#Mr. fucking Devers

[lostinsaltburn]

Almost The Same - A03

Dympna Devers x Felix Catton

Dympna Devers x Felix Catton

Explicit - 18+

5.5k words

There was that violent confidence that oozed from the stranger making its emergence again for the night. Felix couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath when he remembered again just how calmly the guy above him had snapped some guy’s finger only an hour ago. Acting like he had done nothing and just continued on with his night, chatting Felix up and now they were here, naked and laying on the bed, Felix getting covered in vicious painful little bite marks. His cock sensitive from the rough fabric constantly stretched and rubbing against him. His nipples felt like they’d turned a shade of deep purple with the incessant teasing. “As pretty as you look in these darlin’ , I think it’s time we move this along” he sat back on his thighs, finger’s roughly pulling the panties down Felix’s legs. Then he was naked, bare except the black mesh top, laid out, vulnerable to the stranger above him. “Even prettier now” he rumbled in that thick Irish accent.  Felix only squeaked in embarrassment the flush in his cheeks growing a deeper shade of red, cock twitching at the words before it was engulfed by the warm wet heat of the blonde’s mouth. Felix groaned, it was sloppy, messy, wet heat, spit dripping down his crotch settling in his pubes. God it felt so good, almost too good. The tight heat of the blondes throat constricting around the head of his cock as he swallowed him down.  He reached over to the bedside table, a bottle of lube sitting there from earlier, he shoved it down next to his hip, pushing it into the other man's hand. 

A03 Link - for more

[ohwhataniight]

more than the world can contain - chapter 3

So, I completed this chapter. I'm feeling horrible about it but my bad habits include wanting to get something over and done with instead of sitting down and letting it simmer. Ugh. This blog is a mess.

Anyway, you can find the rest of the fic here.

Warning: masturbation

I have used the incredible transcripts by the wonderful Ariane DeVere. Thank you, not just for making our lives so much easier, but for helping us relive the whole thing too through your incredible work.

So, uh, enjoy. And thank you so much for reading!

The thing is, I have a problem. I've been angry and anxious for longer than I can remember. Sometimes interchangeably, sometimes both at the same time. So much so, that my neurons and synapses have probably reconstructed my mind to mistake it all for the same thing: an adrenaline rush. And the problem is that my head has learnt to conflate all types of rushes into one: horniness.

So, the thing is, I get hard. A lot.

J

I have only one desire: to punch a hole in a wall.

I don't particularly mind which wall it will be, or whose. Probably not one in 221B, given that Sherlock has already shot several holes in those, and Mrs. Hudson is definitely adding that to our rent.

You see, the reason I'm furious is precisely the fact that Sherlock Holmes decided to shoot our fucking walls, and I practically had to tackle an armed pistol out of the man’s hands and confiscate it. All that because he was bored. Plus, I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that the insufferable git I live with doesn’t know that the Earth goes round the fuckin sun. He’s just.... above it all, above all of us mere mortals, as Donovan would have helpfully pointed out, quite fittingly. And I am so done.

I only realize I'm clenching my fists tightly against my kneecaps when Sarah, who's sitting next to me on the couch in front of the telly (she’s watching, I can’t) extends her hand and cups one of my own, steadying me. I realize I've been bouncing my knee in a frenetic pace for quite a while.

“Hey,” she says softly and I wish I could see straight but everything is blurry. I feel like a giant iron fist is squeezing my head, making everything throb dully. “Whatever silly fight you two had, you’ll figure it out.”

Silly fight, yes. Only it had resulted in me storming out of the house, fuming and tachycardic. No big deal.

“What if I don’t WANT to bloody figure it out?”

It’s only after I've lashed out that I realize that I did. To Sarah of all people. Sarah, who welcomed me into her home after everything that went on between us, after I almost got her killed for Christ’s sake, and it was all my fault.

And Sherlock’s. It was also very much Sherlock’s fault.

“Woah. Rude. I guess it’s time for you to sleep it off, isn’t it? Come on, help me blow up the lilo. Or... I guess you can take the couch.”

My heart sinks. The couch. Of course. Serves me just right.

God what madness I live in.

I'm lying awake, curled up on the tiny sofa that’s a nightmare for my shoulder, in the dark of Sarah’s living room, when the thoughts come. The lights and shadows from the cars outside are casting their figures on the ceiling and I try to fall asleep, I try so hard to shake the thoughts away but they’re persistent, they always are, as they infiltrate my brain and spread throughout my body, taking residence in my sinuses, beneath my meninges, forming a lump in my trachea, simmering in the pit of my stomach, which is where things are starting to happen. A stir. A flame. A whirlpool.

The thing is, I have a problem. I've been angry and anxious for longer than I can remember. Sometimes interchangeably, sometimes both at the same time. So much so, that my neurons and synapses have probably reconstructed my mind to mistake it all for the same thing: an adrenaline rush. And the problem is that my head has learnt to conflate all types of rushes into one: horniness.

So, the thing is, I get hard. A lot.

It’s a fact of life. I have been getting hard-ons whenever I've been left (thankfully) alone to simmer in my own frustration, anger, or intense anxiety. Usually I deal with them swiftly, thinking of the bodies of attractive women I've encountered throughout the day, sometimes attractive women I'm lucky enough to be dating at the current moment. But now I'm lying on Sarah’s sofa, and I cannot bring myself to think of Sarah.

Well, she hasn’t been making it easy to focus on her lately, what with putting me up on the bloody sofa for one thing.

The thoughts creep in, angry at first, but they soon turn into something else.

The object of my anger and frustration remains Sherlock, and that’s fairly inconvenient. I try to think of undesirable, disgusting things, like the severed head I found in the fridge earlier today. Which brings me back to Sherlock.

And soon I'm feeling a frustration of a different kind, way more upsetting. A frustration that comes when Sherlock gets too close, when he sticks his hands into the pockets of my jacket, looking for my phone, when he stares too intensely which must be inappropriate, should be punished...

I involuntarily think of Sherlock’s face, his full lips pouting, the crease on his forehead, his old ratty t-shirt, his robe falling dangerously on one shoulder, long limbs bent into a fetal position, petulantly digging his toes into the leather sofa. Sulking, disheveled, a boy in the body of a lanky giant.

The other thing is, I care. I care so much much I would kill a man for Sherlock Holmes. Hell, I have killed a man for Sherlock Holmes.

The pressure against my pants is growing more difficult to be sneezed at with every minute that passes and that makes my anger return, which regrettably feeds the circle.

As a matter of fact, I am not gay. I'm not. Even if I'm cupping my crotch over my trousers, assessing the damage, sighing deeply at the state of myself in the dark room. My eyelids slide shut and my hand slips underneath my belt, slowly, hesitantly. I hate myself for doing this, for displaying this weakness.

I am very much not gay. Even if I sometimes lie on the couch of the woman I'm courting and touch myself while thinking of my flatmate - friend - I remain perfectly heterosexual and exorbitantly angry for the way Sherlock Holmes messes with my head.

I stroke myself fast, almost clinically at first, but soon it becomes haphazard, fast, demanding. Unmistakeable desire is pooling in the pit of my stomach and I feel its warm liquid spread out to my toes. I notice as my breathing becomes ragged, my heart pounding in my head as I think of dark curls, pale skin stretching over clavicles, his hands, his long, deft fingers, the ocean on a cloudy day staring back at him.

I come into my palm, not with a bang, but with a whisper.

Sherlock.

(There are so many things I'm not allowed to tell you.I touch myself, I dream.Wearing your clothes or standing in the shower for over an hour, pretendingthat this skin is your skin, these hands your hands,these shins, these soapy flanks.

The musicians start the overture while I hide behind the microphone,trying to match the dubbingto the big lips shining down from the screen.We're filming the movie called Planet of Love-there's sex of course, and ballroom dancing,fancy clothes and waterlilies in the pond, and half the night you'rea dependable chap, mounting the stairs in lamplight to the bath, but thenthe too white teeth all night,all over the American sky, too much to bear, this constant fingering,your hands a river gesture, the birds in flight, the birds still singingoutside the greasy window, in the trees.

Dirty Valentine, Richard Siken)

 *  

The first visuals of the Baker Street explosion that I see on TV will never completely leave my mind. The moment of sheer horror, the nauseating feeling in my stomach, will return often to haunt my nightmares. My throat constricts, the cacophony of my pulse is pounding against my temple. My feet carry me out of Sarah’s apartment on auto-pilot. I see the chaos and I see the rubble, I elbow my way through the crowd, run up the stairs, and it’s only after finding Sherlock sitting in his armchair opposite Mycroft, sulking and plucking the strings of his violin, that I register the thought:

Sherlock could have died. Of a gas leak. Sitting in the apparent safety of his own house. It wouldn’t have even been his fault. I didn’t lose him, not this time, but I very well could have.

The mental image of Sherlock’s lifeless body lying in the rubble will probably drive me into an anxiety attack later, when I'm alone in my room.

I sometimes wonder just how one-sided this friendship is, what part I'm playing in this. Everyone already sees my as Sherlock’s sidekick, but how does Sherlock see me?

I wonder if Sherlock cares for me even half as much as I care for him. My heart leaps annoyingly at the thought, sends a recent yet familiar, as of recently, shudder down my spine.

Faced with Sherlock's apparent disregard for the human lives at stake while a lunatic is out there, blowing them up, I often wonder what the man holds dear, aside from The Work, if there is anything he feels... intimately, intensely about. Is there anyone he’s loved deeply, inexorably? Has he ever let someone in?  I wonder what his weak spot is, what would be used against him by his enemies, to compromise his thoughts, to bend him. I hope we never have to find out. 

I am not planning to let anyone bend Sherlock Holmes. Not on my watch.

(There's a part in the moviewhere you can see right through the acting,where you can tell that I'm about to burst into tears,right before I burst into tearsand flee to the slimy moonlit riverbedcanopied with devastated clouds.We're shouting the scene whereI swallow your heart and you make mespit it up again. I swallow your heart and it crawlsright out of my mouth.You swallow my heart and flee, but I want it back now, baby. I want it back.Lying on the sofa with my eyes closed, I didn't want to see it this way,everything eating everything in the end.We know how the light works,we know where the sound is coming from.Verse. Chorus. Verse.I'm sorry. We know how it works. The world is no longer mysterious

Dirty Valentine, Richard Siken)

*

The sitting room is mostly dark, save for the dim lamplight and the crappy program playing on the telly. Sherlock is sitting on the chair, his knees pulled close to his chest, trying to retain body heat. Mrs. Hudson’s guy is coming for the windows in the morning. The tall detective looks funny, all angles, his coat pulled tightly around him, making him look like a frustrated bat. He tells me he’ll buy milk when he goes out. I head out to Sarah’s, trying to swallow down the strange surge of giddiness that’s slowly spreading, warm, into my belly.

*

(4

He had green eyes, so I wanted to sleep with him - green eyes flecked with yellow, dried leaves on the surface of the pool - You could drown in those eyes, I said. The fact of his pulse, the way he pulled his body in, out of shyness or shame or a desire not to disturb the air around him. Everyone could see the way his muscles worked, the way we look like animals, his skin barely keeping him inside. I wanted to take him home and rough him up and get my hands inside him, drive my body into his like a crash test car. I wanted to be wanted and he was very beautiful, kissed with his eyes closed, and only felt good while moving. You could drown in those eyes, I said, so it’s summer, so it’s suicide, so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.

Little Beast, Richard Siken)

If I get out of this alive, which I highly doubt, I'm never getting anywhere near a swimming pool again. The smell is nauseating, and the weight of the semtex strapped on my body is overpowering, pressing against my ribs, threatening to blow up my insides and turn the pool into a whirlpool of blood and chlorine. I briefly wonder if Sherlock has deduced who Moriarty is. I wonder if Sherlock is coming, and when, and if I'll be posting about this case on his blog. Currently, I cannot see that happening.

I hear a door creaking open, the static in my headset crackles. Moriarty’s voice whispers commands in my ears, and I repeat them. There’s not much else I can do at this point.

“Brought you a little getting-to-know-you present. Oh, that’s what it’s all been for, hasn’t it? All your little puzzles; making me dance - all to distract me from this.”

I walk out, as instructed, treading every step carefully. I face Sherlock.. “Evening,” I repeat out loud, my heart sinking when I see the cherished face, now clouded with concern. “This is a turn-up, isn’t it, Sherlock?”

“John. What the hell?” The look on my friend’s face makes my heart sinks. He hasn’t deduced this. He has no plan. We've both fallen into Moriarty's trap. It physically hurts to utter these words, to play with Sherlock’s shock.

“Bet you never saw this coming.”

I want to shout, scream at Sherlock to get out, run away, save himself, but I know that if I utter a single word that's mine we’re both going up, up, up... I can’t bear to look at Sherlock, who seems dumbfounded as I'm making him believe that his friend, John Watson, is behind it all. I'm almost thankful for the voice in my ear that orders me to unzip my jacket and reveal the bomb. At the same time, I feel the point from the laser hovering over my chest. I sigh. “What... would you like me... to make him say... next?”

And suddenly, at the most unfortunate moment, I have my answer. About whether Sherlock cares. It’s spelled out on his face, on the expression of a childish kind of terror and, standing there strapped in explosives with a sniper pointed at my chest, I feel an uncanny surge of clarity and acceptance. I look at the frown on Sherlock’s face, a stray dark curl falling over his eyes as he points his gun to Moriarty with an almost steady hand, and all I can think about at that moment, is what it would feel like to brush it out of the way, cup Sherlock’s face, reassure him that we're both going to be just fine...

It’s strange what being so close to death does to a man.

Sherlock hands Moriarty the memory stick. “Boring!” the criminal shouts in a sing-song voice before tossing it into the pool. It goes down with a small splash that is not heard over the sounds of our clothes rustling together and the thud of our bodies as I throw myself against Moriarty’s back, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his chest. “Sherlock, run!” I shout, his pulse throbbing inside his mouth.

“Good! Very good!” I feel the vibrations Moriarty’s laughter sends into my body. Sherlock is still aiming at his head.

“If your sniper pulls that trigger, Mr. Moriarty, then we both go up.”

“Isn’t he sweet?” Moriarty sneers, and I can feel my blood starting to boil. “I can see why you like having him around. But then people do get so sentimental about their pets.”

I pull the murderer closer with a grunt, feeling the semtex press against my chest, wondering how my racing heart hasn’t yet managed to trigger the bomb by itself.

“They’re so touchingly loyal,” Moriarty continues. “But, oops!”

Sherlock’s expression shows well enough how, for him, I must be much more than a pet, a sidekick. I only wish I could have acquired this piece of information about Sherlock’s loyalty to my person under slightly different circumstances.

“I will burn the heart out of you!” Moriarty snarls.

“I have been reliably informed that I don’t have one.”

And then Moriarty simply leaves, and I am left wondering again. I wonder if Sherlock can feel my own heart attempting to rummage out of my chest as he unfastens the vest and throws the jacket away with such force it almost takes him with it.

Next thing I know, I'm on the floor, hunched against the wall, trying to catch my breath. “Are you all right?” Sherlock presses.

“Yeah-yeah, I’m fine,” I manage to exhale.

My pathetic excuse of a life, although its workings remain indecipherable, is starting to become rather predictable.

For a split second, I decide I'm okay with that.

I'm fine.

[slashfuhrer]

I'm procrastinating a depressing text on political persecution so instead I made a Dympna Devers gif dump

watchin' telly with the sisterhood

charlie's birthday party (running away to mexico)

mr fucking devers being contemplative of murder

There'll also be a massvie gif post with the Paudi confrontation scene because I am insane

[johannestevans]

BristolCon Looms!

Good evening!

BristolCon is coming up on the 21st of October, and I've ordered all the books I'll be selling there, plus have a bunch of badges ready to sell. I won't be on any panels this year, but I will be doing a reading in the evening, and I'll of course be available to chat, answer questions, or sign books.

If you're in or around Bristol, make sure to book your ticket and come along - if not, I'll be filming answers to questions on my TikTok, which I'll also repost on Twitter, Tumblr, Instagram, etc. You can send questions here on this Google Form.

As far go media recs, I have a few - obviously I've been enjoying the newest season of Our Flag Means Death, and I've started a rewatch of Boston Legal, which is a classic show that I love absolutely to death.

I also have some movies to rec!

Talk To Me (2022, dir. Michael & Danny Philippou) - This movie has everything. Utterly fucked up miserable possession horror, scary jumps and slowly building dread, great character writing, incredible editing, TikTok trends, a pair of side characters made up of an extremely hot Samoan guy built like a rugby player and an extremely hot transmasc person who absolutely fucks shit up, good jokes, good banter, utterly fucked up gore and violence! It's so well-written, it's so well-paced, it fucking rocks!

Swallowed (2022, dir. Carter Smith) - Is this movie good? No. But must a movie be good? Can't a movie effectively be a bugfuck tortureporn flick where a straight guy with a huge dick secretly in love with his gay best friend who's about to leave for Los Angeles to be a pornstar is erect for most of the movie because he ate a magical bug that has an aphrodisiac effect on him whilst trying to traffic those bugs for money, and the gay best friend has to fist him to pull some of the bugs out of his guts? And also Mark Patton is in it and dressed gorgeously and fruiting it up the entire time?

Layer Cake (2004, dir. Matthew Vaughn) - This wasn't a groundbreaking flick or anything, but it was fun and it was pretty gay and sexy. It's got a great cast, really good pacing and choreography - as you'd expect from Mr Vaughn - and a really fun, tightly-written script. Lots of room for male objectification in this one, and that's honestly why I'm reccing it.

We also watched No One Will Save You (2023, dir. Brian Duffield) - I recommend this with a caveat, in that like... So Swallowed is obviously a bit of a shit flick, but has a lot of great stuff going on despite that - No One Will Save You is incredible... for the first two acts. The aliens are haunting in their movements and design, the world feels so real and rich, we get a deep insight into someone utterly consumed with agony and regret at the worst thing they'd done in their childhood. The third act is a complete fumble, and the last ten minutes particularly had me fucking raging. I still think that the rest of the film is so good the movie is worth watching - Kaitlyn Dever really carries it beautifully whilst having no dialogue at all - but just. Be prepared for a shit ending, that's all.

New Works Published

Our Flag Means Death Fanfiction Update: Repentance & Forgiveness

Rated E. Izzy/Frenchie. 49k+, WIP. On the Queen Anne, Frenchie can't sleep.

Desperate to just get whatever he can away from Blackbeard's crew, he knocks on Izzy's door and invites himself in.

Chapter 13 on Ao3 / Chapter 14 on Ao3

Romance Short: Workplace Connections

A junior secretary makes a friend at work, and some more besides. 

10k, rated M, F/F. A young woman makes friends with one of the only male secretaries in her workplace. 1960s Manhattan, featuring lavender marriages, period queerness, misogyny, etc. Light-hearted age gap cheeriness. Adapted from a TweetFic.

Read on Patreon / / Read on Medium

Erotic Short: Yes, Sir

A criminal accountant’s goon obeys his orders, then takes them a bit further.

3.6k, cis M/trans M, rated E. A criminal accountant has his big bear muscle guy fuck him, and the bear does so until the accountant is a whimpering mess. Vaginal sex, size difference, rough sex, objectification, implied overstim, power dynamics and role reversal, age difference.

Read on Patreon / / Read on Medium

Erotic Short: A Gift for the Wolfmen

A young man in a brothel is invited to join a quartet of hulking wolf-like warriors.

6.4k, rated E. Two trans men, both being gangbanged by four cis wolfmen with huge cocks.

Fantasy universe with adventurers and so forth. Featuring stuck-through-wall and grope boxes, body writing, vaginal, oral, and anal play, huge come inflation, size difference, knotting, power dynamics, virginity kink, objectification and dehumanisation, degradation, humiliation, breeding kink, body modification, mentions of lactation and pregnancy, and enthusiastic consent throughout.

Read on Patreon / / Read on Medium

[thewinchestergirlblog]

Hey, y’all! I wrote a book on Wattpad that I am actually quite proud of. This is an exclusive post to help promote it!

SUMMARY:

Ronnie Hennessey is nothing like her friend Tami Spier. She's not a partier, a drinker, and definitely doesn't do hook-ups. And that's how she likes it.

Then there is her brother Tanner. He parties, drinks, and rebels. All along with his best friend Jay Collin- his childhood friend who lives right next door to the Hennessey family.

And Tanner only has two rules regarding his sister and best friend:

1. They must get along.

2. No macking on my sister/best friend.

Ronnie and Jay never got along and they could never see eye to eye.

But when secret feelings are revealed and a relationship blooms- a relationship that could cost a friendship- they must decide how long they can keep the secret from Tanner and prepare themselves for his reaction.

And the heartache that could come with that.

FACE CLAIMS:

KAITLYN DEVER as VERONICA “RONNIE” HENNESSEY

RUDY PANKOW as JASON “JAY” COLLIN

CHASE STOKES as TANNER HENNESSEY

RAIN SPENCER as TAMI SPIER

CHAPTER ONE

I could feel the ocean breeze coming through the classroom window and dance across the room. The smell of the sea was just as strong. It reminded me of what I was missing while I was cooped up in this hot as fuck classroom in a school that didn't seem to know what air conditioning was. 

  The skin that was exposed around my tank-top (that just passed the dress-code) kept sticking to my chair. I wouldn't be surprised if when I stood up there would be one large puddle of sweat covering the seat. No amount of water chugging could erase the heat.

  I fanned myself with the worksheet that Mr. Turner handed out to us at the beginning of class. We were supposed to use it to follow along with the lesson. To me, it was the best source I could find to replace a fan. Other students in the class had the same idea. I could hear the movements of the papers as they went up and down, sending each student a cool breeze to fan their faces.

  Mr. Turner was discussing The Fall of the Roman Empire or something Italy culture from a few thousand years ago, when the classroom door creaked open slowly. I looked over, as with everyone else, to see Jay Collin crouching his way into the classroom, his University of Charleston cap shielding his face from Mr. Turner. He was the only senior in junior year history, and it was a class that he always found himself being late for.

  Mr. Turner crossed his arms as he sent a deadly glare towards Jay. "Just because you're crouching doesn't mean I cannot see you."

  Jay was near the back row of desk when he received Mr. Turner's statement. He stood up with a cocky grin, like always. He lifted his cap up, finally making eye contact with Mr. Turner. "Sorry, Mr. T. I had family stuff going on."

  Mr. Turner nodded slowly, not at all convinced. "That is your excuse every time. Try to be creative every once in a while," Mr. Turner exclaimed, annoyed. Whenever Jay was late for class, he would make up some excuse that involved family problems. And it was always about the same family member which made it even more unbelievable.

  "My grandmother died," Jay said, obviously lying. And that was the family member.

  "That's your seventh grandmother to die this semester." Before Jay could badly defend himself any further, Mr. Turner pointed towards Jay's regular seat, signaling him to sit down. "See me after class, Jason." Jay absolutely hated being called Jason. He told teachers at the beginning of every the semester that he preferred to be called Jay. But most didn't shy away from calling him Jason when they were annoyed with him. Which was frequent.

  "Not if I see you first," Jay said sarcastically and leaned back on his chair. Perspiration already coating his skin. Out of all the classrooms at that Godforsaken school, Mr. Turner's was the hottest and most humid. Not even having the windows open could help reduce the unbearable heat.

  "And take off the hat," Mr. Turner ordered.

  Jay removed his hat from his head dramatically and placed it down on his desk. "Are we good now?" Mr. Turner ignored him and immediately went back into the lesson.

  "Hey, Hennessey," I heard a whisper from behind me.

  I turned to see Jay leaning forward on his desk a couple rows behind me. "What?" I asked, annoyed.

  "What are we learning right now?"

  I scoffed and pointed my pen towards the front of the room. "Look at the board, dipstick."

  He imitated my scoff. "Who are you calling dipstick, dipstick?"

  "Just focus on the lesson. I can always help you with it later," I tried to assure him.

  Jay has lived next door to my family for over ten years. We were friendly to each other but that was at the request of my brother, Tanner. Jay is one of Tanner's closest friends. They became close after Tanner invited Jay over to play video games on his new system shortly after Jay and his family moved in. Our home was like his second home. I woke up in the morning and there was a big fat ass of a chance that he was sitting with my family, eating breakfast. He stayed at our house more than he stayed at his. But he did annoy the shit out of me.

  I was so relieved when the bell rang, signaling the end of class. As I predicted, my bare skin was peeling away from the chair. I was glad that I had a free period, meaning I could take a detour towards the cafeteria and grab a new water bottle from the vending machine outside the doors.

  "Jason, come here," Mr. Turner called out to Jay when he noticed that he was trying to sneak out of the classroom to avoid the lecture Mr. Turner seemed to have prepared for him.

  Jay sighed and walked over to Mr. Turner, imitating his stance as they both watched the students file out of the classroom.

  Jay saluted me as I walked passed. "See you later, Ron-nosaurus Rex." One of the many nicknames he had given me over the years. And one of the many nicknames from him that I hated.

  Without saying a word, I flipped him off and left the room. I could hear him cackle from inside the classroom.

  I got a cold water from the vending machine as I planned. I wasn't surprised to see that other students had the same idea. I had to wait for a few minutes just to press a button and get a water.

  "Hey, Ron." I turned my head at the sound of my brother's voice. I leaned aimlessly against the wall outside the cafeteria and drank my water, trying to preserve it. "I'm just wondering, at Mom's request anyway, if you are getting a ride home with me or Tami." Tami was my best and oldest friend at the school. She was also my only friend with a license and a car.

  I took a large gulp of my water before answering. "Tami's sick. So I guess you're stuck with me."

  "Okay. I'm driving Jay home too," he started. "Call it now and you get shotgun and you can be in charge of the radio."

  I scoffed at the idea of sitting in my brother's hot car with Jay for the twenty-minute ride home. "I guess I'm calling shotgun."

  "Okay, I'll meet you in the parking lot after school." He began to turn away when I stopped him.

  "Tan," I called out. "Tell your boyfriend to stop being a pain in the ass to me in class. It's annoying."

  He laughed and walked back over. "He's not that bad."

  I motioned an accusing hand at him. "The fact that I said, 'your boyfriend' and you knew exactly who I meant is truth enough."

  He held his hands up in surrender. "Fine. I'll talk to him."

  "Good," I said and took another sip from my water bottle.

Tanner didn't say another word. Instead he took his route to his next class. I shrugged it off and took another sip from my water bottle before heading to the library.

***

Jay was waiting beside Tanner's car when I reached the parking lot. Tanner was never in a rush to get out of school. He was that kid who had many friends. Pretty much tried to be friends with everyone. Jay, on the other hand, was never much of a people-pleaser. It always seemed as if he didn't get the concept of making friends. Only the ones that let him win at Mario Kart when he was seven years old. He was still convinced he won that game fair and square. In other words, my brother was just a huge softy towards him.

  He was leaning against the front passenger door of my brother's beat up old Chevy that was older than him and that he bought for an incredibly low price from a sketchy dealer. Jay's hat was back on his head, and he wore his douchey sunglasses.

  "Move it, boy who should've been a stain on the bedsheets," I scowled, trying to get to the front passenger door.

  He scoffed and leaned off of the door. "Nice insult, Ronald McDonald," he replied, sarcastically. We very rarely called each other by our real names. He always tried to put some version of my name into his nicknames for me. Ronald McDonald was one of his regulars. And also the least creative.

  "Do I look like a creepy-ass clown trying to sell food and toys to children to you?" The Ronald McDonald insult would have been even worst if I was a red head.

  He tilted his head at me, considering my question. "Kind of. You already got the feet."

  I looked down at my feet. Size nine and a half. All thanks to my dad. "I really want to kick you in the balls right now."

  He chuckled and took off his sunglasses. The perspiration on his face somehow made his already bright blue eyes look even brighter. "You're just setting this conversation up for a bunch of dick jokes."

  Could Tanner be anymore slower getting out here? "I swear, you better not talk to me when we get into the car."

  He laughed and put his sunglasses on the collar of his shirt. "You know, you're supposed to be nice to me?"

  I crossed my arms and rolled my eyes. My foot tapping impatiently for my brother. "You and I both know that's only valid when Tanner is around."

  "Me and Tan are going surfing after we drop off our stuff," Jay said, changing the subject. "You should come."

  "No, thank you," I answered. I enjoyed surfing with my brother. What I didn't enjoy was surfing with Jay Collin. "Tami's home sick and I am going to video call her as soon as I get home."

  "She can come too," he countered. Was he serious?

  "She's sick, dipshit."

  He narrowed his eyes. Not looking too convinced. "Is she though?"

  I groaned. My hands forming into tight fists at my sides. "I swear to god, if there weren't so many people around, I'd-"

  He smirked. "You'd do what?"

  Before I could say, "I'll kick your nuts in," Tanner approached, swinging his keys around his index finger.

  "You two ready?" Tanner asked once he was at the driver's door.

  "Can you just open the car doors already?" I asked, ignoring his question.

  He mouthed an "Okay" and opened his door, clicking the unlock switch. "Were you guys arguing again?" he asked once we were all situated in the car.

  "Your sister told me I should've been a cum stain," Jay said, being a bit too over-dramatic.

  "I did not say it like that," I tried to defend myself. "And he said I have clown feet."

  "I was just stating facts," Jay defended his case.

  I could see Tanner roll his eyes as he started the car and rolled down the windows to let some air inside. "I seriously only have two request for you both. One: No macking on my sister. And Two: Be friendly to one another."

  "Which would you rather have, Tan?" Jay started in a sarcastic tone. "Me calling your sister a clown or screwing her?"

  "I would prefer neither," Tanner said seriously. "And don't talk about screwing my sister. That's gross."

  Jay leaned forward in his seat. "Bro, can you stop at the hardware store? I need to get some things for my dad."

  "No problem," Tanner said and took the first turn that led towards town.

  Tanner soon pulled up to the curb of the hardware store. "Thanks, I won't be long," Jay said and left the car, closing the door a little too roughly for my comfort.

  Tanner pulled into a front parking space. When Jay said he won't be long, what he really meant to say was you have enough time to go catch a movie and grab dinner. I pulled out my phone and began texting Tami. All I had to do was text her I am in hell, and she was quick to reply and she always knew what I meant.

  "How's Tami doing, Ron?" Tanner asked as he impatiently drummed his hands on the steering wheel.

  "She's doing better," I answered, not taking my eyes off of my phone screen. "She may stay home another day or two though."

  "Does she know what she has?"

  I nodded. "Stomach flu mixed with food poisoning."

  He grimaced. "Eck."

  "I know, right?"

  "Can I ask you something?" he asked after a moment of silence.

  I wrote Tami a quick reply to one of her texts and put my phone down. "Sure."

  "Can you try to be a little bit nicer to Jay?"

  His question caught me by surprise. It wasn't as if he never asked me that before. But I guess the twentieth times the charm. "He starts it half the time."

He huffed. "Yeah, I know. It's fifty-fifty with you two. And I'll talk to him. I'd just really appreciate it."

  I reached over and soothingly rubbed his shoulder. "I'll do my best."

  "Thank you." He paused for a moment. "You know his parents are going through a divorce, right?"

  I was pretty sure everyone knew. "Yeah. But haven't they been going through this divorce for like three years?"

  "Yeah. But Jay's dad just got the papers back from the court to sign. He just needs a break is all."

  "Fine."

  Our lovely sibling bond was ruined when Jay jumped into the car with a grunt. "Now, if we could stop by my dad's mechanic shop so I could drop this shit off. Thank you."

  Tanner scowled and turned around in his seat to cast a warning gaze at Jay. "Do I look like a personal chauffer to you?"

  Jay actually seemed skeptical for a moment. "Not quite. You need one of those hats that look like a Frisbee."

  Tanner groaned. "Fine. Is it still at the same location?"

  Jay laid down in the backseat. "Yup, sir." He moved his cap down to cover his face.

  This was going to be one long twenty-minute car ride home.

***

The boys were quick to grab their surfboards and drive down to the beach as soon as we got home. Tanner dumped his book bag in the entryway, almost making me trip over it. I kicked it to the side to get it out of the way. Mom would have a fit if she was the one to trip over his bag.

  I finally had the house to myself once Tanner closed the front door when he left. At least for another hour.

  I pulled out my phone as I walked into the kitchen to get a snack. I opened up Tami's contact and sent her a video call request. She answered a couple seconds later.

  "Hey, girlie," she greeted me in a raspy voice followed by a cough.

  "Hey, to you too," I greeted back. She coughed again. "You sound awful." I grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. My fifth one that day. My water intake had to be through the roof.

  "It's this damn medicine they gave me," she replied and held up a medicine bottle. "It burns the shit out of my throat. I guess it's supposed to fight bad bacteria in the stomach or some shit."

  I hopped up to sit on the counter, swinging my legs over the side. "Awe. Well, I hope you get better soon. School has been awful without you."

She took a gulp from her water bottle, trying to sooth her aching throat. "Yeah? How's motor dick treating you?"

  I couldn't help but burst out laughing. I knew who she meant. "He annoyed me in history class and then after school he told me I have clown feet."

  "What is he? Five?"

  "I mean, he did say this after I told him he should've been a stain on his parents' bedsheets."

  She nearly choked on her water. "Is it just me or are his comebacks getting dumber? I have better material than clown feet."

  I laughed while grabbing an apple out of the plastic bowl beside me. "I think it's the both of us. He's running out of material."

  Her eyes glistened as if she had an idea. "You should make him sexually frustrated. That will be a sure-fire way to get him to shut up."

  "Yeah, I'm not doing that."

  She groaned in frustration. "You are no fun."

  I laughed again. I loved talking to her. "I am not going to tease him to make him sexually frustrated. That's gross."

  She scoffed and took another chug of her water. "Am I the only one who senses some major sexual tension between you two."

  I pretended to think for a moment. "Yes, you are."

  She rolled her eyes. She knew I would never admit to something like that. Mostly because it wasn't true. "Whatever. Are you still going to drop off my homework tonight?"

  I smiled, so glad she was changing the subject of the conversation. "Yeah. My mom will drive me over once she gets home from work."

  "Okay," she said before coughing into her elbow. "You can just leave it in the mailbox. It's germ central here."

  "Noted. We have to read chapters five through nine by Friday for English."

  She held up a finger to tell me to wait a second while she took a long chug from her water bottle. "Sounds good. It will give me something to do. I've been cooped up in this house for two days. I'm bored."

  I gave her a soft laugh. "I promise, we'll do something amazing once you're feeling better."

  She lifted her water bottle as if she was calling a cheers. "I'll hold you to that."

  I heard the front door open and close with a near slam. At first, I thought it was Mom, but she wasn't due to come home for a while. When I heard their voices, I knew right away that Tanner and Jay had come back. My guess was that the waves were sucky when they got there.

  I groaned. "The boys are back."

  Tami laughed followed by a cough. "They weren't gone that long."

  I shrugged. "I guess the waves weren't that good today. I'll see you soon."

  She blew me a kiss. "Love you, girlie."

  I blew a kiss back. "Love you too. Bye." I hung up right as the boys entered the kitchen. "You're back early."

  "The waves sucked," Tanner said while pulling two waters out of the fridge for him and Jay. "They barely hit two feet."

  "Yeah," Jay began. "We should've checked the site first. We don't surf unless it's at least six feet."

  "Maybe we can head to Charleston and Folly Island this weekend. Maybe their surf is better. It always seems to be," Tanner told Jay right before he took a sip of his water, Jay following suit.

  Jay slapped Tanner on the chest. "No way. There's that bonfire Saturday night. We can't miss that."

  I could tell Tanner was mentally slapping himself for forgetting. "What about Sunday? We'll have all day."

  Jay shook his head. "Can't. My dad wants me to come into the shop and help out or some shit."

  "Since when is he open on Sundays?" Tanner asked.

  Jay shrugged. "Since he needed the money. He's open seven days a week now and he works all of them."

  "Shit." Tanner shook his head and took another sip of his water. "We can work up a plan to go to Charleston."

  Jay turned to look at me as if he was just then noticing I was there. "Are you going to come to the bonfire? It's just drop-in."

  I shrugged. "I don't think so."

  "Why not?" Jay asked. "It's going to be pretty chill and it's right on the beach."

  "Maybe if Tami is feeling better by then, sure."

  "There's going to be drinking," Tanner warned. "If you come, you promise to stay away from that shit?"

  I smirked, mostly to annoy him. "Depends. Will you be drinking?"

  "That's not the point." He was definitely planning to be drinking. "I just don't want to explain to Mom why you're hungover on a Sunday."

  I crossed my arms. "I don't drink. You don't drink."

  Jay burst out in a fit of laughter. "Dude, you're getting scolded at by your little sister."

  "Shut it, ball sack," I warned him.

  "Can I at least smoke?" Tanner asked, trying to meet me halfway.

  I thought for a moment. "Fine. Just don't come home as high as a kite." I hopped off of the counter and headed for the stairs. "I'll leave you two lovebirds alone."

  Tanner gave me the finger as he chugged his water. I rolled my eyes and proceeded up the stairs, wanting to get all of the notes for Tami in order before I headed over to her place.

TO READ THE FULL STORY, GO TO WATTPAD AND SEARCH UP “RIPTIDE”. MY USERNAME IS SarahSwartz (I’m having trouble posting the link on here)

[ask-god-like-druig]

hey are u still writing fics and headcanons for Barry's characters? If so, I have a request for a Dympna Devers one, please. Doesn't matter the storyline. You choose. Just nothing too fluffy and it has to have smut, of course lol

Alright anon, here you are... Dympna Devers is a man who loves to eat pussy. (i know a few who would disagree, and they are welcome to) To me, Mr. Devers has a chip on his shoulder and feels he needs to prove he's a man to more than just his uncles. So, he got good at pleasing the women he fucks.

He can be animal when he's between your thighs, not stopping no matter how much you squirm. He doesn't eat your pussy to please you he does it for himself and he's not stopping till he's satisfied.

your' juices will be flowing down his chin mixing with the spit from his mouth. His tongue works your clit with masterful strokes. Your hands would be tangled in his hair, unsure if you want to pull him closer or shove him away.

He uses his fingers to stroke your gspot while he adds pressure from the out side. Moaning as you tighten around him and start screaming his name. That cocky smirk peeking out for just a moment before his lips are on your clit, sucking and licking till you soak the bed under you.

"Dirty little girl... making a mess of me bed... ought to fuck you for that," A playful slap to your ass before he lines his cock up, slipping in like a hot knife through butter with how wet he has you.

"So fecking good for me pet. Such a good girl taking my cock so well. Hey, look at me puppy," Whistles," good girl, wanna see your face as I fuck this pretty little cunt."

[stranger-nightmare]

I saw something someone else wrote about Druig putting someone bratty in their place, but now i cant find it agan 😔 Anyway it got me thinking. What about our Mr. Devers with like a super spoiled rich bitch type? Like they cant stand each other but she's lowkey a sub and he can tell so he just hate fucks her into deep subspace until she's lost her priveleged bitchy attitude.

Mmmmm dirty hate-sex with Dympna??? Oh fuck yeah I want that

So I’m picturing feelings finally bubble over whilst you’re all out at some event together, like you’re all at the pub, that’s how your paths cross this fateful night

And eventually he ends up fucking you in the bathroom at the bar

“You’re such a fucking bitch” he slaps your ass as he pounds into you harshly from behind

He pushes your face harshly into the counter as he has you bent over it

Will fill you up with his load, won’t let you cum yourself, and then will be so fucking smug the whole night knowing that you have carry on as usual whilst you’re super frustrated and stuffed full of his cum😵‍💫🥴💀

P.S. if you’re looking for dirty bar bathroom sex with Dympna I cannot recommend this fic by the stupidly talented @mothdruid

- Hope🐝

[siempre-bucky]

First of all I can’t believe Barry has us thirsting so hard over a character named Dympna, but damn would I let that blonde bitch destroy every and any hole of mine he wants. Just thinking about how stronger his accent gets the longer he’s pounding me and getting worked up from letting him choke me and slap me just a lil bit 🥵🥵💦💦

I love that little fawn with my entire soul 🥺

I want him to thicken his accent when he fucks me. Like I don't want to understand a single goddamn word you're saying in my ear but I know its hot.

I'd let him do anything he wants. Bruise me, Mr. Devers, fuck me up💦🥵🥴🥴🥴

[mothdruid]

Dympha saying handsome cunt and the kissy noises?? Had me in a chokehold for a while ngl

that part makes me horny. i'll make a list of part that made me horny

dympna spiting

dympna saying fuck the lot of ya

dympna grabbing at arm in the bathroom

dympna's green striped shirt

dympna saying handsome cunt then making kisses noises

dympna under the little blanket

dympna groaning after arm says he killed a dude

dympna cocking his leg up when arm is talking to ursala

dympna smashing the bottle on that guys head

dympna saying it's mr. devers

dympna doing anything made me horny

[dympna-devers]

I am loving in here! on one side we got marriage proposals and on the other side we got "please, mr devers fuck me against the wall" requests, damn this wild and in am totally down for both of them.

Well let's mix the two. I'll get down on one knee and propose then make you see heaven with just my mouth.

[dreamdropxoxo]

Magic

Damen couldn’t tear his eyes away. It was like he was hypnotized. He stared and stared and stared and wasn’t even embarrassed. Because whoever saw Laurent wouldn’t be able to look away either. It was like all gazes were magically drawn to the blond man. But Damen was the only one allowed to touch and that thought made his head spin.

“Oi, Boss! Looking good.” Aktis’ obnoxious voice snapped him out of his dreamy staring at Laurent’s lips. He turned his head slowly and saw his secretary, dressed as snowflake walk towards him. Lykaios walked beside him, she looked lovely in her snow fairy costume, and smiled at him.

“Hello Aktis, Lykaios. Do you enjoy yourselves?“

Lykaios smiled softly and replied, “Very much, Damianos. And you?“

Damen looked at Laurent, he felt his breath catch when he met Laurent‘s eyes. “Yes. Lykaios, this is Laurent deVere. Akits, you met already.“ Laurent stepped forward and shook Lykaios‘ hand. Here eyes went wide for a second before she beamed at him. Aktis‘ jaw hit the floor when he stared at the blond man. Damen almost laughed.

“A pleasure to meet you.“ 

Laurent shook Aktis hand next and Damen couldn’t resist but pull him closer with his arm around his waist. Laurent’s hand wandered up his back and settled between his shoulder blades. Damen wanted to feel his hand on his skin.

They made small talk and then Theomedes found his younger son. Obviously, he was dressed as Santa and his booming laugh resonated through the room when he hugged his son. “Your brother took his responsibility very seriously.“

Damen smiled at his father. “He always does. Father, that is Laurent deVere. Laurent, this is my father Theomedes Vallis.“ 

“So you‘re Auguste‘s little brother? Please, call me Theomedes. I assume we‘ll see more of each other.“ Damen’s father was grinning happily when he winked at his son. Damen felt the flush creep up his neck. Laurent smiled up at him, it was blinding, “Oh, I hope so.“

Damen felt something in his chest flutter. Theomedes laughed and clapped Laurent‘s shoulder. “I‘m sure if this one is half as intelligent as I hope him to be then he’ll take hold of his chance and hold on tightly. Excuse me please, I’ll have to talk to some partners, but Laurent, please come to the next Tuesday dinner. Damen make sure he’s attending.“ 

Laurent agreed and then turned to Damen with a smirk on his lips. “Now, Damianos, did you happen to talk about me with your father?“

Damen felt himself flush and it was not out of embarrassment, why should he be embarrassed? Laurent was every single one of his dreams made flesh and there was no point in denying it. No, he flushed because there was a wave of want that flooded his body, made him shake with it and wanting to get his hands all over the man smirking at him as if he had just discovered a well guarded secret. 

He was enchanting. And Damen wanted to touch every inch of his skin, divest him of his clothes and lick him all over. His eyes dropped to that damn golden bow. Damen imagined how he’d go to his knees before the blond menace and put his mouth to the pale thigh and then start pulling at the bow with his teeth until the knot would disentangle-

“Mr. Vallis, sir. You’re standing under a mistletoe.“ A cheery voice jolted him out of his aroused musings about Laurent’s legs and he turned his head to see one of the interns standing beside them, a mistletoe hanging from a pole over their heads.

Laurent chuckled. “The mistletoe antic seems to run in the family too.“ His voice was amused and his eyes were twinkling and before Damen could open his mouth to say something, Laurent was in his space and pulled him down by the lapels of his jacket.

“At least this time I‘m going to kiss the right person,“ he purred against Damen‘s lips and then he felt Laurent‘s mouth on his and every thought was wiped from his mind.

Laurent tasted just as good as he had some hours before and this time around the kiss was soft and slow and almost chaste. Damen wrapped an arm around Laurent’s slender waist and pulled him closer. He didn‘t think he had ever felt this happy about a simple kiss before. There was no explosion of passion like during their first kiss, but a slow spread of rightness through his whole body. 

Everything tingled and warmed up, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and he was sure, if magic existed in this world, this had to be it.

Again, it was Laurent, who pulled back. Damen stared into his eyes as the other man rested their foreheads together. “That was adequate. For a mistletoe kiss.“

Damen stared at him in disbelief for a second before bursting out in pearls of laughter. “You, Mr. deVere, are truly wicked.“

Laurent smiled up to him and patted the exposed part of his chest with one hand. “Don‘t tell my brother.“ 

And oh fuck, Damen had completely forgotten about Auguste and how he‘d take the news that he was dating his baby brother. 

It was like someone had dumped icy water over his head. He stared at Laurent with dread in his gut and most likely written all over his face judging by Laurent surprised lifting of his brows.

[mfingenius]

Heyy!! You're posts have been motivating me through this quarantine. Thank you for writing so much and spreading joy. I loved the Dreville and Laurent/Nik fic you wrote recently. A prompt i was thinking of: Like what if soon after their parents die ( Laurent is 14 and August 19), August gets into a lot of partying etc, at college, and kind of pushes away Laurent when he asks to visit, only to find out later that during that period the regent abused him. Lamen optional Thank you so much !! :)

Ahhhh thank you so much <333 I’m very glad I’m helping at least a little... I hope you’ll like this :D

TW: MENTIONS OF CSA

-------------------------------

Auguste finds out when it’s in the news.

He wakes up, same as always, hating everything and with a pounding headache; he doesn’t remember the name of the girl in his bed, and he doesn’t care, either. He’ll kick her out as soon as she wakes up.

He goes to the kitchen, searching for some painkillers; he swallows them down with tequila - a bad idea, he knows, but he doesn’t think he has any water left - and sits on the kitchen table with a groan. It’s barely seven - he never sleeps for more than a few hours at a time - and he enjoys the quiet of it.

His apartment’s a mess, but he doesn’t particularly care; he’ll call a service to clean it up later, and it’ll be trashed tonight again, and he’ll have maids coming in tomorrow, again. It’s become a routine. 

He’s seriously considering going back to sleep with his forehead against the kitchen table when his phone begins to ring. He groans, jerking upright and beginning to look for it among the clothes thrown over the kitchen floor. When he finally finds it, he checks the name on the screen to make sure it’s not Laurent, feeling a pang of guilt as he does it; it’s not that he doesn’t want to see or talk to his brother, it’s just been - hard. 

Their parents died three years ago, when Laurent was eleven and Auguste was seventeen, and they were both sent to live with their uncle; Auguste had left just a few months after that, after getting into college on a football scholarship - not that he needed it, since his parents left their entire fortune to him and Laurent and he’s currently wasting it away in parties and anything that makes him feel good for three minutes - and Laurent is... different now.

He’d wanted to visit Auguste a lot, at first, seeming desperate to get away, but Auguste had brushed him off whenever he could; he didn’t want Laurent to see what a mess he was. After a while, Laurent had stopped asking to visit, but he still calls. Auguste picks up sometimes, and though he usually ends the call as soon as he can, he is trying.

He knows he’s not doing very well, which is why he’s immensely relieved when it’s only Jord; he’s one of Auguste’s best friends from Arles, before Auguste moved to Delpha to go to college, but they haven’t talked since Jord called him an irresponsible dick for getting drunk every day for three months after his parents died.

“Jord?” he asks, picking up. It must be important if Jord is calling him; he’s never apologized, and Auguste hasn’t either.

“Turn on your fucking TV,” Jord snaps. “The news.”

“Which channel?” Auguste asks tiredly, walking to the living room and searching for the remote. It has to be here somewhere...

“Any fucking channel, Auguste!” He hasn’t heard Jord sound this angry... well, ever.

He gives up on searching for the remote, instead clicking the button to turn the TV on and stepping back to see the screen properly. It’s already on a news channel, and Auguste is about to ask why Jord has decided to call him at seven in the morning to tell him to turn on the news when he catches the headline.

Laurent DeVere, second son to billionaire DeVere family, taken away from his uncle because of alleged child sexual abuse

Auguste stops breathing.

“Get on a plane,” Jord snaps. “Now.”

Auguste is booking a plane ticket on his laptop before Jord has even finished the sentence.

*

The plane ride to Arles is only an hour and a half; he’s back at his Uncle’s house before ten, swallowing and knocking on the door. He’d scoured the news obsessively while on the plane. It seems no one knows who tipped off the police, but that they’d gone to their Uncle’s house to question him and seen it, seen him - doing things to Laurent; Auguste can’t think about it.

He already threw up twice.

The reporter had said their uncle had been arrested immediately, and now Laurent was awaiting for a word on what would happen; Auguste doesn’t want to think about his brother, sitting there all alone, just waiting.

The door opens, and he expects to see Laurent, but it’s not; there are three men in police uniforms there, and behind them, Auguste can see many more; the house had been swarmed by reporters, yelling and taking pictures, so Auguste had had to sneak in through the back of the iron-wrought fence, an old spot he’d quickly learned of after he’d begun sneaking off to parties at night.

His uncle might’ve known, and simply not stopped him because it was convenient for him.

Auguste nearly retches again.

“I’m Auguste DeVere,” he says. “I’m here to see my brother.”

“No one is allowed in or out,” one of the officers tells him. “You have to get off the property.”

“He’s my brother,” Auguste snaps. “And he’s fifteen. I’m here to see him.”

“You’re the brother, then.” Behind the officers, steps up a woman; she has olive skin and long, wavy brown hair. “I’ll take care of him.”

The officers leave, and Auguste tries not to sound too impatient when he says, “Yes. And who are you?”

The woman smiles grimly. “My name is Kashel. I’m your brother’s social worker. We’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”

Auguste had forgotten his phone in the apartment after kicking the girl he’d slept with out. He grimaces.

“Social worker?” he asks. “Why does Laurent need a social worker?”

Kashel looks at him like she’s not entirely sure if he’s dumb. 

“Well,” she says, careful. “Seeing as your brother’s fifteen and his current guardian is awaiting trial for child abuse, we need to find him another one for the time being, and then someone permanent.”

“I am,” Auguste says, without hesitation. “I will be. His guardian.”

“Mr. DeVere, we don’t give children to anyone-”

“I’m his brother!”

“You smell like alcohol,” Kashel says bluntly. Auguste rears back, surprised. “And tobacco, and it’s nine thirty in the morning. You look like you haven’t slept, you didn’t answer any of our insistent calls for two hours, and, if I’m not wrong, you’re a university student. You’re not exactly in peak condition to take care of another human being.”

Auguste can’t find anything to say; he cannot - Laurent cannot go to someone else, he just can’t. Sure, Auguste hasn’t been the best brother these past few years, and he’ll have to change everything about his life before it’s even acceptable for Laurent to be near, but he has to take care of him, Laurent is the most important person in the world to him.

He doesn’t know how he seems to have forgotten that.

“I-” he tries. Then again, “I-”

“Right now, you can see him,” Kashel says kindly; she doesn’t look to be older than him, must be only twenty one, and yet she seems calm, entirely put together. Auguste feels like his life is falling apart. “I’ll take you to him.”

Auguste steps inside numbly, watching as a dozen people walk around the house, each doing different things; he doesn’t know what they’re all doing, and, quite frankly, he doesn’t care. He wants to see his brother.

Kashel takes him upstairs, to Laurent’s room - walking through his uncle’s house is a surreal experience. Auguste never thought he’d be back here - and, before she opens the door, she looks at him sternly.

“Do not promise him anything,” she says. “Don’t pressure him to tell you anything, and don’t push for details-”

“I don’t need an instruction manual to talk to my brother,” Auguste snaps.

She purses her lips. “As I’ve heard it, you wouldn’t know, seeing as you haven’t spoken to him for a while.”

Auguste pales, but she does not look in the least apologetic.

“I devote my life to these children, Mr. DeVere,” she says. “My priority here is keeping him safe and not to make this any harder than it already has been. If I have to keep him safe from you, I’ll do that, too.”

Auguste nods.

She looks him over once again, and then knocks on the door softly.

“Laurent,” she says, opening the door slightly; her tone is nothing like the one he’d used on Auguste before. She steps through and then closes the door in Auguste’s face.

He waits impatiently, listening to her talking to Laurent; he can’t quite make out the words, but he assumes she’s asking him if he’s willing to see him. He doesn’t hear Laurent’s response, but, a second later, the door opens, and Kashel steps aside with one last menacing look towards him.

Seeing Laurent is more surreal than walking through the house was; he looks unbelievably thin, somehow exactly as Auguste remembers him and not like that at all, dark bags under his eyes and a look on his face that Auguste has never seen before and wishes to never see again.

He tries to smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Laurent is impossibly quiet.

They’re both silent for a while, and it seems maybe Auguste did need a manual on how to talk to his brother; he wishes he’d paid more attention to Kashel. Don’t promise him anything. Don’t pressure him.

“I-” he tries. I’m sorry? Laurent would have every right to kick him out for saying that. Why didn’t you tell me? Did you try to tell me and I didn’t answer the phone? When you wanted to visit and I said no, why didn’t you insist more? 

That wouldn’t be fair; Laurent had made countless efforts to talk to him, to be with him, and Auguste had felt bad about pushing him away, but now... knowing what was going on while he was at parties and refusing to talk to Laurent, it’s a million times worse.

“I-” He doesn’t know what to say. He sees it clearly in Laurent’s face, how uncomfortable he is in the room, and though fury boils inside him, he ignores it. “We can go somewhere else.”

Laurent nods immediately; as they go from room to room, Auguste watches him. They don’t step into Uncle’s rooms, because Auguste assumes most of it happened there, but he searches Laurent’s face for any sign of discomfort any time they go somewhere; the dining room doesn’t work, and neither does the kitchen.

Laurent grimaces in the living room, and wraps his arms around himself warily in Auguste’s old room; the Laundry room doesn’t draw as big a reaction as anywhere else, but it’s also noticeable, so Auguste doesn’t want them to stay there. When he is considering giving up - this was happening, after all, for three years in this house - they walk into the library, and Laurent’s face is sweet relief.

Auguste exhales.

“You’re here,” Laurent says, after he curls himself into the big armchair. 

“I am.” Auguste swallows. Laurent doesn’t look at him, and Auguste swallows again. “Laurent, I’m sorry-”

“I’m sorry,” Laurent says, at the same time, and they both look at each other surprised.

“Why are you sorry?” Auguste asks, surprised.

“I-” Laurent’s cheeks are red, suddenly, stained as though he’s been slapped. “I tried to - I didn’t want to give you any trouble - and I’ve made you come all the way here - and now Uncle’s in jail and it’s my fault-”

“What?” Auguste asks. “What?”

“I swore I wouldn’t-” Laurent’s eyes are bright, wet, and he blinks quickly. “He told me I would just bother you and he was right - I swear it wasn’t me who called the police, I didn’t mean for any of this-”

“Laurent, what are you talking about?” Auguste asks, heart beating wildly. “I’m not angry at you. I don’t care if it was you who called the police. Fuck, if it had been you I would’ve said well-done. I’m sorry I left you here, I made it so hard to reach me-”

“It’s not your fault,” Laurent says; he’s nothing like Auguste remembers him; he’s clothed from neck to wrist to toe, everything tightly fitted and dark, nothing like the child Auguste remembers. “I know I’m - a bother, and I really didn’t-”

“Laurent, you never bother me.”

“You didn’t want to see me.”

And isn’t that just perfect? Auguste had been unknowingly helping along a narrative their Uncle had been telling Laurent, about being a bother, about being unloved, Auguste had made him feel all those things.

Fuck; he doesn’t know how he’s fucked up so severely.

“I-” Auguste swallows. “Laurent, I’m not... perfect. I wasn’t - I’m not having the easiest time, and I didn’t want you to see me like that and I was selfish, I never once thought about-”

About what might be going on with his brother, never once saw the signs that were probably already there.

“I’m so sorry,” he repeats, hollowly.

“I-” Laurent wipes at his eyes desperately, and sounds oddly fragile when he speaks. “Can I - stay with you? I don’t want to go anywhere else-”

“Of course,” Auguste says immediately. “Fuck, Laurent, I’d never let you go to anyone else, I - I love you, so much, I’m so sorry-”

“Promise me, please, promise I-”

Don’t promise anything, Kashel had said. You’re not exactly in peak condition to take care of another human being.

Auguste doesn’t care; he’ll get custody of Laurent, whatever he has to do, however he has to change his life for it.

“I promise,” he says.

-----------------------------------------------------

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Commissions

[grangerhxrmione]

here are my fancasts so far for percy jackson that are not too old!!!

the problem with all these fancasts is that everyone is too fucking old like uhhhh by the end of blood of olympus percy is almost 17. let’s keep that in mind

also these are the only ones i’ve decided on :/ still thinking of the other ones

percy jackson - noah schnapp

nico di angelo - finn wolfhard

rachel dare - sadie sink

grover - caleb mcleudjeksuj ALSO FROM STRANGER THINGS YES I KNOW

bianca di angelo - rowan blanchard

clarisse la rue - sabrina carpenter

luke - uhhhhh the other one from girl meets world the one that plays lucas idk his name

thalia grace - kaitlyn dever (give her some black hair and i think she’s perfect)

artemis - millie bobby brown

zeus - michael fassbender

hera - michelle yeoh

poseidan - david harbour

athena - evangelline lily or winona ryder

aphrodite - jameela jamil

hephaestus - mark ruffalo

ares - dwayne johnson

mr. d - stanley tucci he was great tbh but jack black is also a solid choice

chiron - hugh jackman

hermes - jon hamm

apollo - tom holland (hahahaha i think this one is funny)

hades - collin farrell

persephone - priyanka chopra

hestia - mckenna grace

*i absolutely love the idea of angourie rice as annabeth but i’m not sold she’s the right age for hoo but not pjo

*send me your suggestions for everyone i missed (piper, annabeth, reyna, frank, jason, hazel, coach hedge, etc)

[zinckledaddy-blog]

                                                                                              in the end,                                                                                  the love you take                                                                                                is the love                                                                                                 you make

                                                                                        ( biografia ∘ wanted connections )

𝐃𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐀𝐈𝐒

nome completo: harold kwesi zinckle

apelidos: mr. zinckle, harry & haz

data de nascimento: 24/05, 40 anos

cidade de origem: east berwick

gênero: cis-masculino

orientação sexual & romântica: bissexual & birromântico

profissão: escritor de romance e fantasia.

𝐇𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐎́𝐑𝐈𝐀

Lupita Zinckle não era maternal. Anthony e Harold jamais tiveram uma mãe carinhosa e preocupada como a maioria de seus colegas, apenas conviviam com uma mulher triste que sequer os olhava por mais de alguns segundos. Os irmãos eram extremamente unidos, mas Harry não tinha vocação alguma para tradições, muito menos para ajudar a administrar uma fazenda e isso causou a ruptura. Enquanto Tony seguia os passos do pai, o mais novo importunou tanto o homem que conseguiu ser enviado para estudar em outra cidade – “Os Zinckle não causam polêmicas”, dissera o pai. Com um sorriso vitorioso, Harold passou a maior parte da adolescência e início da vida adulta em Los Angeles.

Foi em L.A. que conheceu sua mulher e publicou seu primeiro livro de uma trilogia de sucesso. Aos 23 anos, soube da morte ( ou seria melhor dizer assassinato? ) de seu irmão e a obrigação de manter os negócios da família pesaram pela em seus ombros. junto à esposa, voltou para East Berwick e passou um ano no comando da fazenda antes de deixar nas mãos mais competentes de sua mulher.

Harry não era um homem de negócios, mas era um ótimo escritor e tornou-se um pai ainda melhor – primeiro para as sobrinhas, que assumiu a criação e fez de tudo para amenizar a falta do irmão, depois para as próprias crias. E, por falar em filhos, ele jamais se incomodou com os rumores de não ser o pai biológico deles. Seu relacionamento com a mulher e seu homem de confiança era algo lindo e mais puro do que muitos dos casamentos católicos e convencionais do resto daquela cidadezinha. Não tinha espaço para ciúmes ou intrigas na casa dos Zinckle, apenas amor e carinho, e Harry não admitiria que nenhuma das pessoas que amava fossem feridas por maldade, inveja ou intolerância alheia.

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍𝐒

Descendente de ganeses, Lupita também chamou o filho de Kwesi, um nome ganês dado para meninos que, como Harry, nasceram num domingo.

Harry sempre soube que sentia atração por ambos sexos e teve uma fase de negação breve. Sua família era extremamente religiosa e tradicional, mas não ele e não X, que mostrou que não tinha nada de errado em amar as pessoas, independentemente do sexo dela. Ainda assim, ele demorou para falar as palavras mágicas e libertadoras: “Sou Bissexual”.

Já que estamos no assunto sexualidade, foi ela que Harry usou para chocar o pai e ser mandado para estudar fora. Armou para Sr. Zinckle encontrá-lo com um rapaz qualquer e acreditar que seu caçula era gay e mancharia a imagem da família cristã que tinham.

Embora Los Angeles tenha sido uma das melhores épocas da vida de Harold, foram anos que quase não viu a família e odiava estar brigado com o pai e distante do irmão. Seu arrependimento maior foi não ter insistido em acertar as coisas com Mr. Zinckle antes que fosse tarde demais.

Harry não ter ido ao funeral do pai causou uma grande briga entre os irmãos Zinckle. O escritor não conseguiu visitar a cidade natal por um ano, mas quando deu as caras por lá, recebeu um soco na cara invés de abraços. Ele era um bastardo e sabia disso, tanto que quase não revidou aos xingamentos e voltou para L.A. sem nem olhar para trás.

Infelizmente, o padrão se repetiu. Embora Harold tenha tentado uma aproximação depois, mandando emails e telefonando, Tony era cabeça dura demais para aceitar propostas de trégua. Quando o mais novo soube da morte do irmão, outra vez seu coração gelou, quebrou em mil pedacinhos e foi colado com mais arrependimento e auto-piedade que antes.

Nos primeiros meses após a morte do irmão, quando as autoridades revelaram ter sido um incêndio provocado, Harry ficou louco de ódio. Por quase um ano, trabalhou e pagou qualquer um que tivesse informações, mas foi suficiente. O caso foi arquivado, e o homem acabou entrando em depressão. Era injusto que Tony tivesse morrido, não ele. Todos sabiam que Tony era muito melhor e valioso que ele. A mulher e o amante tentavam confortá-lo da melhor forma que podiam, mas foi o senso de dever com as crianças que o motivou a sair do buraco. 

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐎̃𝐄𝐒

❪  esposa / mulher mais perfeita do mundo / my angel ❫     Y  apareceu na vida de Harry num momento bastante crítico. Estava acabado pela notícia da morte do pai e havia brigado feio com o irmão mais velho por sequer ter aparecido para o funeral. Sem contar o bloqueio criativo que o impedia de concluir o segundo volume de Knight of Death. A mulher foi o sopro de vida e esperança que ele tanto precisava. Como clichê, foram aquele famoso fuck buddies-to-lovers, com uma dose extra de confusão nas quais ele os metia com suas ideias malucas. Eles se casaram em Las Vegas, jamais se arrependeram da escolha altamente influenciada pela quantidade de álcool – e talvez outras substâncias – em seu sistema. Admiração, honestidade e parceria são as palavras chave dessa relação.

❪  homem de confiança / amante / mozão supremo  ❫     X foi o primeiro amor de Harry. Filho de um grande amigo da família, eles cresceram juntos na fazenda, andando a cavalo e aprontando várias ( geralmente, o Zinckle tinha as ideias e o levava junto ). Por vários anos, Haz achou que era gay e se apavorava com a ideia -- como contaria ao pai religioso e homofóbico? Então veio J, uma menina da escola que ele passou a ter crush, e várias outras. Nada disso foi capaz de sequer abafar o sentimento por X. Um  tempo depois, Harry e X acabaram se declarando e viveram um romance breve e quase rs inocente. Quando o rapaz decidiu que queria estudar fora, conhecer um mundo maior do que tinham em WB, não conseguiu usar X para isso. Terminou, armou seu plano usando outro rapaz e nem disse adeus -- sempre fora péssimo com despedidas. ( Talvez tiveram alguns remembers nas poucas vezes que H voltou a WB, quem sabe? ) Quando Harry voltou a morar em WB, eles voltaram a se encontrar e fortalecer o laço de amizade, que se tornou algo a mais com o passar dos meses.

[conformityvictim]

Chapters: 2/20 Fandom: Captive Prince Rating: Mature Warnings: Attempted Rape; Murder; Character Death Relationships: Damen/Laurent Characters: Damen, Laurent, Nicaise, Nikandros, Jord, The Regent Additional Tags: Regency AU; Superpowered AU Collection: For the Captive Prince Big Bang 2017 Note: Art by @spiritoffox Beta by @shelllessturtle Summary:

The Regency Era was a time of rigorous high-society cues and rituals and an even more rigid social hierarchy. At the top were those with old money, envied by all and deemed untouchable by even more. And on the very bottom, were the Endowed – gifted individuals regulated to being the scum of the scum. The beggars, the thieves, the homeless, and the prostitutes.

Laurent deVere is content being the most profitable brothel owner in London, as he long ago resigned himself to his place in life. But when the attractive, well-spoken Mr. Akielon arrives, his place might just be lost to the wind.

“ It is a truth, generally accepted, that a Stone-Cold Bitch in employment of a brothel, must be in want of a good fuck. “

[ao3feed-captiveprince]

Burn

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2jM71aH

by sleeplittlechild

“It is a truth, generally accepted, that a Stone-Cold Bitch in employment of a brothel, must be in want of a good fuck."

--------

The Regency Era was a time of rigorous high-society cues and rituals and an even more rigid social hierarchy. At the top were those with old money, envied by all and deemed untouchable by even more. And on the very bottom, were the Endowed – gifted individuals regulated to being the scum of the scum. The beggars, the thieves, the homeless, and the prostitutes.

Laurent deVere is content being the most profitable brothel owner in London, as he long ago resigned himself to his place in life. But when the attractive, well-spoken Mr. Akielon arrives, his place might just be lost to the wind.

Words: 1536, Chapters: 1/20, Language: English

Fandoms: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

Categories: M/M

Characters: Nicaise (Captive Prince), Jord (Captive Prince), Regent (Captive Prince), Nikandros (Captive Prince)

Relationships: Damen/Laurent (Captive Prince)

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2jM71aH