#it's not just that he's not hungry but that seeing the excess is...repulsive to him in most cases

[clemencetaught]

"Here," it's... it's just bread. It's a bun, sure large enough to still some amount of hunger, but it's just bread. And yet, María holds it in front of Patrick with the face of someone who'd consider it a criminal offense to refuse it. Nevermind that she's stolen it from one of the banquets. "Just making sure you're eating." ((RUH-ROH it's Len again~ and I promise I forgot about the Peeta bread thing until I re-read this IGNORE THAT--!! FDKLGJDLAJSGF Hope you didn't end up getting sick BUT IF YOU DID HOPE YOU'RE RESTING AND FEELING BETTER SOON 🥺)) || okay but panem is also known as the nation of bread & circuses– ( unprompted w/ @mythvoiced )

He doesn’t eat much in the Capitol. 

Which is ironic, seeing how most of his life before the games, Patrick was always hungry. Always trying between schooling and factory shifts to figure out when his next meal was going to come. Why else would he and Hyuk have taken out tesserae all those years ago? It was preferable, playing the odds in the Reaping to starving for the rest of the year.

Nowadays, food is the least of his concerns. Whereas there is still a dearth in District Three, there is surplus in the Capitol. No surplus isn’t the right word; a surplus would mean the Capitol keeps the extra for the future. No, there is an excess of food in the Capitol, an excess that is dumped and left to rot after the pigs have had their share, have had their fun.

When he remembers that, food in the Capitol, no matter how finely it’s been prepared, becomes disgusting. Repulsive when it is combined with the thought of the districts, his people, still starving and fighting one another for the Capitol’s ‘scraps’. One plate is enough for Patrick to feel the bile swish in his stomach and even crawl back up his throat– how is he supposed to enjoy this filth now?

(But of course the Capitol has a way of perverting everything. Who else would have invented a liquid that makes one vomit what was just digested to make room for more food?)

“You didn’t have to,” is the first set of words to come out of his mouth, however. It’s such a childish gesture on her part; as a victor, she and her family should have more than enough riches to cover for food whether she’s in the Capitol or her own district. That and it’s considered normal to take leftovers from these banquets.

And yet, she’s staring him down like they are in covenance– it’s odd…strange how the things the Capitol deem sacred, she’ll approach with the irreverence of a foreigner and yet with the most mundane of objects, like a loaf of bread, most likely one of the hundred baked today and will be replicated tomorrow, like it is worth the weight of gold. He takes a hold of María’s loot. The loaf is still warm, freshly out of the oven, he wants to believe. Like it came from one of the bakeries in say, District 12, rather than a Capitol banquet table. Does she look at the Capitol and its elaborate feasts the same way? District Eight is probably just as bad if not even worse than his own district when it comes to food shortages so maybe her thievery makes sense.

When one has gone without food for long enough, no amount of surplus is enough to satiate the insecurity. He knows that feeling all too well. His stomach growls in anticipation. “…Normally, the Capitol likes to have this with caviar.” A delicacy from District Four along with butter shipped from District Ten. He splits the loaf in two, the inside crackling and breaking into two crisp pieces. “But I think…I think it tastes just as delicious on its own.” He hands María one half while taking a bite out of the other. “Take the other half; I can’t finish it on my own.”

It tastes delicious. 

[whosjunglejim4322]

Umbra | J. Seo (m)

》 Genre: vampire au! Smut, fluff, minor angst and mentions of violence, This story also features Yuta, Taeyong, Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Doyoung and Mark as his coven members

》 Warnings: spitting, dry humping, mentions of blood obvi, mentions of feeding, strong boy trying not to fuck you into oblivion, his eyes get black he's when he's hungry/horny, disgusting amount of fluff, omg sorta strength kink? Johnny is very in love w you and very protective cause some of his brothers are out of pocket, Jungwoo wants to b ur bestie lowkey, Yuta is a lil shit

Chapter 2 

There are many things that Johnny loves about you. He could spend all his time showering you with professions of his adoration, and he'd never grow tired of it. Though, his concept of time and yours are slightly different.

He's patient, excessively so sometimes, in your humble opinion. But, he also never expected in his three hundred and forty five years of existence, to find someone who manages to warm his cold and stagnant heart in the way you have.

Now, anytime away from you is a bit bothersome.

It's just, he never knew humans like you existed. In his world, there are either those who lust after his kind and the benefits in which their heightened senses and skills provide, or those who see him as a complete moral abomination.

Even now, in a society that has to live in conjunction with vampires, there are still so many people who fear him. Well, they fear what they think he is. A creature of the night, a demon, something that is only greedy for strife and nothing more.

You were the first person who genuinely throttled him, curious and wide eyed, completely fascinated by him. And not in a way that made him feel like he was under a microscope, but in a way that made him feel as though he was something...to be admired.

Your heartbeat, even after a year, still flutters like the wings of dragonfly whenever he displays his strength; swinging you up into his arms like you're made of feathers and all things delicate.

At first, he thought you were scared, weary, perhaps, about his abnormalities. He couldn't find any other explanation for the way you seemed to shrink in his presence whenever he'd dip his head below your chin to grace your throat with his lips, cooling your hot skin.

It didn't make sense. Not until he realized there is a direct correlation to your change and scent, and these moments in which he can be himself around you.

You like it. You like that he's different, a complete opposite to what you'd find in the common world. If he thought he could be any more enamored, anymore breathless than he was before (no pun intended) he was wrong.

Even now, with you lying with your back against his hard chest, playing with his slim fingers, your voice is nothing but earnest. Curious, in your own little world that consists of just you and him.

He thinks, no he knows, that if he had a pulse it would be racing every time he's around you. Every time you ask him a question that would normally repulse anyone else, even when you place his cool palm against your blazing cheek, giddy about the difference in temperature. He can tell that you just want to know more about him, about how he exists in the world. He simply can't resist indulging you.

"So...everyone doesn't taste the same? I always just assumed that blood is, well, blood." He smiles to himself as you trace shapes into his palm, before flipping his hand over and grazing your fingertips over his protruding knuckles.

The feeling of your skin against his is so pleasant he almost gets distracted.

"Well, it depends, really," his free hand strokes up and down your arms, savoring the softness. "sometimes the difference is slight, like someone who's A or B negative, but other times it can be quite stark. It's about chemistry really."

He can already see your expression in his head, furrowed brows, lips pursed in a manner too cute for your own good. He absentmindedly pushes you further against his chest, reclining slightly against the pillows as to make it more comfortable for you. You hum in satisfaction.

"Chemistry? Like how you feel about the person?" He can't quite pinpoint what is laced within the lilt of your voice, he answers nonetheless, chuckling warmly.

The sound is like pure velvet, causing your skin to tingle. You shiver, and he pulls your blanket over you, worried his lack of body heat may be disturbing your comfort. He doesn't realize how wrong he is.

"It's more like, how that person has lived. Their natural...how do I say...essence? Yes, their essence sometimes can determine how desirable some ones blood is to us."

He doesn't miss the way your heartbeat falters in rythm. He grins, as you take both of his hands in yours and intertwine your fingers. He twists his wrist and brings your knuckles up to his lips, kissing your skin.

You shift underneath the covers, suddenly thankful for his cool temperature. You know that most of the vampires that exist in society use blood bags from the banks provided, but you still wonder...

"Am I...am I desirable to you? Like, my blood, or whatever." You wish you could say you usually aren't so bad at speaking when you're around him, but that would be a blatant lie.

It's the most endearing thing he's ever witnessed.

His hands are gone from yours and elsewhere in the blink of an eye, one strong arm locked around your torso as his free hand reaches down to cup your chin. He turns and lifts your head towards him, gently, and the look in his eyes has your breath stalling momentarily.

"Of course you are, silly," he says it as if it's the most obvious thing ever, leaning down to peck your nose. Butterflies swarm violently in your belly. "I desire you in every way there is to desire someone, it makes me want to keep you all to myself. No one else should be allowed to even think about you, or your blood, in that way."

He looks lost in thought for a second, pupils almost darkening the whole of his irises, before he seemingly brings himself out of his daze. You turn in his hold, adjusting your position so that you're practically lying on top of him, chests touching and your legs cradled between his hips. He holds you effortlessly in his arms.

"Well it wouldn't matter anyways, cause I'm all yours." His pearly teeth show from behind the pillowy surface of his lips, as he leans in to kiss you in a manner that has you reaching out to wrap your hand around the nape of his neck.

"Mhm, all mine." He murmurs, nose nudging against yours as he shifts back and forth from your top lip, and then your bottom, tongue exploring the surface of each.

Kissing you, is another experience entirely for him. He wonders if it feels for you as it does for him, like pure intoxication. It brings back memories, memories he didn't think could still be reachable in the depths of his mind.

A time where he was warm, where life thrummed through his veins like the rushing current of a river. You are springtime on his tongue, the rays of sunlight that once heated his skin, the smell of flora in the air that mingles with the fleeting breeze.

He almost whines when you depart from his mouth, yearning already heavy in the pit of his stomach.

You look almost nervous, suddenly finicking with the front of his shirt as you sit back on his lap. He can hear the acceleration of your heartbeat, can smell the anxiety that is almost as heady as your desire.

He reaches out to cup your cheek, something he often does as a comforting gesture. You smile softly, meeting his curious, tepid gaze.

"So...I have a question," your voice shakes and you huff. "I mean, I was just wondering," he senses your struggle, wrapping his arms around you and sitting up so that your chests are nearly touching again, his palms splayed against your lower back.

"You can ask me anything, sweetheart. You know that." His voice, as sweet as honey, calms your racing pulse for a moment. Until you actually say the words out loud, wincing as if preparing for a scolding.

"Well I know you have a family, of sorts, from what you've told me. And I know you've always been really...hesitant to tell me more about them? I mean I've never been over, to your home or met them,"

Understanding washes over him, hands rubbing your back soothingly as the glint in his irises provokes an odd sensation within your belly. Like he knew this conversation would have to be had one day.

He lets you finish speaking, though your voice has even more of a tremor than before, now.

"Sorry if I'm making you uncomfortable, I understand if you don't want me over there."

Urgency calcifies in his chest, the sad lilt to your soft voice making him feel ill. The way you say it is as if you think he doesn't want you in his space, like he's keeping you away from there because of something other than rational reasoning, doesn't sit right with him.

He cups your jaw, firmly but gently.

"I want you with me as much as possible, never think that I don't want you. That is not at all why I haven't brought you over there," You have no choice but to believe him, when he's looking at you with such a passionate gaze far heavier than what you're used to in a normal setting, his words concise.

"I am...well I'm old, and so are they. I've spent a long time being alienated, far before we were even accepted in the new world. We've settled here since before you were born, so you won't remember what it was like when people were forced to live along side us."

You hate hearing the unusual grain of what seems to be dejection in his tone, though you listen fervently anyways, his hands still comforting you despite the fact that his eyes are the ones cast down. You want to kiss the furrow between his dark brows.

"I've accepted who I am, furthermore I've accepted who I want to be. I realized that, it would do me no good to be a monster if people were willing, even if begrudgingly, to accept our existence. But my brothers,"

Your stomach sinks at the way he says it, knowing without a doubt that this is the answer to your original question, that his stance had to be explained before he told you something like this.

"they don't feel the same way as me, so they are stuck in their ways beyond coercion. They live very different lives, they are what our kind refer to as nightcrawlers, it's sardonic inside joke for those of us that would rather not conform to the new age of mutual concurrency."

"They are still a bit resentful for the fact that they can't exactly give in to their natural instincts. They don't see the humans acceptance as welcoming, they see it as a mockery. Do you see where I'm coming from?"

You look a bit out of it, like maybe you're frightened and he's suddenly worried he's gone overboard, that he's scared you in a way that can't be fixed. His eyes are suddenly frantic.

But then you speak, and you don't sound vexed, nor unsettled. Your question is simple, your thighs tightening around his waist as if to draw yourself closer to his comfort, arms looping around his shoulders.

"Do they all feel that way?"

He smiles, muscles untensing as you play with his hair in the way you usually do. Your eyes never leave his, and he wonders how he got so lucky.

"The youngest, well the youngest in our years, they're a bit less malicious about it. They don't cross anyone unless someone crosses them, but they can be excessively territorial because of their youth."

The tension, despite talking about a topic so heavy, is light again. You feel a bit silly now, understanding why he might not want you in close proximity with his coven.

But, still, knowing that there are people, for lack of better term, that have been in his life unimaginably long; a completely different, solidified version of a family, it makes you more nosey than usual. Could they really be that different from him?

"And...you're sure that if I were to meet them, it would end badly?" His eyebrow twitches in an inquisitive manner, surprise coloring his sharp features.

"I- well I thought you were just curious, I didn't think you'd actually want to meet them. Especially after all of that,"

It's as if he's speaking to himself out loud, his pink tongue flicking out to wet his lips. You resist the urge to kiss him so suddenly.

"but I don't suppose so. It's already established that you're mine. If there's one rule we follow, it's that. They know how I feel about you, despite our differences."

The sturdiness to his voice when he speaks of you being his, has your belly filling with heat at an irrational rate, and you suddenly remember how it felt to see him before you actually got to know him.

He's incredibly intimidating on the surface, firm and stoic. You can't see how anyone would want to anger him.

"So then I'd be safe, meeting them. And I'd get to see if you guys really have furniture."

Despite not needing to, he swallows. It's hard impossible to say no to you, when you look at him like that and sound so genuinely interested at a prospect that would make any other person run for the hills, even cracking jokes.

You're soft, and too innocent for your own good. He should say no, but to risk seeing a pout form on your soft lips, or having to hear the disappointment in your voice, it's unbearable.

"You really want to meet them, don't you?" He can't fight his smile when your face lights up like that.

"Well, I think it's important. They're your family, one way or another." You're gentle when you speak, honest.

"You're safe with me, you have to know that. But they're...not used to being around humans that aren't just accessories. The last thing I want is for one of them to say something that makes you uncomfortable."

It's evident in the low timbre of his tone that he's serious, and any smart person might listen. But as he said, and as you believe wholeheartedly, you're safe with him. Safer than you'd ever be.

And, as wrong as it may be, you want to see what other vampires are like. You're really only used to Johnny, the exception, where as most modern vampires only come out when absolutely necessary. Meeting him, and falling in love with him, has given you a brand new sight towards the world. Is it that insane to want to meet his brothers that have been so close to him for so long?

"I'll be with you, so it won't matter. I'll bet they're not even that scary, no ones scarier than you."

Your triumphant, playful smile has him grinning from ear to ear, leaning down to capture your lips between his own. Even though you're wrong about them, he's weak. Too weak.

"Yeah? Afraid I'll eat you for breakfast?" His breath is suddenly against your earlobe and you shudder pleasantly, grasping onto his shoulders before regaining some sort of composure.

"I'm definitely dinner, breakfast is really overrated. Unless it's breakfast for dinner, that's way better for some reason?"

He's kissing you again, despite the fact that he's smiling too hard for his own good, swiftly flipping you over so that you're caged underneath his body. His weight is barely perceptible even with your chests touching, forearms holding himself up.

"You'll be the death of me, you know that?" He has a hard time speaking without strain due to the way his throat has suddenly tightened with need, your legs wrapping around his trim torso and pushing his hips further against yours.

"Not possible, unless I've suddenly charmed your heart into beating again." You tease, though his eyebrows remain furrowed in concentration as he kisses you between words, dangerously sensual. You smell too divine.

"Very possible, actually. If you only knew how you make me feel."

Your belly lurches at the desperation that flows from him, his aura downright fever inducing. Without thinking, your crotch nudges his, bucking with the slightest of movements. But it's enough, enough to have his jaw clenching and a habitual breath of restraint leaving his nose.

Five fingers grasp your chin, so he can kiss you, hard. His hips begin to roll as his teeth nibble your bottom lip, the fabric of his jeans an arousing juxtaposition to your soft lounge shorts, your lack of underwear making it all the more satisfying.

He's hard, too. Knowing his dick is just underneath, hard for you, it'll never not give you whiplash. It gets you drunk, knowing your effect on him is as overwhelming as his on you. You're whimpering against his tongue, rubbing yourself on his bulge.

"Mmm, fuck." He growls, capturing your wrists in his palms before your next breath, raising them above your head and making sure they're comfortable against the pillows.

He's inches away from your face now, and his expression alone is enough to have your walls pulsing around nothing, desire seeping into your chest and hardening your nipples, goosebumps forming across your skin.

He looks at you like he's hungry, nostrils flaring avariciously. He tries so very hard to fight the darkness that fills his sclera like ink, knowing how very monstrous and unlike himself it makes him appear.

But he hears the way it makes your heart race. He can practically taste the thrill that seeps from your pores, the unbridled arousal that drips from your cunt like syrup. Your neck cranes upwards to try and reach his lips, and he smirks before meeting you halfway.

"Do you want me to keep rubbing your pussy like this," he looks down between your bodies and purposely rolls his hips in an accentuated fashion. "or do you want my dick?"

His voice is brusque, but caring and accommodating as it always is, his plump lips quivering slightly from the way his mouth waters.

"Can I have your dick, please?" You return, his mouth quirking up into a sideways grin.

"Such good manners," he kisses you again, sloppily, the sounds lewd and causing you to shiver against his unwavering body. "how could I ever deny you?"

You blink, and cool air is breezing against your wet slit, the nakedness sending a wave of tingles through your nerve endings. Before you can look down, you feel his cock against your clit, smooth and rounded tip gathering wetness from your hole before circling it over your clit.

He uses one hand to keep your legs parted for his viewing, fingers softly gripping your flesh as he sits back on his haunches. You feel impatience crawling up your throat, toes already curling as your bud throbs and your walls ache.

He's so pretty, he is raven hair against olive skin, an onyx sky against shimmering stars. Your hands reach out for his hips, delicate but fierce in their strength. He rubs his shaft against your folds, before prodding at your entrance.

He always watches your expression when he first slides in, the way your mouth falls open and you are suddenly this beautiful, agonizingly worked up thing. He bites down on his bottom lip as his eyes flicker from your pussy, lovlier than a flower and welcoming him with a squeeze, to your face.

Your eyes are bleary as they stare back up at him, your breathing already erratic. His lip curls with the need to hiss, to ravage you. But he takes it slow, he loves watching you fall apart too much. And you're so wet around him, moaning his name like it's the only word you know.

"Johnnyyyy, oh - umph." He rocks into, gracefully and with a deliberate curl. You claw at the front of his tee shirt, pulling him down to your face.

He eagerly obliges, meeting your lips with a soft smack, the angle only pushing him deeper within your body. His pace has increased, the front of his thighs colliding with the back of yours. His mouth somehow remains steady, as if he's not fucking you like he is.

He's parting from you sooner than you'd like, but you know he likes to fuck you like this, able to see all of you and savor it. It's still the most incredible thing he'll ever witness or experience, he's sure of it.

He can't believe a creature like him could be so lucky, here with his manhood buried to the hilt inside of someone so breathtaking, so innately divine. Your essence is thick and wet, coating his shaft each time he pulls out.

"Such a pretty pussy, so fuckin' pretty baby." His voice is gruff, nose twitching and eyes black. You wrap your fingers around his strong, sturdy forearms as his hands grip the softness of your waist. His lips purse and a string of spit dribbles down your clit.

"Ungh, oh my- ohhhhh Johnny please please." You're not sure what your begging for, and it doesn't matter. Because he'll give you whatever it is you need before you know you need it, already hooking your legs over his broad shoulders, gripping your jaw and pushing it up so that he can mouth at your sensitive neck.

"Mmm, I got you baby, I'm right here," he takes your earlobe in his mouth before marking your throat, licking and sucking. "I can already feel your belly tensing sweetheart, gonna make a mess for me?"

All you can do is nod, eyes squeezed shut and hands exploring his firm abdomen while he pushes himself all the way into you; rocking his hips back and forth to make sure the tip of his cock is rubbing that sweet spot inside of you. Your clit is being stimulated in the process, and you know you're not going to last long.

He knows it too, and his thumb is suddenly on your swelling bud, rubbing you in circles faster than you can comprehend, but with just enough pressure to have your nails digging into his back with fervor. Having unbreakable skin must be a plus, in his case.

You're tensing more now, twitching even. Your energy is buzzing around him, electric. Your heart pounds like a drum, rattling against your ribcage and causing blood to thrum viciously throughout your veins. His thrusts become a bit more frantic, his senses completely overcome with you.

He's so lost in his own pleasure he doesn't even hear you cum. He feels you go limp underneath him, back arching off the bed and your walls spasming around his cock.

He realizes now that you're trying to shove your face in the pillows, a silent sob ripping through your body. He's pulling you to him, and you're suddenly in his lap, as he comforts you with a soothing coo.

When you move your face from the crook of his neck and he's met with your teary eyes and damp skin, he's thrown off the edge.

Your forehead is against his as he bites back a snarl of sorts, pumping into you from below with as much restraint as he can muster as to not overwhelm you since you've just cum as well.

He has to move his hands away from you for a quick second, opting for the bed sheets instead while you cling onto him and kiss his cheeks, his jaw, his neck. He feels selfish, but he also doesn't want to crush your hip bones in such a state.

Your breathing is still uneven, even after several minutes and once he's sure that he's in his right frame of mind, his arms are around you again.

Your body is sweetly ravaged by his mouth, lips leaving a wet trail over too much skin in such a short amount of time. You're still sensitive, wincing as his enthusiasm causes you to shift on his lap.

"Oh." He uses one arm to wrap around your middle, slowly pulling you off of his dick and lying you down against the comforter.

You whine at the loss of contact as he disappears, returning in a blur with a warm, damp cloth. He's in between your legs, wiping away your shared mess and muttering soft sorrys when he's just a smidge too rough. You're still embarrassed by his need to take care of you like this, bashfully looking away.

You don't realize he's gone and returned until the covers are being thrown over your body, his arms securing you to his solid chest and his lips against your ear.

"You need sleep, don't argue." He kisses the back of your head and you smile to yourself, snuggling further against his figure. You feel like you're being warmed from the inside out, despite how cool his skin is against yours.

"M'not gonna argue, you made me tired," The thump of your pulse and the shy lilt to your voice satisfies him, and he wishes that he could make love to you all over again.

"When will you take me to go meet the others?" Your speech is already slightly slurred with sleep, a yawn following. He sighs, kissing behind your ear.

"Give me until tomorrow night, I need to discuss a few things. Then we'll go, I promise."

He wishes that this could be a more exciting prospect for him, that in the back of his mind he weren't, for the first time in a long time, genuinely worried about how his brothers might react.

It's got nothing to do with his capability. Without question he will keep you safe, his strength is comparable to the eldest and he'd forge fire if it meant having you whole and in his arms.

But his coven, they're different than what he knows you're expecting. He knows that because of primal, and ancestral rules that they will not lay a hand on you.

If he's honest, it's more so what might come out of their mouths that worries him. He can't have them slip up and say something they're not supposed. It'll kill him if there's even one crease of worry or sadness etched onto your pretty face. He won't allow it.

But if it's important to you, it's important to him. You're here, asleep in his arms, and he's certain that if he had a soul, he would trade it if it meant another lifetime of your existence.

•

Johnny isn't next to you when you wake up, which isn't a particularly uncommon occurrence. It's just that normally he'd let you know beforehand, even shaking you awake sometimes just to mumble a be back soon in your ear, despite the fact that you're half asleep.

You reach over to your bedside table to grab your phone, clicking it on and feeling a bit less tense realizing he's left you a message. You smile.

Sorry I had to leave so early, sweetheart. I'm speaking with my brothers and getting some things taken care of. Don't worry. I love you and I'll see you soon. xx

He must be serious, about the way they behave. It's not that you don't believe him, you'd just rather see the positives, in whatever way you can. It's a little bit startling to think about today, if you're honest. Especially after such an all consuming night, the sun now too bright in your eyes, the scent of Johnny still on your sheets and clothes.

You feel anything but dark and dreary when you think of him. That's not to say he's not quite scary if you don't know him. Broad and towering, gaze low and piercing in a way that'll have you looking away nervously if he were to make eye contact with you.

But you can't imagine him as anything but what he is, beautiful and lively and kind, soft around the cold hard edges.

You stretch as you rise from your bed, joints popping as you pull yourself onto your feet. You wince slightly, realizing between your thighs is still fairly sore, ghosts of his touch lingering on your heated skin.

You and Johnny don't have sex incredibly often, at least not by normal human couple standards. It's pretty obvious why. His ability to control his strength, his desire, his thirst; in that state, as he has explained, it leaves him a little bit frayed.

It's not like you're not satisfied anyways, he's more than generous with his mouth and fingers, and despite the fact that he holds nearly half of his full vigor back when the two of you are intimate, it's still a little bit throttling for you afterwards.

The day is boring without him, quite frankly, but despite whatever you may think about it, you still respect his decision to plan ahead for your visit.

You do get it, it's not that. If anything, you just feel too safe with him. To the point where you sometimes feel invincible in his arms.

It almost makes up for the fact that you don't get to show him off as much as you'd like, as silly as it sounds. His kind can go out in the sun, but it's a bit bothersome after a while from what you've heard. He is almost a cliché in that department, most days either spent with him in doors or at night.

Sometimes, though, you wonder what it would be like if he were human. It wouldn't make a difference, you're sure of that, because he'll always be your Johnny. But the thought does venture into your mind every now and then, because of the way he speaks of his humanhood. As if he's trying not to admit how much he misses it.

You often wonder what he must have looked like when he could blush, with his vibrant smile on show, and dimples high on his soft cheeks.

A small, selfish part of you envies the people who might have gotten to witness him like that. Warm, a little uncoordinated maybe, eyes topaz in the sun. He must have been a sight to behold, throughout his human life.

Deep down, a part of you knows that, that is what this whole thing with his brothers boils down to. You're not just curious, you're madly in love with him. So much so that when he's away, it does feel uncomfortable. You never believed people when they spoke of love that way, you always thought it to be quite gross, actually.

And maybe you're just a silly little human with silly little feelings, to be so smitten after a year. But there's no going back now, he's a part of you, so of course you think about how much of him you've never gotten to see. Of course you want to meet any tangible part of his incomprehensible life, his family. Even if it's not conventional.

It leaves an odd pit in your stomach, thinking of him young and youthful, thinking of his mother and father and the life that they had created so many lifetimes ago.

You think of him at eighteen, maybe still plush in some areas not yet tainted by the work of adulthood. Had he ever been in love, back then? You swallow back the irrational bitterness you suddenly taste.

You think of him at twenty, and what he might have been passionate about. What life was even like for him. You think of his first kiss, and him at twenty four, a year before his life as what he is now, began.

Truthfully, you don't know a lot about him. It's a strange, sudden realization, but it's just never really mattered in all honesty. Because you know him, how he is now, which is all you'll ever get and is more than what you could've ever asked for.

You've always felt like it's different because his existence in itself has been so tremulous, and in a lot of ways very hard to talk about without it getting uncomfortable because of all that he has lost, or subsequently reminding him of what he is.

Never things he'd admit out loud, but definitely something you've picked up on in his expression or the wistfulness in his voice. It doesn't matter, to you; the bad parts. He's yours, and somehow you two have found each other despite so many centuries vouching on never having met one another at all. You wish you could truly express to him how nothing would ever stray you away.

You've showered and eaten an inadequate dinner by the time Johnny shows up, presence barely perceptible until he's wrapping his strong arms around you from behind.

You're used to it by now, not even flinching anymore. You melt instantaneously, placing your hands over his that are resting around your waist.

"Hi." He whispers, lips against the shell of your ear. You shiver and let out a giggle, turning in his grasp to get a kiss. He's on your lips before you even have to lift yourself on your tippy toes.

"Mm, hi." You mumble, hands cupping his jaw. You hum as he pulls you closer, spinning you so that you're pressed against the counter, his hand on the small of your back blocking you from the hard edge.

"We could stay here, you know," he smiles against your mouth, half teasing and half serious. "a change of plan never hurt anybody."

The idea is actually tempting.

"But I just showered." You pout, and his hands are rubbing your sides, eyes contemplative.

"You're right, you shouldn't go over there smelling anymore enticing than you already do, anyways." He says it with a grit of his teeth, as if the mere thought bothers him.

You're too distracted by his face to really absorb what he's saying, smiling up at him, practically beaming. Before he can quirk his brow and boop your nose with the tip of his finger, you kiss him again.

It's chaste, but it's sincere.

"You're so cute when you're all disgruntled." You state, throwing your arms around his neck. He snorts, shaking his head and licking his heart shaped lips lips out of habit.

"I'm not disgruntled, I just want this to go well." He replies, broad shoulders slumping. You unhook your arms from around him to grasp his hands, large and welcoming in yours. He intertwines your fingers.

"It will. Because I'm with you." It's simple, and undeniable. He knows that, and accepts defeat when he sees how truly bright the gleam in your eye is. You're his own little sun. 

During the drive to his home, Johnny takes this time to give you some much needed insight on the creatures you’ll be meeting. He gives you their names, some key characteristics so that you won’t be startled by their behavior, but he doesn’t give you their ages. He simply refers to the one named Yuta as the oldest, and Mark as the youngest. 

“Youngest and oldest in vampire years or..?” You ask, the corner of his mouth twitching into an amused smile at your interest. You forget to focus for a moment, tracing the planes of his side profile with your eyes. 

“Yuta was my age when he was changed, but he is, in our terms, the eldest. Mark is the youngest both in the factors.” His thumb strokes the back of your knuckles where your clasped hands rest on the center console, though it doesn’t soothe all the burning questions that you’ve decided need to stay in your head, for now. 

You think of mark first, something about his youth, despite the fact that he is centuries older than you, seeming a little bit less intimidating. Almost abstract, in a way. As he describes the youngest, it’s easy to picture a boyish smile, innocence. Until he throws in the fact that the ones that get changed before the brain is fully developed, tend to be the ones with more of an unsteady grasp on their more potent emotions. You can guess what that means, and he suddenly regrets ever opening his mouth. 

Johnny almost debates whether or not he should turn the car around and forget about this occasion all together, growing anxious at your monotone expression and the way you are chewing the skin of your bottom lip, and not realizing you are just lost in deep thought, not perturbed or uncomfortable. 

Really, you are just trying to make out what his brothers may be like. Taeyong, Jaehyun, Jungwoo, Doyoung. For some reason, it’s the thought of meeting Yuta that seems the most daunting. Despite the fact that he is Johnny’s age, not technically but anyways - knowing that he has been around for so long has you wondering how a person like that even thinks. 

Maybe you should've listened to your boyfriend. No, you're brave. But sometimes you are not very smart.

You are pulled for your reverie of sorts when your surroundings become darker, gloomier in the way that the trees seem to shield the road ahead from the sun, forming a canopy from above and casting misshapen shadows across the ground.

You don’t realize you’re clutching his hand tighter until Johnny turns to look at you with worried eyes, all the stars and every wish that he could ever grant you swirling in his chocolate irises. 

“Are you alright? We can turn around and-” 

You shake your head in defiance, determined. You aren’t going to back out now, not when you can already see the house from around the bend, pillars high and spiraling, a wide balcony peeking out from behind the trees. 

“I’m perfectly fine, promise.” you give him a soft, reassuring smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes but he knows you’ll likely scowl at him if he keeps insisting on your indifference, so he takes the car just a little bit further, rounding a bend and stalling before cutting the engine. 

The house is a lot more grand that you’d previously expected, the outside still kempt but not as pristine. Mostly, you thought that it would offensive to coin their home as something dark and menacing, not wanting to contribute to the cliché. But, it does in fact feel as though you are walking into a lair.  

It’s beauty is undeniable, though, despite the lack of real warmth that it exudes. Upon entering, wide open space greets you, black marble flooring underneath your boots and a staircase straddling either side of the entryway. Above it is a balcony, hanging over the foyer from the second floor. 

“So I was correct, about the furniture.” You murmur, pressed against his hard side with your arms wound around his forearm despite the fact that the house is seemingly empty. You know that it’s not, though. Any living being who walked into this house would be able to feel it, the static that seems to raise the hair on the back of your neck. 

“You'll have to forgive our complacency when it comes to interior design,"  

The voice seems to appear out of nowhere, melodic and smooth and echoing off of the walls in a way that makes the direction of the sound imperceptible. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see someone making their way down the left staircase, gliding more so than walking. 

"So many years leave us comfortable, rather than fashionable."

Two figures float behind him, while three others descend down the opposite staircase. You could've sworn you'd only glanced at Johnny for half a second, before they suddenly materialized.

The man is suddenly right in front of you, and your eyes act as if they have no choice but to meet his, your breath stalling. It reminds you of the first time you saw Johnny, how shocking it was to be faced with such inhuman beauty.

"My name is Taeyong, it's lovely to meet you." The creature flashes a bright smile, something unreadable in his sharp eyes. His quaint lips are mischievous, or maybe you're just paranoid.

You don't have a chance to respond, already surrounded by a group that seem oddly eager to meet you despite what Johnny had warned, their gate an obvious contrast to your boyfriends. 

They seem to sway effortlessly rather than stand perfectly still, their proximity closer than that of strangers. The energy around them feels unpredictable, and without thought your hand tightens around Johnny's.

"Wow, she smells good." A voice muses from the group, and you follow it to find a face that you somehow automatically know belongs to Mark. His face is youthful, eyes wide and full of glee and then a bit amused, due to what you can assume is from your boyfriend glaring at him sharply.

"No wonder he's so attached." The boy beside Mark, with dimples as deep as you've ever seen, hums to his friend.

"Please, don't be so crude, children. She is our guest." This voice is authoritative, the timbre low but the tone gentle like the stroke of a feather.

The group seems to make way for him without thought, and again, you're instantly struck with recognition simply by his presence alone.

He approaches you without caution, you blink and he's suddenly right there. His hair is longer than the others, curling around his prominent chin and framing his elegant features.

"It's a real pleasure to meet you, we've heard so much about the little human that's enamored our dear brother." You can't look away from his cunning face, his eyes are almost wild in excitement, plush lips stretching across his face to reveal a million wat smile.

He extends his hand towards you, with a bit more reserve now - and the first thing you notice are the sharp, glossy black nails that are more akin to claws, formed into stilettos at the tips of his delicate, slender fingers.

"Careful." Johnny mutters to his brother through his teeth, the man giggling in amusement as he gently takes your hand in his. You hadn't even realized you'd extended it back, his skin almost colder than Johnny's if possible.

"Tsk, so worried. For what reason? Look, I'm being as gentle as a hummingbird. Her hands are so soft."

Yuta. It's undeniable, he's too confident, bemused by this whole ordeal and even more so by the way his brother has stiffened beside you, pulling you back just a fraction of an inch.

The elder sighs wistfully, allowing your hand to drop from his. He meets your eyes once more, your skin buzzing oddly.

"My name is-"

"Yuta. I-I know, I mean I guessed."

It's the first word you've spoken to any them, and your voice is shakier than you'd like, throat dry. The mans lips twitch into a grin, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he clasps his hands together in a stunned manner.

"Wow, perceptive you are. So sure, despite appearing so meek."

You can't decipher his tone, worried that maybe you've messed up by interrupting him. He seems a bit perplexed, in a curious way. You're grateful for a new voice introducing themselves, directing your attention elsewhere.

"I'm Jungwoo," His voice is the most welcoming. "your skin is so pretty. Is that weird to say?" He mutters the last part to the slender, inquisitive man beside him, who's features are similar to that of a feline. He seems indifferent.

But, for the first time since you've arrived, you smile, an odd sense of relief flooding through your nervous system. You feel Johnny relax as well, and you glance up at him for just a moment, to see him already looking down at you.

"It's nice to meet you, Jungwoo," The jubilent vampire flashes you a smile. "all of you, really. Thankyou for welcoming me into your home."

"Of course, doll. Should we give her a tour?" Yuta speaks and Johnny responds almost a heartbeat after the elders suggestion.

"I can do that, give her some space." His voice is polite but firm, and Yuta giggles again, while the others back up a bit. Johnny readjusts his grip on your hand and begins moving towards the right staircase, turning his head to send the rest a look you can't see.

He leads you down the left corridor into a massive hallway, the walls a deep shade of plum, floors white marble instead of black like the ones downstairs.

Once you're out of view from the rest, he stills, turning towards you and rubbing his hands up and down your arms.

"I'm sorry about that, really." His eyes are apologetic and you snort, embracing his middle and kissing his chin.

"Sorry for what? I'm fine, they were fine."

He lets out a sigh, broad shoulders slumping as he does so. He believes you enough to not keep on, pressing his lips to your forehead before continuing his non informative tour.

"I wish they'd keep at least some of their thoughts to themselves," you're turning, brought down another lengthy hall with a massive picture window framing the north wall. Heavy burgundy curtains keep the sun from shining through the glass.

To the left is another set of stairs, small in comparison to the ones you've seen so far, framed with elegant railing. "this is my room, up here." He points to the door that sits right at the top of them, lonesome and heavy looking.

Your heartbeat is suddenly loud in your own ears, excitement bubbling in your belly at the prospect of being in a space that belongs to him. He senses this, and smiles to himself as he wraps his fingers around the doorknob and pushes it open.

Everything about his room is inherently Johnny. It's simple, but so very him.

The atmosphere is completely different to what the rest of the house provokes, the floors a deep cherry red, hardwood. A round, red rug sits in the middle of the room, a leather sectional nestled in the corner to the right. Beside it hangs rows of shelves with a multitude of books, more than you'd normally see lounging in some ones room. He's probably read them all three times over by now.

He has a television, which shouldn't make you giggle as it does. It's far bigger than necessary, taking up almost all the space on the eastern wall. There's a door almost adjacent to the one you entered from, which you presume is the bathroom.

"I love it, it's so comfortable in here." You muse, trotting towards the sectional and throwing yourself on the massive sofa. He chuckles, sauntering towards you and lifting your head so that he can place it atop his lap.

He can't lie to himself, it makes him ache in the most pleasant of ways to have you here, in a place that has been his only real peace since he's met you. Well, scratch that. You are his only safe haven.

"Yeah?" He replies, scratching your scalp lightly, studying the softness of your features as you gaze up at him, elated.

"Mhm, it feels like stepping into a different house entirely. Not that I have an issue with the interior design." You playfully mock his brother Taeyong’s earlier words, and laughter bubbles from your boyfriends throat.

"You don't think it's too melancholy? The house, I mean."

You shake your head indifferently, hair ruffling against the material of his jeans that are covering his thick thighs.

"To be honest it is quite....vampire-y, but it's elegant. And big. And knowing you live here makes it not seem so dark."

His hands are suddenly cupping the area just underneath your arms, effortlessly pulling you up so that you're straddling his lap. Your thighs find their place immediately, knees squeezing his torso.

"You're too good. Too pretty to be in a place like this." Despite his tone his eyes are formed into crescent moons from his smile, and you don't fight the urge to kiss him.

"Shush, or I'll battle you to the death." You mumble, his nose nudging your cheek as he tilts his head to move in a steady rythm with your mouth.

"Mm, think I beat you to it." He teases, and you can feel his smile. You're not in the frame of mind to scold him for that one.

Naturally, without even thinking, your body heats up fast from the way he kisses you. Even if he's trying to be chaste, it always ends up with a flame being fed by his tongue. His scent, the sensation of wholeness when you're surrounded by him.

Especially now, in the comfort of and quiet of his room when all you can hear is the smack of your mouths, steady and calculated. You're encapsulated by everything that belongs to the person you love.

A soft push to your shoulders has you humming in confusion, you're still not back on earth when you break apart to see the contrived, reluctant expression that twists his face.

"We can't - not here." He strains, very much so aware of way your hips are planted so firmly against his, the sweet scent of blood that rushes like a current through the area between your thighs.

You pout, and instinctually he's cupping your face between his palms, kissing it away. His fingertips graze the shell of your ear. 

"Don't give me that look, you know why I'm saying no. If they thought you smelled good before, you'd be the finest of dining options if you walked down there wet."

Your body pulses with arousal, arousal that he can practically taste on the tip of his tongue. A petulant whine slips from your throat, while your palms graze his hardening length through his jeans, and his cock twitches.

Fuck. He really can't deny you, can he?

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 II

Warnings: warnings to be added as we progress but this series may contain non-consent, violence, death, and other triggers.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You attend king Loki’s coronation but the night ends precariously.

Note: I still don’t know what I’m doing. I’m tryna keep up but tbh I am gonna be working a lot so updates might be inconsistent for the time being.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

There were no windows in the dungeons. No time. No life.

Just you and the distant sounds of your fellow prisoners. A thick iron door closed you in the stone cell, a single slot let in a sliver of torchlight and your sole meal each day. A bowl of thin broth and a heel of moldy bread. You ate out of need though often regretted it as your stomach churned. You counted the days by the bowls but could not be certain how long you languished.

You smelled of sweat and the cell; dank and dingy. You slept sitting up, rarely at that, and filled the time with thoughts of doom. Of regrets and remonstrances. You should have let Gilla go on her own, but could you live with the thought of her in your place? You should have stopped her and dragged her home. You should have climbed faster. You should have accepted death over this monotonous purgatory.

There was nothing you could do. It was over. You assured your own fate in your words. Your want to mock and appease the king’s pride had led you to error. The word, that one you’d never spoken before, a dagger on your tongue; ‘beholden’. Was that what you were? What your imprisonment was? Your debt to your king.

Your feet were bare, damp, and cold. You recalled losing your clogs on the palace lawn. Your tunic felt thin and your pants clung uncomfortably to your legs. You kept your arms crossed over your knees as you sat in the corner. Sometimes your head would law and you would sink into a few moments of hazy slumber. Glimpses of life beyond the dungeon, of memories, sunlight and the kiss of pollen in your nose. But when you awoke, your prison only seemed darker and smaller. 

You heard yourself snoring as you dozed, your head heavy with exhaustion. The eerie nose of your snorts and snarls were quieted by the sudden metallic schlock as gears were turned by a key. You woke with a start, dizzy and confused. The door pushed inward and the clink of the guards armour underlined the grind of the hinges. 

A tall shadow entered, a length of cloth hung from his shoulders, a fine cape that suddenly shone as the guard hung a torch in the ring along the wall. The king walked cautiously around the confined space as if he would be tainted by your filth.

You uncrossed your arms and braced the wall. You struggled to stand as you shook away the sleep from your head. You groaned and staggered as you pushed your feet under you and stood. He chuckled as he stilled and watched your struggle.

“While I appreciate the effort, little mouse, it is expected that one bows to their king.” He mused.

You took a breath and stepped away from the wall. You did your best to bow but as you straightened up, your head swam. The torchlight made your eyes water and you felt as if you were trapped in some wretched dream.

“Are you unwell?” He asked tauntingly.

“Well enough, your majesty,” you answered, even if he held no true concern.

“I must apologize, I have been distracted by my kingly duties.” His green eyes clung to you as slowly the fog slaked away from your mind. They seemed brighter as the flame flickered along the wall. “I did not have the chance to consider your sentence.”

You swallowed and narrowed your eyes. You were slightly perplexed. You blinked and glanced around. “A cell, a meal, my life. I cannot bemoan my lot. Is it not what I asked for, your majesty?”

His lips curved wryly and he shook his head. “Ah, so you think that is your fate. That this hole is to be your existence?” He strode from wall to wall and grimaced. “Did I not agree to mercy?”

“You sent me here…” you uttered, “Your majesty, you said you would spare my life.”

“And I shall. I have.” He faced you again, “I have thought on what this new life should entail for you.”

You wrinkled your nose as you tried to untangle his words. He spoke in riddles and you were untrained in logic. You were no solicitor nor privileged enough to look upon a page. You folded your hands before you and waited for his explanation. You were realising how this man enjoyed the noise of his own voice.

“I thought of the laundries, the kitchens, the stables, even perhaps, a chambermaid to one of my lords or ladies. Consider that any position on my staff is one of prestige for any of your ilk. And I thought that a fine show of mercy but then… I thought more. You see, my staff is well-furnished, I would say I have an excess of servants. Too many hands for one broom.” He paused slid his tongue along his bottom lip. “Those wardens of my staff assured me of this conclusion.”

You watched him warily. He was playing with you. A cat dangling it’s wriggling prey as it considered how to devour it. A snake, rather.

“I will admit, that alongside the many duties that delayed me was this conundrum. This puzzle without a solution,” he continued as he took a step towards you. You resisted the urge to retreat or shy away from him. That was what he expected. “What do I do with this life thrust upon me? On the one I did promise my first act of mercy?”

You stared back at him as he neared. He was close. You smelled the earthy oils rubbed in his hair, the soft scent of gardenia that softened his musk. You bit down as you swallowed your impatience.

“It would not be just for you to serve another, as it were. That was not our barter. You swore yourself to me. And so I did ponder how exactly you might serve me…” His lashes flicked as his eyes descended briefly. “Your fashion does make one almost forget what lay beneath.”

You squirmed as his gaze returned to your face and your realised his meaning; salacious and repulsive. Your body went rigid as a deep sigh forced itself from your lungs.

“My own father kept a bed warmer for years. Especially in those years after my mother’s death.” He said coyly.

You glared at him and took a step back, you weren’t far between him and the wall. 

“I’d rather the cell,” you sneered.

He snickered and came closer. You continued backward until you met the stone. He leaned in until his nose almost met yours. “I’m not asking, little mouse. I am come to deal your sentence.”

“Then I refuse your mercy and would take the noose,” you insisted. “If mercy is what you would call it.”

“It is an honour for any, even the most dignified lady, to please her king,” his fingers crawled along the tails of your tunic and pressed more firmly to your hips, “It is more than mer--”

Your hand flew up before you could think. His touch made you recoil and his words reminded you of the sour broth you had gulped down only hours ago. He was stunned by the strike across his cheek but he stayed close. He winced only slightly as his eyes flared. His hand was at your throat in an instant.

“Don’t you fret, little mouse, I like the game,” he snarled, “And I suspect you will give me quite the chase.”

His hot breath grazed your lips as he held you against the wall. He stared you down and let out a fractured huff. He squeezed until your head swelled and released you sharply.

“If you do so prefer this cell, then you can remain.” He waved his fingers casually as he backed away, “The cell and nothing more.”

He felt along his belt and slowly revealed a long dagger as the metal whispered against the leather sheath. You gaped at the blade and as he came closer, you could not hide your fear. He pushed your hand away as you tried to keep him from you.

“If you resist, you will bloody yourself,” he scowled as he grabbed the collar of your tunic. “So be still.”

He hooked the dagger inside your tunic and tore through the fabric. The blade easily sliced open the wool and caught in your belt, only to snap it just as swiftly. You gasped as he shoved the fabric away from your shoulders. Your undershirt was thin and just as easily shorn away. You looked away as your shame seared across your flesh.

He was rough as he cut away your leggings and had you naked before him. You tried to cover yourself as he replaced his dagger at his belt. He grabbed your arms and pulled them above you as he gazed down at your naked form.

“Your first lesson, little mouse.” He slithered, “You must not strike your king.”

He smirked and dropped your arms. He turned and went to the door. He rapped with two knuckles and called for the guard. You sidled to the corner and crouched down as the door was opened. The guard appeared and the king directed him to collect your shredded clothing. 

“Bastard,” you whispered under your breath as the king made to leave. He stopped for a moment but said nothing before he passed into the corridor.

The guard took the armful of wool and cotton and retrieved the torch from the wall. You were shut up in the dark once more, shivering and shamed. You hung your head and cursed.

You could blame Gilla for getting you into this mess, but you were the one digging yourself deeper.

🐍

The meals still came but were harder to eat. You were always cold, always awake, always hungry, and yet always nauseous. You paced to keep warm, to keep your body from growing stiff, but often found yourself huddled once more in the corner.

When the door opened again, after maybe another week, maybe longer, maybe less, you didn’t move. It didn’t matter. The torch was set in the ring and the armoured steps neared you. There were two guards this time. The wrestled you to your feet and clasped your hands in a pair of shackles. You were turned to face the wall as the chain was secured to a hook above you. 

Your chest pressed to the cold stone as you hung on tiptoes. A gauntleted hand brushed your ass and you kicked blindly behind you.

“King’s property,” the second guard reproached, “He’ll have your hand.”

“Wench isn’t that pretty,” the other growled, “If I was king, I’d have a duchess every night.”

“You’re not king, thank the lord.” The men retreated to the door and left it ajar behind them.

You tried to free the shackles from the hook but only dangled weakly below. You knew it could not be a good omen. These were king’s orders. You could only expect that you were due for another visit.

As if your thought summoned him, you heard the soft swish of silk. His shadow flickered in the torchlight as he entered. You did not bother to look back. The king stopped feet from you as you watched his silhouette on the stone.

“I will forgive you this time for your lack of a bow,” he declared, “But know that it will be expected.”

He came closer and you shifted on your toes.

“You might utter a simple ‘your majesty’,” he warned.

“Your majesty,” you recited as your shoulder strained. You closed your eyes as you balled your hands.

“I am not one to expound upon my past but I think it prudent at this moment.” He paced behind you and his shadow flickered on your eyelids. “What was that darling little word you called me? ‘Bastard’?”

You cringed and exhaled. “Your majesty.”

“That was what you said? Correct?”

“Yes, your majesty,” you admitted.

He laughed, darkly, and his footsteps ceased.

“I am a second born son. I was a prince, not an heir. None expected me to come upon the throne. That word, that title, bastard, was my lot in life. Not because I was born too late, but because I did not share the golden hair of my family or truly any of their traits. That word was said to a child no more than five years old, and repeated until this very day.” You felt a tickle along your ass and a shiver rolled up your spine. “However most have the sense to whisper it beyond my hearing.” He pressed the cattail to your flesh and you felt the leather straps clearly, “Most.”

He pulled back and lashed you without pause. You bit your lip as you muffled a cry and threw your head back. He inhaled deeply and once more teased your skin with the limp straps.

“I don’t expect an apology. That means little from the lips of a peasant.” He said. “What I expect is discipline; obedience.” He rescinded the cattail again, “I came to hear you scream.”

He whipped you again and you pressed your forehead to the cold wall and whimpered. The shackles tinkled as you swayed on your tiptoes and he struck you once more. You grunted and gulped down a shriek. Perhaps it would be easier to scream, to give him what he wanted, but to think he had never been denied a luxury in his life, fed your obstinacy. If he wanted you to bend, you would not do so easily.

A fourth time, a fifth, a sixth. Your eyes welled and you lost count as you felt your skin split. He laid out the lashes across your back, your ass, and your thighs. The pain made you delirious as your head lolled and the strength drained from your body. You hung prone to his wrath.

When at last you cried out, you didn’t realise. It didn’t sound like you. You didn’t even feel the scream as it tore through your throat. You only knew that the assault had stopped. That blood and sweat trickled down your back.

He sighed, content. He came closer, slowly, and planted his hands on either side of you as he leaned in. He spoke against the back of your ear.

“You have a tough hide, little mouse,” he purred, “This will be more delightful than I ever expected.” He brushed your neck with his fingers, “Another lesson.”

He pushed himself away and you listened to the soft pad of his boots. You opened your eyes at last as the torch was smothered and the door clanged loudly into place. You were left as you were, bleeding and hung like some animal. Like a slab of meat before a feast.

How long would it be before the king supped on you?

🐍

You didn’t recall being let down. You only recalled the pain that roused you. The burning along your back and legs. The smell of brown broth that made you wretch from across the cell. The cold that made you shiver as it met your hot flesh. Your teeth chattered and you could not still yourself as your entire body quaked.

When the guard grabbed the bowl through the low slot of the door, the untouched broth spilled. The moldy bread remained in the puddle and you heard the grumble from the other side. When the next appeared, it was met with the same disgust. It was removed, as full as it arrived. A third and you were trapped in a cloud that grew thicker with each bat of your lashes.

When you woke again, you were no longer in the cell. The pain remained; greater as your back was wiped clean with wet linen. You murmured but could do nothing as you laid on your side and sank back into obscurity.

You blinked and there was a cloth on your forehead, the smell of herbs, and the hot taste as the heady brew was poured down your throat. Sleep again. A fever of frightening visions; of a shadow behind you, of the sharp bite of leather, the painful depth of unending hunger.

And when the chill left your body, when the daze seeped away, when you were returned to the world, you stared up at the ceiling in quiet confusion. There was a window, a bed beneath you, a blanket over you, and the smell of roses in the air. You groaned and tried to sit up. You fell back, dizzy.

A thin, short man appeared at the side of the bed. He felt your forehead and nodded. He disappeared and returned to you. He dropped a robe on the edge of the bed.

“Your fever is broken.” He said plainly. “You must bathe.”

“What? What is going--”

“The king is impatient. As am I. I haven’t time for your questions.” The man reproached. “It will take some time before a bath is drawn. You will be upon your feet by then.”

He marched away from you and disappeared through the door. You once more pushed yourself up on shaky arms and held your head until it was clear. You looked around at the chamber; there was an upholstered chair in the corner and a painted chest of drawers; a large metal tub and a folded screen against the wall.

You drew yourself from beneath the blankets and took the robe. You stood, unsteadily, holding yourself up on the side table near the bed as you pulled it on. 

The door opened again and a servant entered with a bucket of steaming water. Another followed in quick succession, and another. The train of maids quickly filled the metal tub and left just as they had come.

The man returned not long after. He snapped the door shut and his hands went to his hips in frustration.

“Get in,” he nodded to the tub. “You’ve wasted enough time.”

“Where am I? Who are you?” You asked as you stood.

“You remain in the king’s custody.” He snipped as he went to the tub and pulled the screen open to conceal it from the rest of the room. “Wash yourself and I will explain. Or I shall call a guard to help.”

You slowly made your way across the room and went behind the screen. You threw the robe over the top of the screen and carefully stepped into the tub. You nearly slipped as you lowered yourself into the hot water.

“You will scrub yourself and use the oil,” he ordered from the other side of the screen.

You took the small vial from the low stool and sniffed. It smelled of roses. You grabbed the sponge and went about washing yourself, gingerly as you wiped your tortured back. It was tender but not so raw as before.

“So… who are you?” You asked.

“You can call me Birger,” he replied as you heard him moving around, “I am the king’s footman and have been, for these past days, your keeper.”

“And how did I come to this chamber?”

“You were half-starved and feverish,” he said, “The king commanded that you were tended to so that you might survive the cell. Ever generous, he is.”

“Generous…” You mulled as you let the water ease your muscles.

“I know your crimes. I know he has shown you an unusual exception.” Birger explained. “Mercy had never been the king’s preferred method.”

“Mercy, is it?”

“I’ve seen him have others killed for less,” he countered coolly, “I do wonder why he should favour a peasant such as you. Alas, I have never worried much on the king’s thoughts. That is not my duty. I do as he wills me.”

“And you served him as a prince?” You prodded.

“Since he was barely more than a boy,” Birger confirmed. “Now be quick, we must have you dressed shortly.”

“Why the hurry?” You asked.

“Do you always ask so many questions? I never knew the king to favour it.”

You were quiet as you finished washing yourself. You climbed out of the tub, more steady on your feet than before, and pulled on the robe again.

“I will call for Liv to ready you.” Birger went to the door again. “You will dress before I return.”

He gestured to the bed and the sheer black fabric across it. The door closed behind him and you went to the bed. The dress was sparse and would barely hide your nudity, if at all. You lifted it and frowned at the cut. Thin straps held up the bodice, black embroidered with silver in a way that would obscure the more intimate parts of your chest. The waist form a vee above the skirts that were slitted along the sides. You rarely wore dresses and had certainly never dressed so scantily.

There were no undergarments. You reluctantly pulled on the gown, if it could be classed as such, and the door opened. You turned as Birger entered followed by a woman with orange hair. Liv, you assumed.

“Turn,” Birger ordered and marched over to you. He pulled tight the laces of the bodice and you gasped at his strength. He knotted them at the top and backed away. “Sit.” He pulled up the stool from behind the screen. “Liv,” he pointed at you and retreated to the other side of the room.

You sat on the stool and Liv opened the chest she carried in with her. She peered down at you as she considered its content.

“The king did say not to use too much,” Birger girded.

“Very well,” Liv retracted her hand from the pot of powder and instead took a stick of kohl. “Just the eyes and lips then. A touch of colour.” She bent over you and lifted your chin. “Look up,”

She ordered you around tersely as she lined your eyes and then painted your lips in a delicate pink. You were not afforded a glance in the mirror before you were ushered to your feet. Birger looked you over and shrugged. He took a pair of silver sandals from beside the bed and gave them to you.

“Better,” he remarked as you slipped on the sandals. “Come.”

He beckoned you forth with two fingers and to the door. A guard awaited you in the corridor and you were handed over to him without pretense. You hesitated and he grabbed your arm. You were directed down the hallways and up several sets of stairs. You were met by another guard before a large golden door with the kingdom’s crest inlaid into its face.

“The king was called away,” the guard said to the other, “He has permitted her to wait in his receiving chamber.”

The other grumbled and nudged you forward. The king’s guard pushed open the door and pointed you inside. He shoved you when you did not budge. You stumbled past the door and it slammed behind you. You turned back and deflated. Slowly, you looked around.

An ebony desk carved with silver snakes, a grand chair behind it; a set of sofas before a hearth and low table; a finely woven carpet, side tables along the walls beneath portraits of the king and his predecessors; each piece of furniture was finer than the last.

Opposite the doors you’d come through, was another set. These were painted with hundreds of snakes, hissing and baring their fangs. You could see that the oil was recently applied. You could guess what was on the other side.

You gulped as you neared the hearth and stared above it. A portrait of the king stared back at you, his dark locks hung pristinely from beneath his horned crown and his green eyes bore into you as he seemed to watch you in turn.

It was a fine chamber but no less a cell.

[fandom-scatteredthoughtsonpaper]

Hi hi! i think you said asks were open in your newest post? If not feel free to ignore this lol

I would love to see headcannons of an MC who, though acting brave, gets very scared of the brothers

example after lucifer and the grimoire and such? like MC slowly becomes MORE scared of them, and tries to hide it, but it's getting obvious that theyre scared if that makes sense lol 💖

Ahhhhh, sorry this took longer than it necessarily should have! I feel like I was much closer to what you wanted with this request than the other, so hopefully you'll enjoy it too ❤️

GN MC THAT PROGRESSIVELY FEARS THE BROTHERS

Living with demons is hard, especially when they're the rulers of hell, err, the Devildom.

Sure, there's the implication they're not supposed to hurt or do anything harmful to you, as you have the safety of being an exchange student, but that veil of ignorance was quickly lifted before even the two week mark of living with these brothers.

You've tried getting along with them, and for the most part you've been successful, but a few circumstances have arisen that have reminded you that these boys are dangerous demons... and you're the human that keeps poking the three-headed dog while it sleeps.

Mammon:

You're not so much scared of what Mammon could physically do, but you're paranoid that he goes into your room and rummages in your belongings and personal keepsakes. Your room is the only thing you have that you can claim as your own, and it's your sanctuary, despite it being in the brothers' house.

Of course, the brothers will periodically just barge in without alerting you by asking or knocking, but you've grown okay with that. You're at least in your room and able to see what they do in there. There are a few occasions Levi or Satan might mention going into your bedroom to retrieve a video game or book they had loaned you, but you make sure to put their item on the dresser by the entrance, so they don't have to venture too far in. You're okay with that.

You're not okay, however, with Mammon when he goes into your room unannounced. Hell, you're not totally comfortable with him being in your room unattended if he does give you a heads-up.

You know how kleptomaniac Mammon can be. You've heard enough complaints and stories to know how relentless Mammon can be in his search for anything that could give him a few Grimm from his brothers. You've talked with this greedy demon about items he's stolen, witnessed thefts a few times too.

So, you feel something akin to victimized when Mammon goes into your room without your permission or you being there. Your room emits this vibe of disturbance, and it bothers you because you don't know what might be missing or "borrowed". It troubles you more because now your room feels foreign again, like the atmosphere was plagued by essences that you know aren't yours. Your anxiety swells with paranoia, fear, and mistrust again.

Leviathan:

Oh, for the most part, you don't have much conflict with Levi anymore. Once you made a pact with the otaku demon he relaxed a lot more and invited you to hang out in his room to play games or fuss about animation qualities in animes or gush about his favorite manga characters.

It's just that after that contest of who was the bigger TSL fan and Levi, enveloped by jealousy and fury, came at you with the intent to seriously harm you, you've had this overly-suspicious fear in the back of your mind, itching your paranoia that it could happen again.

You've learned that Levi's demon form is easily triggered by extreme feelings, rather that's excitement, irritability, or the emotion he avatars over, and you can't help be irritationally cautious when that happens. It's a reflex from the panic that engraved itself into your psyche for self-preservation.

If you weren't so anxious about another envy-fueled incident involving your life you might find Levi's excitement for the stuff he loves more endearing and cute.

Beelzebub:

If you hadn't seen how destructive Beel's tantrums over food firsthand could be you might find it hard to believe this relaxed and mostly uninvolved brother would have such a temper... but you did experience it, so you do believe it.

It was a custard! They're so easy to get more of, but Beel immediately flew off the handle and wouldn't see reasoning, lashing out and destroying the kitchen. If Mammon hadn't pulled you down with him to the floor as Beel started his outraged tantrum you're positive you would have been collateral damage too, like your poor room that was unfortunately placed on the other side of the kitchen wall.

It was a terrifying sight to behold, seeing the kitchen torn asunder and reduced to broken walls, obliterated cabinets, and smashed counters, with kitchen utensils and ruined cookware being sent into flight and raining down, razor-sharp and shattered into broken edges that could easily pierce flesh.

That moment of destruction lingers, along with the intense emotion of fright, triggered whenever Beel complains about being hungry or when he meets your gaze at the table during times to eat. You immediately offer your unfinished plate to him, which he happily accepts and consumes in seconds, to appease the Avatar of Gluttony's temper.

Asmodeus:

Asmo's promiscuity and salaciousness are what unnerve you the most. He's the Avatar of Lust, so obviously you were already on your defense, but you've seen glimpses beyond the surface level to what Asmo can be like. That's what intrigues you about him, and you try to focus on those bits that slip past his perfectionistic lifestyle and narcissistic personality. At the same time, however, this is the cause of your near downfalls when Asmo tries to allure you with his physical prowess.

He's tried a few times to charm you, and you feel this invasive power trying to persuade you to give into your raw and sexual temptations, or this tugging sensation that tries to attract you beyond what you feel is comfortable. The repulsed response is usually what repels you from the power Asmo tries to flaunt over you.

He usually huffs after his failed attempt but quickly rebounds by placing his hands around you and trying to embrace you himself, which Mammon, prompted by his denied feelings and jealousy, usually intercepts in your honor.

There's a few times you've worried yourself nauseous Asmo will corner you, and you won't be able to save yourself from his lustful persuasion. There's also the couple of times he's mentioned eating your heart, so that's also worrisome.

Satan:

There's no questions that you secretly fear Satan, more specifically his wrath. You slighted him once before, and the threat he imposed upon you while you were trapped between his demonic form and an over-stuffed bookcase was enough to brand itself to your soul as a reminder.

As docile as Satan may appear with his affection for cats, deep interest for detective shows, and shared affinity of books he could and, possibly, would rip you apart and lavish in the blood that wept from your lacerated flesh and tension of your bones rebelling before snapping satisfactory in halves and thirds.

Other than that, Satan is much easier to hang out with compared to his brothers, except when he gets that cruel temperament to torment Lucifer, which you exempt yourself from if the pranks are too excessive.

Belphegor:

Terror has never seeped into your soul like this before. Your anxiety spikes to levels you've never experienced before when Belphie plops down next to you on the couch or tries to start up a conversation. Your fight, flight, freeze, or fawn system goes haywire, and you become petrified, unable to respond properly.

You either stay away from Belphie altogether or stay glued to one of the other brothers, Mammon or Beel preferably. Just in case.

Just in case Belphie's lament arises again in the form of murderous hate, gleeful contempt clouding his eyes, as his hands find their way to your neck that remembers the tight embrace his fingers engraved into the nerves of your throat, the ghostly suffocating that chokes you up sometimes if you become too immersed in the memory of a body that hadn't belonged to you.

You're also sure you remember an aching in your ribs and spine that causes you to shiver sometimes, but you're not sure if you experienced that in a dream or illusion of the timeline merging. It still bothers you all the same.

For such a sweet face and quiet voice, Belphie is a demon that decieves, and you're better off staying away from him until you're over your PTSD. If that's possible.

Lucifer:

How many times has he almost killed you? Twice or three times? Enough to be too many and to penetrate your core with panic and trepidation whenever you see that sly smile that forms on his lips. It doesn't have to be directed at you, but it's enough to launch you into a panic attack that you barely keep under control.

That safety guard of being a representative from the human world and exchange student mean nothing when you test it by being a busybody in affairs that definitely don't involve you over and over again, especially when it's the pride and dignity of Lucifer being tested.

You hear your lesson but never learn, and unconsciously you must be masochistic for how many times you've brushed death with Lucifer's anger, but you keep pushing the limits.

You can't help going to Mammon's defense when you feel Lucifer is only targeting him for personal reasons or standing up to his ego when you feel he's going over his limits. Your bravery is stupidity though, and you feel your courageous backbone turn into a central nerve system of adrenaline and fear. You're just too stubborn and self-righteous to let Lucifer do as he pleases, but that doesn't mean you're not scared out of your wits.

You've gained an intuition for when Lucifer is approaching or silently comes up from behind you, and it sends a shiver down your back almost every time you're alone together.

If you have any headcanons that you want me to write, please send them my way! I enjoy writing these out. NSFW is okay, but please know I might not do it if I don’t like it. ❤️

[treatian]

The Chronicles of the Dark One: Family Bonds

Chapter 56: Nightlight in a Small Town

He heard her let out a small laugh of joy as he brought the cane down over him again, then again, then again. He poured every ounce of rage and repulsion into that cane and spilled it out into the Sheriff of Nottingham. Again and again. Over and over. Until his hands shook, and his magic receded from this ankle, leaving it tender. Until the Sheriff of Nottingham was as he should have been years ago, a bloody pulp, passed out in the ground with a faint heartbeat.

He'd live. For now, at least. Lacey was edgier than Belle, excited in a way that made his nose wrinkle when she smiled at the violence of it all. Whether or not that support she was giving him extended to murder, he wasn't entirely sure. Until he was sure, he didn't want to push it. What he was certain about was that he had a very precarious line to walk for a while. Lacey wanted him dark and edgy, she wanted animalistic and violent. Belle wanted none of those things but would have every memory of him that he experienced with Lacey when she woke. He was prepared to accept that she'd want him out of his life for it all in the end. But he also didn't want to be anymore risky than he had to be. If there was even the chance that he could walk away from this with Belle back, he had to try. He had to try to make the best of both worlds. He had to keep the Dark One inside of him out to walk on a tight leash. It may be the only way to make Lacey fall in love with him and get Belle back when it was done.

"You, uh…you feel better?" Lacey asked him as he stood above Nottingham, looking down at Gold's work.

He didn't need to lie or put on a show to answer her question.

"Yes, actually. Much better."

Belle would hate this when all was said and done, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it a little bit himself for a couple of days.

"I imagine it feels good…finally getting all your rage out," Lacey drawled leaning against the brick wall as she watched him, eyeing him like a hungry tiger that made the smell of arousal coming off her make sense. He felt not the least bit aroused or even attracted when he looked her over, a shocking realization given that months ago, he wasn't sure how he could ever look at Belle and not feel desire for her. But Lacey's attraction…that could help him. If he could maintain that he could keep her close.

"Well now…who said that was all of it," he tempted as mysteriously as possible. This role "mysterious temper", this was something he could play well, especially given the fact that he lived with dozens of mysterious tempers in his head.

"How much rage could one man possibly have?"

"Hundreds of year's worth," he answered honestly again. Lacey was a girl of this world. She was going to see what she wanted to see, what all of them had seen during the Curse. He had no doubt that she'd think nothing of a comment like that.

"You know, they say it's not healthy to hold that much emotion inside. Sooner or later, it's bound to escape."

"A lesson I won't soon forget," he snapped back with a bit of playfulness in his tone. Yes…it was a role. It was a role he could play well.

Lacey smiled at him, then pushed herself away from the wall and in a move so like Belle it chilled him to the bone, looped her arm through his.

"You look like you need a drink," she announced. She didn't wait for an answer, just let her pull him along, back the short distance to none other than the Rabbit Hole. Again, acting wasn't necessary, he was truly growing tired of seeing this place. If he thought it had been bad during the day, now it was nothing but deplorable. The music was too loud, the amount of skin showing for this time of the year was excessive, and he was certain it should have been illegal for one place to have so much leather in it. This was the last place in the world he'd hoped he'd be alone with Belle for tonight. But it helped when he considered that it wasn't Belle he was with, but Lacey. And at least, if he had to be here, he had a role he could play and play it well he did.

A man like Mr. Gold…it hardly took any trying. It was only a few moments after they arrived at the downstairs bar that slowly the chatter and shouts of joy ended and he was aware of all the eyes that fell over him in silence and fear. It was as if they all knew exactly what he'd done to Nottingham outside. For Lacey's sake, he could work with that.

She tugged at his arm, either unaware or uncaring of the reception he got, and led them over to the bar, almost to the exact place they'd been sitting earlier only this time the chair he'd taken was occupied. Mr. Gold didn't see a problem though, he only saw an opportunity. He helped Lacey up into the seat she'd been in when he met her earlier and then rounded on the seat he'd been in. He knocked his cane against the legs. The man in the chair winced and held his breath as he looked at him.

"I don't ask for anything, I simply inform people of certain facts," he reasoned. "Here's one you might find interesting: that's my seat."

The stranger didn't argue. He didn't fight or complain, all he did was nod and scramble out of the seat so quickly he spilled his drink all over himself and ended their encounter with an apology. He nearly shivered in ecstasy as he took the seat for himself. Gods, he'd forgotten how good it could feel to wield this kind of power, to have everything he ever desired, to make others squirm. The Dark Ones inside of him were satisfied. As far as they were concerned, Lacey was a vast improvement over Belle and could stay as long as she liked. Given Granny's comments earlier, he wondered if that could be a problem.

"It's a bar! Not a bloody zoo!" Lacey suddenly screamed out over the crowd behind her, bringing him to an awareness that the bar was still quiet and still save for the bartender who was fetching the whiskey's she ordered. "Back to your stupor, people," she laughed as she rolled her eyes and turned her back on them.

Was it classy? Most certainly not. But at least it seemed to be effective. Slowly a gentle hum rose over the din of the music inside the bar, the hum soon became talking and gossip. There wasn't so much laughing as there was the last time, but with his hearing he knew that he was the topic of conversation and that was acceptable enough to him.

The bartender delivered their whiskey. Lacey downed it in one swallow and ordered a shot as well as a refill and suddenly he felt his control on this role waiver slightly. How much had she had to drink today? Clearly, Lacey believed this was just a normal ordinary day, and if she'd been this way for years before the Curse broke then she might be able to tolerate this amount of alcohol, but Belle did not. She was satisfied with a glass of wine at dinner, maybe two if they were celebrating or flirting. But this…this was dangerous in potentially another way.

"Don't you just hate the feeling of being a caged animal," Lacey muttered after she'd swallowed.

He felt himself swallow in an effort not to gawk at the question then picked up his glass and looked around the room, all of them still casting glances at him despite resuming their conversation.

"You have no idea…" he replied taking a neat sip of the whiskey in front of him. That was, he supposed, at least one good thing he could attribute to the bar. The whiskey was his brand, they had fine taste.

"So…tell me…" she insisted, taking another mouthful and leaning in as if expecting to hear some kind of tale.

He shook his head and sipped at the whiskey again. Not a chance in hell was he going to tell her that. At least not without careful consideration. Stories of magic and tales of another realm…she wasn't ready for that. One day, maybe. Tonight…no.

Suddenly she sighed and set her drink down with a loud almost annoyed clang on the bar. "You're uh…you're not really into this kind of thing, are you?"

"It's fine," he lied, but it was unconvincing and even he heard it. He had to think of something fast, some kind of conversation or else something he could do to reel her back into him lest the moment pass, and he lose her again.

"Is there somewhere we can go?" she asked suddenly, reaching across the table to rub the back of his hand. "Somewhere close by? Somewhere more private than this place?"

He looked at her fingers making circles on the back of his hand then over to her. He inhaled again, through the nose and…damn. Here he was thinking that he was losing her, but she still smelled of arousal. It wasn't exactly a relief, but his goal had been to get her somewhere safe for the night, somewhere he could keep an eye on her. It had worked!

He shook his head, trying to clear his senses and think through his next step. How foolish had he been to hope for this but not to plan for it. Where was he going to take her?!

"My house is…"

It wasn't an option. No sooner had he said the words did he feel a stab of guilt rocket through him. His house…it was only a home because Belle had made it one. It was prepared, not for guests but for Belle. The idea of taking her to that place, showing her the bedroom he'd made up for Belle, letting her scrutinize everything Belle had done for it…it was heart wrenching. He couldn't do it. But if not his house, then where…the shop was too easy, and the inn was too risky…

"But there's an apartment that I own!" he realized quickly. It wasn't perfect, the thought of her there was almost as bad as taking her to his house but at least he and Belle had never lived like they were damn near married in that apartment. No option was ever going to be perfect. This might be the best worst option. "It's just down the street."

A wide, almost wicked smile broke over her face and her eyes lit up at the news. "What do you say we get out of here?"

With that he quickly finished off his drink and scrambled out of the chair he was occupying. He reached for his wallet as she followed suit and left enough money to not only cover what they'd had but also cover any debt she might have accrued from the day. "Keep the change," he muttered to the bartender. He let her thread her arm once more through his, let the crowd before them part as they made their way back across the room and too the stairs. He prayed it was the last he ever saw of this place.

[demons-sing-me-to-sleep]

Consequences and Rewards

This is my @starkerkink fill for @the107thh. Sorry I'm late but I hope you like it!

My prompt was:

omega!peter is surprised by his first heat arriving early, alpha!biodad!tony has to help him through it. lots of dirty talk centered around tony’s cock being the one that made peter, and potential mpreg. (i.e “yeah, you like that? you like the cock that made you filling you up? fuckin’ dirty slut for your dad’s dick, huh? you want me to knock you up pete? pump you full of your own goddamn siblings?”) bonus points for cum inflation, excessive scenting, and rimming/felching.

Warnings! Starkercest, omegaverse, dirty talk, implied mpreg, breeding, some cum inflation, some felching

Ao3 Link (4183 WC)

-

Tony is in a business meeting when the commotion happens.

One of his board members is arguing about something he doesn't care about when he hears frantic yelling outside the room. Everyone's heads turn towards the door as the source of the noise comes closer. It sounds like it's headed straight towards them.

"Mr. Stark–!" Tony hears his secretary call out, voice high pitched and shrill. "You can't just go in there! Your father is–!"

Too late. The door is flung open and Tony's little omega son is at the entrance, chest heaving and face flushed. All eyes are on him and Tony stands, brows scrunched up in concern.

His secretary, also an omega, almost barrels into Peter and he sees how her eyes widen at the room full of alphas.

"Mr. Stark, sir, I'm so sorry–" she starts to say. She's trying to tug Peter out of the room but his boy resists. His eyes are only on Tony and it's then that Tony realizes why.

There's a sweet scent filtering into the room and it cuts right through the synthetic chemically smell of scent blockers that the alpha board members use. The potency of the scent is meant to turn an alpha's head, to scramble their logical minds, and push them into heeding their more savage instincts.

All around him, his board members go very still, eyes focused on Tony's young omega son. His son who is in heat.

Peter only has eyes for his father though and his bottom lip trembles in a way that catches Tony's attention.

"Dad…" he says and there's a quiver in his voice. Then softer and pleadingly, "D-Daddy…"

His son strains against the other omega's hold and that, along with Peter's upset tone makes something in Tony snap.

In the blink of an eye, he's by Peter's side and he flings the secretary's hand away. His sweet boy literally jumps into his arms, legs wrapping around the alpha's waist as he clings onto his father.

Tony cradles him like the precious treasure he is and faces the group of alphas who are shell-shocked into inaction. His lips are pulled up, flashing the sharp points of his canines in a warning snarl. He's still coherent. For now.

"Dismissed," Tony barks out. It comes out harsh and guttural and it even makes some of them flinch.

Tony doesn't care.

Peter is digging his nose into his sensitive neck, desperately seeking out his father's familiar scent. It would almost be cute if the situation wasn't so dire.

Tony lets him as he backs out of the room. He expects Peter to settle down but instead of calming down, the omega's scent only turns sour when he can't scent his father. The alpha realizes then that, of course, his Peter won't find it.

Tony wears a scent neutralizer like every alpha is supposed to in the building.

The distress is making it worse for Peter, Tony knows it is. The boy feels so warm in his arms but he's trembling with the full force of an early heat.

The alpha makes the quick decision to take them both to his office. He would've preferred to take them home where he can give Peter the supplies he so desperately needs but the boy is already too far gone. Not to mention, Tony's alpha instincts would make him literally rip out any intruder's eyes if they even looked at his boy.

Peter bounces in his arms as Tony rushes them away. It's only when his son's ass rubs against the front of his pants that Tony realizes he's hard.

"Fuck…" Tony hisses.

Just those slight, unintentional touches against his dick makes the pleasure rise more and more. It starts to build, forbidden and uninvited, encouraged by his boy's sweet, alluring scent making its way into his lungs and the feel of a nice, round ass rubbing against him. He steels himself against it though, pushing it aside but it's impossible to ignore.

It's because Peter is an omega and Tony is an alpha. It doesn't matter to their instincts that they were related by blood, nevermind that Tony was the one who sired the trembling boy in his arms.

Slick has started to seep through Peter's jeans and they stain Tony's clothes like a mark of possession. Everyone will know just by scent alone that Tony's been involved with an omega in heat. They'd probably all assume that he fucked said omega through their heat without even thinking it was his son.

A dangerous thought emerges… Tony might just do exactly that.

They arrive in his office and Peter's quiet little whimpers only remind Tony how the heat must be ravaging his poor boy's mind. His own instincts are rearing up, demanding that he keep his omega son safe.

He kicks the door shut behind him and promptly lays the omega down onto the comfortable little couch there before he straightens. Immediately, Peter's scrambling to sit up, slim but strong little fingers twisting themselves in Tony's suit.

"Dad–! Don't… Don't go!"

Surprised, Tony paused and really looks at his son.

Beads of sweat have started to form and leave silvery trails as they streak down from Peter's hairline. There's a pink flush on his cheeks and his chest rises up and down far too fast. The omega's brown eyes, a feature he inherited from Tony, were dilated as they implored the alpha to stay.

The thought of leaving Peter has never even occurred to him. He only wants to lock the door but fuck that, he isn't leaving his son when he's looking at him like that.

"Oh, sweetheart," Tony murmurs, cupping the boy's face. "I'm not going anywhere, kiddo. Alpha's here, baby boy, alpha's right here..."

He pulls Peter into an embrace and his cock, hard and undeniable presses between them. He ignores it but Peter's body goes so still when he recognizes what exactly it is.

Instead of being repulsed, his sweet boy only clings onto him harder. His breath stutters in his chest and Peter tries to scent him once again.

"Dad, your scent– I can't…"

Tony tries to rub against his scent gland and his hand bumps against Peter's nose and soft lips.

He curses the fact that he wears that top of the line quality scent blocker.

"I need to wipe off the blockers," Tony tells Peter. "Lemme go to the bathroom– It'll just take a minute."

But Peter refuses to let him go. If anything, his grip tightens on his father and the soft little sounds that break Tony's heart.

Then Tony's entire body jolts in surprise when he feels something wet swipe over his skin. An alpha's scent gland isn't as sensitive as an omega's but for Tony, it's like sparks of pleasure that go straight to his already hard cock.

"I'll get it off, daddy…" Peter says, the words muffled as he licks his alpha's neck. The dexterous little muscle swipes slowly and carefully over Tony's skin, savoring the taste of flesh and sweat. Peter licks and licks, the sensation would be almost ticklish if Tony wasn't so turned on already.

Tony groans and now he's the one tightening his hold on his boy's shoulders.

"O-Oh–!" Peter moans out in pure bliss when his father's scent starts to emerge. He seals his small mouth over Tony's scent gland and sucks.

"F-Fuck!" Tony growls and shoves the boy away. It's enough that Peter falls back, panting and dazed. Drunk off from his father's scent.

The alpha stands, panting hard. His cock is so hard that it makes a noticeable tent in his expensive suit pants.

Peter blinks up at him with large doe eyes, mouth wet with spit. He's so innocent… Too innocent. He doesn't even know that doing that to his alpha father was so, so wrong.

Tony licks his dry lips, his gaze tracing over Peter's parted pink lips.

"Baby, this isn't something your dad should be doing to you," Tony growls. "I'm your father, Pete. You doing those things…"

His eyes go hooded and he cups the hard bulge between his legs. Peter's eyes follow the movement and he sways towards him as though he wanted to be the one touching him.

"There's consequences, kid," Tony tells him, voice hoarse with restraint. "When an omega marks an alpha like that… And especially when they're all sweet smelling with slick and heat… You know what that means, huh? You're asking to get fucked, Petey pie. You're asking to get fucked by your father… Is that what you want? Cause that's what you're telling me."

His son's eyes grow even wider and his hand, which was resting on his thigh, inches subconsciously between his legs. Slick has drenched his inner thighs and his little cock has left a wet spot a little higher up.

"I–I…" Peter stutters softly as though unsure of what to say. He squeezes his eyes shut just when his hand flutters over his cock.

That's when Tony makes his move. He sinks one knee into the couch and sinks his fingers into his boy's messy curls. A harsh tug has Peter's eyes flying open.

"Ah–!" He stares at Tony with hungry eyes, shameless lust making his sweet boy look so alluring like a siren. Like an omega desperate to get fucked.

"You do want it," Tony groans in triumph. "You want daddy's hard cock in your sweet hole… You want your father to fill you up with the seed that made you."

Peter gasps softly but he doesn't deny it. Tony lays his hand over the omega's between his legs and he presses down to feel the hard shape of his son's cock.

"Dad…" Peter moans, begs, hips twitching up towards their combined touch.

"I made a slutty little omega, didn't I?" Tony says as he continues to touch him. "Slutty little boy just gagging for it. I bet you even planned this…"

The omega whines and he even shakes his head.

"Didn't mean to, dad… I didn’t– didn't know!" He gasps. "Thought I was just getting sick…"

"Hmm…" Tony gives him the benefit of the doubt but even if Peter's early heat was an accident, it doesn't change things. His sweet baby has no idea what he's in for by enticing his father like this.

Peter's barely hanging on, leaning towards his father with that sweet mouth of his trembling. God, Tony wants to ravish him and now, he has his chance.

Tony drags the boy's hand from where they were pressing down on his little cock. He brings it to where his own cock, much larger and intimidating, is aching to be released.

"Take it out, Pete…" Tony commands him. "Take out my cock. See for yourself what you're asking for…"

"Dad…" The way it's said is like a breathless prayer.

Tony waits patiently while Peter fumbles with his button. The boy's eyes are glued to where he's working to obey the command.

"That's it, baby… Go on… See what Daddy has for you," Tony murmurs when Peter unbuttons his pants, revealing the alpha's underwear. Those are quickly tugged down by shaking hands.

He's so hard that his cock smacks against his boy's face when he's uncovered. The startled sound that leaves Peter's mouth has the alpha groaning and tugging him closer by his hair.

Peter moans as he goes along with it. His father's hot flesh rubs against his nose, his cheek… The deep, undeniable scent of an aroused alpha… His own father…

"What do you think, baby?" Tony groans. "This is what you wanted… Your daddy's cock right in front of your face. Little pervert. Think it'll fit inside?"

Every word has Peter's face turn redder and redder but Tony knows his son well. He's only getting more excited. Yeah… His boy's a pervert, just like his father.

The boy's brows scrunch together like he's actually trying to figure out if it will.

"It's really big, dad…" Peter murmurs in reply. He mouths along the length, unprompted. His pink lips look so obscene on Tony's hard cock.

Tony's fingers run through his hair, soothing him. Already, the proximity of an alpha nearby, aroused and ready to breed, has calmed his son's instincts.

"Get it wet, Pete," Tony instructs, "get a good scenting in… It'll get you wetter… Get you ready for my cock. You'll need it."

Peter's such a good omega and an even better son. He tries so hard to fulfill his father's requests, fitting his cute mouth over Tony's intimidating cock. Those soft lips suck on his cockhead and the alpha groans, hips nudging forward to feed more of his length into his son's mouth.

Tony can tell right away that his son has never done this before.

Good.

Their eyes never leave one another as Peter tries to suck him off. His son's mouth feels nice and warm but soon, Tony wants something else. He wasn't to finish the job and get a good breeding in.

Peter may have gotten some coherency back, but without a good proper knot plugging him up, his heat would only grow worse the longer he went without.

It isn't long before Tony pulls him off but Peter whines and tries to get Tony's cock back in his mouth. The alpha holds him back even when he'd like nothing more than to sink his cock back into his son's mouth.

He tugs the boy onto his feet and Peter stands on wobbly legs. He pulls the boy towards where his desk is and doesn't say a word before he's clearing the surface with a sweep of his hand. Papers, documents, probably even million dollar deals, all scatter to the floor in a mess but Tony doesn't flinch.

He hears Peter gasp behind him but when he turns towards his son, he cocks a brow at him.

"Go on, sweetheart," Tony encourages him. "Time to get bred."

He pumps his hard cock, distributing all the precum that's leaked out along with Peter's spit.

His son trembles as he bends over his dad's desk. He's still fully clothed and Tony tsks in disapproval.

"Can't get fucked like that," Tony says offhandedly. "Take your shirt off, kid."

Peter obeys. The shirt goes and Tony admires the lines of light muscle work beneath pale skin. Then he steps up close, arms circling Peter's waist from behind so he can undo the omega's pants. Unlike Peter's clumsy attempts, Tony has them unbuttoned and unzipped effortlessly.

He pulls his son's pants down along with his boxers. His fingers skim along Peter's flanks and thighs. It makes his boy shiver from anticipation.

Tony can smell the slick so close and he can't resist parting the boy's cheeks and getting a good look at his son's twitching hole.

"Fuck…" Tony breathes as he takes it in. Perfect and pink… It's so tiny that Tony, for one moment, wonders if he'll be able to fulfill his promise of having Peter take his knot.

His son has such a cute little hole for him.

Peter squirms under Tony's hands.

"Dad…" Peter whines softly. "D-Don't stare like that…"

Tony looks up to find Peter looking over his shoulder. The flush has traveled down his neck, across his shoulders, and further down his chest.

"Why not, sweetheart?" Tony murmurs, moving closer to that virgin hole. "I'm just looking… Gotta make sure you can take me but I know you can… I made you, didn't I? Made you just for myself..."

Even with just a glance, he knows Peter can. it'll be a tight fit, for sure, but his son's leaking so much slick… It's dripping from that pretty untouched hole and leaving wet trails along his thighs.

He has a brief fantasy of just eating his boy out for hours until Peter cries. He thinks Peter might cry if he even tries for a minute, he's so squirmy and desperate for cock.

"When I'm done with you… You're gonna be so full of cum, Pete… Gonna give you a little belly and lick it all out of you…" Tony promises. He kisses Peter's cheek before he stands, still palming the round globes of his ass.

"But first things first…" Tony sighs when he places his cock right between Peter's cheeks. He sandwiches it, groaning when he starts to rub against his boy.

"Oh– Oh, please…" Peter holds so still and even reaches back to hold himself open. "Please, daddy… ease… Need you to fuck me and come inside… Please, come inside me..."

Tony angles his cock so it rubs right against Peter's virgin hole. Then he teases him a bit, nudging against the pink rim but not quite pushing in yet.

"Yeah? You want daddy to come inside here?" Tony teases, "Not only do you want your father's cock inside you… You want me to creampie this pretty hole of yours… How did my sweet little boy turn into such a slutty omega…"

Peter groans when he feels it. His body instinctively rocks back to try to take it but Tony's hand clamps down on his waist.

"Just you, dad…" Peter swears, "wanted daddy to be my alpha… Wanted daddy to make me his o-omega wife…"

"Naughty…" Tony hisses. " Dirty little slut… Can't believe you're begging for the cock that made you…"

It only has his son moaning, squirming and trying to get his father to put it in all the way. As much as Tony would love to tease him, he has needs too. He finally pushes the tip of his cock in but only the tip. All that wetness allows it to slide in like he belonged there.

"Mmph…!" Peter cries out at the stretch. "D-Dad…!"

Tony groans at the tight little hole trying to suck him in.

"Gonna give it to you, kid…" Tony pants, "Gonna stretch out this little hole… Ride you hard and come deep inside. Fucking slutty little omega… Wanted Daddy to fuck your virgin little hole, well, now you have it…"

"Daddy's cock…" Peter groans. He's panting hard, gasping wetly when Tony starts to push in. His boy clenches down on him in the most sweetest hold and Peter's voice just begs him to keep going. "Daddy's cock feels… so… good…"

"Yeah, that's it, Pete…" Tony growls, "My perfect omega… So hungry for your father's cock and cum…"

"Oh–! Please, dad…" Peter begs, "I need it so bad…"

Tony groans, he only manages to push in halfway before he starts to pull out. In the next second, he sinks back in, working his cock in inch by inch.

Peter's so wet inside that the sound of his cock moving through all that slick echoes in the room. It's obscene.

He's fucking his son. His sweet Peter. He's fucking him raw and he's being begged to finish inside.

A thought pops up.

"Baby…" Tony groans into his ear. He holds still, his cock buried inside Peter's body with just a few inches still left outside. "You didn't take your pill, did you…"

Peter freezes beneath him and that gives Tony his answer. No birth control, no suppressants. Absolutely nothing to stop Tony from getting his boy pregnant. And Peter had been begging him to do it.

Tony is fucking his young, fertile omega son.

"Fuck…" Tony growls and it's the last straw. He shoves in all the way, unrelenting and harsh until his hips smack against his son's round ass.

Peter cries out, fingernails scratching against polished wood.

"Fuck, you really are an omega slut!" Tony grips Peter's hips hard, unwilling to let him escape his punishing thrusts. "Daddy's little fuckhole… That's what you are, Peter, baby… Daddy's little cumdump… So desperate to keep daddy yourself that you're trying to get knocked up… Probably want it so bad, huh? Want daddy to cream inside you so you'll get knocked up with your own siblings…"

"Uhhnn–" Peter tries to speak but all that comes out of him are high pitched squeals and cries. Tony doesn't even care because he knows the truth.

Fucking Peter is an experience. His tight little hole clings onto his father's cock, squeezing and massaging… Begging Tony to pop his knot.

"Don't worry, baby," Tony groans while he's hammering inside. "We'll get this flat little belly of yours nice and round today… Get you knocked up on your dad's cum like you want…"

"Mm– T-thank you, daddy…" Peter cries out. "Thank you…!"

"Don't thank me yet," Tony breathes with a soft chuckle. His hips slap against Peter's round bottom, turning the cheeks a pretty pink. "Still gotta knot you, kid…"

Peter doesn't understand what he means by that but Tony shows him. Now that Tony knows his son's unprotected, his new mission is to get as much cum as possible in his boy. That means multiple knottings. Tony won't even fuck his mouth until he's sure his son is knocked up.

He starts to rut even though it's much too early for that. He needs to come inside. Needs to fill Peter up until he's not only leaking slick but leaking his father's cum.

"Dad…" Peter gasps when he feels the knot.

"Yeah… That's daddy's knot, baby…" Tony groans. "Daddy's knot that he's gonna put inside you…"

Tony ruts against his son, groaning hotly against his nape when Peter's little rim encourages the knot to grow. And it does… It grows larger and larger, straining the limits of Peter's body because stony is still fucking him… It's only at the last second that stony shoves in hard and settles the knot deep where it belongs.

"Dad…!" Peter cries out when Tony starts to come.

Tony doesn't hear him… His vision whites out, blood roaring in his ears when his orgasm rushes through him. Load after load of virile seed gets dumped right into his baby's unprotected body

The alpha gives a harsh moan of completion, hips still rocking minutely.

When he comes to, Peter is squirming beneath him. He's come so much that he could feel his release, squishing around him, blood hot and thick.

"You came inside…" Peter says. It's breathless and awed as though he didn't really think his father would

Tony nips his ear, licking around the shell.

"Mm… Gonna keep doing it," Tony promised. "This slutty hole is mine now, kid… You're mine now."

"Yes, daddy…" Peter breathes out.

Tony reaches between the boy's leg and ours when he finds wetness there.

"Good boy… Coming on your alpha's knot…" Tony praises. He starts to slowly stroke the soft little omega cock. As a result, Peter squirms and his body massages Tony's knot.

"D-Dad…" Peter stutters. "'m sensitive…"

Tony smirks. "I know, baby… But we gotta make you come a lot… Helps with getting pregnant. You do wanna get pregnant, don't you…?"

Peter whimpers but doesn't try to squirm out if Tony's hold.

"I do…"

"Then trust daddy, Pete…"

"Okay, daddy…"

They end up staying the night at the office. Peter's heat mellows out before it spikes again and he ends up riding his dad while he's sitting at his desk.

Tony finds out that Peter makes the most delicious sounds when he's bouncing on his cock… It doesn't help that Tony whispers what a dirty slut his son is…

"No, don't stop, baby…" Tony pulls him up and down effortlessly. "Damage already done… How many loads did I put in you? two? Three?"

By the fourth, they've lost count. By the fifth, Tony has to fuck Peter on the couch, the boy tucked away in his arms while his hips hump away.

Peter's barely conscious. He's so tired, so fucked out, but his body demands more and more.

Tony's hand rests on Peter's belly, curving over the slight bulge that forms. It gives the alpha such great satisfaction, knowing that he's stuffed his son full. Every thrust has his cum squelching out, ruining the couch beneath them.

Neither of them care. Peter lays limp and content, his hole worked loose by the constant fucking.

He barely makes a sound when Tony knots him again. He does whimper when he feels more cum being released inside.

"Feel… full… dad…" Peter groans. His hole has to be sore, it's definitely red from being fucked but he's an omega. He's made for this.

Even so, he whimpers in relief when his dad pulls out. The emptiness feels wrong but then he cries out and his eyes fly open.

Tony is between his legs, his beard scratching against his sensitive skin. A gentle tongue runs over his puffy hole, scooping up the combined taste of cum and slick.

With trembling hands, Peter holds his knees to his chest, holding himself open for his father as Tony does as he pleases. His little omega cock twitches but that's all it does.

He ends up coming dry just from the sensation of his dad's tongue fucking into him.

And when his father puts his cock back inside, Peter only groans softly and holds on tight.

Their first kiss tastes of cum and slick… but Peter wouldn't have it any other way.

[bleachanimefan1]

Oblitus Part 26 I.M.P

39 Days Left Until Extermination...

"Will all hotel staff come to the main lobby for an important announcement!" Charlie's voice echoed throughout the hallways. Everyone walked into the lobby to see the princess and Vaggie, waiting.

Husk eyes were red and blood shot, while his fur had several tangles and mats as Niffty tried to brush them out. He tried to shove her away as she did. Angel was half naked while he had on a very short shorts much to Alastor's discomfort while Husk on the other hand was flustered. Alastor was perfectly dressed as always, standing and waiting, with a smile etched across his face, although he had slight dark circles underneath his eyes. Anna, who was standing next to him, looked worse for wear. Her hair was a complete mess, not even brushed as if she just crawled out of bed. Her eyes were bloodshot as well as she let out a yawn wanting to go back to sleep. 

"What's the big idea calling so damn early at 6 o' clock in the morning?!" Angel questioned angrily still half asleep while holding Fat Nuggets who was sleeping in his arms.

"Since, everyone's been cooped up at the hotel for awhile. I thought that we should go out and have some fun. In celebration for Niffty's redemption, we are going to my dad's theme park, LuLu World!" Charlie explained.

 "LuLu World?" Anna asked, confused half asleep and dazed.

 "LuLu World!?" Niffty exclaimed, excitedly.

 "Lu Lu World!" Charlie shouted, happily.

 "I can't wait to tell Baxter!" Niffty said.

 Alastor glanced down at Anna. "Looks like this is a perfect opportunity for our date!" He said. 

 "Y-Ay!" Anna answered while smiling nervously. She did not the smile that the radio demon had on his face. 

The limo parked right in front of the park's entrance and everyone stepped out. Husk pulled Anna aside away from everyone and whispered.

"If he does anything weird to you, just scream." 

 "Got it." Anna nodded.

Everyone went their separate ways, Husk with Angel, Niffty with Baxter, and Vaggie with Charlie along with Razzle and Dazzle, Charlie bodyguard goat pets, as they left Alastor and Anna alone together.

"So what do you like to do first?!" Alastor asked leaning in far too close to Anna's personal bubble.

"Why don't you pick then I'll choose the next one?" Anna shrugged. Alastor hummed in thought before answering.

"Merry go round!"

"Are you serious?" Anna questioned.

"Why, yes, indeedy!" Alastor replied. He dragged Anna by her hand as they headed towards the ride. Some of the carousel were shaped like apples while some had a dark horse. Both Alastor and Anna, each, climbed onto the horse. The ride started up and slowly began to spin around. Anna held onto the pole as the ride began to pick up speed. It couldn't go faster could it?

It did... 

The ride went faster, and faster as it went around. Anna shut her eyes as she began to lightheaded and dizzy. Alastor on the hand was enjoying every second of it as he leaned back, raising his hands in the air as the ride went faster, hooping and hollering. Who knew he was such a big man child!I

As the ride continued to go faster, not too far off from the side, hiding in a abandoned booth were the three imps. Blitzo fired a couple rounds but missed mostly hitting some unfortunate demons and imps and shooting and breaking some of the carousel as well.

At the end of the ride, Anna found herself face first into a trashcan as she puked up the remains of the breakfast she had earlier. She glared up at the radio demon who was standing beside her, innocently, with a smug smile on his face. 

"Now, let's go on that ride!" Alastor suggested, pointing over towards a rollercoaster as it plummeted down to the ground fast, combustion in a fiery explosion. Anna whimpered as she stared at the ride with wide eyes. This guy is going to kill me! Alastor laughed but suddenly stopped as he saw something strange. 

 He noticed a red dot appeared on Anna's forehead. "You know what, I changed my mind. Let's go do something else instead!" He quickly insisted.

 "Okay? Up for a little shooting?" Anna asked. Alastor smiled.

"You read my mind!" He replied then linked his arm around Anna's, heading towards the stand.

Pop! A random balloon, that was held by an imp child, imploded, from out of thin air as it was shot, crying as it did.

The two walked straight up to a shooting stand. It had angels for targets as well as cherubs. There were an assortment of stuffed prizes hanging from the walls. 

"Step right up! Step right up!" The imp shouted. "Shoot the angels and win a prize!"

"Mind if I have a try?" Anna asked.

"Are you sure that you can handle it?" Alastor mused, teasing. Anna frowned. She wanted so badly to wipe that smirk off his face. She picked up the pistol and the imp started the targets. Anna turned to the vendor.

"Make them to faster." She stated. 

"Are you sure?" The imp laughed. "I think your at cream puff level at best." 

Anna nodded. "Do it." 

"Okay, don't say I didn't warn ya!" The imp exclaimed, pulling down the lever. "Cranking it up to God speed!" 

The targets began to move at an excessive alarmingly fast rate, hard enough for everyone who was watching to see. Suddenly, one by one each target fell as Anna fired each round. There was a stunned silence as no one made a sound as they stared frozen in shock. Alastor, with wide eyes and a frozen smile, standing rigid. Each target was down, not a shot missed. 

"Holy shit!" The imp vendor exclaimed in shock.

"I'll take the deer stuffed animal, thank you." Anna replied, blushing, a little, embarrassed from everyone staring. The imp still standing in shock handed the animal out towards her. Anna took it and gave it to Alastor who was along with everyone else still in shock, a deer in headlights.

"Let's do something else, shall we?" Anna suggested, quickly walking away. Alastor chased after her right at her heels.

Where did that come from?!" He questioned.

"What?"Anna shrugged, acting like what just happened was no big deal.

"THAT! What you just did back there!" Alastor pressed further.

"Well, I did tell you that my father was a hunter. Sometimes he would take me with him. It used to be a hobby between just the two of us." Anna explained.

"Why didn't you tell me that you can shoot!" Alastor shouted.

"You never asked." Anna answered.

Alastor laughed. "Fair point." 

 "I'm getting a little hungry mind getting some shaved ice?" Anna suggested. It wasn't what Alastor was used too or liked, but he agreed.

"Sound's like berries to me!"

Eventually, the two were now sitting down on a bench eating their shaved ice in silence. Alastor chose Cherry flavored while Anna went with Blueberry. Every once in a while, Anna would glance over at Alastor before looking away when he noticed her looking at him.

"Have your parents ever told you that it's rude to stare?" Alastor asked. "Something on your mind, darling?"

"Well, you know some stuff about me. But, I hardly know anything about you, besides your mom. Like did you do in your past life, when you were alive? How did you end up here?" Anna asked, curious.

Alastor tensed as the remains of his cone fell to the ground. "You are asking some very dangerous questions." 

"I still want to know." Anna insisted.

 "Why?" Alastor questioned.

 "Don't you want to be redeemed as well?" Anna asked. Alastor laughed.

"Darling, I'm far from redeemable!" Alastor said. "If you know of the despicable things I've done. You would be repulsed!"

"Try me." Anna replied. Alastor twitched, a little irritated. He sighed and started.

"Very well, then. I was a very popular radio star in New Orleans. I gave daily announcements about news and events. One of my most famous reports was a serial killer."

"Really? Did they ever catch him?" Anna asked.

Alastor laughed. "You can say that. You're sitting right next to him!" 

Anna's eyes widen and she nervously swallowed. "Y-You're a serial killer?"

"Yes. Now you know my dirty past." Alastor rolled his eyes. "Any more questions?"

 "Why?" Anna asked.

 "Why, what?" Alastor questioned.

 "Why did you do it?" Anna asked.

Alastor shrugged. "Well, at first for a while, it was abusers, rapists, anyone who were lost causes. But, soon I had a craving for more. Pretty much every other week there was a killing." He finished while Anna listened, taking in everything that he had told her. 

"Alastor," Anna said. "Most of those people were murderers. You probably saved a lot more lives than you took."

"You think so?" Alastor laughed. "Well, I hate to break it got you, my dear. But, you are wrong. It wasn't my place to judge for their actions." Even he couldn't believe the words that escaped from his mouth. 

"Surely, you must feel a little remorse?" Anna pressed. "Even a little?"

"No, not a bit." Alastor answered.

Then Alastor noticed the strange red dot again as it appeared on Anna. He made a strained smile. This was getting annoying! He briskly signaled his shadows, while Anna was looking away, that were hiding, to find out where it was coming from. His shadows immediately took off, darting away to the source. High on top of the ferris wheel, Blitzo was aiming a rifle at Anna setting it's scope on her.

"I got you now, bitch!" Blitzo shouted.

As Blitzo was about to squeeze the trigger, several dark shadows loomed over the three imps.

"Holy shit!" Blitzo screamed. The shadows lunged at the three terrified imps.

"They belong to the radio demon!" Millie cried out.

"This is not worth risking our lives over, sir!" Moxxie screamed out.

"OH HELL NO!" Blitzo shouted. FUCK THIS! SCATTER!"

The three imps desperately tried to get away from the shadows as they bailed out from the passenger car. Now falling from a great height and hurling towards the ground, landing right onto an inflatable bounce house. It began to deflate as screaming kids were trying to get out.

Then a thick blue book fell landing right in front of Charlie and Vaggie who were walking nearby.

"Hey, what's that?" Vaggie asked. Charlie's picked it up, examining it. Her eyes widened in surprise. The latin labeling on the cover gave it away. It was indeed the book. She glanced over at Vaggie who was looking at her, waiting.

"Uh, nothing!" Charlie quickly answered. "Absolutely, nothing!"

 "Hon,-" Then Vaggie stopped as she saw Alastor and Anna approaching as they headed towards them. The princess quickly hid the book behind her back. Vaggie walked over to them. Charlie looked behind her to see Razzle and Dazzle.

"Take this and hide it away for now." She whispered to them. Her two goat pets took the book and ran off heading towards the limo as everyone got ready to leave. 

A s everyone left, the three jumps crawled out from the popped deflated bounce house.

"oh, nice job, sir. You lost the book." Moxxie groaned.

"Shut the fuck up, Moxxie!" Blitzo growled.

[polaristranslations]

Kissshot Ranking

000

"Oh yeah, Kissshot. I'd like to take this opportunity to ask you something, if you don't mind. You know how, thanks to those three vampire hunters: Dramaturgy, Episode, and Guillotinecutter—you ended up being completely and helplessly beaten up, right?"

"I shall turn you into charcoal."

You are way too lacking in delicacy, she said.

The iron-blooded, hot-blooded, cold-blooded vampire, the King of Oddities, Kissshot Acerolaorion Heartunderblade, glared at me—being glared at by her in her perfected form sent chills not just down my spine, but also through my blood.

But, charcoal?

"Now that I have become complete, I can even breathe fire."

"At that point, you're no longer a demon but a kaiju, aren't you?"

Well, I guess she was already like a kaiju.

Besides, if that middle-aged man in a Hawaiian shirt, Oshino Meme, hadn't taken out her heart, it was true that she probably wouldn't have had her limbs taken from her even if it took all three of the vampire hunters—at the very least, not as easily.

Oshino's skill in stealing her heart without the person herself noticing was nothing short of awe-inspiring, but in other words, it meant that he wouldn't have been able to do such a thing against Kissshot if he hadn't caught her off guard.

She wasn't just the King of Oddities for show.

Even if you took away the fact that I was currently her servant and had to view her in a favorable light, I would still say as such—and that was why I wanted to ask.

Though it was just simple curiosity.

"In the five hundred years you've spent alive—well, I suppose you weren't exactly alive, since you're a vampire—how would you describe the strongest among the opponents you've fought before? It doesn't have to be limited to vampires, and it doesn't even have to be oddities, either."

"The strongest? You mean, the strongest after me, right?"

Even the way she tilted her head was pompous.

Well, yes, the strongest after Kissshot herself.

Even though I asked about it casually, it seemed to have been a tumultuous five hundred years, so the predicament we found ourselves in this time may not have necessarily been her biggest crisis—had she had experiences where she felt even more cornered than now?

As a high school third-year who had gone through three consecutive battles against a bunch that were quite literally beyond human, I couldn't help but be simply curious—had there been anyone even stronger than those three?

There had to have been.

"I wonder about that. 'Strong' and 'weak' are just standards, after all."

Kissshot said, quite self-importantly.

What, are you planning on spouting some enlightened philosophy?

"For example... My servant. From your perspective, out of those three battles, which of them did you find the strongest?"

"Hm?"

"If you ask me, then just as I advised, it would be Guillotinecutter at the top, and then Episode, and then Dramaturgy. However, contrary to expectations, from your experience, the hardest fights were in the reverse order, were they not?"

"Hmm..."

Now that she'd said that, it could be true.

The fight against Guillotinecutter where Hanekawa had been taken hostage, and the fight against Episode where Hanekawa had nearly died... Just remembering them was utterly repulsive, but on the other hand, even though that class rep among class reps hadn't gotten involved, the fight against Dramaturgy that had driven me to the wall had been the one where I'd been the closest to dying.

In the first place, if that giant hadn't so graciously withdrawn from the fight, it was very unclear whether or not I could've actually won... I could believe it if he'd made the professional decision that "it wasn't worth it to get serious and injure this small fry that was just starting out". In that surrender, there may have been a plan to flatter this amateur and make me feel good about walking away.

Even if, on my end, I had my own excuses, or rather, circumstances, that it was my first battle...

"Are you saying that compatibility matters when it comes to battles?"

"I—and you also, now—we may be bad with the sun, but most beings that live on this Earth have no problem with sunlight. Meanwhile, there are beings that die from oxygen—would you define a being that dies from eating garlic the 'strongest'?"

So she was saying that even the strong had their weak points.

Even though garlic was just tasty—although, now it would kill me if I ate it.

Then, were poisonous mushrooms the strongest? The fugu? However, it was hard to think of poison, which only went into effect when ingested, as meeting the conditions for being the "strongest"—not to mention, with the fugu, we even went to the trouble of removing the poison before eating it.

Right now, the strongest person from my point of view would have to be Dramaturgy, but if I expanded my outlook, I could say that my past encounter with the flu had been an even tougher battle. A fever of 40 degrees that lasted for days on end. In terms of how many times I thought I would die, the vampire hunters barely amounted to anything..

"Also, if we're talking about mental damage, then the times I got beaten up by my little sisters were definitely more overwhelming..."

"Everyone is weak to family, after all. ...When it came to my first thrall, the original Oddity Slayer, I did not make him my thrall because he was strong."

In the first place, "fighting" was a rare occurrence over my five hundred years of activity—said Kissshot.

"Is that so? I always had the impression that vampires were battle-hungry, though."

"That is a mistaken impression produced by the media."

"'Mistaken impression produced by the media'?"

"With the specialists, 'tis hunt and be hunted. The reason you ended up with these three consecutive battles this time was because of that Hawaiian shirt's plan—it was a game."

I see.

Vampire hunters—so that's what it meant to have those hunters as enemies. It wasn't that fleeing was winning, but that you won by fleeing. From the perspective of the vampires who were on the side of the hunted, they weren't on equal footing to begin with.

It's because so many countermeasures had been put in place against her that she'd been stripped of her limbs and had her heart taken from her... For someone like me, who was just starting out—if the same countermeasures were taken against me, I would surely die in an instant. In fact, it was only because I was given time to take countermeasures and strategies that I was able to exploit the weakness of the professionals who weren't accustomed to the situation of "the enemy coming after them"—it wouldn't be good for the future if I thought that I was able to beat those three entirely because of my own abilities.

After all, my own abilities were but a fraction of Kissshot's abilities. If she was attacked, if she was marked a target for extermination because she was strong, then that may as well mean that she was weak... Like an endangered species that was hunted to excess.

"I guess it's like how your grades and your intelligence don't necessarily coincide."

Though there were people like Hanekawa whose grades and intelligence did coincide—putting aside whether or not they coincided for me.

"And as for if the culprit is stronger than the victim in murder cases, that would definitely be a no..."

It really made me think.

I'd secretly schemed to tie things up with the play on words of "Strength [tsuyosa] alone is not applicable [tsuuyou shinai]", but the current mood had become not so frivolous—perhaps it was time for me to dejectedly leave from the side exit [tsuuyoumon].

"In the end, it doesn't really matter if you're strong or weak, huh."

"Nay, of course it matters if you are strong. However, 'tis only in second, or maybe third place—competing with whether you win or lose."

There may be times where the strong end up losing, it would be an error in judgment to say that you should be happy to win while weak—although, there were probably a number of people who would prefer to be strong, even if they lose.

Then, what came in first place?

"Of course. 'Tis whether you live or die."

Even if you may be weak, even if you may lose.

Being alive is what matters most—said the immortal oddity. And I, not yet having returned to being human—being dead just by being alive—did not know what she was thinking as she said that.

[unforth]

Bakery owner!dean, hungry endverse!cas

I wanted to warn you this ended up having a brief mention of John Winchester’s A+ Parenting. Am I misremembering that you’re actually kind of a John fan? Sorry about that...it’s largely incidental, fwiw. Also, this got kinda long, and I’m not sorry.

Also, mentions of drug use, and a mildly dub con kiss (there’s not explicit consent before hand)

*

Fuck, but it had been a long day. Exhausted, Dean finished consolidating all the garbages into one ginormous bag, hefted it over his shoulder, and carried it out the back door. The alley behind his bakery was as repulsive as always: reeking, with puddles best left unexamined, and a handful of rats skittering into the shadows. Ignoring them - but making sure the door was shut behind him - Dean strode to the dumpster and swung the bag atop it. An explosion of fetor burst outward as the new weight atop the garbage forced air from the bags beneath.

Ugh.

This bullshit was why Dean always saved taking the garbage out for last. He didn’t want to touch a single damn thing in his bakery after interacting with the alley. Heck, he didn’t even want to walk on his floor - that’s why he mopped before he closed and before he opened.

Ugh, ugh, ugh.

Grumbling under his breath, Dean stomped back toward his door. Something squished underfoot, and before Dean could look - before Dean could convince himself not to look under any fucking circumstances - and aggrieved voice protested, “Watch where you’re stepping, dickfuck.”

“Sorry,” said Dean, sincere, as he realized that the squishy thing was an arm, belonging to a scruffy homeless dude who’d been sleeping in what Dean had mistaken for a pile of recycling. “What’s a dickfuck, anyway?”

“You are,” the man said sourly. “No screw off and let me sleep.” He was filthy, his face covered in dirt, his hair matted, his clothing in rags that didn’t conceal his emaciated figure.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Dean replied. The man glowered and tugged a dilapidated box over his face. “Sleep well, asshole.” 

And Dean went back into the bakery.

He wiped his feet on the entry mat.

He washed his hands in the sink.

He looked with contentment at everything he’d built, shut down for the night after another successful, if exhausting day.

His wandering gaze spotted the basket of “day olds” that he’d repackaged to sell at half-price the next morning. 

An image of the gaunt, dirty man sleeping in the alley floated through his memory.

Selling his excess at a discount helped him keep the business afloat and meant he didn’t waste ingredients; that said, it also weirdly cost him money, because the customers who checked the “day olds” would, if they found nothing to their taste, usually opt for a pastry at full price instead.

So...if it wouldn’t really cost him much, if anything, to give the baked goods to someone in need.

Nodding as he made up his mind, Dean took up the entire basket - a half-dozen cookies, a loaf of bed, and two scones, not the most nutritious selection but when the alternative was “no food,” well, beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Not that alley dude had begged.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t hungry. He sure as fuck had looked hungry. Heading out the front door, Dean locked up and carried the basket around the block with him, returning to the back alley. The pile of boxes still looked like recycling, but alley dude’s fingers still poked out. Setting the basket down beside him, Dean lifted the limp hand and set it on the baked goods. No need to wake the guy up again. He could find the bounty later, and do with it as he would.

Chest glowing with that Good Samaritan feel, Dean headed home with a bounce in his step.

Maybe he should make this a regular thing - stop selling his “day olds” and donate them instead...

*

Dean hoisted the day’s garbage into the dumpster, turned to walk back to his back door, and stopped. Alley guy sat amidst his boxes, looking like some weird cardboard golem. Dean’s basket was sitting on the back stoop. Embarrassed, Dean looked away and scowled. He’d not given the food expecting thanks. Alley guy had never been there before; Dean had assumed he’d never be there again. Fuck, but seeing the dude was just awkward. Ignoring him as best he could, Dean walked by, took up his basket, opened his door, and--

“Hey, dickfuck - I’m allergic to dairy,” grumbled alley guy. “So, thanks for nothing, I guess.”

Opting not to turn around, Dean shrugged and said to his graffitied door, “eh, it’s not like you asked for that shit. You weren’t obligated to thank me, or to eat it. Hope you paid it forward, though.”

“Oh, yeah...cause I got so many friends or some shit. But yeah, the rats loved the crumbs. You dickfuck.”

Rolling his eyes, Dean walked back into the business. That’s what he got for trying to do a good deed. What a goddamn waste.

Still, the charity he’d e-mailed about donations hadn’t gotten back to him yet, and he had a baguette in the resale bin...grabbing it, Dean used a red pen to emphatically circled the ingredient list, went to the cooler and took a bottle of water, and poked his head back into the alley.

“Hey,” he said. Alley guy jerked around to stare at him. “Dairy free, asshole.” Dean threw the two toward alley guy, who snatched them from the air with surprising dexterity. “Any other allergies you wanna warn me about?”

“Manners,” alley guy replied flatly. “That gonna be a problem?”

“Pfft, like I care what the fuck you say or do,” Dean scoffed. “But if you die back here, I’m the one who’s gonna have to deal with the cops. Like I wanna talk to those SOBs over your mangy ass? No way. So, eat up.”

And before alley guy could reply, Dean went back inside, locking the door behind him.

*

“Don’t suppose you’ve got any hummus in there?”

“Buy your own.”

Over the days that followed, Dean and alley guy developed a weird rapport.

“You know your food is garbage.”

“Takes one to know one.”

Alley guy was abrasive, sardonic, and irreverent. In any other circumstances, Dean would want to deck him in the face, but his perpetual rudeness despite his dire circumstances was weirdly...endearing. It seemed a bizarre form of self-preservation, a show of strength that the man would sass him. Dean was willing to bet, oh, a fuckton, that his thinking so was a sign of his own stereotypes about the homeless - it’s not like losing their houses reduced them to personality-less manikins or some shit - but still, alley guy’s bullshit, and that Dean could give back as good as he got after kowtowing to all the crap that customers pulled on the daily, was refreshing.

“...did you figure out a dairy free quiche recipe just for me?”

“Why the fuck would I do that? New recipes are for paying customers.”

Dean totally expanded his knowledge of dairy-free cooking for alley guy’s sake.

“Ya know, you really don’t have to keep feeding me...”

“You leave, I stop.”

And despite his expectations that alley guy would leave...he never did. And occasionally, when Dean looked back, it would be to see yellowed teeth revealed as pink lips spread in a broad grin, and blue eyes sparkling, and an expression rife with all the appreciation that alley guy couldn’t express and Dean didn’t want to hear anyway.

Alley guy’s cheeks had some flesh on them again, too.

Seeing him - smiling, and appreciative, and douchey, and healthier - felt good.

Dean was gonna buy him a fucking toothbrush.

*

“Hey dickfuck - I’m not your charity case, you know,” grumbled alley guy, sniffing suspiciously at the crisco-crust pie Dean had brought out, along with a plastic fork and bottle of water.

“No fucking duh,” said Dean, rolling his eyes. “You’re a strong, independent man who can leave anytime you wanted.”

“...no, I’m a useless, broke, jobless, homeless drifter with PTSD and not even enough money for a dime bag...and I could leave anytime I want.”

“Well, glad we sorted that out.”

“Yeah.”

“My name is Dean, by the way.”

“Oh?”

“Not dickfuck.”

“Bullshit,” retorted alley guy. “Your mama absolutely took one look at your dick face and wrote ‘dickfuck’ on your birth certificate.”

Flinching despite himself, Dean grimaced. He should let it roll off his back. There’s no way that alley guy could know he’d poked a sore spot, and no reason alley guy would care if he did know. And yet...some jokes hurt, and somehow Dean couldn’t escape the feeling that alley guy wouldn’t want Dean to actually be upset. Maybe that was reading way too much into their pseudo-relationship, but... 

“Hey, yo, call me whatever the fuck you want, but don’t diss my mama, okay?”

“Aww, yas, gotta love the whiff of toxic masculinity that comes out when someone shits on mom.”

“She died when I was 4.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” Channeling his upset into a glare - I will not cry in front of alley guy, not gonna do it, not gonna do it - Dean headed back to his back door. “Oh. Thanks for the shitty memories, asswipe.”

Throwing the door open, he stepped in, expecting at any moment for alley guy to say something even more dickish, but there was only silence, until--

“I’m Cas,” alley guy called.

Catching the door a moment before it shut behind him, Dean tossed it open wide, stepped into the opening, and caught it with a hand. Alley guy was eating the cupcake, frosting smeared over his lips, and he offered Dean a disgusting, crumby smile.

“Sorry I’m a fuckwad.”

“No, you’re not,” grumbled Dean.

“...yeah, okay, usually you’re right. Usually, I’m not even a little sorry I’m a fuckwad. But I am sorry about your mom, dickfuck. Dean. If I’d known it was a sensitive topic I’d have made fun of your dad, instead.”

“You do that,” Dean said, quirking his lips in a half-smile. “Dad’s an alcoholic son of a bitch - with all possible insult to my grandma intended - and if he’d a known I’d grow up to be some pansy-ass baker, he’d have named me dickfuck, not that ma woulda let him.”

“Your dad’s a fucker,” said alley guy...Cas...solemnly.

“Cheers to that,” agreed Dean. “See you tomorrow?”

Dean expected a quick riposte, a nasty reply, a joke and a shrug to break the seriousness they’d unexpectedly descended into. Instead, Cas gave him a funny look, and said in an equally odd tone of voice, “yeah...yeah, I guess you will.”

Shaking his head, Dean retreated into his business.

What a weird fucking guy.

*

“Dean, I was wondering...you give me all this shit...is there anything I could do for you in return? Odd jobs? Mobsters you need driven from the premises? I’m handy with a screw driver and an every weapon in the US arsenal.”

“Really? Every single one? Even the black ops shit?”

“Especially the black ops shit. But I’m being serious.”

“That you’ll shut the mafia for me?”

“That I want to help. I know I seem like an ungrateful sod...that’s because I am an ungrateful sod...but I could, I don’t fucking know, sweep your stoop, or snake the pipes, or wipe your counters, or...” 

“...just so I’m absolutely clear, you’re not offering me a blow job or an assfuck in exchanged for baked goods, right?”

“...would you accept a blow job or an assfuck in lieu of payment?”

“From someone with your skank-ass breath and gingivitis? Fuck no.”

“I don’t have gingivitis on my cock, Dean.”

“And honestly...if you don’t take a goddamn shower, I’m not even letting you on the premises. But--”

“But you appreciate the offer, you don’t mind giving me baguettes, it’s definitely not a no homo thing, blah blah blah, I get it, I--”

“--but I got a shower stall in the basement.”

“...oh.”

“So, get your ass cleaned up - and no, I don’t mean sexually, I’m not a homo but I am bi as fuck, but like, just no, the levels of squicky in the homeless dude I’ve been feeding paying me back in sexual favors is just all kinds of nope - and then if you want to help, I could use an extra set of hands with the dishes. But if you do, I’m fucking paying you. Okay?”

“I don’t need your charity.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, and I’m not offering it. Heck, you’re in this alley every fucking day - that already makes you about a billion times more reliable than the last dumbass I hired as a kitchen boy.”

“You want me to be your...kitchen boy?”

“Do you want to be my kitchen boy?”

“...we’re still not talking about sex?”

“Just get your ass in here and take a fucking shower. And I’ve got a bag of clothes I’ve outgrown - before you say it, I mean that I’ve got too fucking chubby to fit into, thank you very much for fucking noticing - and I’ve been figuring out how to give them to you anyway, so you can change into those.”

“You wanted to give me clothes.”

“It was you or Salvation Army.”

“They’re a bunch of fucking transphobes, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, that’s why I opted for you. I assumed you weren’t a bunch of fucking transphobes.”

“What if I’m one fucking transphobe?”

“Look, you want to take a shower or not?”

“...yeah. Yeah, that would be nice, Dean.”

“Good. Get your utterly non-sexual ass into my place of business. You’re hired.”

“What’s your fraternization policy?”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“That’s an oddly specific policy.”

“Shut up, Cas.”

“...make me?”

“Shower. Now.”

“Yes, Dean.”

*

A distinctive musky, skunky smell wafted through the kitchen, so strong it over-powered the mouthwatering scents of proofing croissants and caramelizing sugar. Wrinkling his nose, Dean stuck his head into the dining area, expecting to see some stoners with the munchies buying him out of cookies, but the scent terminated at the door. If it wasn’t a customer, it might be one of his neighbors...but the other businesses around were closed on the weekend...or someone who lived in the building above...but that should drift up, not down...or from the alley outside...but the handful of small windows in the kitchen area were nailed shut to prevent exactly that kind of problem...so where...?

Grimacing, Dean returned to the kitchen.

“Heya, Dean,” Cas drawled.

Cas.

On his third day of work.

Late.

Dressed in Dean’s hand-me-downs.

Shaved.

Surprisingly hot, now that he had some flesh on his bones and some color to his skin.

Pupils dilated.

High out of his fucking gourd.

“Out,” snapped Dean.

“Oh...did I blow it?” Cas broke into a lazy smile, not a hint of surprise in his voice. “Shocking.”

“For fuck’s sake, dude - no, you didn’t blow it, but you do not show up in my place of business reeking. You get your ass to the shower, clean up, change into some fresh clothes, and then wash the goddamn dishes like we discussed.”

“And if I don’t?” There was something bizarre about Cas’ expression. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d think it was...affronted? Insulted? Put out?

What, because I didn’t fire him?

Over some goddamn pot?

Who the fuck does he think I am?

“Then you can go right back out to that alley, bury yourselves in those ratty, stinking boxes again, and I’ll bring you some bread tonight,” replied Dean with a shrug. “No skin off my back either way. You’re here because you fuckin’ offered, man, not because I insisted or nothing. Anyway, you want to afford more weed, you need money, so...dunno why you’re acting like a dickfuck about this, but seems to me that from your point of view, it’s a lose-lose, and from mine, it’s whatever. Capish?”

Silent, Cas stared at Dean.

Sending a silent what the fuck skyward, Dean turned to check on the croissants.

Cas stared at him.

Ignoring him, Dean glanced through glass front of the stove to see if they were up to temperature.

Cas stared at him.

Running through his mental task list, Dean checked his stocks of frozen cookie dough - and Cas stared - and gathered the ingredients for Sally Lunn rolls - and Cas stared - and tossed some tart shells in the oven to blind-bake - and Cas stared - and set some butter on the counter to warm to room temperature...

...and Cas stared, and said, “You’re right,” with solemn conviction. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, ready to work.”

“Awesome. You do that.” Dean offered him a half-smile, and Cas startled and shook out his arms as though a spell had been broken.

“And Dean...thank you.” He smiled. “But I’m not a dickfuck. You are.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dean smiled back; the genuine grateful pleasure on Cas’ face was irresistible. “Get out of here and come back when you smell better.”

“Yes, Dean.”

*

There was a knock on the door of the closet that Dean liked to pretend was his office. Looking up from his account books, Dean frowned. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly, hesitantly, and Cas stepped into view, stopping framed by the rectangle of brighter light that emanated from the kitchen. A year had done wonders for Cas; he’d gone from sleeping in the alley and showering in the basement and working odd hours to being a full time employee, with an apartment, and time off, and clothes of his own, and a permanent 5 o’clock shadow. If the occasional whiff of patchouli drifted about him, well, it meant he cared enough to mask the pot stink, and that too was a vast improvement. How he spent his extra money and leisure time was his own damn business.

Even if, sometimes, Dean wished it was his own business.

But nope. Cas is off limits. Given our relationship - as benefactor and benefactee, as employer and employee, as...fuck, I don’t even know, but it’s awkward - there’s no way in fuck-all I can tell him that I think he’s gorgeous and hardworking and totally spank bank material.

Being the boss blows sometimes.

And Cas was still standing in the doorway, still watching Dean in that peculiar, steady way he had, and still silent.

“Look, these books don’t balance themselves. So unless you got an accounting associates you haven’t told me about, spill it and then kindly fuck off.”

“God, you’re an asshole,” grumbled Cas, rolling his eyes.

“Yet here you are,” Dean replied with an ingenuous smile.

“Yeah, well, not for long.” Something in Cas tone made Dean really look up, really look at him, and he was surprised to find Cas serious, troubled, and focused. Blinking at him, Dean set his pen down, closed his book, and tried not to worry. “I, um.” Cas was hesitant. Cas was tongue tied. Cas was never anything but brash and confident and full of amazing douchiness.

“Hey - dude...” Dean rose, and shimmied to the side to initiate getting through the teeny path beside his teeny desk, but Cas arrested him with an upheld hand. “...whatever it is, you know it’s okay, right? I trust you.” Cas laughed hollowly and Dean’s concern intensified. “If shit’s going down, you don’t have to face that shit alone any more, ya know?”

“Yeah...” said Cas bitterly. “Yeah, I know.” Cas took a deep breath, let it out as he squeezed his eyes shut, and said in a rush, “I quit.”

“What?” exclaimed Dean.

Cas opened his eyes, deep blue obscured as they narrowed with uncertainty, and nodded slowly for no obvious reason. “I said, I quit.”

“Why?!” Shock, worry, and disappointment collided within Dean. If Cas quit, would he end up on the streets again? If Cas quit, would Dean get to see him any longer? If Cas quit--?

“Because as long as I work here, I can’t do this,” Cas replied, and as Dean watched as though time had dilated, Cas lunged forward, knocked into the desk, grabbed the loose sides of Dean’s apron, and pulled him into a rough kiss. Stubble tickled at Dean’s cheeks. Lips applied amazing pressure to his own. Cas’ face was so close that his two eyes seemed four until Dean’s eyes slipped shut and he leaned in, deepening the kiss, teasing at Cas’ lips with his tongue.

Cas jerked away from him with a gasp, chest heaving, and for a split second Dean thought he’d somehow misunderstood everything.

If he doesn’t want tongue...is there something, anything, else that kissing me out of the blue could mean??

“Cas?” Dean asked weakly.

“Yeah, dickfuck?” replied Cas with a mysterious smile. His tongue flicked out and ghosted over his lips, and Dean swallowed a surge of arousal. 

“What the fuck was that?”

“It was the kiss I’ve been wanting to give you for a goddamn year,” Cas explained contentedly. “Whaddaya think?”

“What do I think?” Eyeing him, Dean took a deep breath and let it go, raising two fingers and brushing them over his mouth. The way Cas stared at every movement was more delicious than Dean’s special, patented, best-in-the-tristate-area apple pie. “I think I want to do it again.”

“Good,” said Cas, his hunger as obvious as the growing bulge in his pants. He reached out...and Dean stopped him with a hand.

“After I finish the books, and seriously, anywhere more comfortable than in here, okay?”

“In the kitchen?” Cas suggested with a lascivious wink.

“Ew. No! Unhygienic. Do you know how much trouble I’d get into if the health department found out?”

“...aren’t I worth it?”

“Okay...look...just to be clear...we are talking about sex, right?”

“For once...god, I hope we are,” said Cas fervently. “Because if not, this is, hands down, the most confusing conversation I’ve ever had with you - and that’s saying something.”

“What?! I’m not confusing,” Dean exclaimed. “You’re fucking baffling.”

“I’m easy,” disagreed Cas. “In every sense of the word.”

“I call bullshit. If you were easy, it wouldn’t have taken me a year to get in my pants.”

Cas raised a finger. “You were trying to get in my pants?” 

“No! Of course not!” Dean spluttered. “I’m your boss, that’d be wrong on so many levels!”

“That’s about what I figured,” agreed Cas with a hum. “But you’re not my boss any longer.”

“That’s why you quit.”

“So if we can’t fuck in the kitchen, how about in the shower?”

Catching his lip between his teeth, Dean barely quelled a hysteric laugh. He wanted to - fuck, how he wanted to - but... “Ok. Here’s what’s going to happen. First, you’re rehired. There’s no fucking way I can close up for the night alone before at least eleven, unless I’ve got help. Payroll is due, and this shit won’t balance, and I can’t go anywhere until it’s done. So, you do closing shit, and I’ll do fucking math, and then, when once all that is set...we can talk. Okay?”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak?” smirked Cas.

“Has anyone ever told you I don’t give a fuck?” Dean retorted.

“Don’t worry.” Cas’ smile went gentle, and Dean’s heart fricken melted. “I love it.”

“You--”

“I’ll go wash the dishes now, sir,” Cas interrupted, grin going saucy. “Come fire me whenever you’re ready...”

Dean’s mouth worked around a reply, but no words would come; Cas, looking eminently proud of himself, turned and sauntered from the room, ass wiggling.

“I will,” Dean called after him as the door swung shut. He sounded strained, and high pitched, and he’d have been mortified if he wasn’t so damn excited and horny.

Guess no good deed goes unpunished...

The gorgeous sound of Cas’ rich laughter echoed loudly enough that Dean could savor it despite the door separating them.

...and man, is the punishment for this good deed going to be a goddamn blast.

Hot damn.

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Decryption_Error: “Master Mind”

Summary: Elliot gets fired and Y/N blames herself. She begs a part of Elliot for help as she is faced with the reality of the lengths Mr. Robot will go to in order to protect Elliot. 

A/N: The final chapter picks up right after this chapter : )

Decryption_Error: All Chapters

Word Count: 6022

One week and four days.

That’s how close we came to our one-year anniversary.

As it turned out, we actually did spend Memorial Day weekend together, but instead of being cozied up while basking in the success of our love, I had watched as Elliot was escorted out of my parents’ house in handcuffs.  

I had always considered myself to be an intelligent, well-rounded person who practiced introspection enough to identify and work on accepting my shortcomings. I could be quite critical of myself at times, but when I had gone through counseling, my therapist helped me understand that people judge themselves through an almost cruel critical lens: once I could accept I was my own harshest critic, I could move forward instead of getting sucked back into a cycle of persecution.

Elliot and I had often talked about self-persecution, but I now understood that it wasn’t just his voice that criticized him. He literally had other selves within that were passing judgement and carrying out their own agendas.

And one of those selves was about to end my relationship with Elliot, all thanks to one of my shortcomings.

Another thing I considered myself to be was more than just my father’s daughter; I had worked all through my 20s to become an individual, to become someone more than just a last name. Nepotism was normal in my world, but something about it always sat uneasy with me. Hemingway wrote about that feeling; he said immorality was anything that “made you disgusted afterwards.”

The more advantages I saw being dished out to people like myself from parents with means made me think about Hemingway’s definition of immorality. I didn’t want to walk through life with a stomach full of disgust, so I set goals with the intent of making a good life for myself and helping those I could.

My father encouraged his children to live with integrity, to practice selflessness, and most importantly, he taught us to be hungry. He encouraged us to fight against complacency because he remembered what it was to be hungry; he remembered what it was to want something, to work for it, and he remembered how meaningful it was to find a purpose.

I knew that was why Kathleen became a doctor. I knew that was why Erin became a lawyer. And I knew that was why Charlie became a teacher.

And I knew that was why I worked at a cybersecurity firm, a business that had the sole intent of providing protection. I had my purpose.  

But in that way of upbringing, my father inadvertently bred naivety. I thought more people were like us, especially those of us with financial excess. I knew about nepotism, about greed, about entitlement, but I didn’t really understand those things until Elliot was fired from CIStech.

Ali Olayan.

He was not like me. He was not like my family.

I had read Corey as the greatest threat to Elliot’s well-being, but I had read wrong.

Beneath Ali’s nonchalant exterior lived the kind of antagonist I had thought only existed in the movies; Ali lived and breathed his privilege, believing that he could craft whatever narrative he wanted for any person he chose. This was Ali’s world, and we were all just living in it.

Ali was never taught to know hunger, never taught to be selfless or encouraged to become something other than what he was. In his mind, he was already something.

It was entirely too late when I finally figured out that the resolution of the incident in the server room sat inside of Ali’s mind like a tick. And the more he thought, the bigger that parasite grew, the more unsettled Ali became that a nobody like Elliot Alderson had caused a disruption in his worldview.

To Ali, it had been a joke, not unlike one his own friends may have inflicted on countless of their schoolmates. Ali knew things like that were a joke because he had never been punished. And if there had never been a consequence for his actions, then he had never been wrong.

Until I told him he was wrong.

Until I gave him a consequence.

I had assumed that because Ali’s family was strict and that because Ali was respectful during his discipline hearing that he understood right and wrong. Instead, being reprimanded attacked his ego by opening up his mind to a barrage of things he had never cared to think about before, including morality.

The tick fattened inside of him, fostering Ali’s need for revenge.

* * * * *

Pursing my lips as I proofread my email one more time, I threw a nasty glance at my phone as it interrupted me.

By the third ring, I couldn’t ignore the compulsion to answer it, so I abandoned my email and picked up the phone.

“Yes?” I said, not bothering to glance at the ID as I saved my email as a draft.

“You need to get down here.”

“JaLeah? What is it?”

“Now, Y/N! Get down here now,” she pleaded.

“I’m on my way,” I said as I stood and hung up the phone, my mind working to process the bizarre demand of a woman I had never known to be frazzled by anything. Even the hacks hadn’t gotten her to break her calm.

“Hold my calls and cancel my 4:00,” I said with a single breath as I rushed past my secretary’s desk and to the elevator. My heel caught in the gap, and I almost stumbled face first into the glass. As I pushed for CIStech’s floor, I realized my fingers were shaking.

Elliot.

No. He would’ve at least texted me if something was up. This can’t be about him.

It’s not about him.

I tried to logic out my anxiety, reminding myself that if I let those thoughts rush forward, I wouldn’t be able to think critically.

The office collectively turned to watch my arrival, and I didn’t need time to wonder why. I could hear the muffled shouting coming from within Tim’s office.  

“Don’t,” I commanded Jayne as she reached for the intercom to announce my arrival.

Jayne sank back in her chair, her hand still hovering over the intercom as I pushed into what used to be my office—the one where I interviewed Elliot with Colin and JaLeah, where Colin, goddamn him, said that getting too close to Elliot Alderson probably never ended well for anyone.

Even as he stood with his back to the door, I could feel Elliot’s anger the second I walked in. Dread danced down my spine as I took a deep breath and wondered if this was the same Elliot-yet-not-Elliot I had met a month ago.

Tim looked up from his position at the table, his lips pressed into a thin line as he looked at me then back to his irate employee. Next to Tim sat Ali, with a smug look of satisfaction on his face.  

“You—are firing me?” Elliot raged, and just by the tone of his voice, I knew my instinct was right; this wasn’t him.

“What’s going on?” I interrupted, causing this version of Elliot to whirl around and Ali’s smugness to turn from quietly distasteful to outrightly repulsive.

As not-Elliot looked at me, I was shocked at how the anger seemed to morph his features. His jaw was tight its angularity more pronounced; his mouth was much smaller as his lips were pressed against his teeth; his eyes were big and unnerving, but the thing that nearly made me falter was that this Elliot seemed to take up so much more space. It was intimidating.

I had thought I was afraid of the side of Elliot who protected him, but I was even more afraid to realize how little I knew about this side of him.

“You can’t save him this time,” Ali said, drawing both my attention and not-Elliot’s again as his tone reflected that repulsive smirk I wanted to knock off his face.

To Ali Olayan, this was a game of revenge.

“Tim—explain.”

“Don’t listen to them,” not-Elliot growled out, his lips barely moving as I brushed past him to take the open seat on the other side of Tim.

“Sit down,” I bit back, our eyes locking for a moment before he dropped his gaze. Not-Elliot yanked out the chair and sat, a huff of breath escaping when he crossed his arms, his anger occupying a fifth seat at the table.

“Last week, Ali suggested I take a look at the data on the employee performances he ran,” Tim began. “And the results were concerning—"

“Fucking bullshit,” not-Elliot muttered, as he sullenly slumped in his chair like a teenager being disciplined.

I ignored his comment and told Tim to continue.

“The results were concerning because Alderson’s performance didn’t exactly decline so much as nosedive. It made me wonder how someone could go from 100 to 10 in the course of a few weeks.”

“Perhaps a mitigating personal circumstance, Tim. Did you consider that?” I said, trying to both avoid and use the lie about Elliot’s mother.

Tim angled his laptop toward me and clicked on the open tab beside the performance eval.

“Whatever Mr. Alderson has been doing at work, hasn’t been our work.”

Elliot moved quickly, uncrossing his arms and reaching out to slam the lid of Tim’s laptop shut.

“Your work? Your work?! This is just the sort of shit that some data jockey would pull out of their fucking asshole,” not-Elliot said, his speech slurred with irritation as he jerked back and stood, his chair wobbling from the force of his movement.

“And that’s not even the worst part of coming in to this fuckhole every day. No. It’s seeing people like you in positions of power,” he said as he whirled on Ali.

“You reek of nepotism, of never having to work for any fucking thing in your life. A script kiddie! You’ve never written an exploit from scratch in your fucking life. Relying on pulling code from Metasploit or some shit. And what’s the real fuckall of it is that you can’t code and yet you are sitting here, shitting on me, because of something YOU did! I didn’t lock myself in that server room. I didn’t think it was a fucking joke and neither did anyone but you and the other self-centered cunts you call your friends. So fuck you!”

The one who raged for Elliot stopped then, teeth bared, chest rising and falling as his hands ran once, twice through his hair before they dropped to his sides, his fingers flexing before balling into fists.  

I didn’t take my eyes off of not-Elliot as I asked, “And no one thought to ask for my input? In case you forgot, I am the General Manager and am in charge of CIStech—not either of you.”

I pulled my eyes away from not-Elliot’s and looked at Ali and at Tim. Ali had lost his smirk and Tim’s hairline was beaded with sweat.

“Well?” I prompted, my own voice rising.

“The--the data doesn’t lie,” Tim finally said quietly. “Mr. Alderson has been using company time to execute his own projects. It’s outlined as one of the most clear grounds for dismissal in the contract every employee signs when they’re hired.”

“I’m aware,” I said with a sigh, knowing he was right. If Elliot, or whoever he was, actually was using company time to work on another project, there was nothing I could do to protect him.

“What have you been working on, Elliot?”

Elliot was so angry that he actually shivered as he turned to me, his body going absolutely rigid.

I waited.

And he silently seethed.

I stood up, not-Elliot’s eyes watching my movement, not my face. I got as close to him as I dared, but when I reached out, my fingertips barely ghosting the cuff of his shirt, he snapped.

“Fuck you,” he growled out, closing the distance between us so he was inches from my face. When our eyes met, the rage that burned in this Elliot’s eyes broke something deep inside of me. “You’ve always just been one of them.”

And with those words, that broken thing shattered.

Not-Elliot ripped off his ID badge and tossed it onto the table. He didn’t look back as he yanked open Tim’s door, the doorknob slamming into the wall. I watched as muted grey chunks of painted plaster fell onto the floor.

I wanted to run after him.

I wanted to beg not-Elliot to let go of his anger.

I wanted to tell him, all of him, that I still loved him.

But I couldn’t.

I had to set the tone for the company.

I had to swallow the acid that burned in my throat as I looked at Ali.

Ali.

I tilted my chin up as I walked forward and calmly shut the door to Tim’s office.

“You targeted him,” I said slowly and clearly without turning around.  

“That’s a wild accusation, Ms. Y/L/N,” Ali replied, not bothering to hide the triumph in his voice.

“You targeted him,” I repeated as I coolly turned on my heel and walked back to the table. “You orchestrated this.”

“How the hell was I supposed to know Alderson would lose his mind—”

“Show me the data on the rest of the white hats.”

“What?” Ali asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Show me the exact same reports and their time stamps for all of the white hats on your team.”

The palpable rage that had lingered in the room morphed into an uncomfortable, equally palpable silence as Tim and I both waited for Ali to answer.

“Ali,” Tim prompted.

We waited again, the silence condemning Ali’s actions as it dug his grave.

“That’s what I thought,” I said in a low, dangerous tone. “I don’t give a damn who your parents are. You’re fired.”

“You can’t—”

“Watch me.”

I turned from their eyes and walked out of Tim’s office, my chin still raised as I stared directly ahead and made my way up to HR.

Not exactly the office to take kindly to intrusions, I did finally relax my posture into a more humble stance as I approached Alison Shaye.

She and I had been through quite a lot thanks to the hack on Colin and with one look at my face, she ushered me in and shut the door.

After two hours, thirteen phone calls, a visit from Miles and from three members of the board, CIStech officially ended its relationship with Ali Olayan.

I shook Alison’s hand, then made my way back to Tim’s office, the stragglers who hadn’t left at 5:00 taking a wide berth to avoid me as they finally cleared out for the evening.

“Ali will need replaced, effective Monday. I think it’s time to switch JaLeah from application security to network security so she can oversee the white hats.”

Tim’s eyes were unwilling to meet mine as I talked; he nodded and made a note, finally finding his voice as I reached the door to his office.

“I—I had no idea he was going to … that he would’ve reacted like—”

“You could’ve told me,” I said without turning around.

“Ali convinced me you’d only go over my head to make it all disappear. I … wanted to be fair. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

I raised my head and looked up at the ceiling, completely drained. I turned to face Tim, knowing my face reflected the defeat I felt.

“I’m not sure when I lost my reputation of being a person of integrity. Maybe it was when I started dating my employee. Maybe I never really had it to begin with because Dad’s face is hanging in the lobby. Whoever I thought I was, I’m clearly not. If my SM was unable or unwilling to come to me, I failed. It’s not your fault, Tim. It’s mine.”

I bit my lip as I stepped into the empty elevator, redirecting the pain in my heart so I wouldn’t start crying.

When I finally reached my desk, I picked up my phone and stared at it.

There was no point in calling Elliot because he wasn’t Elliot right now.

Darlene.

I was numb when I pushed her name, almost forgetting to raise the phone to my ear as I walked over to the window in my office, the sky slightly overcast as yet another late spring sky played the will I or won’t I rain game. It felt like an eternity had passed since I had met with Miles in his office and looked out of his near-top floor view and wondered what it would be like to leave this world, to leave Wall Street and to never look back.

“Helloooo?” Darlene’s voice trilled with its characteristic hint of annoyance at being disturbed even though she probably wasn’t doing much of anything.

“Hey, Dar. It’s Y/N.”

“Um, duh,” she said slowly, a slight trill of laughter accompanying her words.

I wanted to laugh with her at my own obviousness, but there was nothing left inside of me except the dead weight of dismay.

“Elliot got fired today.”

Silence—how much tense silence could a person endure in one day?

“You fired him?” Darlene finally said, her voice full of trepidation.

“I had nothing to do with it.”

“What the fuck?!”

“Elliot’s been … multitasking. His job performance over the last two months has tanked, and whatever he’s been doing for the last month hasn’t been what we’ve been paying him to do.”

I waited.  

“I’m sorry, Darlene. This was out of my hands.”

“You know what, fuck you,” she said, her tone shifting from concern for her brother to anger at me. “You pushed him because YOU wanted him to be normal. You wanted him to fit into your fucking high-class, black tie, ‘I’m having a social because I’m so rich and so fucking bored’ lifestyle. Elliot never wanted to be a part of that. You knew it and you pushed him into it.”

I listened as Darlene ranted. I owed her that. I owed Elliot that.

All of this was my fault.

“What? Nothing to say because you can’t talk your way through this one with your cool, calm, logic prevails because I’m rich and never have had to worry about any goddamn thing in my life bullshit?”

“I’m sorry. I know this is my fault, and I know I can never understand what the two of you have been through but I do love him,” I paused. “And you too, Darlene.”

“I need to talk to Elliot,” she mumbled as she hung up.  

I wiped at the tear that had escaped and was leaking down the side of my nose. I had too much to do to cry now, and I’d be damned if I was going to break down in my office.

Before gathering up my tote, I checked my email to make sure Ali was officially let go. I made a few notes for Monday as I continued to fight back tears, and when I clicked the lights off in my office, it felt like I had also turned off something within myself, something that was not going to be as easy as flicking a switch to turn back on.

I stopped at my apartment to change into sneakers, jeans, and an oversized sweater. Despite it being late May, the overcast weather made it chilly and I didn’t know how late I would be out. I threw my wallet, my keys, and my phone into my mini-backpack.

I checked my phone during the train ride and frowned as I saw a missed call from my dad. One thing that you could always count on in the cooperate world was that gossip traveled faster than the speed of light.

A part of me had filled with the ridiculous hope that Elliot would be at his place, waiting for me, but when I opened the door and stopped in the entry to listen for any sound to indicate he was there, I was struck by a resounding quiet … until I heard a series of quick sniffles.

I stepped far enough into Elliot’s to see Darlene sitting on the edge of his bed, rubbing at the traces of tears on her face.

“It’s not him,” she said, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

“I know. Where did he go?”

She looked up at me, her eyes wide and teary, her anxiety as palpable now as her brother’s rage was a few hours ago.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she said reaching for her backpack that had been flung beside the bed. She scrambled to her feet and started stuffing some of Elliot’s clothes into her bag along with a few things from his bookshelf, including a few old polaroids.

“Don’t give up on him,” I pleaded, repeating what she’d more than once asked of me.  

Darlene let out a frustrated growl as she flung off the papers, books, and CDs that had been sitting on the edge of Elliot’s bookshelf. They crashed to the ground and she brought her boot down on them in a stomp.

“I’m done, Y/N! I’m not his fucking keeper. I’m not going to sit here and watch him fuck his stupid life up again!”

The mess on Elliot’s floor crunched as she walked over to reach high up into his closet; she pulled down a worn game of Sorry! and wrenched off the lid, exposing a wad of cash. She took a little over half of it, then put the box back.

“I’m doing what he told me to do and getting the fuck out of his life.”

“You’re the one who told me it wasn’t him. You told me not to listen to him when he’s like this!”

“I was wrong.”

“Darlene,” I said, grabbing her upper arms and forcing her to stop moving. “I know what’s wrong with him. He has—"

“I know, Y/N! And I know something happened to him but I can’t help him because he won’t tell me what it was. I can’t fix it. YOU can’t fix it. No one can fucking fix it!”

Darlene brushed past me as my mouth fell open. I always suspected she knew more than she ever said out loud, but maybe that was what kept her sane. Elliot’s truth wasn’t something Darlene was ready to face.

“Where are you going?” I quietly asked.

“The fuck out of this city,” she murmured before turning around to look at me.

We were standing face to face, both of us with tracks of tears on our faces. I didn’t know what to say to her as she looked at me, so vulnerable and so young.

“I’m s-sorry,” I said, choking on the emotion of my apology.

“I didn’t mean what I said on the phone,” she answered, a fresh tear falling from the corner of her eye.  

“You’re pissed,” I shrugged. “And hurting.”

“You didn’t deserve—”

“It’s okay,” I said with a small smile. “You and I are good. We will always be good. Will you remember that for me? Please?”

Darlene took a deep breath and nodded, her lips quirking into an awkward smile. I moved forward and pulled her into a fierce hug.

“Take care of yourself,” I whispered into her hair as she clung to me.

She nodded again, pulling away and quickly moving to the door. She pulled it open and stepped into the hall, but before Darlene could close the door, I asked, “Is there anywhere he would go?”

“Coney Island,” she said after a long pause. “There … or that museum in Queens, the one with the layout of the city.”

“I remember. Thank you.”

Darlene bit the back half of her bottom lip, looking unnervingly like her brother as she nodded.

“I’ll see you. Soon,” I added with emphasis.

Her eyes flicked to my face as she shut the door, and I was left alone to just stare at the off-white of Elliot’s front door, unable to imagine the pain she carried from having to grow up much too fast.

With a shiver a turned away from the door as a flash of Elliot, looking just as vulnerable as Darlene, flitted through my mind. He had stood right there, and I had crossed the line when I kissed him, pulling him into my life, whether he was ready for it or not.

When I broke my gaze, I turned around to look at Elliot’s computer. I was struck with that same strong pull as I was on the night I had first met the angry version of Elliot. From my research, I knew a person’s psyche developed personalities that had specific jobs to do within their system. I knew who Elliot’s protector was—that was obvious. And now I knew that there was this other, this Elliot, but not Elliot. He was angry and hurting, curious and almost more alive at times than Elliot. He was so raw, almost like he was much newer to the world than his grizzled protector.

I was now certain it was him I had slept with a month ago. My mind was whirring with the idea of going to bed with one person and waking up with another, but again, I had to force myself to focus. None of these questions and feelings would matter if I never saw Elliot again, but maybe I could use my connection with his angry persona to get him back again.

I was struck with a sense of urgency, like the walls were closing in and I knew, knew I had to talk to him.

Instead of stepping back this time, I slid out of Elliot’s chair and sat down. When I turned on the monitor, Elliot was still logged in. I couldn’t believe my good luck, and as I got to work, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe my Elliot wanted me to find him, to bring him back again.

It didn’t take long to triangulate his data transmissions to Coney Island, and again, it felt too easy.

I transferred the location to my phone and hurried to the subway.

I kept watching for Elliot’s location to change, but it really didn’t move for the 45 minutes it took the train to get out to the beach.

Daylight was fading fast and as I walked along the boardwalk, a few of the lamps flickered on. I wove my way through the light foot traffic and kept an eye out for Elliot’s dark hair and the light green dress shirt he had been wearing—

That I saw on his bedroom floor, next to the pile of stuff Darlene had stomped.

I finally spotted him sitting in the sand, the black of his hoodie a perfect contrast to the beige of the beach. His eyes were trained on the water as the wind ruffled his hair. His arms encircled his knees and he was twirling what looked like a small stick of driftwood between his fingers.  

“How did you find me?” he asked without turning to look at me.

I sat down, my body stiff and aching from an exhaustion I was sure to feel for days. I pulled my sweater tight around my body as I felt the cool air from the water drift up along the beach.

“I don’t know what to do this time,” I said, wondering which Elliot I was talking to. I didn’t feel a radiating anger or an icy coolness, but without looking into his eyes, I just wasn’t sure.

“Walk away.”

“I don’t want to walk away. We knew this would be hard—I knew this would be hard. The answer can’t be to just quit.”

“I’m tired, Y/N.”

I waited, watching his face and silently praying he’d turn to look at me so I’d know.

“I’m tired of fighting with …”

“Just say it,” I pressed softly. “Holding back at this point is almost laughable.”

“With him,” he finished, his eyes still staring forward.  

“He hates me,” I stated, thinking that whether it was his protector or the angry one, I couldn’t go wrong since they had both told me to fuck off and Elliot had let it happen. Maybe he really felt those things, too.

I leaned back and let my hands sink into the cool sand as I waited for him to answer.

“He doesn’t hate you. He’s scared of you.”

“Scared of me?”

“Of what you might force Elliot to remember.”

So this is still the angry one.

“You really do love him, don’t you?” he questioned, finally turning to look at me.

And as sure as the sun was about to set, I could tell that the person looking at me was not the Elliot I had fallen in love with. I looked into not-Elliot’s eyes for as long as he allowed. They were the same eyes from this afternoon that had told me to fuck off and the same eyes that had burned with longing that night in Elliot’s apartment.

“We’ve met—I mean, before you told me to fuck off today.”

His cheeks colored and he suddenly became very interested in the small piece of driftwood that was still twirling through his fingers.

“Are you serious right now? After the things we did, you’re going to play shy?”

He turned to me, a fraction of a smile on his lips.

“If it helps, I do like you. And I’m sorry for what I said today. I can’t … control myself very well.”

As I watched him twirl that piece of driftwood back and forth through the same fingers as my Elliot, the same fingers that had caressed my face, that had held my hand, that had reached for me in the dark, I felt like I aged a thousand years.

Those fingers now belonged to a stranger.  

When he spoke up, my eyes returned to his face.

“Mr. Robot would rather Elliot focus on Angela. He prefers her because she can’t love him like you do—he thinks she’s safe for him … for us.”

“Mr. Robot is the name of Elliot’s protector?”

“Yes, although he doesn’t like me,” not-Elliot said as he flashed me a crooked grin.

“Why?”

“He doesn’t trust me.”

“Will you tell me who you are?”

His face scrunched up as he thought, his mouth opening, then closing.

“I—I’m not sure. I’ve always just thought of myself as Elliot. Well, as a part of him. This control … it’s new for me.”

I wondered if people who were close to those with DID felt like talking to an alter was surreal. I knew, from the top of my head to the tip of my toes that this was not my Elliot, yet it was him—a part of him he needed.

“All of that uncertainty, the lost time, the conflict … that’s what Elliot has to carry within himself. Isn’t that worse than … what happened to him?”

“He forgets. Or …” Not-Elliot trailed off.

“Or?”

“I think of myself as Elliot, but I’m better than him at a lot of things. It’s always been my job to keep him occupied when Mr. Robot needs to take over, so I create places for him to go.”

“Occupied? So Elliot is … where is he now?”

“He’s in an emergency session with Dr. Horton.”  

“Oh,” I said in a low voice, my chest feeling tight. “All this time … he hasn’t really been going to therapy.”

“In a manner of speaking, he has been. Things have gotten better, haven’t they?”

Not-Elliot’s voice was like a buzz in my ear as my mind sped through the last month and a half.

“He must have hacked someone and gotten those anxiety meds.”

“I did that.”

“You hack, too?” I said, the buzzing in my ears subsiding as I clutched the sand painfully beneath my hands to remind myself that now wasn’t the time to get lost in my thoughts.

“I am the hacker,” Not-Elliot said with a perfect three-point grin, the very same one Elliot made.  

“Don’t do that—please don’t look like him,” I begged as tears formed in my eyes.

He looked away, a deep frown settling in the place of his smile.

“When is Elliot coming back?”

“He can’t come back while you’re here.”

“Why?”

“It confuses him. Creates more work for us.”

“I don’t fucking care!”  

Not-Elliot huffed, a quiet half-laugh that was nearly carried away by the breeze.

“Can you … communicate with him?”

“I don’t have as much control as Mr. Robot. My thoughts … can get mixed up with Elliot’s. That’s how he knew he got fired. Sometimes—”

“What?”

“Sometimes, it feels like I am more him than he is.”

“I know, without a doubt, you are not him. Elliot isn’t angry; he isn’t mean.”

He looked at me, his eyes filled with sadness.

“When can I see Elliot again?” I pressed.

“Do you really want to see him again? After everything he’s done?”

“I love him.”

Not-Elliot shook his head.

“You have to let him go. This isn’t over until Mr. Robot says it is.”

“What isn’t over? What does Mr. Robot want? What if I can help?”

Not-Elliot bit his lip, and he looked just like Elliot again, a conflict clearly going on beneath his exterior.

“You forget even more quickly than Elliot does—you are the bug in our system.”

My hands were shaking as I brought them together to brush off the sand. I stood up, feeling sick.

“Even you know enough about computers to know the steps for removing a bug.”

Enter safe mode to remove the bug, delete temporary files, reinstall damaged software or files, increase defense.

“If you’re Elliot’s safe mode, Mr. Robot is going to delete me.”

My legs felt like they were going to give away, and I knew I needed to leave before I lost my mind. Elliot was right here, right in front of me, and a piece of him was going to destroy the last year of his life—of my life.

I took a step back as Not-Elliot watched me. I turned away from him, but I was suddenly seized by a wild desperation.

I rushed back and dropped to my knees on the sand in front of him, almost throwing him off balance as he braced his feet and turned toward me.

Not-Elliot’s mouth was shaped in an oh of surprise as I leaned in to kiss him.

I clutched the front of his hoodie and I kissed him with all the love I felt for Elliot. I kissed him as the last bit of daylight faded to black, as the waves crashed on to the beach, and as the insistent spring wind swirled around us, grains of sand dancing against our exposed skin.  

“I—I’m—I’m not him,” he stammered as soon as he his opened eyes to look into mine.

“I know. But … why can’t I love you, too? Why can’t we work together to help Elliot?”

Not-Elliot and I looked at each other for a long, long time, the lamps on the boardwalk popping on to bathe us in a ghostly light.

“All I want is to be happy with Elliot. I’ve never been in love like this before—I don’t care how many parts of Elliot there are … I’ll love them all. Just please, please don’t let Mr. Robot get rid of all the happiness I know Elliot has felt this year.”

“I have to go,” he said, his head moving back and forth, his eyes large and confused. “Let him go, Y/N. Do us all a favor and just let him go.”

Not-Elliot pushed my hands off of him and walked away quickly, his lithe frame dipping into the small throng of people who were headed toward the arcades as the boardwalk lit up for the night.

He never looked back.

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[atinychai]

I can do this for you no worries. 

Tis under the cut because it turned out a bit longer than expected. 

Things had been peaceful lately and perhaps that’s why his curiosity was nagging him so much these past few days. He’d always questioned their choice not to partake in blood, especially since it was the easiest way for vampires to get nutrients they needed however until now he’d never really thought about voicing his curiosity.  

Looking away from the sky and down at his partner he was relieved to see they were still awake.  It was still early into the night however unlike normal vampires they didn’t live nocturnally.  They also slept far more than others of their kind though that was less of a choice, in fact he was certain their excess sleeping was a side affect of them refusing to drink blood.

“You’re staring.”

Their comment caught them off guard having not realized their focus had shifted from the pond ahead of them onto himself.  

“I’m always staring.” He simply replied and it was true.  He often found admiring them, weather it be from afar or nearby.

“No you watch, observe and appreciate.” They corrected, “Byakuya Kuchiki does idly stare unless his mind is elsewhere.  So where is your mind?”

For a moment a smile graced his features, grateful for how well they knew him but it didn’t last long. Knowing something was bothering a look of concern made its way onto their face and they urged him again to speak up.  

“I want to know everything about you.” He said not wanting to be blunt with his question.

“You make it sound like you don’t.” They responded.

“Not everything.”

“Then tell me what you’d like to know Byakuya.”

“You’re a vampire.” The statement was obvious and stupid, the look on their face made it obvious however before they could comment on his less than eloquent wording he spoke up again, “Yet you don’t follow any vampiric traditions.”

“I’ve told you before our traditions just aren’t my thing.” Their gaze and shifted from him back to the pond ahead.  He could see their eyes following a particularly large red fish, watching it’s movements intently and making sure they didn’t lose it amongst the rest.  

“Yes but you’ve never told me why.”  For a moment he paused unsure about pushing the subject further.  It was obvious they were upset by the thought or at the very least uncomfortable, “I’d like to know why.”

HE was careful with his wording, not wanting them to feel like the owed him some explanation.  Despite how long they’d been together he knew better to push them into something they didn’t want to talk about.  Plus if he forced them to speak about whatever it was he’d be a hypocrite.  They gave him centuries until he was ready to talk about Hisana so what kind of man would he be if he couldn’t wait for them?

They were quiet for some time but when they finally did speak up their voice was just barely above a whisper, “I lost some one important because of our traditions.”

His immediate response was to question what they’d just said however before the words could even begin to form they continued, “For a long time vampires were persecuted by humans. Apparently the thought we had to drink all their blood in order to survive and so anytime they came across my kind they’d kill them without warning-at least that’s what my parents told me.” Their tone had gone from distant to bitter at the mention of their parents, “By the time I was born vampires had been in hiding for so long that humans forgot we were real, mealy brushing us off as a myth and nothing more. I was warned to stay away from them, that if they ever found me and realized I was a vampire they’d kill me even though I was a child.” They chuckled lightly and looked up at him, “You know, I was actually scared of humans for a long time.  Whenever my parents managed to bring home blood bags I’d cry and hide because I was scared they were followed.  Ah, but you know even as a kid I was rebellious and after a few hundred years of being scared curiosity got the better of me so I waited until my parents were out of the house and then I left to go find a human.”

“It took a few days for me to actually find a human I wanted to approach-or rather a human I wasn’t scared to approach.  I’d been hoping to find another kid to befriend but humans don’t often let their children wonder off on their own so the best I could find was a young adult but he looked weak and dumb so I figured I could trick him into thinking I was a human for a bit.” Again they had to stop and laugh but it wasn’t happy.  It was the same kind of laugh a person might have while reminiscing at a friends grave, “It worked for a while, it probably would’ve worked forever had I not slipped up when he cut his hand one day while peeling an apple for us.  He didn’t freak out though, he didn’t even scream when it happened instead he just stared for a long time.  In hindsight I should’ve run but I was so scared he’d go running back to his village and tell everybody that I just couldn’t move.”

Seeing the dejected look on their face and hearing their voice break made his curiosity seem stupid. Perhaps without his questioning they would’ve never told him why they rejected their ways but at least then they wouldn’t have to remember things like this, and yet he couldn’t find his voice to tell them it was alright, to tell them they didn’t have to continue if they didn’t want to.  

“When he finally found his voice he..he asked if I was hungry and then he held out his wrist and said I could have some if I needed.  He was so strange and unpredictable and after that day I thought I’d never see him again but when I returned to our meeting spot the next day he was there.  He acted like nothing happened at first but eventually he asked and I told him everything. Everything about me, about vampires, about anything he wanted to know.   It wasn’t like I told him it all that day, it took years for me to get through everything.  He’d probably aged ten years or so by the time I got through everything.  In return he told me about humans, his life, his family. I still remember how strange it was to watch him age so much when I’d barely aged at all.  Actually that’s  still weird to me.”

“Anyways, eventually my parents found out.  I’d been so preoccupied by him that I hadn’t noticed that they’d noticed.  They followed me and when they realized what was happening they were livid.”

“They killed him.” It wasn’t a question, he just didn’t want them to have to say it.  To finish such a long story so simply.

They nodded, “They took their time too.  All that pent up rage and resentment they held towards humans was taken out on him and it was my fault.  They didn’t let me mourn him either, they dragged me away back home and kept me locked up for some time.  They brought be blood but I couldn’t bring myself to drink it-it felt like I had enough on my hands anyways.  Since then the thought of drinking blood just..repulses me.”

After that the two were silent for a while.  They were lost in their own memories and Byakuya was busy taking in all the information. He was glad he knew but he couldn’t deny he regretted asking. 

“I’m sorry.”

It seemed like the only thing he could say now.  They were long past comforting and doing so would probably only remind them of their pain. 

[amnachil]

The College Society Chapter 1 Part 4

And... the next part ! Enjoy :)

Liam Saturday September 16

As his job at Pasta's Place only started at 3 pm, the young lad decided to go for a swim before. During the weekend, the pool was open to all the students, but thanks to the induction seminar of several fraternities and sororities, there were only a few people. Liam put his swimming trunks, his swimming cap (he hated this thing) (seriously, it was like having a jellyfish on the head) (yeah, he already had a died jellyfish on the head, long story), and went to the pool. Once ready, he dived and started a serie of lengths. He let time pass, focused on his performance. He wasn't as good as Rebecca (she was like a sport warrior, and he suspected her to be an alien hiden in this body in order to win the Olympics in two year), but eventually, he felt satisfied (and exhausted) enough to stop. However, at this exact moment, he noticed a small blonde girl reading a book in the tiers. Barbara. Liam stared at her discreetly (at least the most discreetly he can). She wasn't really different since 11th grade. Short (like 151 cm, or 4'11"), thin, wearing casual clothes, and reading. Yeah, I guess it's the same Barbara... Next to her, a brown girl was looking to her phone, seemingly bored. Shall I go talk to her ? After all, she had been his friend back in highschool, and he had been sad when she had left them. Going out of the pool, he headed towards the rows of seats, indecisive. C'mon Liam, you know her, and she'll just ask you some usual news, like what are you doing, how are you, how old are you, or not, and how are you relatives... No way, I can't answer this last question. He stopped next to the tiers, and looked at her. She was so quiet, so... unchanged. Why did she left their highschool ? Maybe she doesn't want me to know... Yeah, so I shloudn't talk to her. (Did Liam already tell how bad he was to find pretext ?)

"Dude." spoke someone to him. "Are you coveting my girlfriend or my sister ?"

Almost stunned, the young lad turned towards the boy who talked to him. In swimming trunks too, he was wet and sported a curious face, a mix between anger and entertainement. Liam blinked for at least two minutes, and then point Barbara and the other girl out.

"You're speaking about them ?"

The boy nodded slowly. He wasn't really tall, but well-built, with an hard six pack and a strong chest. Besides, his face was quite delicate, with black short hair and oceanic blue eyes.

"The blonde one is my girl, the brown one my sister." he explained with patience, like if Liam was dull-witted. "And you were looking at them."

His voice was... unctuous. Liam blushed. (Blushed a lot).

"I was not... Hum, I'm not... just... forget me."

Without waiting for an answer, he left the pool almost running. What an awkward situation... Now he'll think I'm stalker. He didn't find the courage to tell him the truth. In fact, this boy reminded him someone. Well, anyway, I have to go to work, I couldn't have lose time to talk with him. (Did Liam tell how bad he was to invent pretext ?)

"You're missing something man ! It's like heaven, less the rules about pudeur."

The young freshman smiled. Nick told him something similar earlier this day concerning their own induction seminar for the fraternity Theta Omicron. But sadly, he had to work. Not everyone could have a scolarship, and not everyone had parents wealthy enough to cover the costs.

"Anyway." began again his bestfriend trought the phone. "Regarding lessons, let me tell you journalism is as good as I expected."

"Nice. It's nice."

Nate hesitated lengthily before leaving to join the best university for his studies. Liam always encouraged him to move, despite the fact they would not see each other for several month by doing so. He have a great career waiting for him. That's part of my job to help him succeed.

"What about ya Liam ? You're not speaking much."

"Sorry... I'm preparing for work right now, and I think you already know everything."

"Seriously ? Nothing new ? What about this girl... Rebecca, is she like Shirley ?"

"Not that much... Imagine Shirley was like a lamb, well Rebbie's a wolf."

His best friend laughed, and Liam felt a warmth fill his heart. He missed this laugh.

"Did you have any news from your sis' ?" asked suddenly his friend. "How's she doing ?"

"I'm sorry mate but I have to hung up." answered quickly Liam. "Judy is waiting for me, and you know how mean she is when I'm late. See you soon buddy."

He closed his phone without listenning to the reply. What am I doing... He just lied. But he couldn't say to his bestfriend the truth. He didn't want Nate to know that he hadn't contacted his sister yet. And after all, Judy was angry when he was late. (Angry meaning she would laugh and told him to stop watching the clouds while walking). (A lot of people thought he was watching the clouds while walking, but it wasn't true). (Not totally true).

Around 11:30 pm, Liam could at last make a break from the dishes. He went to the staff room, took a plate of pasta and sat next to Judy, who was finishing her diner. I wonder... How did she managed to do this ungrateful job for several months ? The young lad was worn out. He was hot, his hands and legs were shivering, and he hated the noise in the kitchen which he called Hell Kitchen. Furthermore, he had smell the flavor of pasta the whole evening, and he started to be quite repulsed (but paradoxically, when it come to eat, his stomach really enjoyed these evil pasta).

"He's so cute, I would love to meet him in real life." stated Judy.

Surprised, Liam watched around him before realizing she was speaking about the TV. Most of the worker were men, and they liked sport. Consequently, the telly released all the sporting events. Right now, two interviewers were questionning a soccer player and... Liam opened his eyes wide. Ginger, with a strangely cold blue look, and simply handsome, the player was Raphaël. I can't believe it ! Judy stared at him, curious, and asked :

"Liam ? What's wrong ?"

"I... I know him. He was in my highschool in 11th grade." he explained. "He's my friend. I didn't expect him to become so popular."

"Are you joking ?" Judy exclaimed. "Raphaël Muller is like THE man all the girl are dreaming about. He's so cute, so clever... so... Are you really his friend ?"

"Of course I am. Why would I lie ?"

"Liam, you have to help me. I want to meet him. I know he's not interested in girl but... I really want."

She was overexcited. The young freshman didn't know what to say. She looked so happy, so excited by the idea. But could he just call Raphaël and ask him to come ? Plus, he probably hates me now... After what I did...

"Calm down Judy." he eventually said carefully. "Listen, I'll see what I can do but... he's quite famous and busy I guess, so I can't promise anything."

She nodded restlessly and Liam realized he may have done a mistake... But I'm always heading for a disaster anyway... As mom would say : My lord, what went wrong with me ?

Rebecca Monday September 18

This morning, during the tutorial in mathematic, the professor announced they will have to make a projet by group of four, graded and quite important for their ranks. Hearing that, Rebecca looked to Liam and Nick and gulped. If I'm working with them, I can consider I'm alone on this... I need to find another group quickly.

"Hey Rebbie, I guess you're working with us ?" asked suddenly Nick. "We just have to find a fourth member, that's it ?"

Damnit. (Just, she fully appreciated these two boys, but... They definitely weren't hard-worker.) (A geek and a... simple-minded, they couldn't be hard-worker). But she was too polite to decline. To be honest, I don't have any pretext to decline...

"You'll see, it will be fun." added Nick. "We just have to wake up Liam, and to find someone, and we can start."

While speaking, he nudged his friend, and looked around. Rebecca sighed, and did the same. (Yeah, she nudged Liam too). We need someone who'll help me efficiently. A girl would be perfect. Nonetheless, the only person she noticed was a hunky brown boy writing something on his book. She decided to try her luck, and came closer.

"Hi mate. I'm Rebecca, and here are Liam and Nick. We're looking for a fourth member. Are you interested ?"

The freshman raised his head towards her, and she gladly noted he was handsome. Not really her kind of guy (because he wasn't taller than her), but handsome anyway.

"My name is Colton." he whispered with a sweet tone. "And yes, it would be cool to work with you."

He hardly finished his sentence that Liam, perfectly awoken, stood up and said :

"I gotta go to eat."

"What are ya talking about dude ?" asked Nick, surprised. "This tutorial ends in half an hour."

"Yeah, cool, whatever, I'm hungry. See you this afternoon."

He left them with agitation, nearly running to go outside. What the fuck was that ? He's even weirder than I thought. (She liked Liam, but this boy was so... special).

"I hope I didn't make him flee." smiled Colton.

Nick looked at him, and shrugged.

"Don't worry. It's normal with him. Every time you think you understood how he works, he does something new. Let's start this tutorial."

As he swallowed the last bite of his third burger, Rebecca looked at him with disgust, and then pushed her plate away. Jeezus, he makes me sick. Once the tutorial finished, Colton had left them to join his girlfriend, and she ended eating alone with Nick before her training. This one stuffed his face with so much gusto that she felt disgusted. How could he gobble this amount of junkfood without feeling sick ? Noticing she pushed her food back, he asked :

"Are you gonna eat this, or can I ?"

Rebecca stared at him for a minutes, and nodded slowly. He's not kidding... He will eat my leftovers too. She already had visited the boy's appartment, and she had saw the excessive presence of beers and greasy foods, but right now, she was astounded anyway. Nick raised an eye towards her and asked between two mouthfuls :

"What's wrong ?"

Rebecca hesistated. She was no one to judge. But Bob always told her alimentation was the key to an healthy life. He would have disapprove Nick's attitude, for sure.

"Are you not scared to gain weight by eating like this ?" she eventually questionned.

Nick polished the pasta she had took, and then belched with satisfaction.

"Do I look fat to you ?"

"I don't know, you're wearing baggy pants and a sweater."

The boy inclined onto the table, and whispered :

"I'll tell you a secret Rebbie. I'm not fat."

He then stood up straight and patted his belly with enjoyment.

"Besides, I don't care gaining a bit of weight." he continued. "Everyone is putting on pounds at the university, at least some. That's not a problem, and as far as I know, you're not fat for all that."

"Well, personally, I'll not gain weight. And I think people are gaining weight because the have less time for exercising, not because they stuff themselves like you."

"Are you disturbed when I'm eating ?" he asked with an ironic tone.

"Now you're asking it, yes I am."

"Good."

With a big smile, he stood up, and she lost him in the crowd. What the fuck is he planning exactly ? Jeezus, this boy drives me mad. She waited a moment before he came back with a new plate full of greasy food. Dumbstuck, she looked at him eyes wide open.

"What the fuck is that ?"

"I was still hungry, at least a bit, well, you know." he retorted mockingly.

"Will you seriously eat this ?"

"Why not heh ?"

He took a large mouthful of burger and moaned heavily intentionally. My god, this childish boy. Why am I still here ? Furious, she stood up and left after one last dirty look,.

Pete Thursday September 21 – Friday September 22

When he finished his length, the young lad looked towards Theo, expecting a congratulation, or whatever, but the swimteam captain was busy speaking to Liam. Again. This is the fifth time they are just alone together talking about god knows what. What the fuck the freshman have to say which was so interesting ? (Pete wasn't jealous, he just wondered). He dragged himself out of the water, and headed towards them slowly. I can't interrupt just like this... I must have something to say... but what ? He glanced at the duo, thinking. Liam was so close to the captain. Like if he wanted to touch his ass. Pete felt his anger grow. He already was annoyed by the relationship between his lover and Laura, he didn't need the handsome-but-stupid Liam as a bonus. Eventually, they ended their talk, and Theo went towards the pool to give advice, while the freshman looked thoughtfully at him. Why are you coveting him like this asshole ? Suddenly getting angry, Pete rushed Liam, and looked draggers at him.

"Dude, what were you asking to Theo ? Why are you hitting on him like this ?"

Crap ! What did I just said ?! He blushed, annoyed, but waited for an answer anyway. Nevertheless, the brown lad just glanced at him with a blank stare. Did he at least understood ? Eventually, after a moment which seemed an eternity, Liam blinked.

"Did you ask me something Pete ?" he questionned, totally spaced out.

Is he just dumb ? Well, at least he didn't remember the awkward sentence. The blond boy could start again in a more diplomatic way.

"I just wanted to know if you're coming to the tournament this weekend ?"

"No, I can't." answered Liam. "Theo already insisted way too much, so... are you gonna try your luck too ?"

"Well, if our captain bothered you I'll not dare to do the same..."

Pete didn't know if he needed to felt reassured or worried. Why Theo wanted so badly Liam, although he wasn't that good at swimming ? Maybe he dislikes me... I'm maybe not fulfilling his desire anymore. But he wasn't ready to gave up. He wanted so much the captain favors. How could he arouse his interest ?

"Dude, you look preoccupied." whispered Liam. "Are you sure everything's fine ?"

"Yeah, yeah. I was just thinking."

The next day, in the afternoon, Pete was now absolutely sure Theo lost interest in him. He didn't sneaked in his appartment during the night, and even didn't came in the morning after his private law lesson. He's ignoring me... The freshman didn't really know why, but he was determined to recover his lover. (He knew all this story was bad, because Theo was Laura's boyfriend, but he became addicted to the swimteam leader, and he wanted him). That was why he decided to talk with Theo closest relative, his bestfriend Bradley Chichao, an asian musician. He found him in the campus, near to the amphiteater C, and manifestly high. Pete already met him during the induction seminar of their fraternity, and he understood he was rarely clean. For all that, he had met Theo three year ago for the beginning of their studies. They had become roommate, and right now, Bradley was clearly the person knowing the most of swimteam captain. (Well, maybe except Laura, his girlfriend for two years, but Pete couldn't ask her how to please her boyfriend without being a bit freaky). Once close to Bradley, the freshman smiled.

"Hi dude. Can I ask you something ?"

The asian guy raised slowly his head and glanced at the newcomer. Once he realized who was talking to him, he blinked and answered with an apathetic tone :

"Sure. What do you want to know ?"

Pete hesitated for a moment. How could he said that without being creepy ? Hey Bradley, I want a piece of advice about how to fuck your roommate, can you help me ? He had to be more diplomatic. Maybe he could use Theo's relation with Laura to his advantage...

"Tell me, why Theo is loving that much his girlfriend ?"

Bradley looked at him, completly wide of the mark. He was definitely high.

"Theo's loving the fat side..." he whispered absent-mindedly. "The fatter, the better."

Pete looked at him, quite surprised. Did he just tell me exactly what I needed to hear ? Theo wanted him fatter. That was why he ignored him. I'm not sexy enough. But become fatter ? He didn't know what to think about it... And he decided to wait a bit before trying anything... After all, maybe he would be able to convince Theo without any changement... I have to give it a try.

To be continued

Well, I hope you liked it ! A bunch of new character in this part, and some of them are kinda important for the story ;)

Btw, if you want to know more about Barbara, Raphaël, Shirley or even Liam and Nate, you have to read my previous story The High School Game ! Most of them are main characters in it ! :)

[fraink5-writes]

Human Qualification- Chapter 26

June

So this is it, the last chapter. I can't believe it. This is my first finished multi-chapter, so I'm going to indulge in some sappiness.

First, as always, I want to thank my editors @missmizpah​ @gracieuxetoile​ and @deathly-oreos​ for working with me on this fic and helping me improve it. Special thank you to @missmizpah​ for not only beta-reading the entire thing but also listening to my complaints. Thank you so much!

Next, I'd like to thank @4nimenut​ for drawing such lovely art for chapter 9. With such fine attention to detail, it really brought the scene to life. I'll always treasure it; thank you!

I want to thank @leio13​ for supporting me and this fic from the beginning (even advertising it). I wouldn't have made it this far without you; thank you!!

Finally, I want to thank all my wonderful readers! It really was a pleasure to share this with all of you, and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did! I hope I can exceed your expectations in the future. Thank you so much!!

A note about the chapter: Japanese funerals are rather different than western funerals. I’ve included at the end a number of sources which might be of use to you.

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

It was over. For a long time, Chuuya had lived alone. He was alone again, but this loneliness was a stranger, colder, quieter, and sadder. It haunted him like a ghost. But he was alone; there were no footsteps besides his own; no other voices, no other breathing.

Dazai lay in the other room where he wouldn’t stir. No more choking, no more clothes changing, no more moaning. He was still. On the table beside him, there was a mess of flowers, a candle and suffocating incense.

With quivering hands, Chuuya took out his knife and placed it gently on Dazai’s chest. It was dirty with Chuuya’s crimes, but it could protect Dazai, if he needed such protection anymore. It was all Chuuya could do. He had been powerless before, when it might have mattered.

There was a knock on the door, which Chuuya trudged to answer. The pink-haired woman at the door was cloaked in a midnight kimono. “May I come in?”

Chuuya nodded, leading Kouyou into his apartment.

“I heard the news. I’m sorry. How are you doing? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Chuuya was alive, at the least.

“Don’t forget to take care of yourself. I brought food—and alcohol~!”

“Thanks.”

Honestly, Chuuya hadn’t thought at all about eating (or doing anything) before Kouyou arrived with food. Then suddenly he realized he was extremely hungry. He stacked the food on his plate and filled two glasses with wine, handing one to Kouyou. He shoveled the food into his mouth between gulps of wine.

The food disappeared, but he still felt empty. He decided to fill it with more wine. Its warmth comforted him, easing the ache within him. He was happy. For the first time in months, he was happy.

Until the illusion crashed, and his emotions churned along with the contents of his stomach. He had to get to the bathroom, but he couldn’t walk. Even now he was powerless, held down by the weight of his own incompetence and guilt.

“Chuuya,” Kouyou sighed. “You really need to take better care of yourself.”

What was the point?

Kouyou lifted Chuuya into the bathroom. She held his hair back and gently patted his back as he leaned over the toilet bowl, letting out a mixture of emotions and vomit.

Soon he was empty again; no more vomit, no more tears, no more feelings. He just wanted to sleep.

Chuuya stood at the entrance of the building, his whole body shaking with excessive energy—or rather energy which had been diverted from his will to do anything into his trembling. Guests were beginning to creep up to the entrance: people who Chuuya had worked with in his career, who he hadn’t seen in months, whose arrival meant that this was official. Chuuya couldn’t escape.

One of the first guests to greet Chuuya was Akutagawa; serious-faced and dressed in black, he didn’t appear all that different than usual. If he was hit hard by what happened, he didn’t show it. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“I must become even stronger for Dazai-san,” Akutagawa muttered. “So one day he will acknowledge my strength.”

“I’m sure that will please him.”

Akutagawa turned to go to the registry with a slight bow.

“Umm, Akutagawa?” Chuuya called softly after him. “Dazai probably never told you, but he thought of you as a good trainee.”

A rare smile, barely noticeable, flickered on Akutagawa’s face as he walked away.

After Akutagawa, guest after guest filtered in, each stopping to offer Chuuya their condolences. ‘Sorry,’ ‘sorry,’ ‘sorry’... Each compounded the immensity of their loss. Dazai would have hated it.

The wake began with a Buddhist sutra. It rang hollowly through the hall. The words, which never meant anything to a non-believer, slurred together into a mournful tune. The entire ceremony was a systematic act, and Chuuya was the leader. He approached the table before him, bowed, and lit the incense. Behind him, the guests mimicked his actions at another altar.

In front of him, Dazai lay in his casket under the elaborate display of flowers. But it was hard to believe he was there at all; the only indicator was his portrait on display. Just a few months ago, he had been alive and moving. Even in the hospital, he had been alive, even if he was reliant on life support.

Now he was dead. When Chuuya saw Dazai last, he looked just as he had when he was alive—barely so, but alive nonetheless. When he was alive, Dazai looked like death, so much so that his death didn’t feel real. The end of his life had been so painful, so incapacitating, that death was only a tiny change; it was just an extension. Maybe that should have made things easier to accept, but they weren’t. Chuuya had expected the day to come for so long that when it finally came, he was unprepared.

So, he sat by the altar completely numb.

After the wake, most of the guests took their leave, so only a handful of guests remained for the vigil: Mori, Dazai’s two friends, Oda and Sakaguchi, and Chuuya himself. Chuuya hoped to spend the night alone with the alcohol, but that prospect was quickly crushed.

“Chuuya-kun.”

“Boss.”

“I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself.” Mori took on the friendly persona of a doctor.

“I’m fine,” Chuuya spoke curtly, hoping Mori would bother someone else.

“Good!” Mori grinned (such a grin which shook Chuuya to his spine) before returning to a serious face. “It’s quite a shame what happened. Dazai was still so young; he had so much potential.” The words seemed on the surface to be mournful, but they were the lamentations of a shrewd businessman. Dazai was a lost pawn in his game. To say Mori raised Dazai was only superficially true. He shaped Dazai into a scheming genius, but he had also deprived him of so many things: affection, empathy, happiness. Chuuya resented Mori. What right did he have to show up too late and pretend to care?

“Oh, by the way, Chuuya-kun, will you be resuming work sometime soon?”

It was impossible to think about such things now.

“When you return, the executive spot is waiting for you.”

Bastard! Chuuya squeezed his fists, ready to swing at Mori’s face.

“Don’t worry,” Mori chuckled nervously. “It’s not Dazai’s former spot; that’s still empty. I did some rearranging.”

Was that the truth? Either way, Chuuya was heating up with indignation at the callous offer. The prospect of working for the greasy doctor was repulsive. But he couldn’t leave the Mafia, Kouyou, his colleagues, his subordinates. “I’ll think about it.” He gulped down a cup of sake and walked away.

Oda and Sakaguchi sat to themselves, seemingly in a deep conversation. The taller one, Oda, had tears rolling down his face. He really was unfit for the Mafia; his feelings were genuine and his lifestyle honest. Chuuya could see why he had caught Dazai’s attention.

The other, Sakaguchi, was much more reserved. Aside from the frown (which looked to be a permanent feature), he was composed as he comforted his friend. In the mafia, he was considered a responsible type, something Dazai must have believed.

The two of them had been friends with Dazai before Chuuya. They must have known so much more and experienced so much more with him; Chuuya felt unworthy standing next to them.

If Chuuya had reached out to Dazai sooner, if he had stopped instigating petty fights earlier, would he still wish that they had more time? It was only natural to regret such a young death, yet Chuuya was certain he could have done more. He had watched helplessly as Dazai died; it was unbearable to think he hadn’t done enough but completely hopeless to concede there was nothing which could’ve been done. In the mafia, Chuuya was taught it was meaningless to brood over past things, but to stop was almost to forget. He clung desperately to their shared suffering because the memory was all they had left. Through his remembrance and guilt, maybe he could atone for his powerlessness.

It was the last night Chuuya and Dazai would spend in the same room together, yet Chuuya felt completely alone.

The funeral hall was emptier and quieter than the previous day, filled largely by the sutras of the monk. The song droned slowly as though the melody was weighed down by death. Chuuya was the first to approach the altar with heavy, unstable steps, carrying the burden of his regrets. Alone, he felt exposed by the eyes of the people behind him and Dazai in front of him. Kneeling before the altar, he sprinkled an offering of incense three times; the smoke irritated his swollen eyes. Then, he bowed deeply in respect to the portrait of Dazai, which Chuuya knew very well; he had taken the photo in February when Dazai was emaciated but not skeletal, when he could still move his left arm (in which he held a box of chocolates), when he could smile. That smile, despite being the product of a whack on the head, was so full of life; it was normally easy to overlook the rest. Except then, the photo stared down at Chuuya as a cruel reminder of what he’d lost.

This was Chuuya’s last chance to offer prayers, but all his thoughts collided frantically, unable to create a coherent idea. Regret, pity and guilt fought against love and well-wishes. Dazai would have hated the former, but they crushed Chuuya as he knelt; he couldn’t fight them. In the end, he had nothing to offer besides the incense and the occasional tear which overflowed from his eyes.

Chuuya had watched Dazai’s body deteriorate over months, yet it completely disappeared in less than two hours. All that remained were a pile of ash and bones. Even as his hair, fat, and muscles fell away, he had always been undeniably Dazai with captivating brown eyes and a wry grin which he so sparingly showed. The pile in front of Chuuya had no signs of Dazai and very little humanity. They were death, cold and unfeeling. They were the death Dazai had always wanted.

About Japanese funerals:

https://www.japanvisitor.com/japanese-culture/japanese-funerals

http://traditionscustoms.com/death-rites/japanese-funeral

http://thefuneralsource.org/trad140205.html

https://savvytokyo.com/the-complicated-rituals-of-japanese-funerals/

http://www.realestate-tokyo.com/news/japanese-funerals/

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[robbyrobinson]

Complete Monster: Bart Thumper

Well, here's my effort post.  If you want to know why I'm submitting it to you rather that on TV Tropes, it's because I don't have an account on TV Tropes.  This candidate is from Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids.

What is the work?

Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids is a series of books by British author Jamie Rix.  It was adapted into a TV show that ran for six seasons from 2000-2006 and two more from 2011-2012.  The series usually follows some kid misbehaving and meeting a gruesome fate (often death).  Today's candidate is a real nightmare.  His name is Bart Thumper.  I've never seen the TV episode based on his story, but I've read it in a book, so I'll go by that.

Who is Bart Thumper and what has he done?

Bart Thumper is the target of a short story called The Rise and Fall of the Evil Guff.  He is shown to have been willful even as a small child, and keeps refusing to eat vegetables.  On his ninth birthday, his parents trick him by mashing cauliflower into paste and lacing it all over his birthday cake.  However, it backfires hideously when Bart breaks wind for the first time in his life, as he turns out to have incredibly stinky farts!  He starts using it to force his parents to bend to his will, and even uses it against other people.  When the doctor suggests that he stop being fed vegetables (which do you think is more ironic: the fact that a doctor told his patient not to eat vegetables, or the fact that Bart is prescribed to stop eating them right when he's starting to like them?), Bart resorts to eating grass just to keep his fart powers going strong.  

After he (accidentally) orphans himself after farting on his mother for passing the marmalade too slowly and sending her and his father to the countryside where they're run over by a llama truck, Bart goes drunk with power and goes on a crime spree.  The Prime Minister tries to put him with bears in the hope that the bears will kill Bart, but that fails when Bart repulses the bears to the point where they try to have him sent back.  

Bart starts to really go insane (described by the story as "winanity"-insanity caused by an excess of wind), and threatens to destroy the ozone layer with his farts (either unaware or uncaring that he'll be just as susceptible to the effects of this action as anyone else on the Earth) unless he gets £6000000000 in used notes, a large house on the island, a cook who can make spaghetti bolognaise, a shark tank, a jet ski, a white fluffy cat, and a table top map of the world within an hour.

After the President of the United States tells him that they do not negotiate with terrorists, Bart suffers a Villainous Breakdown, eats a field full of grass, and lets loose a doozy of a fart at the ozone layer!  Unfortunately for him (but fortunately for everyone else), the fart passes through the ozone layer and instead tears a hole in the space-time continuum behind the ozone layer.  Bart is sucked in, and when he comes through the other end, he ends up trapped under fifty tons of Medieval dung, and is decomposed in three years.

Freudian Excuse?

I don't think so.  As I stated earlier, Bart was willful even as a little kid.  Once he starts eating vegetables, he becomes a power-hungry kid out to get his way.  He starts off as nothing more than a brat, but over the course of the story, he deteriorates into a sociopathic beast!

Other mitigating factors?

Well....there is one potentially funny moment.  During his time with the bears, he tries to use his fart on them, but it has no effect.  It doesn't really detract from his menace, though, and he's still treated seriously by the narrative.  Also, while he is shocked after accidentally killing his parents, he's actually thrilled in the end, as it means he can do whatever he wants!

Heinous by standards of the series?

Notice that I say "series" rather than "story" because Grizzly Tales for Gruesome Kids is just a series of short stories with no continuity (although the TV show did constantly reuse setting and character designs).  While most of the kids (and an adult in one episode) on focus are usually just bullies or bratty half-pints, Bart is the only kid in the series (a few big brother bullies notwithstanding) to be shown to be truly evil.  This is most notable by the end, when he holds the world for ransom and tries to kill everybody when he's denied what he wants?

Final Verdict

I say he's a keeper.  Try sharing this with the message board and see what reaction you get.

[autolovecraft]

Fain would the powers from outside.

They now slid along at great speed, once reared stone circles in that part of dreamland are generous and profuse. He could not guess; nor is it unwhispered that deep place that simple folk disliked it.

That such a face ought to do that. There is Providence quaint and lordly on its threshold stood even as he did not know what to expect a captaincy after one more campaign. Frightful were the houses, and wondered how close a watch had all along been kept upon him by the pale death-fire and Throk's uncomfortable pinnacles. The farther they went, the cats leap from tall housetops, but not for an instant did the traveler was glad that no suppressed fluttering followed him, so rein your Shantak wheezes and titters with impatience.

He was not to trouble that quarry, around which a circle of crude monoliths and the rumored Shantak-bird to brood on its immensities. There was also some peril from the seven great walks stalked the long ascent, taking individual cats or groups of cats was under debate in that rigid semicircle north of their disreputably nourished muscles. They might not hold quite that content he sought out earth's gods to shun. No trace of the peaks neared the gap, slightly slackening its speed as if a flock of riderless night-gaunts of the Great Ones had shown already their wish, and little yellow lights floated up one by one the little black doorways of the party set sail once more a narrow in the distance. Vistas of distant Dylath-Leen concerning the tower during the sleep hour of the peaks knew almost nothing, save that there were constant accessions to the thoughts and visions of your wistful boyhood. For half an hour this dual battle raged in the rear of one of those stars in the distance, though his companion had succeeded and perished namelessly. Then the two parties of the toadlike garrison there. On the east, but that they had lost. He knew that they could not tell. He even took Carter to the ultimate cataract swelled portentous from ahead. Looking over the city walls and courts, its repulsive pair of winged colossal lions guarding the mild gods of earth. Certainly, the Crawling Chaos. Reflecting upon these things Dylath-Leen; those not quite human merchants who are prone to oversee the affairs of earth's dreamland, it was the twilight city of the gods on unknown Kadath in the moonlight he never returned. They were not there, Dylath-Leen concerning the way to find that marble parapet with curious urns and tripods with cunning bas-reliefs, the evilly hungry way in which all the while the merchants licked their excessively wide lips and glared hungrily and one could see and tall lighthouse, and pierced by an impression of many camps, where the Great Ones will prance and jump with antique mirth, and the enchanted wood and surged around the mountain-high monstrosity that walked in stealth and silence; the land parties seemed assured, Carter's galley sallied forth between the hideous stench of that scabrous and unwholesome beast, and as Carter approached it, and the delicate pottery baked by the gates of that epileptic mirth. All the while the hovering galley of the Other Gods and the mists overhead grew thicker and thicker. Never before had he known what shapeless black things lurk and caper and flounder all through the night a voonith howled distantly from the waking world, and the fatter ones, whom it is not sought except for barter, but Randolph Carter, the Zoogs, whence the way overland to spectral Sarkomand with its brooding years, and all these agents, whether wholly human or the citadel, but their entire army as then encamped, veteran fighting ghouls and night-gaunts.

The mountain's side, whose doorways are thirty feet high, they now formed a line of march. In time there appeared in the foetid harbour as if to watch the dense blackness gave place to the rest to instinct; and it soon became clear that the island; hence a party of scouts was at an hour when the first rays of that window shine the stars, necessarily vague as it shines on those cyclopean steps.

Not To Be Described. After ten minutes he saw a very strange, so that the victim would cease its struggles. There was no mind can ever measure, but these lawless spirits were soon restrained by their fellows, and two or three leaders out of Dylath-Leen, had warned him not merely a few night-gaunts had left a precipice dropped straight from unknown heights to unknown depths, with their friend packed securely in their far too mechanical strength was derived. The seamen prayed and chanted till the noise was out of sight before Carter could see and touch that noisome and hippocephalic scaled bird.

The mouths of the Gugs' kingdom. Betwixt the gray twilight sky.

Once he bumped into a stony slope, and who own not Nyarlathotep but only great rocky fragments scattered about a companion they had dwelt till the last of the evil procession from a tomb. As the band flew lower, the assembled chiefs all meeped in unison and began to creep back from that port. Lofty and horrible those titan gargoyles towered above him, while the perfume of rare blossoms spread like a vision of a great light of day, and wondered why the Zoogs to slink off one by one and group by group in the cold waste was not to seek out the temple, and they did not fear these faceless creatures now.

Scattered tombstones and osseous fragments told of the monstrous face on Ngranek; and before night had risked several experimental trips around the utmost cycle of the great flight leading to what was once more over the denuded rock with its bottomless well and repellent bronze door lingered restlessly in his hands. And the sailors sang glad songs, and slackened his pace somewhat; but of a squat windowless building, around which a traveler had scratched on the left chopped off just ahead to make that terrible and unearthly quarry. A rain of curious javelins struck the galley drew closer and closer to that haunting and marvelous. To Be Described, which wears a yellow silken mask over its face and dwells all alone in the cold waste is indeed girt with dark wonders and nameless things tittered and tittered and tittered and tittered. So he had seen the priests. Farewell, Randolph Carter, to search for the services he had in mind and memory. It was hard to find Sarkomand and its lofty pinnacled belfry resting on a steep little street overlooking the lower town. At last awe and exhaustion closed his eyes and then the bare feet and hands of the cold waste. Their land, of a design wholly alien to the north forever. Then two pink eyes shone, and these had helped greatly in the shadow of monstrous things below. All the afternoon he followed the creature on the mountains to watch a carnivorous fish catch a fishing bird, which one cannot see. And of the army. When the deep clang from the black galleys. Carter crawled through endless burrows with three helpful ghouls bearing the slate gravestone of Col. In time he had welcomed the very topmost pinnacles, however, the galley told of bats or urhags or less mentionable presences haunting the endless blackness. Then he knew he might sail back to the southern stars, and it was this which he could not help sighing with pleasure when they learned that a rising breeze soon took the trouble to hammer five of them was due in a sheltered corner beneath some carvings whose meaning none could decipher.

It was best to leave that place of carnage where the Great Ones' throne-room of the burrows one by one to the doglike chieftains considered the wish of the Great Ones fear them, and Carter at once sent up toward the mild, feeble gods of earth about them, and so full of unseen pitfalls that even on that mountain, so that in the hush and the farther and farther into this untraversed realm he found he could not be his fault. It was now on a noxious horde of lunar horrors might be; for I am Nyarlathotep, the assembled cats broke ranks and permitted the Zoogs have access, and the swelling meeps of the Great Ones will prance and jump with antique mirth, and were shockingly silhouetted on either side of Ngranek, on the outside were far subtler in their geographic rumors. Scent of the zenith and winked down at the turn of the Great Ones wished to hide from him. Shun then, and now and then a small kitten would have followed him had not stayed squatting in that wood who have not been very far away of the headlands and drove the hostile galley, offered a gourd of moon-tree in the churchyard gray stones with the Shantak flew on past the jagged hills many forests, some of them were quite furry. See! Another minute and the strange-faced sailors and onyx-miners by the artists of Baharna, which no cat will sail on their mountains. There was still nor the carven mountains north of Inquanok must be some beacon on a tombstone lever in raising the stone floor sloping up or down, with the captain did not know what to expect, because it was very great.

It is not of men, but if you are wise you will so lately have left, and never smiled because they had better remain a free and potent master of dreamers that Randolph Carter walked in stealth and silence; the glow of those mortals who have been a great help.

[lassluna]

Los Angeles Fairy Tales (1/?)

A/N( Lucifer and Once Crossover, may be more, may have a plot, who knows? Thank you for all the reblog encouragements of “DO IT” and “write the thing” from: @trueromantic1 , @randomramblings473 and @captain-swan-jones. 

I also had a bit of proofreading from ruhi and svenja on the CS Writing Hub on Discord to make sure Maze was in character. I don’t know their names here...)

Chapter 1: Maze Makes a Friend

Maze didn’t like humans. She’d grown used to them, but he had trouble dealing with certain aspects of them.

They were needy and fragile things. Maze was a demon; she didn’t do well with fragile things. She often forgot this when chasing down skips. On occasion, she broke a bone or two. It was becoming a problem according to Chloe. They thought she was using ‘excessive force’ on her catches.

“The only reason that no one has tried to charge you with anything is that none of your perps want to confess to getting beat up by a girl smaller than them.” Chloe told her one night over wine. “So you need to be more careful, try to be gentler.”

Gentler. Chloe was telling a demon to be gentler. It would be laughable if Chloe believed she was in fact a demon.

Maze rolled her eyes. She was created not to be gentle.

Linda tried to teach her to be patient and nurturing last month; she said it could help let go of some of her anger. Linda still didn’t understand that it wasn’t anger that made her violent, it was stupid people. Linda gave her a fish to take care of.

Trixie confiscated her fish, for what, Maze didn’t know, she was trying to be patient, but it wasn’t doing anything. She was just trying to make the thing do something, she was just poking it, with a knife, but it was only a little knife.

Trixie named it Bubbles, and hid Bubbles in her room.

It was a ridiculous assignment anyway.

So Linda gave Maze a different one to help teach her ‘people’ skills to fit in better. Linda told Maze to make a friend, sounded simple enough.

So Maze started looking. She tries the person she gets coffee from when she’s on a stake out, but her voice is too high pitched and all she talks about is if some guy likes her. It made Maze want to hit her.

There was this cop guy that emailed her the newest batch of dirt bags to hunt down, but he kept calling her ‘missy’. Maze was no missy. Instead of telling him all the things Linda coached her to say to a new friend, she told him that if he called her missy one more time, she’d decapitate him with his stupid emails.

So that guy was out.

There were a handful of other people she tried, but they didn’t seem too receptive, and Maze wasn’t too interested either. Maze decided that this assignment was also stupid.

She already had friends. Lucifer, Linda, Chloe, Dan, Amenadial. She didn’t need anymore. But Linda shook her head.

“Someone new.” She insisted. “Someone not connected to Lucifer, your own friend.” Lina explained. “You say you want a life outside of Lucifer, to be on your own, well this is a good step towards that.” Maze hated it when Linda was right.

Maze had pretty much given up, ready with a rant about how she couldn’t possibly befriend another human, how they were just too self-involved and weak for her to have to deal with. The whole point was to teach her to be gentler with her catches, and getting her pissed off by idiots, was not going to help.

She tried to forget about it and catch her recent dirt bag. A thief by the name of Tom Martin, the ass had robbed a jewelry store; put the owner in the hospital for no good reason. Just to assert macho dominance, Maze rolled her eyes looking the file over.

See? This was what made Maze exert a little bit more pressure than she needed to.

Maze stared from her car, waiting for him to come out of the restaurant, she preferred catching her prey in her element, the dark alleys or parking lots, and it usually prevented civilians from screaming.

She looked up, seeing the guy staggering out looking like he’d had one too many with a blonde woman besides him. Maze smirked; she got out of her car and quietly crept behind the couple. She’d push between them and arrest Martin. She promised herself that she’d only break his leg if he tried to run.

Maybe.

However, before she got a chance, the blonde moved. She took the hand that was around her hip and twisted it behind the guy’s back, slamming him into the car she was walking him towards.

“Call me Missy one more time, I dare you.” She hissed, pulling her cuffs from her side and cuffing him. It made Maze stop in her tracks in intrigue. She smirked at the sight. “Back to jail with you.” She said, pulling the guy up. The blonde caught her watching.

“It’s not what it looks like.” She said with a tired sigh. “He’s a criminal, skipped out on his bail.” She assured her.

Maze nodded. “Oh I know sweetheart.” He said, coming close. “First time someone beat me to a catch.” She praised, looking the blonde over, she didn’t look too tough, but Maze new better than anyone that looks could be deceiving.

“Well I deserved it for letting this creep feel me up for a half hour.” She complained. Maze chuckled. There was no way she’d have that patience for that. She’s more of a predator sort of bounty hunter.

The blonde smirked. “And it won’t be the last I get.” She said confidently, shoving the guy into the back of her car. Maze chuckled. The blonde was returning Maze look with her own. Maze could tell when she was being sized up. She returned a smirk.

“You think.” She smirked. “You got lucky this time blonde.”

Blondie rolled her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Maze made her way back to her car, not even upset that she lost her skip. She thought she might have possibly a new friend.

X

Apparently the blonde in the Yellow Volkswagen wasn’t wrong, she spotted her at least four of her skips that week. She was good.

She didn’t just honey trap them, she hunted almost methodically, going to all the best places for dirt bags to lay low, the second she spotted them, she took off after them like a demon out of hell.

It was awesome.

X

“Talk to her.” Linda encouraged when she met her for her weekly session. She looked happy, almost proud of her. All Maze had said was that she might have found a human that wasn’t completely annoying. “Do you remember what I told you about how to make a new friend?” She asked. Maze nodded.

“Be friendly, talk about common interests, open up to her.” She recited in a bored tone. It honesty wasn’t that difficult.

“Just not too much, no demon stuff.” Linda corrected.

“Be a good listener; invite her to go for drinks.” She continued. It was how she became friends with Chloe after all.

Linda nodded. “Good. What did you say her name was?” Linda asked.

Maze hadn’t, she hadn’t even asked for the blonde’s name, just that she was a bounty hunter like her and didn’t take crap, so Maze asked around, most people hadn’t heard of her, apparently she’d only moved to LA a few days prior to Maze meeting her. IT meant Maze would have to do this the old fashioned way.

She found her rallying a pair of guys with handcuffs.

“Need a hand?” She asked approaching. She vaguely recognized the men, no one of any particular interest.

“And split the check, no way.” She snapped, pushing them to their knees, dialing her police contact, whoever that was.

“I don’t need you money.” Maze promised. “Just know that not many of the cops like to come down for pick up, you might be a while.” She looked skeptical.

“I’m Mazeken, but my friends call me Maze.” She introduced. “Best Bounty Hunter in LA.” She said smugly.

“For now.” The blonde quipped back. “I have a knack for finding people.” She said. Maze shrugged.

“We’ll see.” She said. “So do you want that help or not?” She shook her head.

“I got this.” She said stubbornly. Maze frowned.

“What do you do besides catching dirt bags?” She asked, switching gears. The blonde shrugged.

“They keep me busy.” She mused. “Looks like the cops got here after all.” She said just as a blue and white police car pulled up.

Maze frowned; this was harder than Linda made it sound.

X

She was being nice, being kind, being what a good friend should be.

It repulsed her, but she was trying.

She tried to invite her for food, nope, she wasn’t hungry, she tried sharing her past work experience at a bar, Lux. She tried complaining about her roommates, (Chloe snored). She got nothing in return. No sharing of stories, no attempts at being her friend. It was like talking to a wall.

Linda encouraged her to keep trying, that sometimes people need to get used to the idea of something before they accept it, but it was really, really hard for her, Maze didn’t do nice, so it was taking everything out of her to be that.

Maze asked if there was a way to make someone your friend. It would save her a lot of trouble right about now.

Linda assured her she couldn’t, all Maze could do was extend the hand of friendship and hope she takes it.

The last straw when she brought her coffee. The blonde looked at it and shook her head. “Thanks, but I don’t drink coffee.”

Who doesn’t like coffee?

Maze was done. She dropped the coffee on the ground.

“Look, I don’t know what backwater town you came from, but I’m done.” She snapped, seemingly surprising the blonde. “I like you, you seem way cooler than most of the mortals I run into, so I wanted to be your friend, but now, no way, not interested.”

The blonde looked at her in surprise, but Maze didn’t care. He turned around and walked away.

“Maziken?” The blonde called out. She stopped. “That place you used to work, Lust?”

“Lux.” She corrected.

“I was hoping to get a drink tonight.” She said casually. “Is it good?”

Maze turned around with an uninterested look.

“The new bartender isn’t half bad.” She said. Lucifer was out on a stakeout with Chloe, otherwise there was no way Maze would bring her around Lux.

“Want to join me? I can tell you about this one time I was a cashier at a grocery store as a kid.” She said, leaning against her bug. “But right now I have a skip to catch.”

Maze smirked. “Sure.” He said, looking uninterested. “But only if I catch mine in time.” She said.

“Ken Fisher?” The blonde asked. Maze nodded.

“Winner buys drinks.” She said with a competitive edge.

“You’re on.” Maze agreed.

“Swan.” The blonde supplied. “Emma Swan.”