#but didn't the syndicate LITERALLY tell him 'no that's not what I want' and he just kept going like 'anything you say boss'

[catcatb0y]

I'm procrastinating fuck

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (part 7)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦 Part 7 - Recognition smut💦 Part 8 - Trust sexual 🥵 Part 9 - Shiny Things Part 10 - Good Deeds

Part 7 Recognition

It was time to start again. Alastor couldn't forget what his mother had wanted, even if she didn't ask it of him directly. And while he finds his comfort again in killing, Detective Brady finds a lead.

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, smut, reader's thighs as ear muffs, referencing cruel racists in the early 20th century south, reference to marital violence, pussy eaten, p in v sex, no creampie BOO, bad dancing, Alastor's southern accent, Alastor's mother, gossip, murder, greed , two idiots pretending they aren't madly in love, poor family planning, lots of 1920's slang with notes for your ease」

I think I fixed the broken tag list!

....it's been over a month. Here's nearly 9000 words of our favorite idiots. I feel weird labeling this smut now as...we are...kinda past the smut point and just making sweet sweet love. lol ugh gross. thank you to everyone whose offered help, donated, and shared the word about my mom! It’s been an immense help and has made her a little emotional (in a good way) <Florida stole my moms teeth— explanation and donation link> unrelated, anyone want some RadioDust?

Minors…. Minors. My inbox counts as interacting when you’re literally in there requesting smut. I know your bio has no age but baby honey darling I can tell by your writing. 🔞 Do Not Interact 🏠🚗

A development he knew was coming even if no one else believed him. A drug addict with debts to the local crime syndicates disappearing was neither suspicious nor a mystery. Everyone was confident it was obvious Tommy was at the bottom of Lake Pontchartrain or halfway to California.

But not to him, not for Detective Brady. He had been on the beat for the better part of a year, convinced there was a connection between some of the disappearances in town.

No one wanted to hear it though, most people didn’t even care the people were missing. Only the occasional wife, concerned how she would keep a roof over her head and food in her kid’s bellies with the man of the house gone. But other than that, no tears or chest beating for the missing men and women.

Which made him confident there were countless more unreported cases. Just because no one missed them, a crime is a crime.

But, no bodies, no blood, no crime scenes… he looked like he had lost the fucking plot to his colleagues.

The city didn’t want the bad press, not to mention the fact there was no actual crime to be reported. Someone up and left down? Okay, he was a wife beater? Probably left with his mistress. The cruel den mother of the home for unwanted kids? Her assistant takes the lead and she moves onto a new town to menace. Probably running from the people angry with her.

But he finally had something. Tommy was pimping out dancers, and even laid hands on one. Surely there was a man looking for revenge for that. Can’t knock around a man’s woman and have it go unanswered.

So he tried again to find the woman whose only name he knew was a moniker. Autumn Hind.

Every time Brady came to the theater, another excuse. You left early. You were on the roof smoking—- oh, you slipped out the back. Weekends were your off days, so that was useless.

“You’re obsessed.” Detective Freeman threw an eraser he’d picked off his pencil at Brady. He had seen the man devolve slowly over the past couple months.

“Thanks.” Brady was staring at his notes.

“Not a compliment, Kenny. Shit happens, people leave town. You’re acting like a handful of no shows are some conspiracy.” Freeman came to stand behind Brady, leaning over to read his notes, “How can you even read that chicken scratch?”

He clapped the notebook shut, “Every report was a person less than liked. What are the chances they all leave town in the middle of the night, last seen in the same general area?”

Freeman patted his shoulder, “Did you just ask me why a bunch of assholes,” he stood up and made a show of stretching out tired muscles, “who liked illegal hooch* and jazz with plenty of enemies disappeared?” (*booze)

Brady slapped his desk, “There! You said it! They had enemies. But what— what if they had one enemy in common. A bar manager or — or a,” he was still looking for that link.

“Kenny, the boogeyman isn’t roaming New Orleans killing people. If the higher ups don’t care, if the families don’t care, it doesn’t matter. Let it go.”

The sleep deprived detective sunk into his wooden chair, swiveling side to side anxiously, “Tommy’s mother cares.”

“Yeah well mom’s are famously bad judges of character.” Slipping on his jacket, he shot a worried look to his partner, “Ya gonna go home? Janet’s probably a mess. You’ve been keeping late hours.”

“Nah not yet. I gotta get to the theater before this dame goes ghost on me again.”

“Yikes, still? You’ve been chasing her for a while.” He was making a slow inching walk to the door.

“It’d be easier if I had some support. I gotta do this on my own time.” A deep sigh, well past the point of hiding his frustration with his colleagues and bosses. Freeman looked over the wrinkled shirt and wilted tie, evidence of a man losing his grip.

“Welp, good luck buddy. Hope you get to the bottom of whatever this is.” He gestured at the messy desk and disheveled man, “See ya tomorrow.”

Brady waved without looking up. His eyes were staring into the black leather of his notepad. Tommy was the only recent assumed victim with any real suspicion. The woman whose husband disappeared after going to see a show? Only enemy to him was her, and she wasn’t strong enough to take him down. Deadend.

Most recent, nice young man from up north. Went out for a good time, hoping to catch a little lady for some stress relief, according to his coworkers. Never showed up at work the next day. No one had a bad word to say about the man. Making him an outlier, but still. He was young, strong, soft spoken. Not an enemy in sight but no family to worry, either. Deadend.

But Tommy. Someone cared he was gone. He was in the jazz game, the drug dens, the illegal drink business, and had a heavy hand. He was the perfect bad man, right?

He looked across his desk. Bad men. The occasional unsavory woman. Maybe it was just their time. They pissed off the wrong people.

Or the wrong person.

Someone who worked downtown, someone into dance and drink, someone with nights free to do his work. Maybe a hired gun? No, some of these people didn’t have the money for that.

Plus, one person and so many missing? That would be unheard of, it’d be some kind of record for Louisiana.

A record Brady could claim.

When he entered the theater James, the manager who replaced Tommy, noticeably rolled his eyes, getting in front of the man. “It’s real bad for business to have a cop in here all the damn time. Come on, if you’re not here for a raid then could you be a little less obvious.”

Brady looked past him, “What do you mean?”

“You’re— what is it? What can I do for you?”

“Here again for Miss Autumn. Care to give her real name yet?”

“No can do. Ain’t my business to tell. She’s finished her set, asked to head home early.” Brady turned and kicked a chair over, a large man approaching behind the manager before seeing the hip badge and backing up. “Nah we’re not doing that. We’ve told her you’ve come by but she’s a busy lady. Several gigs here and there. Enough, you’re harassing the dancers now.”

With a snap, Brady had his finger in the manager’s face, “Whatcha gonna do? Call the cops?”

“She. Isn’t. Here. What the fuck do you want? For me to tie her up and bring her to your station?”

That’d be ideal.

A month, nearly. Coming once or twice a week to try and speak to you but every time he missed you. He was going to snap if he heard one more time you were gone. Maybe everyone was in on it. Maybe you werenin the back right now laughing at him.

Brady scanned the room, “Where’s she live?”

“How the fuck would I know— please, leave.” James gestured to the doors.

He lifted his badge up, waving it at the patrons seated closest to him, “Yall know it’s still illegal to partake-,”

“Jesus! Enough!” The manager pushed him back, flashing an apologetic smile to the guests, “She moonlights Sundays at The Dime near the park on 5th, singing for a friend. That’s all I got about her life off stage. Will you fucking go?”

The detective perked up, “See, was that so hard?”

Finally, he could feel his fingers grasp the shifting shadow that was his only lead.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

“I never said sorry.”

You turned your head, not expecting him to say something serious. Waiting, he didn’t add explanation. Sorry? What had he done… ran out of milk? Forgot to bring in the towels before it rained last week? A quick search of your memory yielded nothing.

“For what?”

He was staring off in front of him. “For putting you in danger before. In the park. I am sincerely sorry.”

You’d somehow almost forgotten. It’d been weeks. Every bad feeling that night had brought you had been carried away by good morning kisses and gentle words before sleep. Nearly every night was spent in his bed, Alastor dropping you off at your apartment when he went downtown for work. The incident in the park was a different lifetime already.

Had he really put you in danger? Or had you rushed into the danger of his hobby to feel closer to him?

“I put myself in that situation. You didn't throw me at that guy. I don’t do a damn thing I don’t want to do. You should have learned that by now.”

Tough act for a woman who jumped up to pour some man’s coffee.

You shook your head, you had to stop equating doting on Alastor as a show of weakness. It wasn’t. Even if admitting that meant admitting you were wrong.

But he had put you in danger’s way, he knew it. “No, you wouldn’t have ever been in that situation if it wasn’t for me.”

Your laughter bounced off the car windows, “Alastor, you met me getting choked to death by a strange man. People will always make dangerous situations for women to be in. Don’t act like you’re special.” A sly smile to ease his anxious heart. “I’d rather be in danger for you than just because I’m a woman. If it’s gonna happen anyway, might as well be worth something.”

His hand slipped onto your thigh, expression softening before his own smile grew again, “Don’t lie to my face so easily. I am very special, we can all agree.”

You looked around, the two of you alone in his car on a side street, “All? You know the trunk is still empty, right?”

“Oh, is that so? You’re quite dangerous yourself, I nearly forgot why we were here.” He patted his pockets to make sure he had what he needed. “When I give you a wave, back up to me, okay? Don’t leave the car. Just drive off if-,”

You kissed his cheek, “Shut it. Not a chance. Go give em hell, baby.”

Alastor crumpled against his steering wheel momentarily, your words cutting his heart open in a most wonderful way. He could never have predicted getting kisses before beginning his dark work. What had he done to deserve this? Perhaps proof someone in hell was in full support of his actions. Straightening his back and checking his hair and glasses in the mirror, he flashed you a smile before slipping out of the car.

When Alastor said he was ready to begin killing again, you were a mix of excited and scared. Excited for normalcy to return but scared of the dangers presented there in. You’d been dodging the blue eyed detective for a while already, and moving forward meant possibly making mistakes he could grab a hold of. Not mentioning the risk of someone hurting Alastor again…but for your part in everything, you and Alastor found a compromise.

A deal had been made. You’d stay in the car and bring it to him when he was done. He had asked you flee if something went wrong but you both knew that wasn’t going to happen. Crawling into the driver’s seat, you tried to remember what he had taught you. How to get it started up, how to make it go backwards. How to make it go, in general. You’d never driven a car. Well, not until Alastor insisted on teaching you. Driving up and down the long stretch of road he lived on, Alastor white knuckling the door handle as you jerked the car forward with every failed shift. You had started on his land, but he feared for his home's safety with you behind the wheel.

Your hands slipped down the steeling wheel, big and round. Your mother would’ve had a hoot had she seen you in the driver’s seat. Clearing your throat, you leaned into the back of the car and double checked the canvas was properly secured.

Another man tonight. The few times you’d both gone out for leisure, having preferred to spend time alone at home, Alastor had gotten gossip that piqued his interest.

You remembered the way the woman’s hand touched his arm when she leaned in. “You didn’t hear it from me but it’s best to avoid French Study on Thursdays. Real piece of work slipping something in drinks and robbing people.” He reported what she had said back to you. It’d panicked you, realizing you were closer to being on Alastor’s list than you’d realized.

“No, the issue isn’t the stealin’. It’s what he does with the people with,” he had been delicate as he said it, taking another long sip of whiskey, “other things of value. And the fact this man has no need to steal. It’s ridiculous! His family has been land ownin’ and well off for generations.” Alastor was always impassioned when discussing the things he hated, even when slipping into drunkenness. His accent came through when he had too much to drink, his real accent. The accent his mother had. “You robbed men for power balance, for their assumptions you were easy to manipulate to begin with. He? Uh, Him? He’s just a piece of shit. He thinks he’s better than everyone else. And no one would report him ‘cause his family name.”

His drink spilled a little, when you had offered to clean it he just slipped the button up off. He lost his usual classy air as the bottle emptied. Which you actually liked.

The benefits of drinking on his back porch was no need to worry about decorum. Music was softly spilling from the open window behind you, Alastor’s prized record cabinet spinning the newest presses.

“It’s like there’s a little bug under my skin,” he wiggled his fingers over his sternum, “It’s gonna dig into my bones if I don’t cut it out.”

Despite your own drunkenness, you nodded and followed along, “So, ya gonna kill ‘em?”

Alastor pouted, making you snort, “I don’t want to think about that right now.” He enunciated every word clearly in his practiced and professional voice.

You’d ended the evening playfully arguing the merits of prohibition on the jazz scene and watching Alastor dance around the wrap around porch. But the conversation hadn’t ended for him.

Little hints he was still focused on it popped up over the following week. Alastor randomly asking you how it felt to be drugged, did you wake up in pain? Embarrassed? Scared? You caught him staring at the greenhouse from the window one morning, lost in thought. Before he had finally said he wanted to go out again, you understanding what that meant, you’d seen him turning a dinner knife over and over in his hand impatiently.

And now here you were. In the car beside a park late Thursday, Alastor having done some scouting while you’d finished up early at the theater.

It took hours. Which was good, it meant Alastor wasn’t rushing. He liked the stalking aspect of killing, of watching someone from across a room knowing exactly how their night would end. And as that man whose name would soon be buried with him alternated smiling and barking orders at staff, Alastor felt his stomach flutter. Like watching a slab of meat slowly turn over the fire. The crueler he was, the worse he acted, the more Alastor found his fingers tapping on the bar with anticipation. Perfect. Damn yourself more. No fake smiles or double faces, no, people like him didn’t even try to play the game others were forced into. Born with money and land already theirs, they didn’t even know the rules.

But Alastor did. Alastor mastered them at the tender age of 14. When he realized his father’s features were a shield. His mother’s lessons on manners and charm his weapons. The first time he was in mixed company, when someone leaned in and whispered a cruel “prank” he had planned for a young dark skinned woman on the other side of the room, he understood. They pulled back and smiled at him, and he managed to muster one of his own. Just smile, they’d take it to mean whatever they wanted it to mean because they thought he was of the same mindset. They assumed it. Like so many other things people would assume about him as he grew.

When he told his mother the story after getting home, she shook her head. When he had asked her what he should have done, she set down her book.

“Well, I’d love to say you should have stood up for her. But I’d also like to have my son above ground.”

He asked her why she couldn’t have both.

“Sweetheart, we don’t usually get the choice to do either, let alone both.”

He offered a solution, after a moment of thinking, “I shoulda buried him first then.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if that was how the world worked?” She returned to her book, “If God just struck em down dead as soon as they hurt people. Better yet, before.”

It would be nice. It was nice. Because Alastor couldn’t wait for God to make the world his mother mentioned. He grinned ear to ear, gloves a second skin, as the man crawled backwards in the grass like an animal cornered. His heart was pounding in his ears. Where to cut first? The gut, his family fat and soft from the money they made off the labor of others? The pale neck of a man who never spent a day outside, instead indoors drugging strangers for sport? The chest covered in a fine cotton shirt he didn’t appreciate?

He wished he had many arms, as many as he could imagine, to slash and tear in tandem.

“What do you want? Money?” the animal asked him.

Alastor shook his head no. No, he didn’t want money.

“Do you know who I am?”

Alastor nodded. “That is precisely why I am here.”

Would he beg? Cry? Bargain? Experience told him it’d be the latter.

“Alright well, if you know who I am you know you’re making a mistake. Here.” The man opened his wallet and pulled out a few greenbacks, holding them out for Alastor. Alastor’s smile softened slightly, remembering tossing you a wallet once before.

He reached down with his left hand to take the money, but instead grabbed the man’s wrist. Swiftly, quicker than the man could process, he took the knife tucked into his belt behind his vest and stabbed the man in the stomach.

Staring into his eyes, he could see his own image looking back at him. Smiling.

Alastor grabbed your face with both wrists, hands bloody and one still holding the knife, and kissed you when he’d flagged you down.

“Is this for bringing the car around without running you over?” Your eyes glanced at the knife beside your head. He apologized, tossing it into the trunk.

“No, just happy to see you.” A mischievous grin that made your knees weak, his body shimmied closer until he was pressed against you, stealing another kiss. His arms stretched out to keep from bloodying you. Your fingers slid up his cheeks to return the kiss. “Thank you, dear.”

When you returned home, to his home, that is, you took to task bringing in the laundry he’d left on the line and putting away the things still on the counters from breakfast. You couldn’t resist going to the second floor room and looking down into the greenhouse. You couldn’t see perfectly well, but you could see nonetheless. Alastor didn’t want you in the greenhouse yet when he was working. He said it was the ugliest parts, the kind that would sure give you nightmares or rob you of your appetite.

Considerate. But, it only made you more curious. Would you be sick if you saw? Would you never eat meat again?

What would you do if you didn’t have any reaction at all?

You watched Alastor leave the greenhouse and lock the door behind him, so you hopped down the stairs to meet him in the hall beside the kitchen.

He’d been sweating, shirt open to reveal a thin white undershirt, and under his arm was a canvas roll. He lifted it up, “Tools. Rinsed them off but I’d like to dry them under the electric lights.” You grabbed the aprons from the wall hooks, Alastor letting you slip it over his head and tie it for him. “Why so tight?”

“I like the way it makes your waist look.” You’d seen him wear it when making biscuits. It made his shape so clear. It reminded you of watching water drip down his sides and roll off his hips in the shower.

He beamed, “I’m listening. What exactly do you like about my waist?” Sharp brows raised as that friendly tongue peeked out at you.

“Hush.” You cooed.

You stood on the long side of the table, him at the short, and took turns wiping the tools dry and checking the other’s work.

As he grabbed each one he would tell you what he used it for. Holding up the garden shears and explaining the point along the blade that had the strongest force. The advantage of curved pruning blades when used on a human body. His eyes were gleaming as he spoke, looking so lovingly at each item like it was a loyal pet.

He finally noticed you were grinning and chuckling softly, so he dropped his smile for dramatic effect, “What? What’s so funny?”

Shaking your head, you set down the next item for him to inspect, “Nothing. You’re just so cute when you’re talking about your passions. Your face lights up from the inside out.”

His breath hitched, smile actually lost as he processed every syllable. Your turn now to notice him staring as you looked up from your work. You recognized that look though, the wide eyes and serious lips. The air of the kitchen felt like the atmosphere before a thunderstorm rolled in.

Alastor set the tools back onto the canvas one by one and carried them to the counter. Before returning he picked up a small knife and set it near the edge of the table.

“Come here.” He nodded his head to space in front of him. The way he said it, that tone, made your heart begin to skip beats.

You slid between him and the table, Alastor lifting you up with a startling ease and setting you onto cool wood. Kicking your legs a little, you set nervous hands onto your lap. You wanted to touch him. To pull him by the apron straps into you.

“How do you always say the right things?” He closed the distance between you, one hand on your neck while his mouth came to your ear. “The things I didn’t know I wanted to hear?”

Swimming. Your mind was swimming. “Why is your idea of right the same as my idea of the truth?” You could feel the grin. Sighing into your ear, down your neck, his hands grabbed your hips and pulled you off the table enough to press your core into his clothed erection. Even through his pants and the apron, you could feel him clearly. When did he get so hard? You always wondered in those moments if it was the topic of discussion. Or the knives. Or your need. Biting your lip wasn’t a thought out action, but Alastor loved to see it. Rolling his hips into you in response.

“Wanna go upstairs?” you asked.

He shook his head, slipping off his glasses.

“Oh no, don’t even wanna see me?” You teased, but firm hands held you tighter to him in response.

“I won’t be letting you get far enough away from me for that to be a problem.”

When he leaned down and his lips so very gently pressed into yours, you could feel it. That missing something from before. It was in the air, it was rolling off of his body and dampening your senses. A desire, a drive that you felt that first time you had sex with him in that apartment above the theater. A motivation that was lacking last time in his bed.

His eyes were staring down into yours, waiting for your response. Eagerly you replied by chasing his mouth with yours. A chain of kisses as you tried to ever remember enjoying kissing another person as much as him.

Not a single soul. Why did it feel like this was all you ever needed? Eyes closed and lips on lips, hands in his hair, it felt like you’d been holding your breath all of your life. His body on yours was a gasp of air.

For Alastor, he couldn’t even think of breathing when around you. Let alone when your mouth was on him. Every time you touched him all he could think about was the word ‘affection’.

So when your tongue swiped up his lips, he moaned as he opened for you. Not because he was new to kissing someone with so much lust. He’d grown accustomed to the things you did to him. No, because you were a fever that had taken hold of him and your kiss the medicine that soothed his delirium.

He wondered, was that why people called it ‘love sick’?

“You really like me, don’t you?” He asked, nose sliding up your jaw.

An opportunity presented to you. A chance to spill over the edges.

You pushed it away, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him closer.

“Something like that, yeah.”

His hands pressed flat against the table to balance the deep roll of his hips against you. One of your own fell behind you to keep from falling backwards, the other flung over his shoulder. When you moaned into his cheek he captured the sound with his mouth and slipped his tongue back into you.

You liked him. He’d known people to love and not like their partner an ounce, but the way you appreciated his quirks made his heart sing in its brittle cage. You never ceased to see him. The issue with always putting on a show is people tend to be disappointed when the actors become human again. But you never met his persona. He was knife wielding, bloodlusting Alastor from the first word. So when he was himself, you recognized him clearly. Because he was all you ever knew.

And you liked him

You appreciated him.

He dared to think maybe he could inspire more from you. A thought that made him twitch below the belt.

Closer. He needed you closer. He needed you so near to him that he’d never forget the feeling of being wanted. It’d be imprinted on his chest and his arms and his lips.

Impatient hands slipping up your sides, along your neck, down your chest. His greedy mouth suddenly understanding the same greed he once marveled at in your own kisses. Hot tongue sliding over yours, delving deeper into you with every return.

When his hands seemed to come to an agreement, they yanked you forward again. You’d fall off ass-first if he pulled you any further.

You watched with only slight horror has he grabbed the small knife and hiked up your dress in tandem. A gulp, worried the other shoe had finally dropped on a too-good situation.

“Are you particularly attached to these panties?” His eyes were looking up and over his glasses.

“No?” Did you really need panties, you wondered. Ever? Girdles we’re falling out of fashion perhaps you’d all be naked again soon enough. Maybe you two could start another Eden. A pomegranate’s juice the new red staining his skin.

Not even a tremble, his hands lifted each side and sliced them free.

“Oh?” You didn’t have a real question in mind when he tucked the panties into his back pocket. Just a need to express you saw it and didn’t understand it.

Alastor took your hand and pressed it against his hardened length, eyes locked onto yours with a sharpness to them. But when your hand took hold of him and squeezed, everything softened in his features. Funny how where one area grew stiff another melted.

He rolled his eyes closed as you finally undid his belt and pants. A struggle you didn’t see, Alastor trying to keep from pouncing on you like a horny virgin. He didn’t want to rut into you, he didn’t need the pleasure. He needed something he couldn’t see or explain. He just knew you held it behind your teeth.

When your skin pressed into his and you both moaned together he was sure you were the same. One person, split into insufficient parts. Finally lined up flush in place.

When you circled your hips against his aching cock, he wondered what you were chasing after. Was it the pleasure? He’d give it to you in spades.

He was on his knees with his face between your legs before you could close your thighs in surprise.

You needed both hands now to keep from falling back onto the table. “Alastor,” a whine.

He knew better than to talk with his mouth full, so he let two fingers work their way into you with shallow thrusts. Easing you open for him.

“Yes?” His eyes didn’t leave his fingers, glistening under the kitchen light. You hadn't thought much ahead past his name, once his fingers were in you and curling up to find your spongy and soft bundle of nerves your mind had gone empty.

“We can just fuck, if you’re horny.” You watched him watching himself.

“Where’s the fun in that?” His mouth returned to your mound, broad tongue forming a point and finding your clit.

A lazy moving tongue would be frustrating if not for his fingers punishing your g-spot. Consistency was key, and his hand was focused and skilled.

Suddenly you remembered the piano in the sitting room. That’s where you knew that movement from. That clearly practiced muscle memory.

Alastor felt confident everywhere but rarely did he feel comfortable. When your thighs came together and squeezed him at the ears, he felt positively cozy. Would you be so kind as to be his ear muffs come winter? He’d have to remember to ask when his mouth was free. How many cold nights he could now rest assured he would have warmth just a little dive of his head away.

Lowering his mouth, nose buried in your muff, he wriggled his tongue in with his fingers. Not enough, rarely was anything enough any more. He stilled his hand and prodded at your sensitive walls with that intrusive tongue, relishing the little movements you made in response. Taking his digits out entirely, he buried his wet muscle as deeply as he could reach.

The huffs of exhales you were making triggered a moan from him that you felt through your skin. His enjoyment was tripling your pleasure.

Goosebumps ran up your arms at the combine sensations of his moaning and prodding.

When his lips and tongue returned to their uneven teasing of your clit, three fingers now swiping past your inner spot with every thrust, your hands came to his head. Fingers slipping through his hair and gripping every time your body shook. Encouragement, the more you tugged the surer he was he was doing the right things.

And oh, he was. You said the right things but Alastor always seemed to act on them. Your senses lodged themselves between the even stroking of your g-spot and the unpredictable movements of his tongue. One kept the pressure rising as your orgasm climbed, the other pushed you along jolt by jolt.

Curious thing. That night in the park he didn’t have much reaction to your enjoyment, but he found himself not fully softening in his lap as he continued. Normally, unless still physically stimulated or the rare time you stirred something in him, he wasn’t very… battle ready.

But the feeling of you pulling him in by the head, fingers in his hair and thighs at his cheeks; this was different than the others. He was sure now it wasn’t just physical pleasure you wanted. His pride said it was more.

Dozens of times before— he truly was a rake in some aspects, though admittedly it was all in the pursuit of avoiding “sex”, as defined by most, not chasing it — he helped a date find release with his tongue. But it never did anything for him. They moaned and said his name and screamed. Which was lovely. Who doesn’t enjoy recognition?

When you said his name, it was heavier. It was material, it had mass and as its gravity began its pull he found his mind circling that sound. He was pleasing his darling, not placating. And it made him react in that unusually crass way.

He felt like an apex predator when killing, tearing open animals made for him to hunt. But you made him feel baser. Prey in your gentle bite.

As your orgasm mounted, you began tugging at his hair to pull him off. You didn’t need him to stop, but everything was suddenly too sensitive. It was alarming to feel your body rocking from overstimulation. A strident cry filled the kitchen as your back arched off the table. He didn’t let up, despite how much you thrashed under his mouth. Rolling pleasure, muscles electrified and shaking beyond your control.

You patted his head harshly, “Good, I’m good. Alas—tor! Fuck!”

Ah, he loved when you swore. It punctuated your otherwise preternatural aura with a touch of humanity.

He stood and leaned over your now reclining body. Your pussy still clenching and legs shaking as he admired his work. You admired his shape in his apron, his broad shoulders and sharp eyes. Caught between your legs like a lion in a mouse trap; he acted like he had no way free of you. His grin widened and he made a display out of licking each finger clean. Eyes never leaving yours.

You knew many men to squawk at going down on a woman. To balk at wearing an apron. To grimace at the suggestion of cooking a meal while their lady took a nice bath or enjoyed a coffee. Alastor seemed to not think twice about any of it. How nice it would be. To have a partner beside you, to not be the woman in the often referenced “behind every great man is a great woman.”

“Alastor, I want you.” You pulled him down by the neck and stole a kiss. When he began to stroke himself fully back to life you pressed that hand to his chest. “Not like that. Though I’m not declining the offer.”

His eyes saw something in yours. “Sweetheart, you have me. There is no part of me that isn’t possessed by you. I know we keep things relatively… tightlipped for safety but I’m your fella and you’re my gal.” His nose touched yours. “But if you want more, I’ll become more. I’ll break myself apart and make myself better.”

Your heart sank. Sitting up to command a little authority, a feat given you were sitting panty-less on a kitchen table, “Don’t you dare. I’ll always meet you where you are, got it? Don’t go… groping around in the darkness for me; trying to find what I need. I’ll always come to you. Because you’re more than enough as you are.”

A little cough to clear his tightening throat, “I’ve not had a day of darkness since you arrived.” A kiss to your forehead before a soft thumbpad wiped at the corner of your eye. “Did I make you sad?”

You wanted to say it. But not now, not like this. You didn’t want Alastor to connect love and sex. To think one was necessary for the other.

While you were coming to learn how lovely it was to pair the two together, it was a fact they were wholly independent things. And you couldn’t allow him to think they were a set.

“You’ve made me too happy. It’s absolutely terrifying.”

But Alastor had found your expressions of acceptance always tumbled the circle of Love to overlap with that of Sex. It was only in that mixed space did he find desire in pleasure.

A wicked smirk, “Let me pile on my affections and drown out your fears.” His hips rolled into you again, a surprising eagerness returned to his lap. “Can I continue?”

With a nod and a smile, “But not another word of change, buster.” You leaned back on your hand for support. Alastor was happy to return to your heat, lining up and sinking into you. An embrace like no other, one he found particularly earnest when with you.

Close. Finally. You began where he ended, a natural extension of who he was and who he could be. The things he could have. A relieved sigh he didn’t try to hide before he began moving, a moment when his tension could melt. You were both an unseasonably warm autumn day and the cool comforting shade of an unfamiliar tree. Both the heat and the relief.

He watched your body rock against the table, even fully dressed you managed to look more scandalous than any show he’d seen downtown. He was grateful he didn’t seek this comfort often in others, the way his mind melted made him feel vulnerable. He couldn’t think straight. And then you began to make those lovely little groans, high pitched and needy, and he was sure his soul was errant.

As his thrusts deepened, cock no longer kissing your cervix but ramming into you with good intentions, you dropped back as you lost the battle against his hips.

Alastor’s arms slid up our waist and pulled your arms towards him, “Too far, I can’t see your face.”

Your arms were slung over his shoulders as your back curved for him, “You don’t need to see my face.”

“Tsk, wrong.”

Your new favorite place was right in front of him, wherever his line of sight was you wanted to be in it. Nose to nose, heads tilting to recapture soft lips and softer moans.

Until the softness left, Alastor’s skin slapping against yours as he dragged those lovely sounds from you. He watched your eyes roll closed, mouth open as you moaned with the safety of the seclusion of a country home. A thought bubbled up, inspired by you.

“I want the neighbors to hear you.” That smile half cocked across his upsettingly handsome face. His hand slipped between you both to repeat the motions he learned before. Hard and fast, no choice but to raise your voice.

Your head fell back, clit still sensitive, “You don’t have neighbors!” A new moan hitting the walls.

“I do— just a few miles down the road, dear.” His mouth latched onto your neck but he didn’t suck like he wanted, he couldn’t bite. Your skin was your job, your body not his to mark. Suddenly he remembered, “Do you still have that make up? For your bruises?”

You couldn’t understand why he would bring that up while balls deep in you but you nodded.

“Would it work on your neck?” He nipped lightly.

It clicked, “Absolutely.”

You felt like a teenager again. When his tongue swiped over your soft flesh before he began to suck on the skin there you could feel the heat rising off your chest. You could feel him everywhere, and with the knowledge he wanted to hear you, you tossed your shame out of the kitchen window and relaxed into the pleasure.

As he moved up your neck he left little marks behind. There was no sense left you didn’t occupy. He could smell the soap and sweat of your skin, taste your cunt still on his tongue, your sights and sounds a decadence he couldn’t get used to. And the feeling of you… velvety walls, a feeling finer than silk as he slipped in and out of you. So incredibly hot on his most sensitive areas, pulling him back in with admirable strength.

He felt his orgasm ratcheting up but tried to hold back. He wanted more time to experience your ecstasy, to wallow in your openness. Even pressed skin to skin now wouldn’t satisfy that deep desire for this unique level of intimacy. So he wanted to enjoy it for as long as he had it.

But, he knew he should prepare. “I don’t want to dirty your dress.” A lust heavy voice penetrating the nap of your neck. He’d made a risky release before at your urging, something he often thought about when work got quiet. But he knew he needed to think clearer now.

“Then don’t.” A terrible reply but you wanted all of him, every drop of his hunger for you. “Keep the mess in me.”

“My dear,” he slowed his hips, autopilot keeping them moving at all, “I don’t think now is the time for,” you tightened around him to trip him up, which worked spectacularly. Alastor had take several seconds before continuing, “talks on family planning.”

A pang of nausea and fear, small and sharp in your abdomen. It wasn’t that you weren’t aware of biology, just that Alastor brought out your baser animal instincts, too. And before, when he came buried as deeply as he could reach, it felt like you’d actually completed some ritual. Bears hibernated, birds migrated, Alastor came in you.

You’d never let a man do that before Alastor. “I just want to… accept everything you are willing to give me.”

He bit his bottom lip to redirect some attention away from his now throbbing member, “And when you’re sure on me, I’ll always provide.”

A pout that he kissed, you accepted the terms. An argument could be made you were already very sure, but you were well aware how naive that sounded when you’d known each other for so little time. Had a coworker told you she’d met a guy and within three months was ready for… the consequences, you’d have laughed and asked if she was drunk or just stupid.

Alastor wanted to provide. But he knew you’d be the one with the raw end of the deal, he couldn’t risk coercing a decision in the heat of the moment. If your mind was half was addled as his with pleasure then you were in no state for big decisions.

Life changing decisions.

Decisions that filled empty homes.

Fuck, why wasn’t he a less considerate man?

When his kiss deepened, so did his ministrations. He was fully sheathed and so unwilling to draw back more than a couple inches you wondered if he had changed his mind. It felt like a man not wanting to stray too far from home. One hand on the small of your back, his other other on the back of your neck. When he pulled out he pressed his tongue further, only stopping the kiss when he came onto the little space of table between your thighs. Soft and swollen lips parted as his breaths ran ragged. A smile spread across your face as you watched his eyes open, witnessing a pleasured blow out of his pupils.

When he grabbed a kitchen towel and cleaned the table, you chuckled at his grimace. “See? My way is cleaner.”

He didn’t reply at first, taking the cloth and hovering over the sink before tossing it into his trash. “Only in the short term. We can finish up tomorrow with the tools?”

Your legs kicked again, not ready to slide off, “Mm, it’ll be easier in the daylight.”

“Instead,” he zipped his pants but removed the belt and set it on the counter, “Let’s get zozzled* and sway around the sitting room? Crash where we land.” (*drunk)

“I’ll pour if you get the music on.”

He turned to leave but paused, “No, I’ll handle the drinks. You always have too heavy of a hand.”

“I didn’t hear you complaining last time…”

“I’m not sure I remembered I was at home and not at a drum* last time…,” He uncorked the label-less whiskey, grabbing two glasses with one hand. “Didn’t wanna insult the pretty waitress.” (*speakeasy)

Fair. You weren’t much for drinking and always underestimated the strength of illegal hooch. Some were weak and some could kill you. But fancy Alastor had connections with the kind of people no one dared to risk harm to, so he always had the most trustworthy goods.

Good music, great whiskey, and even better company. You thanked him for being safe while working, he praised your ability to learn new skills so quickly. After a few drinks he pushed the coffee table against the wall and you drunkenly swayed around the room to something playing smooth and low. As much as you enjoyed your conversations, having your head tucked under his chin as neither of you said a word somehow filled in the little cracks of your heart more so than any talk. For him too. No tension after sex, no stress of how long he’d get to breathe before the next instance of prodding to do it again. He could smile and close his eyes and feel the room swing and sway in total safety.

A safety neither of you knew was being threatened from afar.

When you woke, Alastor was gone. A note on the table letting you know he’d run out to grab some things for breakfast. Telling you to relax and recover.

You put the furniture back, bringing the glasses to the kitchen and his belt to the bedroom.

Coffee and a slow perusal of his home. Intimate details you tried to not stare at when he was there. The rare photo of his mother, a woman you didn’t speak about, a conversation you didn’t need to have, but someone you knew existed fondly still in his life. A silent thank you to her.

No photos of a man to give thanks to you so you turned to the little curios and mementos. 

Little seashells and sand dollars, a small gator’s skull. Books, about anatomy and history. Novels about crime and love and mystery. Ticket stubs for films he’d seen. Little bits of his mother scattered in. A woman’s necklace. A chatelaine* with all of the accessories and tools. (*wikipedia page)

When you felt you’d spied enough, you crawled into his side of the bed and inhaled as deeply as you could. His pillow smelled like him. You let yourself sleep off the hangover surrounded by pieces of Alastor.

Pieces you couldn’t contain. Pieces left around town as a dick* hunted for his personal monster. (*a detective, but also, a dick, fuck this dude?)

Beth, or Betty as you called her, the friend you often sang for, was cleaning up from the previous night when Brady walked in. She tried to tell him they were closed, but he took a seat at the counter anyway.

“I’m looking for a singer named Autumn. She been around lately?”

She paused, knowing the name was tied to your work. This man didn’t know you. “Whose asking?”

“The city of New Orleans”, he set his badge on the counter top.

“Is she in some kinda trouble?”

“She the kinda dame to get into trouble?”

Beth laughed, “She doesn’t try to but men, liquor, and jazz tend to make it happen. She’s okay, right?”

He took a deep sigh, trying to blink away the exhaustion and remember he needed to be someone strangers trusted. Being honest hadn’t been working and being rough barely got him a lead. “Well I was hoping you’d know. Found out someone roughed her up a bit ago and just wanting to make sure she’s okay. But I don’t have her legal name, no address, nothing to track her down.”

Shaking her head, she leaned onto the counter, “What? Some egg* forget it’s just a show?” Brady shrugged. “I can’t say. She hasn’t been by in a couple weeks.” (*man)

He asked why. Feeling the deadend approaching.

“She was just doing me a favor. Once she got a guy she didn’t have much time.”

Fighting the urge to slam his fists against the wood and sling his notebook across the bar, Brady took slow breaths. Jaw clenched as he grabbed his pencil, “That is wonderful news. Hopefully a fit guy who can… keep her safe.”

Beth laughed a little, “I don’t know about that. He’s kind of a daisy*, but real kind.” (*a non-masculine man)

“Could I get a name? Or her address? Wanna follow up. See for myself that she’s doing well.”

She tapped the bar with two fingers and winked, “Ah no can do. Flatfoot* or not, I don’t tell men where to find sleeping ladies. But her fella is in radio though. I recognized his voice right away. Popular too, really ritzy air about him.” (*cop, detective)

As he left, he slapped the notebook against his palm over and over. When he stopped to take a second to congratulate himself something caught his eye. Across the street was a park he knew well. Following the block and turning, he could see the white and green awning of the cafe he’d seen you at before.

Had he been there? He hadn’t questioned why you were alone on such a nice day. But maybe you weren’t. Maybe you’d been playing him from the start.

Enough games.

When you took the stage that evening, a Friday show with a promising crowd, you felt like solid gold. Alastor would be there to pick you up in a few hours, you had every need met. And now you had the adoration of strangers to pump up your chest.

Until you passed your come-hither eyes over the crowd and a striking ocean blue pair knocked the wind out of you.

James was standing behind Brady, mouthing an apology. You missed a beat in your routine but forced your smile back. It took a second, to slide back into the actress you were when away from Alastor. Every time it got harder and harder to fall back into that role but you managed. His eyes never left your face, and you thanked God your heaving chest could be seen as fatigue and not the sheer panic that had taken ahold of your body.

When you were on the other side of the curtain you considered rushing out the side door, into the alley and down the street. But you couldn’t. You’d successfully brushed him off for so long but now that he had seen you, had made it clear he was there for you, you couldn’t flee. Innocent people don’t hide from cops.

Feet dragging, you saw some of the dancers standing around the dressing room door. “He’s out of his gourd if he thinks I’m changing with him in there.” One said loud enough to ensure Brady heard. When you entered the room he was sitting at your make up table, legs spread and your shoes in his hands.

“There she is!” standing, he extended the shoes to you, “Don’t stare like a deer in the lights. I’m sure you knew I was coming. Slip these on, we’re going for a ride.” He gave them a shake, “You can call your mac* from the station and let him know you’ll be late.” (*man)

˖  ݁𖥔.Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult.𖥔 ݁ ˖

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei ,  @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog  , @poinappel l , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima a , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @rubyninja1 , @simphornies

, @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf ,  , @fizzled-phoenix ,  @phobophobular  , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo    , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 @watereddownmilk   , @bontensbabygirl 

[animentality]

the main reason ds9 isn't remembered as well as the original series or tng by the general populace is not just because it wasn't the very first trek or the most popular trek (tng's popularity was what really brought trek into the mainstream).

it was hated by Rick Berman, who was the head of the franchise at its height, and who deliberately spited it by never including its canon in other treks.

and that effect has lasted to this day, as modern writers who only bother to watch Star Trek movies never seem to remember ds9 even exists. the way the Pine-Quinto movies mention Archer and his beagle, and trek movies and shows make multiple references to TOS, and newer treks center entirely around tng plots or the Borg.

the way they brought back seven of nine before literally anyone on the cast of ds9.

there's a reason that the damn tng movies had a million references to Voyager, with Janeway and the EMH actually having cameos, but ds9 never even got a passing reference, even where it actually would've been appropriate.

Berman hated ds9 for its focus on serialization, i. e., connected storytelling, rather than syndication, i. e. episodic storytelling, because he was a money grubbing misogynist and homophobe, who thought all the money was in syndication. he hated the writers/other producers of ds9 for going behind his back and doing their damnedest to make quality star trek.

one of my favorite spiteful Berman stories is that in star trek first contact, the 2nd tng movie, he wanted to blow up the defiant and destroy it permanently, just for no reason at all.

and the ds9 writers were upset because no one had asked them about it. so they said you can destroy the defiant, but we're just gonna keep using the defiant and pretending it didn't blow up if you do.

which is why Worf asks Picard, in a completely thrown in line, what's the status of the defiant, and Picard says adrift, but salvageable.

and this particular movie is funny to me also because in that period, Worf is technically supposed to still be serving on ds9, and bringing him into the movie was basically justified as something of a side quest for him, being dragged off the station for a little tng romp.

so you see the crew of the defiant, but... again. Berman spite. rather than letting ANYONE on ds9 cameo in the first contact movie, even though that might've been cool... they just have some randos. one might be Adam Scott.

and remember that JANEWAY AND THE EMH are in that movie.

so berman deliberately wanted to spite ds9 by destroying the defiant, stealing worf (even making fun of him for his role on ds9 in another thrown in riker line) AND snub the entire crew of ds9 by having none of them anywhere in the movie, even though they COULD HAVE CAMEOED TOO, or at least been mentioned...

and to me that's pretty funny, because Rick Berman could have as many tantrums as he wanted behind closed doors, and hate the staff of ds9.

didn't make a difference. they'd still keep defying him, and you know...

not to be a total prick but... ds9 still has a thriving fanbase to this day. tng does too, and so does tos, and star trek in general is doing pretty well...

but out of all the old treks, ds9 has aged the best, not just in how it looks, but also in how it bridges the gap between, old world optimistic charm and more gritty, humanistic sci fi story telling.

it balanced syndication and serialization really well, and had great standalone episodes AND a fun connecting overarching narrative that made the world of star trek feel richer and more lived in. I also want to say that for modern audiences, who are accustomed to serialization more than syndication, ds9 is a far easier entry point into the world of star trek than any other trek.

Rick Berman can go fuck himself, is what I'm saying, in summation.

ds9 will stand the test of time.

and you know what?

both tng and voy succeeded in spite of Berman. not because of him. everything that makes those two shows work, is in defiance of the Roddenberry mandates that both Roddenberry and Berman constantly tried to uphold, even though it was to the detriment of the stories.

[bluelolblue]

short ficlet of the d’antonio siblings killing a politician to gain more power of a territory perhaps🥺 (lmao i was feeling silly)

This is so silly I AHAHAH you can tell by the title LMAOO 😭

Okay but this was actually so fun to write! It's literally Santino and Gianna being siblings and John just having to put up with them AHAH

I got carried away with it, too! I love D'Antonio siblings, they're so ✨️silly✨️

Thank you for this prompt! I really hope you'll like it! :D

☆ Special thanks to @mrssimply for beta reading! ☆

The Rocket Team

Everything seemed to be going as planned. The D'Antonio siblings got what they wanted without breaking a sweat.

There was just one more thing missing for them to be fully satisfied.

“It was our pleasure doing business with you, Sir,” Gianna said with a smile, shaking hands with their ally from the 'Ndrangheta.

The man was from the mafia initially, but he’d been part of a grand plan from the criminal syndicate to infiltrate the Italian government further, and now held an interesting position of power… That the D’Antonios siblings were interested in ”sharing”.

“The pleasure is mine, Signora,” The allied boss said, kissing Gianna's hand in what was supposed to be a gentleman gesture. The guy was old and nasty, Gianna just kinda laughed it off nervously and Santino frowned.

They both had to wait just a little longer.

Santino shaked hands with him, too, going with Gianna's act. Just smile and nod, pretend to play their game. Drug trafficking was the easiest option for their plan, 'Ndrangheta had always been their ally with drugs and their territory would allow Camorra to have more power and control over trafficking.

“Everything will be delivered tomorrow like we agreed. We're always looking forward to working with your family,” The boss said, standing proudly, glancing from Gianna to Santino.

“Excellent, we will be expecting it,” Santino nodded in agreement. “Hopefully, it'll be on time.”

Santino was trying to buy some more time for John to aim a perfect shot at the guy's head. John was on a balcony further away from them, having his sniper rifle ready. He was just waiting for Santino's signal.

“I'll make sure it is. You have nothing to worry about.”

It was just a matter of time. He was getting on their nerves, they had to hurry.

“We will be in contact tomorrow, then,” Gianna said, stepping back a little. That was a sign for Santino.

He looked over at John's position and nodded, the guy was just too focused on Gianna, he didn't notice Santino's gesture.

John reacted immediately, blowing up the guy's head as he was ordered. Blood splattered over Gianna's and Santino's clothes and faces, everyone around them panicked.

That was another part of the plan. Fake being scared.

Santino gently pulled Gianna back by her shoulders, letting the politician's men search for the attacker.

He looked to where John was supposed to be, he was gone. Good, because the security was suspicious of them.

“You two are not leaving yet,” a bodyguard approached them.

“What makes you say that?” Santino pulled out his gun and shot the guy in the head, there was no other option other than to kill him.

“Idiota! They're going to come after us now!” Gianna scolded him, knowing her brother wanted to show off his skills.

“Relax, no one saw that,” Santino waved his gun playfully. Gianna rolled her eyes and tugged on his hand for him to run.

Yes, no one noticed that but a boss of 'Ndrangheta got killed while talking with them. Of course that was suspicious.

They both managed to run out from the back entrance, watching how more men got their heads blown up. John was clearing out a path for them.

Gianna tried to quickly scan through the area to see where he was, but he was nowhere to be seen. The only thing the siblings could hear was gunshots coming from the darkness.

“Will this start a war between Camorra and 'Ndrangheta?” Santino asked, taking a breather when they got to the car where they're going to meet John.

“Let's hope not. They know better, they wouldn't dare,” Gianna replied, glancing around, trying to see if anyone followed them.

Santino chuckled, leaning against the car.

“We could kill them personally, then.” Ever since Santino got skilled enough to use weapons, he really wanted to actually use them on people. “You know, I have that grenade launcher.”

“Yes, I know,” Gianna said in slight annoyance, “Don't even think about using it.” She could read him easily.

“Too bad. I want to try it out,” Santino sighed dramatically. “I mean, I could just blow up one of their houses, not all-”

He was cut off by Gianna shooting a guy that tried to sneak behind him. More blood splattered over their clothes. Expensive clothes.

Santino turned around to see the body, stepping back closer to his sister.

“You still have a lot to learn,” Gianna lowered her gun.

“It's not like I could see behind my back, but thank you” Santino huffed, checking out his suit, whipping off some blood on his face. “We're both covered in blood.”

“Yes, and I don’t have anything to clean it off my face,” Gianna complained.

Santino hummed, thinking for a few seconds before he remembered he had a handkerchief in his suit pocket.

“Here, this could help,” he handed it to her.

Gianna smiled faintly at him and took it, wiping off the blood.

“Thank you. You're surprisingly agreeable today,” she joked a little, but there was some truth in that. He was indeed acting good today, sticking to the plan and actually listening to her.

“I'm taking that as a compliment,” Santino said, taking the handkerchief back. He managed to wipe some blood off his face.

No more gunshots could be heard, someone probably gave orders to stop. It was quiet, only a few people shouting in Italian in the distance.

Santino reached into his pocket for cigarettes.

“I thought you said you'd quit,” Gianna reminded him.

“I know. Just the whole adrenaline feeling… this helps me calm down,” Santino explained, lightening up a cigarette. “Want one?” He offered.

Gianna glanced over at the cigarette and accepted. She has better control over that than him. The D'Antonio siblings shared similarities in their actions, smoking being one of them.

It wasn't Gianna's preferred brand, she prefered lighter cigarettes. These were a bit heavy, more to Santino's taste.

Covered in blood and smoking at night, gunpowder scent in the air along with the smoke of their cigarettes, waiting for the Boogeyman to return.

“Ah, there you are,” Gianna said, finishing her smoke just as John returned. “You did a good job, John.”

John glanced at the siblings, adjusting his bag with weapons over his shoulder.

“They retreated. It was too risky for them and they understood the warning,” John explained what he had heard and seen. It was indeed too risky to go against Camorra, it was just better to give them what they wanted.

“Good. So, we're also getting the territory.” Santino threw the finished cigarette on the floor, stepping on it. “I told you John was the best man for this work,” he looked over at his sister with a smirk.

“Alright, you were right. Don't brag about it the whole night,” Gianna sighed. Knowing him, he’s going to brag about it.

Santino chuckled, “I think I deserve some credit because we wouldn't be here if you didn't listen to my idea.” It was his idea indeed, Gianna just came up with the whole plan.

“Tell that to our father, maybe this time he will listen to you,” Gianna said, maybe a bit harshly. Santino was about to snap back at her when John cut him off.

“Well, we should get going before they change their minds.” John decided to step between the siblings, stopping their little argument. “You both are covered in blood as well, if you, um… didn't notice.” He pointed.

The D'Antonio siblings completely forgot about their clothes being coated with blood.

“Yes, it's disgusting, let's just get back,” Gianna agreed with John.

John opened the car door for Gianna, offering his hand. He was such a gentleman.

“I thought you liked me being covered in blood,” Santino winked at John playfully. Gianna heard him and sighed in annoyance, leaning against her elbow against the window.

“Just get in,” John said quietly, keeping the door open for him, too.

Santino sat next to his sister, smiling a little to himself.

“Are you done?” Gianna asked.

“I don't know, we'll see when we get back,” Santino replied, feeling pleased with himself.

“Don't flatter yourself looking like this,” Gianna glanced at him, “Your hair is messy,” she reached to try and fix his hair a little but he moved his head away from her.

“I'm old enough to take care of myself,” Santino muttered.

“Obviously you are,” Gianna murmured. There was a soft tone in her voice this time. After all, he was still her baby brother.

Santino stayed quiet, not looking at her. He wanted to focus on what they achieved tonight. A bigger territory. All thanks to John. It was his idea, he should get more credit. He killed a man, too. All by himself.

Perhaps this time, Signor D'Antonio will be proud of his son. Santino could only hope to be that way.

[deathsbestgirl]

okay i'm gonna try this again because i think i can say it better:

my post about mulder wasn't to say he's perfect or literally never done anything wrong or to hurt scully. i'm a mulder apologist to the extreme (scully too if you haven't noticed), but that isn't what i was doing.

mulder isn't doing it *to* her. he's doing what he does, he's working, he's following a path simultaneously set out for him & that he forged. he isn't intentionally doing anything to her, and he isn't being thoughtless or an asshole. that's so extremely reductive to me. yes i keep referencing trauma, because this fandom talks endlessly about scully's and dismisses mulder's. (all that the path to hell is paved with good intentions.)

but mainly what i'm talking about is that he's not responsible for her abduction, cancer, emily, melissa, etc etc. like i stated in the post. and somehow, he's still getting blamed for these things? as if it isn't the fault of aliens & the conspiracy of men & csm. literally everyone except mulder because he did not have a hand in it, he did not orchestrate any of it. a lot of the things scully goes through is because of these men who think they're gods, who have too much money & too much power. and the other chunk of it is the dangers of their job. which scully is aware of and she still chose then fbi. it's literally at the core of why she chose it, even if it takes her time to figure it out.

mulder does a lot because of his trauma & because he wants to believe, and it's all stepped in love. the alternative to not believing is terrifying for him — the way believing is terrifying for scully. they are so similar, but still fundamentally different. their approaches, their childhoods, their perspectives, what they cling to. they both deal with their trauma in different ways, and one very similar way: diving into work, using it to bury what they can't yet face or deal with, or bring into the light (each other).

anytime i talk about trauma, i don't mean "every single thing he did was perfectly okay because trauma" — i just mean people need room to figure that out and it isn't something he does *to* her. @actual-changeling said it pretty well here. intentions don't erase hurt but he's never tried to hurt her, and she's never tried to hurt him. it doesn't mean it didn't hurt them and of course that's valid. but it still isn't even what i was talking about. but i guess i'm going to anyway.

a huge part of their relationship is learning to communicate clearly & openly. people aren't just born knowing how to do it, and certainly not people with their history. this is how you heal & grow. (yes therapy can help, but it's extremely hard to do alone. because healing in relationship, in my opinion, is the most effective way. someone who will stick around for the hard parts, work with you through trial & error. loving you through your mistakes & struggles, as you're learning/unlearning. and it goes both ways.)

mulder carries guilt for things that aren't his fault (as does scully). i understand talking about it in this respect, but that isn't what i see very often. it's how horrible he is for what he does to her & puts her through. when most of what happens to scully is because of the job & csm & the syndicate. scully understood the dangers of her job. in irresistible, she tells karen kosseff she's aware there's predators in the world, it's her job to bring justice to these people and she needs to believe she's capable. she couldn't open up to mulder in that way yet, so she dealt with it in her own way. (she does this with her family too, she's the strong one.) later in the cancer arc, she admits to karen kosseff that she relies on mulder & his strength — but the only way she opened up emotionally, with true vulnerability, was in the letters she wrote to him in a journal. that she intended him to have after her death. it takes her years to just call him and not hang up when she needs him, and really it happens in fits and starts and backpedaling. but they continuously try! mulder is always trying to let her know she can show him her vulnerability, that he's there to support her. and she does the same for him. there are times they're successful, usually at very trying times for them. where they do talk, they take physical comfort. they learn the ways the other will accept care.

in fire, mulder pushes scully away but he learns it's a way she cares for him. doctorly & physical. he touches her cheek in beyond the sea & firewalker. she touches his arm in squeeze, conduit, pusher. she runs face first into his chest in the pilot, he lifts her chin & hugs her in irresistible. scully covers him in a blanket and pulls his head to her shoulder in herronvolk when his mom is lying in a hospital, near death. they learned each other's minds, what comforts the other and what they will allow and it slowly expands. as does their verbal communication.

i don't mean that his actions don't affect her, but it takes mulder a long time to really understand it because scully does not communicate her feelings, wants, needs. that's something that takes her a long time. there are ways they've both communicated these kinds of things that the other wasn't able to understand, or maybe didn't take seriously because of the circumstances. syzygy, never again, elegy, fight the future, triangle, dreamland, one son. it's why, to me, it's important leonard betts comes after never again. in never again they struggle to communicate, they're not on the same page. the choose silence instead of talking about it. but in leonard betts, he helps her dig through body parts without question. he tells her she did a good job, she should be proud. he didn't get it in never again, but he started to and he did something about it. there are many ways to take responsibility and changed actions, voicing things that matter, that the other person should hear is part of it.

sometimes i just think people are very unforgiving of mulder's struggle, the way he is because of his trauma. and he always does something wrong that's talked about almost like it's unforgivable when that isn't true. even if he was selfish in the cancer arc, he's helpless watching the person he loves most die "because" of him. someone who deserves answers & the truth as much as he does.

it upsets me because it's one of the most realistic & human things about them. it's one of the things handled so beautifully in this show. it's often so raw, the depth of connection & effort & patience & love. despairing yet full of hope & wonder. it so often robs scully of the little agency she does have. it feels dismissive to only focus on scully's. to ignore every step they take together & apart, the ways they change each other, the way they forgive each other everything because they have this intrinsic understanding.

scully's entire arc is difficult to watch, but so much of it is true to the reality of what women experience. yes it's a lot, but it's a tv show. and a scifi horror drama one at that. do they textually cover every single thing? no, but a lot of it is weaved into their cases (kaddish is always a standout to me) and the acting (which if you believe ga, comes across so well in the script she's able to grasp the cancer arc through them alone, not having experience with it herself). there is so much meaning in everything on this show.

the x files is about love because everything mulder (and scully) does is about love, comes from love. and people don't always love perfectly or well. and everyone understands the world & love differently. something else i think is incredibly poignant about their relationship. they keep learning each other until their way of loving completely merges on the foundation of their trust & faith in each other.

[cordeliawhohung]

Okay I sent the previous ask while freaking out right after reading chapter 13, but now I have digested it. The way Chip's life fell apart SO QUICK is actually sickening, I literally couldn't imagine keeping it together with how much got stacked on top of her. Grief, on grief, on horror, and dread. Then there's more after she goes to live with Chief, MORE horror and guilt.

Also, my heart hurt so much for her in the Marco scene, I really thought she might fall into a fawn response and go along with what he wanted, not even necessarily because of his offer to cut the debt.

I wouldn't even be surprised if she was extremely against telling Simon anything about her situation, even if he has shown to be extremely caring towards her, she was already shown what would happen if she let anything spill. Especially since she doesn't know anything about his involvement in a Mafia (which is a whole other situation, I'm guessing she won't be taking the news of his job well when she finds out. Not to mention this would extend to her finding out John and Row's (partial?) involvement).

This whole story is rigged for her to suffer and suffer and just have to endure it, you're honestly such a talented writer. I am glad that she is destined to have a happy ending, I think a sad one would actually destroy me after everything she has already gone through.

(I must reiterate that I am still so eager to see Marco get his face caved in, I hope he suffers before he goes 💕)

oh boy i am about to YAP

Just the hit after hit after hit this poor girl had to endure at the age of six-fucking-teen. starting off with anger and confusion and grief because of her father, to wanting to forget all about it and forcing herself to endure with her studies, just to come back to find her mother slaughtered, and then to get INSTANTLY assaulted by the man who killed her? to be threatened? and then to be taken in by a nice family just to get one of them killed? don't even get me started on how that wound affects her friendship with Row (we'll get there in a later chapter lmao). like she now has to live with the fact that she got him killed for the simple fact of just being a scared child and wanted help.

Also, my heart hurt so much for her in the Marco scene, I really thought she might fall into a fawn response and go along with what he wanted, not even necessarily because of his offer to cut the debt.

this is a very valid fear, considering not only Chip's character, but her age at the time it happened. the fear she felt. the way Marco would be infinitely stronger than her in this scenario because he is a grown man. just fawning because she's scared he's going to hurt her and he's already grabbing at her anyway and has her pinned against the wall, etc. it would have made sense if she had just closed her eyes and let it happen, like was mentioned in the chapter, too. but then that last second fear of 'i really really don't want this' taking over saved her. or honestly, it didn't even save her. the only thing that saved her is Marco's fucked up moral compass of "i'm not a monster" (he says with his hand up a sixteen year old's skirt as he's threatening her).

and you're totally right about her being hesitant to tell Simon. throughout the story, everyone has been commenting things to the effect of "please get some help! tell him! omg!" and that makes total sense! because telling someone would make things better... if she hadn't gone through this. if the one time she did try to get help in this situation didn't end up with someone else dead because of her. there's been this crucial bit of information the readers have been missing. she's not refusing help because she's like "i don't need anyone's help" she's refusing help because she's terrified. because she's still stuck as her sixteen year old self in that car with that corpse and she refuses to get anyone else into that mess.

as for simon's involvement in the mafia, and Price and Row basically running their own syndicate (mostly price lmao).... yeah. yeah there's not even any point in me being like "oh no it'll be fine" because everyone now knows, especially after this, that it's not going to be fine lmao. and Chip is going to have every right to freak out too, so i better not see anyone saying she's dumb for being scared when it happens either!!

and yes! there is going to be a happy ending. there has to be. like i love my stories with the angsty endings, but i think there will be enough angst throughout the story that it doesn't need to end on that note. doesn't mean she's not going to have to fight like hell to get it, though...

and yes. marco. that slimy bastard. i know i wrote the guy but wow i am first in line to fuck him up i swear.

[kaelie-quill]

Stumbled across your blog and I am intrigued 👀 Please tell me more about your WIP! (I'm a sucker for dark fantasy so a fantasy story with horror elements sounds super cool!)

Thank you so much for asking! 🥹 I really don't have a solid summary for it right now so let me just rave about some of my favorite things about it for a second! 🤗

Aleksander is a prince that feels insufficient(? there's another word I can't think of right now) compared to his two older brothers and sister who are all crazy powerful mages so he decides to carve out his own destiny with the help of a seer who wants to change the future. He gets tricked into raising an imprisoned god and agreeing to become a sort of host for him and a weapon to get revenge on the nation that imprisoned him, and in return the god will let him use his own power to become one of the most powerful mages in the world. (This revenge plan is severely hindered by the fact that Aleksander doesn't really want to kill anyone and is squeamish about blood)

The other half of the dual pov is Lucerys who was supposed to be raised as The Chosen One™️ but didn't want to sacrifice himself for the world so he ran away and did some dark fucked up magic that included a little human sacrifice (just a smidge, it was only one kid 🙄) and a dash of cannibalism (it was only the kids heart 🥱) in order to create a new identity for himself and escape his destiny.

Aleksander and Lucerys were actually childhood friends and were raised together with the intention of Luc being trained as Alek's sworn protector, but Luc is abducted and raised as The Chosen One™️ in secret instead. Years later Lucerys is still trying to fulfill his promise of protecting Aleksander from afar (it's basically stalking, it's practically a parasocial relationship at this point)

After changing his identity Lucerys is adopted and raised by a man who is part of a secret syndicate called The Order (I'm so original) that has been working to destroy monarchy for years (not really because they disagree with a monarchy, more so just to establish themselves as the governing party) Lucerys has been slowly collecting information on them and tracking members for years with the intention of destroying them from within to keep them from hurting Aleksander's family. (He could not care less about his family, this is literally all for one hot dude he knew when he was seven)

The seer that accompanies Aleksander is named Kieran and he was actually raised with Lucerys (after the abduction, before the name change that cost a literal human heart) and he sold his soul to what is essentially the devil? in order to obtain the ability to see all possible futures and be able to change the future so that he could help Lucerys avoid his destiny. He hopes to accomplish this by instead offering Aleksander up as The Chosen One™️. (he does not consult Lucerys about any of the shit he is supposedly doing to help him, this is evidenced by the fact that Lucerys would not have signed off on any of it)

There's actually a lot of other characters and stuff going on but I don't have time to get into all of that! I also don't have a Official WIP Intro right now and probably won't for a bit so this will just have to suffice as one for the time being.

[smallangels]

cg: Beth, regressor: Ezekiel ⚠️Before Reading, this AU doesn’t have Ezekiel Or Courtney voted for Last 2⚠️

It was the end of a challenge which terrified the campers, and Ezekiel the most. Almost causing him to slip. During Lunch, Ezekiel was still frightened and shivered, he didn't bother to eat, he sat down at the table curled up into a small ball while quietly crying and ducking his thumb. Beth was the only person who knew about his regression and he whispered to himself hoping she’d come. “Zeke?” Beth sat beside him and patted his back and Ezekiel slowly looked up with tears running down his face. “Are you feeling little?” Ezekiel doesn’t reply, he just sits there staring at Beth before stuffing his face into her chest trying to muffle his cries. “I can tell the challenge was really hard for you. Do you wanna head to the cabins buddy?” Ezekiel loved that nickname and made a straight posture and nodded after wiping away his tears. Then Beth scooped Ezekiel with her arms and left and headed to Beth’s cabin, where she stored Ezekiel’s bag with his agere items. Ezekiel was still sucking his thumb and Beth stared at him all through the walk. Once they got in Beth rested Ezekiel on the bed and took out a little blue bag filled with a Rat plushie, squishy toys and Mega Blocs, a green custom charmed pacifier Beth made for him, a cyan blankie and his favourite rattle. Beth picks up Ezekiel and places him onto the floor and pulls out a long sleeved dark green shirt, some overalls and a Pull-Up.

“Alright buddy, how old are you right now? I have your main clothes already here.” Ezekiel pointed up 2 fingers. “Let’s get you changed alright?” Beth sticks the pacifier in Ezekiel’s mouth and stops him from sniffling. “Fank you..” Ezekiel says behind the pacifier. Beth starts to undress him and pulls up an Elmo Pull Up, up his legs. Then she puts on the shirt and then the overalls. “Wow your a stylish little boy” Beth says clapping. Ezekiel opens the little toy bag and sees that there isn’t any regular legos other than the big Mega Blocs. “Whersh my Wego?” Ezekiel tries to speak behind the pacifier. “You know you can’t have those anymore buddy, last time I left you alone with legos you stuck a brick up your nose.” Beth replies. “What the shwizzle?! That isn’t fair!” Ezekiel’s eyes start to tear up and his bottom lip starts to quiver, syndicating how big of a little baby he is. “Cmon bud, you have Mega Blocs, their just like Legos.” Beth starts to worry about Ezekiel’s little fit. Ezekiel starts to jump up and down. “I want my Wego!” Ezekiel starts to whine and pout. “Cmon little guy, give them a try” Ezekiel plops down with a little crinkle from his Pull Up. “Hmp!” Ezekiel crosses his arms and looks away from Beth and try’s to play with the blocks with his Rat plushie. Some time passes by with quiet with Ezekiel talking to himself behind to pacifier playing with other toys. “Is someone hungry?” Beth gets a bottle of milk from her nightstand “Mhm” Ezekiel mumbles through the pacifier” Beth sets down on the ground and rests Ezekiel’s head on her lap and takes out his pacifier and feeds him the milk. “Someone’s tired now aren’t they?” Ezekiel nods no while his eyes are literally dropping infront of her. She sets him on the Bed before cleaning up his mess and snuggles tight with him with Ezekiel’s blankie covering them with Ezekiel sucking his pacifier and hugging Beth and his Plush Rat before they both dozed off.

[joseopher]

I have this au idea where Tristan completely loses it. In this au Callum does team up with Adrian Caine to kill Tristan, possibly even become heir to the Caine criminal empire because Adrian and Tristan mutually cut ties and I believe that Adrian Caine is the type of guy that would only let a man be his heir and just ignore all of Tristan's sisters so he can get this random guy to be the heir.

Anyway, Tristan can't cope with Callum betraying him again by teaming up with his abusive father and just loses it.

There would be some manipulation by The Library, it would transport him to this hall of mirrors where it shows him how much better off everyone is without him. This causes Tristan to be able to not sleep, eat, or focus. So learning Callum betrayed him again is hard but then The Library shows him how (supposedly) happy Callum is...

Callum's finding a place in the Caine family. Callum's healing. Callum's happy.

Callum gets a good father and caring sisters. He gets that.

But Tristan doesn't.

Adrian Caine is nice to Callum, no, more than nice, fatherly. But Tristan didn't get that, he got bruises and punches and cuts. But Callum does. Callum who betrayed him. Used him. Manipulated him.

It's the final nail in the coffin. Tristan just becomes completely unhinged. Instead of being angry, he gets cheery far more cheery than his grumpy self ever was before. But something's wrong around the edges, a sharpness to him, a glint of cruelty.

In this au, he drops the wards and lets Adrian's assassins, and anyone else hunting him, come into the society and slaughters them all with his vast amounts of power. But not before flirting with them because he's a fucking masochist. He also doesn't kill off all the assassins so he can "play" with them again. Though eventually, he will get bored and will kill them off so his father will send new exciting assassins.

He's on his serial killer arc <3

Of course, can't bring himself to kill Callum, so he precedes to just do the most out-of-pocket shit with him because he loves Callum but he's just got a completely fractured mind.

Callum is not thriving as Tristan thinks, he's miserable. So he shows up at the society to murder Tristan only to find Tristan acting completely different and...smiling? Tristan rarely smiles wtf is going on?

This is what would happen:

credit to artist

What proceeds is, grumpy Callum who just wants to literally murder his husband and Tristan, the adoring husband, who constantly throws violent affection at him. (also Tristan has an addiction to murdering people shhh don't tell anyone)

credit to artist

Of course, this situation makes Callum feel needed as he is not used to being loved unconditionally by someone he so clearly isn't manipulating to this level of extreme.

Callum acts very grumpy about Tristan's random bursts of murderous affection and violent actions in regard to him but secretly enjoys it. Callum pays it back in equal measure by continuing to try to murder Tristan and picking off other assassins sent to kill Tristan because murdering him is his job.

They become increasingly obsessed with each other, not used to such devotion (even if it is with malicious intent). Tristan struggles to accept any affection without suspicion unless he knows there's a selfish justification behind it and Callum thinks similarly leaving them perfect (or horrible) for each other.

They become the most toxic unhinged spouses in existence.

Adrian eventually catches on and ties up Callum and beats him because he keeps failing at killing Tristan.

Tristan, who at this point is just the most powerful being in existence, fucking levels London to find Callum. When he does so he proceeds to murder his father, murder the entire Caine crime syndicate, blow everything up and almost end the world.

Callum, for once, recognizes that Tristan needs to calm down and manages to get him to stop his murderous rampage by simply hugging him and telling him he loves him.

Tristan breaks down and they both cry in the ashes of the Caine family house.

Realizing they actually want this to work, Callum stops trying to murder Tristan and Tristan attempts to stop being violent with Callum. But they're still unhealthily obsessed with each other.

They redirect their attention to murdering civilians and become very prolific in the criminal world by simply committing crimes whenever something doesn't go their way.

For example, they go on dates to restaurants and whenever something doesn't taste quite right, they blow up the building.

~And they all lived happily ever after~

P.S. Reina is there and watches this all go down like "wtf is wrong with you two???"

I feel like you would like this @aho-dapa

[charbeloved]

A State of Gainsay

Word Count : 5,551

Warnings : Description of violence, The turning process of a watcher, Death, Grief : Denial, Revival

This is part 1 in a 5 part series.

POV : Tomathy Innit MineCraft

Note : Tommy does not cuss in this AU.

May 17th, Tuesday, 11:05pm

Tomathy, an 17 year old who works at L'Bucks, is almost done with his shift when he sees a light of purple shoot past the windows at the fleeing figure of a winged man. He goes to take a break from cleaning a coffee maker to take a peek out the window and sees Dream, the second in command of the L'Manburg county's hero team Dream Complex, fighting Vulture, the leader of the villain group Syndicate. The villain's left wing looked like a few bones were out of the spots they're supposed to be in. He went back behind the counter and resumed the cleaning of the products. After a few minutes he leaves through the back alleyway to not get caught in the fight. What he doesn't realize is the sound of Dream's power is gone, and thus the fight is over. As he's walking he finds the unconscious body of Vulture and leans over him. He starts setting the man's bones, and ends up waking the bird up. "Hey, I'm trying to help you. Don't kill me," Tommy softly says to the man, trying to stay calm himself at the same time, "I know how hard it may be to not panic." He is allowed to fully set the bones of the wing and is able to use his power to heal him. He continues his walk home at a faster pace then usual and notes that his two roommates and best friends, Ranboo and Tubbo, aren't there when he's home at 11:26pm again.

May 18th, Wednesday, 2:49pm

Tomathy is making an order for Aunt Lizzie when Quackity came in with a few friends, talking about healing. He listens in while his aunt is watching the TV.

"Seriously though, Phil. We do need a healer," his manager spoke softly in loud, whisperIng voice. "Yeah, yeah. We do just fine on our own. We don't have any need for a healer," the strange winged man replied. Quackity gave a doubtful look at the winged man before speaking, "I'm not gonna pretend I didn't see Tommy heal you last night. You were on the brink of death, dude."

Tommy stopped listening in on the conversation and focuses on work a little bit more then usual.

7:27pm

When he got home, Tubbo was playing on his phone in the dining room while Ranboo was quite literally nuking ramen in the microwave. "Boo, why are you cooking?" Tommy asked sternly while getting rid of the flaming ramen. "Tubbo wanted food!" "Then why didn't you just make a honey nector sandwich?" "Yeah, Boo?" Tubbo pops in, teasingly. "Why didn't you?" Tomathy smacked his best friend in the forehead, "You hush.. Mother Hen is taking care of this." The three barely contained their laughter before Tommy actually got onto the two for even thinking of letting one of them cook while Tommy made scrambled eggs and waffles.

June 7th, Monday, 4:02pm

Tommy made it to work, and immediately he is taken aside by Quackity. "Yeah, Bossman? What'd you need?" "Tommy, this is important. You must not say even a singular word of this, alright?" Tomathy nods, skeptical as Quackity is never like this. "Phil wants you to join the Syndicate. You already know one or two identities because of me, and if you decline you may die." Tommy is shocked, "Do I have to decide right now..?" "He said you'll have a week to tell me." Tommy nods, thinking about it while getting back to work.

June 9th, Wednesday, 11:03pm

Tommy started to walk back home from work when the ground started to fall beneath him, and a his arms are forcefully lifted up. "..Tubs?" Tommy says, hoping it's right. "Try 'Shadow,' To- Boy," A rough, familiar voice replies. It took a little bit for them to get to their destination, with this 'Shadow' guy making awkward jokes.

11:37pm

They make it to a cottage out in a forest, and that's where Tommy gets to see this dude's face. Turns out, he's Vulture. "It feels so weird to be in this form," Vulture mumbles. Tommy perks up at this, as Vulture is constantly in 'this form.' "My power's shapeshifting," 'Shadow' tells him, starting to ruffle Tommy's hair while they started to sit on the grass right next to a tree. "I will bite your hand if you don't stop petting me, Big S," the child warns. The hand does not lift, so Tommy bites the guy's hand, and sees him shift into a genderbent version of Quackity for a split second then into a navy-colored haired man. "Quackity?" The man looks up a tad bit. "Wait, I was scared of Big Q?" The man goes back to looking at the grass. "You okay..? You're nor-" "Shadow! Why did you bring the child?'" the real Vulture says, cutting Tommy off. "Not safe.. Code XD," Quackity mumbles. Vulture gasps, and brings Tommy into the house, and turns on the news. "Welcome to Everest News. This is Lauren Side with your Hero Update! Xavier Dean, much better known as the leader of the Dream Complex, father of number one hero Dream himself, and XD,  has been seen killing a innocent vigilante called 'Bee.' This vigilante was in the middle of helping an old woman across the street at the time of the murder. XD is no longer a hero, and instead is in jail. We have identified Bee as the civilian Tubbo Underscore. His partner, Ender, and friends will dearly miss him. Thank you for tuning in!" The room was udder silence. "He tried it to get me under his roof again, too," Quackity added. Vulture took off his mask when he called for his son, Wilbur, and the man was crying. "His father killed Bee, too," Phil said to his son. His eyes grew wider, and his fists clinched. "Tubbo is Toms' best friend and roommate," Quackity yet again adds, "And code XD for me too. That's why I brought Tommy, actually." Wilbur nods, and brings him to the room across from the one he came out of. The room contained a desk with a computer on it, and an axe hanging above. A bed with a blanket made with a red cotton and 3 fluffy white pillows was set for someone. There was a brown couch, and many blades on the wall next to it. There was a pig plush right next to the computer, and a rug with a pig's face on it in the middle of the room. The walls were painted a maroon color, a huge contrast from the baby blue walls of the living room, kitchen and hallway. Wilbur brings him into a tight hug. "Be.. Before Te-Tech di-ed, he-- he was ta.. talking about how y-you and The.. Theseus are alike," Wilbur said, sobbing and hiccuping in between breaths.

June 10th, Thursday, 3:28pm

"Hey, Tommy, wake up," A familiar voice says, "You've got a shift today." He opens his eyes slightly to see who's talking to him, because Tubbo would never talk to him so sweetly, nor would Ranboo's voice be able to reach that low with his voice. He sees Quackity, and remembers that he was in Vulture's house. "How long is the drive to L'Bucks?" "Around a 20 minute drive, Theseus," Wilbur says from the doorway. "And I want my hot choccy Bubba would always get for me while he got bitter coffee." "Wait, you're Tech's brother?" Tommy said, putting two-and-two together, "He was always talking about his whiny little brother who would be best friends with me." "I am not whiny!" "Anyways, get out the room while I get dressed, Athena," Tommy adds, teasingly. "I am not Athena! If anything, Dadza would be her considering he's too much of an empath!" Wilbur defended. Tommy kicked the taller men out of the room, and grabbed the uniform Quackity had left on the desk. He was in the room from earlier with the axe on the wall. It reminded him so much of his second favorite villain, BloodBlade.

Once he was done putting the uniform on, he checked the clock. 3:32pm. He opened the door after putting on the scarf Tubbo had knitted for him while he was alive. "Quackity's going to drive you to L'Bucks, please bring back the order Tech would always get, except the Frappé when you get off work," Phil had informed and asked him. "Tell Quackers over there to remind me. I may not have Boo's memory, but I won't remember that after 7 hours of pure work." "Sure thing, mate."

June 12th, Saturday, 12:28pm

Tommy had gotten back to the apartment on the 11th, but Ranboo hadn't been back at the apartment in over 24 hours. When Tommy had gotten back, it was 11pm and Boo left as soon as he saw Tommy. Jump in the c-BEEP! Tommy answered the call he got from the contact 'spooderphobia at its max.' "WHERE IN THE NAME OF CREEPER ARE YOU?!" "Hey, calm down," the man on the other side tries to reason, "I'm fine." "The fact I can hear SLEEPBOY talking to SNAPMAP in the back tells me otherwise." "Ender, who have you called?" Mushroom asks, seemingly to Ranboo. "Erm, my roommate, so he wouldn't get too worried..?" Ranboo answers. "You are a vigilante," Tommy states, "And you never told me?" Ranboo's phone picks up air, then suddenly stops and Ranboo whispers, "Y-yeah..?" "You could have at least told me! I would rather be able to know why you have strange bruises and cuts then have to pretend to be oblivious! At least then I could have tried to help you." "S.. Sorry." "It's fine." "Alri-" Ranboo is able to get out before he loses signal.

8:57pm

Tommy is debating on if he really should join the villains now that his roommate is now literally working with the heroes. "Toms, I'm home!" "About time! Quick question, do they know your actual identity?" Tommy asks. The tall 16-year-old shakes his head in a 'no.' "What's your perspective on Heroes and Villains?" "Villains would be good if they could actually get the help they need or the heroes stop picking fights with them, and heroes are manipulate people who bribe the news into only showing the good things about them." "What would you think of joining the Syndicate?" "..The Syndicate?" Ranboo asks in disbelief, "We'd have to find them first, and not get killed to ask! If we could, I would so join them!" "Thanks, I'll ask if you can join too since you're my roommate."

June 13th, Sunday, 3:08pm

Ranboo and Tomathy are waiting for Phil to arrive at the door. Knock Knock "Comin'!" Tommy called, running to open the door. Phil walks in, Civilian clothes on. "It's time to make your choice." "I've got one request, can Ranboo join, too?" "If you accept, indeed." "I accept. One thing, heroes have tracked down our apartment." Phil nods at this, calling for Quackity who now has wings. "Can you get these two to the house?" He asks, and Quackity nods. "Tommy, I'll fly you there again. Ranboo, Phil can take you."

June 14th, Monday, 10:59pm

Tommy walks over to the window at the noise, peeking through the curtains. He sees Creeper and Dream fighting. "You know," Creeper says, breathing quite hard while dodging an attack, "I wanted to be like you before you killed my bloody brother." A quiet hum came from Dream in response as he teleported behind Creeper, and put him in a death hold. "Hah," Creeper laughs, "How the ship has sunk, the most inseparable pair of Philip High trying to kill eachother." "Wilby would never act like you," Dream said, putting his sword to Creeper's throat. "Kill me, and live with the guilt when I'm unmasked. Leave me, and I'll stay silent about identity. You're choice, Clay." Tommy closes the window, and walks around and out the back door.

11:23 PM

The door creeks as Ranboo and Tommy walk into the house. Wilbur is crying while sitting on a couch, Phil soothing the boy. Tommy walks over to the two. "Hey, Wilby," Tommy says while Wilbur gives an even more pained look, "Where does it hurt? I.. I can heal it." Wilbur lifts his right arm up, covered with pink-ish bandages. Red is still slowly oozing out from beneath the plasters. Tommy walks over, and sets his hand atop the bandages, and looks towards Phil. "I'm trusting you set the bone?" A nod is the only response he gets before using his power. He closes his eyes, and is able to actually relax as he focuses on the injury. The more relaxed he is, the faster it will heal. A slight blue glow comes from under his hand as many wounds slowly close beneath the bandages. Once it is done, Tommy asks the brunette if there's any more wounds. Wilbur shows him his left hand, cut and bleeding. Phil audibly gasps, and tears start to form. Tommy heals each wound on the hand carefully, making sure not to upset a single nerve. "Thank you," Wilbur says, slowly looking up. "My neck, too, if you would?" Tommy leans down to more easily reach the wound on his neck and heals it. "Phil, I'm gonna drag Wilbur over to my and Boo's room, if you don't mind." "Ofcourse!" Once they get to Ranboo and Tommy's new room, still a work in progress since they had just learned they were being moved to Phil's house at 11:18 PM, Tommy sits down on the red bed while Wilbur sits across from him on the black-and-white bed in the otherwise empty room. "Wilbur..?" Tommy starts. "Hm?" "..Are you.. Perhaps.. Creeper..?" Tommy gets out. Wilbur looks stunned as he slowly nodded.

June 15, Tuesday, 5:03 PM

Quackity had given him a few days off so he and Ranboo could unpack their stuff. Tommy took out a few bookshelves, and rebuilt them. He took out BeeInnIt, and him on his bed. He put up a few Vulture and BloodBlade posters, and put up the fan art he made when he was younger. He put a plush of a flying pig up on the top shelf of a bookshelf, and put a few books up from his childhood. He put the 'Employee of the Month' picture up over a foldable desk. He put bee stickers over the desk, and started to set his pc up. Once he was done, and went to sit down on his bed and look at Ranboo's side of the room. The portion Ranboo had has a giant bee plush on the wall next to the bed, and a bookcase full of fantasy books with the Barbie movies. A TV was placed in the split of the two's room. "Boo? Do you feel up to making the drawers right now?" Tommy perks up, seeing the other sitting on the bed, panting. Ranboo checks his phone, "Maybe in the mornin. We've worked for three hours straight." "..You're kidding." "Nope it's 8:27."

June 16th, Wednesday, 6:09 PM

Tommy walks out, and is greeted by his favorite alive cousin, Niki. "Hey Toms! I want you to meet my brother Jack. He is known as Blaze. I'm Flower." "Ah, alrighty."

-----

"Samuel, SHUT UP!" a tall brunette man yells across the table. "I still don't think we should be the Dream Complex!" says Samuel, the black-haired man. "Brother. Sam. Please stop yelling. You're hurting Gog's ears," A female brunette says. The taller brunette looks at the shorter next to him. "Gogy, I'm sorry." His face gets slapped. The female, being the only reasonable one here, suggests a vote to change the name. A agreement is settled. The names chosen to be voted on are Dream Complex, Dream Team, Dream 'n Co, and Men and a Girl. The rules are as follows; Your cannot vote more then once, or for your own. Dream Complex gets no votes, as expected. Dream Team gets 3 vote. Dream 'n Co gets 1 vote, and George gets a smug grin. Men and a Girl gets no votes, and Sam shouts he couldn't think of anything and started to panic. The push out a news letter saying that their name has been changed to 'Dream Team.'

-----

June 20th, Sunday, 6:38 PM

"Pesky!" Tommy screeched, overjoyed to see his brother again. "TomToms! I see you've found Father!" Grian says, gliding down with his red, blue, and yellow wings. "..Found.. Father..?" Grian's ear feathers twitch before he nods. "Did you not realize Phil was our dad?" "..I didn't realize we had a dad in the first place." The two burst out laughing at the embarrassing moment. "..So that means a hero is..?" Tommy trailed off. "Yes. A hero is related to villains. Actually, Tubs is on the trail of being able to join HermitFusion. Where even is he?" Tommy let out a choked wail before responding. "Dead, he's dead just like The Blade. Gone, dead." Horror crosses Grian's face. "He.. He can't-- You're joking, right? Yeah! Ye-Yeah! This- This is just a terrible prank or.dream and I just can't wake up! Haha! Yep!" Ranboo comes out their room, eyes puffy. He sees Grian and runs over to the shorter man. He hugs him as tight as he can. "Don't- Don't die on me, like- like Tubbo did." Tears started to fall from Grian's eyes as he knew Tubbo was dead. Phil rushes to Grian and wraps his wings around his, pulling Tommy in. "Grian, thank you for doing as I asked. Thank you, I knew I wouldn't be able too raise him very well after Kristen died." "It's fine and not a problem, dad." "Thank you," Phil continued, sobbing. Tommy joined in on the hug. "I brought someone with, if you don't mind. A few someones, actually." Tommy and Phil broke away from the hug and stepped to see who it was. A petite brunette with green all over her outfit. Her eyes, too, were green. She had her hair pulled back into a ponytail. She had few wounds. Next to her was a tall brunette man. He had a mask around his head that resembled a head of a hog. He had a sword on his waist, being held by a amber-brown belt. He suffered many scars, his eyes of blood red. It took Tommy a second, but he finally registered who he was looking at as BloodBlade, someone who had died. BloodBlade introduced the girl as Clara, or Dream Complex- Dream Team -'s  healer, Drista. "I'd like to join the Syndicate. I do not agree with my brother's ways."

June 23rd, Wednesday, 2:01 PM

Shlatt had invited Tommy to Tubbo's funeral, and Philza went with. He did have to pay respects to his nephew, and check up on his family. "Liz? You actually dyed your hair pink!" "Oh! Phil! I need to introduce to you Joel! He's the father-" "You had CHILDREN?! And without telling me?" Phil cuts her off, jokingly offended. "Father of our fur-babies. We have two cats." she continued. A few moments later, the actual funeral started and they payed respects.

2:28 PM

Tommy was walking out, and chatting with with his father, aunt, and uncle when he saw a flash of purple. Hands grabbed his shoulders, and he was teleported back to Phil's house. Tommy turns around, and falls into Shlatt's arms. "Thank you, Uncle." "No problem, Toms."

June 29th, Tuesday, 2:57 PM

Tommy woke up, his arms tied around him. His mask was on while was patrolling earlier in the day. They'd finally come up with his name, Theseus. He'd encountered Mushroom, and at that very moment he was put to sleep. His mask wasn't there. "Ah, looks as if he is awake," Dream's voice booms from above him. A silence is spread across the room. "Reveal some secrets of the Syndicate." Dream demands. "W-what?! No!" Tommy yelps. Turning to a door, Dream says, undoing the ropes, "Hm. Xqulea, dispose of this boy. We in the Dream Team no longer need him." Grian walked out in his hero form, panicked. "P-Pesky..?" Tommy mumurs. "What was that? You wanted to be tortured before dying?" Tomathy burst out in tears, jumping up and running to hug his brother. "Pesky, are-are you okay? Why are y-you here? I-Isn't HotG-Guy and Whisper su-supposed to be f-fighting over your l-love? W-Where's Mum..?" "Shh.. Little, Gem is sick right now. I just got found by Dream and his squad. I'm okay. I'm sure Hot is getting his butt beat right--" "Ehem. Xqulea, you're supposed to be killing the boy." "Dream, if you wanna be like Sam you can. I, on the other hand, am not going to kill my baby brother." "I am not like the Killer Rabbit!" "That's what he forced me to do. Luckily enough, Toms wasn't there for him to actually be able to make me." "Oh, wait, so Theseus is Tommy, now hm?" Silence. "He may leave, alive."

July 19th, Monday, 11:37PM

Tommy is in his costume, patrolling with his father, Quackity, the pesky birb, and his emotionally adopted mother, Gem Tay or Crystalline. While walking, he thought about when Day talked about how Charlotte had met someone named Gemini. "Hey, Crystie?" Tommy starts. "No, no no no no," Quackity starts freaking out. Philza grabs the shaeshifter and gently holds him still, keeping his hands in view of Quackity's eyes and knowledge. "Hey, bud, it's me, Vully. Hey, hey look! Look, stupid bird wings haha!" He says, flapping his wings a little bit. "C-Cover.." "Mhm! Ofcourse! Now, I want you to remember that Theseus was not calling you that. Remember, Crystalline is here and is his emotionally adopted mother," Phil says, trying to soothe the traumatized shapeshifter while covering the group with his wings. "Greetings, Syndicate. Mayhaps I ask why you lot are all huddled in a cuddle?" Dream says, walking up on the five. "Oh! I see a hero within you all." "I'm just here for my brother and yours," Grian says coldly. Quackity looks at Grian with wide, shook eyes. "Wh-How..?" "Let's just say I knew Crystalline before Lilac did." "There's not way that one of thou is brethren from Xavier. Dance, shall we not?" Sapnap and Mushroom came out from behind trees, and they started to fight. Fire from SnapMap's hands flying towards Gem, Philza and Quackity fighting against Mushroom, Grian fighting with Dream. Drista can from behind we tree and started to fight Tommy with rock paper scissors. Tommy won 8 games out of 13, so he counts himself the best. Grian has Dream pinned down, and everyone freezes, not knowing what was fixing to happen. Sapnap burned feathers from the parrots wings, but he didn't even flinch. Mushroom tried to put Grian to sleep, and that didn't work, either. Even Philza and Gem tried getting Grian off the dude, but it was to no avail. "Do you even know what could happen with your power?" "No, why?" "You could make someone like us. I wasn't even like you until I lived with Killer Rabbit and PcyBun! Just as easily as we could kill or heal someone, we could turn them, and that feels like dying three times." A flash of purple is sent of in the distance, behind Grian where he could not see who was near. What he did not expect, though, was hearing Tommy wail before Tommy screamed loudly.

-----

Tommy 'woke' up to the sound of crying. All he could think of, though, was the massive pain in his back. He couldn't understand why he hurt so badly, or why had suddenly couldn't move, but something he could understand is his pesky bird of a brother was crying his name. "Tommy, please I can't loose you too," he cried, "I can't loose you like we lost Mum." Day after day, night after night. His brother crying on what was presumed to be his deathbed. "I- I understand that you are in pa-in," Grian choked. "Where ever you are you will always be my gremlin little brother." Some days Scar would come visit, too. "Hey, Tommy, we miss you and your crazyness," he'd always start, "We need you to wake up soon, okay?" Taurtis would always say the exact same thing as Scar when he came. Wilbur and Techno would sometimes come in, too. Always together. "Hey Toms, we miss you. Can you try to flex your hand for me?" Tech would always ask. Wilbur always told Tomathy's body dad jokes, Phil did too when he visited. Philza didn't visit alot, anyways.

One day, though, things changed. Everyone one was there. Scar, Taurtis, Grian, Wilbur, Phil, Techno, even Dream was there for some odd reason! "Tom-my," Grian choked out from his harsh crying, hugging him. "Plea-se wake u- up so-soon." Tommy heard the sound of boots step up, along with a quiet sob that sounded like Wilbur. "Tommy, if you don't wake up by next week they'll pronounce you dead," Wilbur said, void of all emotions but grief. "He's not dead, Wilbur!" Grian cried. Then, they left.

December 4th, Saturday, 2:39 PM

Tommy woke up three visits after the day that everyone was in the room, and the room was dim. No nurses or crying was able to be seen as Tommy realized he was really awake. "Nur'!" he yelled. The lights slowly turned on as the door opened and he saw his normal nurse at Pogtopia Hospital, Nurse Hannah, walk through with his family. "Tommy? You're awake?" she said in disbelief. "M'eah, 'ow long ha' I been out?" Tommy asked, slurring his words. "You've been out since July 19th, so just under," she trailed off, counting in her fingers. "Six months." "It' a'ready past Chrima'?!" A hand on his back causes pain to sprout. "No, Toms, you woke up just in time. It's the 4th," Grian tries to soothe him, turning to Hannah he asks, "Can we take him home?" Hannah nods, "Just make sure Brother keeps me updated. I know how hard this was when it happened to him.." "Ofcourse," Grian turns to Philza, "And I'm kidnapping my brother." Phil gives a thumbs up and Grian takes Tommy to HermitFusion's base.

3:57 PM

"Why have you called this meeting, G?" Scar asks. "I'm sure you all remember how much pain I was in when I left Sam's after he turned me?" "Grian, why are you-" Xisuma tried to ask before getting cut off. "Dream is a watcher, not a turned one but a born one. He didn't know he could transform others until it was too late and he had shot my brother with the power." "Tommy, Wilbur, or Techno?" Taurtis asks, "Techno could survive with little to no trauma, Wilbur a bit of trauma but Tommy could actually be driven insane because of the amount of pain it gives you, and combined with the grief of Tubbo? That's one to kill the world!" Tommy steps up, "Well then I guess the world will be killed?" The entire room gets loud quickly, and Tommy ends up with his ears covered by Grian in a corner and Taurtis cleaning the blood off his back. "G..? Why is there blood on on my back..?" Tommy asks, voice shaking and cracking. "It's because you're growing wings, and new eyes are opening. Tommy, soon you'll feed off of emotions and you'll have eyes no one else can see around you, and you'll see everything." "Gri..? I thought-" "I was a parrot, yes, I was. But, I am now a Watcher. Even after death, you will exist. Only reviving someone will even allow you to shed a physical form." "So I can revive Tubbo..?" "If you want him to have to build you a robot to have a physical form, yes."

December 8th, Wednesday, 1:09 PM

"Thes! Are you alright?" X yells through the Comm. "Axolotl send Cry, Lea, Hot and Whisp!!" Tommy yells back. Over the past few days, he'd become acquainted with the members of HermitFusion. Currently, though, he'd need Gem, Gri, Scar, and Taurtis "They should be behind now!" "Theseus! Are you okay?" "Xqulea! I'm okay but I do need help. Thorn and Diamond are being a pain!" "Thorn? Let me deal with her. She'll get Diamond to back down too," Grian says, walking over to Thorn. "Theseus over here is my little brother, Thorn. The youngest one, that is." "Oh I didn't realize! I am so sorry Theseus! Diamond, retreat. This is a battle you won't fight and I won't let get started." "Tell me at the base why."

December 25th, Saturday, 5:29 PM

Tommy sets out of L'Bucks after getting picked up by Philza. "So, merry Christmas, mate?" Phil says, sounding more like a question.. "Yeah, merry Christmas Dadza."

6:02 PM

They walk through the door to the Syndicate in costumes. "Niki? Jack? Big Q? Drist?" "Tommy, get HermitFusion and both of you get in your costumes. Brother's wanting to fight us and they have the Eggpire behind them, even though they are villains." Tommy grabs his comm off his waist and calls Grian. "Pesky, you there?" "Yeah, what's up Toms?" "D-Team wants to fight us- Uh, the Syndicate and they have the Eggpire behind them." "Oh. OH. I'll get X and everyone else!" "Cya, Pesky!" "Bye, Tommy."

6:36 PM

"I see you have received my message. I'm glad you agreed to fight," Dream says, "I suspect you don't know we have allies as you have none?" "Wrong, Clay Dean," Xqulea says, reaching the ground. "They have us." "Oh, so you decided to have your brother involved." "The Eggpire consists of only 3 people, of which one is a nurse I went to school with. Diamond, BadBoy, and Thorn. BadBoy is honestly really sweet and is being puppeteered by Xavior." "DREAM I THOUGHT YOU SAID THEY WERE WILLING!" SapNap yells. "I THOUGHT SOTOO"Dreamyellsback. "BROTHER SHUT IT" Thorn ends up yelling, stunning SapNap. "I'm the one who agreed to fight with you lot in the first place. Now that I understand Theseus is part of the Syndicate, and the only willing one of the Eggpire, I back down." "Oh? Scared of a newbie, I see." "I'll see you in my office once this fight is over, Thes and Xqulea!" "Wait Hannah?!" SnapRap yells, running after her. A wall of thorns grows in his path, and Diamond pulls BadBoy away. "Pesky, you can call the others off." "On it." "Oh, how generous," Dream laughs, "Show them what we can do, everyone!" "There's literally 3 people on our side and like 7 on theirs." "Oh well. Mushroom can put them to sleep." "Dream I'm not your puppet." "Just this once?" "No, but I will fight." Grian's wings flare open, and so does Dream's. Soon enough, Tommy and Drista are helping Techno, Phil, and Niki against Mushroom, Jack and SapNap are burning each other with Wilbur, Quackity, and Ranboo helping out Jack, and Dream and Grian are fighting. After an hour or two Tommy breaks away and runs to the cemetery. He finds Tubbo's coffin, it was over ground for some odd reason, and opens it. He places his left hand over Tubbo's torso, and closes his eyes. He focuses on all his energy onto his hand, and purple starts to spout out of his hand, and over Tubbo. The world around him slowly shifts to his old apartment and Tubbo crying in the corner, a dead version of him in the middle of the floor. "Tμßb•?" Tommy calls out, "¥∆u ®€@dy +0 b£ @|!v€ ag@¡n?" "T-Tommy..? Why- Why are you here in my limbo? Oh, please tell me you aren't dead!" Tommy reaches out and takes his best friend by the hand, pulls him up, and hugs him. "G°∆dẞ¥€, My f®£πd."

-----

Tubbo awakens, and he finds his best friend hovering over him, slowly fading away the stronger Tubbo gets. "Tommy?" He sees a black thing on him, and grabs it. "Theseus? Thes? Tommy? Toms? Tomathy? Hello?" a familiar voice practically yells through the device. Tubbo presses the big, black button, "..Hello? Who is this?" "Tubbo! Oh, no he didn't. I'll come get you, hold on." "..Who are you? You- You do sound familiar, don't get me wrong, but I can't-" "Yeah, I understand. Taurtis could only remember Sam and Me. Not even his girlfriend, as we were the closest when I revived him. You probably only remember Toms and Boo, right?" "Tommy and Ranboo, yes." "I'm Tommy's eldest brother, Grian." "Ah, so you're him!" The sound of wings flapping is above him, and tommy is only an outline. "Put the comm on him so he can still talk to us!" Tubbo puts the 'comm' back onto Tommy, as it was also fading, too. "I'm Grian, or the hero-villain Xqulea. Sometimes I help the Syndicate, most times I fight the Eggpire.

[throwaway-yandere]

"O CAPO! MY CAPO!" Chapter 3: OMAKE 1

Yall ever just laugh at your old self?

Anyways this was my (and subsequently my friends @a-dose-of-phitre & purple friend's) thought process during the chapter 2 polls lmao

MAJOR CHAPTER 3 SPOILERS!!!:

Literally thought he'd die– I already planned for 4 different underboss candidates but my man is literally a cockroach. He's on thin ice on both polls he's involved in ("say no" and "yes" will literally remove him from the roster lmao) and somehow he lives?... I guess I manipulated you all too much in the tags hAHAHAHA–

And then...

A few hours later...

... so yeah, after that i decided I'll just think about the story AFTER oct 30 lmao

If you guys are curious, this is what would've happened (no, this isn't a bad ending, it's the alternate route if Alhaitham died):

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

"6 AM sharp, huh?"

The more he hung around the square, the more people thought they understood him. They were under the impression that this immovable man was not on a syndicate mission– he was just a lovelorn yet patient man.

But Alhaitham doubts he's that far gone.

He just appreciates them. That's all there is to it.

However, if lovelorn refers to a feeling unrequited, then maybe the definition does apply to how he feels waiting for them to come back.

He sat up straight, still by the Morepesok's plaza fountain, waiting for (N/n)'s return like a dog.

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

And even now, he waited.

Until (Y/n), Capo of the Innamorati family, found his corpse.

Till the bitter end, (N/n) didn't come.

"(Y/n)..."

You closed your eyes.

He waited until he died. Fallen, cold and dead. What a strange deja vu. But you wouldn't know that.

You know little about Alhaitham but you did know one thing: he wanted to work with you far longer than your first guess.

"It's likely that one of those fascists had killed your underboss." Cyno spoke softly. "It seems that Tighnari will do anything to stop you from maintaining your position."

You didn't take a second look at Alhaitham's corpse. The collar weighed heavy on your coat pocket, but for a strange reason, you felt unbothered by this.

Instead, your mind immediately jumped towards the next strategy before you pried the scarf off of Alhaitham's dead body.

It's stained with his blood.

How inconvenient.

Guess you'll have to find something else. Maybe your third underboss will have to receive one of your precious hats instead.

"Cyno…"

With your formulaic sad smile, you temporarily deceived Cyno out of the equation.

You no longer trust Inquisitor Cyno.

You know the look of a guilty murderer when you see one.

Hence, you no longer trust the Church.

"Isn't it your job to report my activities? Don't tell the cardinals that Alhaitham's dead. Have faith; I'll find a replacement within the day."

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

I posted 3,072 times in 2022

381 posts created (12%)

2,691 posts reblogged (88%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@nemo-of-house-hamartia

@nemo-in-wonderland

@susann-noir

@miss--river

@thatcrazycrowgirl

I tagged 2,920 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#friends - 339 posts

#nemo sketches - 260 posts

#my oc - 240 posts

#assassin's creed - 232 posts

#my art - 194 posts

#dorothea starrick - 183 posts

#jacob frye - 174 posts

#references - 146 posts

#assassin's creed syndicate - 136 posts

#dorothea vibes - 123 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#“grumpy emotionally constipated feral kitten will never admit that she loves the way her archnemesis is in love with and devoted to her”

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ubisoft really went for the heart, with that freaking papyrus and the Library of Alexandria, eh?

Swear to the Gods, if I wanted to keep Alexios and Kassandra safe and sound before, now Imma hid them away, snug in a blanket, where nothing will ever hurt them.

Not even the passing of time.

Because dear Gods, all I can imagine now is Alexios taking care of Barnabas in his final years, because Barnabas is just SO FREAKING STUBBORN and would follow him on the Adrestia even if he is too weak and weary to actually travel.

Or I can imagine Kassandra coming back to Greece, years after wandering around, and not recognizing the places she lived the majority of her mortal life. Like, the place is familiar, yet not the same. As if she were a tree whose roots had been cut off, and no matter how much she tries to reconnect to the places of her birth, they are not the same any longer.

They are just landscapes where only the ghosts of her memories live on.

And oh my heart, that made me so incredibly sad.

I am sorry, I will be busy crying my eyes out for the next few hours or so.

If you will excuse me.

63 notes - Posted April 26, 2022

#4

My Gods, the Unity Cinematic Trailers is still SO FREAKING AWESOME after all these years.

Like, the choice of the song along with how the whole scene develop, the choice of having the Baguette Bois, in the end, standing over the parapet and overlooking Paris.

SO FUCKING BADASS.

SO FUCKING AWESOME.

I cannot even start to say HOW MUCH this trailer fires me up, both in the good sense and in the worst sense.

Like, I get all excited by this story they are telling me in this trailer, about the characters and whatnot.

AND THEN I GET ALL ANGERED BECAUSE THEY GAVE ME *NOTHING* OF IT.

THEY DIDN'T DELIVER ME ONE CRUMBLE OF WHAT THEY WERE PROMISING ME.

NOT EVEN THE BAGUETTES IN COOP MODE.

Like, I know I will probably be lynched for this, but I will say it anyway, because it's just an opinion, and have the right to express it.

I would have preferred LESS Arno/Elise content and MORE Baguette Bois content, because I do believe, in my heart of hearts, that we would have been able to see Arno for how Arno was, and not for how Arno was with Elise. (Much like we got to see more of his personality for how it was in the DLC, but again, this is still my opinion, take it as you want it).

THE POINT IS.

WE WERE ROBBED OF BAGUETTE BOIS CONTENT, AND I WILL NEVER GET OVER IT.

-Nemo

79 notes - Posted July 11, 2022

#3

Almost Kiss

So with the fire still burning bright I wanna gaze into your light If I could see my fortune there You know how flames can hypnotize Do I even dare to speak out your name for fear It sounds like Like a lover

"Cradled in Love" - Poets of the Fall

SO.

I was so enamoured with the ask I got this morning by @miss--river, I was literally held hostage by my own brain all day, I HAD TO draw something sweet with Jacob and Dottie being, well...UTTERLY in love with each other (plus, I recently got new brushes for CSP that I was DYING to try, so I decided to kill two birds with one stone).

So here you have the results of me sketching on this warm-up sketch like a maniac. It took me only an hour, so please, be lenient with me in regards to the whole chaotic essence of it all. I went following my emotions and the love for them, rather than focusing on the details and the cleanliness of it all (because if I did, it would have taken me at least a whole day, and I don't have the time for that).

Let me tell you, these two have me in a chokehold, and they don't have any intention of letting me go!!

I just love them and their love, and it makes me SO IMMENSELY happy to portray them being so utterly in love with one another.

Also, I realized, this is the first time I drew an almost kiss for them, and it was ABOUT TIME (I need to draw them kissing fully tho. That needs to be done).

Well, I hope you will like this! <3

--Nemo

95 notes - Posted May 19, 2022

#2

I Don't know if this has been done already, but after playing with AC Origins in the last few days, and after rewatching The Mummy, I FIRMLY believe that Ardeth Bay descends from Bayek of Siwa.

Like.

It's a fact.

This gorgeous, brave, kind man,

descends from this gorgeous, brave, kind man

See the full post

99 notes - Posted March 12, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Word Counts: 5036

Warnings: None

SFW, Fluff

Pairing: JacobxDottie

See the full post

117 notes - Posted May 8, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[empiriical]

quick berga gandor thoughts from my 4am chat with meechi last night lol:

berga suffered from mild middle child syndrome in his early teenage years, but this mostly dissolved once gandor sr. died. taking over the family business suddenly became a lot more important than berga's insecurities.

however, he did, on occasion, still worry that luck looked down on him for not being as smart as him or keith. by now, he doesn't really stress about it, though the thought still nags him on occasion.

despite what that might suggest, berga && luck are incredibly close. berga was obsessed with having a little brother even before luck was born, && he loved him from day one. he wanted to be the best big brother in the world. berga tended to play rough, even as a little kid, but he was always incredibly gentle with luck, his natural protective instincts kicking in.

although berga isn't as smart as his brothers && tends to rely more on his strength than his brain at times, he has remarkable emotional intelligence — even if he doesn't always have the words to verbalize his feelings eloquently. he has the uncanny ability to sense how people are feeling — his brothers, claire, && kalia mostly, but even other members of the syndicate, && close acquaintances.

his love languages are physical touch && acts of service. berga's a hugger, even though that usually means lifting the person up && cracking their back in the process, but even a friendly nudge or an arm around the shoulder can go a long way. in the same vein, he shows affection through play-fighting with certain people — claire mostly, but keith when they were younger, && some other friends. then on the other hand, berga considers it his sworn duty to be his brothers' protectors. this is his primary act of service for anyone — defending his loved ones with everything he has. but also, i've seen this headcanon before && i agree: he's a fantastic cook, && loves to make food for people.

when the brothers first had to step up, berga was very aware that they didn't exactly look like capable mafiosos — especially not luck. as such, he often found himself in the position of needing to defend them. sometimes that meant literal protection from attacks, && other times he was just defending their honor. y'know, with his fists. that sometimes did more harm than good, but he would never intentionally suggest that luck especially couldn't fight his own battles, but hey, he's impulsive, && he could never stand by while someone shittalked him.

telling luck that he looks like a villain was truly berga's attempt at hyping him up, even if it came across as an insult. like i said, he's not great at words, but his heart's in the right place always.

when it comes to business, berga often relies on luck to explain things. again, this is something he used to be self-conscious about, but isn't so much anymore.

he used to give luck piggyback rides as a kid. keith too, once he hit his growth spurt, but only once or twice. keith insisted he didn't have to, but berga could tell he felt a little left out.

claire && berga got along so well because claire could keep up with berga's energy && he didn't have to hold back around him. it was easy to blow off steam around him.

berga is terrifying, && he knows it, but when it comes to his friends && family, he really is a sweetheart.

berga && luck ( && claire ) are really good at reading keith's expressions, but berga definitely is the most likely to get the most accurate reading of what he's thinking.

[variousqueerthings]

Hi! Out of curiosity what were the two instances of Hawkeye not being willing to sleep with married women? There's Radar's Report, though the explanation there is focused on Hawkeye wanting to commit rather than just sleep with her casually so I don't know how much it counts. And I don't remember anything else.

I do personally count "Radar's Report," because of a variety of reasons, the main one being that Hawkeye doesn't really want to marry her/be in a long-term relationship, as I see it.

It's kind of vague, because Erika is a one-off character in a syndicated show in which Hawkeye will have several other intense one-off romances, but this one ends pretty chill overall, so you can make an argument that it's there making a point about casual sex being a-okay (she's the one who doesn't want to make a thing out of it and he goes very fast from "oh rejection kind of sucks" to "well, sex still seems like a great idea!"), right up to imagining it's meant to be a small heartbreak for Hawkeye

I personally lean far on the one side with that one, especially considering Carlye -- the supposed One That Got Away -- when he literally tries to pressure her into divorcing her husband and then backs himself into a literal corner rather than commit to marriage

With Erika, was it because they were in an intense situation together in which she might have died? was it because she was (briefly) a woman who was off the market? was it just war-time stressors generally? (Was it because he saw aromantic kinship in here, yes I have an angle)

(I also note here that obvs Hawkeye also sleeps with Margaret when she's married, but that is also a Different Kind Of Situation, seeing as they're both thinking they might die + he's been there several times when she's confessed that Donald is cheating on her, including just before + she's not someone he's just met, they're verging on pretty good friends at this point and... it's different and it's a tangent rn, stop me)

It's also unclear when he does start thinking about Erika as a possible long-term relationship. He jokes about their children before he sees the ring, but it's not really different to things he's said while flirting with other women -- he describes it to Trapper as "all of a sudden something changed in mid-lechery" and then Trapper basically makes a point that he has the choice to either keep on going or backing off (seeing as "someone being married" isn't really a deal-breaker to a relationship out here) and Hawkeye is so close to keeping-on-going, but physically makes himself back off before Erika tells him the ring is a fake

I will also say that even if he was looking for something more long-term there, again... marriage is not really a deal-breaker out there -- and I wouldn't even have noticed it as such if it weren't for the second instance below:

*

the second instance is a throwaway moment in "George" when he's painting that one nurse's nails (sidenote, I didn't add that to my screenshots of "coded conversations" in this episode, but once you're committed to viewing that episode through a queer lens, the brain cannot help but be a little 👀👀👀 at Hawkeye painting someone's toenails -- someone who wasn't even intending on going out with him, but was taking herself (and her newly painted toes) to see Trapper!)

"I'm glad you're not married"

"Who says I'm not?"

"Well, I don't see a ring on any of your toes"

I note it as an interesting contrast to Radar's Report, because while that is full of various grey-zones as you point out, this is apropos nothing and he doesn't even end up getting a date out of it anyway (and ofc it's in this particular episode)

*

Overall two instances do not a hard analysis make, it's just an interesting angle to see him from, considering that Trapper is a married man who's sleeping with people + Hawkeye's fascinating insertion of himself in the Hunnicutt marriage ("protecting" Peg from knowing that BJ has cheated + telling him in two separate episodes Not To Fuck Things Up With Her) + the two times I'm remembering when Hawkeye does sleep with a married woman

[thebisexualdogdad]

I'm so happy you're writing for Kate bishop! bc 95% (if not more) are going to be female Reader and that annoys me..

Anyways, I would request a Enemies to Lovers sort of thing with Kate. Like, Reader belongs to any gang or got hired to go after her and Clint and at one point Kate has to fight Reader in hand to hand combat and has a knife. She tells him to not come closer or she'll hurt him but he just smirks and steps soo close to her while Kate gets nervous and trys to think of any way out

Sorry if this is too long. Thank you :)

Kate Bishop x Male!reader

● you're a member of the silver snake syndicate and you were ordered by your boss to take out the new hawkeye in town 

● after word spread from the tracksuits that Clint Barton had passed his mantle down to a girl named Kate Bishop every gang in New York wanted to be the one who could say they killed the young superhero 

● especially after hearing how she nearly took down the legendary Kingpin 

● you had a couple run ins with her just to test the waters 

● she may be a rookie but she had skills 

● you liked the way she fought 

● and it didn't hurt that she was so attractive too 

● sure you were supposed to kill her but that didn't mean you couldn't have some fun while doing so 

● the leader of your syndicate questioned why the hawkeye wasn't dead yet after a couple weeks

● "the job will get done but you know I like the chase"

● "fine, you can make her squirm but don't let someone get to her first or else it'll be your head" 

● Kate happened to be quite interested in you too

● and she may or may not have used her mom's company computer to find all your personal information including your social media 

● Yelena was busy on a job in Europe so she called Peter in to give her a helping hand 

● "he has a dog too, Lucky could have a friend"

● "you remember he's trying to kill you right?" 

● "I know but have you seen how hot he is?" 

● one night you attack Kate and Peter while they are surveying a warehouse your syndicate uses to store illegal firearms 

● Peter is out cold and you and Kate are in the middle of a fisticuffs in the alleyway

● her bow is nowhere to be seen as it was lost in the fight and you have your knife drawn

● "don't come any closer!" She yells at you

● you don't listen of course and keep approaching her 

● soon you're face to face and Kate gulps 

● "I don't want to kill you Kate… at least not yet… you intrigue me"

● "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to that" 

● "because you feel the spark too don't you" 

● Kate's face is flushed, Clint would be so mad if he saw her right now being all hot and bothered because of a cute boy who was ordered to kill her

● you lean in and kiss her taking Kate by surprise 

● when you take a step back Kate is literally the "the woman was too stunned to speak" meme

● Kate hears Peter groaning and when she turns back to you you're gone 

● "please tell me I'm hallucinating because of a concussion and did not just see you kiss him" Peter mutters trying to get to his feet

● Kate helps him up and still can't find any words until she spots her bow peaking out from under a garbage can 

● "Oh look my bow" 

● "don't change the subject Kate, I will call Clint" 

● "no! I promise I won't date the super hot gang member" 

● whether Kate was actually going to keep that promise not even she knew 

[highlifeboat]

i wonder... do people who shit on mia also ever wonder if she was also bound by a confidentiality clause? like i get what she was doing was already illegal and she'd be arrested for it but could whistleblowing have also gotten her into hot water?

SEE, THAT'S WHAT I ALWAYS SAY! Not in that many words, but still.

MIA WORKED FOR A FUCKING CRIME SYNDICATE! You don't think those types of things have cover stories for all their employees? I doubt anybody who worked in The Connections below a certain rank could tell their spouses what they were up to.

And this is a crime syndicate who was working on literal mind control. This wasn't like some punk street gang selling drugs at the local K-Mart, these guys were making military grade bioweapons, smuggling shit, committing murders, money laundering, this was whole operation.

I don't think whistleblowing would have just put her in hot water, it probably would have gotten her and Ethan killed if she told him. Hell, don't they kind of hint at the fact The Connections are hunting them down in Res 8? And that's why Ethan has all these self defense books? They also fully left Mia to die in Dulvey after her whole operation went to shit, so like... Yeah. I fully believe Mia telling Ethan the truth about her job would have gotten both of them killed and she probably didn't want that.

And, while we're on this, Mia wasn't like... involved in making Eveline. She was a researcher who joined after Eveline was already made. We don't even know if Mia actively participated in administering tests on her, she could have just been writing notes and was probably the one who helped make the Necrotoxin. They literally could have hired her to be an imprinting subject for Eveline, because I really doubt they would make Evie imprint on someone who was constantly hurting her. In the end it doesn't matter, Mia still did a lot of shitty things and still participated in a project that experimented on a child, but she isn't like... responsible for making Evie.

I dunno, I feel like some people paint Mia into a bigger villain than she is. She did bad shit. Unethical and morally wrong shit. But she's not like... a criminal mastermind or anything. She spent four years babysitting a ticking time bomb dressed up as a kid. Shit went south, and she never wanted Ethan to get involved in the first place.

ALSO ALSO, people say she should have told him he was mold but like... how do you even begin to bring that up after all the bullshit of the Baker farm. "Hey baby, I know we just went through a horribly traumatic experience but you're actually dead and a mold person so have fun with that"??

And like... I think Mia's kind of paid for all that shit by this point. She spent three years in a living hell, was probably forced to eat rotten and/or human meat, just to get out and then 3 years later get kidnapped and held prisoner (again), have some psycho cult leader impersonate her and kidnap her baby, then loose her husband AGAIN, and is probably living with so much PTSD while she tries to raise her daughter who's working for the BSAA or whatever. She's paid for her crimes, goddamn.

TLDR: Mia would have more than likely been killed (as well as Ethan) if she told Ethan the truth about her job and I think some people make her out to be way worse than she actually is.