handing it to you.

“What’s this?” 

“What does it look like y/n?”

“But—But I haven't even gotten you anythi—”

Before you could finish your sentence, he leaned in, tenderly pressing lips against yours. 

The softness of his lips made the heaviness you were feeling on your shoulders fade away as you faded into him—only him and the way he held you firmly around the waist as he suckled on your bottom lip.

“Thank you.”  You whispered burying your face into his chest, trying to inhale a scent of his cologne. “Thank you.”  

When Draco left, you ran up to your room and opened the lilac box to find a blush coloured slip dress folded neatly with a note on top of it written in his neat handwriting.

~~~~

Dear Y/n

I really am sorry about what happened to your old silk dress but I just couldn’t help myself. 

I hope you’ll understand.

I also hope I get to see you wear this one someday.  

Yours,

D.L.M

~~~~~~~~~~~

26 December 

The day after Christmas, the boys decided to do a little cleanup. 

Quidditch and house memorabilia, novelty artefacts they no longer cared enough for and items of emotional value. 

The boys wanted a fresh start. 

A clean break.

A clean slate. 

Theo and Blaise were done with their cleaning so they were now at the Manor helping Draco who was surprisingly not very convinced about the whole “fresh start” ordeal. 

“Remember this?” Theo chuckled, clearing out all the books that covered Draco’s desk and using his wand to cast a quick spell that revealed carvings they’d made the summer before their second year.

“Oh?” Blaise gleefully raised his eyebrows walking towards Theo. “I’d forgotten about this.” 

Draco rolled his eyes and followed Blaise and the three boys stood around the table reading out everything they’d managed to carve out. 

There were some very unholy words, tally sticks and unfortunate looking doodles of Harry on the table.

“Theodore Nott was here.” Draco read out loud looking unimpressed.

“Read this one.” Theo chuckled pointing at a carving. “Daphne Greengrass + Blaise Zabini.”

“Hey! We were barely second years.” Blaise protested while his eyes kept scanning the table. 

As Blaise’s vigilant eyes trailed to the farthest corner of the table, a wicked grin started to form across his cheeks making Draco’s face turn pale. 

“Y/n Y/l/n.” Blaise read out loud smirking at Draco. “Well well Malfoy—From the second year?...Interesting.” 

“It was always obvious even though he expressed himself in questionable ways.” Theo shrugged. 

“What was obvious?” Draco quirked an eyebrow with a scowl on his face. 

“The fact that you were and are absolutely enamoured with y/n.” Theo rolled his eyes. “It has always been obvious to everyone but you. Back me up here Zabini.” 

Draco crossed his arms and looked at Blaise who just gave him an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry but he’s right mate.”

“I am not enamoured with y/n.” 

“If you say so.” Blaise shrugged.

“And what if I were?” Draco spat, clearly irked by the condescending look on Blaise’s face.

“If you are, then I only have one question for you.” Blaise said with carefully selected words.

“And the question is?” 

Blaise went quiet for a brief second before looking at Draco, dead set in the eye.

“What is holding you back, Malfoy?” 

~~~~~~~~~~

27th December

Draco wondered what life decisions he’d taken to find himself seated at a murky little pub with Astoria reclining against his shoulders—sipping on Butterbeer. 

Pansy, Theo and Blaise were taking shots next to him and you were awkwardly seated right across the table next to Adrian fucking Pucey. 

What was he doing here anyway? Who even invited him? 

Even though he’d overheard you telling Pansy that Adrian was there only because of your parents nagging you, seeing you seated together bothered him nonetheless. 

Draco wasn’t even meaning to eavesdrop on your conversation with Adrian but he just couldn’t help but divert all his attention to your sweet voice and the way your lips moved. 

You were telling Adrian about the sweet shop next door and Draco’s lips involuntarily twitched and curved upwards when he noticed just how excited you were about sweets.

It was like you softened him—made him vulnerable. And the whole feeling terrified him.

Between smoking his fifth cigarette, occasionally chatting with Astoria and looking at you from the corner of his eye, one rather simple thought encircled Draco’s mind. 

Why didn’t he knock Pucey off his broom when he had the chance to?

~~~~~~~~~

28th December

Lightning crashed. Thunder clapped.

Fat drops of rain started to fall on the enormous glass window in Draco’s bedroom. 

You placed your finger on the glass as you watched the infinite droplets race all the way to the bottom of the window.

The howling winds brought in the scent of wet grass and sent the dark curtains flying in all different directions.

You took in the smell of fresh rain and sighed sinking blissfully into his embrace.

Lucius and Narcissa were away, preparing for the upcoming ball and Draco had owled you asking to meet. 

And so, both of you were now sitting on the windowsill in his room that was much larger than the one in the abandoned classroom. 

In fact, it was so spacious that it served as his own personal reading nook—complete with a velvety throw blanket and some cushions. 

His hands held open a book and you let yourself get comfortable between his long limbs, still counting raindrops on the window. 

“What are you doing?” He asked looking towards you and away from the worn out pages of his book. 

“I’m watching the raindrops race each other.” You said with your eyes still fixed on the glass. “infinite little droplets.”

“It's just rain.” He shrugged as his eyes went back to his book. “Quite mundane if you ask me.”

Sure rain was mundane. 

But this rain felt different. It sent you into a state of melancholia. 

You couldn’t dare to tell him but those infinite droplets resembled the amount of times you’d wanted to tell him that you loved him. 

Even though you couldn’t find the courage to tell him, it was like the look in your eyes gave it all away.

It made his features soften as he slowly shifted and got up from the nook to fully open the window.

You shielded yourself as cold drops of rain started to hit your face. “What in the actual fuck?” 

“Shut up and follow me.” He said as he climbed out of the window and onto the ledge.

“Are you mental?” 

“Just do as I say.” He said helping you onto the ledge. 

Both of you laughed hysterically as the rain seeped through your clothes as you sat on the ledge with your bare feet dangling in the air. 

One wrong move and both of you could fall to our deaths. But there came an adrenaline rush with the risk of it all. 

He pushed away the hair sticking to your face and brought your face close to his before pressing his rain soaked lips to yours. 

Theo was right. 

He was fucking enamoured.

~~~~~~⚜️~~~~~~~~

After coming back inside, you walked into his ensuite to fix your ruined hair and cast a quick drying charm to your clothes before heading home.

You had barely managed to pick at the tangles in your wet hair when an equally soaked Draco walked up behind you—clothes sticking to his toned body and hair sticking to his face. 

“Draco. Sorry for hogging the mirror. I thought I’d be done sooner but these tangles are—hmmm.”

He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind you and pressed his cold lips against the base of your neck.

Even though your hair was entangled and unruly, you looked bewitching to him.

Especially the way the thin and drenched fabric of your seafoam colored dress draped your body—transparent and accentuating all your curves. 

He just couldn’t help himself from unzipping your dress while he admired the sight of your dress slowly leaving your body in the mirror in front of you both. 

“Draco?” You whispered as you watched his lips move their way from your neck to your shoulders. His hands gently gripping and massaging your breasts. 

“Yes?” He whispered into your hair as he began nipping on your earlobe—his hands never leaving your breasts. 

You wanted to tell him that you were in love with him but the words just refused to leave your lips. 

“I—I missed you so much.” You said instead as you watched the corners of his mouth twitch. 

He didn’t say a word back.

Hips lips were too occupied with sucking love bites against your skin. 

He didn’t need to tell you that he missed you too. The deep reddish purple markings on your body said it all. 

Draco intertwined his fingers around yours and placed your palms flat against the marble basin in front of you. 

Your dainty fingers brought out the verdant tones of the emerald ring and Draco couldn’t help but admire his family heirloom on you. 

He slowly moved his hands up your arms and let them brush against your bare back—trailing lower and lower till he was barely touching your soaking wet cunt.

“You like it when I touch you here?” He murmured pushing one of his fingers inside for a fleeting second. 

“Hmmm.” You moaned gripping tightly onto the basin and pushing your hips backwards to get more. 

Draco brought his hand to your arse and struck once causing you to hiss through your teeth. 

“Words darling—use your words.”

“Yes….” You whimpered, opening your eyes to stare into the reflection again. There was a kind of unrestrained hunger in his eyes that only made you want him more. 

“Good girl...so fucking perfect..so beautiful.” 

He reached out and wrapped his left hand around your throat and brought your face close to him while the pad of his right thumb rubbed steady circles on your throbbing clit. 

He loved that you were always so wet and ready for him. 

“Draco..I want you inside me..Please..” 

He could have spent hours on end just teasing you with his fingers and tongue if he could. There was just something about you that just made him want to take his time to worship you—to ruin you. 

But time was not on his side and the reflection in front of him was making him increasingly impatient so he did not tease you any further. He simply unbuckled his trousers and pushed his cock where it belonged. 

“Fuck...yes Draco..”

A whimper let your lips at the sudden push and your knuckles turned pale as you gripped tightly onto the marble basin. 

“Look at you…” He murmured against your shoulder as he stared ahead into the mirror—his cock pounding in and out of you. “Taking my cock like such a good girl.” 

He let go of your throat and used his hands to hold your hips firmly in place as he fucked you mercilessly. 

Every time you two had fucked before this, Draco had constantly reminded himself to be a little gentle with you—but today, he wanted to wreck you.

He wanted you to scream his name in a bittersweet mix of pure pleasure and pain as he fucked you relentlessly.

“More...Draco...oh..fuck…yes.” 

Beads of tears started to slip out of your eyes and you started to squirm—clenching him inside of you as your started to feel your orgasm approach. 

“Don’t.” He growled digging his nails into the flesh at your hips. “Don’t fucking come just yet.” 

You winced when he slipped himself out before carrying you back to his room where he sat down at the edge of the bed—positioning you on his lap with your legs on either side as he slipped back into you. 

Draco let you adjust to the new position for a few seconds as you gripped his shoulders as you moved your hips, slowly riding his cock. 

“My perfect little slut.” He sighed cupping your face in his hands as you continued to move against him. 

After letting you ride him for a little longer, he gripped your hips and started to pound into you making your tits bounce up and down. 

“Feels so good Draco—feels so fucking good. Oh god yes.”

With one hand on your arse and his mouth attached to your nipple Draco kept thrusting into you till the room was filled with the sound of your screams mixed with the sound of his skin slapping against yours and the sound rain splattering against the window glass. 

“Fuck y/n...your cunt is so perfect, you take me so fucking good..god.” 

“Harder…”

“So good when you clench me in like that... fuck y/n..I need to fucking fill you up…”

“Draco please..don’t fucking stop...oh..I’m so close..”

You always submitted to him so easily, he enjoyed the control he had over you.

But your sweet moans, the way your lips moved when you sighed his name was enough to make him weak for you. 

You were completely oblivious to the power you held over him. 

He loved you.

And he wanted to say the words out loud over and over again. 

“I love—I love being inside you..I have missed you so much” He said instead. 

“Draco I’m—I’m fucking cumming.” You whined as he continued to move his hips.

“Let go. Fucking cum y/n. Cum with me.”

You let your head fall against his shoulders and dug your nails into his biceps as you succumbed to your orgasm.

He soon followed, painting your walls with his release as he murmured sweet nothings into your skin. 

You held each other close as you both recovered from your highs and and when he eventually fell asleep you whispered into his ear. 

I’ll be thinking of you too Malfoy.

~~~~~~~~~

29th December 

Once glimpse of the calendar and all the feelings you had shoved into a deep dark part of your mind trickled out in the form of tears.

Silent tears.

The kind of tears you cry when the silence of the night gets unbearable.

The kind where you suppress the sound of your wail and hopelessly try and mute any kind of sniffle by pressing your face hard into the pillow because you don’t want to wake anyone up. 

Silent tears are the most painful of tears when mixed with the sound of the clock ticking. 

For some bizarre reason, every second gets more prolonged than the other.

You had tried to hold it together for days. You tried to pretend like Draco’s engagement didn’t bother you. 

But it did. 

You turned your head on your very damp pillow and eyed the pack of smokes on your night stand. Draco had left when he came to drop off your present. 

On an impulse, You stepped out of your bed as your trembling fingers reached for the 25 pack of expensive looking cigarettes. 

The second you opened the box, the slight scent of nicotine wafted up your nose and you slowly placed a cigarette at the corner of your chapped and dry lips and lit it up. 

Like always, you coughed and wheezed the second you inhaled. 

You hated how it felt. 

But you loved how close you suddenly felt to Draco.

In a twisted kind of way, It felt like you were submerged in his presence again. 

Your lips tasted like they had been kissed by him again.

The more you inhaled the better it felt.

In a fucked up kind of way, The word felt right again.  

And slowly, the night faded into morning as one cigarette turned into another. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

30th December 

Pansy had flooed to your hour the minute she received a letter last night in your drunken handwriting talking about how amazing cigarettes were and how pretty Astoria was.

With a mug filled to the brim with tea in between her hands, she rested her back against the armchair in your room, tilting her head to get a better look at you. 

Your face was pressed sideways against the pillow and she could tell you’d been crying by the dried mascara stains on your cheeks. 

A half smoked cigarette was pressed into the makeshift ashtray that you’d made out of your bedside table making Pansy wonder if she’d ever seen you this miserable. 

Your duvet was barely covering your shoulders and just as Pansy was standing up to pull them up, your bedroom door creaked open. 

“I just wanted to drop something off.” Draco  mumbled almost like he was talking to himself as he took a step into the room—hand in his blazer pocket.

Pansy didn't say a word as she watched Draco with her eyes narrowed. She observantly watched him pull out a tiny box from his pocket and mumble a spell to restore it to its original size.

“What are those?” 

“Assorted sweets.” He said softly, with his gaze not leaving your sleeping form once. “She wouldn’t stop talking about exploding bonbons the other night at the pub.” 

Pansy heaved out a sigh as she watched Draco place the box of sweets on your bedside table before reaching to gently push away your hair from your face. 

“Don’t get me wrong Draco, but you really shouldn’t be here right now.” 

His weary eyes flickered as he turned to look questioningly at Pansy—retreating his hand from your face. 

“You are getting engaged tomorrow—look at her, look at the state she is in. She won’t say it out loud but It’s clearly killing her.” 

As much as Draco hated agreeing with Pansy, she was right. 

Even while asleep, you looked worn out and restless with your eyebrows scrunched up indicating tension.

He wasn’t even going to get himself started on the cigarettes and wine bottles on your night stand.

“Will you let her know that I came by?” He looked half expectantly at Pansy who gave him an apologetic smile in return. “Never mind I guess.” 

As Draco reluctantly backed away from you,  Blaise’s words lingered in his mind. 

What is holding you back Malfoy?

(To be continued...)

~~~~~~

Part 6: Final Chapter Preview:

The Malfoy Manor was being decorated and every little detail of the decor screamed nothing but aristocratic, pristine, perfect.

It was like everything was just a futile attempt to conceal the dullness, loneliness and the fucked up pure blood traditions hiding deep within the manor walls.

Much like his so-called arrangement with Astoria that seemed so perfect on paper.

Pure blood families, rich family history, old money.

What could go wrong right?..

~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[angel-riki]

Dazed & Dreaming {Ch. 4}

summary: Y/N's life was always quite normal, some may even consider it boring. However, Y/N enjoyed her simple life and the little pleasures it brought. Unfortunately, that all changed the day she found out her best friend's biggest secret. Her discovery leads her down a rabbit hole of a new and confusing world she never knew existed. She must now navigate this new life filled with love, fear, and the supernatural. What awaits her down this path?

pairing: enhypen x reader (vampire au)

warnings: light swearing

words: 1,409

chapters: [Ch.1] [Ch.2] [Ch.3]

~~~~~~~~~~

You stood at your locker while stuffing all of the books needed for this weekend's homework into your backpack. You tapped your chin while scanning your locker. Hmm I think that's everything I'll need. You looked down at your phone to check the time. However, the date caught your eye instead as the realization hit you. Oh my god. Jake's birthday is tomorrow. You had completely forgotten. Jeez I'm a terrible friend, you sighed. There had just been so much going on recently, it had completely slipped your mind. You hadn't even gotten him a present yet. You stood there contemplating what to get him when suddenly, almost as if on cue, Sunoo appeared.

"Hey, Y/N!" He said with a cheerful smile.

"Oh, hi Sunoo!" You smiled back, although you were a bit confused. You and Sunoo had never really talked much before. You just met him for the first time last week, what business could he have with you?

"Sorry to bother you Y/N, but I just had a quick question for you," he began.

"Oh sure, what is it?" You ask. His eyes lit up as he continued.

"Sooo, it's Jake's birthday tomorrow and we were thinking of throwing him a surprise party! And since you're one of his closest friends, I was wondering if you'd like to help plan it with me and the rest of the boys." You were caught off guard by his request, it was almost like he knew that you were just thinking about Jake's birthday. What a funny coincidence. Regardless, you were excited to help out.

"Oh, that's a great idea, I'd love to help!" You replied.

"Yay! This is gonna be so fun, I can't wait!" He was full of excitement as he spoke. You chuckled. Cute. You and Sunoo continued discussing the party for a few minutes and it was decided that you were going bring the cake. You loved to bake so you were more than happy to do so. Shortly after Sunoo went off on his way, Heeseung approached you.

"Hey, Y/N," he said warmly. "Sunoo told me that you're in on the surprise party now, and I was actually going to grab some supplies after school so I was wondering if you'd like to come with me,"

"I'd love to," you said, smiling at him.

"Great," he replied, seeming quite happy that you accepted his offer. He didn't know what it was about you but as soon as you became friends, he wanted to be around you all the time. Something about you was just so addicting to him.

*****

You and Heeseung stood in the party aisle staring at the huge array of party supplies and decorations.

"Wow, there's quite a lot to pick from," you said. Heeseung nodded in agreement. Eventually, you both decided on some simple streamers and balloons as well as some birthday themed plates and napkins. Everything was black and ivory colored since those were Jake's favorite colors.

"This'll do," Heeseung said, satisfied.

"Yeah, let's go pay," you said while interlocking your arm with his. He had a difficult time keeping a smile from creeping onto his face as you did so.

You decided to go to the self-checkout since you were only buying a few things. You scanned all the items before putting them into a paper bag. The total appeared on the screen as you reached for your wallet.

"Oh don't worry about it, I got it," Heeseung said while pulling out his card.

"Don't be silly, I owe you for driving me around all the time. Let me pay, please?" You asked, although it was more of a command.

"Nope, I'm not letting you." He said with a teasing grin.

"Well, you're too late." You said as you beat him to the card slot. You faced him and stuck out your tongue. He rolled his eyes as you both laughed.

"I'll pay you back later." Heeseung said, not wanting to give up.

"Whatever you say," you retorted.

After you left the store, you headed back to the parking lot. Heeseung unlocked the car and put the bag in the backseat (he insisted on carrying it). He then shut the door before turning to you.

"Have you gotten a gift for Jake yet?" He asked.

"Uh, no not yet..." you answered. You were a bit embarrassed to admit that you still didn't have a present for him when his birthday was tomorrow.

"Perfect, I haven't either actually. Do you wanna go look around some shops and see what we can find?" He suggested.

"Oh, yeah. That sounds good," you said, relieved that you were both in the same boat.

You decided to check out the nearest clothing shop. After entering the store, you began looking around for something that Jake might like. Heeseung began his own search as well. You were looking through a rack of coats when you saw a huge faux fur coat. You giggled at the thought of Jake wearing it. You slipped it on and called out to Heeseung.

"Oh this is totally up Jake's alley, dontcha think?" You asked while striking a pose in the ridiculous coat. Heeseung snorted at you and nodded.

"Totally." He agreed sarcastically.

You continued to look through the rack a bit more before you found another hideous jacket. This one was neon green and covered in random zippers and buckles. It was incredibly tacky. So of course, you put it on.

"Gosh I look terrible in this. Then again, I don't think anyone would actually look good in it." You chuckled. Heeseung laughed along and shook his head.

"I think you'd look nice in anything," he uttered under his breath. Thankfully, you didn't hear him because if you did, your heart probably would of burst.

After looking around a bit longer, you eventually settled on a brown corduroy jacket and a bottle of cologne that you thought fit Jake's taste. Heeseung had picked out a nice pair of sneakers and a small ring. You both checked out before making your way back to the car. It had gotten rather chilly outside as you shivered and rubbed your hands together in attempt to keep them warm. Heeseung noticed you shivering and set both of the shopping bags down (he insisted on carrying them again) before turning to you and wrapping his hands around yours. You were caught off guard by his gesture. Your heartbeat picked up rapidly. He kept his hands around yours for a moment before looking back up at you.

"Better?" he asked with a kind smile.

"Y-yeah, thanks," you were definitely much warmer now, considering how hot in the face you had become. Luckily, it just seemed like your face was flushed from the cold. At least that's what you hoped Heeseung assumed. You made it back to the car and quickly climbed into the passenger seat as Heeseung put the rest of the bags in the back. He then returned to the driver's seat and immediately turned on the heat.

The ride home was pleasent as you both chatted and sang along to the radio. You were surprised to find out that Heeseung has a lovely singing voice. Could he get any more perfect?? You were a little bit sad when you arrived at your house, not wanting your time with him to end. You thanked him for taking you shopping as you climbed out of the car.

"No problem, thanks for coming with me. I had fun." He said happily.

"I had fun too," you said. You smiled and waved goodbye as he drove away. After heading inside, you went to grab your phone out of your jacket. As you stuck your hand in your pocket, you felt something else in there along with your phone. It felt like paper of some kind. You pulled it out to see what it was. It was a $20 bill. You stared at it in confusion before you realized where it came from. Oh my god, how and when did he even put this here?? You rolled your eyes and giggled. Heeseung did promise to pay you back after all.

~~~~~~~~~~

Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I didn't intend for the shopping trip to take up the entirety of it, but here we are hahaha. Regardless, thank you for reading and supporting the series, it really helps me stay motivated! :)

~Elle <3

[writing-in-april]

Dr Jekyll or Mr. Hyde (3/?)

Part three: the gift

Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: The next meeting rolls around and Reader tries to get Spencer to open up in baby steps. Turns out he was more willing to let her in than she first expected.

Part One, Part Two

Series Masterlist

A/N: Heyyy this is my third part for Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde!!! It’s also the fifteenth installment of my 30 fics in 30 days for April event! The plot is finally about to pick up y’all!!!! I’ve got so many plans where this series is headed (though I don’t know necessarily where it’s going to end) and I’m really excited!!! This chapter brings in other references from non gothic literature as well which was fun to do- these references and metaphors are really fun to craft. I’m curious to see y’all’s reaction to this part- leave me an ask if you want here (I promise I won’t bite 🧛🏻‍♀️) Thanks for reading and hope y’all enjoy!!

Warnings: 18+, Smut, Soft dom Spencer that turns back into slightly mean dom Spencer, Public sex, Masturbation (F), Oral sex (M receiving), Face fucking, Reader has a nickname- I think that’s it let me know if there needs to be anything else

Main Masterlist Word Count: 4.1k 😱

A meeting of the classics was once again scrawled on the whiteboard when you entered the library. It had the usual time 7pm to 11:30pm written right underneath. Instantly you fell down the rabbit hole and into another world, reality was turned on its head whenever you opened those wooden doors. Every encounter you had in the shelves, in the reading rooms, and even at the information desk seemed like you were walking into a world crafted by a surrealist. Everything was just slightly twisted and turned to feel slightly off from the reality outside those doors. It oddly made you feel more at home than your own apartment.

Each time a meeting rolled around you’d get an email notification a few weeks prior, informing you as to what the theme would be. The book club was already more extravagant than any other you had ever heard before, adding to the surrealist nature of where you were located. Last time was a somewhat lavish affair, this time it was coated in fleeting luxury.

Sure, the 1920s theme with the undeniable tinge of influence from The Great Gatsby would always lend itself to luxury, even with cheap decorations. But, the way the decor around you almost felt real told you exactly what your monthly entrance fee was going towards. You could complain about the steep price of admission, it could burn a hole into your wallet if you weren’t so careful. At any rate it did not matter, you were sure they wouldn’t care if you complained, and besides this was the only thing you really every splurged on. Plus there was the added aspect of the person you would no longer be able to indulge in if you let your membership lapse.

It was nice to treat yourself, get a taste of what it would be like to live basking in luxury 24/7. Flutes of champagne were passed around like hot cakes, admittedly they were non alcoholic after an incident a few months prior before you joined with some whiskey. It could have been a rumor fed to you by some of the vapid attendees to stir the pot so the library may cave to make their guests happy. You were going to keep your mouth shut because truth be told you didn’t mind that they were non alcoholic. You wanted to be sober for this. You wanted to be sober for Spencer.

Normally whenever a meeting rolled around you’d gladly be mingling with everyone around you. Even if personally you viewed some of their insights on whatever book they wished to discuss as shallow, seeing another’s perspective was always intriguing.

Something, namely someone, lurking in the shadows had your attention instead. It felt strikingly similar to the night of your first encounter, his eyes piercing into you, undressing you with them. The only thing that had changed is that you knew his name with some small added details. You didn't even know what type of Doctor he was, let alone what kind of man he was. But, you hoped tonight might change your prospects.

You had gotten a peek underneath the mask each time, just enough to pull you in closer. Whatever might lurk beneath, which still may be dangerous, for right now made you thrum with excitement. Spencer was just as surreal to you as the rest of the library, though he was definitely more shadowy than the others. It wouldn’t surprise you if he wasn’t real outside of here.

He could possibly just be a ghost trapped to roam the halls that instead of wanting to scare you, pleasured you. It was a silly thought for sure, but until he divulged more you struggled to convince yourself that he was real, even though his touch certainly did. The world was very different outside the library’s doors and you’d be content to be locked inside of it, that is if Spencer opened his own doors.

You circled each other for a while, neither of you talking to anyone, just staring with lust in your eyes. Tired of this cat and mouse game that you were unwilling to break out of stubbornness, he set down an empty ‘champagne’ flute to weave through the crowd to meet you.

No small talk or pleasantries came out of his mouth when he started your first conversation of the night, “At least you fit the theme this time.”

He had gestured to the dress you had chosen, a simple fringed red dress that very obviously was inspired by the era. It definitely gave you a sense of allure that leaned dark along with your dark lipstick, giving you your own cloak of mystery to match Spencer’s. At least there was a cloak for everyone else; Spencer could read you like an open book even with all your secrets. Spencer just had the ability to speed read them faster than any other human.

There was still depth to you, seemingly boundless, and certainly much more than the staple embodiment of a 1920s woman at a party being eyed at by man. You were no Daisy Buchanan that’s for sure, and Spencer was no Gatsby from what you have seen.

“As I told you last time I did fit the theme, Spencer.” You kept your lips shut tight about the fact that you had partially chosen this dress for him, picking a much more historically accurate style within your budget. Skating around the topic with ease you then teased, “Was that your way of complimenting my dress?”

“No…” That definitely meant yes, just by going off of the way he eyed your curves.

“At least you have it easy, you only have to throw on a suit, which is boring.” He snorted at that and didn’t disagree with your stinging jab at men’s fashion.

“That’s true, I don’t think I would want to see you in a boring suit, Shelley.” Inching closer to you so he possessively put a hand on your waist. He was close enough now that you could feel his breath on the exposed skin on your neck, a shiver trickling down your spine at that. His next words had a different reaction from you, your panties getting damp immediately after, “A dress has easier- access.”

The conversation turned from your typical banter into innuendos covered in mystery just like you both, with Spencer’s not being an act like you were trying to put on. You could let him do whatever he wanted to you again, which you thoroughly enjoyed, but there was a lingering fantasy you hadn’t voiced that had been in your head since he pinned you against the shelves.

“You didn’t let me reciprocate last time.” You whispered into his ear, your dirty intentions hidden by innocent words. The people around you had no idea what was going on, still milling about while you leaned in closer, only a few people looking over at you both curiously before moving on. Your next move was bold, wrapping your hand around his tie to pull him in closer, so you could keep your request a secret for his ears alone, “Will you allow me to return the favor?”

By the way his face twisted up at your words you knew you were testing a limit. All of your encounters thus far had been him touching you, not you touching him.

“Thought you would have forgotten about that by now.” This was his attempt to change the subject, to move on and expect that you’ll drop it just like him.

Everyone you knew called you stubborn for a reason, gripping his tie even harder you then doubled down, “Will you let me?”

It was highly unlikely that you were going to get a verbal response to your request, most likely you were about to get rejected, hard. You had tested your limits throughout your small time together. This however was entirely different and potentially over the line as to what Spencer would willingly allow.

Instead of shutting you out and shutting down he surprised you by opening his mouth to form the word, “Yes.”

With that you started to tug him out of the room, discreetly of course to not attract any unwanted attention and you didn’t pull him by his tie. Your fingers were wrapped around his wrist delicately, his first taste of you touching him while you guided him to a spot for your clandestine affair.

Your eagerness made you too impatient to wait and find a better secluded spot away from the crowd. The corner you chose was beyond risky to say the least, only a wall separating the both of you and the club guests. If you were lucky and went quickly you’d avoid being caught.

You wondered how long it had been since someone had offered to do this for him, instead of him probably forcing them to their knees while he continued to control the encounter with their consent. His steadfast control over each time he touched you had never wavered up until this point.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.”

He gulped hard, giving you a look like he was considering stopping you. Ultimately he kept his mouth shut, letting you drop to your knees and begin to unbutton his slacks. You worked quickly, unsure how much time you had without being caught in this little corner barely off to the side you chose or how long Spencer would let you touch him with impunity.

You hadn’t been able to really get a good look at his cock, either you had been facing away from it or it was trapped in the confines of the slacks he always wore. When you freed him from his boxers you could not help but admire it, even if only for a second.

Beautiful was an odd way to describe a cock, but there was no other word you could really find in the moment while you were on your knees. He was already hard, even leaking at the tip, and all from a few teasing words from your mouth. You’d have to test your affect on him more in the future, it obviously excited him.

When you held it in your hands and licked him from his base to tip, he had to bite on his fist at the suddenness of your touch. You pumped him a few times languidly before bringing the head to your lips and letting it slip into your mouth. He was allowing you to explore without fear of any repercussions. His hand that now rested at the back of your head being the only signal that he could take back the control anytime he wanted.

When you began to bob your head a wave of new precum hit your tongue. The taste of Spencer on your tongue was to put it lightly, intoxicating, you’d be content to taste him everyday if he let you.

Hoping too much would be your downfall if you let it, you pushed it out of your mind so you could be content with the baby steps forward you were taking. This right here, was him being vulnerable, even with you on his knees. You’d have to tread carefully if you wanted another crack in his mask to see even his darkest features, not a chink in his armor that would have him running away injured.

You weren’t sure what made the energy shift in the corner you were on your knees in, you suspected it was the soft caress of your hand along his thigh. He clammed up, suddenly wanting to take back control of the situation, no longer content with being vulnerable. It was quite clear to you that he saw giving up his control as a moment of weakness, just by going off of the once content look on his face that had twisted and seized up in frustration. Whatever he would let you do to him or whatever he wanted to do to you would always leave you wet with desire. It would however, be a lie to say that you didn’t want to see him back in a similar position one day. Getting him to be vulnerable for any extended period of time, even if it was while you were on his knees for him in a typical position for submission, was a form of progress. A little bit twisted, yes, but it still was progress.

Control fell back easily into his hands, now wasn’t the time to fight him on it; you’d be a good girl for now. The hand that had been resting gently on the back of your head tightened its grip to start controlling the pace.

You let your hand let go of his cock, resting them both on his thighs now instead. Your eyes were glassy as you tried to meet his sable irises while he began to thrust into your mouth. All you could really see was his Adam’s apple bobbing, curls falling as his head tipped back with his jaw slack. At first his thrusts had tested the waters, to see how much you could take. They then became more forceful when you gripped his thighs through his slacks and tried to pull him close.

The corner you had pulled him into was more exposed than any previous dalliance. Last time, even though it was out in the open, the stacks of shelves piled high with books shielded you along with his body pinned on top of yours. In comparison, this time you could hear the people laughing and mingling about in the next room over.

That only made you keen, moaning around him softly when you heard someone start a conversation close to the shared wall. Spencer, ever astute to your actions, picked up on what had you moaning around him. He forced your head down as far as you could go, your nose almost nuzzling the hairs at his base. He held you there harshly for a moment while he spoke, “You like it when we’re close to getting caught don’t you? That’s why you chose this spot isn’t it? You aren’t just satisfied with sneaking around, you want to get caught doing it.”

Before you could confirm or deny his questions you had to pull off of him so you could catch your breath. A string of spit connected from your mouth to the top of his cock remained unbroken until he brought his thumb to your mouth so you could continue to suck on something. He bent down to look at you, inspecting your makeup melted by tears and your spit covered lips. When he then moved his thumb from out of your mouth to grip your cheeks hard you whimpered, wondering what you did wrong, “Answer my questions.”

You scrambled to answer to avoid any type of punishment. You couldn’t make him feel good the way you wanted to if he was angry at you. Trying to muster up some conviction failed as your answer still came out shaky, “Y-yes! I-I liikeee it, Doctor!”

Satisfied with your answer and the amount of time your break had been he let go of the grip on your cheeks to resume. He slipped back inside your mouth swiftly, seeing no need to start out slow again. This time when you looked up, you found him meeting your irises with his own making you squirm underneath his piercing gaze.

“Touch yourself, we don’t have time for both of us.” With any other man you would have been irritated because mostly likely they were unwilling to finish a girl off. Spencer however, had proven he was consistently capable of that from you two previous interactions. He was also right, the place you had chosen was going to be flooded with people soon as they left the party. It was around this time that a group of people got bored and left which you didn’t understand. Why would they pay the money if they were just going to leave early?

You maneuvered your hands underneath the fringed edge of your dress, then bypassing your panties by pushing them to the side. There was no need to tease yourself, sucking off Spencer had you soaking through your flimsy lace panties. You pushed two of your fingers inside your entrance, curling them to deliciously hit at that sweet spot inside you. Even though you were enjoying the way he fucked your face in combination with you touching yourself, your fingers didn’t feel as euphoric as Spencer’s long fingers that could pull an orgasm out of you in seconds.

Spencer was nearing his release, his hips stuttering as it came closer. More tears prickled at the corner of your eyes out of frustration that you were having trouble reaching the edge with your own fingers. Spencer of course saw your frustration and began to coax you to the edge,

“Come on Shelley I know you can do it, I know you can make yourself cum for me.” Spencer’s words weren’t nearly as good as your fingers, but it did help that final push towards the edge. Falling over the edge together was a heady feeling, pleasure sparking through your veins while Spencer filled your mouth. You focused on swallowing it all down as best as you could, only a bit escaping the sides of your mouth.

When it was all said and done Spencer tucked himself back into his boxers, then rebuckling the belt holding his slacks up. He then outstretched a hand towards you, who was crumpled on the floor looking absolutely ruined. It was a simple gesture, taking his hand so you didn’t wobble on your heels as much. To you however it seemed like a weighted moment, subtly showing that you were willing to take whatever he may give to you.

He then suddenly pushed a book in your hands, which came seemingly out of thin air, only soon after you had cleaned up the corners of your mouth by licking your lips. You had been just about to clean the remnants of your makeup that was streaming down your cheeks with a makeup wipe that had been in your purse. He had other plans, putting the book in your hands and grabbed the wipe from you. He began to use the wipe to clean you off, caressing your cheeks softly this time. His movements were gentle as the cleanser in the cloth, every gentle touch that came directly after the hard made you want to fall into the dark abyss with him. You had almost moved forward to kiss him until he unintentionally stopped you by starting to wipe your smeared lipstick off. Once he was done with that you then looked down at the book he had forced you to take.

“What is this?” Your brows furrowed in question at the unexpected gift. Your relationship had a loose definition, really none at all, to get a gift felt like it was supposed to mean something. He had gifted you something in the past, the nickname you now couldn’t seem to shake, and you supposed the multiple orgasms could be classified as gifts to some.

This felt bigger than that, at least to you. But, how were you supposed to know what his train of thought was when you didn’t know anything about him. Most of what you did know contradicted each other anyway. There was no way to predict a man who had two distinct sides of him, neither of which he’d divulge more than surface level information about.

“I thought it was quite obvious, it’s a book.” His nonchalant response through you for a loop, causing you to stammer a bit. However, he did not let you form a complete thought, steamrolling you with sudden excitement, “An old copy of Frankenstein to be exact, Shelley.”

Looking down you traced your fingers over the spine on the vintage book. You weren’t sure how old the book was, you’d have to check that later. It wasn’t that you didn’t see the potential value in owning an old edition of a book, but the gesture still confused you. Instead of dwelling on a question that you weren’t going to get a straight answer for if you asked, you tried to tease him, “But I have already read it, you know that.”

He took your jab at his listening skills in stride and again was cagey as always with his response, “I do know that, that isn’t why I bought it for you.”

“Why?”

“That is for me to know, and for you to potentially figure out.” He was now moving to leave the corner, about to leave you hanging in the wind scrambling to figure out whatever he was talking about. You scrambled to follow, which caused you to almost crash into him when he abruptly stopped. “I’ll give you a hint, flip to page 56.”

Flipping it open to the page you noticed that it wasn’t a page of any significance, no famous quotes were highlighted or major climactic scenes happening.

“There isn’t anything in here.” Exasperation was evident in your voice, he was too hard to read, certainly not as hard as the book in front of you. His intentions were the hardest to figure out, he could be stringing you along in his web, bringing you closer until he devoured you like a spider with a fly.

The air itself was filled with monsters, more like potential monsters lurking waiting to reveal their intentions. The dark was often desirable, but it would be naive of you to trust it without question. There was still something about Spencer that made you want to blindly trust without question that his monsters had beauty in them. You couldn’t deny that being devoured by him sounded enticing.

“Look again.” And with a fleeting kiss on your lips that he was gone, slipping back into the party like nothing had happened. It left you to wait until he graced you with his presence next with no way to contact him. At least that’s what you thought until you followed his suggestion and looked again.

There, nestled in between two pages of the book rested a strip of paper. The handwriting on it was messy, slanted heavily in one direction and partially smudged as if written rapidly. You could still make out the ten digits written in navy blue ink, your breath caught up in your throat at that.

At the bottom there was a simple dash then right next to it read his name, Spencer. With no titles or anything else written.

The simplicity of his name written sloppy in pen ink made you want to clutch it to your heart in disbelief. The book already was too much, to big a gesture for what was supposed to just be fucking in the library while saying clever things. You wondered if he had thought this through, thinking that by the state of how it was written it was done impulsively without thought. Though you hoped that was just how he always wrote, it would be another small slice of information of who he truly was.

In reality who knows what he was thinking, a mask was still firmly over his face in front of you. It may have had cracks that gave you glimpses at the man underneath, but it would be a lie to say you even knew the slightest bit about him beyond his name. There were some dots you could connect that may lead to somewhere or nowhere. You didn’t even know what his job was, so you weren’t going to pretend that you could properly analyze his handwriting. He could even be lying about every piece of information given thus far, only using it to pull you in quicker by the spider’s silk he was potentially spinning.

All that was still locked up there in his mind, not unlike when Jekyll locked himself up in his laboratory. You only hoped this phone number signaled that he may be willing to open up his mind to you, even with the serum that could turn him into something dark. He could shut you out, insisting that what he had done was a mistake, then sealing the cracks in his mask closed. But, you were too curious for your own good, you wanted to shatter the mask, to pull away the shroud of mystery, to tell you about the monsters lurking. All you had to do was call him, and maybe he’d let the monsters free.

Part One, Part Two

Ask Me Anything

—-

Tag lists (fill this out to join): Strike through means tumblr won’t let me tag you

All works: @shotarosleftpinky @90spumkin @kyra-morningstar @s1utformgg @boxofsparklingmuses @takeyourleap-of-faith All MGG characters: @muffin-cup @willowrose99 @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat @anaagraceeberr @ashcakes1918 @reid-me-a-story Spencer Reid/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss @slutforthegubes @onlyhereforthefanfics @jareauswifey @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat Dom!Spencer: @rainsong01 @evlfknb @jakobsdump @princesssmooshie @peterpanouat Dr. Jekyll or Mr. Hyde: @rainsong01 @dreatine @secretpickleprofessordean @evlfknb

[jacqcrisis]

Fallout au was a ride, you're so damned good at writing FEELINGS and doing clever wrap ups of themes n such. I gotta ask tho, cause I'm dying to know, what is Thesus' reaction when Hermes and Charon show up again after all that?

Thank you so much ;3;

And Theseus is remorseful and out of his mind with guilt. He’s not the same cold Brotherhood of Steel Paladin he used to be, and what once could have been an easy bargain for him to make and move past now weighs heavily on him, especially after seeing the effects of his actions. He may not like Hermes or see him as 'part of the town' but key members of the community DO and Hermes' wellbeing isn't his to bargain with.

I like the idea that in the meantime, Theseus has gone to Nyx for the first time in his tenure in Asphodel. He views her as a charlatan at the best of times but he's alway supposed that was par for the course with the zombies. Its something he's gotten into arguments about with Asterius who seeks advice from the psyker, having been well-acquainted with people of such capabilities during his time in Unity.

But Theseus finds he needs answers to assuage his guilt, and Charon hasn't come back in five days, so he goes to the only person who may have some. Nyx is her usual apathetic self but clearly unhappy with the visit and, when asked, is forthcoming about Hermes being alive. She also chews him out for such a rash, unnecessary decision, gives him an earful about his treatment of the post-human residents in her town, and all but threatens to have him thrown into the arena bare-fisted with the albino deathclaw if he so much as even thinks about toeing over the line again.

Despite the assurance Hermes is alive, it's still difficult to believe his eyes when he sees the barge. Hermes isn't only fine, he's completely unscathed, not a single injury or bruise to be found. Since it's only been a week and a half since his run with Ares and given Charon's demeanor on that night, one would have to assume something terrible happened, especially if Charon had killed the man in response.

Theseus is almost simpering when Hermes passes by him to go into the gate, asking how he is and if he had a good trip, trying to placate and play off his transgressions in hope Hermes doesn't know. Hermes is understandably pissed but ignores Theseus, brushing past him on his way to find Asterius, intent on making sure he knows what happened.

Once found, Asterius reveals that after seeing Charon carting off Ares' body, Theseus admitted what he had done, the guilt over the matter too much for his pride. While Asterius was irate and disappointed that Theseus seemed to so flippantly bargain away his friend's well-being, he's possibly the most understanding person in this regard. As awful as Theseus thinking was in a moral sense, they've both made worse decisions in the name of their past loyalties, and, after a day of heavy thought, Asterius cannot reasonably assume he wouldn't have done something similar or the same if he had been the one approached.

Of course, there are consequences. Theseus will continue to hold the title of captain of the guard, but that is entirely symbolic as all actual leadership duties are left entirely to Asterius. It's too valuable for the rumor mill and the safety of the town to have an ex-Brotherhood with working power armor leading the guard, and in the sake of optics, he will remain as such. But now all shift changes and orders will come from Asterius.

Things don't go back to normal for a few months as Theseus leaves Hermes and Charon to their own devices, even going so far as to let Hermes out of jail without much fuss when Meg catches his being a nuisance. He never really apologizes or even mentions what happened, hoping it'll just be forgotten in time as he honestly doesn't feel like he owes either of them that much, even if he does feel guilty. On top of this, Zagreus keeps going missing, and Theseus and Asterius are both tasked with finding him each time, so with the added work, Theseus, Charon, and Hermes go about their lives ignoring each other and no one is complaining about that.

....until Theseus spies a more romantic moment between the two late one night, and goes right back to his petty, thirsty, jealous bullshit like nothing had even happened whenever he's not hunting for the mayor's son. So Charon gets maybe three months of not being bothered, but all good things must come to an end eventually.

[hotchley]

by any other name

So I wrote the fic inspired by this post. It's too long for a drabble. I kinda hate it. It's not been proofread and there's little plot. It's a bit anticlimactic, but it was fun in the moment and I need to go to sleep so... yeah. We're going with it. There's a happy ending!

Trigger Warnings: intrusive thoughts, past child abuse, trauma, trauma responses, implied panic attacks, food mention, blood mention, death mention, slight implication of past dissociative episodes, religion, religious trauma, religious themes

read on ao3!

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Aaron remembers being told that as a young boy, shifting in his seat because the clothes his mother made him wear to church were uncomfortable. It had confused him. He'd spent so long being told hell was for bad things- sometimes he was included in that list- that good seemed to be the exact opposite of that.

He'd tried to ask his mother, but she had silenced him with a look. He didn't even bother looking at his father.

Later he realised what it meant, and found himself agreeing. After all, his father was a terrible man who hurt everyone he touched, but he always said it was with good reason. Aaron hasn't set foot in a church since Haley was buried, yet he still finds himself wishing one of the men who made his life a misery is burning in hell.

He tries to not think about the implications of that too much.

The proverb comes to mind again as he argues with Jack. Not over anything serious- not in the grand scheme of things. But to a seven-year-old boy, navigating life without his mother, it is the most important thing in the world.

They're arguing over shoes.

Jack wants to wear sandals. His father wants him to wear trainers. Hotch had checked the weather forecast that morning- it was going to rain. And he didn't want Jack catching a cold because of it.

But then Jack's bottom lip starts to quiver, and he looks to his father like he's being told his mother is in heaven and Aaron thinks of the meaning behind the words. If he doesn't let this go, then what's to say he'll need to have the next thing go his way. And the thing after that. And the thing after that.

What's to say that when Jack looks back, wondering where everything went wrong and he stopped being his father's son, he will realise it was this moment?

"Okay. Okay, wear the sandals, and then let's get going," Aaron says.

Jack, completely and blissfully unaware- as he should be- of what his father has been thinking, grins, his earlier sadness forgotten. He puts his other shoe on and then runs out the door. Aaron picks up his bag and coat, smiling slightly at the trust Jack has in his ability.

Jack's teacher smiles at them when they get to his classroom. Knowing Aaron is running late, she just takes Jack's things and bids him goodbye. The relief visibly crosses his face as he realises he won't have to make small talk. He goes to tell her about Jack's bag, but she waves him away.

She's seen enough interactions between children to know what's going on. It's why she's so unsurprised when she opens his bag to see his trainers and favourite socks are neatly tucked away for when it does inevitably rain and soak him.

Aaron makes it to work on time. Of course he does.

"Morning Hotch," Anderson says when they get into the elevator together.

He's one of the few people to follow the "no inter-team profiling" rule, so he doesn't notice how some of the tension seems to bleed out of his boss' shoulders once the nickname is used. Doesn't even realise how Hotch gives him a slight smile when his back is turned.

He steps out, and everything is as it should be.

The ghost of his father may be haunting him more than usual, but Aaron spent most of his life being ignored. He knows how to hide. He knows how easy it is to forget about someone when you bury yourself in something else.

So that's exactly what he does. He logs into his computer, and he starts making his way through emails. By the time Emily- always the last to arrive, yet always on time- sits down, taking a few minutes to speak to the others, he's gotten through all the ones that came in last night.

His ear is hurting, but he chooses to ignore it as much as he can. Halfway through his second file, he opens his door. Spencer taps Derek, and a few minutes later, the rest of the team is assembled to collaborate on a profile. It means lots of talking, and the occasional shuffling of papers. It means noise, but not so much that it's unbearable.

Aaron smiles, and it feels like the ghost of his father fades. He is loved. He is cared for. He is worth time and effort.

Despite the nature of their work, he's in a good mood as the day continues.

By lunchtime, the memory of his father is breathing down his neck, criticising everything he does. His posture is crooked. His notes are too messy. His profile isn't good enough, and the killer is going to get away with their crimes.

Just like Michael Hotchner.

He has no idea where the sudden bad day is coming from, but he can't shake it now. He will not waste the day and he will not give in, but it is just one of those days where the pain is so much more than he thinks he can tolerate. He wishes he knew how to cope properly, but he doesn't.

His pen suddenly snaps. He'd been holding it too tightly, and now his hands are covered in red ink. He was annotating. He always annotates in red, but now, as it stains his hands, all he sees is Haley's blood. Foyet's. Elle's. Kate's.

There are no tissues in his room. So he goes to the bathroom, hoping the team doesn't see what's happened. They don't, but they do hatch a plan.

Again: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The short walk does nothing to clear his head, and every second he spends looking at the file is a second in which he thinks about the pen just suddenly breaking. How did he not realise? How did he not know? This time it was the pen. A thing.

What happens when it's a person? Then what?

He thinks he hears someone call his name. But that's ridiculous. It's too late for lunch, and too early for anything else. If someone needed something, they would've knocked on his door, especially with his ears acting up the way they were.

"Aaron Michael Hotchner," Derek shouts.

He doesn't like using Aaron's full name, but they got him a doughnut from his favourite bakery, and he can't be bothered to walk all the way up to his office. Also, Aaron didn't respond the first three times they called for him, so if anything, the shock will force him away from his desk for a few moments. God only knows how much he needs it.

Aaron doesn't hear Derek's voice.

He hears the echo of his father.

His throat starts to close. His vision starts to blur.

There is nowhere to hide. Not in his office. He used to have spots, just in case, but Jack hates it. Jack cannot stand it, so Aaron got rid of all the things that made it possible. He would never make his son hurt the way his father made him hurt, and maybe to him that is nothing, but when Jack grows up- because he will, in time- he will realise how brave his father has always been.

But that is the future.

In the present, Aaron has nowhere to turn.

The walls are closing in.

The voice is getting louder. It is getting closer. The danger is coming towards him, and he has nowhere to hide. He has nowhere to turn.

"Aaron?" Someone says.

He lets out a sound. He presses his hand to his mouth. He cannot take it back, but he won't make another one. It will only make things worse for him. He learnt that lesson long ago.

"Hotch." A different voice. A safe voice.

He turns in that direction.

He doesn't see it, but Derek Morgan's face is filled with relief and anger and sadness all at once. Because it suddenly makes sense.

"Aaron" has been tainted by the mouth of the man who gave his friend his middle name. That man and his actions are the reason Jack's middle name is Derek, not Aaron. "Hotch" has never passed Michael's lips, and it never will. "Hotch" is the man, who didn't even flinch when a bullet wedged itself in the wall next to his head.

Aaron is the boy that cried himself to sleep, wondering why his father couldn't love him the way he was meant to.

"Hotch. You're safe. Breathe with me," he says.

Hotch does.

When the panic passes, the heat rises to his cheeks, and he silently pleads with Derek to not say a word. He realises now that the other voice was Dave. Dave, who has left the room. He feels like he's failed another father.

The door and blinds are closed. He's lost all sense of time, but he feels grounded, so it isn't too concerning.

"Thank you," he whispers. For everything, goes unsaid.

"You don't need to do that," Derek replies. Because it's not difficult. Not when it's you, are the words unspoken but still communicated.

Aaron manages a weak smile. It will be a silent understanding between them, just like so many other things.

"Would you like a moment?" Derek asks him.

Hotch doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods. Derek leaves him.

Only once he stops hearing the footsteps does he break.

He doesn't scream, even though he wants to. It has been thirty years. His body stopped knowing the touch of that man long ago, and yet every waking moment feels like it is ruled by him. He hates it, but Michael- for better or for worse- made him the man he is today, and there is no way to shake that.

Realistically, he knows that he is responsible for his actions, and that he was only influenced by his father up to a certain point, but when the tears are falling and dampening his trousers- not his shirt, they'll be too obvious- rationale is hard to cling to.

He walks down ten minutes later.

The team has been guarding his doughnut. Of course they have.

Hotch's eyes are red. Nobody comments. But everyone knows. Everyone understands now.

It is an uncomfortable silence, and it is uncomfortable to watch him try and pretend he is perfectly fine, but at least he got his treat, even though it tastes like dust in his mouth.

They get it now. Why he is always so adamant about being called Hotch. Why he hates the use of his first name. Why he so violently objected to the tradition of giving Jack his name as a middle name. Because he doesn't want his son to never be free of him.

Jack will one day give his children their grandfather's name, citing him as the greatest man he's ever known.

Again, that is the future.

In the present moment, Spencer calls him Hotch without a second thought. Dave stops calling him Aaron when he wants to get a point across, realising it only works due to fear. Emily continues to make slight alterations to the nickname that either get her an eye roll or look of horror. JJ and Penelope make sure any notes written to him use Hotch.

Derek doesn't change a thing, because their bond has always been different.

Jack comes home in trainers, understanding how much his father loves him.

It makes Hotch understand that his wishes are valid. His needs matter. His comfort is important to people.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the personalities attached to Hotchner, Hotch and Aaron merge into one.

And then Hotch introduces himself as Aaron.

The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but intentions and actions are very different things that can completely alter the destination someone finds themselves at. And a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, so whether he is Hotch or Aaron, he is a good man, who found a way to defeat their father.