#but his love of spiders paint him in a rather interesting light

[noveratus]

Do you ever think about the symbolism that Martin liked spiders? Like, it makes sense that Jon hated them from a narrative standpoint. It is a foreshadowing of their overall role as the main antagonist and the ones responsible for orchestrating everything. They have been manipulating Jon since he was a child.

And yet Martin likes them.

Do you ever think of why, even though the spider is said to be the only fear aspect with the ability to think, we never really interacted with it? Only Anabelle? Like, the eye is a large part of season 5 as it always watches, always looms over everyone, and yet, we still know very little about the spider by the end of the show. We know more about the unknown and the dark than we know about the spider.

So I once again ask, why does Martin like spiders?

[ataraxiaspainting]

There’s a Certain Slant of Light.

Yan (Soulmate) Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Something is different. But what could it be?

Warnings: Yandere themes, the reader is unwillingly a Spider and from Meteor City, mentions of religion/religious imagery, implied drugging, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

i’ve been seeing a lot of chrollo being paired with a phantom troupe member reader and i just think that the concept is very interesting! :D

credits for og art piece here!

*~*~*~*

Your sword, while having the ability to stab and slice just about anything, is still by far the most frail weapon at your disposal. It is a slight sadness that fills Chrollo’s mind, then, once he realizes this. The feeling is small, minuscule, just like most of the other emotions Chrollo’s heart cannot beat with, the blood that flows through his veins frozen with the concept of what he wants to be. He feels next to nothing as if he were a walking corpse, a prisoner who has just been released from the deepest depths of hell, not once being able to see twinkling eyes and shining stars. Light is a concept unknown to people like him, and people like you, foreign, as alien as a coup made of peasants storming a palace larger than ten of their villages combined. 

Your two true weapons are your lips calling out his name, and the thin red string that connects your little finger and your fate to his thumb and his future. Despite the thread being wispier than that of paper, it has a will stronger than one forged in diamonds and never had to be a carbon crystal to be so. Chrollo is thankful for it, more so than he is for most things that he would rather leave in the past. It has linked you two together for so long and has been the key for chaining down your animosity towards him whenever he had gone too far. All he had to do was tug, and you would be right back wherever he had placed you. But even diamonds can shatter when a love made in a less-than-fortunate childhood turns more and more into hate.

This entire act is like a balancing beam. He must not be too loud, but also not be too quiet. He must always have cards up his sleeve for any potential mishaps down the line. Inside one hand is the key to your freedom, but inside the other is the key to a false route to such fantasies, the trap of reality. Even Chrollo does not know which is which, for he is a dreamer himself at heart.

“Good morning, sir,” It is a rare sight, you yawning, your posture nowhere near how put together it usually is. “How are you today, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must have been quite exhausted last night; my apologies, sir.”

“I told you if you ever wanted to take a break here, you are more than welcome to.”

“I’ve always declined such an offer for a reason, sir.”

“Just as I’ve always told you that you may call me just Chrollo for a reason, [First]. I think I haven't heard you say my name without an honorific since we were both still children if my memory serves correctly.”

“...”

The provocation of the past seems to hurt you more than him it seems, from how you flinch at the word children, and from how he smiles at your discomfort. 

“We are not with the rest of the Troupe right now, it is quite alright if you want to relive prior times, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and with his eyes appearing to look back at his books, he sees yours darting around the room, looking for an escape route.

They move left, to the tables at the back of the sitting room which hold lamps and framed photos and paintings. Then right, to the fireplace and the large but still solitary couch, covered with leather and embroideries. Then up, to the crackless and spotless white ceiling, and then down, to the wooden rosewood planks of the floor.

“I saw a book in your satchel. Crime and Punishment, hmm?”

“Yes. Please do not say how ironic it is, sir.”

“Very well.”

To you, perhaps the room feels deathly still. To him, it feels like the scene right before the climax. Slow, steady, full of tension and dread. Though Chrollo will never let the curtains that cover your very soul close ever again. It would not be hard to get them to open up again, you have known each other for so long after all, but regardless he needs you to stay within the palm of his hand forevermore. Only then will he be able to feel something so warm and soft once more.

Oh, how he wishes that he could open the floor below you and trap you there. But he cannot. At least not yet.

“...Where is my bag?” At your question, Chrollo pulls his thumb towards him, and you move accordingly. “It is not in the room.” You continue, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to resist. “Sir?”

Desperation. Then a hand raise and a pause.

“Stolen treasure from the last meeting.” Chrollo begins curtly. “A contact list full of people I have not permitted you to speak to. Keys to a car that is not mine.” He proceeds to say. “Tell me, [First], what is all of this, hmm?”

Something akin to a mix of a horrified chuckle and a choking sound emerges from your throat as if his hands were squeezing and squeezing until you burst. He sets the book he was reading down, and without his hands covering both the front and back of it, you see the title, the synopsis.

“Crime and Punishment, hmm?” He repeats, and for the first time in what must be a few years, he sees you terrified, shaking, and near to tears. “A clever way to code your plan.” Chrollo crosses his legs. “By the way, it is an hour or so past sunset by now.” He hears a small gasp from you. “You missed your flight a long time ago, sweet thing.”

“...I… I…”

“You were planning on leaving us, weren’t you?” When you don’t answer, instead looking straight towards the door, he raises his thumb again. “I know you never wanted to join the Troupe, per se, but still… this hurts.” He pulls and pulls, and being forced to be a puppet for the umpteenth time since the soulmate string has appeared in Chrollo’s vision, you are placed where he wants you to be. 

Close to him.

[alwaysmultiverse]

Tunnel Vision

Draco bumped his head yet again against the low ceiling. This had been happening ever since he entered the bloody tunnel behind Granger, and honestly, he had stopped counting after the fiftieth hit. He was currently on all fours with Granger's pretty little arse swaying in front of him in the dim light as they crawled.

"How much longer do we need to keep this up?" He groaned.

Granger's voice echoed back "Be patient, you idiot. How am I supposed to know?"

"I thought you had a plan before leading us into this death trap!"

Draco saw her brushing cobwebs out of her way before crawling in further.

"This isn't a death trap! It's a secret passage!"

Draco rolled his eyes. "And what secrets is it supposed to be hiding, may I ask?"

"I wouldn't be crawling through spiders if I had known, now would I?"

Draco groaned in frustration. "Speed up then, will you? Even if death is waiting for us on the other end, I'd rather prefer that than this hellish torture." He could practically hear her eye roll even though he couldn't see her face.

His wand was tucked snugly over his ear, the bright lumos illuminating Granger's denim covered arse. He couldn't help but appreciate muggle clothing. They certainly had a few tricks up their sleeves.

"I still can't see the other end. Either it's too dark or we have a long way to go." Hermione voice rang through the damp, musty walls.

"Why are you so interested in this tunnel?" He asked, irritated.

"It just popped out of nowhere. I've never seen it in the marauder's map."

"The what map?"

"Nevermind."

Draco decided that it was better to keep quiet and save his energy for crawling. He looked down at his grime covered fingers and ran a list of how many varieties of soap he would need to get himself clean again. He didn't realise Granger had stopped moving until his nose and mouth collided violently against her plump arse and she slipped forward with a surprised yelp that echoed down the path they came through. They fell down together in a tangled mess of limbs. So soft, was the only thought in his head when his chin bounced and came to rest on her bum. She harshly shoved him back and Draco frowned.

"I swear I want to take you right here on the floor." He confessed.

"How many times did you bump your head?"

"I stopped counting after fifty."

She huffed a laugh and got up on all fours again. "I think we've reached the end. There's a wooden board blocking the way out." She pushed with all her might and the wood went crumbling down.

Draco breathed a sigh of relief at the fresh night air that met his nose. Granger crawled out and Draco followed.

"Is this the forest?" He spun around.

"I think so..."

"You mean to tell me that we just crawled all the way to the forest from the castle?!"

Granger grinned sheepishly.

Draco looked around and an expanse of trees, grass and bushes caught his eyes, all washed with the rich indigo paint of the night. A beautiful lake rippled in the starlight; the moon a beautiful crescent in the centre. Granger went and stood above the water mirroring the night sky; the light from her wand making her glow like fireflies in a glass jar. Draco went and stood beside her. He glanced back at the hollow trunk of the dead tree they had climbed out. They were all alone.

He decided to take a chance. Threading his fingers through hers, he caught her gaze and smiled. His heart fluttered when she smiled back. He dipped his head and kissed her - soft and sweet. He felt her smile against his lips and his heart bloomed like a fragrant night blossom bathed in moonlight. Blinding white and pure. Just like her love.

"Do you intend to keep your promise?" She asked after surfacing for air.

"I do, but...", he fell backwards and thumped onto the dewy grass, "my knees and back hurt like hell."

Hermione laughed. "Later, then." She said and lay down beside him, resting her hand on his chest and her palm over his dancing heart.

"But definitely tonight." He said and pressed his lips to hers to seal the deal.

[tchaussard]

The night is young, and he knows it’s only the beginning as he watches her through the thick of the crowd. Theo is certain she hasn’t spotted him just yet - despite the weight of his stare that she undoubtedly feels prickle the back of her neck, spiders legs tickling and leaving a trail of goosebumps into the thick of her hair. There’s a sheen of sweat that has the lights glistening in a scintillation of color in the curve of her collarbones, and he wonders if her friends know she’ll defect from the dancefloor for a drink soon enough. 

Fingers click away at the keypad of his phone screen, watching as photographs of her and her friends, her family, cascade through a timeline of the last six months. She’s somewhat estranged from her siblings, neither choosing the life path the rest had, nor condoning the choices they’ve made. It makes her interesting, but somewhat predictable and he’s counted on it over time. Peering through a lens that might put him within her path, even if she’s never really noticed it before. It’s the seed that matters - a familiar face, or voice, that feels normal and comforting. Like she’s heard it a million times away.

Sitting a few tables away at her favorite restaurant. Dropping off a book to the same library. Their trolleys colliding by accident in the isle of her local store.

He’s pieced it together in the same way all those artists of paintings he never understood in his studies might have. A flicker of light here, depth and texture where it’s least expected, and suddenly he realizes what it’s like to be an artist. To manipulate and alter the perception of another to get the response he wants. 

Still, it’s only the beginning, and he isn’t foolish enough to believe that he had what he wanted within arms reach just yet. There’s still too many factors, too many choices she has to make that might derail the plan he’s set with steel in his mind. Contingencies are the greatest failsafe, between Nicolas and Aurelie, he’d come to learn as much at an early age. One didn’t ever plan to lose everyone they considered to be family, and yet it happened - a preparation that Theo had been rather guilty in making for himself well before the time came. It held his heart together when it should have fallen to pieces. Would she know how to do so? Would someone else be there for her, or would she face the world from a lonely window? He knows that one day she’ll wish she’d thought about it more, planned for the day it happened. Then again, he supposes that it’s already too late for her now. Too late, as she orders another vodka soda, extra lime. Too late, as his hand reaches over the bar beside her, asking the bartender to put it on his tab. She doesn’t know it yet, but her whole life is about to change. He intends to make it so. Yvonne Rutherford is about to meet the love of her life. And Johnathan Parsons is going to regret letting him live. 

[unknownzapy]

HII!! I saw your requests are open so I wanted to request a matchup if that was alright, im looking for a platonic relationship if that’s fine and since I saw that someone requested for helluva boss I would really like that and also the amazing world of gumball and FNAF ^^ so now I shall introduce myself✨

My name is Joey I go by a nickname which is Asmo (as Asmodeus), im 14, i use he/him pronouns, im transgender, aromatic and unlabeled, my MBTI is ENTP, im also adhdtistic and I’m 5’6 with brown shoulder length hair, i wear glasses and im pretty much in between skinny and chubby? i dress in a lot of styles actually which are goth (trad goth, romantic goth, mall goth and nu goth), gyaru (hime gal, himekaji, agejo, rokku, manba, and kogal), scenemo and also ouji and lolita

My personality is ENTP but I’m usually pretty awkward when I meet someone so it may take some time to get used to the person before I start emoting freely, i love to ramble about my interests to people that I’m comfortable with, im also not afraid to get snarky if someone bothers me to much, im also pretty protective of the people I love and my interests LMAO, also I love making sexual jokes and I love making the goofiest jokes to exist like “im the ohio god” and I also love to make fun of kids on voice chat in roblox

My hobbies/likes: anime/manga, fashion, art (drawing, pottery, painting, digital art, animation, etc), cooking, learning new languages (like Japanese and Spanish), i also like to do gym which most people don’t like, listing to music/making music (I’m a vocaloid producer), musicals, hanging out with my friends, gaming, going shopping, and hotels

Dislikes: negative mentions of my voice, comparing me to people/saying stuff like “you remind me of ____”, also spiders I scream whenever I see one… no joke, insulting what I love, fish, uncomfortable places like sleeping on a couch

Thanks!

Helluva Boss Matchup Is…Loona!

Let’s be honest here, Loona and you would be friends immediately. The both of you are quite awkward when trying to put effort into meeting new people you like, have similar fashion senses (*cough cough* More so on anything Goth, Emo, or anything remotely “edgy” and “cool”), and finally both of your protective natures for your loved ones, even if Loona doesn’t show it that much.

At first, the Hellhound didn’t care for you as much as any other bystander, seeing you only as another sap living in Hell (or Earth, if you prefer). But then again, she’ll warm up to you and give a new friendship a chance, Loona couldn’t help but laugh at your vulgar jokes and vibe to your music tastes, which is a rarity in the I.M.P Business.

Blitzo, on the other hand, is rather protective of his daughter after realizing that she’s becoming slightly more extroverted lately, though he is happy that she’s making friends on her own and having a social life outside of the business.

Face it, Blitzo would definitely join you in the sexual jokes and light banter after a week of meeting you. Though, if you’re uncomfortable with him egging you on about these unfiltered puns, then he’ll back off entirely and potentially diminish your friendship with his only kid because of it.

Anyways, onto other details. Loona loves your body shape and doesn’t really care what you look like, as long as you're cool in her book, even if she’s snarky about it with her fellow coworkers (such as with Moxxie). Speaking of being snarky, Loona feels as though she can be her true self with you without any form of consequences, especially with the two of you playfully going at each other’s throats over video games or face to face.

Whenever someone else gets smart with you or tries to bully you for whatever reason while she’s in the room, The Hellhound will pause her fingers above her phone and stare at the one who offended you, giving them a bombastic side eye and silently daring them to repeat what they just said to you. If the offender continues to mock you, then Loona will forcibly take matters into her own hands and kick their ass, literally and figuratively.

She’s the type to watch over your shoulder slightly as you work on your favorite hobbies, and maybe even tries to do some of them herself. However, she admires you for doing pottery and art better than she can, seeing as though you’re more crafted in the subjects than she is. Please gift her a piece of your talent, I’m begging you 🙏🏼 🥺 Loona will definitely keep a drawing you did for her on her wall in her bedroom because she sees you as her younger sibling as this point.

As a transgender person, The Hellhound was pretty open minded and accepting, given the fact that her dad is having an affair with an already married man, but that situation is for another time to talk about. It’s complicated as it is. With you, however, Loona always opt to use your proper pronouns and surprisingly remembers them without mistake.

If anyone isn’t aware of your preferred pronouns or simply refuses to use them for whatever reason, then you can bet your ass that she’s standing up for you until the other person backs off. On a completely unrelated note, I’d also like to add that the two of you horse around like real siblings, rough housing and all, if you’re down of course.

For your sexuality, on the other hand, Loona was a teensy bit confused, but with enough explaining, she understands completely and is quick to question others if they decide to bring you harm because of it. She knows when push comes to shove real quick, so don’t worry about your safety too much, she works with an assisation group after all.

For Millie and Moxxie, they sort of see you as their own nephew and treat you as their own. Of course, the I.M.P are your new family now, so get used to a lot of action and various forms of platonic love 🥰.

Five nights at Freddy’s Matchup Is…Ballora!

At first, Ballora was the one who confronted you firsthand for whatever reason she may have had, though realizing your discomfort, she backs off and takes her time speaking to you. She is an unfiltered and honest character, which is why she hates “playing pretend” (or in my mind at least), May it be bad or good is entirely up to you.

She’ll most likely remind you how talented you are, wanting you to be your best, authentic self, despite what others may think of you. However, Ballora can’t force you to do something you are uncomfortable with, and will hold back with her advances.

In theory of the FNAF fandom, She is the mother and wife in the Afton Family, and her maternal personality will be directed to you as well, even in death. If the theory is false, then Ballora will treat you similarly to the children that come and go, though with more respect of course, considering that you’re a little older.

Now, onto your appearance. I feel like she’s the type to admire and adore someone despite their looks, and will tell you how amazing you look. For you, though, she’s astonished that you have varying clothing styles that even she hadn’t realized existed before. She’s beyond flabbergasted and speechless, which is a good thing; Plus, she wishes to dance with you someday in these clothes and show you off to the minireenas, even if you aren’t good at dancing at all.

Don’t take this the wrong way, but Ballora will show your art (and yourself) off like each one is your best prized possession. Though, she will avoid giving you the limelight if you seem to be uncomfortable with her high praise and try her best to take it back a few notches. She’ll most likely keep your art on her walls in her Gallery room, however kept in a more secluded area where kids, or anyone in general, can take them down. Only she can admire them, so she hates it when someone rips them up; Ballora learned the hard way.

For your singing and music tastes, Ballora will most certainly dance to it. You sing, she dances, the perfect duo 💪🏼. Sometimes, she allows the Minireenas to show off their own skills as well or join in on her dancing too. Wholesome, is it not?

When it comes to your gender and sexuality though, it takes some time for her to understand due to the fact that she was built in the late 80’s, where people were closeted for many reasons. Plus, she basically “lived” under a house for god knows how long. Though, I doubt Ballora will dislike you simply for your own preferences, and a matter of fact, Ballora has a newfound respect for you. Personally, as stated earlier, I feel as though she is the type to value honesty above all else, however will not push you to do something you’re not comfortable with. So with the fact that you trust her enough to reveal this information, Ballora can’t help but feel honored.

If anyone brings you trouble for who you are and what you like, her Minireenas (and maybe some Bidybabs, too, if Baby allows it) will take care of the offender, don't worry too much. Also, she can’t leave her stage during the daytime unless rented out, so the news of what happened will depend on the day. By the end of the day, Ballora will always be there to comfort and soothe you as best as she can if need be.

Lastly, your sense of humor. I feel as though Ballora has a dry sense of humor, while yours is more “wet”, if that makes any sense at all. Her laugh is similar to that of Fenneko from the anime “Aggretsuko”, but she genuinely will laugh at your Ohio jokes, even if her steel face says otherwise, so being an animatronic has its faults for being non expressive.

Ballora, as a whole, admires for who you are and supports you through and through. She’s the animatronic to praise you, even in your lowest of lows, she’ll be there to comfort you.

The Amazing World of Gumball Matchup is…Tobias Wilson!

As the best for last, Tobias will treat you with absolute royalty in a way that spoils you rotten. For example, he will buy you the art supplies you wanted for a year now or even go as far as to (platonically) “rizz” you up with incredibly, yet ridiculously, expensive gifts that no one else is able to buy and show off his “buff muscles” along with it.

At first, Tobias genuinely thought you hung around him purely because his family was rich as hell. The more the two of you did hang out, however, the more he realized that you actually wanted to be his friend, albeit in an awkward manner from the start.

From that point on, the little guy tried his best to act like a real friend and not be a jerk for once (like in the show itself), so it takes him a hot minute for him to be more of a decent person. Instead of buying you expensive items, and depending on your (platonic) love languages, Tobias will try to meet your expectations as a friend from then on.

When it comes to hobbies, Tobias will stare at you like “👁_👁” in amazement and astonishment, mesmerized by your talent. May it be your pottery, cooking, or even learning a second language, he tries to either show off to get your attention or one up you in a playful manner, covered in clay, paint, and pride. Tobias probably summoned his paralysis demon in Latin by accident thanks to you, so there’s that/j.

Tobias will always question you as to how you got so many hobbies and still manage to create masterpieces, even if he does watch you create them like a child wondering how the Detachable Thumb Trick works, despite it being explained to them more than 12 times. Homeboy will praise the literal floor you walk on just by this alone 💀.

When it comes to Gym class, though, he will definitely get competitive with you while everyone else is exhausted, especially with Dodgeball. The two of you are wild with it, either you throwing the balls and him dodging with ease or the other way around, making the both of you that “one kid who becomes Goku” in Gym class. During this, most of the class will choose sides as to who would win or record the scenery before them. By the end of the period, everyone left with stunned bafflement and amazement, all in a good way. Now these classmates have a reason to go to Gym now, all thanks to the both of you, lol.

Besides this, Tobias totally vibes with your humor, especially the sexual ones. He’s the best one on the list with your sense of comedy and the type who would egg you on like a wingman, though if he accidentally goes too far with someone such as offending them or making them mad, he’ll immediately apologize and find a way to make it up to them. Especially if they were a friend of yours or a loved one, seeing as though he does try to be a better friend and person in the canonical show.

Understanding your sexuality and gender is a whole thing of itself. Considering his age, he’s new to all this, but understands the meaning behind them on the first try, absorbing this information like a sponge. Surprisingly gets your pronouns right on the bat, and will definitely swing at anyone who misgenders you. Tobias will treat you the same like always, but his respect for you has risen by 9,000. The rainbow child understands you the most when it comes to this stuff, so the two of you are immediately best friends from then on.

When it comes to other people giving you trouble with your interests or gender identity (or any part of you at all), Tobias will defend you like a white knight in shining armor. But in all seriousness, he’ll be by your side through thick and thin, even if he isn’t the best athletic and physically built person in the school.

By the end of the day, Tobias is your best friend until the very end. He deeply respects you the most out of everyone around him, most likely outweighing his envy for Gumball and his wild adventures and that’s saying something. Which is a good thing, by the way.

Additionally, He would never be the type to put you into situations where you’re uncomfortable, including to subject you to your fears (spiders, in this case) or compare you to someone else. Even if he did, it would probably be by accident and will apologize profusely after realizing this mistake.

While Tobias spent some time with you, he genuinely changed for the better; Not flirting with girls (even when they’re explicitly taken), showing off his money and “muscles”, ect. and decides to just be a relatively normal kid. He still has his moments but it isn’t as bad as he used to be, plus he always backs off when a girl tells him “no” or shows hints of uninterest.

Tobias became more of a class clown overtime, knowing when to take a joke and being the subject of a quick laugh. After all, Who wouldn't want to be friends with this rainbow goofball 😉.

[thvndersnow]

ASTRIDR-7 ;;

name ; astridr-7, "astrid" species ; exo (human) pronouns ; he/him gender ; androgyne sexuality ; pansexual class/subclass ; voidwalker/threadweaver warlock ghost: susanoo (he/him)

phys. description ; 6'1" and very slender of build, typical for a warlock. astrid is typically painted silver or off-white, with crimson red accents along his face and around his arms and legs, with matte black synth flesh -- however, he changes his paint job to suit the occasion, keeping the same markings but opting for different colors depending on what the occasion is as well as his mood. the cheekbone-like protrusions of his faceplate are sharp and striking, as is much of the rest of him. he has large spikes on his elbows and knees which all of his armor and clothing must accommodate for. his optics are either crimson or gold, depending on what better matches his paint job of the day. each of his fingers ends in a retractable claw.

light abilities ; astrid at first appears to be a normal voidwalker, but his light more closely mimics the hypothetical "white hole" than the typical black hole other void warlocks utilize; it pushes force outwards, rather than drawing things in. his light also has a tendency to poison those he directs it towards, sapping from them their life essence to feed his own; his use of the necrotic grips exotic compounds on this. for a warlock, astrid is very aggressive, and both his light and threadweaver abilities reflect that.

personality; to say astrid is hard to get along with is an understatement; while he's not a stranger to the use of honeyed words and silver tongue, and generally knows how to conduct himself, he has explosive anger issues that come into play whenever he believes someone to be taking advantage of him or disrespecting him, and he is known to lie to get his way. astrid prefers the finer things in life, and he is ruthless in acquiring them, with seemingly little thought to the morality of doing so. truthfully, he is a bit of a coward, and even the smallest amount of fear is enough to squash his violent rage - but he views this as practicality. after all, if he were to die, then who would do his work? if you manage to get past his more abrasive tendencies and stick with him, astrid might not ever fully open up, but he will become fiercely and violently protective of you. he doesn't truly believe others capable of loving him, or of doing anything but using him - but those that stay, and that try to prove him wrong, may just be rewarded with a softer side.

brief history ; like many exos, astridr-7 kept extensive journals during his life, not the least of which because his bouts of explosive emotions were known to trigger resets for him. it's because of this that he knows what his life was prior to his rez: he was the kingpin of a smuggling ring in the last city, one he took over after the imprisonment of his husband at his own hands and testimony. how he died, he is unsure, but he woke on the tangled shore, and it was from there that the spider, an old work associate of his, took him in. all of his work is done in service to the spider; though their relationship is transactional, it is not as hostile as spider's relationship with crow would become. astrid is a rogue lightbearer, interested only in his own gain and the gain of his employer. he has therefor not taken part in any canon plots (though i tend to see him and the crow having a bit of a rivalry, so he may have popped up occasionally during season of the hunt just to be an ass).

tags ; gen tag | hc tag | aesthetics tag | ic tag | gen ship tag

[digitalsatyr23]

Anime/Show Idea: An outgoing, popular, and athletic girl is roommates with an introverted fat nerd. Rather than simply being wish-fulfillment shlock, the main focus is on how the two people who otherwise avoided each other start socializing and learning little by little what they’re like, changing their perspective on what it means to lead a fulfilling life.

The popular girl has many, many acquaintances, but social stigmas kept her from being her true self in front of her peers out of fear of alienation. She has an interest in a niche hobby like making terrariums and wants a snail as a pet. The fat nerd is a well-known artist who has deep connections online because all his best friends are all over the world. At first the girl wants nothing to do with the guy (he barely leaves his room anyway), but she stumbles onto an online gallery of his and sees all the digital art of fantastical characters and lush landscapes he’s painted. This leads her to reach out to him and the chubby guy starts coming out of his room more often. At first they get on each others’ nerves because of how different they are, but they later get used to each others’ quirks and form a bond. The girl tries to help the guy work on his social skills and diet while the guy teaches the girl all about digital art and suggests various shows and movies she ends up really enjoying. Guy: “I’ve wanted to join a gym before, but I always thought that I’d get bullied for my weight there and made fun of. I’ve always been fat so I figure I should just stick to what I know.” Girl: “That’s... That’s not how that works. People like me love to see overweight people at the gym. We know you’re trying to improve your health and put in the effort, so you don’t have to be scared. And hey, if someone starts making rude comments, I’ll tell them to fuck off!” Or Girl: “So what’s a sona? I keep seeing that word passed around on your blog.” Guy: “Ah, well, it’s basically like an OC meant to represent yourself online. Some people make them look just like themselves with maybe a small twist, whereas other artists like to make them completely different from their true selves and have fun with the design. Your sona could be a dragon, a vampire, or-” Girl: “A spider girl!” Guy: “Oh, like maybe this?” *shows girl a typical cute monster girl* Girl: “No no, more like this!” *shows guy a terrifying horror movie monster. the guy nervously puts his thumb up and helps design a sona for the girl, learning new art techniques in the process* Neither person is trying to fundamentally change who the other is, but rather give the other an insight into their world and help them become more well-rounded individuals who each learn how to accept themselves in their own way. No matter what, the girl remains an outgoing tomboy but maybe she learns how to form closer bonds with her other friends who may have also been into weird stuff but were equally scared of talking about it. Even if the guy loses weight, his personality doesn’t totally change. He’ll always be a big softie at heart, but now with a bit more confidence. A big theme of the story isn’t so much “a clash of two worlds” but more like not judging a book by its cover and learning to be more comfortable in your own skin. Another key point I want to make about the idea. These two NEVER hook up. They get close to each other by the end, but they never hold romantic feelings for each other. I’m tired of the idea that guys and girls can’t be friends. We need more stories where guys and girls are friends! Not “just” friends like it’s a downgrade, but actual friend friends!! Anyway, thanks for reading my idea I came up with while cooking spaghetti. If Netflix staff wanna talk and green-light this, my asks are always open. ;)

[thetimelordbatgirl]

It’s very telling where the MCU is in terms of quality when MoM is literally months away from coming out and yet people care more about the cameos rather than the actual plot (not to mention completely ignoring the light-washing/de-aging of America Chavez, an Afro-Latina lesbian woman and the whitewashing of Wanda’s Romani/Jewish heritage that has been going on since AoU)

Not to mention how everything that fans have praised about NWH is things from the old Spider-Man films. Hell, even with Thor 4, there’s more talk about Valkyrie’s sexuality and her “finding her queen” rather than anything about the main antagonist or plot.

And don’t even get me started on the disaster that was the Loki series and how supposed loyal fans can watch Loki be tortured and humiliated and call it “therapy” while they go and worship a female variant of him that’s about as interesting as watching paint dry.

The MCU only cares about putting out as much content as possible just to make a fast buck. It’s honestly sad considering how in Phases 1 and 2 they seemed to care about the characters and making each movie have a unique feel to it. Now everything feels the same, everyone acts the same and there’s no sense of individuality or creativity anymore.

I fully believe that Age of Ultron was the beginning of the end for the MCU, cause that’s honestly where things started to go really wrong in my eyes.

People focus more on Wanda in MoM then they do Strange.....and its his film. Like, I still ain't a huge fan of Doctor Strange's first film, cause whitewashing seems to LOVE this particular set of stand alone MCU films, but like.....no discussion of Strange or Wong or ANY Doctor Strange characters and elements, just Wanda and the cameos and its just....dam, kinda feel bad for Strange Stans right now. MCU be like with ANY character of color at this rate.....mainly oddly the woman of color from comics: "Can we get a whiter version please?" Like, shout out still to the Funko of Miss America for....actually making it worser. Dunno how, BUT THEY DID. And we all know why they suddenly mixing up the Young Avengers ages....given Young Avengers had members who are gay and in Loki's case, genderfluid, but well, MCU won't allow rep to full be seen so already betting we won't even see lesbian Miss America....

And with Wanda, its like......thanks, you failed in casting 101 as she is white as fuck in MCU, has the power to lose her accent and isn't Jewish cause no Magneto means no Jewish twins I guess.....no wonder she's appearing in MoM, she fits right in with whitewashed Ancient One and lightwashed!Miss America. No Way Home's entire hype was literally the old villains coming back. Like, people screamed more at the pumpkin bomb being thrown in trailer followed by Doctor Octopus' appearing with, "Hello, Peter", then the rest of the trailer, and if that ain't obvious that No Way Home was hyped soley on the cameos, then the aftermath of people soley focusing on Andrew's Peter and Tobey's Peter is obvious enough. Given MCU cut Valkyrie's Bi scene....I am VERRY skeptical off chances we'll see Valkyrie romance Jane, but....I'll wait until trailer I guess, but yeah....looking at any hype on Love And Thunder, its just kinda Jane's return and Valkyrie finding a queen....but in all honestly, given the Guardians are also taking over a plot in this film, I dunno what I'd prefer to be hyped at this point.

I hate Loki Show....so much. Like, keep in mind, up until that point, I'd been hopeful for it and TFATWS, cause even from trailer I knew I wouldn't like W/V, and first trailer for Loki? Yes, but watching the actual show? It was suffering. It wasn't about Loki like promised to fans, it was about him being basically secondary to Sylvie's journey and suddenly he's in love with her and while she can just, do whatever she wants without much happening, Loki get's literally tortured as a form of therapy.....and people ship Loki with the guy who did it.....thanks, I hate it. And don't get me started on Sylvie. She's literally an OC, a mashup of the two Enchantresses and....Lady Loki, cause genderfluid Loki was toooooo hard I guess, and she's just impossible to watch cause MCU makes her into a girlboss.....while also sprinkling in some incest/selfcest, but better not go too far....or stans will call me biphobic again for hating their ship.

Yeah, nowadays mcu is kinda just interested in cramming whatever movie or show they can really. Phase One-Two at least seemed to think over the films and such, but nowadays its like, "WANT A HAWKEYE SHOW?! WANT A SHE HULK SHOW?! WANT A CHRISTMAS AND HALLOWEEN SPECIAL?!" like.....its just there until MCU is basically beyond dead....well, more beyond dead then it is already.

[kieraelieson]

Three Times Patton Got Lost in a Market

Thomas was walking through the old store with his mom, careful to hold her hand while they shopped.

“Oh, look! There’s a wind chime! It’s just like the nice neighbor lady!” Patton said.

Thomas stopped to look, and his mom stopped too, looking at something else across the aisle.

“It isn’t exactly the same,” Logan said. “Hers has a hummingbird on top, but this one has a butterfly.”

“And anyway, this one has prettier colors when the light hits it,” Roman added.

“Oooh, the red really is pretty, Roman!” Patton said excitedly. “And the purple, and the yellow!”

“It’s exactly the colors of the most beautiful rainbow reflecting back from a pot of gold,” Roman said dreamily.

“Mom!” Virgil suddenly shrieked, alerting them all to the fact that Thomas’s mom was no longer beside them.

Instantly, there was a pandemonium of overlapping voices, all very confusing, and Virgil at the front screaming.

“Quiet!” Patton yelled, as loud as he could, and then felt a little like crying. He didn’t like yelling, but this was important!

“But we have to find Mom!”

“We should run after her!”

“If we yell someone will hear!”

“Listen to me!” Patton yelled again. “Remember what Mom said? If we get lost in the store we stay put, and if we see an employee then we ask them to call mom for us.”

Virgil bit down hard on his sleeves, and Patton took his silence for agreement.

“That is indeed what Thomas was told,” Logan admitted.

“I still think we should go find her!” Roman protested, though less pointedly than before.

Thomas plopped down on the floor.

“Ok. That settles it, we’re waiting for mom,” Patton said. “Let’s look for more pretty things while she comes to get us. Roman, what else can you see around us that looks like a rainbow?”

Roman grumpily crossed his arms. “There’s a rainbow on the lawn decoration.”

“Very good!” Patton said. “Logan, can you see anything that’s science-accurate?”

“Science-accurate is a very vague phrase, but I suppose you could be intending to direct me to the collection of decorative barometers.”

“Oooh~ yes, the water swan neck thingies~” Roman said.

Logan launched into an explanation of barometers, most of which Patton didn’t understand.

He checked on Virgil, who was scanning the aisle they were in over and over again, and chewing holes in his poor sleeves.

“She’ll be here in just a minute, don’t worry,” Patton said gently.

Virgil nodded slightly, but didn’t stop checking the ends of the aisle and staring down each person that passed.

And then his eyes went wide. Patton turned to look.

“Mom!”

“Thomas, I thought I lost you for a minute there! Stay close, ok?”

Thomas took his mother’s hand and nodded.

Patton let out a sigh of relief. They weren’t lost anymore.

••^*^••

Thomas was a bit worried about high school, and especially the test coming up, and Logan and Virgil were mostly helping him with that. But now he had to go to the store for groceries. And Roman was exhausted after being all excited over the play and was sound asleep.

So Patton was helping shop!

He smiled confidently, prompting Thomas to look at the list again. He needed to get the ingredients for tacos, and some bread, milk, eggs, and ice cream. Yum!

Now what all went into tacos?

There was meat, and sour cream, and little shredded lettuce, and cheese, and taco shells, or was he supposed to get soft tortillas?

Patton considered, wandering into the store towards the food. Maybe both? Yeah. Both. Oh! And there was the bread! That would probably have tortillas near it!

Patton hummed happily, finding the bread that looked the same as what mom had been getting, noting the brand name. Nature’s Own. Huh.

Now tortillas… what kind did they normally get?

He finally just picked the one that had blue on the label.

Virgil popped up, startling him for a moment, especially with his intense frown. “People are staring. We’re taking too long near the bread, and your humming is gonna make people think Thomas is weird.”

“Oh, it’s alright!” Patton said cheerfully, glad he hadn’t dropped the tortillas. “I didn’t get in anyone’s way, and they haven’t said anything yet about thinking Thomas is weird.”

“Yeah…” Virgil glared at the people milling around and shopping. “Well they could. Just… keep it quiet.”

“Will do!” Patton grinned, and Virgil sunk back out.

Next he had to find… well, next he had to find the next thing. Should he keep walking and hope to see them, or should he seek each one out? He’d stumbled upon the bread, surely he would stumble across the rest.

Patton hummed happily and kept walking, skipping along beside the cart as Thomas pushed it. Thomas must really be out of it, poor guy. But Patton could help him cheer up!

Pretty soon, they had almost everything! Except for taco seasoning. And Patton wasn’t sure if they were supposed to get the kind that was in packets, or the actual spices. And he also wasn’t sure whether he should look in the spices area or the Mexican food area. Or where those areas were.

Surely they’d passed those special Mexican drinks a while back. But where?

Patton encouraged Thomas to turn around and go back, but after several aisles he still couldn’t find anything he was looking for. He turned back around, and then again.

“Perhaps… I need to go from one end all the way to the other…”

Virgil popped up again, rather grumpy looking, but not as much as earlier. “That’s gonna take too long. We’re already late, and Mom is gonna need Thomas home son so she can make dinner.”

Patton sighed. “Ok. Logan, help please, I’m lost.”

Logan popped up, looked around, and then pointed. “That aisle.”

“But how do you know?” Patton asked.

“There’s a sign above it.”

Patton looked up. “Oh. Yeah.” He chuckled. “I should’ve thought to look for signs. Thanks, Logan!”

“You’re welcome. However I do suggest we attempt to make our trip home expedient. I’ll need Virgil’s full attention and assistance to prepare adequately for the test.”

“Will do!” Patton said, already spurring Thomas towards the aisle.

••^*^••

“I have created the ultimate maze!” Roman said excitedly. “It is called Infinite IKEA!”

Patton clapped excitedly, and even Logan gave a single clap.

“I really don’t see the point—“

“The point is a race, Emo Nightmare, and the winner gets to pick which old reruns Thomas watches tonight.”

Virgil tried to pretend he was still disinterested, but Patton could tell he was excited. “So what would we have to do to win the race?”

Roman grinned. “I’ve hidden a copy of each of our logos in the store somewhere, except for mine, which Logan hid by sinking in and placing it in a random place, so he doesn’t know the layout of the store yet. You have to find your own logo, and then exit the store!”

Oh, so that was why Logan had a bump on his head. He’d probably tried to rise up too close to a shelf. Ouch.

“Everybody ready! Set! Go!”

They all rushed into the store. Patton looked around excitedly, getting more excited to see that the store was full of items that came from houses where Thomas had lived or visited. He ran to the section of beds and flopped onto the biggest one.

He let out a comfy sigh, looking up at the roof which, rather than being metal supports and too-bright lights, was intricately painted with something that glowed.

It was amazing.

“You did a really great job, Roman,” Patton said, even though Roman was probably running ahead to win the race— oh! This was a race!

He jumped up and started walking, looking around for his heart with glasses.

After the bed section, where he wished he could stay and flip onto each one, he wandered into the lamps and chandeliers section. That was beautiful. He was still dazzled and in awe walking out. It even had that massive one Thomas had seen in the one hotel once.

And then came books, where Logan was!

“Hi, Logan!”

“Ah, greetings Patton.” Logan was looking through the books, just as captivated as Patton had been by the beds.

“Find your logo yet?”

“Not yet. I’m not overly concerned with winning, and Roman has certainly made this an interesting place to browse.”

“Mhmm!” Patton looked around. “Where are the kids books, I want to see if the Winnie the Pooh book is still chewed on or if Roman made it brand new.”

“That way, two shelves down,” Logan said, rather distracted by a book he’d picked off of the shelf.

“Thank you!”

Patton found the children’s section, and then found the book. It was still chewed on the corners. He smiled, and flipped through the thick cardboard pages. Thomas had loved this book.

And then, when he opened the last page, his logo fell out.

“Awww, look!” He picked it up, and found that it was a sticker. He promptly stuck the sticker to his chest and put the book back. Now all he had to do was find his way out!

He wandered into the next section, which was all dark and purples and blues and blacks and everything cozily packed together.

There was even a sign warning him away from certain aisles, because there would be spiders, and Patton was very glad Roman had thought of that.

And then he remembered the sunglasses stand sitting at the beginning of the lights aisle. That was probably for Virgil. Roman had been so thoughtful in building this! Patton hoped Roman would win. He certainly deserved the prize after putting all this together.

There was a whole section of Disney, all the movies, and posters, and any Disney themed toys and figurines, and even cardboard cut outs! It was lovely and chaotic and colorful, and it bridged Virgil’s section with Roman’s very well.

Roman had every single picture Thomas had ever seen, which was so many pictures!! Patton looked in awe until he realized that the paintbrushes weren’t just for show, some of them had been used. There was a little black cat in the corner of one painting, and a little V, and the paintbrush was in a cup of black water.

Patton found a picture of a field of flowers, and picked up the paintbrush, dabbing a bit of pink onto the picture. It turned instead into exactly the kind of flower Patton had been envisioning! He smiled wide and painted another, and another, and another, and each one turned out beautiful!

He ran to another painting and gave a little boy in the background a balloon and a smile. And then he gave the lady sitting in a rocking chair a baby to hold.

He finally had to stop himself. He could stay here forever, but he probably should get to the end of the store so he wouldn’t worry the others.

He got to the end of Roman’s section, only to find a massive blanket fort. He kept himself from exploring, and passed through, coming out at… the beds again?

Ohhhhh, right. It was a race and a maze.

Patton flopped down on the bed Thomas had grown up with, wrapping up in the blanket. He let out a happy sigh.

“Logan! Roman! Virgil! I’m lost! But I’m also gonna stay lost!”

Roman rose up and leaned against the footboard, a pleased smile on his face. “Enjoying the store?”

“I’m loving it!” Patton said happily, sitting up. “You did a really good job!”

Roman glowed. “I guess I’ll have to leave it up for you to wander in then. Once Virgil finds the exit I’ll put it somewhere more obvious so you can get out once you’re done.”

“Oh, did you and Logan already get out? Who won?”

“Logan, but only by a few minutes. He hid my logo in a hard place! How was I supposed to guess he’d put it under the makeup stash?”

Patton chuckled. “Wait, I didn’t see that.”

“It’s in Virgil’s section, in one of the spider aisles. I can un-spider it for you if you want.”

“Well, let Virgil have his fun first, but I’d really like that.” Patton smiled. He could have fun in here for a long time. “You did an amazing job with the paintings too! I loved those!”

Roman puffed up happily. “I did, didn’t I?”

There was a distant, triumphant, “Ha! I made it! Wait, Princey beat me? Aww.”

Patton giggled.

Roman patted his shoulder. “Have fun.”

“I will!” Patton said happily, eyeing the blanket fort which he now had time to explore.

—————

If you enjoyed, please reblog! And consider supporting me as I try to make a living off of writing 😊

[quarantinevibes2020]

LoveDrug

Summary:  That trope where someone's eyes dilate when they see someone they love. That's it. That's the whole fic. OR Virgil and his accomplice play matchmakers for some literal star-crossed lovers.

Word count: 2198

Pairing: Romantic Roman/ Logan (college AU)

Warnings: drinking (not underage), other drugs mentioned but no one uses any

Yes this happened to me. Hush and let me project

AO3 Link

Roman was going to murder his roommate. Or at least shave an eyebrow off in his sleep.

He had been trying to navigate a small apartment decorated in polaroids and newspaper paintings, crowded with people he didn’t know. He had done his best flitting around from group to group: parties weren’t exactly a foreign entity to him and usually he would relish in the chance to make new friends. However, he had been looking for a particularly stormy visage among the sea of people.

He locked eyes with his target: Virgil Kross, aforementioned roommate who had dragged him here in the beginning of the night and told him to stay close before uncharacteristically darting off.

The get together was for everyone in Virgil’s physics class and when Roman found him, Virgil was propped up against a wall and sitting on some steps, swirling around a cider and talking to someone in square glasses and an almost comically over-formal button down.

Virgil caught his eye and lifted an eyebrow. Roman shook his head in a restrained don’t you dare Virgil I swear sort of way. Virgil either didn’t see it or outright ignored him. He waved Roman over, made some sort of excuse that Roman didn’t hear, and left the two alone.

Roman was going to fill Virgil’s pillowcase with popcorn kernels. He was going to tape his toothbrush to the ceiling. He was going to hide his socks in the freezer. He was going to-

“Roman?”

Roman sucked in a breath, litany of threats against his horrible, no good roommate suddenly coming to a halt.

In front of him sat Logan Nova, Virgil’s study partner from when he had taken astronomy a semester ago and also, less important, the person Roman had been pining for ever since Virgil had dragged them on their fieldtrip in September. The class was supposed to map out the stars they saw, identify them, and measure their distances or something. Roman didn’t really keep track of the details. He wasn’t even too interested in looking at the stars, coming from a city where they were mostly blocked out by the light pollution.

And sure, they were pretty in the open sky, but not prettier than the wide eyes that drank them in, than the elated expression that same face had when Roman asked him a question about the class since Virgil was off probably shotgunning a beer with their professor and Roman was bored out of his mind. Logan had shown Roman his star maps and pulled out a worn out textbook with tenderly placed bookmarks of his favorite constellations. Roman had been fascinated by the stories behind them and the two spent the night going through the book, cover to cover.

By the end, Roman was sure he never thought the stars were beautiful until he saw them reflected in Logan’s eyes.

Virgil continued to bring Logan over, even after their astronomy classes had ended, sometimes completely unannounced, before flouncing off to run some errands with his art major friends (how Virgil managed to double major never ceased to amaze Roman, especially given that both those majors were so hard). And for the past six months, Roman had gone from crushing to something close to besotted. It wasn’t something very easy to hide so the next time Roman caught that spider he was going to put ice down his back and-

“Um, there aren’t anymore seats. I can move if you’d like?”

Logan’s voice brought Roman back to the present. He took an extra swig of his drink, hoping that Logan wouldn’t notice how he almost downed it for the courage, and shook his head.

“Scooch on over, Specs, we can share,” Roman said, the burn behind his sternum fueling his words.

Logan laughed, a little bubbly and Roman guessed that his cup was full of something with a similar texture, and moved for Roman to balance on half the seat.

Roman took another sip, looking out over the room of people.

“So this is what you physics people do on a Friday night, huh?” Roman asked, a little teasingly, “not bad.”

Logan bumped him and Roman barely kept his heart from fluttering out of his chest like a frantic dove.

“Did you see how drunk half the class got at the Meteor Fields?”

Roman snorted, “Fair. We almost had to carry Virgil back to the room.”

“You almost had to carry him. I did carry him.”

Roman made a noise of offense, “Excuse me! I am a knight in shining armor! Not a carriage!”

Logan laughed and Roman finally turned to look at him, startling when his face was much closer than he had anticipated.

“I don’t appreciate that I am the carriage in this metaphor,” Logan said with a faux-pout. Roman wanted to quip something back, but he had something of an elephant-sized lump in his throat. Logan tilted his head before leaning in. Roman just barely managed not to squeak.

“Goodness,” Logan said, “your eyes are so dilated!”

Roman blinked, taking another sip of his drink and trying to will a blush down.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah!” Logan exclaimed back, leaning in even more and woo-boy was he close.

Roman looked to his drink slightly, not able to hold Logan’s wide eyes for a second without turning cherry-red.

“It’s pretty bright in here, they shouldn’t be,” Roman said, trying to ‘science it out’ like Logan loved to do. Logan, mercifully to Roman’s thundering pulse, sat back a bit: considering.

“Well. Quite a few things can cause one’s pupils to dilate. Lack of light. Opiate withdrawal. Looking at someone you’re attracted to. Love. Parasympathetic activat-”

“Coke,” Roman nearly choked out. Logan paused in the list he was rattling off and blinked.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Coke. I did coke. Just- whole line of cocaine all in one gulp.”

Logan furrowed his eyebrows. “You don’t drink cocaine, Roman. Furthermore-”

Roman didn’t hear the rest of Logan’s sentence. He pushed off the wire seating, sputtering out something about refilling his drink, and made a beeline for the back exit.

When he got to the balcony, he nearly slammed his head into the corner of the railing.

Well Roman thought miserably better for him to think you’re on drugs than hopelessly in love with him. Really dodged a bullet there.

The thought didn’t help. Roman let out a groan and let himself slump. He poked his legs between the columns of the balcony and swung his feet. Above him, the sky was hazy. The moon was barely visible as it peeked through a curtain of clouds. Not a star in the sky. A part of Roman thought that was rather fitting given how royally he had just messed up.

A door opened and closed behind him. For a moment, Roman thought it was Virgil from how quiet the footsteps were and was about to get up and tell him he was heading out when he turned around.

Logan Nova, adorable wavy black hair and now slightly-crumpled but still endearing button down, was staring back at him. Clutching his drink a little as he moved to sit next to Roman. He didn’t say anything for a moment. Then-

“Whoever your dealer is, I don’t think they gave you cocaine,” he finally said.

Roman swiveled around to meet his eyes. Logan’s eyebrows furrowed even further.

“Your eyes are dilated again. And while that is a symptom of its ingestion, your behavior otherwise does not indicate its use.”

Something bubbled out of Roman’s throat. For a horrifying moment, Roman thought it was his drink trying to take revenge, but no- it was laughter. Croaky at first, but rapidly devolving into full-bellied howling.

“Perhaps I misjudged?” Logan said after Roman’s guffaws continued, Roman shook his head, trying to stop the shake in his shoulders as Logan, obviously more than a little concerned at Roman’s ‘illicit drug use’, got more and more worried by the minute.

“I didn’t do any drugs, Logan,” Roman finally got out between heaving breaths. Logan stuck out his bottom lip a little.

“But you said..?”

Roman waved at him, he must have misjudged the distance because his hand caught Logan’s shoulder but Roman didn’t feel like moving it.

“I know what I said,” Roman said, laughter trickling, “I know, it was stupid, I promise though. I haven’t had anything besides this crappy beer and,” Roman took in a breath, now or never he guessed, “maybe a little love,” he finished quietly, not sure whether he should thank the alcohol or curse it for letting him say it.

Logan’s eyebrows shot up, “Lovedrug? Like ecstacy?!”

“What?!” Roman shot back, looking incredulous before rubbing his face, “NO, not- not lovedrug you-UGH- how are you smart but so dense??”

Logan only blinked in return. Roman supposed he deserved that.

“Lo,” Roman said, taking his legs out of the balcony and setting them in a lazy kneel, “what were the things you listed off for making someone’s eyes dilate?”

Logan’s nose scrunched, “Em. Parasympathetic activation?”

“Keep going,” Roman said, exasperated but woefully fond.

“Ecstasy would certainly be on the list.”

“Logan.”

Logan huffed, “Ah. I believe I also said looking at someone you’re attract-”

Logan stopped. His expression almost sent Roman into hysterics again but he didn’t give in because if he did he might have ended up crying.

“Oh,” Logan said in a small voice.

“Yeah, oh” Roman echoed softly, “sorry I lied, I kind of just. Panicked. A little.”

“So you led me to believe you had taken a bad strain of cocaine?” Logan replied, voice strained but still shocked out of emotion.

Roman squirmed. “Yee. My bad, you don’t- you know. Have to say anything though. I know you don’t- I just wanted you to know since you seemed a little freaked that I was having a bad drug reaction.”

“You know I don’t what?” Logan asked suddenly as he spun to face Roman. Roman looked down and scratched his nose.

“You don’t-ugh. Don’t make me say it dude, you know what I mean.”

“Roman, look at me.”

Boy, Logan was not making it easy. But he supposed if he was going to get rejected, he should look at him straight in the eyes. At least he’d retain some of his dignity then. Roman lifted his chin.

“What color are my eyes?”

Roman blinked, a little caught off-guard from the question. Was it that obvious that Roman had been waxing poetic about Logan’s eyes in his own mind from the moment he had met him? How they caught the light and sucked it in, like two galaxies swirling in his irises. How his lashes curled naturally, almost touching his brow bone when they were alight with wonder. How it didn’t even matter now that he couldn’t see a star in the sky because they were all caught in Logan’s eyes. They were a force of gravity pulling him in and everything else with them.

“…black?” Roman said, tamping down on his raging thoughts. Logan cocked his head.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked.

Roman almost would have been offended if Logan hadn’t chosen that moment to tug Roman’s chin towards him.

“Look closer,” Logan said.

Breathe, dumbass Roman’s brain said. He listened to both as he squinted.

There were still the swirling galaxies in the middle. The soft gaze did nothing to curb that, but there- Roman tilted his head as he saw something else. Like the sun brimming over the earth, a honey brown at the very edges. Logan must have seen Roman’s expression as he realized it.

“My eyes are amber, Roman.”

There was something in Logan’s voice, it was the same one he used when he was helping Roman with his GenEd calc class. Like he was trying to lead him somewhere. If Logan’s eyes were amber, then his pupils must have been massive because they took up the majority of the…oh.

“But-I-I don’t,” Roman stuttered.

“What were the reasons for someone’s eyes to dilate?” Logan pushed.

“Didn’t take you for a coke guy,” Roman said, trying for cool but bordering on watery. Logan huffed, his face was so close that Roman could feel the breath.

Then, Logan’s lips were on his own and suddenly Roman could care less about eyes.

“Logan,” Roman breathed, smiling when he pulled him forward into another kiss. He turned to pepper more along his jaw bone. Logan giggled. Roman tried to stamp the sound into his brain.

“You’re amazing, you know. Amazing, smart, beautiful, so beautiful,” Roman whispered, half out of his mind as he tugged on the hair at the nape of Logan’s neck.

“Are you sure that’s not the alcohol talking?” Logan managed, though it came out a bit garbled.

“Nothing can addle my brain more than your beauty already has,” Roman replied instantly, pulling Logan in again.

-

Behind the window of the balcony, a blue sweater clad boy adjusted his round glasses and gleefully took a five dollar bill from a pouting spider.

“I told you all they needed was a little push,” whispered the glasses boy.

“Fucking finally,” replied the spider, not missing his five dollars all that much.

[neocatharsis]

Ten on his new Represent capsule, grappling with creativity, and evading genre lines.

As Ten Lee - a vocalist and dancer in K-pop groups NCT (with whom he debuted in 2016) and Super M, and Chinese group WayV - is musing over his proclivity for partnering music or visual styles in a way that others deem strange, he veers off on a tangent. “Anything can be matched… except juice and coffee,” he says, suddenly. “Those two should never be.” Ten is infamously anti-fruit. It stems from a mistaken process of association in childhood where “I had the image of a spider and the image of fruit mixed up,” he laughs awkwardly, “so now whenever I put fruit in my mouth, I think there’s spiders in my mouth.”

Random abstractions such as this pepper his rapid-fire conversation, like small fireworks fizzing through the dark. Excitable, enthused and sharply alert, if Ten’s energy was visible it would be a shimmering mantle of gold and silver dust. As a dancer, he moves with a sinuous, controlled power that can shift from elegant to explosive on a single beat. As a visual artist, the Bangkok-born, multilingual 25-year-old recently added the title of designer to his growing list of achievements, launching an already sold out collaboration with the bespoke merch platform Represent.

Aptly, he named his collaboration “What is ??? THE ANSWERS”, for although being a chameleonic artist is one of Ten’s greatest strengths, the personality traits that enable this created within him question marks around how he saw himself fitting into the world. “People ask me, ‘What kind of music do you like?’ And I say, ‘I like R&B but hope it sounds rock’. And they’re like, ‘That doesn’t make sense’.” It was troubling to Ten that people began telling him who he was and how he should be, instead of accepting him as is.

In a recent Instagram Live, the myriad of Ten’s contrasts tumble forthwith. He’s the doting cat-dad. His inner emo, who loves rock music, shows off dried roses, with the stern, black, geometric lines of the large tattoo on his inner right arm sometimes visible. But he’s also delicate in a way, with his butterfly tattoo and hair lightly permed, who names daisies as his other favourite flower, and plays Fousheé’s breathy TikTok hit, 'Deep End'.

“Have you seen the image where I have my name in a cross in lots of different languages?” He pulls the image up on his phone. The design sits on his Represent long sleeve tee. “I was thinking [about this], like, what you’re saying... Ten has this luvvie flower side and a very ‘rawwrr!’ side. I’m always like, ‘Ten, what kind of person are you?’ I do ask myself that, too, because everything I like is so different [to the other].” He could have conceded, and reined himself in. He’s pushed back instead. “I thought, ‘I can be anything I want, I can be this in the morning and this at night. I can be any person I want to be’. And that’s what makes me comfortable and happy.”

On his Instagram, Polaroids feature scrawled messages, like “Don’t tell me what to do!” and “Whatever! I’ll do it my way”. The designs of his collaboration seek to challenge being boxed in by other people’s standards, thus limiting ourselves. The recurring symbol of a cross tipped with arrows is a nod to the Chinese letter for 10, but doubles as a plus sign. He’s added it to his Instagram, writing “TEN_+•10” in his bio. “A plus sign can mean that you’re adding on and growing.” He points to another version of the arrow-cross, one with short diagonal dashes between its points that symbolise light. It means, he says, “that I’m radiating. I’m burning, I’m active, I’m doubling myself.” He touches his forearm, where crowning his geometric tattoo is a blazing sun. “I have this, like, if you want to be the light, you have to burn. I relate to that.”

This isn’t to say Ten’s self-exploration is complete. While celebrating his strengths, the artwork also portrays parts of himself not yet conquered. He admits to being a chronic overthinker: “Even very small things that happen to me, I rethink a thousand times, and I get stressed out because of the things I do. Like, the main theme [here] is me overthinking but trying to find an answer even though it doesn’t have any answer.” Fittingly, spiral shapes dominate his designs, looming large amongst bright, bold shapes that evoke 80s Pop Art and graffiti, though Ten shies away from defining himself as “fully an artist, I’m not in the position to say things like that yet.”

“I’m still learning and trying new things. You learn by getting different elements from different people and I’m in that stage now.” He enjoys wandering the infinite halls of Instagram and Pinterest where he screenshots art that he likes, lost in the images, often for hours. He explains that he’s mostly influenced by whatever his current visual obsession is. “I’m interested in tattoos lately so my paintings look like tattoo designs. I’m that person who, when they see stuff, it goes into my brain and instantly comes out from my hands,” he laughs.

Ten’s introduction to art and design was through his mother, who believed music, art and sport were more important in a child’s development than traditional academia. “She didn’t care if I got an A* or not, just don’t get an F or a D,” he grins. Like any kid forced to do something, Ten railed against spending his weekends at art school. He attended but he didn’t draw. He befriended his teacher and other pupils and, as they worked, he chatted. “I was a very talkative kid! When I came to SM Entertainment (in 2013), I had a lot of my own time because my parents were in Thailand and I was alone. I had to absorb all the new culture and adapt to a new environment.’” When he felt surrounded by “negative energy”, he began drawing, enamoured with the space and freedom it offered because in art, as he often says, “there’s no right answer.”

There is, however, sometimes a middle ground. His goal was to make the Represent collection accessible to his diverse fanbase. “I wanted to make things that people can easily wear because it was my first project to make something with clothes and it’s a collab. If you go too far out, no one will get it. If you go too far back, people won’t reach for it. So finding the middle ground is important but that’s the hardest thing to do. If it’s my own project, I’ll be like, ‘I’m the president of this brand, I’m gonna make all the weird clothes that I can imagine!’”

He sought second opinions to ensure his designs landed the way he hoped. “I have a lot of good friends around me - my choreographer, (SHINee and Super M member) Taemin hyung, my manager. I randomly ask people I’m comfortable with and have known for a long time, like Mark (Lee, of NCT and Super M). Mark has the same kind of perspective as me, but I’m a person who is arrghhh!” He waves his hands in the air. “And he’s very calm. I need a person who is opposite of me because when I’m in a mood, I talk nonsense - ‘I wanna do this, I wanna do that, I wanna make this!’ - and Mark’s like,’Bro, calm down’,” he says in a rather uncanny impression of the Canadian-Korean.

Ten works fast when he’s drawing. He has to. He describes his personality as someone who can't wait until the next day to do something. “I’m very impatient,” he smiles. “If I’m going to paint or draw, I’m going to finish it in, like, two hours. I can’t sit down for three hours.” When inspiration hits him, it’s off the back of deep contemplation, sometimes about the mundane - “Like, why do the cats come to me when they’re hungry only? Is it selfish or instinct? - at other times, something affecting him emotionally.

But whereas his job as a singer and dancer sees him project his energy outwards, art offers the opposite. He’s often alone in his room when he works. As is for many artists, the right mood is fundamental. “When I’m in a good mood, I can’t draw,” he half-sighs. It’s also a multi-sensory process. “Smell or the temperature of the room, that really helps me draw. I light three or four candles. And when I draw, it’s kind of heavy, the feeling,” he explains. “It feels like you’re sinking into something, into yourself, and everything seems so small. Everything narrows down into me, my pencil, the paper.”

The more work he does in different creative mediums, the less Ten’s desire is to keep them separate. His art, dance and music influence each other, whether it’s customising his own collaboration pieces, a choreography video in an art gallery or dancing underwater with a film crew. When someone tells him that something won’t work or match up well, he refuses to let the idea go until he’s attempted it.

“I’ve had that since I was young. I think everything is possible. If you don’t try, you don’t know. When people say it’s impossible, like dancing in water for three minutes, I’m like, then let’s make it possible. You don’t need to walk a straight line [in life], you can walk this way,” Ten says, pointing along an invisible line before switching sharply in direction. “Then go back on track, go that way, come back. No one should tell you to walk in a line, I don’t see the point of that.”

© Clash Magazine

[the-angriestpineapple]

liability // villain!sero hanta x femreader

Rating: Explicit Characters: (Villain) Sero Hanta Inspiration: My piece for the Citrus Dome Discord server’s Hero/Villain Redemption Collaboration. Okay listen, I love Sero Hanta and this boy does not nearly get enough credit for what a good boy he is. Get ready to thirst for a tape dispenser folks. Prompt:  You’re captured by a villain/hero. This is a double whammy! The character you pick must be written with the opposite alignment. So, if they are heroes, they must be portrayed as villains. If they are villains, they must be depicted as heroes. On top of that, you (reader) or they must try and corrupt or redeem the other character! Tags: Villain!Sero Hanta, bondage, shibari, overstimulation, oral, vaginal sex,  abuse, talk of sexual assault. (The last two are not Sero and only last like, a paragraph or two.) Word Count: ~6.4k Collab Masterlist here

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The museum was dead silent with the exception of your brush making slow, careful strokes on the painting you were working on. Of course, it was expected that it was dead silent. You were at work near in the middle of the night. It wasn’t that the restoration department was noisy during the day, but there was always some sort of audio. Someone talking, other people working, someone sipping tea. And for this specific piece, you wanted absolute silence to concentrate. Not even music. Dead silence. It was the first time you’d found a piece by your absolute favorite artist and you had begged to be the one to restore it. But in order to concentrate as much as you felt you needed to, there had to be no noise. So you’d gotten permission to stay late, after the museum closed. And you were grateful. This was going to be the absolute highlight of your career. You pause to dip your brush into the specialty varnish remover and hear a noise. You pause, and glance at the clock. It wasn’t time for the security guard to make the rounds. You immediately feel on edge. No one else is supposed to be here. Maybe… maybe something just fell over in the artifact room.  You grab your cell phone, trying not to think about how utterly impossible that is, and turn on your flashlight app. You exit your offices in the restoration department and head to the next door, where the artifacts not currently on display are held. It’s possible that the security guard made rounds early. Likely more possible than something falling over. Especially since the door to the artifact room is ajar. You’d go in, see the guard, and then maybe it was time to head home. You make it only a handful of steps in before you hear something that sounds vaguely familiar, and you’re quickly wrapped in some kind of tape. You immediately struggle but lose your balance, falling to the ground. Your phone skids away from you and slides directly under a shelf. You stare at the spot in dismay and when someone speaks up behind you, you freeze at the voice.

“Hm. This won’t do. Intel said there’s only one security guard and I already took care of him.” A booted foot pushes on your bound torso to roll you over. You look up, and your captor’s eyes widen the same time that yours does. He breathes out your name in surprise. Immediate glee rises in you. He recognizes you. Sero Hanta, love of your life from middle school, recognizes you all these years later. But that giddy schoolgirl elation is shoved down when you remember that he’s a villain and is obviously here to steal from your museum. His mouth curls into a grin just as yours falls to a frown. “What are you doing here, Sero?” Not that you don’t already know. Your museum might not be the Tokyo National Museum, but it held some pretty priceless artifacts. “I would think that’s obvious, if you recognize me. How have you been?” His head tilts to the side and your frown deepens. “You look good.” I look good? Part of you feels your heart skip at the compliment. Part of you flares up in indignation, wondering how he has the absolute gall to say that to you when you’re bound from shoulders to hips in tape, on the floor of your place of work that he’s about to rob. Though if you’re behind completely honest, he looks good too. You’d always been partial to his angular face and wide smile, but now he had lean, powerful looking muscles. His hair was still long but pulled back, and the underside of his head shaved. His outfit was a parody on his hero costume, a skin-tight body suit of mostly black with white and yellow accents. He didn’t wear a helmet anymore, but did have a black face mask. Like the kind you wore when you were sick. He had an air of confidence around him that was undeniably attractive. But you guessed that one would become a bit arrogant with as many successful heists as he’s pulled off. He’d never been caught once, even though he had former classmates that were specifically looking to take him down. And now here you were, throwing a wrench in and possibly fucking it all up. As far as you knew Sero had never actually murdered anyone, but there had been a lot of thefts with no witnesses. What if there were, and he just disposed of them? What if he did that to you? Your breath catches in your throat, and you flinch away from him when he crouches down. He still has that grin on his face. “So, if you don’t mind, I’ll get back to it and figure out what I’m gonna do with you later.” He taps your nose and rises again. “You’re just going to leave me here on the floor taped up like this?!” You start to struggle again, but his tape is strong. You can barely move.  “Afraid so,” he says with a sympathetic look. “This is an important heist, and I can’t have you fucking it up for me.” He starts perusing the various artwork. You’re not sure if he is looking for something in particular, since right now he looks more like he’s shopping than about to rob the place. You watch his movements carefully, cataloging all the pieces he touches. At least, that’s what you want to pretend you’re doing. You know that you’re watching the fluid motion of his muscles through his skin tight costume. The way his eyes light up at a particularly valuable piece. The wide, friendly smile that you remember from middle school is surely under that black mask. He’d been playfully teased by your classmates for that smile, but it had always made your heart flutter. Despite his looking, Sero doesn’t seem to be finding anything of interest. He’d even picked up some very expensive pieces before putting them back down. It doesn’t take long for your curiosity to get the better of you. “Um, are you looking for something in particular?” Sero looks at you with an expression of mild surprise. It’s only a split second though before the confident grin is back on. “Why, you willing to help me out?” His eyebrow raises and you flush a little.  “Of course not,” you fire back immediately. You’re just curious if he is looking for a certain item. There’s a few things that he can think of that he might be looking for. But Sero hasn’t turned away from you.  “You know, for a small museum this is a rather large room. You might just be useful to me.” He only now shifts back to continue to peruse through the paintings. “I am looking for a piece in particular, as you said. The original Hinakuawa pond painting. I saw that it was taken off display.” It’s a good thing he’d turned away from you, because he missed the moment of your eyes widening before you forced a neutral face. That painting was taken off display because it was on loan to another museum, one hours from here. “Ah. Lotus Daydream. Yes, that painting is kept in this room when it is not on display.” Luckily the bulk of your artwork was flat pieces, so this was the largest storeroom. Maybe you could keep Sero distracted while he searched for a painting that wasn’t there, until your security guard woke up and signaled the police – and the heroes – to come save you. It was as good of a plan as any, and considering your current predicament… the only plan you really had. He glances at you when you don’t willingly point out where it is, then shrugs and keeps looking himself. He doesn’t seem inclined to keep talking. The silence gets to you after a few minutes. “So, um… it’s been a long time. I… see you on the news a lot.” You wince inwardly. What a stupid start. But Sero doesn’t seem to think so apparently. He gives you a side smirk. “Yeah? You watching me on the news?” The teasing in his tone was obvious and you flush again. “You’re on it a lot, to be fair.” Which wasn’t incorrect. Sero Hanta was on the news a few times a week with another successful theft. He infuriated the police and the heroes, especially the ones who used to be his friends. “What can I say, I’m good at what I do.” He winks at you and turns back to examining the artwork. I bet you are. The thought comes immediately, and your breath catches for a moment. It’s almost funny. The Sero you knew, that you had been hopelessly in love with, had been awkward. He smiled a lot, and he was laid back, but he didn’t have this confidence that seemed to be oozing out of this Sero. Your Sero had been lanky. Long-limbed and almost spider like. But his kindness and thoughtfulness had been what made you fall first. You had also been awkward, and very quiet. You didn’t even know if he’d known who you were. You’d been partnered with him for an English project once and you’d barely been able to communicate with him for it in person. He’d been so sweet and patient. And now… now he was the most notorious thief in Japan. With the body of a god and confidence of a rock star. It makes you squirm a little in your restraints. “And you, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, much less someone like you. Is it normal for you to work this late?” You know it’s probably just him trying to case the museum, to see where he made an error, but you shake your head anyway. “No, I was working on a piece that is very important to me.” You see an eyebrow raise, and hurry to continue. “Not Lotus Daydream. It’s another artist, one much smaller. It does not have a lot of monetary value, but he’s my favorite painter.” You get a soft look on your face when you think about it. Sero gives a tiny, indulgent smile. “Sounds important to you.” “Yeah, it is.”  “Any particular reason?” Hm. You can’t think of a good reason why he would ask that question to benefit him. And telling a story is going to take up time. You look away from Sero, focusing instead on an old painting of a rice paddy in the corner. “Well… I didn’t have a lot of contact with my father when I was younger. It wasn’t until I was in high school that I was able to talk to him at all. My mother hated him, and hated that I was just like him, so she kept me from him while telling me that he didn’t want to see me.” It didn’t bother you anymore. It did back then, but you now had good relationships with both of your parents. You’d forgiven your mother long ago. “My father is an art collector. Talking to him got me interested in it too, and my interest and skills landed me in an art restoration career.” You pause, looking up at Sero. He’s looking at you curiously. “That artist had a small exhibit near his house, and that was where my father took me as an outing the first time I’d seen him since I was five.” Sero tilts his head slightly as he digests this information. “Oh. Yeah, I can see why that’s important to you. So you didn’t have an interest in art in middle school? I always saw that you were reading, but I never saw what.” He leans against a glass case, now more focused on you than what he’s looking for. “No. I, um, I wasn’t very outgoing. I preferred to be in the back of the room with a book. I wasn’t teased or anything like that, and I was more or less happy. I just didn’t know how to talk to my classmates the way the popular kids did.” You give a small, wry chuckle. “It was even worse when it came to you, since I liked you.” What??? Your eyes shoot wide just as one of Sero’s brows raise. “You liked me?” He pulls his face mask down and now you can see as his wide mouth curls up into a grin. As much as you don’t want to dive into this topic, you do notice that all of his attention is now on you instead of the artwork surrounding you both. So you decide to play it up a little.  You lower your eyes for a moment before shyly looking up at him through your lashes and nodding. You still did, if you were being entirely honest, despite his criminal record. His grin widens even more and he pushes off the case, sauntering over to where you’re sitting. One elbow crooks and he shoots tape at the ceiling. It sticks around a beam and holds, and he tears it from his elbow only to shoot another from the other one. You’re silent as he hoists you up to a standing position and adheres the pieces to the tape on your back. Keeping you there on your tip toes, off the floor just enough that you couldn’t put your feet flat on the ground. “And you didn’t say anything back then? I would have been thrilled to know that you felt that way.” Your breath hitches. Really? Had you wasted your chance back then? And is that what you’re going to think about right now when he’s here in the middle of the night attempting to rob your museum? But Sero’s moving in closer, and your eyes widen fractionally as your toes scramble a bit in an effort to back up. He notices and smirks. “And how about now? Is what I do a turn off?” His eyes are staring into yours, his voice dropping low. “Or… is it a turn on?” Your breath hitches, and your heart is beating so hard you’re sure he can hear it. He’s so close, and you can’t get away. Though… you know that you really don’t want to. He exhales slowly, his breath ghosting over your lips, before he closes the distance between your mouths. His lips are thin and slightly chapped, but he obviously knows what he’s doing. His mouth moves slowly, almost teasingly as he coaxes your mouth to move with his. He presses in closer to place one hand on the middle of your back and slide down to the small. You aren’t sure what exactly it is – the fact that you’re bound, the fact that you’re at your job, the fact that you liked him, the fact that he’s a criminal, or maybe all of them – but this is the most amazing kiss you’ve had in a while. If ever. There is the beginning of a knot of heat in your core as his tongue licks your lower lip, your mouth immediately opening to allow him entrance. You whimper slightly into the kiss, the noise turning into a soft whine when he pulls away from you. You open your eyes to see him smirking down at you. He’s still holding your body pressed to his, and you can easily feel without your hands how firm his muscles are. How strong he is. He has to be, really, to be able to swing around on his tape as fluidly as he does. But Sero had always been strong. You remember seeing him in the Sports Festival back when he went to UA High School, remember him during the cavalry battle. How he had easily caught a young Ground Zero in mid air with one arm and tossed him back on top of their group. You’d had that in your mind for months after the fact. “I guess it’s a turn on,” he murmurs, one hand going up to tuck an errant strand of hair behind your ear. “So now the real question is… how much of a turn on is it?” He leans close, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “You gonna let me get into that dress? I’d like to know what you taste like.” Your breath hitches, a shiver going down your spine. You want it, so fucking badly, but are you bold enough to let him? Well, it’s not like you have much of a choice, you reason with yourself. Sure, it’s probable that he won’t touch you if you say no, but you’re bound. Helpless. At his mercy. You hold your breath as he pulls back just far enough to look into your eyes, and you give the slightest nod on the exhale. His mouth curls into another smirk and he lets you go to back away. You look at him in confusion until he shoots more tape at the ceiling – two strands, that he attaches to your ankles and uses to keep your legs yanked into the air. Your dress hikes up to your hips when he pushes your thighs up and ties his tape to each one. This leaves you splayed open, suspended in front of him. On display for his dark eyes to rove over. He steps close to you again, both hands running on the outside of your thighs until they reach your hips. Then he moves to his knees to put himself at face level with your core. “Mm. Already wet for me, I see,” he says in a husky, teasing tone. Before you can formulate a quippy answer the hands on your hips dig in and he pulls your forward to his mouth. His wide, flat tongue licks up your damp panties and your breath is ripped from your lungs. He lets out a pleasurable groan. “Delicious. Just like I thought. But I’m sure it’d be better without these in the way.” Sero hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them to the side before repeating his tongue drag. This time it pulls a strangled moan from you. He lets out another groan in response and pulls back just enough to look at you from between your legs. “That’s it, make more of those noises for me.” And he pulls you back in. You’d had oral sex before, sure. Roughly half of the guys you dated did it, and a decent number of them enjoyed it. It had always astounded you how much a guy wanted your mouth on his dick but didn’t want to return the favor. Sero Hanta, on the other hand, ate you like he was starving and you were the most decedant thing he’d ever tasted. His hands kept you pressed tightly to his face to the point that you’d probably be concerned for his ability to breathe if you could string a thought together. He seems like he’s everywhere at once. His tongue lapping up your sex before dipping inside of it, back out to drag up and circle your clit. Now and then he’d suck or gently bit it, causing a sharp increase in the moans he was pulling out of you. He had you strung up in a way that you really could only see the top of his head as he worked you over, so you could never quite tell what was coming next. You let out a noise of surprise that tapers into a moan when his first finger breaches you. “Look at you,” he breathes as he presses kisses to the insides of your thighs. “Opening right up for me.” He leans back far enough to be able to catch your eyes. “Such a good girl.” He curls his long, dexterous finger up to press against the small, spongy spot inside you that has you bucking in your restraints. He grins. Sero knows exactly what he’s doing. He slides his finger out only to press two back in as he leans forward. “Cum for me, babe?” he breathes out across your sex before wrapping his lips back around your clit. The sucking sensation coupled with the press against that spot inside you has you crying out and coming apart around him. He rolls his fingers as you ride through it while gently licking at your clit, your hips jerking and trying to get away from the over-stimulation. You’re slightly dazed as he rises up, grabbing your hips again and pressing his bulge into your soaked folds. Despite how sensitive you are, you can’t help but buck back into him. “Can I use your mouth, babe?” He tilts his head slightly, grinning when you enthusiastically nod your consent. You can’t quite find words, so… body language. Sero pulls a blade out from somewhere around his hip and cuts the tape to let your legs down. More tape shoots off, more tape is cut, you don’t really have the capacity to follow what he’s doing. Then you’re being moved. Sero tilts you forward until your face is level with his hips, but your toes are still just skimming the floor again. He has your hips bound up a little higher than your head and you look at him from under your lashes. He reaches out to skim fingers down the line of your jaw. “Beautiful,” he mumbles. Your heart swells with the praise, and you bite your lip before opening your mouth, sticking your tongue out, and looking back up at him. He curses under his breath and flicks his fingers under a nearly invisible seam at the crotch of his suit, revealing a button and long zipper. How convenient, you think as he undoes both and pulls his cock out through the hole. He immediately drops it so the head bounces on your tongue, hissing at how warm your tongue is. His cock isn’t particularly wide, but it is long and slightly curved upward. And he tastes so good, you really want to close your mouth and get to work, but you wait. He rocks his hips marginally to let the head slide a few centimetres and bites his lip.  “Fuck. You are a good girl. Go ahead and close your mouth, babe.” You happily oblige, feeling a thrill at the way his head tips back when you swirl your tongue around the head. He drops a large hand on your head but instead of guiding your head further down like most of the guys you’ve been with, he winds his fingers gently in your hair. His thumb starts rubbing soft circles on your head as he rocks his hips into your mouth. You want more. You’re very confident that you can take him down to the root, and you want to try. You try to push forward but it’s very awkward with your toes scrambling on the floor. He notices once you whine a little, and looks down with a chuckle. “You want more?” He steps forward a little, letting more of his length slide in until he bumps into the back of your throat. You let out a small moan and let your tongue dance around his underside to show your approval. He makes a guttural noise and starts to rock his hips into you faster. Harder. You hollow out your cheeks as you look up at him and he moans.  “Shit, I’m not gonna last if you do that,” he rasps out with a slight laugh. He manages a few more thrusts before he’s pulling out of your mouth. He’s panting a little and looking at you with a lopsided grin. "Damn babe, you're good with that mouth." You flush a little and smile. You’d been told that before, but somehow it was so much better coming from Sero. "Thanks. You're um, you're good with your tape." Sero’s face brightens, and his mouth curls up to a wide grin as he tucks himself back into his suit. "Yeah? Think so? You haven't seen the half of it.” Before you can question what he means by that the switchblade is out again. He cuts you down and lets you find your feet. The blade gets positioned at your hip, then Sero’s wrist flicks up. It cuts you out of the tape… and out of your dress.  “Sorry babe,” he murmurs with no real remorse in his voice. You open your mouth to protest your ruined dress but Sero pulls you close, pressing your bare chest to his body suit clad one and kiss you into silence. It’s not important. You have a dress in your locker. It’s fine. As you’re kissing you feel his fingers caress the line of your panties, along your hips, before he pulls on them slightly. He’s testing to see if he can remove them, you assume. You quickly pull them further down.  He chuckles into your kiss and swiftly crouches to help you out of them before tucking them into a nearly invisible back pocket. He gives you a cheeky grin and quickly removes the tape from your ankles. Technically you’re free now, but the thought to run doesn’t even cross your mind. You just wait until he straightens up and moves back in for more kisses. After a few moments you hear his tape shoot out again three times. He pulls back as he shoots a fourth. It binds around your bare chest, just under your breasts. “The anchor,” he says with a wink.  You tilt your head in confusion, and he pulls his arm back to rest his hand on the back of his neck. He pulls more tape from his elbow, a sizable piece. He starts to twist the tape and wrap you up. He attaches the tape to the front of the strip already on you, threads it up through your breasts, and attaches it at the back almost to your hip. He repeats that on the other side. He keeps making and twisting tape, wrapping around your ankles and wrists. He steps behind you and presses your wrists together, crossing them, and quietly asks you to keep them there. You do. His fingers skimming over your skin as he works you over it so erotic. He wraps tape around your elbows, not twisted, to keep your arms straight out. Sero takes one of the tape strands attached to the ceiling and attaches it to the tape on your back. Now you kind of understand what he meant when he said it was an anchor point.  “I’m gonna lift you up, okay?”  You exhale, already shaky. “Yeah. Yeah that’s fine.” He smiles and grabs your chin, brushing a soft kiss to your lips. Your heart skips a beat. He makes another tape rope and crouches down to affix it to your ankle. He runs fingertips with a feather light touch up the side of your leg as he rises. Then he pulls, your ankle coming up. He keeps pulling higher until your thigh follows. He binds your ankle to your wrist, then ties your lower thigh and upper leg together. The position keeps your leg up and folded in. He quickly repeats this with the other side before attaching the last two tape strands he shot off at first to your ankles. You’re suspended by your ankles and the middle of your back, arms stretched out and held in place behind you. Because your ankles are also attached to your wrists, if you shift or move one of them the others move too. You bite your lip as Sero walks around to your front. He traces fingers along your jawline again but this time he doesn’t stop, tipping your face up to his by your chin. “Gorgeous,” he breathes, reverence in his voice. Your face flushes, because he’s looking at you like you’re the most breathtaking thing he’s ever seen. He runs his thumb over your lower lip and your lips automatically part. He gives you a slight smirk and crouches so he can be face to face with you without removing his fingers from your face. “Now, I’d really like to fuck you. But if you don’t want to, I can use my mouth on you again instead.” His voice was soft, eyes watching your face for your reaction. You swallow, and nod. He chuckles a little. “I gotta hear you say it, babe.” “Yeah, yeah please. I want you to fuck me, Sero,” you gasp out in a rushed breath. He leans in and softly kisses your lips. “Good girl,” he whispers against your mouth and rises. You shiver in anticipation as you lose sight of him when he moves behind you. You’re straining to hear what he’s doing, and you hear the rustle of his clothes, the tearing of a wrapper. Your eyes widen as you feel his blunt head sliding along your still soaked folds. The tease is too much and you whine again, but you can’t push back against him. He’s taken all of your possible leverage away and now you really were entirely at his mercy. Large hands grab on to your waist as the first inch sinks in. You inhale and Sero quietly asks if you’re okay. “I’m fine,” you say with impatience in your tone, “Just waiting.”  Sero chuckles behind you. “Well, who am I to keep a lady waiting?” Air is punched out of your lungs as he sheathes himself in one thrust, then slides back out. One more hard thrust, a soft groan from him, and then he’s railing into you hard and fast. While he’s not the thickest man you’ve ever had, he is still a good size and the drag of his cock on your walls is making you cry out as it rubs against the small bundle of nerves inside you. And his length is incredible. He’s bottoming out with each thrust, and his leverage on your hips has him pulling you back as he pushes forward. Hard, deep, and driving you to a second release faster than you thought possible. Sero groans again and picks up his pace. “Fuck, yeah, that’s good baby. Look at you, sucking me in like this. You feel so good around me. Can’t wait to feel you cum on my cock.” His voice is so low, murmuring the words to you, and you clench around him. He hisses at the feeling, moaning out on his exhale. “That’s right, cum on my cock baby. Just let go.” One of his hands leaves your hip and he steps closer to you. You’re bouncing on him a bit more due to gravity than his grasp, and the free hand snakes down to rub sloppy circles on your clit. Five swipes and you’re done for, crying out loudly as your walls clamp down around him. He stops moving in you, still all the way inside, gently and slowly rubbing your clit as your ride out your orgasm. He doesn’t stop though, even as you come down and the pleasure starts to be too much. “S-Sero, I can’t-” “Sure you can, babe. I know you have one more for me.” He rolls his hips fractionally, barely an inch of his cock sliding in and out of you as he keeps his attention on your clit. Your thighs pulled back as far as they are prevent you from closing them to stop him, and it only takes a few minutes before you’re sobbing as another orgasm rips through you. Only now does he pull his hand away and moves so he is standing like he’d been. His hand returns to your bare hip. “See, I knew you had it in you. So fucking good for me.” You barely have time to process his words before he’s fucking into you hard again. He’s chasing his own orgasm now, and you desperately want to give it to him. You can’t touch him though, and you can’t wrap your legs around him to pull him closer. The only thing you can do is flex your walls, make the hole he’s fucking into tighter. It earns you a moan of appreciation that makes you giddy. “Shit, babe, I’m gonna-” He cuts off into a drawn out moan as he slams into you one more time, hard. Then a few softer thrusts. Then he’s done, and you’re both just panting. Desperate attempts to fully fill your lungs. It takes a full minute before Sero pulls out and starts to move. “Well… I must admit that I wasn’t expecting this particular type of art when I came here.” Sero huffs out a laugh and you blink in your post orgasm haze. He peels the condom off and pulls a small bag from his pocket to drop it into. The bag gets closed and shoved back in his pocket. Right, he doesn’t want to leave any evidence that he was here. You bite your lip as you try to stare at him over his shoulder. “Lotus Daydream isn’t here.” Sero looks at you in surprise when you blurt out the words. “It’s on loan to another museum. It’s been gone for three days.” He blinks in disbelief, and then bursts out laughing. “You sneaky little thing.” But he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds amused, even impressed. “I guess that theft-wise my trip was a bust.” Sero runs a hand over the side of his head, smoothing back some stray hair strands. He looks at you still hanging on display as if he’s trying to figure out what to do with you. You bite your lip in consideration. “I won’t say anything about you breaking in if you just leave. Since the piece you’re after isn’t here anyway.” It’s a long shot but worth a try. He frowns a little as he studies your face. You really wish that you could at least close your legs, if not actually get back onto the floor. “Yeah. Alright. You have a deal. You don’t say anything about me being here and I’ll let you go.” Your face brightens and his grows more serious. “But if I do find out that you said something… I’ll be coming after you. And you will desperately wish that you hadn’t. Do you understand?” “Yeah. I understand.” You’re proud that your voice is firm, and the frown turns back up to his wide, trademark smile. He pulls the switchblade back out to cut his tape, gently lowering you to the floor. Only now does he remember that he shredded your dress when he cut you out of his initial containment.  “I have a spare dress in my locker,” you say quickly. Sometimes – almost daily - you get the varnish on your clothes. Most days that doesn’t matter. You don’t really leave your office. But you do try to make sure you have a spare outfit in case you have to meet someone important. You blink as he says that he’ll grab it and he heads off. Somehow you aren’t surprised that he knows where the lockers are and that he can apparently pick your lock. He returns in moments carrying your dress draped over his shoulder. He carefully peels the rest of the tape off of your bare skin. His gentleness is surprising and makes your heart flutter. He’s going slow, careful to not hurt you. He lets you dress, comes with you to pick up your bag, and walks you to the door. He looks out over the street once you’re outside. “The video feed is on a loop. I put your guard to sleep, he’ll wake up without any knowledge that he was knocked out.” Sero gives a bright grin and a small two-finger wave, then shoots his tape up, retracting it to propel up and disappears onto the roof. You watch him go in awe. Sero was amazing in your mind back when you first met him but he was just stunning now. You glance at your watch to check the time. It’s late, the trains have already stopped. You don’t live that far from the museum though, maybe a twenty five minute walk. So you set off. You get three blocks before you hear a low whistle. “Hey baby, what’re you doing out by yourself this late at night? Wanna come party with us?” Your blood runs cold at the trio of men lurking at the alley entrance to your right. The smell of cheap sake invades your senses. Your hand goes to your pocket for your phone and a cold sense of realization washes over you. It had been knocked from your hands and was currently under a shelf in the artifact room. As you’re preparing to run a rough hand grabs you and yanks you into the darkened alley. A different hand clasps over your mouth, but drunks don’t have the best coordination or reflexes. You’re able to bite down hard on one of the man’s fingers. He yells and yanks his hand back, and you take the opportunity to let out a scream. One of the other men growls at you to shut up and smacks you hard upside the head. Your head snaps forward. It dazes you, and your head rolls back. You’re dizzy and can’t seem to focus on any of them. The third man laughs. Three different voices blend together, talking about what they intend to do to such a pretty little thing like you. You’re shoved and pinned up against the rough brick of the alley wall while they argue about who goes first, who goes where. You close your eyes, waiting for the touches you don’t want. But they never come. The hands pinning you leave you and you slide down to the ground. You hear shocked shouts, and when you open your eyes and your vision starts to clear you see a black, white, and yellow figure swinging from a rope – tape! - and kicking one of them drunken men in the face. They try to fight back, but three wobbly drunks are no match for Sero Hanta. He’s too fast, too agile, too strong. Your attackers are all out cold in the alley in under two minutes. Sero, not even breathing heavily from the exertion, lands gracefully on his feet turns to you. With a frown he gently gathers you up in his arms and brings a hand up to touch where they slammed you in the head. “...I heard you scream. Are you alright?” You don’t answer right away. Instead, you bring up a hand and cup his cheek. “You saved me,” you breathe out. Sero’s face softens, and he smiles. He brings you closer and leans down until your foreheads are touching. “Yeah,” he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. “I did, didn’t I? Let me get you home.”

[katelyn--renee]

Composure

Title: Composure

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader/(Y/N) Winchester (mentioned), Harper Winchester (OC, mentioned), Daniel Winchester (OC, mentioned), Crowley (mentioned)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Wife!Reader

Words: ±2670

Description: Dean and (Y/N) take their shot at a normal life and settle down. Over the years, they have a few kids. Things are good. Until they’re not. What will Dean do when his past comes back to put an end to his happily ever after?

Written For: @deanwanddamons ​ 2K Celebration! Congratulations babe! That’s awesome! My prompt will be in bold -  “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.”

Warnings: ANGST! Descriptions of blood. Mentions of breaking and entering. Kidnaping. Show level violence/outbursts of anger. 

Author’s Note: This is in correlation with another fic of mine, Sweet Cherry Pie. It takes place about twelve to thirteen years after that one, to give you a brief timeline. There will be other fics with that original storyline, so stay tuned.

Thank you so much to @wonder-cole​ for being my beta for this wonderful piece and helping me with the title. You’re awesome and much appreciated! She has some amazing work of her own, so please do yourself a favor and check it out! Check out @talesmaniac89​ for more awesome page dividers!!

Disclaimer: I do not own any photos or gifs, all rights go to original creators/owners.

Interested in more of my work, check out the link below.

Masterlist

The rain was heavy tonight, thick and angry as it poured from the dark clouds above. The fat raindrops were noisy against the single paned windows. The water coated the glass surface and made it impossible to see through, even as the flashes of lightning lit up the night sky and cast long shadows through the living room of 35 Maplewood Road. There was a heaviness surrounding the house, as if something wicked had been there.

The home was dark and empty, and the furniture was overturned and broken in places; the sofa was thrown over backwards, the cushions laying discarded across the floor with the end table toppled over beside it. The lamp that had occupied its surface was shattered to pieces on the wooden floor, and the rug had been stained with something dark and red. 

The coffee table was shoved out of place, the glass surface no longer there in one piece and the mirror that hung in the hallway had a spider web like crack across the surface, hanging now only by one screw. In the very center of the crack, something crimson and shiny caught the lighting from outside, almost as if someone’s skull had been smashed there.

The familiar idling of Baby’s engine grew louder as Dean pulled in the driveway of his home, the brakes squealing as he came to a stop and put the Chevy into park. A feeling of dread began to knot into his stomach, making the muscles of his jaw flex as he tried to bite back the feeling. Something was wrong; all those years of hunting and honing his instincts told him that much. Not a single light was on inside of the home and yet, (Y/N)’s car was parked out front. Not good.

Dean fished his phone from his jacket and swiftly unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb across the glass, dialing the number he knew so well. Pressing the receiver to his ear, he waited while the call rang out once... twice… “Come on, (Y/N/N).” He muttered under his breath as the fifth tone sounded. Her voice greeted his ear, but it was artificial; the recording of her voicemail, Hi, you’ve reached (Y/N)... 

“Damn it.” He cursed between gritted teeth and ended the call. He tried again, pressing redial. “Come on, baby, answer your damn phone!” He shut his eyes when he got the same results as before, cursing to himself as he shoved the device back into his pocket.

Never taking his eyes off the front of the house, he leaned over for the glove box and swiftly unlatched the compartment door, just as he’d done a million times before. Green eyes continued to scan for any signs of movement, even through the thick wall of rain that coated the windshield, despite the efforts of the wiper blades. 

Reaching a steady hand inside, he pulled out a pocket sized flashlight and his beloved stainless steel Colt, the engraving on the barrel catching the lightning as it bolted across the sky. Expertly, he removed the clip with a press of his thumb and double checked the bullets inside before sliding it back into the place, securing it with another click. It’d been years since he’d held the weapon, but the pearl coated handle felt just as natural as breathing against his palm.

Leaving the Impala’s engine running, Dean climbed out from behind the wheel and shut the door, the hinges creaking with age. Clicking on the flashlight, he approached the home with long, yet cautious strides, his booted feet silent in his approach, even through the heavy rain. 

His mind was racing with every terrible possibility, his guilt threatening to eat him alive as images of his family, in the worst possible outcome, flashed before his eyes. It made his blood run cold. His heart was pounding rapidly with fear, pushing the adrenaline through his veins and forcing him to move forward rather than let the panic overwhelm him.

He tried to peer inside the living room through the set of windows lining the front of the house, but it did little to ease his uncertainty; if anything, it only made it worse, only able to make out long shadows and dark shapes. His clothes were completely soaked through, hugging his large frame by the time he’d reached the front porch, the coolness of the rain chilling him to the bone. Droplets of water dripped down his face and the tip of his nose, and his hair clung against his forehead.

Approaching the large red door, his scowl only deepened, darkening his features when he discovered that it had been left unlatched, allowing in a single beam of light with each flash from the storm overhead. He glared at the lock and then narrowed his eyes as something caught his attention, the muscles there twitching. Stretching a hand out, he examined the wooden surface, his fingertips grazing over the chipped paint and splintered wood. Someone had broken in.

Taking only a moment to compose himself, Dean exhaled slowly and swallowed back his apprehension, forcing himself to go on. Using the weight of his body, he nudged the door open cautiously and poked his head inside. The experienced hunter kept his gun aimed high and at the ready, his finger hovering over the trigger. Wrist over wrist, Dean held the flashlight steady with the opposite hand, the beam unmoving, providing him with some light through the darkness.

All of those years of training were put to the test as he stepped through the threshold of his home, his expression as hard as stone and giving away absolutely nothing, despite the fear that was boiling just beneath the surface. His eyes darted around the room, following the beam of his flashlight, taking in every detail of his surroundings just as he’d been taught all those years ago.

Following the layout of the house, Dean came to the living room first, stepping over the broken furniture and discarded decorations. The sight of his home in this state made him uneasy and that much harder to keep his cool, able to sense the panic starting to creep in. Where was (Y/N)? Where were the kids? Who had done this to his family? Was it revenge?

Another flash of lightning caused something slick and shiny to catch his eye, and Dean let out a shaky breath. Hesitating for only a moment, he crossed the room and crouched down next to the sofa to investigate, the troubling sight seized his heart. There was a substantial amount of blood there, a large pool of crimson that had soaked into the fibers of the rug. 

Near the top of the stain, a gold chain necklace was lost within the mess and a thin layer of another substance was scattered around it. It was almost yellow in color and had a very distinct, very specific scent that accompanied it. Touching the surface of the floor next to the stain, Dean felt something grainy under his finger tips. Lifting it to his nose, the smell of sulfur invaded his senses. Demons.

“Fuck,” He cursed, the boom of the thunder shaking his house as it lit up his face simultaneously. Still crouched, he plucked the necklace out of the sticky crimson mess and glared at the amulet with a heavy gaze, his hand shaking. He shut his eyes and closed his fingers into a fist, the knuckles turning white around the piece of jewelry. It belonged to (Y/N). It had been a gift, a charm to ward off evil and prevent possession.

This was all his fault. He should have known better. Hell, he did know better and yet, he ignored it, because he had a chance to finally be happy. To have an actual family and live the normal, apple pie life he’d always wanted. And now the ones he loved were missing and more than likely dead. Or probably close to it.

His chin quivered for a moment and hot tears stung at the corners of his eyes, his emotions getting the better of him. How could he let this happen? How could he be so stupid and reckless? He knew better, damn it! Once a hunter, always a hunter. There is no getting out of the life, not entirely, because those evil sons-of-bitches will always be out there. 

One way or another, they always find a way to catch back up to any hunter who has tried, and every single time it ends bloody and messy and violent. He needed to find them, he just had to. And he would save them, no matter what it cost. He’d pay it.

Releasing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and willed the tears away, shoving the emotions back down into the pit of his soul. Despite his efforts, a solitary tear made it’s escape, dripping down his left cheek and onto the color of his shirt before he could stop it.

Dean rose to his full height and squared his shoulders, prepared to continue his search. Sliding the necklace into his jacket pocket with care, he followed the trail into the hall with a heavy heart. 

Glass cracked and snapped under his boots as he walked through the space, his jaw flexing when he saw the picture of his family shattered on the floor. Their happy faces only added to his grieving heart and guilty conscious, their smiles making his soul ache.

That had been a good day, nearly five years ago now; (Y/N) had worn his favorite blue dress that day, the strapless one that stopped right above her knees and showed off her sexy legs. 

She had on that silly - but achingly cute - oversized tan hat that kept the sun from her eyes. He would always tease her about that goofy hat, but she never cared what others thought of her, never ceasing to be herself, no matter what.

They’d gone to the park that day, had an actual picnic and he’d played catch with his son while the girls giggled and painted their nails...  They even taught the twins how to ride their bikes that day. They couldn’t have been more than seven years old.

Harper had caught on much quicker than her brother, of course, taking after her mother in that way. Those girls were naturals at almost everything they did, only needing to try something a few times before perfecting it. That had been something he’d adored and admired about his wife and it was a huge part of what made her such a skilled hunter when they met.

Daniel, on the other hand, had to take the time to understand how something worked first. He needed to study the mechanics of things, take them apart, rebuild and understand it completely, inside and out, before he was able to master it. Danny often reminded Dean of the Winchester side of the family. That had been a good day, one of many they’d shared together.

Brought out of his memories by another angry boom from outside, Dean pressed on. Where the picture had once hung, there was a bloody handprint smeared on the white wall, the two colors contrasting greatly. 

The blood streaked out toward the kitchen, giving the hunter a clear path to follow. Damn it. Dean grit his teeth. It felt as if something had his heart in a vice, squeezing it tighter and making it increasingly difficult to breathe the further he went.

His emotions were threatening to break through the surface again, fighting hard against his resolve, but he held his ground against them, purely focused on finding his loved ones. Now was not the time to break down. Following the trail of blood and debris, he checked each room along the way, trying to be as thorough as possible. He couldn’t afford to miss a damn thing. 

Their bedrooms were empty, and unsurprisingly, every inch had been torn apart. Dean’s chest heaved with emotion, his breath hitching in his throat; if anything happened to those kids, he would never be able to forgive himself.

Continuing on, the hunter emerged into the next room, and found much of the same; broken furniture, shattered pictures and even more blood. But not a single sign of his family. The sliding glass door had been left open, allowing the rain from the storm to collect onto the tile floor. 

Dean shut his eyes and took several deep breaths, his chest aching with every forceful beat of his heart. He needed to call Sammy, needed to form a plan. When he opened his eyes, something on the countertop caught his eye; a sheet of paper. Cocking his head with curiosity, he crossed the room in three long, determined strides.

It was a note, addressed to him.

It’s been too long, darling. How’s Moose? Hope the wife and kids are well...oh, wait, that’s right, you’re as clueless as ever. No surprise there. Before we get to the fun bits, let’s talk business; I need a favor and you and your giant of a brother are going to help me. Now, to ensure that things go as planned, I have something of yours. I assure you, they are safe. For now. Do as I ask, and they will be returned to you, alive. So, Dean, dear, let’s make a deal, shall we? You know where to meet me.

Squirrel,

Yours truly, 

The King of Hell

“Crowley.” Dean growled deep in his chest, his teeth clenched as his blood began to boil over with rage. “Goddamn it!” He shouted, swiping the contents of the counter onto the floor. “Fuck!” He kicked something across the room, too angry to pay much attention to it as it slammed into the stainless steel refrigerator. He swung at the closest surface, his fist connecting with a nearby wall.

The drywall collapsed around his fist as the plaster fell to the floor at his feet. His knuckles were screaming at him, but he didn’t care, too fueled by his rage to notice. What could Crowley possibly need their help with? It didn’t matter. Whatever it was, they would get it done and save his family. Crowley would get what’s coming to him; Dean would make damn sure of that.

Taking a few calming breaths, Dean removed his phone with a bloodied hand and opened his contacts, scrolling through the names until he found what he was searching for. Sammy. Dialing the number, Dean held the phone to his ear with baited breath. After the third ring, Sam’s voice came in through the other end, sounding concerned because of the late hour, “Dean? Everything alright?”

Dean shook his head, his vision blurring with tears. He cleared his throat, trying to prevent it from shaking too much. “No, Sammy. It ain’t alright.” He admitted, gripping the counter with his free hand, bracing himself. He wanted to crumble onto the floor, his body trembling; his mind flooded with so many different emotions, each of them trying to overpower the other: fear, guilt, anger, heartache…

“Dean, what is it?” The younger Winchester questioned, the worry evident in his voice. “Is it (Y/N)? The kids? Is everyone okay?” He waited patiently on the other end, but Dean could hear him moving around; he assumed his brother was getting his things ready to head out.

“Damn it, Sammy,” Dean’s voice broke as a few tears slipped through the cracks, “Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in.” He shook his head, allowing himself a moment to break, his chest heaving. “We were out!” He slammed his fist down onto the counter, terrified and angry.

“Dean, what’s going on?” Sam pleaded, wanting desperately to help his big brother. 

“Crowley.” Dean clarified, going into more detail as he composed himself and straightened his stance, “Crowley’s taken them.” He took a calming breath, his moment of weakness over. “I need your help, Sammy.”

“Already on my way.”

Annnnnnd there you have it. I hope that wasn’t too rough on the heart? No worries, there may or may not be a part two in the works? We shall see. ;) 

Anyway, if you enjoyed that, please like and comment and if you’re feeling a little extra generous, share it with your friends, too! You’re feedback is like GOLD! As always, thanks for reading! 

Taglist!

Supernatural

@akshi8278​ // @flamencodiva​ // @perpetualabsurdity​

[anika-ann]

Stockings (S.R.)

Type:  Modern-college-professor AU - part of Attached series or a standalone

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader   Word count: 3000

Summary: You just wanted to decorate the apartment for a bit, you swear.

It wasn’t your fault that it was impossible to stay with your mind out of the gutter for longer than five minutes whenever Steve was around.

A/N: No knowledge of Attached needed I think 😉 Feel free to read as a standalone, you’ll find it in my masterlist as both.

A/N 2: For @wonderlandmind4​ ‘s challenge. Congrats on your follower count and for coming up with this awesome challenge!

Prompt: “Those - weren’t the kind of stockings I had in mind-“ (bold in text)

Warnings: suggestive themes, implied smut with tiny bit of action so 18+, nsfw, language (always), and one (1) trope that has definitely been used before

Series masterlist

⊱-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦ ✉ ◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-◦-⊰

When the idea of decorating first flashed through your mind, it was, honest to God, completely innocent.

Due to loads of schoolwork, Halloween somehow passed by and you barely noticed, the most festive thing you had done being the indulgent orders of pumpkin spiced lattés and hogging some of the candy for your exam time stress-eating. Candy which just happened to be shaped like spiders, snakes, witches and other lovely stuff.

But that was it and with ditching the spooky holiday and the Thanksgiving which no one in your apartment was allowed to talk about, you itched to celebrate at least one of the holidays in peace and with everything that belonged with it.

Gifts, obviously.

Baking, perhaps.

Decorations, absolutely.

Last year, you and Penny had gone a bit overboard, fully affected by the holiday madness, and bought half the store (well, as much as your financial situation allowed anyway). Your dorm room looked as if Santa puked there, as Penny elaborately put it, but you both adored it.

Now, with Steve, you knew you had to be considerably more restrained.

Not that he would notice if your apartment turned into a damn Santa village, because he was too preoccupied with grading midterm papers. Non-stop, it seemed. The pile never ever appeared to be reducing.

However, you and Steve had set a rule that even if you were both crazy busy, you’d make time for at least one or two evenings together – simply to take few moments to fully appreciate each other’s company.

That night, Steve’s mind wandered despite trying to stay focused on you, you could tell. You felt for him, you truly did… but you missed him. Your time together, truly together, became so rare lately and--- you didn’t want to end up like the couple that kisses goodnight and good-morning just because they share quarters and a bed, and ignores one another for the rest of the day.

Rather than letting the gloomy thoughts consume you though, you tried a different approach; humour.

After all, that was how your relationship had started, along with loads of awkwardness.

“Penny says hi, by the way,” you said casually, practically feeling Steve’s absence despite his body engulfing you as you cuddled on the couch, movie on your laptop playing in the background which neither of you were watching.

Steve hummed, his fingers never ceasing the comforting strokes on your arm.

You adored him, you did – which really was the reason why you couldn’t but mess with him, tease him for his mental trip to the far-away lands.

“She and Bucky hooked up again.”

“Mm.”

“She still claims he was the best she ever had.”

“Oh, that’s interesting,” Steve muttered, almost as if he was actually listening to you.

“I’m meeting them tomorrow both, because they offered me a threesome.”

“That’s nice.”

The corners of your lips twitched. God, Steve was lucky to have you to take his mind off his job sometimes, otherwise he would work himself into the ground with how much of his brain space was filled with university matters. He was so detached from life sometimes…

“Bucky asked if he could film it, do you think I should say yes?”

“Whatever you think—wait WHAT?!” he cried out, sitting up straight, hence pushing you up too since you had been nestled on his chest.

Giggles erupted from your throat as you watched his perplexed and scandalized face, realization slowly dawning on him as he probably went over the last few sentences that left your mouth – and his expression gradually melted into an apologetic one, blending into exhaustion as he ran his hand down his face.

You cupped his cheeks then, leaning in to plant a kiss on his forehead – you would swear it was a fraction hotter than normal, his poor brain overheating – and stifled the aww threatening to spill when Steve closed his eyes contentedly, a hum vibrating in his chest.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he whispered, kissing your lips chastely before wrapping his arms around you to hold you close again, face nuzzling your hair. “I’m listening now.”

You curled into his warmth, much more welcoming than the comforter wrapped around you.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I know you’re tired. We’ll just call it a night.”

“But you wanted to talk about something?” he protested softly, earning a hum in affirmation.

“Just wanted to ask if you’d be okay with me decorating the apartment? Just a bit, to bring a piece of the Christmas spirit in here?”

You could feel his smile against your scalp as his thumb caressed your shoulders blades, his large form shifting for a bit.

“We both live here, sweetheart,” he reminded you and you made a tiny sound of protest. Yes, he was correct, but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t consult him on stuff before messing with the interior, even if it was with the best intentions. Duh. “But I appreciate you asking. Decorations, huh?”

You withdrew, meeting his tired eyes with a barely-there twinkle. You smiled at up at him innocently, showing him a tiny space between your thumb and index finger.

“Just a little bit. Just the basics…”

“Uh-huh. The basics. So that’s what? Christmas lights, stockings, mistletoe, a tree?” he mused, his thumb moving to your chin, to your lower lip, brushing it tenderly as you nodded minutely with a smile. His irises lit up a fraction with that image he must have painted in his mind and you felt familiar warmth around your heart at the sight. “I guess we’ll have to talk about getting a tree then. But it sounds nice, babygirl. The mistletoe in particular.”

He proceeded to capture that lips with his, lazy but indulgent kiss that sent pleasant sparkles down your spine and yet made you sleepy as it was soothing, feeling like home.

“Yeah. Sounds nice,” you echoed dreamily, meeting his lips again in a short kiss before nudging him to stand up so you could begin to move to bed.

Only later it occurred to you just how nice you could do with the stuff Steve had mentioned if you tried – and you fell asleep in his arms, a menacing grin that would make Grinch green with envy on your lips.

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Carrying the box after hanging one mistletoe branchlet in the kitchen along with very few fairy lights in the window, you were ready to move onto the bedroom, where Steve was, again, working.

Not for long, you hoped – after all, you put notable effort into your appearance.

With a small smirk on your lips, you knocked on the separating wall, peeking from behind it, trying your best not reveal too much.

Steve didn’t even bother looking up, a semi-loud hum the only sign of him acknowledging your presence.

“I’m gonna decorate this room… you mind me messing around for a bit?” you asked, attempting to sound compassionate about his workload, which you were, and perfectly innocent, which you were not.

That got him eye you briefly, an unconvincing smile passing his lips.

“Sure, go ahead,” he encouraged you softly. He turned his gaze back to the papers on his desk and started writing notes before you could even respond – hence missing your victorious smile.

“Thanks!”

You gleefully walked in, steps soundless against the floor thanks to the thin fabric covering your soles, and placed the box on your own desk.

The rustle of papers and the sudden lack of scribbling sound had you biting your cheek so you wouldn’t burst out laughing.

Steve cleared his throat loudly; when you looked at him over your shoulder however, he went back to reading his damn papers.

You swallowed your disappointment, trying not to think much of it – Steve could be very patient when he wanted to be – or very impulsive. And sometimes, he was both at the same time.

So you pressed your lips together and removed the other branchlet of mistletoe from the top of the box, following with Christmas lights, putting whatever you needed on the desk.

“Sweetheart…” Steve’s voice sounded from his seat, partly amused, partly… hoarse, affected, and you had to bite your lips so the giggles wouldn’t spill out. “What are you wearing?”

You turned to him, making a show of checking your outfit, letting your palms sprawl over your barely covered thighs and slowly moving them up, the hem of Steve’s loose ivory sweater hiking up an inch and revealing the lace of your thigh-high crimson stockings; perhaps even offering a peek of the straps holding them in place due to the garter belt.

“Your old sweater… and stockings,” you offered with a one-shoulder shrug, cool as cucumber in December – or as yourself teasing your loveable boyfriend at the end of November – on the outside, giddy on the inside as his gaze trailed all over your figure, wavering at the lace and the patch of skin on display, before focusing on your face.

“Those-- those weren’t the kind of stockings I had in mind-- when I, uhm, talked about decorating this place,” he explained.

He sounded almost patient, as if it wasn’t clear as day. His irises, however, were not clear – a cloud of desire covered them, turning them a shade darker, hungrier.

It sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, heat pooling in your belly, satisfaction at inching closer to your goal causing your chest nearly puff with pride.

“Oh, my bad!” you exclaimed, chuckling self-depreciatingly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you eyed Steve from under your eyelashes, picture perfect of innocence… not. “Silly me! I’m sorry, I know how much you hate me in stockings…”

“Babygirl…”

His voice resembled a growl, a low warning not to toy with him – which was exactly what you did want to do, teasing him shamelessly when having added emphasis on him not liking your attire.

Stockings and/or his clothes on you got your boyfriend going in fact, sometimes for hours even, thank you very much.

“Yes, Steve?”

“This isn’t going to work, you know. I really have to finish these,” he stated and you most definitely didn’t imagine the impatience and his dislike towards his task sneaking into his voice.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. These are just…” you bit gently on your lower lip, sliding your palms up and down your thighs, Steve’s gaze following the motion instinctively, pupils dilating with the craving to replace your hands with his own, “…comfy, just like your sweater. You never minded when I borrowed it before—you know I love stealing it. It just… it smells like you and it’s warm. It’s like you’re all over me. It’s perfect.”

His glare zeroed on your mouth, slightly accented by a natural, yet visible shade of your lipstick. Steve didn’t say a word, simply staring – and shifting slightly in his seat, much to your glee, which hopefully didn’t show too much – and grumbling an unidentifiable noise.

You felt for him, you truly did – god knew that sometimes, you were overwhelmed with schoolwork too – but that didn’t stop you from smiling at him sweetly now, adding an apologetic tone to your next words.

“Sorry. I talk too much. Don’t let me disturb you. You have work to do and so do I. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse.”

Then you spun on your heels and went back to continue your previous activity, laying out decorations on your desk.

Steve only grunted behind you, but you could hear him as he started going through the papers again, probably trying – and hopefully failing – to ignore your presence.

It wasn’t that you wanted to be mean, there was no single drop of malice in your plan; Steve needed to get his head off his work for a bit, even if he wasn’t aware of it. The way he was overworking himself was beginning to threaten to his sanity.

You simply wanted to help and this was just the way that had crossed your mind first; it was entirely on Steve and his stupidly perfect everything that you couldn’t seem to get your head out of the gutter sometimes when in his presence.

You wished nothing more than for him to turn off his brain… and to relax and enjoy himself.

Clearly, he was enjoying the view indeed.

You caught his sharp inhale when you accidentally dropped a tacky plastic Santa and proceeded to bend over to pick it up… offering Steve a perfect view of your rear and revealing the smart garter belt you wore; with nothing as much as a thong, leaving your most intimate areas bare.

You heard him shuffling in the chair and had to smirk, mentally counting down the time until his resolve broke.

He was holding up quite bravely – nearly long enough to make you doubt your ability to seduce him. Except the shuffle of papers that followed sounded as if he was trying to make a point and you knew that the breaking point was on horizon.

So when the time came to set in motion what you assumed would be the final strike – pushing the chair from your desk to the middle of the room to get ready to put your stockings on display right in his natural line of vision – you delicately took the branchlet of mistletoe with you, climbing up and carefully tying it to the lamp.

Steve’s pen hit the desk with a click and you quickly shot him a glance, meeting his stern and yet rather amused eyes. He sighed at your ridiculously unsubtle antics, but one corner of his lips rose anyway.

“Alright, that’s it. Get down here, you little minx,” he huffed.

Oh, sweet victory.

Mirroring his expression, you retorted cheekily: “Come get me.”

There was no missing the dangerous glint in is eye as he rose to his feet and stalked to your chair, a smirk playing on his lips, every movement purposeful and precise as if he was a predator chasing his prey to the corner.

Your breathing picked up as he neared, your heart pounding, chest heaving quickly – fuck, wasn’t it an erotic sight, Steve’s figure cladded in plain t-shirt and sweats, looking up at you as if he was about to eat you alive.

Maybe it was the expression on his face, somewhere between aroused, amused, cocky and predatory at the same time. Maybe it was the outline of his semi-hard dick on his sweatpants. But shit, you knew you were in trouble, you loved it, and you might have been this close to drooling. You were glad for forgoing underwear, because it would be absolutely useless and soaked through in an instant.

And Steve hadn’t even started yet.

Stopping right in front of you, craning his neck only a bit to face you (the tall bastard), his wide palms sprawled over your calves, their heat warming you from inside out.  

An appreciative hum rumbled in his chest as his touch trailed up at torturously slow pace, drinking in the sight of your ragged breaths, indulging in every inch he laid his hands on. You couldn’t withhold the shudder running through your whole body and his grin widened.

“You’re such a fucking tease….” he whispered, licking his lips as his gaze fell lower again, following the movements of his hands, clasping the back of your thighs now, inching toward their inner part, fingers brushing the hem of your stockings.

“Is it-“ You had to clear your throat against the lump that grew there, your body buzzing with anticipation, the smart remark growing heavy on your tongue. “Is it teasing when you can just take what you want?”

He chuckled, a delicious dark sound, bringing more slickness between your legs, much to his apparent satisfaction as he set eyes on his prize.

“Downright naughty…”

His mouth landed softly on the inside of your right calf, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs to nudge them few inches apart to make space for him.

“Does that… uhm, does that mean I won’t be getting any presents from Santa this year?”

You had genuinely no clue how you managed to form a sentence through the fog of arousal around your brain, only growing thicker when Steve’s teeth grazed the skin above your knee, his fingertips brushing an extremely sensitive spot so close to your core.

“You could come down now, be a very good girl and I might put in a good word for you,” he muttered, biting down some more, drawing a mewl from your lips, another one escaping you when he snapped one of the strings holding your stockings in place.

The sharp gentle pain was enough to make words roll off your tongue.

“You think that would work?”

“Oh sweetheart…” Steve chuckled again, a huff of breath warming your thighs, before his eyes, wide-blown and hungry, met yours. “If it doesn’t… you can be damn sure I’m gonna give you fucking everything I have.”

You yelped when his grip on the back of your thighs tightened and he tugged you forward, your hands instantly going to his shoulders to maintain balance as you found yourself with no surface under your feet all of sudden.

He grinned up at you – the show-off, but by God, wasn’t the demonstration of strength setting your body on fire, rendering you speechless – and slowly lowered you to the ground, half-lidded eyes zeroed on your lips. He made damn sure that you felt his erection against your body at all time as he always loosened his grip and tightened it a second later, until your feet touched the ground – and yet you felt your legs shaking, unsteady with the need to feel more of him.

It dawned to you how crazy he managed to drive you, your roles reversed, your plan backfiring. But was it? Backfiring? Because you couldn’t wait to see how it would unfold--

His hands slipped under the sweater you stole from him, one grasping your hip to hold you tight against his body, fingers of the other diving into the pool of slick between your legs, causing you to jerk forward into his hand.

He leaned down to nip at the skin of your neck right under your ear, forefinger circling your clit for a good measure, drawing a needy moan from you.

“And I bet you’re gonna take it…” he hummed into your ear, satisfied smile audible in his hoarse voice, “and thank me for it like the good girl you are.”

You barely forced the words out, heavy with desire but any less true.

“Yes, Professor Rogers. I think I will.”

“Damn right.”

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S.R. masterlist

Attached masterlist

The One Word (next in timeline)

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I really wanted to come up with an original title… and failed. Also, it was supposed to be a drabble, but you know that I tend to babble… and rhyme, apparently.

Thank you for reading and for any kind of feedback :-*

[whump-town]

Professors

No one asked for more of this AU and, truthfully, I don’t even know why I keep writing it. We all know I have other things to be doing. The Cancer AU, the PowerPoint, and other fics left unfinished. Yet, here I am offering garbage

WARNING FOR Reid whump, implied abuse

Growing up, Spencer Reid relished his escapism. Spending hours, days even, cooped into the smallest holes of his mother’s house with nothing but books and the ability to lose track of time and space. More importantly, his ability to ignore the obvious. Here it did not matter that his mother thought he was a spy. That she’d slapped him so hard he’d felt his teeth smack together and his eyes shake in their sockets. 

Now, he’s a little too old for that. Escaping is so much harder to do. 

“Reid?”

The lights of his office are off, the door shut firmly behind him. With every ounce of his concentration on steading his ataxic gait and forcing his trembling hands around the doorknob of his office, he would have remembered to lock the door on his way in. Unfortunately, his days of complete solitude are behind him. A toll often paid for in order to acquire friends. His fellow professors of-- whatever it is they all teach. 

“Spencer--” Hotch. Thank god. “I’m going to come in okay?”

Now, Reid can remember the distinct tap of Hotch’s approaching figure. Closing his eyes and pushing his head further into his couch, Reid hears the door open. Tap. Hotch’s old shoes scuffing across the unforgivingly rough carpet. Tap, more muffled now. One more half-raised step and the sound of the real, thick wood of Hotch’s cane being hooked over the arm of the plastic chair painted to look wooden to his left. 

“What can I do?”

Reid doesn’t answer, just keeps his sweaty palms pressing into his ears. If he moves, he’s certain that his body will explode. Little bits of genius coating all for walls. His books covered in gore. Another mess. 

“You haven’t been sleeping.”

Hard, calloused fingers wrap around the back of his neck. The tips digging into the stiffened muscles until Reid lets out a whimper. Then, with certainty and reflexive habit, one hand remains kneading the muscles until they ease while the other plants itself firmly on his flank. Stilling his body. Well, to be as still as Reid can. 

His body has been out of his control since he was nine. The maternal drive had not been enough to protect him. For years, his mother had been distracted with work and by his father. She made time for him amidst the books but he was spared her anger and confusion. Until his father left and she could no longer work reliably. Then, one night in a fit of paranoia, his mother had hit him. She’d hit him so hard that no amount of genius had sparred him.

His cerebellum is damaged. 

Garcia could tell you far more about the reasoning behind how he is now. He can too but it’s far too taxing to recount each of his bodily flaws. His disabilities. 

Their silence is interrupted by a soft knock at the door and peaking out from under the suit jacket Reid hadn’t realized Hotch had tucked around him, he can see Emily. Her dark eyes flash twice over the scene before her and immediately she sinks. That’s what he loves most about her. In all her hardness, Emily is easily one of the kindest people he’s ever met.

Raised by her mother’s hip, Emily had known too much about politics and little of the reflexive kindness of those around her. To be born good and to choose good is always a rewarded ideology. People like Penelope Garcia and Derek Morgan. Born good, surrounded by good, and only learning of the evil much later are fantastic people. They have their own struggles but they overcame them. To Reid, there is nothing more interesting than those surrounded by the cold curling fingers of the world but come out good. Emily wasn’t hugged as a child. Praise came at the expense of crushing her peers and never knowing what a good friend was. Hotch was raised by two abusive, domineering parents. For them to choose kindness, to willingly soften their edges is… it’s commendable. 

But maybe that’s all the pointless rambling of a book nerd. 

“Que pasa?” Spanish has always lent itself to be Emily’s most practice language. Perhaps, it has to do with the softened curls and rolls of the language. It’s never sounded rough, coarse coming out of her mouth. She sounds like the women who raised her. The maids who cleaned gravel out of her knees when she fell in the driveway and the calloused fingertips that ran under her eyes to quickly wipe her tears. 

With a soft, tsks Emily comes into the room. “Get off the floor,” she whispers to Hotch. His long spider-like legs curled every which way. She has no way of being able to tell how he’s been on the floor but she knows any length of time will come with repercussions. “If you can,” there is an emphasis on his abilities. Not to push himself. “Get Penelope-- wait…” She realizes a moment too soon that won’t work. “She’s got a class. I need you to get Derek.” 

Garcia is like their shady doctor. She went through all the training-- undergraduate, medical school, and interned. After a bit though, she realized that stitches, sutures, and contusions were not in fact something she loved. Not even a little. So, she went to computers. A huge financial burden to take on but that was her calling. Now she has tenure and spends her time balancing JJ’s art classes with her own class on programming. 

Derek is an actual doctor but he only practice theoretical medicine. Too busy teaching know-it-all medical school students about ethics. Reid likes to joke that he’s just a philosophy professor. Being an english literature professor leaves him pretty open to any comebacks Morgan can think of in the moment. 

Slowly rising to his feet, Hotch totters. Emily’s long fingers curl around his bicep, an unspoken order to hold still for just a moment. Long enough for his labored breathing to calm back down and his back to stop aching so feverishly. “You’ll be no help hurting yourself,” she comments, releasing him. She avoids his eyes, almost flushed having been caught touching him. Stepping into his space. It’s nothing for someone else but Hotch isn’t someone like Garcia and she’s not gentle like Reid. Turning her back, she’s stops any further comment. Any looks or reciprocation of that touch. 

Hotch leans heavily into the cane curling into his right palm. The wood slick with the calmness of his hand. “I’ll be back,” he promises, feeling a sickening twist in his stomach. All too conscious of every step being measured out by the tap, tap of his cane on the cold tiled floor. 

It’s that very sound that alerts Derek to Hotch closing in. 

Unlike Reid, what ails Hotch is undetermined. People, like puzzles, are simple enough to put together with enough the edges put together. For Reid, the edge pieces are his mother’s schizophrenia, her bouts of aggression, and her love of books. From there, blossoms the genius of the youngest professor the school has ever had. His cerebral injury is accounted for by his mother’s illness. Her abuse. No matter how much Reid dances around the use of that word. Her love had taken him here, to this university and to his profound love of books. To Reid, that love, has always mattered more than the rest. 

Hotch, though, he is a man completely lacking in edges. 

What does Derek Morgan know about Aaron Hotchner? He used to work at the District Attorney’s office. There is a mark on his record but the matters of it have been expunged, he was about sixteen according to the date. Those are matter of public record. He likes orange juice better than apple juice. If someone else is making it, he takes his coffee black, but when he makes it for himself it’s a mess of gradually adding sugar and creamer until he’s content. And the cane. It’s purpose is clear. The why is more important. It’s not very typical of men not yet fifty to need mobility aides.  

The tapping stops at his open door, he doesn’t need to look up from what he’s doing to know who it is or where he is. “You’re going to royally fuck your shoulder up if you don’t start using that cane on the other side.” 

As it always does, his comment is ignored. The excuse is always the same. Hotch is left handed, he simply prefers to keep his left hand free. It’s a matter of convenience. “Reid is having an episode--” 

Pushing himself up, Derek doesn’t need to hear the rest. For a moment he does falter. Unsure if should falter back with Hotch, allowing the older man to set their pace rather than making Hotch’s slow, zombie like lurches seem exaggeratedly slowed by Derek’s easy, long pace. Deciding Reid to be what he needs to focus on he simply walks around Hotch. “Use the cane on the other side,” Derek says, as he steps on. “Or I’m going to start emailing you articles about the damage you’re doing to your body.”

Hotch huffs.

“If that doesn’t work I’ll send them to JJ and Emily.”

Hotch curses softly, “you wouldn’t.”

Morgan just smiles, jogging on down the hall, and knowing by the paced tap, tap that Hotch is coming in behind him. 

“Pretty boy.” Sinking to his knees with an ease Hotch could not afford earlier in his comfort, Morgan pushes Reid’s sweat soaked hair back from his skin. The fever and tension become immediately apparent. Reid’s brain, as genius as it is, often forgets that Reid and his body are one. Not two separate things in which one needs to be attacked to protect itself. Today, his entire body suffers with the attack. His stomach aching, brain swelling, and back in flames. His body often betrays him. 

Emily moves away from the pair, untangling her own body to stand and leave the room. Reid won’t appreciate a crowd and Morgan can handle this. Plus, she’s a coward. She doesn’t want to see him in pain any longer. 

“He’s okay.”

Emily steps out into the hall to find JJ and Hotch. Having found a seat in the hall, Hotch is failing to subtly rub at his aching side. JJ, covered in red paint, is only finding his pain as fuel to the fire. Obviously, she is taking his word for a grain of rice. 

“Emily,” JJ greets. “How is he?”

Hotch just shakes his head, leaning his head forward onto his cane. 

“Derek’s with him. He’s just having an… a moment.” Episode sounds too harsh. A thing that Reid can never be. His skeletole, looming gentleness is tender. Clammy, at times, but nothing but loving. “He just needs a moment.” None-the-less, JJ understands exactly what she means. 

But that is, in a way, simply a lie. There is nothing that can be done for Reid in these moments. blinded by pain, he still will not cave. Never, not once, has Reid ever allowed them to give him something to manage the pain. He’ll take vitamins and ibuprofen for headaches but not for the other things. Not for this. 

“Just breathe.”

All they can do is be there. Rub their fingers into the tension and hold his hand. 

[anxiouslyfred]

Lockets and Emo’s

Summary: Virgil can guess a lot about their soulmate from the knife locket they were drawn too, and the portrait within, but they’ll wait for them to visit the shop he works in.

/\/\

People always talked about how accurate the portraits in their lockets were, and that they'd never have been able to find their soulmate if not for the picture held inside. Frankly, people talked a lot of nonsense and no matter how accurate a painting was, it was still limited by the paint, the artist and the amount of space available in how detailed it could be. Even photographs suffered that limitation.

When Virgil first got their locket, they had been far more interested in the process of the caravan, being blindfolded in the room with the lockets until one called his hands to them, and afterwards sitting with the soul artist as though for their own portrait but actually so they could get their energy to reveal the image of their soulmate. They'd been lucky enough that the locket in their hands filled them, providing more space for the image to appear in. That gave him more details to look for in the faces of others alongside the reflections of who their soulmate is in the design of the locket.

Remus hadn't cared when he was taken to get his locket. It wasn't that he didn't want to meet them, but that he'd spent the week reading about the soulmates who didn't work out, and just wanted to discuss with all the workers there if there's anyway to know how soulmates will actually react to each other. After all, even in fiction there were soulmates like Heathcliffe and Cathy who were perfect to destroy each other, as well as political ones, where the soulmates might try to be romantic, or friends, but their connection really only grows when they work together as colleagues and nothing more. Surely the different types of soulmates had been studied and the people in the caravan should know if he could tell just what he was heading to having.

He had kept asking those questions while blindfolded and being led from the room with a rather bland looking lockets and even while sitting with the artist as the tiny thing had his soulmate painted inside it. None of the staff replied or even spoke to him beyond gentle words to guide him through the process, no matter how many times Remus insisted they could throw him through the areas if they wanted to.

It wasn't until a week later than Remus looked at his locket and found the spider webs and checked patterns engraved into the locket, only visible in some lights. It at least made him more interested in the soulmate that was supposed to be portrayed within it, with dark eyeshadow showing from beneath a long fringe. At least it wasn't any of the emos he'd been through school with, none of them had worn eyeshadow underneath their eyes and almost all of them hated his rebellious punk style.

Virgil wasn't going to go out socialising to try and find the guy with a wild smile, a fringe bleached white and green-brown eyes, but they could just about cope with a retail job, so long as the shop was small and wouldn't insist he speaks to people as they enter. That would at least give them a change to people watch in case someone similar to their portrait wandered through.

Well, that and they could hopefully watch for anyone causing a scene because whomever the locket represented definitely would grab attention quickly. Virgil wasn't quite sure what they were most amused by when looking at the locket, just how gaudy it was or how intricately made  it was. The main body seemed to be made out of a dagger, cut in half width ways and blunted just enough to be safe to wear, although still functional if they wished to stab someone. There was even a hilt instead of a normal ring to attach it to the chain.

Remus had tried visiting all the normal areas he'd heard of emo's hanging out in, making a scene and sometimes getting into fights at all of them. They might agree that the police needed to be shut down and capitalism was a burden but apparently got very protective over the bands they claimed. It wasn't Remus's fault he sometimes was looking for something with a bit more of a dancable beat to it.

He only decided to try to shops in local towns that emos might visit on a whim, or rather after Roman had gone on a long speech about “It's not merely fashion Remus, any fool could follow that, it's about aesthetic and truly reflecting the prince within me.” All he had asked was just why his brother was dragging them around shops that seemed to sell mostly steampunk accessories when his brother usually preferred swords, leather and ruby jewellery.

Seriously, Remus could and would make anything his style within a day of climbing around in it. A few tears, a bit of dirt and perhaps some thorns from the bushed he scrambled through and the jobs done, but it definitely made sense that someone who's locket reflection hid the details probably wouldn't be out around the town regularly.

When he first entered an out of the way shop, Remus had been torn between making a scene and just trying to steal a couple of the spiked piercing they had in a display case. It was always more fun to steal things that were locked to normal shoppers, but he actually knew the words to the song that was playing so obviously had to make a display table his stage and sing along. Checking the staff out for patchwork clothes or under the eye eyeshadow could wait a while.

He made it halfway through the song before someone caught his arm and essentially through him to the floor as they yanked him down. “If you're going to dance on the merchandise you had better get to cleaning it up right the hell now, Maniac!” The store assistant who'd yanked him down demanded, glaring and waving a hand at where he'd been dancing a second before.

Remus would have argued, except he could recognise that long fringe anywhere. They eyeshadow just underneath them only cemented that his was his soulmate, and the shaking in their hands was probably because they were realising the same thing.

“Hi, I'm Remus, he/him, and sure thing. You gonna give me instructions on what to do, Spiderpatch?” He asked instead, bouncing up, as close as he could to the other, pouting a little when he was still looking up at them.

“Virgil, they/them, and if that's what it takes then yes, but I think you're smart enough to figure it out yourself.” They growled out.

Mentally Virgil was still freaking out. Usually when people started making a scene to that degree they would actually wait until they finished and then clean up after them. This was way too close to a confrontation for them to be comfortable with, but the man was more accurate to his mental image of his soulmate than anyone they'd ever seen and it at least gave them something to say without bringing that up.

“Smart enough, sure, willing to do it without my soulmate or some kind of threat to motivate me, yeah, I don't wanna.” Remus teased, not expecting a knife to be pulled from Virgil's hoodie and held up towards him.

Virgil smirked at the blink that flickered between their face and their hands. “Well I've got both thanks to your locket, so how about you get folding?” They asked, gesturing once again to the ruined display, although thankfully there were no footprints on any of the tops. Glancing around they saw why as Remus had apparently thrown his shoes across the room while climbing onto the table.

“It's a knife locket? Oh my god, I have the most awesome reflection in locket form ever! I'm in love with this locket even if you're making me fold shirts to get a date with you.” Remus was bouncing even as he finally turned to start tidying up the display, already rattling of other thoughts and well aware Virgil was stood watching him.

“So what's mine like then, if you're so enamoured with the one for you?” They hadn't decided about going out with Remus yet so decided to ignore the offer when they finally spoke up again.

Remus barely paused, grabbing the locket from his pocket to shove into their hands. “Really interesting. The best light to look at it in is like night club strobe lights. They bring out the designs on it perfectly. I bet in here you can barely make out there's even any pattern on there. Seriously, date? Hang out as friends? Phone number? Can I have something to say I'm seeing you again? Hell if you'd prefer just to make me work here I'm down for it.”

Virgil snickered at the ideas but shook their head playfully horrified when Remus mentioned them working together. “I'm not giving you more chances to damage the merchandise. How about we text for a while, get to know each other and see what we'd like from there?”

“Phone number then.” Remus turned around pulling his phone out only to pout and exaggeratedly deflate when his realised they were no longer holding the knife locket out at all. “Come on, I liked having you ready to cut me. A bit of pain is brilliant.”

“Not what I meant when I said getting to know you, but noted, if we ever get to a sexual relationship, you have a pain kink.” Virgil remarked, quickly typing in their number before waving towards the staff area. “I can't have my phone out on shift since I got too grouchy with my co-workers so text me and I'll reply when I get out of here.”

Remus took his phone back with a grin, “Sure, I'll go and see what mischief I can get into before I come to walk you home.”

“Didn't agree to that.” Virgil tried to call after him, but Remus had already turned to race out of the store.