#ask clarence cross

[alterrune]

<Meanwhile in GEOgram Base> ⚙️Oh, you. 🧿Ah previous college do you need some services HA. 🔵What are you guys doing here anyways? 🔲Well we need rooms for our stay. 🔵Oh, why didn’t you just talk to the head enigneer ⚙️And that’s me so I’ll get right to work [Ive had art of this for a while so I think I might as well post it -HH]

[The art has been sitting in my inbox for a while, so I'll post it after this post. However, I also wanna show how things are going back in the AtO world (specfically with Laurence, Aaron/Adam & Alter's parents), so enjoy! -K]

So let me get this straight. My son and his group have been transported into another world?

Yes, Carol. I'm sure they can handle themselves.

(Carol suddenly grabs Laurence by his shirt collar.)

BRING. THEM. BACK.

Carol, let the poor boy go. He clearly wants them back as much as we do, so don't harm him just because he can't bring Alter back at this very moment.

(Carol, after hearing what Clarence said to her, drops Laurence immediately.)

Thank you, Carol. Now, me and Adam have luckily been able to get a visual on where the ColorStreak Battalion is, and it seems as though they're in some place known as "Pokémon Square".

So what are we waiting for, Scaffold? Let's just hop through a portal and get them back!

That's the problem. You see, aside from the fact that I currently don't know how to create a portal to the CSB's location as of yet, if we went through a portal to them right now, I don't know if we'll be able to go through it both ways. By the way, thank you for not calling me "Shafter" again, Adam.

Hey, I just thought I'd make some new nicknames to call you, having only one was getting kinda stale.

Regardless, we're working as hard as we can to retrieve them, you two. Just have patience, we'll get them back. You have our word.

I'll hold you to that.

[pasukiyo]

Hey, ignore if u arent still doing requests but I've had this storyline in my head for ages and I think ur a perfect writer for tom. Basically, the reader is a muggleborn but she attends Hogwarts and it's like half term where they are all home for a break. Shes either avery or lestranges adopted sibling and it's kinda been kept a secret from tom because.. well yknow shes a muggleborn lol(he knows about her now because her adoptive brother had to explain before bringing Tom over) anyways so hes at every or lestranges house for some reason (you make it up) and shes in her room, her adoptive brother needs something so he asks tom to get it from her desk in her room and they preferably have 🌶 time. Sorry if it sounds stupid but I've been thinking about this for ages!!😭

𝐰𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 | tom riddle

tom riddle x f!reader 8,104 words warnings: smut. sort of angst. also lots of prejudice against muggle-borns. read part two here. notes: reader is hufflepuff and muggle-born in this one. summary: every year, the lestranges will hold a christmas party for only the oldest of pure-blood wizarding families. every year you are locked in your room while the party rages downstairs, but everything will change when tom riddle is invited to this year’s party. everything…

 The Lestrange name definitely held some irony, considering how strange the family truly was. The Mother sent an owl at lunch, the rolled parchment dropping onto the plate in front of Tiernan Lestrange. On either side of him sat Clarence Avery and Liam Mulciber, who gazed down at the rolled parchment sealed with the Lestrange family crest with sparkling irises. 

 “Is it for the party, Lestrange?” Avery asked as Lestrange took another bite of his sandwich, dusting his hands off before finally taking a hold of the parchment, untying the ribbon keeping it closed. “More than likely,” he replied as the parchment unraveled, his mother’s handwriting gazing back up at him in inky black cursive letters. 

 ‘To my dearest son,

 Tell your friends they’re more than welcome to join us on Christmas Eve for the party. Invite that Head Boy you were writing to me about too. I am most interested to meet him, since you speak so highly of him. Remind the Girl that she is to not speak of the party, I simply cannot have any more of her kind in the house. I will see you at King’s Cross Station, my darling. 

 With all my love, your mother.’

 Of course, the Girl referred to the Hufflepuff sitting all the way across the Great Hall at her own House’s table, her head down as she ate, so as to not catch the attention of her brother or any of his friends. She didn’t choose this family— and if it were her choice, she’d be far away from them— and neither did they. 

 It was the fault of whomever it was who dropped her onto the Lestranges’ doorstep in the wee hours of the morning when she was only an infant. The Mother had given birth to her son only a few months before, and found the crying baby on her doorstep to be quite a burden. 

 She asked herself why the Mother and the Father even bothered keeping her, for even before they learned of her blood status, they hated her. Perhaps it was to uphold their reputation— taking in a child who wasn’t theirs? It was the perfect foundation for the story of a kind-hearted pure-blood family— how could the Lestranges let that opportunity go?

 Of course, behind closed doors, she was treated less than a family member, some would argue far less than a house elf. She may as well have been a house elf if you ask her. She was treated like how they believed anyone of her kind should be treated— a mudblood deserved to be treated like the rubbish they are, they’d say. 

 Up until she got her Hogwarts letter, she believed them. She believed she deserved to be treated this way, that she deserved to be put through the torture that came with living with the Lestranges. She believed she had filthy blood, demon blood. 

 But all of that changed the second she first stepped foot into Hogwarts. Of course, the Lestranges were at first very against letting her attend Hogwarts— mudbloods shouldn’t be taught magic, they’d say— but even they could only take so many letters flying through the fireplace or popping up in the stew before they gave in. Of course, she wasn’t allowed to tell anyone of her blood status— “you are not to tell anyone of your filthy blood status,” the Father had told her with an accusatory finger in her face. “As far as anyone is concerned, you are pure-blood. So I expect you to act like it.” 

 Her school robes and supplies were not as grand as Tiernan’s, and she wasn’t allowed an owl or a cat or a toad. But she told herself that she would make do with what she had, and she felt at least a little bit grateful that the Lestranges didn’t give her tattered secondhand, even third-hand clothes, even if she knew it was all for the act. 

 When the Lestranges found out she had been sorted into Hufflepuff however, oh, it gave them all the more reason to ridicule and torture her back at home. “Of course the mudblood is in the weakest House,” the Mother would mutter beneath her breath as she and her husband read the letter their son had written. “We were fools to think that old ratty hat would sort her into Slytherin.”

 Tiernan and his friends— they made certain that her life at Hogwarts was just as bad as her life at home. Of course, Tiernan was the only one who knew the truth about her blood, Avery, Mulciber, and the others just tagged along because they found it funny. They loved calling her names, making her trip in the hallways, pulling pranks such as jinxing her school books so that they may not open no matter how hard she tried. 

 And still, she didn’t dare stand her ground, for she knew all too well that the Mother and the Father would catch wind of it, and make certain that she’d be on the first train back to King’s Cross Station. So instead, she dealt with Tiernan and his friends, just like she learned to deal with everything else. 

 But Tom… Tom Riddle was different. 

 Tiernan Lestrange and his friends worshiped the ground Tom Riddle walked on, and it was no secret. She remembered when she first saw Tom, all the way back in the Sorting Ceremony in her first year at Hogwarts. She remembered hearing his name ‘Riddle, Tom’ being called and she remembered watching as he approached the platform, settling himself down onto the stool. 

 She remembered the way their eyes met and she swore her knees turned into jelly when she gazed into those dark ravines he had for irises. And she remembered when the Sorting Hat exclaimed “Slytherin!” hardly before it had even touched a hair on his head. 

 And she remembered how disappointed she felt when she was called up to be sorted, the Sorting Hat put her into Hufflepuff. She wanted to be a Slytherin— she wanted to be wherever Tom Riddle was. 

 In all her time at Hogwarts, she’d never even spoken a word to Tom Riddle. They’d pass each other in the halls, but thanks to her brother, she’d never been given the chance to even tell him hello. And Tiernan made it clear that she never would. 

 So life went on, and she got older. She hoped that over time, she’d forget about Tom. But it was hard when he was made prefect, and when he was given the Special Award for Services to the School, and when he was made Head Boy at the beginning of their seventh and final year. 

 She remembered her fifth year during all the attacks on muggle-borns vividly as if it were only yesterday. She remembered how frightened she was when she realized it was muggle-borns whatever it was was attacking. She remembered the panic she felt when Hogwarts was on the brink of being closed— she couldn’t have that! She belonged at Hogwarts, not out there with the Lestranges where she was treated like vermin. 

 At least here, she could pretend to be someone she was not. 

 Of course Tiernan was no help, always taunting her and teasing her that she’d be next. She remembered when she heard that it was Rubeus Hagrid who had freed the muggle-born killing beast, how although she felt that it could not be Hagrid, she felt a sense of relief when he was expelled, when all the attacks had stopped. 

 And of course it was Tom Riddle who caught him. And of course it just made her admire him more and more. 

 But she would keep her distance. She’d admire him from afar. She couldn’t begin to imagine the torment Tiernan would put her through if he found out she liked Tom Riddle. 

 “Yes! Looks like we’re invited, Mulciber,” Avery exclaimed, pumping his fist. Tiernan rolled his eyes at his friends, “you’re invited every year,” he replied, just as Tom entered the Great Hall, and they fell into silence as he approached. 

 She could see Tom over the tops of the heads of the Hufflepuffs in front of her, and she slowly sat up to get a better look. That was when Tom blinked up and she swore their eyes met, just for a moment, before he settled down into his seat, disappearing behind the heads of the other Hogwarts students. She felt herself flush as she hunched over her plate again, a small smile creeping onto her face. 

 “My Lord,” Tiernan Lestrange nodded as Tom settled himself between him and Liam Mulciber. Tom nodded in acknowledgement as he placed a few pieces of chicken onto his plate, and Tiernan’s gaze flickered from him to the rolled parchment in his lap. “My mother sent an owl,” he said, and Tom hummed in reply, nodding. Still, he said nothing. 

 Tiernan shifted in his seat and cleared his throat, and Tom, with his eyes slightly narrower than before, peered up at him, waiting for him to say whatever it was he wanted to say. Tiernan turned pink beneath Tom’s stare, and he presented the letter to him, Tom’s dark eyes flicking down to the inky black words on the scroll. 

 “My family, we… we hold a Christmas party every year,” he said, and when Tom glanced back up at him, he flushed again. “And you would’ve been invited! But it’s only for the oldest pure-blood families, and, well…” Tiernan trailed off when he saw the shadow looming over Tom’s already dark gaze, and Mulciber and Avery shifted in their seats uncomfortably. 

 Tiernan cleared his throat again, “but I’ve been speaking very highly of you to my mother. She wants you to come,” he said, his lips curving into a smile. Tom pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek as he stared back up at Lestrange, handing back the parchment. “Yes, I know. I can read, Tiernan,” Tom said sternly, and Tiernan clawed at his knees to prevent himself from trembling. 

 “Yes… well…” Lestrange said shakily as he rolled back up the parchment, slipping it inside one of his pockets. “…I’d really love it if you come. We’ll all be there— me, Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, Nott— and our families too, so you can meet them all!”

 Tom took a bite out of one of the chicken wings on his plate, placing it back down before wringing a napkin between his hands, gesturing towards Lestrange’s robes with his head. “Who is your mother referring to when she speaks of ‘the Girl?’” He asked, and heat crept back into Tiernan’s cheeks until they glowed scarlet. “Oh, you know… my sister…” he muttered, and Tom’s brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t she refer to her daughter by name?” Tom questioned, turning his body to fully face Tiernan, his interest piqued. “What does she mean by she ‘cannot have any more of her kind in the house?’”

 The other boys leaned in to hear what Tiernan would say next, and he knew now that there was no way to get out of this. He’d have to tell the truth not only to his friends, but to his Lord. 

 “Forgive me, my Lord, for asking this of you,” Tiernan hung his head and muttered lowly towards Tom. “But I must ask that you promise you won’t tell another soul about this. This goes for all of you, too,” he said towards Tom and the rest of their group. Lestrange gazed into each of their eyes and held contact for a moment with each, to make it known that he was serious. 

 Tom shrugged, “I promise.”

 Tiernan inhaled a shaky breath, before finally saying, “she… as you know, is not my sister,” he began. “And she’s not pure-blood, either. She’s a mudblood.”

 Mulciber, Avery, and the others all leaned closer and broke into a sea of murmurs, “that sure explains a lot. But a mudblood? In the Lestrange family?” Tom remained silent as he stared at Lestrange, beckoning for him to continue. “Her filthy muggle parents left her on our doorstep after she was born. My mother and father took her in purely out of the goodness of their hearts,” Tiernan sat up and stuck out his chest proudly. “And they kept her, even when they learned where she came from. So you see now why she never comes to the party. Mother always tells guests she’s never home for the party anyways.”

 The boys all laughed and ridiculed her while Tom, again, remained silent, staring absentmindedly down at his plate. He wasn’t sure what to think, how to feel. All this time he’d spent watching her, only catching glimpses of her from afar when he felt a gaze on him, watching as she turned away whenever she saw him with Tiernan and the others. 

 All this time he secretly lusted after her, the outcast of her family, the black sheep of the family. All this time he felt some sort of connection to her, all this time he felt he could relate to her because he, too, felt like an outcast. The outcast of the orphanage he grew up in, the outcast of the Gaunt family, the outcast of his muggle father’s family. 

 Tom Riddle never belonged anywhere, but he belonged here, at Hogwarts. And he knew she felt the same. 

 But would things change now that he knew she was muggle-born? Should he feel disgusted with himself now for ever thinking of pursuing her, for ever thinking of taking her in whichever way he pleased? Was it wrong of him to still lust for her, to still think of having his way with her? 

 Tom was clever but this, this he wasn’t sure of. 

 “So where has she been hiding during the parties?” Liam Mulciber asked, and Tiernan Lestrange snickered. “Mother and father force her up into her room. Says they’ll punish her accordingly if they hear even the smallest of noises coming from her room,” he replied, the boys erupting into another fit of snickers. Tom was still silent as he stared at his plate— he suddenly didn’t feel like eating. 

 The next day, she and a group of other Hogwarts students waiting to go home for the holidays gathered at Hogsmeade station, waiting for the arrival of the train. She snuck glances over to where Tiernan and his friends stood together, Tom in the middle of them all. She flushed and turned away when his head began to turn, and she moved to hide herself behind a few of her fellow Hufflepuffs, safe away from Tom Riddle’s view. 

 The train’s whistle echoed as the train emerged, slowing down to a stop before them. She dared gaze back over to where Tiernan stood with his friends as she waited for the doors to open, and when she did, Tom was no longer looking her way. She let herself stare for a little moment longer before she felt someone tap her shoulder, and blinked at the Hufflepuff girl in front of her with brown skin and shoulder length black hair she recognized as Clara Wingrave. 

 “Are you coming?” Clara asked, a furrow in her brow. She blinked and nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat back down. “Yes, sorry Clara,” she mumbled as she followed the Hufflepuff girl onto the train, sliding into the seat opposite the one Clara chose. She sighed as she settled herself into the seat just as footsteps thundered through the train, and she hardly had any time to register what was happening before their compartment door slid open, revealing none other than Tiernan Lestrange, Clarence Avery, and Liam Mulciber, Tom and the other three boys nowhere in sight. 

 Clara narrowed her eyes at their intruders, “hey, go find your own—“

 “Shut it,” Mulciber hissed towards her. “No one allowed you to speak.”

 Clara’s glare hardened as Tiernan leaned down to block his adopted sister’s view, his lips curving into a cheshire grin. Her hands balled into fists, and she suddenly felt the strongest urge to slam them right into that crooked smile of his. 

 “Mother sent the owl this afternoon,” Tiernan muttered, and he needn’t elaborate, for she was already used to the rules she was forced to follow every year during the annual Lestrange Christmas party. “Oh yeah? And let me guess…  I’m not to speak of the party, I’m not to attend the party, I’m to stay up in my room and if I make even the smallest of noises, I’ll be punished accordingly? Is that all?” She asked quietly, so that the girl across from her could not hear. 

 Tiernan scowled and grabbed for her throat, much to Clara’s shock as she shrieked, giving her a firm shake. She pressed her lips closed and gazed into Tiernan’s dark umber eyes as they gleamed with mischief. “You dare give me attitude?” He tsked. “You just wait. I’ll tell mother and father about this and—“

 “—Tiernan? Won’t you leave her alone for Merlin’s sake, the train is about to leave.”

 She along with Clara, Tiernan, and his friends snapped their heads to the open compartment door where the Head Boy now stood, a furrow in his brow. He narrowed his eyes every so slightly, and he looked irritated. She flushed when she saw him and turned away as Tiernan released her, dusting off his clothes. She glimpsed up at him as he turned to leave, not without making sure to flash a dirty look her way over his shoulder before he slid the compartment door closed behind him. 

 “What the hell was that about?” Clara gasped and shook her head in disbelief. “I know it is common for siblings to fight, but that was just absurd.”

 She shook her head as she shifted in her seat, gazing out the window as the train began to move, and Hogsmeade station grew further and further away until it disappeared altogether. 

 “He’s not my brother.”

 The train ride back to King’s Cross Station seemed to go by quicker than usual, much to her dismay. She wished she could stay on the train forever rather than have to go back to living with the Lestranges, and wished that she had an invisibility cloak so that she could hide and be on her way back to Hogwarts within the hour. 

 But, since she didn’t, she sighed as she collected her bag with her few belongings and exited her compartment, stepping out of the train and onto Platform 9¾, where her eyes immediately fell upon the Mother and the Father where they stood, eyes narrowed when they fell upon their muggle-born adopted daughter. She huffed as she made her way over to them, standing beside the Mother with a considerable amount of distance between them. 

 “Where is my son?” The Mother asked through gritted teeth, and she shrugged her shoulders. “He and his friends should be getting off soon,” she replied, not daring to turn to look at the Mother. Sure enough, almost as soon as she finished saying it, there stepped out Tiernan and his friends, Tom Riddle close behind. The other boys left to greet their own parents, but Tiernan and Tom made their way over to where she stood beside the Lestranges, and she flushed. 

 Why was Tom coming over here?

 “Tiernan,” the Mother smiled, drawing her son into her chest for a hug. “And you must be… Tom, is that right? Hogwarts’ Head Boy?”

 She glanced over to where Tom stood, a charming smile plastered his face and she could feel heat creep back up her neck. She turned away from him before he could catch her staring.

 “It is nice to meet you, Mr and Mrs Lestrange,” Tom greeted them, shaking Mr Lestrange’s hand and giving the top of Mrs Lestrange’s a polite kiss. “Oh!” Mrs Lestrange giggled. “I like this one. The manners!”

 Tom flashed his best smile but snuck a glimpse over to where the Lestranges adopted daughter stood, her arms crossed over herself as she looked anywhere but at him. He eyed her up and down just as Mrs Lestrange clutched either of his forearms, and he was forced to tear his attention away from the girl behind her.

 “Tiernan here tells me you’re from the orphanage?” Mrs Lestrange asked and Tiernan felt like shriveling away beside Tom. Tom only nodded in reply to which Mrs Lestrange tutted, “how about this? You’re welcome to come and stay with us for the holidays. We’d be delighted to have you.”

 She froze at this and her lips fell agape with the intent to protest, but nothing came out. She knew nothing she said would matter anyways, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to handle being around Tom for the entirety of the holidays. She’d been comfortable leaving him at a safe distance away from her at school, but now she’d have to deal with seeing him at the Lestranges? She simply wouldn’t be able to trust herself being around him for so long. 

 “Thank you for your hospitality,” Tom beamed as Mrs Lestrange fussed over him, leading him away from the platform, and she, the Father, and Tiernan followed close behind. Tiernan made a point of ramming his shoulder into her every once in a while, and it took everything within her to control herself, to not shout or push him away. The Father saw this was happening but did nothing to stop it. 

 It wasn’t longer before they finally entered the Leaky Cauldron and made their way to the fireplace, and they each grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. The Father went first, then Mrs Lestrange, and Tiernan before it was down to her and Tom. It occurred to her that this was the first time they had ever been alone together, and she forced herself to look away as he stepped into the fireplace. 

 Tom was no stranger to her shy nature. He tilted his head to try and get a better look at her, watching as she peeked over at him only to find he was staring, and looked away again. He smiled, exclaimed “Lestrange Manor!” and he was gone, leaving her alone. 

 Soon, she too was back in the Lestrange Manor, and she nearly ran into Tom where he stood just before the fireplace. Her palms instinctively fell onto his back to find her balance, and oh, how she felt she’d explode where she stood. 

 It was the first time she had ever touched Tom, and she truly did not expect him to be so warm. Tom glanced back over his shoulder when he felt her hands on him and swiftly stepped out of her way, feeling her touch lingering on his back where she had touched him. Something ignited within him at that touch, and every doubt he had about still wanting to pursue her seemed to fray away. 

 He wanted her. 

 “Welcome to our home!” The Mother exclaimed with a smile as she dusted off the shoulder of Tom’s coat where some ash had fallen, letting her palms soothe back down all the way to his elbows. “Tiernan will show you where you will be staying. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

 She began to follow Tiernan and Tom as they headed for the staircase leading to the next level, but just before she could, the Mother grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her backwards to face her and the Father. She scowled down at her adopted daughter as soon as she made certain Tom was out of sight and leaned down until they were eye level. 

 “Listen to me, girl, and listen to me good,” the Mother said lowly. “You are to be on your best behavior while we have a guest in the home. You are to stay up in your room for the holidays except for meals, do you understand me, girl?”

 She blinked— normally, she’d hate the fact that she had to stay up in her room all hours of the day, but instead, she felt relief surge through her. At least she wouldn’t have to see Tom, at least she wouldn’t make a fool out of herself in front of him. 

 “Yes, Madam Lestrange,” she said as the Mother released her elbow, and the Father stepped forward, leaning down to eye level.

 “And you mustn’t leave your room under any circumstances during the party tomorrow evening,” he muttered. “If I hear even the smallest of sounds coming from your bedroom, I will punish accordingly and do understand, I will not show mercy.”

 She heard this rule every year, but still to this day, the way the Father threatened her sent chills down her spine. “Yes, Mr Lestrange,” she nodded and when the Father waved her off, she walked as fast as she could towards the stairs, practically sprinting up the steps and down the hallway until she finally reached her bedroom. 

 Tom and the rest of the Lestranges were already in the dining room when she finally bounded down the steps, and he could tell Mr and Mrs Lestrange were using all the self restraint they had within them to not blow up at her, most likely for his sake. He watched as she sat down across the table from where he and Tiernan sat, carefully only placing a small selection of food onto her plate. 

 He glanced back over to where Mr Lestrange sat on one end of the long dining table before looking over at Mrs Lestrange on the other end. Neither paid her any attention, or showed any intention of speaking to her. She didn’t seem to want to talk either. 

 “So, Tom, Tiernan tells me you’re exceptional at Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Mr Lestrange said, shaking Tom from his thoughts. He forced a small smile as he nodded, wiping his hands on his napkin. “Yes, actually, I wish to become Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher one day.”

 She listened as she finished her dinner as quickly as she could, but she didn’t stick around to hear the rest of Tom’s story. She gazed over at the Mother who only nodded that she may be excused before she gathered her plate and hurried off to the kitchen where the Lestranges house elf cleaned. 

 “Thank you for the food, Gimbel,” she nodded at the house elf who only nodded back as she set her dirty plate on the pile of unclean dishes the house elf had stacked on the countertop. She hurried back upstairs where she shut herself in her room, sighing as she fell onto her mattress. 

 All she had left to endure was breakfast tomorrow morning, and she’d be free of seeing Tom for the rest of the day. She rested her arm over her eyes, her heart beating against her chest. She couldn’t believe the boy she’s been pining after since her first year is in her house, staying in only a few rooms down from hers. How she wished she could talk to him, to treat him like a guest rather than act like he wasn’t even there at all. 

 She even, for a moment, wished she was a true member of the Lestrange family, so that she could be treated as an equal. 

 Tom hardly saw her for breakfast the next morning, for as soon as he and Tiernan had entered the dining room, she was seemingly finished with her food, and once again scurried off towards the kitchen as she did the night before. Tiernan scoffed when he saw this as they took their seats on one side of the long dining table, loading their plates with biscuits and bacon and eggs. 

 “I apologize for her… strange behavior, my Lord,” Tiernan muttered to home as Tom took a sip of milk. “She’s always like this, you see.” Tom didn’t care to listen to whatever else Tiernan had to say about his adopted sister. Tom had already made up his mind about her, it was how he’d find the chance to talk to her that was the problem. 

 She seemed to avoid him like the plague, and he knew he more than likely wouldn’t be seeing her at all the rest of the day, since the Lestranges locked her in her room while they hosted their party. Tom was clever, so surely he’d be able to find a way around it?

 But as the time for the party to begin approached, he still came up with nothing. He had no excuse for wanting to see her, and with Tiernan practically breathing down his neck, he hadn’t any chance of sneaking away any time soon. He wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to see her at all when the party began and Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Dolohov, and Nott all came rushing towards him and Lestrange. He had no space absolutely no space and no time to sneak away. 

 “Don’t worry,” Lestrange was saying to his friends. “The mudblood is upstairs in her bedroom. Won’t be coming out at all tonight, that one.” The boys snickered as they called her names and made jokes about her, but Tom wasn’t listening. Even though it seemed as if all hope of seeing her tonight was lost, he was still thinking of every possible excuse he could come up with to sneak away. 

 But fortunately, he wouldn’t have to contemplate for much longer. 

 “Blast,” Lestrange cursed, feeling around his pockets. Clarence Avery furrowed his eyebrows as he watched his friend, the others soon joining in. “What is it?” Liam Mulciber asked as Lestrange emptied each of his pockets, coming up with nothing. “Left my damn wand in my room,” Lestrange muttered, and Tom perked at this. Lestrange turned to Tom and stepped closer to murmur close to his ear, “forgive me for asking you of this, my Lord, but I simply do not trust the others. Will you go upstairs and retrieve my wand for me? I can’t go upstairs, mother and father said I need to stay down here.”

 If Tom was the type, he’d laugh and jump up and down at the request. All day he had been trying to come up with some sort of excuse to slip away from the party, and now he finally had one. He cleared his throat and nodded, “of course,” he said to Lestrange before making his way over towards the staircase, but he did not stop at Tiernan’s bedroom door as he passed. 

 Instead, he walked a little further down the Lestranges upstairs hallway, stopping at the last door on the left where she was, the black wooden door the only thing separating him from her now. Tom raised a fist to the door and knocked, and for a moment, it was silent on the other side. 

 Who could possibly be knocking at her door?

 She knew it could not be any of the Lestranges, for they would’ve just burst through the door without any respect for her privacy anyways. It couldn’t be Gimbel either, the house elf never came to her room. She grew weary as she closed her book and set it down on the mattress beside her, clearing her throat before murmuring a low, “come in.”

 She watched as the handle to her door twisted and it swung open, and when she saw who was standing there in her doorway, she felt as if all the air had been knocked from her lungs. She’d only ever dreamed of Tom Riddle being in her bedroom, but never before did she actually think he’d really come in here. 

 But there he was. There Tom Riddle stood, closing the door behind him and turning to gaze at her where she sat on her bed, his eyes entrancing as they were dark. Even from across the room, his irises seemed to pull her in like they were magnets and she was metal, and she lost herself further and further into his soul…

 “Forgive me,” Tom said, and she blinked. Those were the first words she had ever heard him direct towards her. “I would not usually barge into a lady’s room like this.”

 Fire raged across her skin, up her neck, and to her cheeks until they were seared with flame. She suddenly had the strongest urge to open the window, wondering if she had broken into a sweat yet or not. 

 She blinked again, and the corner of Tom’s lips curved into a soft smile. He knew he already had her wrapped around his finger. 

 “Your brother thought he left something in here,” he said, gesturing towards her desk against the far wall of the room. “May I?” 

 She could not think of anything Tiernan could have possibly left in her room, but she wouldn’t dare question Tom, so instead she nodded, and she watched as he strode across the room, opening her desk drawers and sifting through its contents. 

 Of course, Tom wasn’t searching for anything. But she needn’t know that yet. 

 “Hm,” Tom hummed, closing the drawers he had opened and turning to face her again, leaning back against the wooden desk. “Perhaps, your brother was mistaken.”

 She felt small underneath Tom’s gaze, and she felt as though she could curl herself into a ball right now and shrivel away. But instead she sat still on her bed, unable to speak, unable to move. Tom chuckled and she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth, mentally cursing herself for being so shy. Typical Hufflepuff, she could imagine her adopted brother sneering. 

 “You know, you should really join the party,” Tom said, hoping to break the ice between them. She soothed the skin of her arms with her palms and rubbed at her elbows, shaking her head. “The Mother and the Father won’t let me attend,” she managed to speak at last, and she gulped down the lump in her throat. 

 Although Tom already knew the answer, he still tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “Why is that?” He asked, and she swallowed again, forcing back down the truth. She dropped her head and shrugged, “because I’m different.”

 Tom blinked, and he suddenly felt like he was ten years old again, still living at the orphanage he grew up in. For over ten years, he grew up unlike all the other children, and even at an early and young age, he knew that he was different. It wasn't until Albus Dumbledore came to visit him that he finally understood why he felt this way. 

 It was different in her case, because at least she knew why she was different. But they were still treated the same, like they were misfits, rejects, outcasts. It was then that he understood the connection he felt towards her with a different meaning, that he first noticed this string tethering them together. 

 They had both been lost before, but just like he had found himself, she could be found too. Tom could be the one to find her, for he seemed to be the only one who understood her. 

 Tom’s footsteps permeated her bedroom as he made his way over towards her bed, setting himself down on the mattress beside her. She flinched when she felt the bed dip beneath his weight, and it was then that it occurred to her just how close he was. 

 They had never ever been this close before. 

 “Why are you different?” He asked, gazing down at her as she peered up, their eyes meeting closer than they ever have before. For a moment she said nothing, only continued to lose herself further in the dark depths of the treacherous caverns that were his eyes. He studied her— her eyes, her eyebrows, her nose, her cheeks, her chin, her lips. 

 It was no secret that she was beautiful, even Tom could admit that. But she was vulnerable, it was clear the moment Tom met her eyes again. And Tom could work with vulnerability. 

 “Well…” she trailed off, contemplating how much she should tell him. Tom’s fingers grazed against her knee and she trembled, her eyes flicking down to his hand and back up to his face. “You can tell me,” Tom said warmly. “You can tell me anything.”

 She blinked. Never before had she heard those words. Nobody has ever wanted to hear her story before, for they all thought they already knew it all by now. She was the child who was left on the Lestranges doorstep as a baby, the child the Lestranges took in to ‘raise as their own’ because they just couldn’t bear giving such a young girl away since they were so kindhearted. 

 So never had she ever thought she’d be given the chance to tell someone about herself, to let someone read her story. But there was something about Tom, and she felt like she could trust him. 

 “I’m… I was left on their doorstep as a baby,” she began, and Tom nodded, encouraging her to continue. “I was… I am muggle-born…” she trailed off, wincing as she searched Tom’s face for disgust, but he didn’t even recoil. He only gazed at her with that same patient stare, waiting for her to keep going. 

 So she did. 

 “They hate me for it,” she added. “For having dirty blood. I’m not sure why they kept me, I could’ve been a Squib or not even a witch at all for that matter. Thankfully, I got my Hogwarts letter when Tiernan did.” She wrung her hands together in her lap, Tom’s warmth drawing her even closer to him. “It certainly didn’t help that I wasn’t sorted into Slytherin.”

 She swallowed the lump in her throat back down again, and Tom let his palm rest on her knee again, his touch warm, like a kiss from the sun itself. She felt relaxed when he touched her, despite how nervous she actually was inside. 

 “They treat me… so bad,” she whispered. “They treat me like I’m nothing.”

 Her voice wavered before it broke, and when it was clear that she wouldn’t be able to continue, the hand that had previously been resting on her knee retreated so that it may instead reach her face. Gently, he gripped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her face up to his, her teary eyes searching his for something, anything she could hold onto. Warmth, comfort, reassurance, hope, anything. 

 So Tom would tell her what she wanted to hear. 

 “You are not nothing,”  Tom murmured, and her lip quivered the longer she stared at him. “You are somebody. Don’t let them take that feeling away from you.”

 She blinked and her brow softened, her vision blurring with tears. She was somebody. Tom Riddle thought she was somebody. 

 And somehow, that seemed to be all she needed to hear. 

 A silence ensued and they only gazed deeper into one another’s eyes. With the grip still on her chin, he drew her near and he leaned down to meet her halfway, his lips pressing against hers softly, as tenderly as he could. He felt the way she shuddered under his touch, as if his kiss was a tranquilizer, and she was becoming limp and pliant, all for him. 

 So he kissed her deeper, he kissed her harder. His tongue was warm in her mouth as she let him reign dominance over her own, her hands shaking as one cupped the side of his face and the other grabbed his bicep. 

 This was what Tom Riddle had been fantasizing about for years. To have her compliant beneath him, to have her completely under his control. He loved how easy it was, how easy it was to have her. Although he’d admit, this connection he felt towards her was growing, and it was growing at an alarming rate. As he pushed her down onto the mattress and trailed his kisses down from her lips to her jaw, he found that his heart burned, as if she had set it aflame, and this feeling was foreign to him. 

 He had no idea what this tenderness he felt was, whether he dared call it love or not. For eighteen years, he was under the impression that he couldn’t love, that love simply just wasn’t in the cards for him, and he was completely okay with that. 

 But this feeling, whatever it was he felt for her, came unexpectedly, and he was unsure whether or not he should embrace it or push it away. 

 For now, he worked at unbuttoning her blouse as he sucked marks into her neck, his tongue swirling around her collarbone. 

 She pressed her lips together to contain her noises as Tom slipped her blouse from her shoulders and down her arms, discarding it down onto the floor altogether. He made quick work of her brassiere, his lips previously kissing her collarbone venturing down between the valley of her breasts, sucking marks onto either mounds of flesh. 

 “T… Tom,” she mewled as he pressed a kiss to one of her nipples, kneading her opposite breast with his palm. He hummed in reply, gazing up at her through hooded lids as he sucked the erect bud, releasing it with a wet pop before doing the same to the other. She squirmed beneath him and squeezed her eyes shut, arching her back up off of the mattress. “T… Tom, I… they will punish me if they hear me.”

 Tom smirked against her skin as he released her nipple from his mouth and kissed down her stomach, past her belly button, all the way to the hem of her skirt. He pushed himself up by the elbows as he hooked his fingers over the hem, beginning to tug them down her thighs. 

 “Then I suggest you stay quiet,” he said simply as he removed her skirt from her ankles, her panties soon joining the sea of clothes on the floor as well. 

 She sank her teeth down into her bottom lip so hard when he placed a kiss just above her aching clit, she feared she’d draw blood. Tom eyed her through his hooded stare as he teasingly dipped his tongue past her folds, testing the waters. He watched as her face scrunched and she kicked her legs, arching her back at just the simplest of touches. 

 So eager, he thought. 

 He soothed her stomach with one of his palms as he pecked her clit, watching the way she trembled and writhed, whining behind closed lips, silent pleading for more. Tears broke past the glossy barrier of her eyes and began to spill down her cheeks like crystals, and he smirked as he pressed his lips down against her heat, sucking her clit as it throbbed and ached to be touched. 

 She threw her hands down on the mattress on either side of her, her fingernails clawing at the sheets as he flicked his tongue up and down her slit, humming at the taste of her nectar on his tongue. She tried to watch as he lapped up the juices spilling down her folds before flicking his tongue against her bud again, but she couldn’t even hold herself up, much less keep her eyes open for longer than a few seconds. 

 “P… please,” she mewled quietly as one of her hands ventured down between her legs to grip at his hair, and she ground her hips against his face, eager for more. That was when Tom stopped and pried her hand away from his head, and she blinked up at him through her bleary eyes. 

 “Do you want to come?” He asked as he unbuttoned his shirt, shouldering it off of him and tossing it to the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. She gaped at the sight of his chest, but he grabbed her face again and forced her to look at him, squishing her cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. “I expect you to answer me when I ask you a question.”

 She trembled and felt her walls clench at his words, nodding up and down. “Yes. Yes please,” she whimpered as he tore his hand away from her face to work on his belt, tossing it and his trousers away until he stood before her completely in the nude, in all of his glory. 

 He was beautiful. And he was already beautiful to begin with but this, she never could have even imagined how he looked underneath the clothes. He wasn’t muscular or built like a statue or even a Quidditch player, but still, his arms and torso were toned, and his cock…

 She could feel her patience slipping away the longer he kept her waiting. She watched as he took a hold of his cock and stared down at her, maintaining eye contact as he gave himself a few pumps, his other hand absentmindedly stroking up and down her slick. She bit down onto her lip as she gazed up at him, watching him in anticipation for what was to come next. 

 Tom leaned back down to her face and captured her lips with his, unable to resist the temptation any longer. He kissed her again and again and again as he slipped inside of her, her moans muffled by his mouth on hers. She instinctively wrapped her arms around his shoulders and dug her fingernails into his skin, etching crescent moons into his flesh. Tom broke their kiss and let his forehead drop onto hers as he rocked his hips into her, slowly at first. One of her hands slithered to cup the back of his neck as tears streamed down the sides of her face, never feeling this good in all her years. 

 Tom let his gaze fall upon her face again, her eyelids squeezed shut but her face scrunched in pleasure, every once in a while muffling her sounds by pressing her face into his shoulder. He began to thrust harder than before, her legs wrapping around his waist and squeezing, beckoning him further inside of her. So he fucked her harder, and harder and harder and harder as if he intended to break her, to shatter her into a million pieces. 

 And maybe that was the goal all along. 

 Never has Tom felt this good, never had he felt so intoxicated by another person, and never did he believe he could be so attached to someone else before. Part of him hated it, part of him wanted to throw it away and stomp on it and set it on fire. 

 But the other part of him embraced it, another part of him felt powerful as he fucked into her with reckless abandon, powerful having someone underneath his control. He never imagined another person could feel so good, he never imagined someone else could make him feel so infinite. As far as he was concerned, he was doing just fine on his own. 

 But this was different. This was on a whole other level of power. He felt strong, even when she clenched around him and gushed around his cock, even when he felt himself so close to the edge, so close to releasing himself for another person. 

 He pushed away from from her and groped her chest with one hand, holding onto her shoulder with the other as he fucked her harder than before, without a care for how much noise they were making. He’d make it up to the Lestranges, he’d go down and tell them it was him making all the noise, it wasn’t like they’d punish him. 

 For now, he focused on chasing his release, on the way she felt around him, on the way he was so close to climax he could practically taste it. She sobbed beneath him and her lips fell agape with the intent of screaming his name but he clapped his hand around her mouth before she could as he thrusted again and again and again until finally he released, and warmth surged through her. 

 Tom’s chest heaved and he fell on top of her as she cried, motionless beneath him. Sweat made her skin glisten and tears made her cheeks swollen and sticky, but he found that he admired her all the same. 

 This warmth in his chest was new, and it was a feeling he couldn’t quite place or put a finger on. But if whatever it was could make him feel like he was on top of the world, like he was the most powerful being on this Earth, like he was infinite…

 …then surely he could learn to embrace it. 

a/n; oop this is the longest imagine i’ve ever written 🙈 thank you so much for the request anon! i wrote this one up pretty fast because i really liked the idea, it definitely wasn’t stupid! so i hope this is close to what you’ve been imagining!! and feel free to send in more requests if you’d like! i love writing requests!

| 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 |

@darkmoviesquotespizza 🥹🫶

[hopelesswritergall]

Hello!!!! I was wondering if you could do headcanons for Boris pavlikovsky x cutecore fem reader? Or miles Fairchild x cutecore fem reader headcanons? I’m fine with either one if you want to,have a lovely day!!<3

Alright I’m writing this in one sitting please bear with me… let me know if you find grammar issues. English isn’t my first language and I want to learn!

General Taglist: It’s quite lonely here……

TW: mention of fighting, bloody nose, bruises. Yandere tendencies

Meeting him

Alright Boris and a girl who wears mostly pink. Unlikely combination but it’s true.

You were the stereotypical girly girl. Pink? You loved it. Lipstick? Pink. Clothes? Pink. Notebooks? Pink. Hell you were almost like barbie and had a pink mood.

You were doing pretty good in school and kept your grades up. Boris on the other his grades were sinking faster than the titanic.

There was a group project coming up for English. You have to read a book, present and write an essay. This would be the chance for Boris to get his grade up.

“Hey Theo! Come on man, let’s do it together!”

“Unfortunately Mister Pavlikovsky, the groups will be decided by me.” Miss Clarence spoke.

Boris sunk back into his chair, well if he isn’t with Theo, he isn’t going to do shit.

“Hmmm. Let’s see. Boris you will be paired up with……. Ah of course! Y/N!.”

Y/N? Who the fuck is that?

Boris knew he should know the face that belongs to the name but he doesn’t.

Suddenly his vision is filled with pink and he nearly has a heart attack.

“Jesus woman, don’t you watch where you’re going?!”

“That’s a way to introduce yourself. I’m y/n! We’ll be partners for the next project”

Aww hell no. He couldn’t.

“Miss Clarence. Is there anyway we can switch partners?”

Getting to know him:

It was week 3 of the project and Boris hadn’t done much yet. You decided to play a game so he would do stuff and he would get “rewarded”, almost like a child or dog..

“Alright Boris, for every 5 sentences you write, you can ask me a question! That way we can get to know each other!”

“And why should I do that? I can just let you do all the work.” He crossed his arms and leaned back

“Otherwise I’ll only hand in my part and you’ll fail. Don’t think you’d wanna do the year over again, do you?”

He grumbled a bit before writing, he finished the first sentences pretty quick. “Fine, Uhm what is your favourite gift to receive?”

“Oooo, great question!! I love teddy bears, flowers or books!! But I love every gift that someone put effort in.”

You guys talked for some longer and Boris, not wanting it, felt more of a connection. He really wanted to fall through the floor.

Some things during the relationship:

Boris once got into a fight with Mark (only the OG’s will remember my hatred towards Mark) because Mark insulted your clothes. Was it worth the trip to the hospital to check out his nose and knuckles for? Yes. Everyone that makes you cry deserves to rot in hell.

He steals you little stuff from the stores. He will often give you a bracelet or a flower. You even got him to make a flower crown together. You had to swear to not tell anyone!

You guys watch a lot of television together, a LOT

He is very protective of you, always asks what colour you want something in, despite already knowing the answer deep down..

[ohtobeleah]

Not me thinking about a possible Bob x Cafe!owner, single mama reader series. The cafe would be called the Flight Deck.

“There’s a new coffee shop on Clarence street.” Hangman’s strolling in on the first day back after the squad have officially been posted permanently in Miramar. “The owners kinda smokin’ too.”

“Y/n’s nice—“ Bob doesn’t even lift his head. He’s been in enough over the past few weeks of leave to know that you like how his glasses sit awkwardly crooked on the bridge of his nose. “So is her son.” Bob doesn’t have to look up to know Hangman’s face is showing nothing but a grimacing expression.

“No thanks.” Any and all future quests to possibly add you to the forever growing collection of conquests has been permanently tainted by the thought of a crotch goblin ruining the moment. “She’s all yours Floyd.”

“Wait, you know her by name?” Phoenix is asking with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms. “How long have you known about this coffee shop for?”

And that’s when Bob looks up.

“I had a coffee there before I flew back to Lemoore to pack my house up.” He explains through a soft gaze. “She makes good apple and cinnamon muffins too.”

How fucking cute would that be!

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-five

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: now we're getting somewhere.

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl

It was just after one in the morning and after the long night of the show, everyone had crawled into bed as soon as we got back to the house. It's been a few hours since then but I stayed outside in the backyard of the house as long as I could, enjoying the quiet night air. The show went off without a hitch; the energy from the crowd was intoxicating. Since the merch booth was located away from the stage, I only watched a few minutes of the guys set.

They left the venue before I did since I took my time tearing down and to help the rest of the crew tear everything down. I wanted to avoid coming back to the house as long as I could because my mind was clouded with too many thoughts. Between my mom, money, and Noah I couldn't think straight.

I ended up wearing Noah's shirt but haven't seen him since he left me in my room earlier today. There was this nagging voice in my mind that begged me to ask him how he knew I still had the shirt. He obviously remembered giving it to me.

The shirt I was still wearing, not bothering to change when I got back to the house. As soon as my feet crossed the threshold, I grabbed a blanket and a random book from the stocked bookshelf and parked my ass outside on a large chair swing. The time at the venue did nothing to clear my mind, so this was my last option. I desperately needed a shower but knowing that Noah was asleep on the couch right outside my room gave me some reserve. It wasn't like he knew I would shower so why did the thought of having him watch me turn me on so much? The way my core tightened made me close by the book with a sigh.

When I watched their set for a few minutes tonight, I got so turned on by Noah seeing and hearing how beautiful he sounded. And those growls? Fuck, who'd be so turned on by someone growling like that?

Me.

I probably would have came by the breeze that's how wound up I was right now.

"I'm so horny like a god damn teenager," I grumbled while standing up from the chair.

I spun on my heels, ready to go inside, but froze when I saw Noah leaning against the sliding door frame, hair tousled from sleep. My breath caught in my throat as I worried if he heard what I said.

"When did you get back?" Noah asked.

Even his sleep riddled voice sounded sexy and he was only wearing a pair of grey sweat shorts that did absolutely nothing to hide the imprint of his cock. The tattoo's that covered every inch of his chest, arms, and neck almost glinted in the moonlight. I forced my gaze to stay locked on his face, not wanting to deter any farther.

I licked my suddenly dry lips and tried to find my own voice. "Not that long ago."

He pushed himself off the doorway so he could stand straight up.

"Why did you stay so late?"

"Some of the other members of the crew needed help tearing down, so I figured I would help," I shrugged.

Noah hummed while taking a small step towards me. "You didn't have to do that."

"I know," I nodded.

Silence fell between us for a few beats, him watching me with such an intense gaze I almost folded right in front of him. His eyes took in every inch of me from my reddened cheeks to the rise and fall of my chest then to the way my thighs clenched together. Noah moved past me to sit on the outdoor couch with his legs spread wide. I bit my lip at the sight, almost forgetting that he was watching me.

"Do you need help with something?" He asked, breaking the silence.

My eyes snapped away from his lap to his eyes. "What?"

Noah reached for my hand and pulled me down to his lap, situating me so my legs were hovering over his thick thigh. The coil in my stomach tightened even tighter while I held my breath at our proximity. We'd been close to each other before but nothing like this; his large hands held tightly on my hips as he leaned his head back against the couch. Brown eyes stared up at me under long lashes and my hands rested on each side of his head to keep myself upright, not wanting to fall into him.

"Relax, angel. I want to help you," he breathed.

I shook my head. "I don't need-."

Noah hushed my words when he forced my hips to move along his thigh, the sensation immediately sending a shock wave throughout my entire existence. My eyes fluttered shut as a soft moan fell from my lips when he shifted his position so his thigh was pressed up against my aching clit. I let my head fall forward onto Noah's bare shoulder, his skin on fire.

"Such a good girl riding my thigh like this," he groaned into my ear.

I should push him away for my own self respect since he's been an asshole to me lately but my body outweighed my morals. It needed this so fucking bad; needed this release.

Just this once.

I couldn't speak, the sensation of how good this felt took away my breath, so I did my best to nod against him. I was so wound up that my orgasm was cresting higher and higher to a crescendo and I rutted harder against Noah.

A noise sounded from inside the house that made my head whirl up and my hips halted. Noah, however, kept his grip on me, not allowing me to stop for more than a few seconds and started moving me against him once more.

"Fuck," I bit out when I saw Folio rummaging around the kitchen for something to drink.

"Who is it?" Noah asked into the crook of my neck.

"Folio."

His grip on me turned bruising, and I seethed in pleasure. I knew Noah was jealous about my friendship with Folio but that's all it was. Folio and I didn't think of each other that way, not when Noah was the only one I thought about.

"Did you want him here instead?" Noah bit down onto the skin between my shoulder and neck.

I cried out in pleasure, quiet enough that only the two of us could hear.

"No," I panted out, my orgasm so fucking close to plowing through me.

The white haze brushed along my vision as I shook in Noah's embrace, his strong arms now wrapping around me to bring himself closer to me. The heat that radiated off of his bare chest was enough to make my breath hitch as the coil snapped deep in my belly, orgasm finally releasing in such a way that I collapsed deeper into him.

I came hard on his thigh, his name falling from my lips in a quiet whine. Noah brushed away the strands of hair from my face as he forced me to look into his eyes; pupils dark with his own desire. I could feel the press of his hard cock against my thigh.

"Is he still there?"

Through fogged vision, I peered past his shoulder to the house and noticed that the kitchen was empty so I shook my head.

Noah didn't say anything as he hand brushed against the skin of my stomach underneath my shirt; his shirt. I shivered under his rough palm, wanting more but knowing I should push him away.

"You should get some sleep, angel."

Before I knew what happened, Noah had lifted me off of him and set me to my feet. When he rose to his, he went to walk past me but I grasped his hand to stop him.

"What just happened," I nodded towards the couch. "Was a onetime thing. Understand?"

Noah let out a low noise from his throat before running a hand through his hair. With a quick cast downward, I noticed how effected he was by what happened. His cock was hard as it pressed against his shorts, almost begging for its own release. But I didn't let the mouthwatering sight change my mind.

"I mean it," I stuttered out.

Noah's fingers brushed over the tattoo that I had on the inside of my arm. It was a simple design of a Cosmo flower; the birth flower for October. I got it earlier this year for my mom, since both of our birthdays were in October.

"Whatever you say, Y/N."

With that, Noah left me standing in a heap of my arousal soaking my panties.

NOAH

Fuck.

I didn't expect that to happen. I had no intention of making Y/N ride my thigh when I saw her outside. I only wanted to check in to see why she came back to the house so late. But hearing that she was horny made my dick twitch. It's something that always happened around her, I couldn't stop it.

I didn't want too.

Ever since the first day she came to work for Bad Omens, my cock throbbed with need. She crept her way into my everyday thoughts even though I tried to stop it. I told myself that I would never get involved with someone that worked for us because if it ended sour, it would make things awkward for everyone. But there was something different about Y/N that made me throw that rule right out the window. The way her eyes sparkled as she watched us on stage, or the way her infectious laugh made my heart flutter in my chest. It was that typical romantic bullshit you read about in books but it was true.

Y/N had her claws dug deep into my heart and I wanted her; in so many ways.

But ever since that night in Chicago, I had a thick wall around my heart.

She had gotten drunk, which was fine. That didn't bother me but the reason she did bothered me still to this day. Some asshole was flirting with her all night who ended up being married. When the wife found out, she said some hurtful things to Y/N which dulled the light that I became infatuated with. As I walked out of the venue that night, I saw that asshole trying to get her into his car. I didn't stop to think; I acted instantly and rushed over to them to remove her from his arms. She didn't even protest, only mumbled drunken words under her breath as she snaked herself against me.

He fumed saying that they had plans to hang out after the show. Furry filled me she would stoop so low to hook up with a married guy when there was someone willing to give her everything right in front of her. Not only that, but this piece of shit was going to take advantage of her in her drunk state.

But of course, I was too stubborn to tell her how I felt. I also never told her about me knowing that she had plans with that guy so instead, I became an asshole to her hoping it would stop my feelings for it. Except, it made it worse because when I tried not to want her it made me want her more.

The fire behind her whenever she stood toe to toe with me made something ignite inside of me and I wanted it more and more.

My eyes darted over to her small form as she came upstairs, our gaze locked for a few beats before she slipped inside her room letting the door shut behind her. My cock ached in my short, begging for its own release and I groaned while palming myself hoping it eased the pain. I couldn't take care of myself out here in case someone walked out of their rooms.

At that thought, I remember Folio walking into the kitchen when Y/N was riding my thigh and for a moment, jealousy raged through me. I knew nothing was going on between them, Folio told me they were friends but it did nothing to ease the ache in my chest. It was bad enough her and Davis were close, now her and Folio. I wanted to be that with her, someone she can confide in.

I heard her phone conversation earlier and knew something was going on her with mom but was unsure what. When I brought it up to Folio and Davis, neither of them knew.

"Whatever it is, let her be the one to tell you." Folio had said.

My eyes glanced over to the closed door of her room as I wondered what she was doing right now. Was she sleeping? Browsing on her phone? Laying in bed?

The thought of her laying there naked did nothing to help the deep ache in my balls and I snatched my phone before trekking over to the bathroom downstairs. With the door locked, I pulled up the Only Fans website and browsed through the collections of profiles. I had a fake account, not being stupid enough to use my real name, and my finger hovered over one specific profile. It was a new one, only being created within the last week, and deciding for something new I clicked on it. My dick throbbed at the profile picture of a girl kneeling on a bed, arm covering her bare chest. She was wearing a pair of deep red lace panties and you couldn't see her face. But what I did see on the inside of her left arm gave me pause.

A tattoo of a Cosmo flower; the same design Y/N had in the exact spot.

"No fucking way," I said.

She created an Only Fan's page, just a few days ago. For what?

Obviously, it was none of my business but that still didn't stop me from subscribing to her page. This was wrong, it had to be. I was about to watch her videos and cum to it.

It can't be so bad considering what happened outside.

With that thought, I clicked on the video of Y/N laying spread open, a light blue vibrator pressed to her clit, and let her moans fill the small bathroom as I pulled my dripping cock out from my shorts.

READER

The laughter carried all the way from outside to up to me as I descended the stairs, donning my bathing suit and towel draped over my shoulder. It was well into the early afternoon and knowing I couldn't sleep anymore cause Matt wanted to do this team bonding bullshit; I forced myself out of bed.

Noah and you did plenty of team bonding last night.

My cheeks reddened at the reminder of what we did as I stepped through the doors, the warm afternoon air sticky with humidity. The guys were either in the pool or at the grill making lunch.

"There she is!" Davis raised a beer at me. "We were taking bets on how long you'd sleep for."

I gave him the finger while tossing my towel on the spot where I came on Noah's thigh last night. Knowing what we did last night while the others didn't made my heart thump loudly in my chest.

"I didn't back till late and since it's my day off, I slept in," I said.

My eyes dared a glance over to the pool where Noah and Jolly were leaning against the wall. Noah wore a pair of black sunglasses as he peered over his shoulder to me. Now in the sunlight, I saw some dark stubble graze his chin and upper lip. As I took him in, Noah did the same; drinking in the sight of me in my black bikini. He gave me a knowing smirk before returning to his conversation with Jolly.

Folio brought me a plate of food and motioned for us to sit at the table. I followed and took the plate from him with gratitude until I remembered he was in the kitchen last night and could have seen what Noah and I were doing. But Folio gave nothing away if he knew so I breathed easier.

"Noah mentioned you hung back late last night," Folio said after taking a sip of his beer.

"Is that all he told you?" I wondered while moving my food around with the fork.

"Just that he saw you get in after one in the morning and go to bed."

I nodded. "Yep, that's it."

He raised a quizzical brow at me. "Did something else happen?"

"Nope," I said popping the 'p' loudly.

Folio hummed then we talked for the next while. The ease and flow of our conversation made me forget all the bad in my life for the moment and for the first time in a long time, I let myself relax. I enjoyed the afternoon, smiling and laughing with everyone.

A large shadow blocked the sun from my vision and when I looked up, I saw Noah towering over me. Water dripped from his hair down to the tattoo's on his chest

"Need something?" I asked.

Without a word, Noah lifted me from the chair and tossed me over his shoulder. I fought against his grasp when he began walking towards teh pool.

"Noah, no! I don't want to get wet," I protested while thrashing against him.

A large hand came down on my ass, the smack echoing outside, and immediately I froze as a moan bit out of my lips.

"We both know you love getting wet, angel."

Those were Noah's parting words before he tossed me off of his shoulder directly into the pool.

[sanguineterrain]

Could I humbly request Dullahan (basically a headless horseman with a whip made from a spine) Jason giving reader a ride on Halloween? If not, that’s okay.

what a delightful prompt anon! i took some batman-inspired liberties here, so jason is more of a regular headless horseman than a dullahan specifically (kept the whip tho bc man, what a badass weapon). but omg it fits him SO well. hope you like it!

headless horseman!jason todd x gn!reader. spooky themes. i guess it's a different time period -- i was imagining 19th century. reader knew jason before he died.

send halloween requests!!

****

You should've taken a carriage.

That's all you can think as you cross the border from Clarence County to Gotham County. You've been walking for an hour, and you're only just entering Gotham. The sun went down ages ago.

It's mostly wilderness outside of the city, and it's generally safe. Rich folk build vacation cabins in these woods. Others hike and fish along the river.

You still should've taken a carriage. Even if no people pose a threat to you out here, the forest is still dangerous. Bears. Snakes.

...Things not of this world.

No, you can't think that way.

Your basket of farm goods makes your arm ache. You switch it to your other hand. You're beginning to think that making this trip wasn't worth it at all. Certainly not if a bear mauls you.

A twig snaps and you jump about three feet in the air. You skitter away from the tree line, heart beating fast.

You wait. You have a glass bottle of milk to throw at whatever comes out of the woods.

Nothing. Silence. The trees might as well be dead.

Slowly, you untense, muscles slowly going slack. A twig probably didn't even snap; it's only your imagination. Yes. Right.

You tuck the milk back into your basket and adjust yourself, continuing your trek.

"Awful late to be out."

This time, you do throw the milk bottle. It lands with a thud in the soft dirt. The voice speaks again. He sounds amused.

"You missed me."

You whirl around and gawp. How had you missed a man on a horse? Surely you would've heard footsteps or the jingle of the straps.

The horse is huge, with a shiny, black coat. Its rider is proportionally large, broad shoulders straining his crimson hood. You can't make out his face, the opening nothing but a void. You squint, but grow dizzy when you look too hard.

It's such a strange thought, but your first instinct is that you know the rider. Intimately so. Like an old friend.

The horse is a shadow, the edges of its mane blurry. It nickers and drags its hoof over the dirt. It also has a hood, so you can't make out its face either.

The hooded figure watches you from his horse. At least, you think he does.

"Are you lost?" he asks. His voice echoes strangely, like it's coming from underground.

"No," you say immediately. "I'm on my way back to Gotham."

Most people have enough sense not to challenge Gotham citizens.

He tilts his head. You wish you could see his face.

"I can give you a ride. I'm headed there myself."

There is a red knight's helmet tied to the saddle. You look at it, then at him.

"I'll manage," you say. "I know my way."

"It's dangerous to travel alone on foot. Especially so late."

He dismounts the horse. Even on the ground, his presence is overwhelming. There is a long, bone-white whip fastened to his hip. Are those...?

"What's in the helmet?" you ask.

"Why do you think there's something inside?" His voice echoes again.

He goes and retrieves the bottle of milk you threw. It isn't cracked, which is fortunate. He opens the basket hooked over your arm and gently places the milk inside. Your heart pounds the entire time.

"I won't hurt you," he says, stepping back. "Gotham is my city. You are mine to protect."

"Gotham belongs to the Bat."

"Not for much longer," he says, almost snarling.

You look at the horse, which has been eerily still. The moon is high in the sky. Stars dance outside of the city smog.

"If it makes you feel safer," he says, voice softer. "You can hold my whip. If I do anything you don't like, you can be sure I won't do it again."

You don't like that idea; you hope you don't have to use the whip on him, though he is a stranger. But you like his voice, even if it echoes oddly. And you like how gentle he is, how calm his horse remains. You are sure he won't hurt you, even though there is no proof for you to confirm that.

You extend your hand.

"Alright," you say. "Please take me home."

He pushes you onto the horse, who doesn't even stir when you get on its back. Then he mounts with ease. He slides his whip out and gives it to you; on further inspection, you realize it's a spine. The horse takes off at a gallop, and you cling to the hooded man so you won't fall off.

"Are you a soldier?" you ask, wind biting at your face. He is cold but full of strength.

"I was."

"What should I call you?"

He thinks for a moment, steady under the brutal pace.

"You may call me Red Hood."

"Haven't you got a name?" you ask.

"I did," Hood says. "I'm not certain that it's mine anymore."

He sounds young. You wish you could see his face.

You arrive in Gotham sooner than you should, even on horse. Hood dismounts again and helps you down, strong hands on your waist. You land on the ground in a whoosh, and Hood holds you for a second longer than necessary. You linger against him and squint, trying to find his eyes. You can't.

"Will you show me your face?" you ask.

Red Hood immediately steps back. You hold your basket to your chest.

"You'd never forgive me if I did," he says, and the echo is back.

"I feel like I know you," you say, stepping towards him, and Hood puts more distance between you.

For the first time, the horse whinnies. It's a ghastly sound, like it's in pain, and you flinch. You spin around to see what spooked the horse, but by the time you do, it's gone.

And so is the Red Hood.

The whip, however, is still wrapped around your own waist; it's your only reminder that he was here at all.

[jeridandridge]

Tricks and Treats

It’s spooky season baby! During baby Thanos’ reign of candy terror at Abbott, you manage to scare Jacob and win the Scarlett Witch’s attention. No Gary, fluff and all around ridiculousness.

Halloween was hands down your favorite holiday. Your house was the scariest, coolest decorated house on the block and you had candy ready to go. You decided on your costume in April and it had been easy to make. The night before, you’d texted Melissa a picture of you in your costume and all she said was hers was going to make you drool.

When you walk into work that morning you spot some of the group in the hall, your eyes going wide when you spot the red head.

“Damn we’re gonna have a battle up in here!” Ava smiles looking between you and Melissa.

“You know, there was some tension of the fruity variety between Wanda and Agatha.” Jacob starts, “if you look at the lore of Scarlett Witch she’s always been-“

“Okay, Jacob, thank you.” You stop him patting his shoulder.

So what if you and Melissa were accidentally in a couples costume? Marvel is popular.

“He’s rambling more than usual because of the ghost janitor.” Mr. Johnson chimes in.

You quirk a brow and cross your arms with a nod always willing to play along with a prank. “Oh yeah, I read about that guy while researching the school before I started.”

Melissa smirks shaking her head.

Jacob looks as white as a ghost himself as you play along.

“You’re kidding,” he laughs nervously. “You don’t believe in ghosts do you?”

“Absolutely I do. When I was in college there was a ghost in my dorm.” You start. “It would knock on the wall and sometimes even show up in the mirror.” You smile looping your arm with Melissa’s, leaving a terrified Jacob as you two start walking down the hallway.

“You’re gonna mess with the kid all day aren’t you?” She smirks playing with your sleeve.

You let out a laugh pulling your classroom key out of your pocket.

“I so am. Wanna cause a bit of trouble with me?” You grin playfully.

Melissa smiles with a shrug. “I’m your witch.”

Leave it to baby Thanos to cause chaos on Halloween. All hands are on deck moving around the school to keep the kids contained while looking for the candy their.

“Leave it to Ashley to make even Halloween difficult.” You roll your eyes moving around the halls in stealth mode. “This is really interfering with my scare the crap out of Jacob plan.”

“Don’t be so upset, hon. We’ll find the kid then scare the other one.”

As Melissa’s talking you spot two of the older kids coming down the hall.

“Hey, Clarence, William! C’mere.” You wave them over practically buzzing.

“Hey, Miss. y/n.” Clarence nods.

Looking around to make sure Jacob is no where to be found you lean forward a bit while Melissa keeps watch.

“Do you guys wanna help me scare Mr. Hill?”

“Oh man, Mr. C? What you want us to do?”

A couple minutes later you and make your way to the gym doors.

“It’s fun seeing you in prank mode.” She beams.

“It’s fun seeing you in that costume.” You grin keeping your eyes forward. You and Melissa had this flirty banter back and forth, always touchy in some way shape or form.

“You don’t look so bad yourself, hon. Purple suits you. I was excited when I saw that picture. We’re a great team.”

You take a breath and decide todays the day.

“Listen, what are you doing tonight? Because my place is decked out and I’m handing out candy to the gremlins. Would you wanna come do that and watch ridiculously cheesy movies with me?”

“You sure you don’t wanna get me all scared so you can cuddle me?” She smirks.

Before you can shoot back Jacob comes running down the hall.

“Woah, hamburgalar, relax.” You laugh.

“The janitor is mad at me the janitor is mad at me!” He repeats breathlessly.

“Slow down, kid. What are you talking about?” Melissa asks.

“The ghost janitor, he was in my classroom.” He takes a breath. “All the desks were stacked up like Poltergeist!”

You bite your lip hiding a smile. You’d have to give Clarence and William way more than five bucks each for that.

“Stacking the desks! Wooooow.” You draw out still holding in a laugh. “You know, Mr. Johnson will be able to help you.” You nod.

Jacob runs off and you can’t help but let out a laugh. “Okay, that was great. I didn’t even tell them to go that far.”

Melissa shakes her head with an adoring smile heading for the doors again.

“You’re my kinda woman. And yes, I’d love to watch cheesy horror movies with you later.”

[toecrust69]

「Cartoons and Cuddles

Summary: Cuddling with your brother as you watch cartoons

Pairings: Damian x batsis

Warnings: Bad grammar and a bit of ooc

A/n: This is super short but I hope u enjoy! ♡ ♡ ♡

"What are you doing?", Damian walked into the living room were you sat on the floor, watching TV. He stopped right in front of you, effectivelyblocking the view of the TV. "And why are you sitting on the floor?".

"Because I can.", You replied smugly. You knew he hated it when you didn't give an actual response.

He sighed, "That's not a real answer". you chuckled softly at his response.

He decided to ignore you as he didn't want to continue arguing with you. Instead, he averted his gaze to the TV in front of you.

You seemed to be watching some sort cartoon but he wasn't sure.

You sighed deeply and finally answered after a few silent moments,

"I'm watching Clarence and I'm sitting on the floor because it has more space than the couch", He hummed in acknowledgement to your response.

Then, he sttetched his arms out to you as if he wanted something from you.

"What are you doing?", You asked with a raised brow, annoyance clear in your voice.

He sighed and seemed to think for a second before finally responding.

"I want you to hold me", He said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You were shocked by his sudden boldness. Sure, he'd always asked you questions like this when you were alone, but it still always managed to baffle you.

You snapped back into reality when he cleared his throat to catch your attention. You must've been staring for too long.

You finally answered, still trying to grasp the situation, "Ok, but why?"

He seemed to think for a second before responding, "Because I said so. Now hold me." He demanded and crouched down in front of you.

You smirked and decided to tease him a bit.

You stopped him right as he was about to lunge towards you with an arm to his chest. He frowned in confusion and stumbled back.

"Nuh-uh," you shook your head, "you aren't gonna get what you want until you tell me what you want".

Rolling his eyes, he responded, "must we really go through thi-"

"Yes," you immediately interrupted him.

Groaning, he furrowed his brows and crossed his arms over his chest. You couldn't help but giggle at the sight in front of you.

"What's so funny?" He seethed

"Nothing," you shook your head, "now, tell me what you want".

He huffed and seemingly thought for a second. And you could've sworn you saw his cheeks glow red.

A silent beat passed and he finally responded; "I want you to hold me because I crave it." He averted his gaze from yours and you immediately softened at his shy tone. "Please" he added.

Your smile grew and you opened your arms invitingly and wordlessly. He immediately lunged at you and wrapped his strong arms around your neck.

You snaked your arms around him as well. Your right hand traveled to his lower back and your left rested on his head.

Proping your chin on his head, you turned to face the TV.

You felt him slowly melt into your touch when you began to comb through his soft raven locks.

You were like a mother figure to him, and he found comfort in that, though he'd never admit it.

You never questioned any of it though, you simply thought it was his way if coping through trauma. You were definitely his favorite sibling

He wasn't able to pay attention to anything else except for your gentle hands combing through his hair. He felt at ease, a foreign feeling to him.

You tilted your head doen to face him and asked him in a gentle voice; "do you wanna go to sleep?" He nodded in confirmation.

You reached over to your left to the remote and switched off the TV.

.

.

.

After a while, you couldn't help but notice that there were soft noises emitting from the younger boy in your grasp.

You looked down, only to be met with his sleeping face.

Your gaze immediately softened at tge wholesome sight right in front of you. You decided you'd carry him up to his room once you were sure he wouldn't wake up.

.

.

.

You steadily moved up the stairs as to not wake up the sleeping boy in your arms. You pried his door open with your foot and slowly began setting the boy down on his bed.

Just as you were about to let go, he sleepily wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you close with a soft 'no' leaving his lips.

You almost caved but you stood your ground. "Dami, You have to let go of me so you can sleep", You whispered softly at his half asleep state.

"No...", you heard him mumble quietly, "I still want you to hold me." He said, voice barely above a whisper. You could tell that he didn't really know what he was saying but you still obliged as to make him happy.

Totally not because you wanted to.

You sighed as you slowly crawled under the covers of his bed and allowed him to wrap his hands around you and pull you closer (he was wearing a proud smirk the whole time).

You rested your chin on his head as you felt yourself slowly drift away into a deep sleep.

`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.●`○.

¡Hope you enjoyed!

-toes<3

[miraculousmultifan]

middle names

“C’mon man, just a taste!” Dustin pleaded, trying to reach around Steve and swipe his finger into the bowl of brownie batter.

Steve hip-checked Dustin out of the way with a roll of his eyes. “Get your grubby little fingers away, dude. You’re going to get salmonella.”

“Worth it!” Dustin crowed, grinning at the realization that they had started drawing a crowd of their friends.

“Steve!” Mike whined petulantly. “You said I could lick the spatula when you were done.”

Huffing, Steve waved the spatula he was holding like a weapon, one hand on his hip. “Well, if you shitheads keep bothering me, I’ll never be done.”

While he was distracted, Dustin leaned forward as quickly as he could and licked a long strip of the brownie batter off of the rubber. Cackling, he bounced away when Steve tried to chase after him.

“Dustin Cla-” Steve started, and Dustin immediately knew what was about to come out of his mouth.

“Wait, wait, wait! Steve, let’s talk about this. You don’t need to full name me.”

With a terrifying smirk, Erica sidled up next to Dustin. “No, no. Let’s hear it. I think I heard a middle name in there…”

“Middle name?” El asked, tilting her head to the side. “What is that?”

“It’s just like an extra name your parents give you that goes in between your first and last name,” Lucas explained gently. “Like yours could be Eleven Jane Hopper!”

Creeping behind everyone, Dustin grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl. Unfortunately, his back was turned, so he didn’t see Steve twisting his hand towel to whip Dustin’s back.

“Dustin Clarence Henderson, you get away from that bowl or so help me!”

The room erupted into laughter as Dustin’s cheeks turned bright red. “Steve! That was private information!

Eddie snorted. “Your middle name is Clarence? Man, did your parents want you to be bullied?”

Affronted, Dustin stammered, “Oh, yeah? Well, uh… Mike’s middle name is Francis!”

“Dude!” Mike groaned. “Nancy’s middle name is Grace.”

“Jonathan’s middle name is Leonard,” Nancy added, trying to hide a tiny smirk.

Jonathan looked around the room. “Will’s middle name is Peter.”

“Um…” Will furrowed his eyebrows. “Lucas’s is Charles?”

“Erica’s is Joy!”

Crossing her arms in front of her chest, Erica snarked sassily, “Don’t play that game with me, Lucas. I have more dirt on you than you could ever imagine.” Then she smirked. “And Max’s middle name is Julia.”

“Hang on, hang on…” Max waved her hands with a frown, effectively silencing everyone. Then she smirked. “I think we’re skipping over the fact that Mike’s middle name is Francis! Are you kidding me? That’s almost as bad as Clarence.”

“Shut it, Mayfield.”

--

inspired by gaten saying in an interview that he gave dustin the middle name clarence, so i decided to take that and run with it. thank you gaten.

[romance-rambles]

modern clarence | a reward for the diligent

After a day's hard work, you give your boyfriend a reward. He seems to disagree on who it's a reward for.

1.4k, post-azure island, established relationship + fluff, reader is mc, series: none

OUTSIDE THE LARGE WINDOW BEHIND your boyfriend's desk, the sun glows a soft red over the nearly empty streets. A young couple coming from class, oblivious to its quiet warning to head home soon, leisurely strolls past the building you're in.

Your tender gaze fixates on their held hands, quietly tracing the path their swinging arms take. The last of papers Clarence needs to look through rustle in the background, followed by the familiar sound of his pen etching his name into place. By now, you're certain all those hours of staring at his signature have, in fact, granted you the ability to forge it.

You've just never tried.

To you, surrounding his name with hearts on the margins of your various notebooks is a far more worthwhile endeavour. Sometimes, you throw in a Mrs. Clayden and marvel at how easily your future title slips off your tongue. It's an addictive thing, really, whether in singsong or screeching—you can't even begin to guess how many times Beanie has watched you warily, likely convinced that you're the victim of an on-and-off posession by some feral ghost.

The ghost of a bride, perhaps.

When you quipped about it to Clarence the first time, he somehow found an opening to discuss your impending last name situation. He had statistics and cited arguments and everything. Any lingering shame vanished in that moment, leaving behind an overwhelming desire to kiss him.

So, you did.

...only for William to walk in.

Since you'd gotten your kiss, you find you can look back fondly at that moment. The boys, on the other hand, range from being consistently flustered to berudgingly amused. It's easy enough to guess who's who.

"Thinking about something?" Clarence asks, his soft voice cutting through your thoughts.

You glance at him, the same dreamy smile most of your friends and acquaintances know to associate with your boyfriend still on your lips. A stack of completed paperwork sits neatly to his side, the very same one you stand on. And to his left sits the coffee you bought for him, empty and cold now, alongside other miscellaneous, but useful trinkets—including some cat-themed stationery that had reminded you of him, and vice versa.

Reaching over to be a helpful girlfriend, you pluck the coffee cup off the desk, adjusting the straps of your back once you're done. At the pointed look on his face, your smile transforms into something bigger—into a wide grin that leaves him knowing of what's to come.

"You." With a giggle, you clutch both of your coffee cups against your chest with one hand. "What else could it be?"

By now, the couple has disappeared into one of the nearby buildings. Your gaze flits to his hands—one rests atop the teal desk, fingers lightly curled in front of his propped-up elbow; the other supports his slumped cheek so effortlessly you feel like swooning.

The exhaustion from the previous days—though a definite cause for concern on your part—has done little to detract from how handsome he is.

You narrow your eyes fondly at him. "Tired?"

He only smiles helplessly as a near-imperceptible huff of laughter escapes through his nose. Your free hand has already crossed most of the distance between him and your when you remember to check the cups one last time. Though you're certain they're empty, considering you checked earlier, the last thing you want right now is a surprise.

When you're assured of their emptiness, you resume your prior quest, gently brushing his bangs out of the way. You're careful not to jostle his frames, taking the shortest path to your goal.

As the distance between your face and his steadily decreases, the coffee cups come to rest atop the desk. A consequence of the angle at which you lean over it, its front-facing edge digs into your skin. Still, you bear with the momentary discomfort, too distracted by the man in front of you.

And oh, is he worth it—

Clarence leans into your touch, his eyelids drooping until he seems to come to an agreement with himself and closes his eyes. The smile on his face remains, even as his eyebrows furrow in response to your wandering touch. You get as far as tucking his hair behind his ear—though, tragically, you're unable to dodge his glasses this time—when a brilliant idea creeps up on you from behind.

"Keep your eyes closed," you murmur, swallowing up half your words before they have a chance to escape.

By the time you've all but climbed atop his desk, he opens his eyes, his curious gaze offering a silent question. When the silence drags on, your only response being a cheeky smile, it becomes an audible one, tinged with a familiar exasperation he reserves only for you.

"Close my eyes? Okay..." Clarence sighs fondly, acquesing to your request. "But what are you going to do?"

Grinning, you hum. "It's like William said."

Your first order of business—in a hazily-conjured scheme with only a few steps—is to carefully divest him of his glasses. It earns you a soft chuckle from your boyfriend, though whether it's because of where this is going or the way you accidentally flicked his cheek is anyone's guess.

"It's easy to work hard when you have a reward waiting for you at the end, right?" you ask, handing him custody of his glasses once more. William had followed up his comment with a remark about how you and Clarence had it easy—then he'd fallen into faux despair when neither of you bothered to deny it. "Well, this is the reward."

After accepting your offering with practiced ease, he leaves them in his hand, inadvertently shielding them from your view. You condense your usual admiration for your boyfriend's pretty face into a quick moment, then cup his cheeks lovingly—though his own hand on his cheek restricts where yours can go.

With that same hand, Clarence grasps yours and cradles it against his cheek, properly this time.

"And who is it for?" he questions, sounding amused.

You're on your tiptoes, legs stretched out behind you. Every so often, you adjust yourself against the teal desk to offer your poor stomach some relief. Frankly, you think it might've been easier if you'd turned the corner twice instead, but you're too far in to back out now.

So, you laugh, pressing a kiss to the beauty mark under his eye. "Well, we can agree to disagree."

Once, around the time you grew aware of your feelings for him, you read online that some people believe a mole signifies the spot where your soulmate likes kissing you the most. And you've never liked being made out to be a liar, so you've made it your life's mission to turn it into a self-fulfilling prophecy—the only good one out there.

Clarence, on the other hand, wasn't nearly so lucky to have his spot somewhere visible. The memory of him turning pink when he pondered the implication a bit too intensely leaves you giggling once more.

"I haven't even started," he says, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "It's a bit early to say that."

Snickering, you move your lips to his forehead.

"Better not," you say teasingly, before your voice softens and you pull back. Then, as if you aren't the current hold up in his schedule (you are), you add, "We have to be heading out soon. It's late."

"Hmm...I haven't gotten my reward yet," he teases, opening his eyes. You think they look even brighter now than they did a few minutes ago, like ocean waves gleaming under the sun. "I believe you mentioned something about that."

Letting go of his glasses for a moment, he fixes his bangs back into place. They're parted differently this time—or rather, not at all. You think you must've mentioned it to him at least a few times, the way it makes you think of the future.

Of sleepy mornings and freshly brewed coffee. Of requests for five more minutes, Clarence and his warm breath fanning against your ear when he denies you even that much. Of being the first person to gaze upon his beautiful face in the morning and the last person to point out the exhaustion that's seeped deep into his shoulders at night.

Your lips curve into a soft smile. "Well, I can't have you calling me a liar now, can I?"

"No," he agrees easily, squeezing your hand. Concern swims in his blue eyes as he narrows them at the edge of the desk. "But maybe you could get off of there first."

"This first," you say, before you press your lips to his for a quick peck.

He only smiles helplessly at you when you pull back. Somehow, you remember to climb off the desk before you take him up on his invitation and kiss him again.

[evita-shelby]

The Question of Age

Tommy and Alfie never liked the age difference between their daughters and their husbands, and yet neither hoped things would take a turn for the worse sixteen years later.

Takes place in the It's Only a Paper Moon fic where Diane falls in love and married John 'Bucky' Egan, Allie, Rose and Robert Collins are @justrainandcoffee ocs.

Cw:angst, large-ish age differences, alzheimer's disease, death. I think i aged up Allie and Diane again lol both were born in 1923/22 i guess

John Clarence Egan is not the man he wants for his little witch.

He is loud, American and left a string of broken hearts everywhere.

There was also his age, his girl was just too young for the man.

“And what age were you when you married your wife, treacle?” Alfie Solomons had joined on the side of the enemy here and welcomed John Egan into the family as if he were part of it too. “Exact same age the two of you eloped after knowing each other for what, six months?”

So he was being a hypocrite about this, what did it matter?

Diane was barely twenty-three and had met the infamous Major Egan of the Bloody 100th when she went behind his back and asked Churchill to send her where he couldn’t stop her. Churchill had sent her to the American Red Cross to spy for him at Thorpe Abbotts because no one trusts a Yankee.

Now the Prime Minister claims to be behind this fairytale romance in his toast to the new couple.

“He is taking her from me, to some place in fucking nowhere all across the ocean. Where the fuck is Manitowoc, Wisconsin anyways?” Tommy admits because that is something even Alfie would understand.

“We’ll get you a map then, my Rosie will be happy to help you pack and move there if you want to keep an eye on him.” The jew pats his shoulder and continues mocking him for his fatherly fears.

“If some stranger came for your Allie, you’d be sulking at her wedding too, Solomons.” Tommy points out and as luck would have it, sweet Allie is talking very animatedly with a man older than Bucky Egan. Some museum curator named Robert Collins who had been involved with the Monuments Men in Europe.

“For fuck’s sake, mate, she can’t be talking to him that way. He’s not even Jewish!”

It's not long when Tommy is sticking up for 40 year old Robert Collins at their wedding while Alfie sulks in a dark corner.

“Fuck you! You did this, Shelby.” Alfie curses as he pretends he is not hurting at seeing his little girl go with her now husband.

1961

John Clarence Egan was a few months shy of forty-six years old when he dies of a heart attack.

He leaves behind an inconsolable Diane and their two daughters, Rosemary Gale and Elizabeth Eve. His best friend, Gale ‘Buck’ Cleven tries his best to console her as he’d lost his own wife six years prior and loved the man as much as she did.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Bucky was a good man.” Alfie Solomons is worse for wear especially after Rose’s death so recently. He’d come all the way here with Allie to give his condolences and comfort Di and her girls just as Di and Bucky had flown to Margate to kick Robert in the nuts and console Allie.

“He was, he will be missed.” Tommy admits solemnly. “I’m sorry for what Collins did to your girl, shouldn’t have stuck up for him at the wedding.”

“Who?” For a moment Tommy thinks Solomons is joking, but he sees the clear confusion in his face.

They had heard of his mind failing, forgetting the stove, the business and that Rose was gone.

“No one important, Solomons.” Tommy says and tries to change the conversation. “No one important.”

[elsalouisa]

Last letters between princess Hélène of Orléans and Prince Albert Victor, Duke of Clarence.

"My dear Eddy, It is with deep sorrow that I write to you, for what I have to tell you costs me a great deal and I need all my courage. I have always flattered myself with the illusion that what is not possible today will one day perhaps become possible—and you know how much I have longed for this. Alas, I see clearly that I was wrong; a marriage will always be impossible, the political obstacles are unsurmountable and as for those raised by my religion, I cannot dishonour you and [| will not cast them aside. In spite of all the suffering it costs me, | am forced to renounce the happiness I have dreamed of and with this letter I bid you farewell. I owe it to you, to your parents, to the Queen, who has been so kind to me, not to stand in the way of what England expects from you. I must ask you to release me from my word; I return to you that which, in my illusion, | truly felt able to accept, and, at the same time, I send back the things which were so precious to me, but which I have no right to keep. I ask you to show this letter to your parents. I beg you, do not try to fight against my decision, it is irrevocable, we must not see one another again. Do your duty as an English Prince without hesitation and forget me. Hélène"

"My dearest Hélène,

No words can possibly describe the misery I felt on reading your letter given me by your dear Mama, and I can hardly bring myself to believe that you or your own free will have decided that all should be over between us two, and that your decision is irrevocable, and that it is an utter impossibility for you ever to change your religion, even for my sake. You well know how deeply rooted my devotion for you is, and it almost breaks my heart to think that our lives must be spent apart. Of course, | suppose | ought to try and submit to your parents and your own decision, but it seems to me impossible to realise that such is to be our fate. God bless you and may He help us both to do what is right. Though the cross is laid upon us, it is indeed a heavy one to bear. Yours, Eddy".

[thefallennightmare]

Miracle-twenty four[END]

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: I'M CRYING MY COUCH RIGHT NOW! I never imagined that this story would be so fucking popular and bring me so many amazing followers and some great friends! thank you to everyone who liked, reblogged, commented, or talked to me! Our love and adoration for this man brought a huge group together. I love him for that. I'm sorry for all the hurt and trauma I caused you while reading but I promise THIS chapter, makes up for it. Again, from the bottom of my heart, thank you!

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered @loeytuan98 @omens-in-reverse @loverofagoodbeard @jay02bo @niicoleleigh @tearfallpixie @cupidsdreams

A yawn fell from my lips as I walked through the gate of the airport with Noah's hand in mine and the rest of our group trailing behind. The moonlight from outside broke through the large glass windows, casting all of us in a white glow. It was late, almost 10 in the evening and we just landed in California. The Europe leg of the tour finally ended and after a very long day of travel, all of us were ready to head home for a few months break. It was well earned and deserved for everyone on this team.

"Angel," Noah pulled me to a stop right before baggage claim. "Hang on a second."

"Noah," I almost whined. "I'm tired and want to go home."

But he didn't answer, simply wrapped an arm around my shoulders to pull me into his chest then looked towards our large group of friends.

"We'll see you guys in a couple of weeks."

Jolly nodded. "If anything changes work wise, I'll text you but you two should enjoy yourselves."

"Wait," I blinked. "What did you just say?"

My gaze turn up towards Noah who refused to meet it but kept a small smirk on the corner of his lips.

"Give me on minute," he pulled me closer to his chest to leave a kiss on top of my head.

Internally, I cringed because my hair hadn't been washed in days and I smelled like sweat and a stuffy airplane after the long international travel. I wanted to get home so bad to shower and crawl into my bed with Noah. But it seemed like he had other plans.

"Where are we going?" I tried to ask again.

Matt spoke instead. "Try not to think about work too much, alright? We won't start talking about the next album until you're back."

Irritation made my feet bounce. "Back from where?"

"You guys heading to Virgina?" Noah asked Nick.

"Yeah," he nodded. "Mine and Folio's flight leaves tomorrow so we're crashing in your room."

Folio gave me a wide smirk while removing me from Noah's grasp so he could wrap his own arms around me in a bone-crushing hug. "Use this time to clear your head."

My arms encircled around his back as I returned the hug. "What the fuck are you guys talking about?"

Not giving anything away, Folio ruffled my hair with a wink.

Okay, what the fuck was going on?

I watched as Noah said goodbye to everyone else, me still standing there confused as hell, then when he turned towards me I narrowed my eyes at him while crossing my arms over my chest.

"What is going on?"

He shrugged. "Nothing, I'm just saying goodbye."

"Alright, smartass. Jolly lives with us, why are you saying goodbye to him?" I raised a brow.

"You ask a lot of questions, angel."

"Flight 23A for California to Washington State now pre-boarding. Head to Gate 4b."

"Shit," Noah cursed while adjusted the strap of his carry on backpack. "We gave to go."

Linking our fingers together, he dragged me away, but I held my foot down in place. The announcement played on the speakers again as Noah looked at me with slight panic behind his eyes.

"Angel, we have to go," he urged me with a tug of my hand.

I shook my head. "Where, Noah? Where are we going?"

He ran a hand over his face with a long sigh. "I was hoping to keep this surprise a little longer but we're not going home. I rented us a cabin in Washington, in Olympic National Park. Just the two of us for a few weeks."

Oh.

My heart hammered hard in my chest hearing that Noah put together this little surprise for me and my irritation and need to be in control of everything nearly ruined it. I walked into his arms while wrapping my arms around his back and looked up at him. He was wearing a black sweater with matching joggers. His hair was growing like weeds since we were in Europe and desperately needed a haircut so he was hiding it in a black beanie. The dark circles under his eyes gave way how tired he was, so was I, but he still went out of his way to plan a vacation for us.

With tears in my eyes, I stood up on the tips of my toes so I could reach his lips to leave a chaste kiss upon them.

"I love you."

His hands gripped my hips as he brushed his nose over mine. "I love you too, angel. I just wanted to do something special for you. Life hasn't been easy for you."

"I know," I pressed my cheek into his chest, breathing in his scent.

"Last call for flight 23A. Boarding will close in five minutes."

"Fuck," Noah cursed before we ran across the airport to our gate.

"Jolly, water my plants for me!" I called over my shoulder to look at him.

He waved me off with a large grin on his face as he watched Noah and I giggle in fear of missing our flight.

Two weeks later.

"I don't want to go back," I whined while sitting at the edge of the bed, towel wrapped around my chest.

Water dripped from the ends of my hair, down my back, as I had just walked out of the shower. Noah was kneeling in front of me as he finished packing up our suitcases, our vacation finally coming to an end. The last two weeks had been absolutely amazing. Even though it was hard at first, Noah tried not to talk about future tours or the next album while I did my best to just enjoy life; be in the moment.

We spent the last two weeks either sightseeing, hiking, spending a night inside by the fire, or soaking in the hot tub outside. Of course, we had to test out every fuckable surface throughout the cabin which surprisingly, was a lot. When we were out in the small town, Noah got recognized quite a few times but he respectfully declined pictures, telling the fans that he was here on a personal vacation and wanted to keep it quiet.

I knew he did that for me and I loved him even more for it.

But reality came calling back way before I was ready. We needed to get back to California because Bad Omens had some time blocked out for writing/recording thier next album.

"You guys need more than just a few weeks off," I sighed letting the towel fall to the bed beneath me.

Noah's eyes darkened as his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he took in all the bite marks over my chest and stomach.

I immediately shook my head knowing exactly what he was thinking. "Noah, we've had more sex these last two weeks that I've had in my entire life. I'm exhausted."

"Well, you're in luck because we have somewhere to be so do me a favor," he rose to his feet while handing me a pair of clothes. "Wear that and meet me outside."

I pursed my lips while looking up at him. "Where are we going?"

"Just do this, okay?" Noah sighed with slight agitation.

I may have asked that question a lot these last few weeks when Noah would surprise me with yet another day out and I wanted to know what he had planned.

"Sorry," I muttered before lifting the shirt up to my face with a smirk.

It was the shirt Noah found that first night in the Airbnb; the shirt of his he gave me so long ago and I kept.

"You love telling me what to wear, huh?"

Noah pressed a soft kiss to my forehead and smacked my bare ass. "O wouldn't be upset if you skipped the panties."

Don't have to tell me twice.

He walked out of the patio doors that were connected to our bedroom while I quickly threw the shirt on over my naked form. It was actually pretty warm outside, so I decided on no pants. Nerves made my fingers shake as I wondered what the hell he had planned for me. Every day it was something and each time, it surprised me.

"It's probably just a candlelit dinner," I said to myself, which honestly I didn't mind.

A nice relaxing final night in sounded device.

Leaving the door open, I stepped outside to the sound of soft music playing through the bluetooth speaker the cabin provided and I followed the path of stone lights that led to a table on the large patio with a curious pull of my brows.

"Noah?" I called out when I realized he was nowhere to be seen.

Coming to a halt in front of the table, I looked down at a large photo book that had my name printed across the front of it.

What the…

Noah's soft voice came through the speakers as his song, If I'm There played in the background, when I hesitantly opened the book with a gasp. The first few pages had many pictures of me when I was younger; some alone and some with my father, the one who raised me.

Then the next few pages were from teenage years and I internally cringed at some of the outfit choices I made.

Where the hell did these pictures come from?

"Oh shit," I blurted with tears when my fingers grazed over the next set of pictures.

It was all the pictures I had lost in the fire; the ones that were taking on tour with Bad Omens. The ones I took of them covered one page while the rest of the pages were pictures taken of me by others, mostly Bryan.

Some goofy ones of Folio and I.

Ones of Jolly teaching me guitar.

Even the ones of Nick letting me use his tattoo gun on him; the small patch of skin on his ankle my first canvas.

There were so many others of me with the members of the crew and by the time I got to the last page, tears were falling from my eyes, the salty taste hanging long after on my lips. I choked out a broken sob when the only picture on the last page stared back at me; my fingers grazing over the soft faces of the two people.

We looked so young there, and it was only two years ago.

It was the same picture Noah had on his laptop. The one from the first party I attended at their house where we took a large group photo and I was next to Noah. His arm slung around my shoulder while mine wrapped around his side. His long hair was pulled back with a claw clip and while I was smiling at the camera, Noah's smile was on me along with his eyes, staring directly at my lips.

Hastily wiping away the tears, I looked up to the sky to let out a deep breath, fingers grazing over the picture until it went to low, the touch of cool metal almost burning my skin.

"What the-?" I peered back down to the photo book and nearly stumbled back.

The moonlight caught it in just the right light, the sparkle of the large diamond beckoning me to touch it once again.

Taped beneath the picture was a gorgeous diamond ring with four words written in very familiar handwriting.

Let's get married, angel.

Strong arms wrapped around me from behind, warm breath fanning across the curve of my neck.

"What do you say?"

Noah buried his face into my hair as he spoke his quesiton into the air again. I turned in his embrace, sheer shock and disbelieve on my face.

"You're not fucking with me, are you?"

He chuckled slightly. "Why would I do that?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck, fingers messing with the ends of his hair. It was so long now and he was sporting the Levi cut the last few weeks.

"There's no way you'd want to ask me to marry you, Noah. I'm-." The words died on my tounge.

"You're what? Perfect, beautiful, stubborn as hell-ow!"

I smacked his chest but urged him to continue with a nod.

"Angel," he lifted my chin with a finger. "I walked through literal flames for you. Why the hell wouldn't I want to marry you?"

My lips mimicked a fish out of water as I tried to come up with a retort but truthfully, I didn't have any because I knew he was right. He ran into my burning house to save me from my brother who was trying to kill me.

Okay, maybe that's a good reason not to marry me.

"Hey," he bent low so our gazes locked. "Don't go there, alright? Stay here with me and focus on my question. Focus on how great our future together could be."

Noah knew me so fucking well. He knew when I disassociated back into that dark place that James had created. The nightmares were less and less but they were still there, clawing to the front recess of my mind but Noah worked so hard to help me heal.

He lifted me onto the table and spread my thighs apart so he could walk through them as my hands grazed over his bare chest; the tattoos catching my eye instead of the pure dark ones of his.

"I love you. It took me a long time to realize that and accept that feeling for what it is. But now that I have you, I refuse to let you go again. I'm not letting you go into that darkness alone, angel. I'm here and will always be here."

Tears fell from my eyes but this time, it was Noah who brushed them away. When I still said nothing. mind filled with so much emotion I didn't know how to say it.

Yes. Yes, you idiot. Tell him yes!

"I-," the words faltered yet again.

Noah made a low noise in the back of his throat as he took off my shirt, throwing it to the ground below. The night air made my nipples perk, and I shivered when I watched Noah step out of his grey joggers, cock springing free.

Holy shit.

I never realized asking someone to marry them was such a turn on.

"Fuck," I cursed when Noah spat on his hand before running it over my pussy, fingers dipping in for a few quick pumps before he angled the head of his cock between my folds.

Who was exhausted? I certainly wasnt.

"Angel," his forehead fell to my chest with a groan as he filled me completely.

I wrapped my legs around his back, heels resting on his ass as I pressed him deeper into me. The head of his cock immediately pressed against that spot while one hand slipped between us, thumb pressing fast circles to my clit.

"Noah," I panted.

His free hand ripped the ring from the book and grabbed my left hand, looking up at me through lust blown eyes.

"Lets."

Thrust.

"Get."

Thrust.

"Married."

"Yes, Noah!," I screamed when he pulled most of the way out, just leaving the head of his cock in me, before he snapped his hips hard to fill me once again. "Fuck yes, lets get married."

Our lips met in a fiery kiss, the one where your teeth smack together and tongues fight for power and dominance. Without warning, my orgasm ripped through me with a loud shrill, it echoing through the trees of the forest behind us. With my hand in his, Noah slipped the ring on my finger and grazed his teeth other my collarbone.

"You're going to be my wife, angel."

Pure exhaustion ached deep in my bones so all I could do was nod and ran my fingers through Noah's hair as he gave two more powerful thrusts, emptying himself inside of me with a low groan.

When I first started this job working for Bad Omens, I did it because I needed the money for a miracle to help my mom. But by the end of all the darkness and loneliness, Noah was the Miracle I truly needed and hoped for.

[blacklister214]

Honesty and Codology: Chapter 1 (Eejit)

I've had Scarnash on the brain since 4x06 and a strong hankering to write a POV fic for Patrick. This one takes place in the middle of 2x06 while Patrick is recovering in the hospital. I may do more chapters, but I have to warn you, my muses are fickle. Replies, questions, and reblogs are always appreciated! Apologies in advance for the typos I'm certain I missed. Enjoy!

___________________________________________________________

Patrick shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable on the lumpy mattress. There had been times when he’d slept on much worse, but the feathered bed he'd used for the past five years had spoiled him.

The nurse had administered the pain medication, so his leg was no longer leaving him in constant agony, but the ache was still there. Perhaps it was better to focus on that, than the disquiet of being alone in the hospital room. Patrick never liked silence. It gave him too much time with his thoughts.

He’d had his men stake out every entrance to the building, so he could, theoretically, go to sleep without endangering his own life. Unfortunately, some instincts were harder to overcome than others. How much did he really trust his men? If the bribe were right, would one of them allow his would be killer chance to finish the job? Such contemplations made it rather hard to relax. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and willed the medicine to send him into a peaceful slumber.     

“Hello Patrick.” Patrick’s hand immediately dove beneath his sheets to where he’d hidden his pistol. He tried to blink the blurriness from his vision as he aimed his weapon at the figure in the visitor’s chair. 

Black bowler hat. Worn green waistcoat. Pocket watch. Fond, but vaguely disapproving expression on his face. It was Michael, exactly as he’d been the last time Patrick had seen him alive. 

"That laudanum must have been strong.” He’d been warned about the possible side effects of the drug, but he didn’t recall seeing spirits as being one of them. 

“Interesting way to greet your brother.” Patrick realized that he was still pointing the gun at Michael…no not Michael…at the empty chair where he was imagining Michael to be. Still, best to return the gun to its hiding spot before a nurse returned and caught him with it. Strictly speaking patients weren’t allowed weapons, but he’d gotten Clarence to smuggle one in. 

“You’re not my brother. Just a hallucination, brought on by painkillers.” It was important for Patrick to state it out loud. He’d enjoyed reading A Christmas Carol as much as anyone, but he did not believe in ghosts. 

“Does that mean you’re not pleased to see me?” The vision raised one eyebrow in a manner that was so familiar, so perfectly Michael, that Patrick had to swallow hard to keep tears from welling in his eyes. To see a memory animated before him was a miracle he’d never dreamed he’d witness.  

“Nice to have visitors of any sort, I suppose.” Patrick frowned. He’d been aiming for nonchalant, but that had come out a bit self-pitying. He didn’t need a constant stream of people bothering him while was trying to rest. 

“Clarence stopped by.” 

Patrick almost asked about how Michael knew about Clarence, since he’d been hired after Michael’s death. Then he remembered he’d already decided that “Michael” was a product of his own brain. Whatever Patrick knew, Michael would as well. 

“He needed me to sign some papers. God forbid my being shot interferes with the running of the accounts.” Clarence was a good employee. Loyal, hardworking. Certainly one of Patrick’s shrewder hires. Still, it wasn’t like they had a friendship. Employer and employee was a difficult line to cross and frankly they didn’t have much in common beyond a desire to see Nash and Sons succeed. 

“Maggie would be here, if you’d bother telling her what happened. Eamonn, as well I suspect.”

The tone of gentle chastiment was all too familiar to Patrick’s ears. Whenever Patrick has caused mischief, and he had quite frequently, it was always the same. Why Patrick? Why did you leave a dead mouse in your teacher’s desk drawer? Why did you throw Liam O’Toole’s fishing pole in the river? Why did you steal the tart off Ma’s tray, when she told you to wait until after supper? 

“No point in worrying them.” He’d gotten to know the witnesses to his brother’s murder over the years, and Patrick liked them both. Still, the dark history that bound them all together made him reluctant to form any tighter bonds. He was convinced he’d only survived his brother’s death because of Nash and Sons. He poured everything he had into the business, into making Michael’s dream a reality. Patrick couldn’t have done that with regular reminders of what he’d lost. 

“True. What are a few bullets in a leg in the grand scheme of things? You have two, after all.” 

Patrick has a strong impulse to cross his arms over his chest. He was no longer a child attempting to stand his ground with his much older brother. Patrick realized with a jolt that they were the same age now. Good god, seven years had flown quickly. What once seemed an impossibly large chasm was no more.   

“The situation is well in hand. I have the best investigator in London working the case.” He considered qualifying that statement, with “outside himself”, but rejected it. “Michael” was in his head, and Patrick had no illusions about how he rated against Eliza Scarlet.  

“The lady detective.” 

There was something odd in Michael’s inflection when he used the sobriquet. Perhaps a slight emphasis on the word “lady”? Patrick doubted that even a Michael of his imagination would take issue with a female PI. Their own mother, God rest her, had had a commanding presence that generals would envy. 

Perhaps it was the poshness the title implied. Patrick himself had made the mistake of dismissing the “Lady Detective” for that very reason. Women of the middle and upper classes, as a rule, hadn’t much in the way of grit. The only ambitions they were encouraged to nurture were of a matrimonial bent.  

“She’s very good. Tenacious. Ambitious. Clever. Hoodwinked me, more than once.” St. Clair had been furious when he’d shown up at the office, ranting about “that woman” making fools of them both. Patrick had agreed to buy up every available copy of the circular just to calm him down. Months later and Patrick was still using the story of his humiliation as tinder for his fires.  

“That must have been quite the experience for you.”  

Patrick looked down, smiling to himself at the memory of surprising her at her home. She had been confused by his smile and words of congratulations. She had a right to be. By her own admission her trick had hurt his relationship with St. Clair, embarrassed him in the eyes of the public, and potentially stuck him with a lawsuit. By rights he should have been furious with her…but he wasn’t. 

The fact was, he couldn’t remember a case where he’d enjoyed himself more. As he’d told her, he loved a challenge, and Eliza Scarlet was nothing if not challenging. Any anger he felt at the outcome was overpowered by the swell of admiration for her and the intense desire to make her a part of his agency. 

Patrick, glanced back up, suddenly aware he’d been musing to himself for over a minute. That was rude, even to a figment of his own imagination. Michael did not seem at all perturbed at being ignored. On the contrary, he was smirking at Patrick in a disconcerting manner, as though he were enjoying a joke at Patrick’s expense. 

“The point is, she’ll find out who was behind it.” Who had shot him, and why? A difficult question to answer. Someone he’d put away? A source of information he’d squeezed one time too many? A jealous husband? Not, of course, that Patrick would deliberately dally with a married woman. Too much trouble. But it wouldn’t be the first time a woman claimed widowhood a bit prematurely. Then, of course, there was always the possibility it was O’Driscoll. He had received no word from Eamonn or Maggie, but ships came in and out of the docks every day. It was possible his brother’s killer had avoided them, choosing to have Patrick removed before eliminating the more vulnerable targets. 

“Does it trouble you that you’ve angered so many people, you haven’t a clue who wants you dead?”

Patrick looked at Michael sharply, the memory of O’Driscoll coating his tongue with bitterness. 

“You’re a fine one to talk.” An old anger blossomed in Patrick’s chest as he returned to that night in his mind. Michael had gone to the docks alone that night, rather than wait for Patrick. If Patrick had ever done something so foolish, Michael would have tanned his hide.  

“That’s unfair.” 

“You should have taken me with you.” They were supposed to stick together. That was the deal they’d made. Michael, for the first time in his life, had broken his word, and he’d left Patrick all alone. 

“You weren’t there when the tip came in.” 

A fact continued to haunt Patrick to this day. He hadn’t been there. He’d been down at the tavern drinking and flirting with lasses.  

“We’d worked for two weeks straight on the case for next to nothing. I needed a break!” The words felt hollow, even as he said them. Selfish. As hard as Patrick worked, Michael had worked double. He never complained either. He had been so good. He’d always been so good. Patrick sometimes wondered if his being born was the universe balancing things out. 

“I never said you didn’t. I told you to go, remember?” 

Of course he did. Michael had forever been Patrick’s greatest advocate. Smallpox took both their parents when Patrick was only 8 years old. Michael had kept them both housed, fed, and clothed, working odd jobs until he was old enough to join the Royal Irish Constabulary. When Patrick was old enough, Michael had given him a recommendation. Patrick had been drummed out for insubordination, and Michael had immediately resigned his post. He’d gotten them passage to London and worked menial jobs until they’d saved enough to open Nash & Sons.      

“You should have come with me.” Just once, couldn’t Michael have been selfish? Ignored responsibility for a single evening? 

“I couldn’t. I’d made a promise.” Patrick briefly closed his eyes. He remembered the look on the faces of Maggie’s family, desperate for their daughter’s return. Did he really blame Michael for not wanting to waste time tracking Patrick down? No. Not with Maggie’s life on the line. In his heart of hearts, he knew where the blame truly lay.

“You and your honesty.”

“You and your codology.” 

Their old refrain. He remembered returning to their very first office with a small sign engraved “Nash and Sons.” When Michael had pointed out neither of them actually HAD sons, Patrick had explained that they were the “Sons.” The name implied that business was inherited, with a legacy of success, rather than an upstart agency. Michael had shaken his head in exasperation, but allowed Patrick’s his way.

Patrick had often joked that if it bothered him so much, he could find himself a wife and have some children. Michael had always smiled and said, “Or you could.” Then they’d both laugh at the likelihood of that happening.   

“You’ll be pleased to know I have been a bit more truthful of late.” The look on Michael’s face was skeptical.

“Oh really?”

“Miss Scarlett. I offered her a fair rate for referring cases to her, rather than just taking my finder’s fee off the top.” 

Today had actually been something of a success, bullets in his leg notwithstanding. His months of careful planning had paid off. Sending cases her way. Paying Detective Phelps for news regarding Inspector Wellington. He’d waited for the perfect moment, then struck. 

At first his proposal had not had the warmest of receptions, but in the end she had capitulated. Not totally, of course. Not yet. And naturally she’d managed to rest a small victory of her own from the encounter. Still, being out an extra month’s pay was more than worth the exhilaration that came with going toe to toe with a worthy opponent.  

“A noble gesture, I am sure. Not in the least self-serving.” Patrick rolled his eyes at the rebuke. 

“I didn’t grow our business to what it is today by being altruistic. Besides, Eliza despises charity. I would have mortally wounded her pride.” 

Her disgruntled tone when she decried needing his help told him everything he needed to know on that score. She could accept a business exchange, but under no circumstances did she want his pity. She was a unique woman, who was more offended by chivalry than chicanery.

“Eliza?” Patrick realized that he’d unintentionally used her first name. Odd, that.   

“I meant Miss Scarlett. A slip of the tongue.” 

“That would be a first.” Michael wasn’t wrong. Patrick's words were his best weapons and he usually wielded them with great care. Patrick shook his head and attempted to shrug it off.

“I am, as I mentioned, on rather strong medication.” 

Michael made a non-committal sound and rose. 

“Perhaps it's best I leave you to rest then.” He turned toward the door, as though he were a flesh and blood visitor, not a phantom of Patrick’s mind. Phantom or no though, Patrick wasn’t quite ready for him to disappear.

“Michael?” His brother paused and glanced back at him,  “Why now? After all these years, why am I dreaming of you now?”

Michael scratched his beard.

“I thought you said it was the laudenum. That I’m just in your imagination.” Patrick supposed Michael had a point. Any answer Michael gave would ultimately come from himself. Still, he wanted a response.

“I’m curious about what I’d imagine you to say.” That same mysterious smile from earlier returned to his brother’s face.

“You’re the detective. Has something changed in your life lately? Something you’d want to talk to me about? Or someone?” Patrick’s eyes widened as Michael's implication suddenly dawned on him. Eliza Scarlet. Somehow she had triggered this…encounter. 

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously at Michael. What exactly was he saying? That he fancied her? She was strong and clever and funny and pretty and a man would be mad not to be drawn toward that. And yes, she had a disturbing tendency to make him want to be more fair and honest, at least with her. All that though, was besides the point.

His affairs with women were uncomplicated things. He was interested in experienced women who enjoyed occasional companionship, but didn’t want the burden of a husband. That suited him perfectly. He didn’t have time for anything else. Besides, it was clear to anyone with eyes she had her heart set on Inspector William Wellington. Not that the fool deserved her, but that wasn't the main issue either. The issue was that she was going to be an excellent asset to his business, and he would never do anything to compromise that. Nash and Sons came first. Always.

Though he had to admit, it had been nice, when he’d opened his eyes and found that she’d stayed with him from his transportation to the hospital through the surgery. It was nice to have someone who cared, at least a little. Feck.   

Patrick glared up at his brother.

“Eejit.” Since when had Michael been the one to stir up unnecessary trouble? That was Patrick’s role and he’d thank his brother to remember it.  The corners of Michaels’ lips tilted up at the insult.

“According to you, you’re only talking to yourself. Now, get some sleep.” Patrick’s eyelids suddenly felt impossibly heavy and began to close. Fighting against his stupor, he managed to get out the words he hadn’t been able to say all those years ago. 

“Good bye, Michael.”

“Good night, Patrick.”

[fettesans]

Top, screen captures from various webcams in Austria, Italy and Germany showing Northern Lights, May 10, 2024. Via Nahel Belgherze. Bottom, Clarence John Laughlin, Woman Attacked by a Cloud (Descent of a Cloud), 1941, Silver gelatin print. Via.

--

Throughout The Mystery Guest, Boullier certainly does not sound like a man in top form, and his willingness to make himself appear buffoonish saves the book from being an agonizing exercise in flowery self-pity. In the kind of perfectly ironic detail that could only come directly from real life, he decides to distinguish himself by spending more than a month’s rent on a bottle of 1964 Margaux, only to learn that as part of her artistic practice, Calle keeps all of her birthday gifts in storage in their original wrapping. (If he really had been Jesus Christ, a bottle of Evian would have sufficed.) At the party, Boullier talks shit, and crosses the line between anonymous, iconoclastic interloper and garden-variety wine-drunk jerk. The prose is breathless, sometimes drunk seeming itself, and there is something realistic, even touching, about its perpetual ricocheting between hope and despair, often within the span of a single sentence. It is a tightly written portrait of the artist as a young(ish) mess, and its ingenuity lies in its positioning of the “mystery guest” as an idealized state that exists in diametric opposition to the thoroughly unmysterious position of the ex-lover. Familiarity breeds contempt, and it can also hasten breakups. If Boullier can make himself unknowable enough again, perhaps he can represent not only Calle’s future but also that of the woman who once loved him.

His problem—much to our delight, since this dilemma is what lends the book its jittery edge—is that he cannot be mysterious to save his life. In the final pages of the book, Boullier and Sophie Calle meet again some years later, and despite his misogynistic flinching at her age (“in five years she’d be fifty-five, and then sixty, and that vision was hopeless and implacable”), it becomes clear that they are twin souls, if not necessarily cut out to be lifelong soulmates: obsessed with fate, and to some degree with themselves, they have an eye for the kind of minor details that make for terrific fiction, even when they are supposedly recording facts. For a time after this meeting, they were lovers, until Boullier eventually sent her a meandering, self-important breakup email. Calle—in a move that a man so obsessed with signs surely ought to have foreseen—anonymized him as “X” and turned the email into her 2007 entry for the Venice Biennale, Take Care of Yourself, asking women from 107 different professions, from a cruciverbalist to a Talmudic scholar, to interpret his words. If dumping a writer is a risky move, dumping an artist might be more dangerous still: like an invading force, they tend to recruit collaborators.

Philippa Snow, from We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together - Two French authors’ dueling narratives of heartbreak, for Bookforum, Spring 2024.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

He's such a shallow thinker that you can always trust Kendi to blurt out the quiet part.

But what's interesting is the projection. He's correct, but not in the way he thinks. Because he's talking about himself and his own personality flaws and mental disorders. This is a quote from his best-selling screed:

I DID NOT knock on Clarence’s door that day to discuss Welsing’s “color confrontation theory.” Or Diop’s two-cradle theory. He had snickered at those theories many times before. I came to share another theory, the one that finally figured White people out.

“They are aliens,” I told Clarence, confidently resting on the doorframe, arms crossed. “I just saw this documentary that laid out the evidence. That’s why they are so intent on White supremacy. That’s why they seem to not have a conscience. They are aliens.”

-- Ibram X. Kendi, "How to Be an Antiracist"

"White supremacy" in this sense isn't the KKK or the Nazis. It's "the white man's science," and "objectivity is white supremacy," and "merit is white supremacy," and "math is white supremacy," and "the U.S. Constitution is a tool of white supremacy."

David Duke didn't get millions of academic funding and an entire institute created for him by Boston University. David Duke didn't get a $10m donation from a co-founder of one of the most powerful social media platforms. David Duke's didn't publish a bestsellng insane manifesto. David Duke's ideology hasn't permeated K-12 in every state in the country. David Duke's ideology hasn't been the basis for reeducation programs conducted through everything from the medical profession to soft drink manufacturers to government nuclear laboratories.

When people insist that "woke" is "just about being kind" or "just about being aware of racism," they're lying. I don't mean they're mistaken, I mean they're lying. It's been a third of a decade since activists cut the brake-line and pulled out all the stops. The idea that we don't know what this is, what's going on, is dishonest.

Next time you hear it, show the person this video and ask them, do you agree with Kendi? They won't know what to say. It's the same as when you ask a moderate Xian whether they agree with their god that you deserve to be tortured for eternity. They know there's an ideologically correct answer, "yes," and they know there's a morally correct answer, "no." They'll refuse to answer the question: "I don't make the rules, god does," and "you send yourself there" are classic tactics to avoid being honest.

This is the same thing. They have to agree with him ideologically, because they can't claim he's Not a True Scotsman. But if they do agree with him, they've exposed the whole "it's just about being kind" lie.

Of course, this won't work on the fundamentalist True Believers. If you ask someone from Westboro the hell question, they won't even blink, they'll say, "yes, absolutely." Again, same thing applies.

It's one thing for Kendi himself to have these ideas. A much larger problem is the fact that the thunderous applause from the audience shows how far and how normalized the moral corruption has set in.

People who endorse Kendi should be regarded by society in the same way as those who endorse David Duke.