#Levamentum

[milarca]

in case anyone is interested in where else to find me and my dozens of sideblogs...

→ @ milarca - main blog. here you'll find general fandom, marvel, star wars, aesthetic posts, shitposting, meta, news, photography, quotes, memes, anything I find generally interesting or funny or inspiring. You can also find me @ milarca on archive of our own where i post my fanfic, a partial list of which is at the bottom of this post.

→ @ wren-by-the-sea - art instagram - you can also find me by the same name on Etsy for my calligraphy and art~

→ @ buckysbaron - exclusively marvel but mostly winterbaron and some winterbones

→ @ crossed-desires (NEW) - sideblog for the vampire chronicles and also AMC's interview with the vampire~

→ @ levamentum - sideblog for interior design, architecture, etc.

→ @ hurt-me-help-me - sideblog for mostly whump

→ @ sweet-andy - sideblog for the walking dead, rick/negan, cast and filming stuff.

→ @ leashesandlavender - soft kink, explit, textual and visual.

My recent Fanfic

→ Riptide (Part 1 of the Winterbaron Push verse) with @flannelsaurus ~ Marvel, Bucky/Zemo, explicit. "Eighteen months on the Raft has alarmingly diminished Helmut Zemo's health. Once the most feared submissive on the Joint Task Force's watch list, the former commander of EKO Scorpion is now dangerously depressed. Bucky Barnes, a dominant with a long and rocky history with the criminal mastermind, is called in to help. His mission: return Zemo to normal so he can finish a thirty year sentence. Easy, except it becomes clear almost immediately that Bucky has never wanted to fail a mission more." [Previously titled “More than a Push”]

→ Tide Rising (Part 2 of the Winterbaron Push verse) with @flannelsaurus ~ Marvel, Bucky/Zemo, explicit. "Even newly collared and now attached to the former Winter Soldier, Helmut Zemo isn't high and dry yet. Hurdles abound, and pleasure is plentiful too, as they seek to secure his permanent freedom…" [Sequel to Riptide, previously titled “More than a Push”]

→ Office Hours with @flannelsaurus ~ Marvel, Bucky/Zemo, explicit. University, student/professor AU. "When a handsome student in Professor Barnes' class comes onto him, Bucky has a difficult time keeping it professional…"

→ Strawberry Wine (Part 1 of Among the Willows) with @ranebowstitches ~ The Walking Dead, Rick/vampire!Negan, explicit. "When animals are found mysteriously drained of blood around the sleepy town of Desert Springs, Sheriff Rick Grimes ventures out to the homesteader Negan’s remote cabin looking for answers. Unfortunately for him, he exhumes a dark secret that he wishes would have stayed buried, deep, deep in the hills of California."

→ Carnival Lights (Part 2 of Among the Willows) with @ranebowstitches ~ "It’s the summer of 1881, and Rick and his vampire lover Negan are going on a trip—a carnival pitched near the bustling town of Modesto, California. The carnival promises to be the time of their lives, and the perfect place for romance. But all is not as it seems, and danger lurks just around every brightly-painted corner…"

→ Stress Relief ~ Marvel, The Winter Soldier/Brock Rumlow, explicit. Hydra Trash Party typical warnings apply. "Rumlow wants to get his mouth f*cked by the Soldier, and Rollins makes it happen."

→ Christmas in New York (Part 1 of Hold My Heart and I’ll Hold Yours) with @ranebowstitches ~ Star Wars, Kylo/Hux, modern AU, ABO, explicit. "When Kylo and Hux are stuck inside because of a snowstorm, they take full advantage of their predicament - until adventure comes calling for them anyway~"

→ Accidental Arrest (Part 2 of Hold My Heart and I’ll Hold Yours) with @ranebowstitches ~ "When Kylo gets picked up by the police for being in the right place at the wrong time, he has to survive in a cold cell until Hux arrives to take him home."

→ Jailbait with @ranebowstitches ~ The Walking Dead, Rick/Negan, modern AU, explicit. "Rick ends up in the state penitentiary and befriends prison boss Negan. Time will tell how much they get along, and how far they're willing to go to help each other…"

[hauntedelation]

Offering

Description: Michael had grown much more comfortable in this place that he resides in. He finally feels progress accumulating in his life. Though, Mike is reflective and can’t help the abundance of space Walter takes up in his mind.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: I am extremely nervous to post my parts 😰 but, I know that there is a nice group of lovers of this story and I am dying to see everyone’s reactions. I have tagged everyone @feralrunaway​ tagged in her parts. This, right here, is one of the warmest pieces that I have ever written. It was a delight to type together. 

I proofread as much as I could, sorry for any errors. I hope y’all enjoy! 💖

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: smut (18+), oral sex, a bit of doubt, a truckload of fluff, trust exercise

➽─────────────❥

The large oak trees, heavy with emerald leaves danced outside Mike's window. He only had two views in the small quarters that he was living in. Each opening was spacious enough to see much of the flowery fields stretching out behind the church.

A single twin bed, one large oak dresser, a bookshelf, and a desk. This was what could fit in the room. Mike found that he did not need much, only space for him to lay out his work, a closet for his church attire, and a bed to sleep in.

Other than the clothes on his back and a burning desire for rebirth—for change within himself, Michael arrived with nothing. 

He was thankful when Walter took him in. From the beginning, everything felt too good to be true. Genuine benevolence, it was a bit of a rare phenomenon to experience. He thinks back that it must have been several years since he observed that. 

It may have been several years since I deserved that, he thought.

The young man could not believe his ears when he was told, "My doors are open to anyone. If you need a safe place, I have a bed open."

It was how Father Marshall spoke those words to him that day, how he never showed an ounce of irritation or disinterest in Mike. The man spoke to Michael with generosity and the respect that he seldom received.

The way that man made him feel alone, Mike struggled to find the words still. Father Marshall—Walter, opened up parts of him that he thought would never see the light of day. He reached inside Michael, with that thawing glint in his eyes and his staunchly charming voice. 

Mike knew that he was a goner.

That night of the rainstorm, in this very room where he was nearing his limit. There he felt the most exposed he had ever been and Walter did nothing but look deep into his eyes and take him in further. 

Come here, it's alright...

His hand laid over the knotted flesh on his chest, subconsciously fisting the fabric covering it. Walter's touch still remained. With each sting rapturing that very spot, the ghostly remains of those dark and horrific nights.

The grace of his warm skin against Mike's was a potent balm, pushing away those unsettling feelings inside—and for the first time since the accident, pacifying him. Walter, the only one who had accomplished this with Michael. And Mike wasn't sure that the man knew of the effect he had on him.

The wind blew gently along his cheek and forehead, and Mike lifted his head to look out the window. His eyes drifted over the stray clouds inching along the bright sky, taking in the summer air. They settled upon the sun peeking out from behind a fluffy overcast until his attention drifted back down to the book in front of him. 

He drowned in the pages, for it had been years since he actually sat down and read a book. Feeling the sun kissing his skin and the pages under his fingertips, Mike grew to find his escape in the romantic words.

The young man had not noticed the low creak of his bedroom door open, or the footsteps padding in. He missed the sound of the door closing and the click of the lock following. 

Michael leaned his elbow on the window sill, inching in closer. His attentive orbs traced the sentences in the pages.

The presence in the room muted, standing just a few feet away from the long side of the bed. They rotated their head to and fro, interest taken in the decorations and books littering the room. After several months of residency, the once bare and insipid bedroom now housed a fair amount of decorations. 

Pages of scripture, photographs of Michael and newfound friends, and even drawings the children gifted him sporadically hung the walls and the space of the shelves.

Michael had yet to notice any change in the room, the light breeze filled his ears and his mind was lost in the world of Maurice Hall.

The young man's shoulders kicked up slightly at the soft dip of his mattress. He froze, breath catching in his throat and his lids opening wide.

A thick arm snaked its way around the right of Mike, the volume of hair gracing the skin provided the young man a tell. He felt his remaining side become captured in another arm. Soon, Michael fell victim to an intoxicating embrace, as the familiar feel of a broad chest pressed to his back.

The whisper that met his ear was accompanied by the scratch of prickly hair.

"Hi."

So simple and an everyday greeting, but Mike couldn't help the grin manifesting on his face. He relaxed into those arms and allowed himself to take Walter in. He could feel the deep rumble of a chuckle vibrate his back and behind the shell of his ear. 

"It wasn’t my intention to startle you, Michael."

He shook his head.

"It's alright, Walt."

The older priest began kissing along the nape of his neck, murmuring his apologies into Michael's skin.

"I know that it's been a little while since you and I saw each other last. I have been caught up in work, projects with the other bishops."

Mike hummed, working to not squirm under the intense contrast between Walter's lips and his facial hair.

"I know, I...I understand. I've made myself busy with other stuff."

Father Marshall pulled away and took a look at the novel in Mike's hands, brow lifting to try to read the current page he was on. With his eyes following about halfway down the paper, his mind was sparked with the title of the famed book.

"Is that from my personal library?"

Michael didn't reply to the question.

He might have snuck into Walter's office here and there, curiosity getting the best of him. The man did have an impressive collection of books, many ranging of different genres and subjects. 

Mike found this particular title hidden inside a drawer in Walter's desk.

The younger male placed a marker in the opened book and closed it shut. The violet lace layering the cover and the silhouette of two men faced upward. 

Walter's fingertips were brought to the underside of Michael's jaw, with a tilt he connected their lips together. 

It was needful, eventually growing more so with quiet gasps and sighs. He rotated Mike's body, gently pulling him away from the window sill, and shifted his legs to surround his wide hips.

Michael's heart began to thud with a solid beat in his chest. He eagerly followed the older man’s lead, his body instinctively doing so. The sweeping touch of Walter, his large palms stretching over his skin and his lips urgent against Mike's throat lead the young curate into a dense fog. 

"I missed you."

It was soft and noted along Mike's jaw. At first, he thought it was simply a misunderstanding, it must have been. He didn't quite know how to respond, for that phrase rang loud and repeated in his ears.

Walter pulled away and rubbed his hands along his thighs. He pressed his forehead to Michael's and gazed down, taking note of the swell between the young man's legs.

When Mike's superior placed his lips once more to his, he found himself releasing hushed moans, each one taken into Walter's lungs.

His volume hitched lightly as a warm pressure smoothed over the tension in his jeans. The friction moved upward, his belt grasped. He could feel the brown leather start to loosen around his hips.

Mike stilled, hesitantly pulling his mouth away from Walt's. 

There was a quiet tension between the two lovers. Walter's brows quirked up in concern and he slowly pulled his hands away from the belt, resting his hands on either side of Mike.

"Is everything alright?" He whispered.

"I can stop if—"

"—N-no. It's okay."

Mike shut his eyes and sighed to himself, head dropping minutely. It was okay. Michael could not find a sign within that pointed toward anything less than what felt...right. 

The feeling jerking in his gut melted away with anything dark that was remaining. This was real, all genuinely happening. He could reach out and touch Walter, and he would be there, warm under his palm.

He was left with what felt like feathers inside of him.

Mike placed his fingers over Walter's and moved them back to his belt, "Please keep going."

While his lover gingerly loosened the confining fabric around his lower half, Mike lifted his face and nuzzled against the older priest's bushy cheek.

"I missed you too."

A breeze was sent through the opened window that speckled Michael's skin in a layer of bumps. He shivered, despite the season's high temperature plaguing much of the atmosphere outside.

His discomfort was abolished the instant Walter's lips met his rigid length.

Mike's fingers dug into the blanket, his mouth falling open at the sight in front of him. Walter licked and let his tongue follow the veins along the sides of his erection, taking the head into his mouth and hollowing his cheeks.

The young curate keened, his thighs spreading wider to allow Walt more room. He could feel the man's fingers lightly rub and massage his balls. His other hand anchored the base of Mike's length, compressing with each dip of Walter's head. 

Michael's hips jerked, as he tried to take his eyes off of the priest's reddening lips. His blackened pupils fell on the window outside, eyes fluttering at the sound of Walter sloppily swallowing him down.

He could hear himself spew shortened words that barely had the effort of coming out, each one ragged and shaky. 

"Ah, f-fuck. Walt—please."

Walter hummed, pulling his mouth off of Michael with a wet, gentle pop. His hand remained stroking the quivering length.

"How does that feel?"

The younger man simply bit on his lips, tearing his eyes away from the window to the striking blue down below. Their eyes met, and the priest grinned, dipping down and giving little licks at the slit on Mike's head.

The room soon erupted with a deep, teasing, laugh, and hoarse pleading. Walt lifted his head once more, releasing Mike's erection. He wet his lips and brought his palms to smooth along Mike's trembling thighs. 

The young man peered down at him with an inquisitive look. There was an expression on Walt's bearded face that read anticipation.

"I wanted to show you something...It's erm...Well here, let me—"

Walter sat up on his knees, carefully steadying his body to reach into his pant pocket. He pulled out a black, velvet sack, about the size of a change purse. He shifted closer to Mike, pulling out a black and silvery-looking object. 

Through a closer look, eyes squinting to get a better view, Michael could see that what was resting in his lover's palm was a finely shaped plug. 

And, well, it wasn't an ordinary plug.

The silver trim showcased the sleek design and contrasted finely against the onyx black color. He tilted his head to study the object further, on the flared end was a cross, raised slightly above the surface. 

Walter chewed on his lower lip as he watched Michael's eyes furrow down at the plug in his hand. 

"I assume that you know...what this is," he breathed out a chuckle.

"The reason I show you this is...I know how much you enjoy it when I perform things down there. And…" Walter paused, mulling over his next sentence. 

"You need to be ready for me—whenever you are wanting to continue. I want you to wear this, and…during that time, wherever you go the Lord will be walking with you."

Michael inhaled, eyes shifting between his lover's and the plug. With heat rising to his face and burning clear to his ears, he pulled a bashful grin up to Walter. Eventually, he slowly nodded his head. 

"Okay."

The beam on Walter's face would challenge the shining sun outside. He descended down Michael's legs once more, pressing kisses along his inner thigh and his knee. 

Without breaking eye-contact, Father Marshall reached under Mike's bed to find the small bottle of lubricant.

Walter's finger was cold and jarring against his sensitive hole as he spread the gel. Michael found himself chuckling in response, his hand going to rub at the back of his neck.

His lover returned his warm mouth to the throbbing length between his legs, drawing out those same muddled words and sighs from Michael's lips. 

With an attentive focus, the older priest pressed his finger into the puckered hole and began periodically stretching.

Michael could feel everything within him tumbling down, a flurry of jitters tickling along his spine and his groin. 

Walt reached up toward Mike's fidgeting hand by his broad shoulder and guided it to his mess of curls. Mike shuddered, breathlessly moaning as he watched the man's head bob over his length, long curls poking out by the spaces of his fingers. 

There, laying a few inches next to their bodies was the plug. The silver cross glimmered smoothly under the mid-afternoon sunlight, reflecting a white ray onto the ceiling above. 

➽─────────────❥

Taglist: @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks  @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard​ @littlefreya​ @zealoushound​ @luna-aestas​​ 

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- These tags hadn’t worked for me :(

If I missed anyone, I apologize!

➽─────────────❥

[septicace-writes]

What are some of your favourite fics that you've read on here?

Oof that's a broad question! There is So. Many. Good. Ones. But alas here we go:

Basically anything @hope-to-hell writes. I'll name drop The Wager, The thrill of being seen(both Mike x Walter x Reader) and Dream State: Meadow(August Walker) but seriously go through her masterlist every single thing on there is a masterpiece!! Very good smut and angst all work kled with love

@angrythingstarlight is another writer that I just wholeheartedly want to recommend their whole catalog of works but standing out as an example is Lessons in knifeplay (Bucky Barnes x reader)

Then there's a couple of series that I loved and that really stayed with me for a long time.

Painted windows by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor (Bucky Barnes x reader with a side of Steve) this one's real dark so read at your own discretion

The Duke!Sy series by @cruelfvkingsummer I don't even have words this one just needs to be experienced

Levamentum(Mike x Walter) by @feralrunaway and @hauntedelation but be warned this one made me cry my eyes out at the end

I also tend to tag as #favourite when something really sticks out so have a look in there for more.

I'm sure I forgot so many more that I really love but this is what I've got right now. Thank you for asking 😊😊

PS: sorry for blueballing folks since these 2 are no longer up but Here and Moving Along by @emyearns-deactivated20210409 have to be mentioned because I love them to bits!!!

[808repost]

Listen to Levamentum (Feat. Mykrobe) by Enioki Drumstep track that I made with my local friend/producer Mykrobe! We put our best into it. Please follow us! *Follow me on Twitter! I Follow all of my Followers back! Twitter.com/EniokiOfficial Soundcloud.com/mykrobeofficial Facebook.com/EniokiMusic Please Like, and Share if you are moved by this track in any way and don't forget to let me know what you think in the comments! -Enioki

[border010]

(Tipping Hand) Track 11 off Somfay - Levamentum [Aqua Regia]Out now on Digi & 2LP

[frship-is-twistedmetal-5si]

Curo de prologo Galeato. Est fun. Re Rustica dixerit bonus est. Est suus levamentum. Sed heus, Ive 'tu certe numquam fit illud ad quod accipere. Non habeo. Sed quid pretii non fiet unquam? Officium Oriente. ego te numquam adepto videre asinum Gudrid scriptor cute quod tomboy animatum.

The Slothful Kotehok, potentially my step brother and one F U C K of a quitter, upvoted

[alarmsistemi-blog1]

Sed nonne merninisti licere mihi ista probare

Sed nonne merninisti licere mihi ista probare - https://alarmsistemin.com/sed-nonne-merninisti-licere-mihi-ista-probare/Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. An eum locum libenter invisit, ubi Demosthenes et Aeschines inter se decertare soliti sunt? Cum enim summum bonum in voluptate ponat, negat infinito tempore aetatis voluptatem fieri maiorem quam finito atque modico. Sunt autem, qui dicant foedus esse quoddam sapientium, ut ne minus amicos quam se ipsos diligant. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Qua ex cognitione facilior facta est investigatio rerum occultissimarum. Minime vero istorum quidem, inquit. Qui autem esse poteris, nisi te amor ipse ceperit? Tubulo putas dicere? Age nunc isti doceant, vel tu potius quis enim ista melius? Nihilne te delectat umquam -video, quicum loquar-, te igitur, Torquate, ipsum per se nihil delectat? Nullum inveniri verbum potest quod magis idem declaret Latine, quod Graece, quam declarat voluptas. Ex ea difficultate illae fallaciloquae, ut ait Accius, malitiae natae sunt. In qua si nihil est praeter rationem, sit in una virtute finis bonorum; Honestum igitur id intellegimus, quod tale est, ut detracta omni utilitate sine ullis praemiis fructibusve per se ipsum possit iure laudari. Aliam vero vim voluptatis esse, aliam nihil dolendi, nisi valde pertinax fueris, concedas necesse est. Quicquid porro animo cernimus, id omne oritur a sensibus; Non potes, nisi retexueris illa. Ad eos igitur converte te, quaeso. Ergo omni animali illud, quod appetiti positum est in eo, quod naturae est accommodatum. Color egregius, integra valitudo, summa gratia, vita denique conferta voluptatum omnium varietate. Istic sum, inquit. Si qua in iis corrigere voluit, deteriora fecit. His similes sunt omnes, qui virtuti student levantur vitiis, levantur erroribus, nisi forte censes Ti. Cur iustitia laudatur? Quis est enim aut quotus quisque, cui, mora cum adpropinquet, non refugiat timido sanguen átque exalbescát metu? Graecis hoc modicum est: Leonidas, Epaminondas, tres aliqui aut quattuor; Id Sextilius factum negabat. Omnia peccata paria dicitis. Quid ergo? Atque omnia quidem scire, cuiuscumque modi sint, cupere curiosorum, duci vero maiorum rerum contemplatione ad cupiditatem scientiae summorum virorum est putandum. Nos autem non solum beatae vitae istam esse oblectationem videmus, sed etiam levamentum miseriarum. Dicet pro me ipsa virtus nec dubitabit isti vestro beato M. Ut placet, inquit, etsi enim illud erat aptius, aequum cuique concedere. Ergo in bestiis erunt secreta e voluptate humanarum quaedam simulacra virtutum, in ipsis hominibus virtus nisi voluptatis causa nulla erit? Illa enim, quae prosunt aut quae nocent, aut bona sunt aut mala, quae sint paria necesse est. Ab his oratores, ab his imperatores ac rerum publicarum principes extiterunt. Non potes, nisi retexueris illa. Iam insipientes alios ita esse, ut nullo modo ad sapientiam possent pervenire, alios, qui possent, si id egissent, sapientiam consequi. Si in ipso corpore multa voluptati praeponenda sunt, ut vires, valitudo, velocitas, pulchritudo, quid tandem in animis censes? Levatio igitur vitiorum magna fit in iis, qui habent ad virtutem progressionis aliquantum. Graece donan, Latine voluptatem vocant. Sedulo, inquam, faciam. Tecum optime, deinde etiam cum mediocri amico. Si ad corpus pertinentibus, rationes tuas te video compensare cum istis doloribus, non memoriam corpore perceptarum voluptatum; Si longus, levis. Nam diligi et carum esse iucundum est propterea, quia tutiorem vitam et voluptatem pleniorem efficit. Quid enim dicis omne animal, simul atque sit ortum, applicatum esse ad se diligendum esseque in se conservando occupatum? In qua quid est boni praeter summam voluptatem, et eam sempiternam? Sed nonne merninisti licere mihi ista probare, quae sunt a te dicta? Si longus, levis; Habent enim et bene longam et satis litigiosam disputationem. Verum hoc loco sumo verbis his eandem certe vim voluptatis Epicurum nosse quam ceteros. Nescio quo modo praetervolavit oratio. Sed haec in pueris; Sed quid attinet de rebus tam apertis plura requirere? Cuius ad naturam apta ratio vera illa et summa lex a philosophis dicitur. An eum discere ea mavis, quae cum plane perdidiceriti nihil sciat? At cum tuis cum disseras, multa sunt audienda etiam de obscenis voluptatibus, de quibus ab Epicuro saepissime dicitur. Tu quidem reddes; Quae est enim, quae se umquam deserat aut partem aliquam sui aut eius partis habitum aut vini aut ullius earum rerum, quae secundum naturam sunt, aut motum aut statum?

[bankavekrediler-blog]

Sed quid attinet de rebus tam apertis plura

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. An eum locum libenter invisit, ubi Demosthenes et Aeschines inter se decertare soliti sunt? Cum enim summum bonum in voluptate ponat, negat infinito tempore aetatis voluptatem fieri maiorem quam finito atque modico. Sunt autem, qui dicant foedus esse quoddam sapientium, ut ne minus amicos quam se ipsos diligant. Duo Reges: constructio interrete. Qua ex cognitione facilior facta est investigatio rerum occultissimarum. Minime vero istorum quidem, inquit. Qui autem esse poteris, nisi te amor ipse ceperit? Tubulo putas dicere? Age nunc isti doceant, vel tu potius quis enim ista melius?

Nihilne te delectat umquam -video, quicum loquar-, te igitur, Torquate, ipsum per se nihil delectat?

Nullum inveniri verbum potest quod magis idem declaret Latine, quod Graece, quam declarat voluptas.

Ex ea difficultate illae fallaciloquae, ut ait Accius, malitiae natae sunt.

In qua si nihil est praeter rationem, sit in una virtute finis bonorum;

Honestum igitur id intellegimus, quod tale est, ut detracta omni utilitate sine ullis praemiis fructibusve per se ipsum possit iure laudari. Aliam vero vim voluptatis esse, aliam nihil dolendi, nisi valde pertinax fueris, concedas necesse est.

Quicquid porro animo cernimus, id omne oritur a sensibus; Non potes, nisi retexueris illa. Ad eos igitur converte te, quaeso. Ergo omni animali illud, quod appetiti positum est in eo, quod naturae est accommodatum. Color egregius, integra valitudo, summa gratia, vita denique conferta voluptatum omnium varietate. Istic sum, inquit. Si qua in iis corrigere voluit, deteriora fecit. His similes sunt omnes, qui virtuti student levantur vitiis, levantur erroribus, nisi forte censes Ti.

Cur iustitia laudatur? Quis est enim aut quotus quisque, cui, mora cum adpropinquet, non refugiat timido sanguen átque exalbescát metu? Graecis hoc modicum est: Leonidas, Epaminondas, tres aliqui aut quattuor; Id Sextilius factum negabat. Omnia peccata paria dicitis. Quid ergo? Atque omnia quidem scire, cuiuscumque modi sint, cupere curiosorum, duci vero maiorum rerum contemplatione ad cupiditatem scientiae summorum virorum est putandum. Nos autem non solum beatae vitae istam esse oblectationem videmus, sed etiam levamentum miseriarum.

Dicet pro me ipsa virtus nec dubitabit isti vestro beato M. Ut placet, inquit, etsi enim illud erat aptius, aequum cuique concedere. Ergo in bestiis erunt secreta e voluptate humanarum quaedam simulacra virtutum, in ipsis hominibus virtus nisi voluptatis causa nulla erit? Illa enim, quae prosunt aut quae nocent, aut bona sunt aut mala, quae sint paria necesse est. Ab his oratores, ab his imperatores ac rerum publicarum principes extiterunt. Non potes, nisi retexueris illa. Iam insipientes alios ita esse, ut nullo modo ad sapientiam possent pervenire, alios, qui possent, si id egissent, sapientiam consequi. Si in ipso corpore multa voluptati praeponenda sunt, ut vires, valitudo, velocitas, pulchritudo, quid tandem in animis censes? Levatio igitur vitiorum magna fit in iis, qui habent ad virtutem progressionis aliquantum. Graece donan, Latine voluptatem vocant. Sedulo, inquam, faciam. Tecum optime, deinde etiam cum mediocri amico. Si ad corpus pertinentibus, rationes tuas te video compensare cum istis doloribus, non memoriam corpore perceptarum voluptatum; Si longus, levis. Nam diligi et carum esse iucundum est propterea, quia tutiorem vitam et voluptatem pleniorem efficit. Quid enim dicis omne animal, simul atque sit ortum, applicatum esse ad se diligendum esseque in se conservando occupatum?

In qua quid est boni praeter summam voluptatem, et eam sempiternam?

Sed nonne merninisti licere mihi ista probare, quae sunt a te dicta?

Si longus, levis;

Habent enim et bene longam et satis litigiosam disputationem.

Verum hoc loco sumo verbis his eandem certe vim voluptatis Epicurum nosse quam ceteros. Nescio quo modo praetervolavit oratio. Sed haec in pueris; Sed quid attinet de rebus tam apertis plura requirere? Cuius ad naturam apta ratio vera illa et summa lex a philosophis dicitur. An eum discere ea mavis, quae cum plane perdidiceriti nihil sciat? At cum tuis cum disseras, multa sunt audienda etiam de obscenis voluptatibus, de quibus ab Epicuro saepissime dicitur. Tu quidem reddes;

Quae est enim, quae se umquam deserat aut partem aliquam sui aut eius partis habitum aut vini aut ullius earum rerum, quae secundum naturam sunt, aut motum aut statum?

Sed quid attinet de rebus tam apertis plura

[milarca]

Just a heads up kinda thing about different blogs I have and where I’m reblogging stuff!

Okay so yeah I’ve kind of started reblogging some shippy star wars fanart to the sideblog I started a while ago, darlinghux, so that’s where most of it is going for now. But that’s also where all the weird stuff goes as well so... be warned lmao. Also while I’m talking about blogs, I might mention a few others that I have, some that I started recently and haven’t mentioned yet!

milarcastudies - a study tumblr to give me motivation for school T.T

you-answer-to-me - the walking dead~

gramanderlove - fantastic beasts/harry potter

fb-after-dark - fantastic beasts/nsfw

fluxing - back to the future/mjf

theprettiestperkins - psycho/anthony perkins

levamentum - paintings/tropical/nsfw

leashesandlavender - soft bdsm stuff

hurt-me-help-me - whumpy stuff/writing prompts/other tv shows

So yeah those are the ones that are mostly active! 

[hauntedelation]

Asunder

Description: There was a churning Michael’s gut that morning. He stretched in his bed and felt as if there was something dark, something breathing over his neck. Something waiting to waiting to lunge.

And he wasn't sure if he would ever be prepared.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: This is the finale to the what I want to say is greatest creative journeys that I have been on. I want to thank @hope-to-hell for showing me and @feralrunaway how wonderfully Mike and Walter go together, and for being the reason this all started.

Both of y'all push me to be a better writer every time I go at it. Thanks guys.

This is a very depressing one. The warnings in this are serious, and I do not wish for anyone to read where they could feel uneasy or uncomfortable.

Please enjoy. If you are reading this, thank you for all of the engagement, the comments and reblogs, and just following along! 💞  I proofread, I hope it reads alright!

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: serious warnings ahead!! homophobia, emotional abuse, self-hatred, angst, big sad feelings with this one 

➽─────────────❥

There was a pond located just outside St. Peter’s Cathedral. The water was always still, especially so early in the morning. The body stretched around the side of the large building clear to the back. 

A small number of trees stood around the perimeter, arching toward the water. Lily pads and tall strands of grass sprouted about the surface as well.

In that little ecosystem, you could hear frogs’ croak and crickets’ chirp until the remnants of night hung onto the day. The area seemed to house all kinds of local animals. 

One thing Michael never noticed before about this pond, was that it was home to the occasional family of ducks and even swans.

That dreary morning, after the rain fell and everything was developing in a fog, he sat. His eyes were irritated and sore, but through his thick lashes, he could see. 

He took a seat in one of the less used halls of the cathedral, further away on the southern side, hands clutching a crumpled sheet of paper. 

The window had a view of one part of the pond. This small part was where, next to a tree, appeared two white swans. They had begun gliding slowly across the surface of the water, performing a dance of sorts, before coming to a stop centimeters away.

One swan placed the side of their head to the other, closing the distance between the two. They found each other in a tender embrace and continued to float motionless about the fog.

Michael's eyes followed the two swans and watched how their beaks never broke from the proximity of another.  

He attempted to pull his eyes away, an ache climbed itself into his stomach. His eyes burned hotter than they have been for the past couple of hours. Mike couldn't...

His head drifted toward the floor, the weight between his shoulders nearly taking him out of his seat. In the silence of that hallway, Michael could pick up the ticking of his watch, the seconds’ hand clicked a measured rhythm.

In an anxious fever, he tilted his wrist to take a look—hardly a minute has passed.

Mike's hand returned to its previous position, pressing down on his bouncing knee and suppressing the frantic movement of the leg. But, with all of his effort inside, he had not found a permanent way to settle his nerves. 

The paper was withering in the fist of his other hand, small tears and rips littered the edges of the shape.

Michael couldn't let go of the sheet in his hand. As the moments passed him by, it remained in his fist, the grip around it growing tighter. He subconsciously wrapped that same hand around his middle. He took his other hand off of his jittery knee to hug his body.

If he pinched the skin of his arm, would he be able to feel anything? Was all of the apprehension as bothersome externally as it was internally? 

Would he be as numb as he felt that time in the hospital? 

That seemed so far away, it was a time where he would wake up and not even feel the sensation of his nails gliding across his skin. All of his senses were on delay and everything felt muted. 

So what if?

Michael pinched the skin on his side through the sweater. Yes, he could feel the pull, he could feel the faint jolt of discomfort shoot from that spot to the other parts of his body.

The young man never wanted anything more than to take that feeling away from himself. 

He wanted to take everything away, all of the suffocating breaths, the searing in his eyes, the ache in his clenched jaw. He wanted to forget what it felt like to hold this—this weight settling inside him. 

Michael wanted to erase his mistakes and wipe away the memory of himself from these walls. Everything that man commanded him to do.

It was right after the break of dawn, merely a quarter of six o’clock passing by. Bishop Daniel Franklin arrived to silently interrupt his studies, knocking on the door and giving a sideways glance at Mike's current instructor.

He placed his book and pencil down, eyes watching his instructor's for a moment before they gave him a nod. This had been just enough for Mike, but with the benign expression on the old man's face, he felt confusion swell inside of him.

It was not as if he could deny the request, the demand of someone so high up in the church.

He was led to the western wing in the house of worship, following after the white and cream-colored robe, observing the way the fabric partially dragged on the pristine floors.

The sun was starting to rise when the Bishop began.

"Michael—" the old Bishop had stopped to peer behind Mike's shoulders before continuing. His face grew dour, eyes falling back to the curate's face. He waited a long while before quietly slithering out,

"I know what it is that you are doing. Michael, don't think that I am blinded."

At the time, the young man was not sure of what he was getting at, no alarm bells sounded off. How naive he was to not have caught on sooner.

He remembers gazing down at him and a pinch pulled at his brows before sending his reply, "Bishop Franklin, I'm sorry but, I don't know if I understand what you're talking about."

His voice remained calm and ever-so questioning, for this had come out of nowhere. 

Michael remembered that he slipped his hands in his pockets and felt the strange cloud of uncertainty seep into his brain. He knew that within the church, he was the most hard-working, and understood enough that he followed everyone's orders appropriately. 

With most of the people there, he was able to cordially get along with them. Not even the people who doubted him in the beginning seemed to show animosity toward Mike.

He thought that Bishop Franklin was one of those people. It was in his mind that the old man turned his feelings around about him. 

Michael never forgot the stares he received when he first walked in those church doors. They had lasted for several months, close to every time he was in the Bishop's presence. And yet, as of recently it was this man who congratulated Mike on all of the work he put in, how far the young man had come.

The old man's claw dug out a sheet of paper. The man read through the contents, promptly spitting out each word.

"'Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God's'—I don't need to say anymore. And, I find it impossible to ignore the handwriting of a man who has worked under me for the better part of ten years now."

How could he have been so foolish?

"Whatever is going on, whatever has been going on is irrevocably unacceptable. It is a festering pustule on the face of God. And he, he has the audacity to mention his glory in this—this love letter?"

Michael was quite sure that in some way he was still in his bed, still laying on a pillow and sweating through another nightmare. 

The blue in his eyes began to trace the same colored ink on that paper.

"I have the right mind to disbar Mr. Marshall from this church...To make sure of his exclusion from any facility."

His eyes shot open wide.

Michael reached out; he didn't know why but for any drop of protest inside of him, he gathered it all and reached his right hand out to the old man.

Please. He wanted to say, 'Please just listen to me,' yet his voice betrayed him. As if that would have helped in any way.

Bishop Franklin stepped back, balling up the note in his fingers and tossing it dismissively in the curate's direction.

"I want you out of here...I want you out of here before the noon service today or I will expose the vile behavior that you and he have been engaging in. I will make sure that he never receives another position for as long as he lives."

Michael's eyes had followed after where that paper landed, the balled-up note bounced off of his chest and fell to the ground, right next to the Bishop's feet. 

He forced his lids shut while he blocked back more phrases from his mind, willing that memory of his to close up more. There had been a lot, and in the wake of his delirium, they played on a broken record.

Mike knew that they would stick, for a long time.

In his peripheral, he could see a blanket of white shift, and the man's feet step out of their previous position, kicking the paper. He had forgotten about the evidence entirely.

"It is, of course, your decision...A bus will be arriving at the front gates by 11:15 and taking you to another location—another..."

His ears picked up the man begin to glide away from him. 

Under the old man's breath,

"You should have never been accepted into this building. I don't know how the flames of hell haven't swallowed you up yet."

➽─────────────❥

The young man did return to the classroom, following the confrontation. Michael shakingly picked up that tattered sheet of paper, and walked back to where he originally was that morning. 

On his way to the room, Michael thought back to the day he received this cherished paper.

The note was slipped to him on one of the tables in the library, while he and Walter both sat studying scripture. 

Michael had his books opened and several pages of annotated notes. His nose was deep in the opened pages for the better part of an hour.

He decided to take a break and shut all of the covers, fingers rubbing at his strained eyes. When he had gone to stretch his back, Walter wasn't anywhere in his sight.

It wasn't until he felt a warm hand slip along his back that he was made aware of where that man was. Mike flashed a bleary grin, he knew that he wouldn't be able to restrain himself if he tried. 

On the table in front of him sat a small folded-up sheet of paper. At first, it appeared to him as one of his note cards, but when he heard the older priest whisper to him, "Read it," he did.

“Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s…The divine magnet is in you, and my magnet responds.”  —WM

Michael took his index finger and gingerly brushed over those written words, feeling the slight indentation at the strokes. With each touch of his skin to the paper, he could feel an anomalous emotion penetrating his soul.

"What do you think?" Walter asked him. The man appeared slightly anxious for his reply having shown with the absentminded play with the hair on Michael's nape.

"I-I really like this…" he tilted his head back and gazed up at the bearded man, "—I didn't know that you were a poet, Walter."

His tone was teasing but for a second there Father Marshall saw a tint along his cheekbones. He waited for a second or two before telling Michael that those words did not come from him, but from a man named Herman Melville—to another man, Nathanial Hawthorne.

Michael's eyes were big when he watched Walter's face, not saying a word but his lips parting at that final phrase. 

"Herman, the author for Moby Dick, had an intense fondness for Nathaniel...this is an excerpt from a letter by Herman to him."

Walter leant down and pressed his lips against Michael's jaw, inhaling deeply. He let his hand rest in the curate's lap, simply feeling the heat of his body.

"I found these words and felt…felt an unfeigned connection with them."

Mike listened to the voice of Walt and took in the weight of each word. 

The young man always hung onto every word he said, regardless if it was a Catholic teaching or helpful advice. That day there was a shift between them, one that was felt but had never needed to be said. 

Walter opened a piece of himself to Mike and the young man willingly followed in.

He pocketed the paper that day. His hand found Walt's larger one, and he squeezed the digits in his. Mike brought Walter's fingers up to his lips and held them there for a brief moment.

"It's beautiful, thank you, Walter."

➽─────────────❥

The rain had picked back up at around 9:45 a.m., hitting Michael's bedroom window with an irregular tapping. His eyes watched the droplets fall down the pane while he placed his clothes and shoes into a black suitcase.

Time drifted in and out of his focus, he hadn't paid close enough attention until he saw the hour and minute hand.

Additionally, Mike wasn't sure if he was grasping the situation entirely. He could feel his mind repeating everything that morning, and he knew those same words sank into the depths of his brain.

He understood what he was to do, but his body protested. 

Mike glanced around and tried his best to gauge what he should take, what could fit in that bag. 

He stopped. There he stood silently by his bookshelf, considering where it was that he was to be transferred to. The discomfort of the unknown began to poke and prod at Michael. His thoughts kicked into overdrive.

Michael knew that this place was somewhere close to four hours away, he thinks the town was Westview? Westlake, Minnesota?

He hadn't a clue of what this facility's history was, what they were exactly known for in the world of priesthood. 

What if he was sent to a far more authoritarian church; one where he wasn't allowed outside contact with anyone, where he couldn't write his mother or—connect with anyone like he had here? 

Michael's grip on the book in his hand grew iron tight. Surely, Bishop Franklin wouldn't say anything about him?

Michael was strolling down a darkening path. The book in his hand was discarded back to the shelf, and in replacement, his hand clutched the wood. His fingers pulled and loosened at his collar, trembling and drifting down to paw at the middle of his chest, directly above his knotted scar.

Always to that spot.

He shook his head and gnawed at the inside of his cheek, knowing that he had no other choice. Out of everything, every decision that he faced and was expected to make, that morning's answer came the instant he thought about Walter.

Father Marshall and all of his grand successes, the hundreds of lives that he has touched, and the dozens more that he improved. Michael knew of his accomplishments, his extraordinary career that he built throughout his life.

He was not going to sacrifice a lick of that. And still, how could he have been so reckless, so dumb and dismissive of their secrecy? 

The letter, now residing in his pocket—he could feel it press against his thigh whenever he bent down. Why did Mike leave it in such a vulnerable place? He knew that Bishop Franklin found it in this very room. Why didn't you do better? Mike asked himself.

You were always a fuck-up anyway, you can't keep anything good in your life.

All he could do was bite down hard, almost injuring his tongue. His head sank and he pressed his forehead against the edge of the bookshelf. 

His fingers slipped from their previous places, one hand went to his hair.

Mike's body tensed up, and he steadied against the support of the self, but he could feel his fingers tighten. Painfully and almost as a distraction, he pulled until he felt that burn return in his eyelids.

He let the moisture slip down his cheeks. He decided to stay there, blurry images racing through his mind that were hastily becoming more distant.

➽─────────────❥

The entirety of his closet had been packed, save for the clothes off of his back. The pictures and pages on his wall were placed neatly into a folder, sitting on top of the clothes. Any remaining objects fit into the side pockets, ornaments and other gifts given to him.

His room was almost bare, close to what it looked like when he first arrived. He didn't bother taking everything.

The suitcase was heavy in his hands, and he found himself exerting much of his energy into transporting it. He sighed as he thought about how he squandered breakfast that morning. 

Even if I'm still not hungry now. It never hurts. Maybe he will be able to find something on his way out.

Michael sat the suitcase down at his doorway, fingers dancing along the side of his thigh. He glanced around the room one last time and pondered his next step. 

Walter's room is just next door. All morning the door had been closed. Mike knew the man was most likely in there, or maybe even out for the day. His nails dug at the fabric of his pants.

There was no way that he could say anything right now, he would never trust his voice and his composure with that deed—not here. 

He needed to feel ready.

Mike felt the note poke his thigh, and without another minute wasted—before Walter could possibly leave his bedroom, the young man rushed to his desk and tore a sheet of paper in half.

In pencil he quickly scrawled a message, folding the paper back up and signing Walter's name on the top of the fold. With his distinctively messy handwriting, he knew that the man would be able to recognize who the writer was. 

Mike did not waste any more time, on his way down the hall, he bent down and slipped the paper under the door. He gathered his suitcase again and swiftly returned walking.

➽─────────────❥

It was colder outside than Mike originally thought. His sweater was layered. Under the material, he had his button down and undershirt, but he could feel a chill creep up his back.

While Michael was bidding his friends farewell, and conversing with other acquaintances, he was biding the weather. It may appear rude of him to not exactly remember what his friends said. With his eyes watching the windows and his mind already filled, he only could tell what everyone's mood seemed to be.

To his surprise, the people were forlorn. They were under the impression that the young man was to be transferred to continue his studies.

Even though this was a very common occurrence, Mike was going to be missed at this church.

He couldn't grasp that.  

The rain seemed to be done for the rest of the day. From his position on the stone bench, he could see the fog increase throughout the property. 

His suitcase sat next to him, leaned against the bench. His hands, chilled and the knuckles on his fingers flushing pink had been shoved into his pant pockets. 

Michael liked the cold, despite being so easily affected by it. He was drawn to the grey and the rain that would cost everything in its path. He supposed that the image of the outdoors today very well fit everything happening. 

But with all of that comfort, with all of the genial faces he said goodbye to and his seemingly calm demeanor, Michael's pulse remained striking in his throat.

He shut his eyes and inhaled the moist air, working in increments to steady his racing heart. His ears pricked up, barely catching the sound of soft footsteps to the left of him.

Through a cracked eye, he peered to the tall, dark figure standing on the sidewalk. 

He had on a near-black sweater as well, thicker than the clouds materializing around them. His handsome face, partially hidden under that beard of his was tense. His lips pursed, and the way that his eyes watched Michael told the young man just how mystified he was.

Mike’s breath still hitched, even at what felt like the millionth time his eyes would see Walter.

The older priest had his arms crossed over his broad chest, and he tilted his head to the side, 

“Michael, what’s going on? Why did you want to meet in the...garden?”

His eyes drifted from the green and the stone around them to Michael’s body. How the young man appeared drained, none of his spirit seeming to reside inside of the vessel. 

Mike didn’t say a word. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and steadied them onto his knees, pushing himself to his feet. The younger male hesitantly closed the distance between them.

The watchful eye of Walt moved down to the black suitcase leaning against the mossy stone.

“Michael...what...”

Walter’s eyes grew pillow-soft. Those shadowy brows frowned at the young man and only deepened with each passing second. 

It was easy, effortless to see how the tension in the air was affecting the older man. And the way that Michael’s eyes were dimmed erupted chaos to his insides.

He stopped a foot away from Walt, back hunched and his face not meeting the priest’s look. Mike could feel them and in a way he wanted to lean closer, to feel that ghostly touch, but he visibly distanced himself away.

His voice was scratchy coming from his throat.

“Walt, I...” Michael cursed, the knot in his jaw working once more. He hadn’t thought this through, how could he? 

The man in front of him reached out, with one of those unbelievably large hands. Those hands that could smash and destroy if they wanted to. They could break Michael, as his vision smeared together the color of Walt’s skin, he thought of just how powerful. 

And, all the young man could remember was how soft they felt against his body, in his hair, on his face. 

He sniffled and choked out, “I-I have to go, Walter. I have to leave. I’m uh, I am going to be sent away...”

Michael interrupted Walter when he heard the man begin to speak. He let the pressure spill over in his head and that familiar moisture trickled down his cheekbones. When he met the man’s eyes he could see the anguish, the astonishment coating his face.

“—Walt fuck, please. Bishop...” he lowered the tone of his frustration and sighed, 

“Bishop Franklin pulled me aside this morning, and he presented me with this—”

Mike reached into his pocket and ripped out the wrinkled note, holding out the item to the older man. Walter inhaled and fell deathly silent, eyes scanning Michael’s opened palm.

“He told me...” Michael began to force the words out of his mouth, gritting his teeth through the venom. In all of those thoughts that he was trying to lasso, Walter’s fingers began to delicately inch along his palm, picking at the worn paper.

“Walter, he told me that I am to be sent away, that he knows about us. H-he must have found this in my room and he had to have read this and he...he was appalled. He was disgusted at us, at me. He told me that if I don’t leave, then you were going to be suspended from your title as a priest.”

He felt the salt mix onto his tongue as he wet his lips. Mike let Walter take the note into his hand and watched him study the crumpled contents.

“If I don’t leave, then he will tell everyone about us."

He began to shake his head.

"I shouldn’t have ever been brought in here, you shouldn’t have taken me in. I don’t belong here and...I-I’m just a waste of space. All I do is ruin everything. Walter, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

The tears were starting to soak the collar of his shirt, it caused a chill to pierce his face and his throat under the autumn air. Walter shushed the younger man, letting his palms surround those red-tinged cheeks.

Michael, in all of his hysteria, hadn’t noticed Walt move closer to his body. He also hadn't noticed how the priest slipped that note right back into his pant pocket.

The heat soothed the bite of the cold air. Michael quieted down soon after the sudden touch. His head and his body leaned closer, wet lashes fluttering shut.

“My darling please breathe for me, that’s it please just...just breathe.”

He dipped down somewhat and touched his forehead to the curate’s, feeling the shiver below his skin. Walter breathed, in and out, to show Michael. To guide him through.

Truthfully, Walter needed that demonstration more than he realized. He couldn’t believe, couldn’t understand—everything was moving far too fast.

Still, he held the younger man in his hands and he felt his labored breathing against his lips. 

“You are not a waste of space, Michael. You never ruined anything...”

He opened his eyes and gazed into him, making sure that he was seeing him. 

“It’s okay, Sweetheart, you didn’t do anything wrong. There's nothing, nothing wrong with you. You understand?”

Michael’s hands wrapped themselves around Walter’s wrists, not pulling away but merely resting there. Walt observed the liquid persistently falling down the young man’s face, and he was sent back to that night in the abandoned office. 

The night when he knew that he could be there and stay there as long as Mike needed. This time wasn't sure if he would be successful, what could he do?

Before he could think of anything else, he guided Mike’s face to his and slanted their lips together.

The curate hiccupped and struggled with returning the kiss. He pressed weakly and put more effort in fisting at the fabric of Walter's sweater. 

Walt dragged him closer, flush against his chest. Yet, the distance never seemed to close enough. He wanted to drink him, desperate and dying of thirst, none of this was enough.

The younger man whimpered into Walter’s mouth. When he relaxed his hold on Mike, Father Marshall's thumbs remained under his eyelids, murmuring on his lips, 

“Dry your eyes, My Love...Hey? It’s going to be okay. Just breathe with me.” 

While he wiped at Michael’s cheeks, the younger man continued to shake his head morosely.

The older priest grew hushed and kept his eyes on Michael. For a long minute the sounds of crickets could only be heard, chirping in and out between them. With one hand staying on Mike’s skin, he reached below the collar of his own shirt to pull out an old, silver necklace.

Michael's interest piqued at the movements and he watched the man remove that jewelry from his body. Walt took both of his hands to carefully place it around Michael's neck, adjusting it's sizing and how it sat on his chest.

His thick finger followed the end of the silver to the tiny crucifix hanging at the bottom. When Walter reached where the charm on the necklace sat, he noticed that the weight rested over the bundled up skin at the center of Michael's chest.

Mike recognized this cross from the times he saw Walter without a shirt on, he never really asked about it, and, truthfully thought it was something the man got and wore under his clothes.

"I want you to have this. This cross was something I've had since I began the priesthood, a long time ago."

Mike hadn't said a word but watched inaudibly, breath slowing the instant that cross grazed the area his scar sat.

"Michael? Look at me—" He gently placed his finger over the charm and pressed into him, 

"It doesn't matter what happens, I will always be here." 

The younger man's attention returned to where Walt's finger was, blinking rapidly and a few more tears slipping down his cheeks.

Walter clenched his jaw.

Oh, how he loathed it, that he was beginning to agree with his impassioned beloved. He could never sacrifice Michael’s privacy, his safety. He thought nothing of his title and each of those accomplishments.

If he could forget all of that, and just keep him safe, keep him right here he would.

Walter gripped the curate in his arms and held him against his chest, inhaling the scent of his hair. The man fought back the itch at his eyes as his hands began to tremble on his lover's back.

For the first time, the man didn't know what he could do to make it better. He couldn't relax his arms to left go of Michael's body.

“Walt, I have ten minutes left. I-I meet the bus out front…”

Walter blinked and slid his palms down Michael’s arms. A glance at his wrist displayed five after eleven. Michael wiped at his eyes and tried to make himself more presentable.

“I...I don’t know if we could while I’m on the bus I-Walter...

He returned his glassy eyes back to Michael's bloodshot ones. Not finding any more words in his throat. "I...think this is goodbye.”

Goodbye.

He could feel his eyelids droop downward when the young man wrapped his slender arms around him. Mike could hardly do so with how large Walter was, but in some way he managed. 

Walt's attention was far off in the clouds when Michael's cheek pressed against his. And, when the curate pressed a kiss to his lips it was him who was left breathless.

"I love you."

The younger man backed away.

He attempted to reach out and grab the curate. Walt thought that he was close enough, but the young man already had his suitcase in his grip. Michael was making his way through the garden and disappeared into the thick fog.

➽─────────────❥

The bus’s engine was loud and rattling over the hushed conversation. Standing outside by the gate was a small group of church workers, each were friends to Michael or people he had been close to since his arrival. 

Mike peered into the distance and saw the Greyhound bus emerge from the low clouds. Soon following, he felt the many warm touches of the people around. He released his hold on the bag and turned to hug each person close by him.

After a glance around, Mike saw the image of Walter standing adjacently to a few other people, jaw hardened and his folded arms back to covering his chest.

Mike met Walter's eyes and both men burned weakly under each other’s gaze, the younger man gave a forced smile and pushed his hair off his forehead.

Walter returned the favor with a tight-lipped smile, offering to help him in storing his luggage.

The suitcase was lifted by Walt with no strain. The both of them walked toward the storage unit on the bus and began loading it.

Deep rumbling of the engine was felt under the men’s hands and between both of their bodies. Through the window, the driver gave Michael a look, and tapped at his watch.

This prompted the younger man to turn and wave toward the people of the church. He shared a look with Walter, lingering longer than he wanted to, and slowly stepped around him to trek to the door.

The weight of a hand found its way to Mike’s shoulder, softly, and he momentarily stopped.

On the shell of his ear was the scratch of familiar facial hair and the muted whispering of final words. Michael could be seen nodding, patting that hand and pulling away to climb into the bus.

Walter stepped from the vehicle and backed toward the people of the church, hands deep into his pockets and his breath steaming the icy air. The people waved, and observed the bus pull away from the church.

A few workers picked away from the group as the bus moved further and further from the property. 

When the tail end disappeared into the fog, and the sound of the engine was no longer audible, Father Marshall was still in that spot. His eyes watched the swirling fog.

.

.

.

That day, he stood on the stretching, gravel driveway for as long as he could stand it. Walter’s lids fluttered closed when the moisture broke through and fell down his cheeks.

He took in a long breath, but collapsed to his knees, fisting the dirt and tremoring.

Walter had been out there long after the ring of the church bells.

➽─────────────❥

Following after that day, all piling together into months, the church continued their services. 

Events were planned. Many popular ones brought money to the church and aid to the citizens. Services were held by all of the leaders and the spirit of the Lord seemed to be felt strongly through the town.

Father Marshall gave his teachings, clearly and elegantly. The man still pulled fully seated pews and many more people's hearts with his warm nature. He seemed to be more righteous than all the years he'd been there.

Nonetheless, people amongst the crowds took notice of his peculiar lack of vigor behind those words.

The people in attendance would say that the man's spirit had been weakened in some way.

The father graciously brushed away those concerns, and remained adamant in his teachings. Walter delved himself more into the work. He spent much more time in his office and placed his attention on various things surrounding the church

.

.

.

One late evening, while the man sat in his room, he watched the candlelight dance on his papers. The moon was low in the sky when he heard a knock at his door.

Upon opening he was greeted with a young assistant, her face laced with a bright smile and crisp white items filling her hands. She gently spoke to the man about the mail being delayed for that day, and that he was to finally have been delivered his postage for the week.

She placed several envelopes into Walter's hands and bid the priest goodnight.

Father Marshall found his way back to his desk, sighing profoundly when he sunk into the chair. The letters were dismissed on the surface of the desk. Many were labeled from other churches and financial institutions.

Walter rubbed at his drooping eyes, deciding that he would pick up those tomorrow and deal with them first thing. Sleep was the one thing on his mind.

As the man loosened his collar and sat up to gather his nightclothes, he left the candle flickering on his desk.

Under that warm amber light, the letters were illuminated, each one layering over the other. If one gave a closer look at that stack of mail, it could be noticed that a singular letter stood out from the rest. 

On the surface, barely showing under the side of another envelope, there was the appearance of scribbled black ink where the return address laid.

'Westbridge, MI 56087'

➽─────────────❥

Taglist: @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks  @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard @littlefreya @zealoushound @luna-aestas @feralrunaway @tuckersgirl​ (So sorry I forgot to add you love!)

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- Unfortunately, these tags didn’t work :(

➽─────────────❥

Thank you to everyone who was interested in this! I know I've said it before but this story is dear to my friends and I. We constantly think of scenarios between M and W. Let us know if there should be more!

➽─────────────❥

[septicace-writes]

It is remembering Levamentum and crying hours. Still not over how good that series is.

[thelevamentumproject-blog]

To address some issues:

Here at The Levamentum Project we do our best to make our customers as comfortable as possible. We have noticed a recent... Developement... About our trans* feminine products and we would like to address these issues with some answered questions. 1)The V string is repulsive and offensive. Why on earth would you carry such a product?? In our early days we only carried breast forms and pocketed bras. We had numerous requests to sell a product that was like the trans* feminine equivilant of a trans*masculine "packer". One customer requested the V String as a suitable bottom prosthetic for trans*feminine persons. After that we received alot of positive feedback about the product, as well as some negative. Some people may not like the item, that is your opinion, but there are many people who want/need an item like that. Unfortunately there arent 40 different variations as there are with packers, there is only one bottom prosthwtic for trans*feminine people and it is the V String. So we will stand by our decision to carry the product, despite some negative ideas on it. why are youre bras so over priced? Why cant you just use a cheap bra from a regular department store? We do not sell regular clothing. All products that are clothing are specifically made for trans* people. Our packing boxers have specific inserts designed to hold ones prosthetic penis. This makes them more expensive than they would be as just a regular pair of boxers, for obvious reasons. Similarly, our bras are pocketed, made to hold prosthetic breast forms specifically, which then makes them a bit more expensive than just a normal bra. We will not sell regular underwear. 3) why do you only have "costume" breast forms? The goal of the levamentum project is to sell Low cost transition gear. Packers that we sell are originaly created as "gag" toys or dildos. Although they are not specifically deaigned for the trans* community, they are a cheap alternative that we offer to the community. Same goes for our breast forms. We offer low cost breast forms, though they are not specifically designed for trans* people, they do the trick and are a low cost option. Just as we offer a more expensive higher quality packer, we also offer a higher quality breast form. why on earth would you sell cleavage tape? Dont you know the dangers of ace binding? Of course we know the dangers of binding. The information we received about this product led us to believe it was not like an ace bandage. But rather like medical tape. One of our translady friends compared it to how some transmen use something like panty hose as make shift binders. A much safer alternative to an ace bandage. If this is incorrect, just let us know. this company is by far one of the most degrading companies to trans* women. How dare they? First off, id like to remind you all that everyone has a different idea of transition, gear they like and dont like. Some transmen think that packers are "degrading" in their own ways, where as others think their the best thing ever. We are proud to offer some options for our trans*feminine customers, if the gear we offer isnt something you like, just remember theres someone out there who does. Secondly, it is our goal to make our customers feel comfortable. We have asked numerous times through our tumblr if there are any products or changes that YOU the people, the community, would like to see us make. Yet we have never had a trans*feminine person contact us, tell us the problems, then work with us towards a solution. We are always looking for customer feedback. If youve got a problem let us know! Wed love to find a better way todo things, but unless we hear from you guys whats wrong, then we never know. The only way we even knew about these issues is from scouring the internet and finding some rants. None of which ever showed a way to fix the problem. If you have solutions, let us know! We are more than willing to listen to what you have to say. -TLP Team

[hauntedelation]

Composure

Description: Walter decided to place Michael into yet another learning exercise, this time involves a little thing called composure.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: Plot? What is that? This one doesn’t continue the story exactly, but it is a key snippet in Mike’s and Walter’s relationship. The idea that I got for this part was actually the first thing I thought about with my parts of this series. But, the context made sense to come after offering. This is probably the smuttiest but most intimate thing I have written. I hope that y’all like!

Word Count: 1,027k

Warnings: smut (18+), oral sex, rimming, this is...complete sacrilege (if you don’t like that, please don’t read.)

Proofreading was done. If you find an error, it wasn’t intentional 🥺

➽─────────────❥

His index finger followed along with the words of scripture, faltering in the path but continuing down line by line. He pressed onward, shaping his mind to stay focused in this key moment. 

Michael did not wish to displease him.

His flushed lips moved inaudibly with the versus entering his head, trying with every fraction of effort to stay concentrated—to grasp each message laid down in the holy book in front of him. 

A whimper cuts off in the still air of the chapel, barely echoing out into the vast space. Mike's jaw tensed up and so did the breaths in his lungs, for this task was growing rather challenging.

Father Marshall's beard appears soft to many, almost like molasses tinted cotton. Yet, to the touch, it was far different from what was speculated. His hair was coarse—somewhat bristly. It could scrape and leave a burn on your skin if you weren't careful enough.

This was precisely what Michael found as the older priest's tongue ran along his sensitive hole. His beard rubbed the area of the younger man's cheeks and perineum raw, leaving behind reddened skin in its wake.

Walter was far from finished with him.

When his large hands wrapped securely around Mike's hips and pressed him against the wooden podium, he knew. When he snaked his thick fingers around to the front of Mike's pants, unraveling the confines loose, the young man knew.

When he placed his lips, featherlight against the shell of Michael's ear and whispered:

"This is your next lesson, Michael. Study your scripture carefully. Don't lose your train of thought, for at this time you are learning from the Lord. Do listen."

The young curate knew that this session in studying the holy scripture was to be a particularly strenuous one. 

It all began with the older priest's palms sliding along his skin, tickling and massaging every inch until they reached the firm mound of his behind. 

Michael felt Walter's fingers glide along his most sensitive area, and, with practiced movements, removed the plug that sat snug inside him. Walter clicked his tongue, taking his thumbs to spread Michael's fleshy cheeks and exposing the puckered hole beneath.

His oceanic gaze remained on the pages in front of him. His elbows braced on the hard surface of the podium and his hands relaxed along the opened sides of the book. Those very fingers tensed on the pages upon the warm, wet sensation of the priest's lips and tongue.

Father Marshall worked that muscle in increments, teasing and prodding the hole until he could feel the younger man relax around him. He would hush Michael, taking his palm and slickening it with spit and the liquid beading at the curate's flushed tip. 

With the very first pass of Walter's hand around Michael's length—the pressure he applied, every ounce of attention in the young man's mind began falling down into millions of pieces.

Another gasp pulled out of his lips. His lashes fluttered shut, and those holy words were captured by darkness. Walter's firm grasp squeezed, and curved around Michael's girth, lapping at his perineum and the tender skin of his balls.

Never making an attempt to pull away. 

The young man's breaths strained further. The wet rhythmic pass spilled into the empty space of the cathedral and moved in sync with the thundering beating in his chest. 

Walter's mouth moved once more over his puckered hole before pulling away. He let his finger gently rub and press into the opening, working with deliberate strokes. 

The older priest leaned back onto his haunches, eyes half-lidded and gazing at the movement of his thick digit in Michael. He peered at him with a weighted stare, how the young man slowly accepted him inside.

 Drip

 Drip

 He let his eyes fall away from the captivating sight, toward the sound of quiet drops.

There, on the dusted oak floor of the cathedral, were tiny droplets of precum. The clear liquid oozed from the blushing tip of Michael's erection, unhurried and in thin wisps after each stroke of Walter's hand. 

Each time that sound filled his ear, it roused something in the depths of him—something iniquitous and wicked.

The older man felt a shiver run along the nape of his neck, slithering down his ribs and pooling into his lower stomach. He clenched the muscles in his middle as a response. The tension in his pants skyrocketed, and his hardened length below pressed painfully along his tensed thigh.

Without tearing his eyes from the slow drip leaking from Mike's cock he murmured out:

"I know that you are no longer reading, Michael." 

Father Marshall couldn't help the simper that pulled along his wet lips.

"You need to hold your focus. How are you to be a reserved priest like me if you don't soak in the words in front of you?"

He hummed, feeling the younger man's hips buck shallowly into his slickened hand, pushing out lewd sounds both from below and above the podium. 

Mike’s jaw was tilted toward the ceiling, panting and lost. After a beat (or two), he opened his glistening orbs and nodded his neatly combed head. He steadied the tremor in his legs and thought back to the spot on the page he was previous. 

In his restrained voice, he replied back to his mentor,

"I-I apologize, sir, I will try my best to take in the word of the lord."

Walter did not reply to his curate. He returned to his previous manipulations, pulling his finger gingerly out of Michael. His large palm spread the young man open, gifting him again the sight of Mike's quivering hole tensing and relaxing in irregular measure.

His eyes slipped shut as his tongue worked inside Michael once more, licking in deep and releasing muted groans into the young man.

The stone and iron walls of the cathedral resonated a chorus of music, every drip, every whimper, every growl that stemmed from the wooden platform. 

Far in the distance, if one were to listen closely, they would hear the muffled cry of a young protégé, falling apart at the hands of his trusted guide. 

➽─────────────❥

Taglist:  @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks  @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard​ @littlefreya​ @zealoushound​ @luna-aestas​​ 

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- These tags hadn’t worked for me! If I missed anyone, I apologize :(

➽─────────────❥

[hauntedelation]

Modulation

Description: Halloween has come, but it’s not going to be the same as that night those years ago. Mike has to be reminded of that.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: This one was very interesting to write. There is definitely a shift in their relationship, and it’s a big one. But, all I want to make sure of is that I truly show Mike’s pain in this installment. He’s still healing, but he isn’t alone this time. Second to last part in this series, let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: angst, leading up to smut?, emotional hurt, and comfort, shit, Mike is having memories, feelings are spilled in this one folks.

Please enjoy guys! Proofread, sorry for errors. <3

➽─────────────❥

"Trick or treat!"

There had been a consistent wave of young children skipping up to the grand church doors. A few members lower in the clergy, and several volunteers took up the privilege of handing out candy to the eager trick-or-treaters.

Nothing else was planned for this day, at least, nothing that rendered a full service inside the church.

It was a tradition, in a way. The town was close-knit and being that St. Peter's Cathedral was heavily known for its service to the people in the community, handing out sweets to the children was a more joyous time and separate from the current holiday.

Many of the volunteers had taken over, it was the same few that were always involved in the church. The same few that Mike came to be acquainted with pleasantly. There were two large containers of chocolates and other taffies. 

The bins sat close by the opened front doors, and both were gradually dwindling as the day went on. 

Michael stood relatively close by, adorned in his normal black clothing. His hands rested in his front trouser pockets and his back leaned against one of the immense marble columns in the cathedral. 

The eager knocking started in the late afternoon, probably right around the time the local elementary schools let out. He remembered hearing the faint rhapsodic sounds from his bedroom.

Through his window he saw them, the specks of young ones scampering about on the sidewalks, all marching in their favored outfits and holding their empty bags. 

The sun was struggling behind various dark clouds. Today was slightly gloomy, so he was not expecting to feel that warmth that would always come when he sat at his window. But, there wasn’t much thought when he slid open the glass paneling. 

Despite the imminent chill that would come, the bite that nicked at his face relaxed the tension in his body, somewhat.

He inhaled a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the beam behind him. Why didn't I stay in my room? He mused to himself. Guilt spilled into his lungs, a thousand-pound iron anchor. It had been smothering.

You can't stay in there forever.

Everyone was expecting to interact with him, to see his kind face. And he knew, Mike knew that the refuge of that small room could not be enjoyed for long. For the passing weeks, it was far more likely that he would be residing there than any other place.

Was it that obvious? 

That room reminded him of his one at home. He made it into a similar cocoon, with decorations and memories staining the paint on the walls. 

But, in every way, this present one was lighter. He never had to trip over empty glass bottles or lay his body over spilled ash on his sheets, never found the occasional white tablet hiding under a discarded article of clothing. 

More recently he spent his nights thinking back to that time. The hours filled with dreams that had his eyes wide open. The seasons were shifting and the leaves’ grasp on the trees grew weaker. 

It was impending. Again, Mike knew. He thought that he would be prepared—ready for it all. He had been doing so well.

Come on, don’t mess it all up.

All of that progress that he made here, he wasn’t going to ruin it. But, that didn’t mean that his brain wouldn’t have those visions. Those memories of numbing himself with the faceless friends he made at a party, laying back in utter bliss for a few short hours. That was it. He missed some of it, unfortunately.

Michael found himself missing the way that his lips would burn from the cigarettes. Sometimes his fingertips would feel that singe too. It was always the little things, it had to be. Those minute details were what his battered self took in every single day.

That was all foreign now, despite how haunted he was. The old Mike wasn’t who he recognized anymore, and if he ever was face to face with him, looking that stranger in the eyes, he knew what he would say.

‘You’ve gotta snap out of it before you end up like Adam.’

He kept his hands in his pockets. Because with the front door open, and even with that rewarding bite, he still shivered. He could feel the goosebumps begin to prick on his arms and his neck. 

Michael proceeded to watch. Those sapphire orbs melted past the shapes of the people. Locked in a gaze that stretched far past in the distance of no particular object in mind.

Tonight was going to be a long night for him.

Little did the younger man know, he was under the watchful eye of an external presence, partially the culprit of his hair standing on end.

Walter uncrossed his thick arms, stepping down from his spot by the pews several paces away, careful not to disturb the curate. He took a look at his watch, lifting his left wrist to peer down at the hour and minute hands. He listened to it tick: 6:23. The sun was going to set in under an hour. 

Walt returned his attention back to the man whom he originally couldn’t take it off of.

Darling Michael.

It wasn't hard for him to see those demons prodding at the young man, at least not for Father Marshall. All day, all week—all month Walter sensed a drastic change in him, and this placed the older priest in deep apprehension.

His footsteps stopped, swiftly making sure that no wandering eyes were looking at him and the curate. A large group of children stepped up the front stairs, each giggling excitedly and holding their opened bags out. 

Father Marshall laid a reticent hand on Michael’s shoulder, lips dipping close to his left ear, and whispering inaudibly. 

Walter knew that he had to do something.

So he turned away, casting one last look to the festivities by the foyer, and weaved around the dozens of pews. Walt made a straight line toward a side hallway. Mike remained standing by the column, still unmoved from his previous position.

He wet his lips and let his eyes fall down to the sliver of sunlight that made its way through the clouds. The golden ray shot through the opened door and partially highlighted the old church floors.

There it was. 

Each time the sunlight came, a wave of tranquility followed. It never comes long enough but that moment, any second of being in it’s presence incited Mike to chase it more.

After he observed that sliver of light shrink away by the clouds, he pushed off of the old column and followed the same path that Walter previously took. Mike kept his head low, disappearing into that very side hallway.

Inadvertently to anyone around, from his perch on the second floor, the withered elder narrowed his piercing jade-green eyes as he caught the shadow of the young man.

He surveyed the curate following after his guide out of the main chapel.

➽─────────────❥

“Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Walter simply gave Mike a soft smile, leading him by a grasp of his hand further into the never-ending cathedral halls.

What led to the hidden room was concealed by the stone design on the walls. One small notch about mid-way revealed a door. It creaked at a shrill pitch and it echoed into the darkened hallway. 

Walter peered behind Michael’s head, far down the hall to double check for any one who may be around. He gently ushered him into the room, shutting the door quietly behind the both of them.

With arms crossed over his chest, he watched Mike wander around the room, taking in the dark oak and the books that littered the space. There were about as many specks of dust as there were documents resting on the surfaces of the room. 

It wasn't too large, but it looked as if it was a small library. 

An old desk sat on the far side to the right of them with several shelves surrounding the perimeter of it. Each shelf had either a book or an old trinket filling the space.

“This used to be an old office—an old study room for one of the bishops. The man is long gone, and, as you can see no one comes into this room very often, if at all.”

A window to the left of the men showed the last bits of daylight before giving away, it was clouded from old age, and a curtain concealed much of the view.

Walter set the latch on the door and made sure that it was secure. Due to the room's lack of electricity, the man sought various candles around the room, and lit them to provide some light.

In the front of the room, there was a very spacious fireplace. Sitting on the top of the hearth, a lip jutted out. This little shelf housed different pictures. Mike could not get a close look from his distance, but they seemed slightly dated. All around the dark walls had some sort of portrait or painting. 

“I like to come in here because of the peace it brings, it’s a place where I get away and have more privacy.”

Next to the hearth sat two couches over a large ornate rug, one was leather and the other made of red cloth. Michael took a seat on the scarlet-colored one and smoothed his hands over the top of his pants. 

After lighting the last candle, Walter made his way to the fireplace. He rolled up the sleeves of his black clerical shirt and crouched down. 

He took his time preparing the fire bed, and ultimately got the wood logs to set aflame. Walt took a fire iron and began to prod at the flames, stirring more amber light and warmth into the room.

Mike watched with interest sparking in his eyes, but it never remained. His mind swarmed with murky thoughts, and it casted him far away from Walt.

Though, the young man could feel his body subconsciously lean more into the heat wafting into the room. 

Walter sat up and wiped his palms together, dismissively scraping them along his black pants. He brushed passed the couch that Mike was sitting in, and made his way to a pitcher full of water. 

This was one that he found himself bringing down whenever he made his periodical visits. The pitcher on the counter was new as of this afternoon. He had come down shortly before dinner to reflect.

The water was poured and filled the glass almost full. Walter stepped to the couch that Mike was resting in, the front of his body not facing the man. 

And he noticed his uncharacteristic silence.

Walter inhaled and brought a large palm to caress the back of Michael’s head, his skin brushing against the young man’s combed-back curls. 

This was something he knew the Mike adored. He might not admit it himself, but he tended to lean into the pressure, the weight of fingers brushing through his hair.

At least, Mike did whenever Walter was the one touching him.

For a second he could feel Mike start to relax, almost chasing his presence. With a force pulling at his body, Walt carefully made his way around the barrier of the couch, sinking down next to him.

For the first time since they last were together, Walter took a long look at Mike. The light of the fire illuminated parts of Michael’s face that made his heart twist inside his chest, leaving the beating muscle sore.

The young man’s eyes sunk into his face, all puffy and violet from the veins showing through his pale skin. His shoulders, once straight and at attention fell forward, the caving in his chest inward. 

Walter handed Mike the glass and, even while he watched him take a sip, the older man couldn’t help the void rapidly expanding inside of him.

He must have not slept well since before autumn, for this behavior had its warning signs all the way back then. With the knowledge in Walter's mind, plastered there, he readied himself.

And maybe he didn’t do enough, maybe he was too heedful with Mike, and left him feeling neglected. Maybe the visits were far too short or the notes he wrote didn't hold enough words of gratitude. 

Remorse was a nasty bug, and it crawled its way inside of Walter as he stared at Mike’s blank face.

I’ll always want to be here. Walter couldn't think of anything else he'd rather be doing.

There was no telling what was in the curate’s mind, especially in a moment such as this. Michael swallowed down the water and placed the glass on the side table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. 

He hadn’t said anything since they both entered this room, and Walter wasn’t about to make him. If the man wanted to sit there without saying a word, just to sit there for the rest of the night, Walter would abide. 

The older priest let his eyes drift over that fatigued face, and traced the way his dimmed blues looked far away at the flickering flames.

“Halloween used to be my favorite holiday.”

Walt leaned closer to the muted voice. Mike let him take his hand in his, warming the chilled digits in his palms. For a long while, the two sat like that, soaking in the presence of one another and forgetting everything else in existence.

That night that seemed to never end...the night where he couldn't leave. Where the smell of Earth and blood filled his nose. No matter whatever he did. 

Mike could recall the way that the leaves fell that day, and how if he looked outside that old window behind Walter, it would appear just the same.

“You already know about that though...about me—about right now.”

Walter didn’t say anything and Michael smiled dolefully. He drifted his attention over the fireplace and up toward the paintings above the blaze.

“You've always seemed to do that. To know everything about me. Kinda like there wasn't any effort behind it.”

Mike turned his head toward Walter, the orbs glazing over and shimmering in the amber light. He watched the man clench his jaw and how the tension shifted under his full beard. 

Walter remained silent.

“I don’t know how to explain, I feel outside of myself. Like I am out of my body and locked in my head...I don’t know how..to get out.”

The older man swallowed hard as he listened. He hung onto every word that slipped passed Mike's lips. With the outcome of each sentence, Walt knew exactly what the curate was struggling to speak about. 

He could feel Michael’s hand faintly tighten its hold around his, beginning a tremor. Mike’s cheeks grew damp, and his eyes burned red, the blinding salt falling down his face. In the low light, the trails shone the brightest and reflected the orange flames back to Walter.

“It’s terrifying to think about, and I can’t help it most nights. I thought I was done but...I can still remember everything.”

The fingers of Michael’s free hand found their way to rub at his hair, messing up the parted style that he had it in and pulling it by his forehead. 

And he waited, breathing shakily for several moments. As he turned his eyes downward, away from Walter’s attentive face, he mumbled out,

“I-I really needed a moment away…Thank you, you always make me feel so safe, Walter.”

The older priest slid his hand from Mike’s grasp and scooted closer, nudging his chin up with his hand. The curate’s tears dripped down and began to wet Walt’s fingers. He guided his face upward to look deep into his swollen eyes, closing the distance between them.

Michael slid them shut, however, and took his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling it until it was irritated. 

“Oh, sweetheart—hey, come here,” Walter softly spoke to him. 

His hand cupped the nape of Mike’s neck and his other thumbed away the liquid falling down his cheekbones, but it all remained flowing and coated more of his skin. He pulled Mike into his broad chest, wrapping his arms securely around his shoulders. 

Michael pushed his face to the crook of Walter’s jaw and fisted the shirt at the older priest’s back. The moisture streaming down his cheeks.

“You make me feel...I dunno...”

He thought about it.

“Loved. I never thought I would experience anything like this.”

Walter did not hear it for the first time, but he pressed his cheek to Mike’s head and hugged him, feeling the bones in his spine, his ribs, sinking into his arms. Walt then began to rub his palms along his back...soothing, whatever it took. 

He held Michael for as long as he could. His heart thumped through his shirt and it was racing, tapping against the left side of Walter’s chest. You would have thought the curate had been on a run.

Walt found himself bringing his lips to Michael's ear, whispering an endless number of words coated in devotion. He wasn’t sure if they reached his lover, yet he pressed onward with each syllable.

Soon enough the curate pulled away, nose brushing against Walter’s and his palms sliding to cradle the sides of his face. Walter stilled and observed Mike closely, drifting his eyes over his pitiful guise. 

Michael's hands remained trembling. Walt could feel it in the way that the young man’s skin laid on his beard. Without taking his attention from the curate, his hand inched up and he wrapped his fingers around one of Mike's hands. 

He took his palm and placed a chaste kiss to the center. 

A long gaze was shared between the two men. With a brief pause for Mike to inhale, he slanted his lips with Walt's.

He should have been surprised but Walter never thought of hesitation. He brought Mike closer to him, securing his thighs around his wide hips. Michael, was feverish—needful, seemingly so. His mouth drank in each hushed breath between them, pawing at Walter’s broad body. 

The second before he licked into the older priest’s mouth, no other thoughts in his weary mind, he murmured a quiet phrase against his lips.

“I love you.”

Walter’s breath hitched, dark brows lifting in astonishment. In the wake of Michael’s raring touch and the words uttered past his lips, he was stunned.

Had he heard that right?

His breaths came out heavy and long after the moment, the two pulled away. Mike’s fingers hurriedly went between them, tugging Walt’s shirt free from the confines of his pants and unbuttoning the fabric.

This wasn't exactly what Walter brought him here for, but—

All the man could do was watch him...let him. 

Mike returned his mouth to Walter’s skin, biting and latching on the scratchy hair of his throat. Walter shivered and aided him with his messy disrobing. 

With another swift movement, the young male pulled Walter down on top of him, sucking back noises while he kissed along his jaw. His long fingers tangled into Walt’s hair, pushing the unruly strands from his face and left the man clenching his teeth from each tug to the strands.

The priest’s lips kissed down his throat, following the veins speedily pumping his blood and down over his clavicle. 

When he was met with the knotted skin that sat in the cavity of Michael’s chest, he paused. Panting, his warm breath flowing over Mike's exposed skin and leaving bumps in its wake. 

Walter slid his eyes shut, wrapping his large palms over his ribs, and laid a weighted kiss over the entirety of the scar.  

Mike watched through his lashes, chest heaving, and a strange emotion searing his insides. He wanted to reach up and push his head away, but couldn't bring himself to do so at each press of Walter's lips on his skin.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he met Walter’s darkened eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that, Michael?” He murmured against him.

Michael huffed out a gentle laugh and a timid smile grew on his lips. There was a tinge of crimson finding its way up his neck and straight to his cheeks. Yeah, right. He couldn't fathom it. 

But the way that man's eyes bored into him, the way he caressed his body left Michael with uncertainty on that idea. 

All the young man could do was stare into Walter. To observe him cherish and mumble prayers into his pale skin, words that kicked up the pacing of his heart and sent all that blood down to his groin.

The curate sucked in a breath after viewing him, mesmerized, he could feel the pressure inside building up to an immense degree.

“Please, Walt,” he said.

Walter brought his head up, eyes locking with Michael’s and fingers slipping down to his stomach, tickling the small patch of hair there. His brow lifted again, and a tilt was applied to his head.

“Michael...I-are you sure?”

The younger man had a particular way about him, a certain manner in which he called to Walter. Whether it was with the whimpers spilling out of his mouth, or, a quick look from across the room. Please. It was wept up at him and so muted he could barely hear over the fire crackling. 

If he's asking for—

Mike nodded his head and his fingers went down to unbutton and pull at Walter’s tightening pants. Walt gingerly followed suit, caging the young man under him, blue eyes staring down at him.

“Please, just—I’m ready. I need this.”

Walter was without words as they were brought bare before each other, skin glowing under the light and the warmth blanketing over each of their bodies. 

The man sighed, head falling back when he felt Michael begin to paw at his groin, stroking the pulsing length and once again, pulling him closer. Walter laid himself between Michael’s legs, wrapping his palms around his thighs and pushing his knees up and apart from each other. 

And, Walter tilted his jaw up, Mike not halting his slow massaging on Walter's erection.

"I don't want to hurt you, I need you to be sure." he husked out, peering down at him with half-lidded eyes.

Mikey gaped up at his bushy face. Leaning up to brush his mouth against his, "It's alright."

He slipped his grasp from around Walter and laced them with his thick fingers, directing the man between his thighs. Michael went down to that sensitive spot, where a smooth, cool surface met their fingertips.

“I’ve had you with me this whole time.”

➽─────────────❥

The moon hung in the black sky, sending it's blue glow through the partially obscured window. 

Walter laid with his head against a plush pillow, his body displayed over the red couch. His chest rose slowly, his heart rate returning back to the original calm pace. Mike's head lain along the man's chest, both his cheek and his ear positioned directly over Walter's beating heart. 

An old blanket draped around the curate’s back, and was pulled over the rest of his body and parts of Walt's.

Michael was dosing away, and barely had registered the touch of Walt's fingers in his dampened hair. He stroked a thumb over his temple, and wiped away any stray droplets of sweat. 

The younger man's eyes fluttered on the fire, now burning at a low crackle. The pop of the wood, and the thump under his ear, lulling. Walter laid back as he watched his exhausted lover slip under, how the warm light graced his face and the way that he began to slacken against him. 

He let his eyes fall away, continuing to stroke Michael's skin and followed the shadows dance on the ceiling, a myriad of thoughts materializing in his mind. 

Walter could not gather them and understand where they came from, but he knew the weight behind each one. He had a feeling that they would be accompanying him all throughout tonight. 

'I love you,' Mike said to him.

These three words had awakened a strange feeling inside Walter. Thinking of how Mike's voice formed around those words had alone sent his mind into a whirlwind.

He was inaudible the first time, unsure of how to reply back—or if he should reply back.

What is it you're feeling inside? He asked himself. 

When he returned his eyes down to the man in his arms, the young—angel of sorts. Like those old paintings he sees in the halls of the cathedral, with his mess hair on his head and a bright smile always hidden behind his rosy lips, the older priest was violently struck.

Walter laid a thick bicep over Mike's back and rubbed his palm down the expanse of it, lips pressing to his temple and repeating into the young man's skin those very three words.

➽─────────────❥

Somewhere deep within the cathedral, a Bishop stood, back hunched over in the dark of a young curate’s room. 

Under the pale moonlight he snarled, eyes peering down at the small slip of paper in his wrinkled hand. He recognized the handwriting and at the curl of the 'W' and the 'M' signing off the note, it was confirmed. 

He crumpled it in his fist and shoved his hand in his robed pocket, breathing hard as he leered around the room. He had found nothing else, and in his seething anger he stomped out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

For a second the old man thought he heard weeping, yet the ghastly, disembodied wail drowned away under the Bishop's profound repugnance.

➽─────────────❥

Taglist:  @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks  @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard​ @littlefreya​ @zealoushound​ @luna-aestas​ @feralrunaway​​

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- These tags hadn’t worked for me!

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[hauntedelation]

ℌ𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔶 ℭ𝔞𝔳𝔦𝔩𝔩 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

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This is my retired list of fics where I don’t plan on writing for these characters or this fandom anymore. Please enjoy y’all! ♡ Here’s how to get back to my main masterlist.

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𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐲 (𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫: 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝)

Sativa

Smutty - Mikey was always oddly shy around you. Having mutual friends and been acquaintances with each other for several months, you had to push the friendship a bit further.

(-> Black female reader in mind.)

Show Me

Smutty - Mike takes you out of your lonely, dark home on what is supposed to be the jolliest days of the year. In return, you pull him out of his own shadowy pit, simply to convey to him how much you care.

(-> Black female reader in mind.)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 (𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞)

Evermore

Fluffy w/ hints of smut - For as long as you’ve known Sy, he was a man who honored his word. You didn’t think that one Christmas would mark the beginning of a wonderful journey with him.

(-> Black female reader in mind.)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐲 (𝐈 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞)

Gap in the Trees

Fluffy - You found yourself lost in the new land that your family had moved to. A break in the forest gave way to a large castle with a boy working hard under the rising sun. At first meeting, you find a peculiar attraction to him.

(-> Race/Body type not mentioned. Gender neutral reader in mind.)

Bloom

Smutty - Spring has come and you ask Stephen to demonstrate something to you, personally.

(-> Race/Body type not mentioned. Gender neutral reader in mind)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐇𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫) 𝐱 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐲 (𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫: 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝)

Levamentum

(“Your heart beat in my ribs and mine in yours, and both in God’s…The divine magnet is in you, and my magnet responds.”*  —WM

Michael took his index finger and gingerly brushed over those written words, feeling the slight indention at the strokes. With each touch of his skin to the paper, he could feel an anomalous emotion penetrating his soul.)

*Excerpt from a love letter by Herman Melville to Nathaniel Hawthorne.

(-> No reader insert, MLM story.)

This is a series collab between me and the lovely @feralrunaway. Also a gift to our friend @hope-to-hell.

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𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧 (𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐮𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐬)

Pent-Up Frustration

Smutty - The Duke plays a game with you during a ball.

(-> Race not mentioned. Female reader in mind. This was also written on my main.)

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𝐂𝐥𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐭/𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 (𝐌𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐥)

Super Hearing 

Smutty - Clark hears you calling for him from miles across Metropolis.

(-> Race not mentioned. Female reader in mind. This was purely someone else’s idea. I added a bit more to the post. Written on my main.)

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𝐄𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥 (𝐁𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐤)

You 

Fluffy and a little smutty - You weren’t sure about him, this melancholy paramedic who you met through a close co-worker. Yet from the start, everything felt right. Several months stretched by with you growing closer and closer to Evan. It was pleasant, sometimes more than that. For a while there you could say that you were in the most bliss you had ever experienced.

(-> Body type not mentioned. Black reader in mind.)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐖𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐰 (𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐃𝐚𝐲)

Seize The Throne

Fluff and angst - He was always so reckless, drawn and following the darkest paths in life. You can’t help but chase after him with stars in your eyes and a bizarre thrill churning your gut. Maybe this time things were too heavy for you.

(-> Black female reader in mind.)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐒𝐲𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 (𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐞) 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐲 (𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫: 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝)

Let Us In

Fluffy and filthy - It was time for Sy to be shown how much he is appreciated in that house.

(-> Race and body type not mentioned. Gender neutral reader in mind.)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫 (𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐋𝐲𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐲 𝐌𝐲𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬)

Looks Like Rain

Angst - Chas tried his hardest to stop everything in the wake of you leaving. He was on a trip, but decided to take another after failing to qualm the pestering images in his mind.

(-> Body type not mentioned. Black reader in mind.)

┈┈┈┈┈

𝐀𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐞𝐫 (𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝟔)

Repeat 

Semi-fluffy - The Hammer proves to utilize surprising ways to settle down after a rough assignment.

(-> Black male reader in mind.)

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