#tate pov mostly

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

i'm soooo glad you're back!!! love your writting so much, was thinking about some ghostface¡ tate or shit yk...like everyone who flirts with reader end murdered

i’m sorry this took me so long to do 😔 but i sorta did my own twist on this request, hope you don’t mind… i love it… anyway… :)

~~~

Lovefool

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, smut, stalking, obsession, very toxic, manipulation, very minor talk of drug use… virgins, yeah idk what else it’s just stalker tate being crazy for you

summary: tate’s loved you since the first moment you met, and he would do anything to be with you… anything…

word count: 4.4

~~~

2011

You stare at the boy in front of you, a mix of emotions stirring inside you. He’s your age still, you aren’t too surprised at that. You’re more surprised at the fact that he’s in front of you. It’s been so long since the last time you saw him. You remember the pain, the pure fear that paralyzed your body the last time the two of you had an encounter. It still makes you uneasy.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, your voice weak.

He shrugs. “It’s Halloween.”

“There’s been plenty of Halloweens Tate and this is the first time I’ve seen you here. What do you want?” You reply in a harsher tone than.

Tate shrugs again and starts to play with the sleeves of his sweater. You can’t believe this is real. You want to close your eyes and pretend this is all a sick dream, though you haven’t slept in years. After a few seconds, you cross your arms over your chest and take a deep breath. This isn’t going to be easy.

“Tate the fact you even have the balls to try to find me is crazy, what happened? Did you suddenly feel some sense of guilt? Are you finally sorry for what you did to me? I don’t even care if you are sorry, I don’t care about anything except the one question I’ve wondered since the night it happened,” you say.

“What question?” He responds.

“Why?” Your eyes start to burn. “Why did you kill me?”

~~~

1993

Tate had never seen any girl as beautiful as you. Never. Not in a movie, not in a magazine, nothing. From the first time he saw you in kindergarten, he knew there was something special about you. Of course, he didn’t know it would grow into what it did until middle school when his hormones took over. His feelings for you quickly transitioned from a pure crush to a sick obsession. And the best and worst part of it all was that you had no idea.

You never really spoke to him. He was out of your league. You were popular, but not braindead popular like the people you surrounded yourself with. Tate had seen you in some of your classes. You were smart, you got the best grades in those classes. You had plans for yourself after high school, unlike your friends. That knowledge only made him admire you more.

The problems began when you started going out with one of the popular boys in your group, David. He was awful for you; Tate didn’t understand why you chose to have such a relationship with someone like that. He’d watch how David would wrap his arms around you in the hallways, leave small kisses on your cheeks, and whisper words in your ears that made your face turn bright red. It made him furious.

What did David have that he didn’t? Why was he so special? Tate knew he could give you more than David ever could. So, why were you with him?

Tate quickly became blinded by rage and jealousy.

At night he’d lie awake, the knowledge that you might’ve been out there opening your legs for another boy making him sick. That’s when the fantasies began. He imagined killing David. How would he do it? Where? In what way would leave the least amount of blood on his clothes? The image of his mutilated body consumed Tate’s thoughts. He liked it.

It was around that time that he had found the mask.

It was a strange mask he found in the basement. It had a long white face with black holes for the eyes and a long mouth. He wondered which resident of his house had left it there for him. He didn’t know, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew from the second his eyes fell upon that mask was that bad things were going to happen.

He started going out at night and driving by David’s house. The mask he wore gave him a sense of power he never knew he could feel. At first, it was innocent. He’d simply drive down the other boy's road and look through his window for a few minutes before leaving. But all it took was one second of seeing you inside to blow the whole thing up. He was livid, seeing red. He decided he needed to bring his fantasies to life and get rid of David for good.

Halloween was when the opportunity to kill David became undeniable. By that point, Tate had been stalking the two of you for a month so he knew the basics. Which room was Davids, how to get into his house, and where his parents were most likely going to be. He had it all planned out. So, on Halloween night he put on the mask along with black robes that covered his entire body and ventured to the other boy's house, ready to kill.

He brought a knife, and when the time was just right, he snuck in through one of David’s open windows and started his game. He crept through the empty house, not making a sound. Getting to David’s room only took him a few minutes and what he heard from outside the door made him not regret his choice at all.

“Yeah, I know, listen she’s so close to finally giving it up to me and that’s what I’ve been working for this whole time. Once it happens, I’ll dump her, easy,” David spoke into his phone. His voice was cocky. It made Tate clench his jaw in frustration.

“Because dude, do you know how many girls from school I’ve already got under my belt? Y/N is just gonna be a name on my list. Yeah, whatever, I gotta go anyway I need to shower for the party, maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll drink too much. Okay bye.”

Before David could even get up from his chair, Tate kicked the door down and stormed in, too overpowered by his rage to think about anything but slitting the other boy's throat. He pounced on him, stabbing the knife into any part of his body he could reach. David screamed, but Tate quickly silenced him by shoving the knife down his throat. He felt empowered, he felt thrilled at the sight of his dead peer. It was amazing.

Tate didn’t waste much time gawking over his achievement, however. Once he was sure David was dead, he quickly pulled the knife out of the boy and fled out the window and back to his car. As he drove through the small neighborhoods of your guys' town, he wondered how big the news would be. Would you cry? He hoped you wouldn’t. Not over that asshole. You would move on, and Tate would wait however long it took.

~~~

The news of David’s death spread faster than wildfire and consumed Westfield High’s drama for weeks. Out of all the kids in the school, you took his death hardest. Seeing you so depressed almost made Tate regret his actions. He couldn’t bear seeing you tear up in class or show up to school two periods late. You weren’t like that.

However, as the days turned into weeks, you started to appear healthier and happier, and soon enough you were back to your normal self. Tate was glad, you were always so much prettier when you paid attention in class. He decided it was time for the second part of his plan to finally act. Though he was incredibly nervous, he knew it was then or never. He couldn’t risk you getting a new boyfriend that he’d have to kill again.

So, one day, he followed you into the library when the two of you coincidently had a study hall during the same period. His heart was beating so loud he could hear it in his ears. There you were. sitting at one of the tables alone studying, and he was going to speak to you. He’d thought up conversation starters all morning along with taking a few extra hits off his bong to help with the anxiety.

He shook the nervous thoughts from his head and grabbed his notebook from his backpack before walking in your direction. Your head was down, your hand moved aggressively across the paper as you wrote your notes. Tate stood at the other side of the table for a few seconds simply admiring you. His hands were shaky, his breathing uneasy. God, you made him lose his composure by existing. It was excruciating.

After he was done staring, he spoke, his voice quiet. “Hey y/n, do you mind maybe helping me with some of that psych homework?”

Your head shot up, your eyes instantly meeting his. He swore he couldn’t breathe. You, y/n, were looking at him on purpose. At that moment he didn’t care about what you were going to say, he didn’t care if you completely rejected him. All he cared about was how good it felt to have your eyes on him. Such innocent, loving eyes.

“Oh, yeah of course Tate that’s actually what I’m working on right now. Just sit, we can do it together. Unless you’re like super behind,” you answered.

“Are- Are you sure?” He couldn’t help the uncertainty. Did you really say yes to him?

“Yeah... should I not be?” You replied with a smile.

“No- sorry.” He sat down across from you. He could smell your perfume; he’d never been this close to you. “I just wasn’t sure if you even knew who I was.”

You chuckled. “How could I not know who you are? We’ve literally been in the same school system together since kindergarten.”

“I don’t know. You’re you know popular and stuff,” he said as he opened his notebook.

“Not really, besides even if I was that wouldn’t automatically make me forget anyone. But anyway, you can use my notes in a second, I’m almost done with the page,” you responded. You looked back down at your work and started writing again.

Tate nodded despite you not paying attention and watched as you wrote. He felt like that whole conversation was another one of his daydreams about you. Was he really sitting across from you? Or was it another mid-class nap? He cracked his knuckles to make sure he wasn’t dreaming and thankfully, he wasn’t. It was all real life.

“Sorry if this comes out as creepy, but I feel like I haven’t seen you around in a while. I mean, when was the last time we even spoke?” You suddenly spoke, your eyes back on his.

“I guess you weren’t looking hard enough to see me,” he said with a shrug. All his confidence was a facade because on the inside he was losing his mind.

He noticed the way your cheeks slightly turned pink before you replied. “Yeah, I guess I wasn’t. But I should have been.”

He knew deep down you were going to be his for so long, but at that point, he knew he had already achieved his goal. You were his.

~~~

“What is this place?” You asked as you clutched your cardigan around your body.

Tate smiled and grabbed both of your hands in his. “I told you it’s a surprise. Patience is a virtue.”

“I have patience, but I also have a lower body temperature than usual and it’s bothering me so I would really appreciate it if you’d just take me to the surprise already,” you said, a small smile forming on your lips.

“It’s seventy degrees.”

“Yeah, but it’s also windy at the beach and it’s probably colder than seventy because of the ocean’s temperature.”

Tate sighed and leaned his head down to press a small kiss on your lips, a feeling he still hadn’t gotten over. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Terrible, naughty things I hope,” you replied, kissing him again. “But please lead me to your special surprise beach spot.”

Though he wanted to stand there and kiss you all night, Tate obeyed your request and began to lead you further down the beach. It had been a few months since the two of you started talking, and to say it progressed would be an understatement. Tate had truly underestimated how easy it would be to capture your attention. All you wanted was a sweet, caring, genuine boy and he could be all those things easily.

So, after a month of being friends, he asked you out and you said yes. The relationship grew deeper with each day, and it didn’t disappoint him one bit. He loved everything about you. The way you’d lie on your bed with him and talk for hours, the way you’d make your relationship with him public by holding his hand in the halls, and most importantly the way you never expected or wanted him to change to fit in with your friends. You liked him for who he was, and it melted his heart.

It was your three-month anniversary, and Tate wanted to make it special. Even though he knew before the two of you got together that you were a virgin, he didn’t know to what extent you were. He quickly became aware you had done most things already, just not full sex. At first, he was annoyed at the fact that you weren’t completely his because he had never done anything with a girl before you. But after the first night, you went down on him, he wasn’t that upset anymore.

On this night he planned to take the next step with you. He had it all set up. The blankets, the lights, all of it. As the sight of his setup came into view, he watched your face light up. You squeezed his hand and grinned up at him.

“Is this really for me?” You asked.

“Yeah, do you like it?” He replied.

You nodded and sped up to reach it, dragging him with you. Once you made it you dropped down to sit on the blanket, urging Tate to do the same. “This is so cool. You’re the first boy to ever do something like this for me. I love it.”

“I’m glad, I know how you like sentimental things,” he said as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders. “And I’ve been wanting to show you this spot for a while. I used to come here a lot as a kid and watch the waves with my dad... before he left. I wanted to make it special with you because you’re not like my dad. Right?”

“No, I’m not. I won’t ever do anything to hurt you like that. I lo- I like you Tate, a lot.”

Tate only stared into your eyes, his heart beating faster than it ever had in his life. You almost said you loved him. He knew then that night was going to be the night you finally gave yourself to him. Something in your eyes made him certain. Your eyes were dark. You stared up at him as if he were the only boy in the world. There was a feeling in the air, one of lust and fear.

“I’ll never want to hurt you either,” he mumbled after a few seconds. “I doubt I ever could.”

You gave him a small smile and placed one of your hands on his cheek. You caressed the skin with your thumb as you slowly started to lean your face toward his. He accepted your lips on him, kissing back instantly. It was the moment he’d been working up to for years. He was finally going to lose his virginity to you, and you to him. Nothing would ever compare.

~~~

The sound of Nirvana mixed with skin slapping filled Tate’s room. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips when he looked down at you. Your back was arched so perfectly, your waist looked impossibly small, and your ass looked incredibly big. The side of your face was smushed against one of Tate’s pillows. You were so red, so loud you had to bite your hand to spare the whole house from hearing. Tate took in a deep breath and slapped your ass, his thrusts not faltering for even a second.

“Fuck baby, you look so pretty right now. You take me so well,” he whispered. He wrapped some of your hair around his hand and yanked you up, making you practically scream. “Yeah, you like that. You like being manhandled y/n?”

You let out another moan but didn’t reply. Tate slapped your ass again and threw you back down to the mattress. He leaned over you, your sweaty body feeling perfect against his. He was close to finishing. He’d already made you cum a few times that day, so he wasn’t too concerned about where you were. All he was concerned about was getting closer to you before he came.

“I love controlling you, you’re so helpless. Fuck I’m so close,” he mumbled in your ear. “You’re mine, all fucking mine forever. I’ll kill anyone who even tries to take you away from me.”

You made a noise and Tate couldn’t hold back any longer. He came inside you, his cock pulsing heavily. You groaned; his cock was hitting your cervix too hard it hurt. He waited a minute or so before finally pulling out and moving to the spot next to you on the bed. He’d never felt anything as amazing as having sex with you. He was breathless.

He was so caught up in his thoughts about what just happened that he didn’t notice your sad expression. When he eventually looked at you, he saw your frown. Immediately he turned to his side and faced you, reaching out one of his hands to brush a few of your hairs behind your ear.

“What’s wrong baby?” He asked.

“Nothing,” you replied.

“It doesn’t look like nothing you look sad; you can tell me whatever it is.”

You sighed and turned your head to meet his gaze. “Why do you like hurting me? Like during sex and stuff. You’re always so rough and I don’t know you’re really mean and sometimes the stuff you say is… scary.”

“How is it scary?” He laughed.

“You said you’d kill anyone who would try to take me away from you,” you said.

“Yeah, I would. I swear I’ve said this shit to you before. I would do anything for you, or to keep you,” he responded.

“Don’t joke about that Tate, you know I’m scared of killers because of what happened.”

“Oh, so this is about David? Why are you even thinking about him y/n he’s been dead for months. Do you miss him, or something is that it?” He questioned; his tone harsher than before.

You scoffed and sat up. “You’re seriously making this about me missing David?”

“Well, is that what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered before you stood up and started to get dressed.

“Oh, my fucking God y/n I’m sorry for whatever I said wrong while we were fucking. Can we just move on already? I don’t see what the big deal is,” he snapped.

“No, we can’t just move on. You scare me sometimes Tate like genuinely. I know you mean it all in a sweet way but it’s weird. I love you but you don’t hear me saying I’d kill people if they talked to you or looked at you a certain way. That’s not normal.”

Tate sat up. “I wish you would say those things. I wish you loved me as much as I love you. I’d do anything you ask; I would shoot up the fucking school if you wanted me to.”

You looked at him, he could see the terror and fear in your eyes. “Are you serious?”

“Of course, I am. I don’t get why you’re acting so scared. I’d never hurt you I don’t even think I could if I wanted to, you mean more to me than any person alive or dead,” he answered.

“You’re sick,” you mumbled. You grabbed your bag and walked to the door. “I think we need some time apart; you aren’t sane.”

His heart practically stopped. “What?”

“We need to stop seeing each other for a little while, I can’t take this insane shit Tate. I’m sorry. You know I love you, but I need you to get some help before I can be with you.”

Before Tate could reply, you left. All he could do was stare at the door, a million thoughts roaming his head. Did you really just break up with him? Was that it? Did you just throw away everything the two of you had because you felt his love was too strong? It didn’t feel real.

As the night progressed, he tried to call you, dozens of times. But each call was either declined or rang out. His anxiety grew with each ring of the phone. Why weren’t you replying? Who were you seeing? Did he really mean so little to you that you could leave so easily? His mind spun with scenarios, each one worse than the last. By the end of the night, he had convinced himself you were cheating on him, and the following days only worsened his state of madness.

You ignored him completely in school. Every time he tried to talk to you, you either turned away or walked away completely. It hurt him terribly. He couldn’t understand what had changed so fast. He chased you around the halls for days, trying his hardest to get your attention. But it never worked. And so, his love for you began to fade into an awful rage.

He couldn’t let you just walk away from everything the two of you shared. You were his. Only his. He couldn’t let you leave him, not like his dad. He hadn’t spent his entire life chasing you just to end up losing you. No. So, he began to formulate a plan. He’d leave you alone for a few days then calmly ask you to meet him at the beach, in the special spot he once made for you.

He wasn’t surprised that his plan worked. You were predictable.

When the night came, he made sure he was prepared. He snorted a line, packed his bag full of your favorite things, and set off. As he walked down the beach, he made sure the knife he hid was secure in his pocket. It was smaller than the one he’d used on David, but it would do the job just as efficiently.

You arrived a few minutes after him, a sad expression on your pretty face. He fought the urge to run to you with open arms.

“Thank you for coming,” he said. Only a few feet separated your bodies, he wished he could close it. But he needed to be patient.

You took a deep breath, you looked nervous. “Yeah, look Tate I... I’ve thought about it and I... I really think we should stop seeing each other for some time.”

“Why Y/N? I love you, so fucking much. I’m sorry for what I said, I can change, I won’t say shit like that ever again. I’ll be gentle, I swear. Just give me the chance I can be whatever you need me to be,” he replied desperately. He opened his bag and pulled out your favorite candy. “I love you; I really do. Please give me another chance.”

He watched your eyes fill with tears. You wanted to give in, he could see it in your eyes. But you only shook your head and wiped a fallen tear from your cheek.

“No. I’m sorry. Tate, you aren’t gentle, that’s not who you are. And I don’t want you to pretend to be someone you aren’t.”

Tate swallowed hard. “You promised me you’d never leave me; you said you were nothing like my dad. Was it all a lie?”

“Of course not!” You exclaimed and took a step closer to him. “I love you; I really do. That’s why this is so hard.”

“If you love me, why can’t we work this out? Don’t lie to me Y/N.”

He couldn’t stop his eyes from watering, nor could he stop his lips from quivering. He dug the bouquet of your favorite flowers out from his bag and held them out to you.

“Please,” he mumbled. “I need you.”

You caved. You wrapped your arms around his waist and held him tight. He could feel your muffled cries on his chest, it pained him. You were a sensitive sweet girl; it was both your blessing and curse.

“Maybe in a few months, we can try again, I don’t know.” You looked up at him with bloodshot eyes. “We just can’t be together right now. And I mean we’re going to graduate soon, and I might go to a college far away, how would that even work? But I don’t want to hurt you.”

“It’s too late for that Y/N, you’ve already hurt me.” He dropped what he was holding and dug one of his hands into his pocket. He touched your face with his other hand, your tears covering his palm. “You’ve planned on leaving me this whole time. I wanted to give it another try you’ve made up your mind. I guess it just comes down to one thing.”

“What?” You asked.

“If I can’t have you, no one can,” he whispered before he pulled out the knife and plunged it into the side of your neck.

~~~

2011

“I killed you because I loved you,” he answers. “Because you were going to leave me and find someone else.”

All you can do is stare at him in silence. You think back to everything that happened. How could you have been so blind? It couldn’t have been your fault though. He would’ve killed you anyway. You think back to all the times Tate made you uneasy, all the times he would say things that creeped you out. Deep down you must’ve known that’s who he is. Maybe you knew all along.

Maybe you loved him because of his darkness.

You exhale a long breath. “We don’t have that long till midnight.”

“So?”

You shrug. “Wanna hook up?”

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Seventeen

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Seventeen Summary: Lori finds out more about Jake. Walker finds out about the pact.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.4k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Seventeen Warnings: slight angst, violence, mentions of blood, implied smut

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne .

This chapter is from both Lori and Walker's POVs. I know it's a bit different to how I've been structuring the story, but I felt like it needed to be done this way.

There's more exposition here, but I think that will be all for a while.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Sixteen Part Eighteen (coming soon)

Lori

“Are you sure you don’t want breakfast first?” Marshall asked as we approached the open door to Walker’s office.

I shook my head. “Let’s get this over with.”

He gave me a brief approving smile before cupping the back of my head and kissing me on the crown.

“Let’s go,” he said.

I took a deep breath to steel myself for what I was about to face and I walked into Walker’s office.

The space was simple enough, basically furnished with a dark, almost black, modern looking desk with a laptop and a number of open files and papers making a mess of the otherwise clean room. There was a matching filing cabinet and a bookshelf, a low modern black leather sofa and four simple chairs pushed against one of the grey walls and the floor was carpeted in a similarly grey rug. The only feature that appeared decorative was an abstract art piece that ran nearly the entire length of the wall.

It immediately caught my eye; it was impossible to ignore. The work was lit by museum style lighting and spread over two canvases. It was mostly white with sometimes wispy, sometimes harsh, feathery slashes of black, grey and brown paint. While there was an obvious darkness to the piece, there was something heartachingly optimistic about it. For some reason I was reminded of being a kid, blowing hard on a dandelion and watching with glee as the pappus floated away on the wind carrying with them the potential for adventure and a new life.

Walker cleared his throat. I glanced at him quickly, he was taking his seat behind the desk and Marshall was carrying over two chairs. I turned back to the painting and tried to reconcile the art with its owner, but couldn’t for the life of me see the connection.

What would a piece like this mean to a man like Walker? If it was simply melancholic and evoked feelings of fear and dread, I could see the attraction for him. However, the undeniable sense of potential hope and happiness born from the darkness had my curiosity piqued. Why would he not only buy it, but give the piece a place of honour, something that no other object in this room seemed to have? It couldn’t have been cheap, the artist was no doubt talented and experienced; it must have cost a fortune.

“Oh,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. “Of course.”

It was an investment and a way to hide his true net worth from authorities. Granted, it was a high brow, convoluted way of laundering money, but it wasn’t unheard of, especially for international criminal syndicates. It was the only explanation that seemed plausible.

Taking one last look at the painting, I sat down next to Marshall. He pulled out his notebook while Walker selected one of the files scattered over his desk and opened it. He selected a page and showed it to me.

It was a grainy and dark photograph of the interior of a nightclub and appeared to have been lifted from security footage. A number of people were in the shot, mostly holding drinks and standing in groups of twos or threes. At first I didn’t grasp the significance of the picture, then I gasped as I recognised the couple in the middle of the frame.

“Jake,” I whispered. 

“Jacob Owen Wright,” Walker corrected.

Barely able to tear my eyes from the photograph, I looked at the two men, “How did you find him? Just from this picture?”

Marshall looked a little sheepish and glanced at Walker who showed no embarrassment. “I had some associates sweep your apartment for fingerprints and DNA.”

“What?” I asked, my voice hard with anger. “You had no right to do that without asking.”

Walker took out another couple of pages and showed me pictures of what I recognised to be Jake’s apartment only by the kitchen cabinets because the rest of the apartment was completely bare.

“We didn’t have a lot of options. The whole place was scrubbed. Not a single piece of usable evidence was found to start an identification. Your apartment was the only other place we knew for sure that he’d been.”

“You could have asked,” I said, only partly paying attention to what I was saying.

My mind was in a whirl and I found it difficult to pin down any single thought. It was clear that Jake had lied to me about who he was and what his interest in forming a relationship with me was, but this along with the tracking device suggested that a bigger conspiracy was at play.

“So, you found something in my apartment?”

“Not a lot, but enough for an ID. A thumbprint was found on the top edge of the headboard of your bed and further examination found the rest of the prints on the back as if it had been grasped and used for purchase,” Walker informed me blankly.

My cheeks heated as I realised how those prints got there. I remembered when it had happened and remembered looking at the athletic cords of his arm muscles stretching and contracting as he used the bed as an anchor to go harder and deeper. I felt like such a fool. In the back of my mind I must have known there was something off about him, which was probably why I never want the relationship to make the transition from casual fuck buddies to something more serious. I don’t know why I ignored that feeling and let myself be drawn in by a man who had nothing to offer but lies and deception just because he had the veneer of civility. Looking up at Marshall, it struck me that while the Brothers appeared to be lawless and crude, they treated me better than any man I had known other than my father, Nate, and Hustle.

“Prints on file mean a criminal record right?” I asked.

Again the two men exchanged glances and again Walker spoke, “Not necessarily. But in this case, yes. One offence in New Mexico as a youth. While he was born in your home town, it appears as though he moved around a lot. His mother, born Louise Anne Huxley, married several times, however Jacob’s birth certificate lists no father and we haven’t been able to find one. Louise changed her name several times, with each marriage and on a few occasions without a marriage. Jacob’s birth name was Jacob Flynt, but he has also been known as Turner, Johnson and now, Wright.”

I peered at the photo of me and Jake again. He never even mentioned that he had been born in my hometown, only saying he had moved there a few months before we met; he hadn’t even said moved back. He hadn’t been open about himself like Marshall or Sy, or even Mike and I never would have asked him to be. I’d known the Brothers less than a week and I knew more about each of them than I did about Jake. Well, except for Walker.

“Anything else?”

Walker shook his head. “We have more leads to run down, I’ll let you know if we find anything more significant.”

“You’ve had some time to think,” Marshall said, “have you thought of anything else, anything at all that could help with the investigation?”

“No. Nothing I haven’t already told you.” My eyes were drawn back to the canvas. “Have you told my brother? Does he know anything about this?”

“I spoke to Hustle—” Walker started.

“I asked about Nate,” I brought my attention back to Walker whose jaw muscles quivered beneath his stubbled cheek. “Have you spoken to him?”

“No.”

I nodded and swallowed down my fear. Nate must be alright; Hustle would have said if he wasn’t and despite everything, I’m sure Walker would tell me if something had happened to him.

“Is that all? Can I go now?” I asked.

Walker gave me a curt dip of his head, so slight it couldn’t be called a nod.

I stood and turned swiftly on my heels as I headed for the door.

Walker

Marshall gave me a flat, unimpressed stare as he followed Lori out of my office.

“Jesus,” I muttered as I placed the papers and photographs back in the manilla folder. What the hell did I do this time to get her so riled up? 

Sighing, I tapped the file on the desk and glanced up to see Marshall lifting Lori’s chin with a crooked finger in a way that suggested a familiarity that was far too inappropriate for my liking. It was a good thing Sy wasn’t here to witness it; no doubt he’d go completely apeshit. A kiss on the cheek was one thing, even Mike’s game yesterday was basically harmless, but the way Marshall was looking at Lori was absolutely not benign. 

I was sure Marshall would pull away before they actually kissed. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to kiss her; the girl was far too attractive for her appeal to be ignored. She was artlessly beautiful and she had a spark of fiery willfulness that always made my cock ache when I imagined seducing her into submission. But this wasn’t about Lori, I didn’t give two shits if Lori stepped out on Sy, it was about Marshall. Marshall wouldn’t betray Sy, he wouldn’t betray a Brother. Surely he wasn’t going to—

“Holy Shit!”

He did it, he actually kissed her.

My blood ran like napalm through my veins, my sight going red as I lept my desk and letting the uncontrolled rage rush through my system along with the burst of adrenaline, I let it all out in one furious punch squarely in the middle of Marshall's face.

A scream and a warm spray of blood slapped me across the face, quickly sobering me. 

Oh fuck, what have I done?

Marshall held his nose, no doubt busted and Lori was pushing me out of the way as she tried to get Marshall to lower his hands so she could see the damage. Marshall wasn’t having it, stepping around her as he confronted me.

“You deserve that, you know you do,” I said, coolly.

“And why the fuck would I?” Marshall said, blood pooled in his mouth which sprayed out as he spoke.

“You think Sy would have gone easier on you? Should I have just let him deal with this?”

“And why the fuck would you care what Sy would do?”

“I’m not going to let a woman break this club up, I don’t care who the fuck she is.” 

“It’s not what you think Walker,” Lori had the hide to say. I turned on Lori, her face was pale with fear, but she held her chin up as if daring me to hit her too. Fuck, she was killing me.

“You have no idea what you’re talking about Walker,” Marshall added.

“What else could I think? You’re kissing his fucking woman. You think he’s going to shrug and get over it? You’ve put the whole club in jeopardy and—”

“Walker!” Geralt entered my office, planting himself firmly between Marshall and me.

“He was kissing Lori,” I said. Jesus, I sounded like a kid trying to obfuscate responsibility after being busted by their dad. I may as well have pointed at Marshall and cried, he started it.

Geralt didn’t react. Not even a tiny twitch of his eye.

“You knew? You knew and you didn’t think to stop it before he came back? He’s going to fucking kill him.”

Geralt sighed and looked at the grey carpet now decorated with a blood splatter that Dexter Morgan would have been proud of.

“Lori, take him to the kitchen and put some ice on his nose.”

Lori gave me a look of disgust that made my guts twist. Fear, I could deal with; disgust was something else entirely. Marshall still had his eyes trained on me, his eyes darkened with murderous ambition. I readied myself for him to attack, but Lori took his hand, with a gentle tug and he let himself be led away.

I turned my attention back to Geralt as Marshall and Lori disappeared into the hallway.

“You’ve got some explaining to do,” I said to Geralt, turning back to my desk and sitting in my chair.

Stunned, I sat slack jawed as Geralt explained the situation - the pact the others had made - although it sounded too far fetched to be true. But it made a lot of things fall into place and explained what the others had been whispering amongst themselves over the past few days.

How could I have missed this? How could I not have known what was going on. Jesus, what else was going on in the club that I didn’t know about?

“What happens when the job is over?” I asked when he finished talking.

“Same rules as before, she decides what she wants,” Geralt replied.

“What if she wants to go home? Would you go with her?”

Geralt shrugged.

“Jesus. You’d let the club fall because of the whims of some girl?”

Geralt raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“When were you going to tell me? When you were all packed up ready to leave and I’d be stuck here holding my dick,” I seethed through gritted teeth. “I’d expect something like this from Sy, he’s always been a little soft when it comes to women. Or Mike even, he’s a fucking kid. But Marshall? You? No. I thought you knew what we were doing here, what we were working for.”

“I don’t think she will want to leave when this is over, I think she’s found her place here.”

“This is no place for a woman.”

“She knows what she's getting into. She’s not naive.”

Geralt’s nonchalance about this whole situation was doing my head in. There was so much that could go wrong here. We could lose it all because my Brothers couldn’t think with anything but their dicks.

“You don't have to be on the outside looking in,” Geralt said with a sly smirk. “She likes you too, you know.”

I laughed, curling my lip and showing Geralt my teeth. “I saw the look on her face, she’s terrified of me.”

“Not of you, of what you represent.”

“I don't share my toys," I sneered.

Geralt nodded slowly. “It’s your call,” he stood, “I'll go check on Marshall.”

“Tell him…” I ground my teeth, what the fuck do I say?

Geralt paused and waited.

“Nothing.”

I glanced at the painting on my wall. The darkness loomed larger than usual and I turned away again quickly, not daring to hope for some light.

Over the next few days the divide between my Brothers and I widened while the others seemed to draw together as they closed in on Lori. Normally there was a schedule set up for guarding a client, even inside the clubhouse, but Lori didn’t need one; she was never alone. She went from Marshall, to Geralt, to Mike, back to Marshall. I didn’t bother offering to take even an hour of guard duty. I wasn’t asked to anyway.

I dared not ask which of my Brothers she was fucking. Marshall obviously, but had Mike and Geralt gone there too? It didn’t look like it, but I couldn’t be sure. I should have nipped the situation in the bud that first night when I found Sy in bed with her.

Dinners alternated between awkward affairs and actually entertaining. Mike in particular was lively, filling dull moments with jokes and conversation. But usually towards the end of the meal Marshall would look at Lori, and the air in the room became electrified as if statically charged. I would leave the room as soon as possible.

One evening after dinner, I walked into the common room and the four of them were there. Perched on Geralt's knee, it appeared she was playing a card game against Mike and Marshall, a small stack of chips were in front of each of them. Her brows were drawn low in concentration as Geralt whispered in her ear and pointed at her hand.

They all looked up simultaneously. Mike and Marshall dropped their heads back to their cards, Marshall still hadn’t forgiven me for the punch and barely spoke to me during meals. His bruising had faded to a few dark circles under his eyes and he had a small cut on the bridge of his nose. Geralt nodded in greeting but didn’t say anything. 

Lori watched me move around the bar until Mike pulled her attention back to the game.

“It’s your turn Babycakes.”

She peeked over her shoulder at Geralt and pointed at a card. He nodded and grinned. Lori dropped the cards onto the table with a smirk and Mike groaned while Marshall dropped his hand with a disgruntled sigh.

“I won?” Lori asked, grining.

“G won,” Mike grumbled under his breath while Marshall nodded.

She raised her hands into fists above her head and bounced excitedly on Geralt’s knee. I turned my attention to pouring my drink, slamming the glass down angrily on the counter.

“Should we play again?” I heard her ask.

“I’ll deal,” Mike said.

“Walker, do you want in?” Lori asked.

I paused, the bottle of whiskey poised just about to pour.

“On the game,” she added.

Mike snickered.

I started to pour myself a generous amount before raising my head. All four of them were looking expectantly at me. I raised my glass to my lips and had a sip, relishing the sweet burn as it passed my throat and settled in my belly.

“No thanks,” I said, already walking across the room, “some people have to work around here.”

I went back to my office. I didn’t have any work to do, not really. All the leads we had in the investigation into Jake were being handled externally by various contacts who worked for us on occasion and I had decided not to take any more jobs until this one was over. We’d had requests and offers, but after investigating Jake and relaying the information to Hustle, I had a nagging feeling something wasn’t adding up. I think we were going to need everyone on this and Sy’s experience in particular was needed.

I lit a cigar and went to the sofa on the wall. I stared at the painting on the wall as I smoked, and drank, waiting patiently for the heavy buzz that would let me sleep.

I was getting close when the gate alarm went off. I went back to my desk and checked the camera feed and saw Sy rolling the large wire gate shut before riding off to the garage. I sat in the chair and waited.

It wasn’t long before he appeared, bag slung over one shoulder, helmet tucked under his arm.

“Walker,” he said.

“How did it go?”

He placed his helmet carefully on the desk, shrugged then sat. “It was straightforward. No problems. Need a report?”

I shook my head, “Not unless there’s something we should be aware of in future.”

He grimaced, “One or two things, but nothing urgent. I’ll get it to you in a few days.”

“Fine.” 

I expected him to leave but he stayed sitting in the chair. After a few moments he spoke. “How is she?”

“Alive,” I said.

He nodded. Quiet again, he looked all around my office at everything except me then spoke again. “Where is she?”

“I last saw her in the common room with the others. If they aren’t there, then I expect she’s with Marshall,” I paused, trying to figure out what the fuck he was thinking, but he gave nothing away so I added, “Like every other night since we got here.”

He nodded again. Still nothing, his face totally impassive, I couldn’t get a read on him at all.

Sy stood suddenly, “I’ll get that report to you soon.”

I wanted to ask him where he was going to go; his room or Marshall’s? I wanted to ask him why he did it, I wanted to tell him I couldn’t have done what he did, I wanted to punch the shit out of him and tell him he was a fucking idiot. Instead I waited until he left and went back to the sofa and stared at the painting on the wall again until I fell asleep.

[lovebirdgames]

BCB Character Playlists ~ Tom

For inspiration purposes, I had a playlist of songs for each character that I created way back in...2015...but I kept adding more songs along the way. It really helped me get in the mindset to write. I also loved imagining music videos in my head to most of these. 

So I figured some of you would enjoy seeing what I had on my playlists. I didn’t include every single song because some of them I was like “why is this on here?” Maybe you’ll find a new song you like! ...Or maybe not because I guess I mostly listen to pop...

Let’s start with Tom!

One Call Away - Charlie Puth

We Found Love - Rihanna ft. Calvin Harris (Alex Goot Cover)

Animal - Neon Trees (both the original and this minor cover by Chase Holfelder, for when that bad ending gets you)

Sweet Escape - Nightcore

Check Yes Juliet - We The Kings (RUN!!!)

Brand New - Ben Rector

Radioactive - Imagine Dragons

End Game - Taylor Swift

Stitches - Shawn Mendes

New Light - John Mayer

friends don’t look at friends that way - Tate McRae (just look at the above CG heh)

It’ll Be Okay - Shawn Mendes (Stay or Go?)

Say You Won’t Let Go - James Arthur (Did I post the comic of this one on tumblr?)

I Hope You’re Happy - Blue October (pining for you while you play other routes)

Everything Goes On - Porter Robinson (the music video in my head is Magical Musicians AU themed with cross-cutting to the real world bad ending “Wait for Me.” Also if you watch the League of Legends MV know that I would sell my soul for Rakan.)

Running Up That Hill - Kate Bush (there are so many epic covers/remixes too, like this one, and this one. With the ticking clock, I like to imagine Cadence resetting the game after the tragic “Wait for Me” ending, only to get the “Where the Bullet Went” ending.)

Lifetime - Three Days Grace (this song was my addiction at one point, from Tom’s POV, pairs with “Where the Bullet Went” or even “Sorry.” The angst is so yummy.)

Next time is Peter!

[triskhellion]

15 Shades of Red

Rated: Explicit (3.5k | WIP 1/18)

Relationships: Derek/Stiles, Stiles & Isaac, Derek & Malia, Derek & Isaac, The Family, background Boyd/Erica, Lydia/Jackson/Danny, Heather/Kira

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale, Isaac Lahey, Lydia Martin, Malia Tate, Talia Hale, Peter Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, Kira Yukimura, Heather, Cora Hale, Laura Hale, Matt Daehler, Braeden, etc.

Tags: POV Stiles, POV Derek, Graphic Violence, Mob AU, Spark Stiles, Omega Derek, Mob Boss Stiles, Mob Boss/Pack Alpha Talia, Creeper Stiles, Power Imbalance, Sharing a Bed, Touch-Starved Derek, Getting Together, Angst & Fluff & Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Blood, Kidnapping, Torture, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Minor Character Deaths, Explicit Sexual Content, (Mostly) Bottom Derek/Top Stiles, Virgin Derek, Light BDSM, Praise Kink, Dirty Talk, Knotting, First Time Bottoming, Murder Husbands, Mpreg (in epilogue,) Happy Ending.

Summary: Derek is the 23 year old omega son of Alpha Boss Talia Hale, the only non-alpha born to the Hales in at least four generations. Restricted by his overprotective mother after a past kidnapping and misunderstood by the alphas and betas of the Pack, he longs for more than the boring life he's been consigned to and the suitors only interested in him for his name or body.

Stiles became the head of the Stilinski branch of the Gajoš Family at 19 after both of his parents were gunned down six years apart. With the help of a talented group of friends, the secret Spark with a newly powerful and disturbing Gift took down a slew of rivals to keep control of his territory in Beacon City. Now 21, the infamous Boss with a love for the color red is suddenly given an opportunity to bring the object of his affection, a completely oblivious Derek, into his Family as restitution for an unintended, but significant offense by the Hale Pack. He takes it.

Equiknots: Harvest & Hunter's Moon prompts: 18, Between, Corn Equal, Hunter, Knot, Sanguine, Spice, Super & Travel

Stiles

His cool, calm, and collected demeanor was at odds with the anxiety and anticipation roiling inside. Stiles learned years ago to school his facial expressions, to quiet the fingers that itched to drum on any surface, the feet to tap, or a leg to bounce. At least in public. There were the odd lapses, yes, but he couldn’t afford that today. He had to be the Boss, play the unbothered Blade of infamy. 

Of course, the facade alone wouldn’t be worth a damn while in the company of werewolves, but he had other tricks up his sleeve. Or more accurately, hanging from a simple black cord around his neck; the thin, metallic, rune-marked disc the size of an old silver dollar resting flush against his sternum and tucked beneath layers of clothing. A white sleeveless v-neck under a long-sleeved red dress shirt, the shade of which he often used to signal his mood or the tone of the day’s business. (But not always, it wouldn’t do to be completely predictable, not to mention that circumstances often turned on a dime.)

Today he wore a vibrant scarlet, including a matching tie, with his signature charcoal gray 3-piece suit. Bold and triumphant for this was a momentous occasion. Stiles doubted he could’ve engineered a better opportunity himself than the one poised to fall into his lap. Hopefully literally in the not-too-distant future if he played his cards right. 

And to think this had all been set into motion by sheer happenstance after more time than he cared to admit spent daydreaming trying to scheme up some kind of proper introduction over the past few years. But there was always some reason why it wasn’t a good time or likely to backfire if not cause a capital I Incident. There was also the part of him that would rather be able to keep his fantasy alive than risk the possibility of being shot down (and not only figuratively.)

But then eleven days ago his childhood best friend, Scott McCall, had been Bitten by Peter Hale. 

The werewolf had been out of his mind at the time, drugged by a pretty face working for a rogue Calavera with some specialized strain of wolfsbane and made to go temporarily feral. An excuse for Hunters to “justifiably” attack the powerful Pack no doubt. Without his human side in charge to temper his ambitions — he was strong enough to become a Pack Alpha himself if he’d wanted to — the Left Hand of the Hales went looking for someone to Bite. His first Beta.

For some baffling reason he’d ended up going for Scott when he came across the veterinary student, who was entirely unsuitable for “the life,” walking with a date in the park. The terrified 21 year old managed to call Stiles just before he was actually attacked and when he was found by Isaac in some bushes soon after, bloody but healing, the Boss and Enforcer both knew exactly what was happening. 

Isaac had been turned without consent himself several months before, but that Alpha had meant it as punishment for some slight, thinking either Stiles would turn on the new wolf or be killed by him. Instead he restrained Isaac with his power, threw him in a basement room, and slapped a silence rune on it. Then he made a concealment token to keep the change in status under wraps. They quietly figured it out with help from Alpha Satomi Ito, an old friend of Stiles’ mother, and once the blue-eyed wolf had learned enough control they took care of that asshole themselves.    

It didn’t escape his notice that despite all of Scott’s issues with him following in his parents footsteps that it had been Stiles that he had called when his life was on the line. So it goes. They’d started growing apart after his mother was killed and the rift between them widened as they continued going through very different experiences. No matter how many times he tried to explain the concept of a power vacuum — that even if he, or previously his father, had wanted to run away from it all that more people would actually be hurt if they did so — Scott just couldn’t understand. 

And so Stiles never even considered trying to bring him into to fold or tell him about Isaac being a wolf too. That he could find a pack here or that there were even ways to stick around without one. He called up Satomi and she had him on the way to some sleepy college town in Virginia within a handful of days. 

Honestly, the whole situation was for the best for both of them. Scott could go be uncomplicated and enjoy his new lack of asthma with a laid back pack on the other side of the country and Stiles wouldn’t have to worry about him not being part of the Family, but possibly being targeted as an associate. There’d be no more sending anyone to babysit him from afar as he ambled about sketchy parts of Beacon City blissfully unaware of not being mugged either. 

And so here he was. The Hales had contacted him apologetically once they realized what had happened and to whom and he’d let them stew for a few days before responding.

The barest smirk tugged at his lips as he observed the Alpha Heir, Laura Hale, attempt to discreetly scent his emotions, her nostrils flaring slightly as she feigned engrossment with the large painting taking up much of the wall behind his side of the table. The imagery of the Crooked Forest in Nowe Czarnowo on a misty morning was both deeply meaningful for him and an interesting conversation piece for the relatively few guests allowed within these walls. It would likely be quite some time before those gathered here returned again, if ever.

His amusement increased at the wrinkle deepening between her brows when she picked up nothing at all, huffing and turning to side-eye the short red-headed woman speaking with her younger sister, Cora, at the other end of the room. As far as those outside the Inner Circle of the Family knew (or Great Eight as Erica insisted,) Lydia Martin was the Stilinski emissary and responsible for any of their mage craft.

Dearest Lydia was indeed their emissary, his representative in matters both supernatural and mundane. She did also possess magic, though the exact nature of her abilities — that she was a banshee — was yet another closely guarded secret. But it was Stiles himself that created their magical implements, set their wards and, when need be, used his significant abilities to eliminate their threats.

The only people who’d witnessed him in action, enraged and eyes shining the rich burgundy of venous blood, were his most trusted Family and the soon to be dispatched recipients of said power. (The occasional innocent bystander didn’t count because their memories of the event would be wiped clean. He wasn’t entirely amonster.) 

Aware of how requesting attendance by the entire Hale family, lowercase f, would seem an insultingly blatant trap he had sent a blood-spelled letter witnessed and effected by a Notary Mage. He, Isaac, and Lydia — the Head, the Hand, and the Voice of the Stilinski Family — had pricked their thumbs with the small ceremonial dagger and bled beside their signatures on the thick parchment, swearing that there'd be no violence against the Hales by them or those in their service, or with their foreknowledge, on pain of death. 

For a span of 7 hours, equally before and after the meeting’s start time of noon, they could not strike. Unless the Hales attacked first, of course. They weren’t idiots.

Stiles still hadn’t been sure that they would come though, perhaps insisting on meeting in neutral territory instead. He would’ve agreed to that if he had to, but this made things so much simpler. More contained and less prone to erupt in violence or involve outside parties.

The Stilinskis and Hales weren’t formal allies, but they weren’t enemies either. Some minor altercations between underlings aside they had no quarrel with each other, even cooperating when their interests aligned from time to time or giving a heads up about some mutual rival. 

The officiated blood-spell must’ve been enough for the Hale’s own emissary, Druid Alan Deaton to proclaim them safe enough even within another organization’s stronghold. The placid Black man in a forest green suit was currently observing everything from the sidelines and also keeping tabs on Lydia in particular. If he only knew.

In addition, they were allowed to bring a dozen soldiers with then; three were currently posted inside the room, two outside the door, and the other seven were split between the front and back entrances and on standby with their vehicles. He also knew, courtesy of his tech wizard, Danny, and head of security, Boyd, that the Steiner twins (jokingly referred to as Arts & Entertainment) were waiting with a small arsenal just beyond the property line about half a mile away in case things went south. 

The heirloom oak and bronze grandfather clock chimed out the hour and the gathered werewolves turned to him expectingly, but he only looked toward the door and went back to reading the papers spread before him. With every minute after noon the tension grew and at 12:07pm Peter Hale finally broke the silence. 

“Apologies,” he said, tone making clear that he wasn’t the one who should offer them. “But if we could start…” 

Stiles raised an eyebrow. “Everyone hasn’t arrived yet.” 

The four Hales looked at each other with surprise and discomfort. The druid’s gaze sharpened. 

“You mean Derek and Malia? But wh—“ Peter began.

“Was the invitation not clear?”

“Yes, but they’re not really involved in this level of business,” said Laura, looking towards her mother as the Hale Alpha merely stared at him in silence.

Oh, I’m aware he thought disapprovingly, eyes intentionally flickering to the not-yet-18 year old Cora.

“Nevertheless, this matter affects them as well,” Stiles said, wearing what he hoped was a small, pleasant smile. “So if you could have them come per our agreement—”

“We would greatly appreciate it,” added Lydia, trying to soften the sharpness of his tone and keep things from devolving already. 

The dark haired sisters shared an annoyed look as Peter sat tight-lipped in his seat. After several moments Talia broke eye contact and nodded to Laura. The Heir pulled out her phone and sent a few texts, snorting a minute later at the response. 

“They said they could get here in about 25 minutes, but only by coming straight from the gym.”

Isaac looked over to him and chuckled.

“We promise not to take offense,” Stiles said, quickly banishing the thought of a flexing, sweat drenched Derek before it could fully form. “Refreshments will be served shortly in the meantime.” 

He stood and nodded to Liam who’d been waiting near the entrance for any requests and the young soldier hurried to the kitchen. 

“Excuse me while I attend to a few things in my office. Feel free to explore the library in the drawing room,” he said, gesturing to go through the archway on the right side and across the hall.

He walked over to Isaac on his way out. “Come get me when they arrive.” 

Derek

He was at the power rack about to attempt a new single max low back squat when his and Malia’s phones chimed simultaneously. Always a good sign, Derek thought sarcastically as he let out a long sigh. What now?

His cousin, who had been racing on an elliptical nearby like an angry T1000 with John Connor in its sights, hopped off and grabbed her phone and water bottle as he continued to fume about the interruption, sure that his workout would be cut short.

Coming to the gym, like running beta shifted or blasting his music, was how he took the edge off the unmet needs and burned through the negative emotions that he lived with as a matter of course. The regular focus, control, and clearing of his mind also made it that much easier to mute the “outgoing” of his bonds and hide his interior world from the Pack’s scrutiny. Their well meaning, but frequently misapplied concern, especially his mother’s.  

“They need us at the Stilinski meeting as soon as possible,” she said after reading the message. 

Derek groaned and made a point of completing his lift, though his form was shaky in his annoyance. He’d heard of the letter “requesting” they all attend, but last night when he asked what time he should be ready to go he’d been assured that their presence wasn’t necessary. His presence, really. If she weren’t his usual bodyguard he bet they’d have taken Malia along. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to go, but he resented being summarily excluded. Again.

Growing up, Derek had never felt like a stereotypical alpha and being months past his 16th birthday he’d been worried about presenting as a beta, who tended to take longer to reveal their secondary sex than alphas did. Not because he thought there was anything was wrong with betas, but because he knew what it would mean in his family. He didn’t want to be different. Othered. 

Not once though did he imagine that he could be an omega. Between Hale genetics being what they were and the rarity of omegas in general (and male ones in particular) it was so beyond the realm of possibility that that particular fear hadn’t even crossed his mind. Then came that first humiliating heat. 

Derek had been playing video games in the den downstairs when it started, not recognizing the first symptoms. Feeling just a bit off he’d taken a nap on the couch only to wake up a few hours later confused and burning up. Simultaneously very uncomfortable and extremely horny, not to mention damp where he’d never been before. It was frightening. 

Ten year old Cora had wandered in to play with her action figures and been alarmed to see him sweaty and groaning and yelled that he looked really sick. Peter had been the first to investigate and after several moments of shock had started laughing and offered to find him a “knotty boy” in front of his now present and scandalized mother.

He’d ended up locked inside an interrogation room with an inflatable mattress and some sheets and a blanket. Laura ran out to hastily purchase some random toys for him and then put them inside with snacks and water, but no one came around to make sure he ate or drank for longer than was healthy. They hadn’t known better.  

Every wolf born in the past four generations of the main Hale family, all 30 of the 37 descendants of his great-grandfather Desmond Hale who had presented before him, had been alphas. (So had the three since.) The only non-alphas in their bloodline had been the mates of those born Hales, mostly betas and a handful of alpha-alpha pairs. There were just two omegas over that time frame: the wife of one of his second cousins and a deceased great uncle-in-law. 

His beta father, Aaron, had been “blamed” for the anomaly having had an omega grandfather as well as a baby brother and two female cousins in his family. He’d died from smoke inhalation saving a handful of strangers from a house fire several years before Derek presented and had been cut off from his family when he mated the infamous Talia Hale, so they’d had no close and trusted source of advice and firsthand information. Oh, they’d read articles and browsed web forums and asked Deaton (who was not at all well versed in the subject) about it, but his family simply hadn’t really known what to do with any omega, much less a male one. 

They’d muddled through, but not without plenty of scars to show for it, mostly on Derek’s end. All of the times when they treated him differently and shouldn’t have, especially after he was kidnapped at 17 by a gang led by a supernatural-hating fanatic.

His mother had been overprotective before then, but when they got him back — bruised and traumatized, but before the worst had happened — he could barely take a piss without someone hovering nearby. 

Derek was steered away from or outright denied any position that might put him “at special risk” as an omega, which was practicality everything of rank or actually interesting. He would not be trained to be Laura’s Second as was customary for the next born nor sent on missions or even errands. If he were more technologically inclined he could’ve worked his way up in Intelligence, but torrenting foreign tv shows and troubleshooting the wifi were about the extent of his abilities. Anything related to their less-than-legal operations were off-limits as well. Unsafe.

No, Derek’s contribution to the Pack was in “Procurement and Supply Management,” i.e. making sure that the Manor and their other private or commercial properties never ran out of pasta or printer ink or toilet paper and that the lights stayed on. He also sometimes floated around filling in for members in Document Control or Internal Mail or did grunt work for the accountants. Sterile and boring.    

Conversely, the one area where they should’ve taken his omega status into account they regularly failed to do so. Acted as if the same level of physical bonding and affection they normally engaged in would be enough for him. At least some of the pack had learned that omegas required more, knew that intellectually, but habits being as they were it generally hadn’t been the case in practice. 

After getting met with annoyed glances or told that someone would come by later and have them never show he simply stopped asking after a while. Cuddling with his sisters once or twice a week while watching movies or tv shows and the occasional touches from his mother had kept him going, but he’d been low to mid-level touch starved much of the time and occasionally worse.

Since presenting Derek always felt at least somewhat apart from the pack as whole. He’d been teased by Peter and the beta soldiers, Aidan and Ethan, who often accompanied him before Malia was of age. He’d overheard certain comments from several others and withdrew even further inside himself, becoming more and more skilled at locking himself away.

What was the point of letting on exactly how dissatisfied and disconnected he felt? Things wouldn’t actually change, there’d just be some grumbling and there-theres and attempts to fix him instead of the situation. 

Things had definitely improved when Malia arrived and had been amenable to random cuddling, but he still held himself back from doing it as often as he wanted to in fear of being a burden. 

No one had been more surprised that Peter had a child than the playboy wolf himself, an alpha coyote-wolf hybrid that had long since been abandoned by her mother. She’d been a hellion of a street kid, causing all sorts of mischief and lashing out while trying to survive, until one day she’d ended up hauled in before the crew leader in charge of protection. 

There was something about her, perhaps certain notes in her scent or something vaguely familiar in her appearance or manner, that gave Finstock pause before delivering the standard beating — non-life threatening or severely damaging — for a shifter her age. The wild-haired Bitten wolf was eccentric and prone to randomly bringing up his lost testicle, but had an uncanny sense about things and kept order in the streets, neither too soft nor overly cruel. Inquires were made, fingerprints and DNA ran, and surprise, congratulations, it was a bouncing baby snarling 16 year old Hale! 

It didn’t take long for her and the then 19 year old Derek to gravitate towards each other, coming from two very different upbringings, but both outsiders in their own way. Malia was trained up and when she turned 18 became his primary bodyguard and the rest was history. 

“C’mon, lets’s bounce,” she said, poking him in the shoulder. “ASAP means ASAP.”

“ASAP also means no shower or change of clothes,” Derek growled, lamenting that Hale Manor was in the opposite direction. He could’ve been there as presentable and on time as everyone else, but nooo. The most he could do was towel off some and slather on the deodorant he had in his bag.

“They’ll just have to deal,” she replied, shrugging. Her lack of concern for propriety was one of the many things he loved about her, but the rules were different for him. Oh well, the only wolves there would be family so perhaps he wouldn’t get that kind of shit for it. Hopefully the Stilinskis had been informed in advance and wouldn’t take their appearance as a slight.

“I guess so,” he muttered, wiping the barbell down quickly before tossing the towel in the used bin. They headed outside and he unlocked the black Camaro in the spot upfront reserved for him. Sliding behind the wheel, he strapped in and started it up as Malia pulled up the directions on her phone. Here we go.

[kendrixtermina]

WTF happened? A compilation of the Evidence so Far and an attempt at a Nuanced Take.

So, the allegations regarding Rammstein.

I’m going to have to talk about them, both because the band has been a part of my life for so long it’s a family running gag, and for my own damn peace of mind.

I first saw it in an internet news article a few days ago.

My first response was to try as best as I could to suspend judgement.

The last thing I want to do is have any irrational loyalty when its ‘my turn’ to listen to reality over any personal attachment I would have.

However, two things can be true at the same time:

a) A lot of abuse goes on in showbiz & victims are often not believed

b) Crazy stories get made up about people whom the media or politcal movements have listed as “enemy” – and that’s been the case for them a long time.

The media responses have been very black & white, with on the one hand the classic cancellation treatment of ending all contracts and basically un-personing them, and on the other hand you got reports of some unsavory fans running the classic ‘they’re just lying for attention’ script.

(Let’s get this one out of the way real fast: That has never once happened ever. No one just “makes shit up for attention”. At the same time, there’s no fandom that doesn’t have a loony fringe.

I’m also not going to insult your intellect with any variant of ‘why didn’t they come forward earlier’ or ‘if it really happened she would have done x’)

The band itself has put out a statement to ‘not harass or prejudge any of the plaintiffs’ and that they ‘have a right to state their view of things’

I would agree with that, at least.

This is not the trump/tate/kavenaugh esque cannet ‘I don’t know that woman’ or instant ‘DARVO defamation’ that you usually see & sounds more like the people I thought I knew, but on the other hand, what was repeated over all the tabloid articles looked like an open shut case. Supposedly there was roofies involved (which proves intent all in itself) and multiple accusers.

One person might make things up, but multiple people usually means it’s real, as it would be unrealistic for them to have coordinated.

So I decided that I was going to go digging through all the articles & posts etc. I could find to form my own opinion of WTF happened, if nothing else for closure. The articles said a lot of the same things, but they were vague. At least, I wanted the gory details.

I’m just going to record my findings so far mostly for my own peace of mind & emotional processing, and for anyone who might be wondering what to think.

I’m just going to go through various different data points in ascending order of severity & perceived credibility.

Keep in mind, this is not a finished opinion, I am really processing out loud, still letting things settle, and waiting for further revelations that could easily change everything.

I want as much as I can to remain open to any new evidence thatmight still pour in.

0. The Music

First let’s get the (albeit mostly irrelevant) elephant out of the way:

Yes, the songs/lyrics depict copious violence that is often sexual in nature, but it’s very much in an ‘fascination with the disturbing’ kind of way that grounds inself in a clear understanding that what’s depicted is, in fact, disturbing. It’s often told from the PoV of the perpetrator but if you analyze the lyrics with basic reading comprehension you’ll see that it’s self-aware about being carnography (that is the overlap between horror, gore and porn) – the perp’s twisted rationalizations will be lampshaded and hints at the victim’s pain strewn in.

It’s like ‘Lolita’ – it’s told from the crazy person’s PoV in their romantic fetishistic detail, but the author wants you to piece together what ‘actually’ happened and strews in hints.

That was supposedly the joy of it, that there was depht to find, interpret & analyze get this ‘delayed-action scare’ from.

It’s self-aware, which actual glorification isn’t – that sounds more like ‘bitch actually wanted it’ or ‘she was asking for it’ rather than ‘no one hears her cry’ or having the perp turn around a picture of Jesus so it doesn’t see his wicked deeds.

So it seems… incongruent, to me, that the person who wrote this doesn’t get that roofie-ing someone is bad.

As an artist myself I of course want to believe that a person’s true soul is reflected and immortalized in their art, but there’s nothing more dangerous than thinking oneself immune to deception, wouldn’t be the first hypocrite.

So I really did have a huge moment of thinking,… “Was it all a lie?” Did this art that I loved and was probably the biggest influence on my writing style just never really exist?

I’d certainly feel disapointed, humbled and betrayed, as if all the jeers of those who gave me the side eye for liking dark content had been confirmed.

Well, the truth doesn’t care what I think, it’s not about me, but the potential victims. So I am going to put all these feelings in a box.

But it’s worth noting that, despite the bombastic stage persona and having starred in hardcore sadomaso porn, Till was always described by everyone who knew him as a shy, polite and intelligent person in his personal life.

Wouldn’t be the first asshole whom everyone thought was “so nice”, but you can’t use the music as an argument for that.

1. The Parties.

That there were parties for potential groupies, I believe at once. It’s corroberated by many reports going years back and the part that everyone agrees on. You’d be stupid not to believe it. It does fit his impulsive, disinhibited character.

However, and I know some here are gonna have different values about this: I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that so long as everyone involved was a consenting adult.

A lot of the so-called “dozens” of reports including kayla the youtuber were basically just people realizing it’s a sex thing & getting uncomfortable or offended about the very fact that it was a sex thing & that there were women willingly throwing themselves at Till.

I don#t doubt that they freaked out, got a fright and felt unsafe, but when you filter about the influence of their racing thoughts, uncomfy brain & ‘bad vibes’, most of these situations are pretty much nothingburgers. Full rooms with numerous witnesses were people were just drinking & having fun. Obviously you can’t bring phones to orgies, tat would jeopardize ppl’s privacy.

I’m not saying they were lying about feeling unsafe, but I think we can all think of examples for how feeling safe and being safe are two pairs of shoes.

There were many people who actually were at those parties posting on reddit or getting interviewed on youtube describing great consensual sex and/or just fun atmosphere so IDK how much of their perception of ‘weird atmosphere’ is just projection of their own discomfort.

I’m not saying this because I don’t want to see the truth, this has always been my opinion. I never got people investing great significance in age gaps once everyone is past the ‘adult’ threshold or generally flattening the whole spectrum of human interaction into simple flat power dynamics with an unassailablemaster & mind-controlled slave.

I’ve gone to sex parties; Heck, when I was 20 I got shitfaced & screwed a much older dude and I found both those experiences not only positive but healing.

It bothers me how the entire interiority choice & angency of willing participants is just erased and its just blanket declared that they can’t know what they want. So far, everyone I’ve heard of as being involved was an adult even if they were young, we’re not talking about children and it’s demeaning to act as if they were.

I’m not defending a rich old dude; I’ve little hope of ever being one. I’m defending myself, as someone who has been a young woman, and wound like to have the right to determine what my experiences mean & not have others tell me. I think if someone wants to take advantage of a chance to screw someone they view as extremly desirable and get a piece of some powerful guy using the limited resource of their attractiveness, they should get to. It’s practically animal instinct.

I don’t think inviting someone somewhere to possibly hit on them in harassment; It only becomes harassment if you don’t go away if they say no, or use threat/coersion.

He ‘picked’ the ones he’d actually be interested in but that would only have the sort of character the news are depicting it as if there was then coersion, not just an offer.

In the bulk of the reports he would hit on ppl but immediately accept it & back away if they said no, and the people who reported feeling uncomfortable all left with no problem without being pushed or forced to anything; Everyone was free to leave the ‘suckbox’ at any time.

That, of course,  is the next big question. Did any of that take place. Just because some had a great experience doesn’t mean others can’t have had awful ones.

2. The Shelby & Kayla Stories

So, here I am mostly dissapointed at the media.

There were multiple people on reddit, tumblr, youtube or newspaper (some showing their real life face, or having video of the event) who were on the same party in Vilnius. It’s not just one person claiming something but testimonies acting up

The vodka was opened before the eyes of all the guests and all of them drank from the same bottles

According to her friends, Shelby is on a SSRI medication that can interfere with alcohol & apparently the combination explains all the symptoms she had

She started drinking early & acted quite inebriated (probably due to the meds interference), at one point she bumped into the stage & ran into things – this probably explains the bruise

While there was some smashing of glasses, it was more of a ritual that was often done at  parties, like Till would start smashing his Vodka glass fter finishing it & everyone else would join in.

Shelby left early & wasn’t even there for the last of the party

Even she clearly stated that a) no one touched her b) Till respected it & moved on when she refused his advances c) she saw nothing being done to anyone else while she was there

Most likely conclusion: There was never any roofies, her meds are to blame.

I would presume she woke up the next day, only remembering fragments at first, and panicked. I can’t even blame her. It’s super common for ppl to mistakenly think they might have been spiked after having too much to drink.  

She isn’t ‘lying’, she merely jumped to conclusions, though she could have checked with her friends first before putting it on the internet, I can’t blame her for panicking under the circumstances.

Honestly it’s logical to assume it was the last guy who hit on her.

The is important insofar as it puts a different light on everything that follows when others saw her post & were asked about if anyone had similar experiences.

Ovsly ppl took this seriously & began re-evaluating experiences in the light of that possibility in a low-key mass panic.

This is especially relevant for the casus Kayla – Facebook posts show she had a “good time” at the concert despite noping out of the sex thing (before Till even arrived) but after that I suppose she began to worry if any of the other girls she saw might have been drugged.

3. The Italian Man Story

You know, the super gross one with the big bowl of ‘mysterious cocktails’ and the band members fighting over some girl.

It’s fiction on par with the ‘hilary clinton trafficking ring’.

It’s deliberately engineered to be schocking & trigger your emotions but when you think about it, it doesn’t add up logically. Even if everything else were done & they’re all guilty this probably still didn’t happen because, for starters, if multiple ambulances had been called, the fucking certainly wouldn’t have continued as the paramedics showed up. There would at least have been something about drunken people passing out at a concert.

Also the ‘bowl with mysterious cocktails personally prepared by Till’ looks like a plot hint in a book.

You can’t get accurate dosages by putting into into a bowl and a whole room was drugged at once they couldn’t have walked home.

Plus the ‘italian man’ is too busy presenting himself as a hero rather than describe himself being realistically shocked.

I’m surprised Spiegel printed this, though I suppose any claims are in the public interest.

4. The Anonymous Reports from the Reportage

Now comes the serious part however, because these I believe are 100% true, were compiled by serious journalists,  and probably happened exactly as described – they’re anonymous, so the women have nothing to gain. Plus, the reports sound like authentic memories in exciting or traumatic situations: The order may be jumbled but there are exact details down to what people were thinking or exact words that were said.

There is just no honest reason to assume otherwise.

That said, the snippets of them that were taken out into other articles/tablids were WAY out of context – with an important exception (which I will discuss as its own bullet point), most of the people questioned considered what took place a good experience at the time, told their friends of a ‘good time’, though some had their doubts or regrets later on when the discussions began or friends had different opinions on it.

The person that supposedly had vaginal bleeding actually had some condition that made vaginal intercourse harder but then they ended up doing it anyway apparently at her suggestion – Till is said to have asked several times if it’s ok.

In general there is talk/communication going on in these

While two people did speak of memory gaps or fragmented memories, it seems from the circumstances and the detailled way  things were described that it was just booze.

And it was not, as you might get from the out-of-context quote, some unconscious person being molested on a floor somewhere but rather there was back & forth talking like he was always asking “Is that ok”, “may I do this?” “Should we stop?” etc.

That’s not something you do if you don’t care about the other person, their consent or their enjoyment.

Even so, if the two ended up concluding later that they were probably too drunk & partially weren’t sure what was happening, the sex probably shouldn’t have happened.

He fucked up, no question.

Chances are he was intoxicated, too, but while I have said before that all this supposed ‘power imbalance’ alk doesn’t negate free will, I do think it creates a greater responsibility on his part to ensure their well-being and greater accountability.

Still this rather looks like he misjudged how drunk they were rather than deliberately taking advantage of an unconscious person, the latter is a misrepresentation by the media.

5. THAT one report

Then there is the unambiguous ‘nightmare story’ where there can be no doubt that the girl found it traumatic.

Apparently she clenched up (ostensibly vaginismus) and the whole sex was painful, which she was embarassed to say however, so she just waited for it to be over out of a mix of being stunned and not wanting to lose her one special chance with him.

I think we can all agree that this kind of thing should never happen.

She explicitly says she choose not to say anything, however. – which is NOT to say that its “her own fault” or that she “should have spoken up” but rather, though the damage is the same, there is a different between accident, negligence, manslaughter & murder, degrees of culpability.

In a legal sense it probably wouldn’t count as rape (that requires ‘visible refusal’) but it certainly wasn’t enthusiastic consent either. But this is kind of exactly why education is so important because besides fight & flight there ARE those fawn & freeze responses & if you’re not attentive enough you could  trigger your partner into ‘just putting up with it’ without meaning to /realizing. People don’t notice their gf’s saying nothing about painful sex all the time there were tons of articles about it not too long ago.

Whatever you want to label it she had a shitty, possibly damaging experience that could have been prevented, and that would have been his responsibility to avoid.

So no, he did not ‘do nothing wrong’ The onus was on him, especially as someone active in the BDSM scene he should know the important of safewords, commination & aftercare.

He fucked up, the whole enterprise should have been sanity checked because even if some vibed with it & had a good time, you just shouldn’t ever be triggering people’s fight-or-flight responses in a bedroom situation.  There shouldn’t even be a risk of that because if there is there might be people like this girl or the two too-drunk ones.

Ultimately, though, this is still night and day compared to the story going through the media right now with the roofies.

There’s a big difference from someone who thinks others wellbeing doesn’t matter than one who think it does but fucked up.

But ultimately this goes further than Till as a person. This isnt even really about him. 

It’s more like – no one wants this. I don’t think he wanted this. But how do we as a society deal with it?

Because I think it’s very important that those girls should be able to talk about their experiences. Feedback should be given and socuety should be percolated by an understanding that this is not ok.

At the same time, at present we only seem to have the options of exhonoration or ostracism – which creates an incentive to DARVO and victim-blame to avoid the total destruction of ostracism in a population that is usually low on scruples.

With cases like trump or tate, the issue is clear: Those don’t think they’re doing anything wrong eyond lipservice & will just keep doing it again & again; Complete ostracism, unpersoning & refusal to ever platform them again really is the only answer, there is no reflection, talking sense or expecting behavior changes from those.

But what about situations where you have someone who nominally believes in consent but fails to apply it & walks away thinking the situation was mutually enjoyable? IT’s kind of like the Melanie Martizez case. More ambiguous, really, because she was reported even by consenting partners to be rather pushy whereas here we have someone who ostensibly has a habit of asking ‘is this ok’ ‘may I do that’, ‘are you ok’ etc but did it a few times too few.

Someone who fucked up but didn’t want to. What do we do with these? Whenever anyone brings up the possibility of ‘misreading signals’ or something it’s told off as an excuse but it’s a genuine worry people have.

The closest conceot we have for that is maybe what you do if someone had a stronger reaction to or felt triggered by some BSDM thing & that needs to be talked out & corrected but in that case theres a more direct feedback loop…

One thing is clear: We can’t have situations where ppl feel triggered or unsafe or have bad experiences like this.

Apparently consequences have already been drawn and the parties things in cancelled forever anyways & everyone involved got a wakeup call. (as per Christoph’s recent post which more or less reflects similar conclusions to my analysis here – and I am still holding out on forming conclusions, really, but what I heard there at least sounds like the intelligent, differentiated people I thought I knew, though I’m not ready to remove that ‘thought’ yet )

I mean, the band themselves is lying in the bed they made but I’m feeling sorry for, well, the victims of course, but also loyal fans who may forgive what actually happened but everyone around them thinks the tabloid version took place. (which if it were true would have been burn-in-hell territory)

Sigh. The world is complicated and exhausting and human beings hurt each other so much all the time for stupid reasons and we can never ever have nice things.

[letstrywritingmaybe]

I’m not gonna be able to update the sibling verse until I get home at this point. I’ll still work on it and just do an extra update in the week when I’m able. In the meantime, I’m hoping to also get the pov verse started. But I’m unfortunately starting to crack ship cause of a fan art I saw that I’m trying very hard not to think about… it’s bad enough I love kaishi and I’m not opposed to Shigo… guys am I finally gonna jump ships? A super crack ship too, I’m gonna die. This is awful. Also finally listening to Tate McRae and I wish Shiho would go through a Think Later phase (the song not the album)

Unrelated update: so the kdrama finally makes sense shinshi wise cause of the past life aspect. Listen I will always support a man losing his shit and killing everyone then himself after his lover dies. More of this please! But also I just love how in love with her he was and how he tried so hard to get her, which is how I always write him so there you have it folks

Unrelated update 2: my ship type honestly is when the girl has more experience than the guy. I absolutely loathe the player and innocent girl trope. I wish it would die. The message is so shit and I’m so over it. Either give me them both being inexperienced and awkward as fuck, or let my queen be the one with experience! (Though I don’t like to think much about that too cause the notp creeps me the fuck out). *sigh I’m happy we have more smut for the ship, so I can finally be picky. I mean I’ve been picky the whole time. I still only comment on fics I enjoyed. The sad reality of being too Americanized in a mostly Asian fandom. Or maybe it’s the Vegas gal in me, idk. Though you would think me being ace would factor in too, but I don’t headcanon either of them being ace so there’s that

[rhaenyras]

HOTD did irreparable damage to this fandom cause now there’s people who wants to read Aemond’s POV probably thinking he’s a mama’s boy victim of bullying by his YOUNGER nephews when in fact he would just be calling every single woman who appeared in front of him a whore in every chapter. Aemond’s POV is just the transcript of an Andrew Tate video, I need his illiterate and delusional stans to be serious.

i honestly have no idea how this fandom did a full 180 since game of thrones stopped airing.... like..... that show was full of despicable male characters too, yet they were mostly reviled by the majority of the fandom. now everyone goes crazy over alicent's deranged incel boys ....... i have no idea how that can be possible. is it even the same people watching hotd as they used to watch got or what

[umrti]

N̲O̲W̲ ̲ ̲I̲ ̲ ̲A̲M̲ ̲ ̲B̲E̲C̲O̲M̲E̲ ̲ ̲D̲E̲A̲T̲H̲ #umrti : an independent & private original character sable mortimer, the personification of death. inspired by various interpretations over the years, including but not limited to those of : terry pratchett, neil gaiman, ingmar bergman, various mythologies, the films death takes a holiday, meet joe black, the final destination franchise & more. canon, au, oc etc friendly. written by ink ( she / her, 25+, melb. australia ). sporadic & low activity. slow in-character writing. beta only. temp rules & about etc under the cut. T̲H̲E̲ ̲ ̲D̲E̲S̲T̲R̲O̲Y̲E̲R̲ ̲ ̲O̲F̲ ̲ ̲W̲O̲R̲L̲D̲S̲

death has various faces as it is not really bound to any one shape or form, & so its fc may change on occasion. i have a list of various faceclaims, & they run the gamut in terms of ethnicity, age ( though none younger than early 20s ), sex, gender identity, etc. the only thing they really have in common is, for the most part, they have dark hair.

THE CURRENT FACECLAIM IS ADAM BRODY. mostly from ready or not ( 2019 ), but occasionally from more recent works, too. therefore death currently presents as a man in his mid thirties to early forties.

death goes by any singular pronouns. if in doubt, use he or it. or simply use death or sable.

death is neither good nor bad. death just is.

threads will be written in FIRST PERSON pov. you do not have to copy this, dw

nsfw may be present, & will always be tagged 'nsfw /'

similarly, i tag triggers as 'TRIGGER /'. i tag everything common, but let me know if you have specifics.

i have a banned fc list, but as i rarely if ever see them these days, i won't bother listing them out. for characters, i do not write with canon rapists, paedophiles, school shooters, racists, or anything of the like. this includes, but is not limited to : tate langdon, billy hargrove, chuck bass, freddy krueger, & others.

as death is omniscient & omnipresent, i am happy to write with characters who have been killed, who have killed, who deal with death, who are trying to bargain with death, who are dying etc. characters do not need to be alive to interact. it is death, after all.

on that note : death is not an active killer. it gets blamed for deaths, but all it does is help on make the transition from one world to the next. it is not sickness, it is not a gun, it is not anything that actively kills someone. it is just the result. but yes . . . it can be bargained with. rarely.

• example : the first death in final destination ( 2000 ) - the one where death was wholly actively complicit ? that is not correct. the rest of the deaths in the series - where they could feasibly be accidents ? that's death. an inevitability.

immortality is obviously something that will crop up for some characters, but it is likely they too will at least have experienced death in some capacity, be it the death of a loved one if not themself.

i do think death should be smooched & i'm not afraid to say it. it is a lonely & often thankless job, & oftentimes the wrong people use its name to give themselves a pass for doing bad things. sometimes it just wants to feel appreciated, despite it all.

death is pansexual panromantic. do with that what u will.

be a nice person, pls & thank u.

[elliepassmore]

The Poison Season review

4/5 stars Recommended for people who like: fantasy, magic, multiple POVs, star-crossed lovers Big thanks to NetGalley, Inkyard Press, and the author for an ARC of this book in exchange for an honest review! This is a story about overcoming the things you've been told all your life as much as it is a quasi-pandemic story. The big message here is that, sometimes the authority figures in your life are wrong, sometimes they perpetuate bad things, and sometimes the stories that have been passed down need to be reexamined. Leelo has lived her whole life on the island of Endla. There, everyone knows everyone, and there are harsh penalties for doing something wrong. Leelo, however, is a bit softer than the people who surround her. She's unwilling to kill animals for hunting, let alone for the annual rituals Endla's Wandering Forest needs, and especially not the humans she'll need to be prepared to kill as a Watcher to protect Endla from outsiders. Leelo is already grappling with issues regarding her younger brother, Tate's, fate. As someone without magic, he's being sent off-island to protect him, but Leelo struggles to accept sending him away without any help (or sending him away at all). She's already in a position to question things on Endla, even as she mostly follows along with their traditions. She's really a character stuck between a rock and a hard place. For one, she genuinely believes that outsiders will try to harm/kill Endlans and the Wandering Forest. For another, her aunt, Ketty, and cousin, Sage, are fairly unsympathetic characters and aren't always the nicest, and her mother is chronically ill, making it hard for her to have anyone to turn to with her questions. It's interesting to see Leelo grow and change during the course of the book as she begins to question and unlearn some of the fundamental truths of Endla. Jaren, on the other hand, is a bit of a dreamer. It's easy for him to wander, even when he doesn't mean to, and it very quickly lands him in a rough spot. He ends up on Endla on accident, and under the secret care of Leelo. While he is one of the two narrators of the book, Jaren gets less narration time after arriving on Endla, likely due to mostly being inside a hut the entire time. He's able to find some stillness in his life during his time on the island, and seems to come into himself pretty well despite the isolation. Sage was...a very hard character to like. She has moments where she seems to be okay, but then she snaps back to being terrible. I almost want to feel bad for her since I know she's brainwashed and been indoctrinated into feeling/believing these things her whole life, but it's hard when she's so unlikable at the same time. I liked Isola, though we only got to see a little of her. Despite what she's gone through, she seems to have a good head on her shoulders. I wish we got to see more of her because she's a genuine friend to Leelo, and I think they both need more of that in their lives. Also, considering the role she and her parents play later on, I think it would've been nice to see more of her. The setting is mainly on Endla, but there are some scenes in the village across the poisonous lake as well. Endla is distinctly weird, and it's kind of weird how unweird Endlans find it. For one, the lake it's sitting in kills or destroys anything that touches it. For another, the forest on the island literally drinks blood and requires sacrifices and singing to keep it happy. The village across the lake seems to appreciate the creepy weirdness of Endla a lot more than the Endlans themselves, and there's a whole host of stories, true and not, about the island and the people who live there. Overall, this is a pretty good book. There were some moments where I felt it kind of dragged, but a lot of the story also occurs cognitively (i.e., in Leelo and Jaren's heads), so it kind of words out.

[monster-bait]

Anzan the Drider Head Canons; ko-fi request

My patrons got to read these a few days ago, courtesy of @1wren79′s ko-fi request! 

Warning for driders, if you’re arachnophobic, this is your chance to keep scrolling!

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(featured art by @ilustrariane)

Before finding his way to Ladybug, he’d not had the luxury of a stable home since his adolescence. Once they come of age, unmated males are turned out of their communities, like baby birds being pushed from the nest. The reason is two-fold: no self-respecting elder wants their own mates sniffing out the potent scent of a younger male’s sex pheromones, aka the olfactory equivalent of a lighted billboard advertising FREE YOUNG COCK, HELP YOURSELF. Potent, demanding...Ladybug literally goes cross-eyed from the smell of him! 😂 As those sorts of public advertisements of virility were less than appreciated by the community at large, the youngins have to go. The other angle of it: as Anzan tells Ladybug, marriages are a tightly brokered business. Securing a good match for one’s son or daughter requires both money and influence in an extremely competitive and harsh culture. Families begin working to secure these all-important, highly-coveted matches as soon as drider babies are born. To have a son reach mating age without having a secured marriage contract is a sign of poor standing, of limited resources, a family’s shame; shame they are eager to be rid of.

Anzan works in tech, as a network security specialist. Ladybug is *shocked* when she learns he has a lucrative career. Even though his rent was always paid on time, she never really considered where his money was coming from. (Like...did she think he was just in her attic lifting weights for six months?) ((to be fair, he was probably lifting weights part of the time...I mean, look at him!)) She feels rather foolish once they’re together as a couple—she took in a boarder to keep from losing her house, while said boarder could easily buy her house several times over. Despite his comfortable circumstances, he is very used to living on the fringes and going without.

Drider courting culture is all about gifts and tokens (even though matches are secured early, traditional courting customs are observed.) Drider culture is largely matriarchal, with the females at the top of the family. Daughters are prized, as bride prices can lift a family from one social stratum to another, and males are expected to show their worth through gifts during courting. Having someone to spoil is a *revelation.* Anzan has a hard time breaking out of the mindset that his role is to provide for Ladybug in every way—do the shopping, protect their home, procure anything she might need so that she does not have to leave the safety of their home (because again: mates are prized and jealously guarded.) He defers to her in almost everything. She thinks it’s because he feels insecure in their relationship and with living in the town, and that’s part of it, although it’s a much smaller part than she assumes. Deferring to the household female is simply the mindset with which he was raised, and having someone to buy gifts for makes him giddy. (As giddy as Anzan gets, which is still 😐.)

Conversely, the coven in which Ladybug was raised places more importance on acts of service. If you got my newsletter this past weekend, you know all about love languages! Ladybug is a bit bewildered by the gifts at first, again, because she has different assumptions about why he’s buying her things, but as their relationship progresses, their love languages begin to meld. His gifts become less material and *very* specific to her—a bouquet of wildflowers she’s not familiar with (she decides she doesn’t want to contemplate where he found them, and definitely doesn’t want to contemplate him trespassing at Applethorpe Manor in the middle of the night to pilfer their garden,) or a typically hard-to-find potion ingredient, and he begins to pick up on her desire for “acts of service”—taking on some of the restoration and repair work around the house, constructing her outdoor sabbath shelter and assisting in her ceremonies. She buys him a giant sampler of fancy coffees for their first Yule together, and he is tickled pink to be on the receiving end of a gift,  particularly one that he loves. (Tickled pink: 😐) His antics with the flowers are a Plot Point™ in an upcoming Monster Match revisit of Alder the ghillie dhu, which will be posting in the next week or so!)

He LOVES movies. Part of “living on the fringes” meant going without traditional entertainment, and now he can’t get enough. He’s always shocked by the twists and turns in thrillers, develops a passion for foreign vampire costume dramas, can’t get enough of human-nonhuman buddy comedies. He’s turned part of the cellar into a home theater, and Ladybug loves indulging him in snuggling at his side to watch True Crime Dramas and Lizardperson nature documentaries. Big giant drider boyfriend utterly spellbound by totally predictable romcoms? It's more likely than you think!

As you already know from the Wheel of the Year stories, he outwardly has a hard time showing his emotions, but it’s worth remembering that the series is from Ladybug’s POV. To him, humans are OVER THE TOP in their emotional displays, and he’s the normal one. His stoicism does tend to lead to communication breakdowns in their relationship, but it’s very much a two-way issue. In general, he’s getting better at letting Ladybug into his head, and under that stern countenance, there's a very wicked sense of humor hiding. He possesses a “the ends justify the means” streak a mile wide, and I think Ladybug would be horrified at the ease with which he was willing to commit petty crimes.

Driders are not readily accepted into mixed societies, as they’re thought of as being hyper aggressive, extremely calculating, and generally vicious...reputations that largely stem from the lengths families will go to in order to secure marriages for their offspring. As a result, those males who are turned out of their communities are set up for solitary lives as outsiders, with no expectations of ever being accepted anywhere. Cambric Creek is a very rare community for accepting driders within the city’s confines, and even then it’s only just. Anzan and Philomel are the only driders in Cambric Creek, and Anzan is the only one who lives in town. (Philomel lives on the outskirts of town, practically in the woods. As Lettie says in The Watchers: “she’s running from some man or her family.” Lettie’s not wrong.) The residents of Cambric Creek juuuuust barely tolerates their drider neighbors, and that’s with both driders keeping mostly to themselves. Anzan and Philomel are both rarely seen, they both work from home, and typically leave their homes only at night. Neither are nocturnal, but they’re not immune to the whispers and fear from their neighbors, and take pains to minimize contact with others.

I’ve tried to give Cambric Creek a glossy veneer: everyone talks about how inclusive and welcoming it is, the housing market is extrememly competitive, the schools are well-funded and well-regarded for inclusivity, everyone is crunchy granola impressed with themselves...but if you look beneath the surface, the residents have their fair share of prejudices and pre-conceived notions. Anzan and Ladybug appear in Parties, glimpsed by Tate during his very first visit to that made-up place Silva lives, Corduroy Falls (insert Silva’s eyeroll here), and his immediate reaction is CALL THE POLICE, THERE’S A DRIDER. They are *not* a common species to see out and about, so Anzan is very much a fish out of water in our story, and that impacts the way he lives, as his main concern is for Ladybug, how she’s perceived, and keeping her safe. Spirits save the fool who ever thinks to do her harm, for the assumption that driders are aggressive and violent is not completely unfounded.

The resident of Slade Manor only *thinks* she’s spying on the drider next door. From his vantage point in the attic, Anzan spies on her all day long 😂 He is stealthy and sneaky and snoopy, and knows more about the neighbors than any of them realize.

Thanks so much, @1wren79​, this was a lot of fun!

If you have a burning desire to know how Bodi the Lizardman shops for pants or how Tate takes his tea, all ko-fi contributions earn a headcanon for the character of your choosing! (Length/complexity based on ko-fi amount, ko-fi in header)

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

so, i was thinking about tate fitting into the yandere trope (more than he already does lol) and being extremely obsessed with reader and when he decides to tell her about his feelings she tells him she's already in love with someone else. tate doesn't accept that, cause if he cant have her, nobody else cant

oh, i had fun with this one. hope you like it :)

~~~

His Obsession

Tate Langdon x f!reader

warnings: murder, torture, hints of smut, hints of suicide, stalking, very bad obsession (as the title says lol), abusive relationship, manipulation, idk what else

summary: since the moment he saw you moving in, tate knew you were going to be his. no matter what.

word count: 2.5k

~~~

Tate watches as you flip through the pages of your magazine. You’re lying on your bed, music blasting in your ears. Even if he was visible to you, he doubts you’d even know he’s there. You’re too busy looking at pictures of clothes and celebrities. You hum along to the song playing, your voice soft like velvet. What once made his invisible heart race now makes him sick. He feels a tear roll down his cheek as he watches you. How can you be so content? How?

He’s been watching you for months, half of it without your knowledge. He knew the second he saw you moving in with your family he needed to have you. He remembers watching you unpack boxes, making what used to be his room now yours. Within the first week of you being there, he warned every other ghost in the house to stay away. You are his, only his.

The first time he revealed himself to you, he pretended to be the boy next door. He remembers the look on your face as if it were yesterday. You stared at him with a look that made him almost feel as though he were alive again. It was like heaven. You let him hang out with you in your room, the connection between the two of you forming immediately. He remembers how easily you opened up to him, and how within only a week you wanted to be his friend. It went just as he planned.

On Halloween he took you out to the beach, it was the best night of his life. He often thinks back to how that night went. The sound of the waves crashing on the shore as you opened your legs for him for the first time. You were so willing, it almost made him angry. But he knew it must’ve been hard to resist him for that month before Halloween, so he gave you a pass on it.

He remembers everything about that night. The way you told him he was the sweetest boy you’ve ever met, the way you looked at him as though he was the only boy in the world. Even though he was the one who kissed you, you didn’t object for one second. In fact, you were the one who laid back on the towel and started to slide your pants off. He remembers how gentle he was with you, how he almost let it slip that he was in love with you. The way you made him feel that night was a feeling he never felt before in life or death. You were so warm, so tight. He could barely contain himself. It was everything he had dreamed of and more.

After that night, his obsession only grew. Suddenly, almost every time the two of you saw each other, you had sex. He thought you were in love with him too, so he let it happen. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Each time you came on to him, he felt like he was floating. You wanted him. You wanted him to do things to you that were special, that made two people as close as they could be. It felt like an honor.

“Oh Tate,” you’d moan. “You’re perfect.”

He would look at you, no matter what position, and think about how lucky he was to be with you. You were the girl of his dreams, his obsessions. He loved you more than anyone. If he could, he would die for you, he would kill for you. Both without a second thought. Even now, he still would.

Right now, he wipes the tear that fell down his cheek and reveals himself. He walks over to you, tapping you lightly. You flinch, but once you realize it’s him you smile and take off your headphones, patting the spot next to you on the bed for him to lay.

“Have you been here long?” You ask.

Tate shakes his head and gets onto your bed. “No, not really.”

“Oh, that’s good. All I’ve done today is be lazy. I actually thought about calling you but then my mom gave me this to read,” you say. You turn your head and he watches as you really look at his face. “Were you crying?”

“No, just allergies,” he lies.

“Are you sure?”

He nods. “I uh just came here to talk about what you said last time we saw each other.”

“Yeah...” you say, your smile disappearing. “I’m really sorry for that, I just thought you should know about him.”

“Who is he?” Tate asks. He doesn’t know whether he wants to cry or kill somebody. Perhaps he wants both.

“Just a guy from one of my classes. I don’t really know how it happened, we just clicked. Don’t think this means I don’t want to stop talking though Tate, of course I still want to see you. I just think we should strictly only be friends, nothing like what we were doing,” you answer.

Tate scoffs. “What we were? I thought we were in love, I thought you were my girlfriend. You told me you loved me.”

“And I do love you Tate, just not in the way you love me. You’re like my best friend, of course I have love for you,” you reply, only making the anger build inside him.

“You don’t hook up with your best friend,” he says. He stands up, his anger taking control. He runs his hands through his hair, he needs to calm down. “You told me you needed me. You told me I was your perfect boy. How is that friendly?”

You sit up, looking ashamed. “I don’t know. Maybe I thought I was in love with you but then I met Jake.”

Tate takes a deep breath before climbing back on the bed and taking your hands in his. You look him in the eye, guilt all over your face. He can’t help but want to kiss you. He wants all of this to be some sick joke, he wants you to take it back. How could you have him convinced the two of you were in love for months then one day say that’s never what it was? How could a person do that? More specifically though, how could you do that to him?

“I’m sorry Tate,” you mumble. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“So, take it back y/n, forget about this guy and stay with me. I want you to be mine, forever, I can’t ever just be your friend,” he replies.

You shake your head, tears forming in your eyes. “That can’t happen, it would never work out.”

“Yes, it would. Y/n, I will never let anyone, or anything hurt you, I’ll love you till the end of time I swear,” he argues. He lifts one of his hands and gently wipes a tear from your face. “Please.”

“Tate...” you whisper.

He doesn’t think before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. He needs this, even if it’s the last time it ever happens. It’s no surprise that you don’t push him away, he knows you can’t help yourself either. Your lips move slowly against his. Both of you are crying now, your tears mix. But after only a few minutes he pulls away.

“You want me too, you know you do deep down,” he mumbles.

“It wouldn’t work, we’re not a good fit.”

“Your mind has been poisoned by that other guy; did you tell him about me?”

You nod.

“He just wants to turn you against me, he’s jealous of what we have,” Tate whispers.

His eyes are soft, tears still streaming down his face. He almost lets out a sob when you reach out and touch his face. Your sweet hands could never hurt a fly. He wraps his arms around you and pulls your body against his in a hug. It’s comforting, he loves how warm you are. He can hear your heart beat, it’s beautiful. He lies the two of you back down on the bed, his head resting on your chest.

“I can’t keep fighting without you,” he says.

“I know,” you reply. You move your fingers through his blond curls, he feels at peace.

“You make the bad thoughts go away, you make me feel normal,” he continues in a soft tone. “If you leave me, I don’t know what I’ll do.”

He looks up at you and sees how hard you’re trying not to cry. It pains him. He moves on top of you, his face hovering over yours. Your eyes are full of so many emotions, Tate can’t read them all. He leans down once again and kisses you. There are so many emotions flowing through the both of you and they all come out in this kiss. But this time, it becomes more than just a kiss.

Soon enough the two of you are doing what you do best, and even though he’s hurt Tate still can’t get enough of it. He slides inside of you gently, just like the first time. You drag your fingernails across his back, your head thrown back. Tate loves the expressions that form on your face, so fucking pretty.

He leans his head down so his lips are right next to your ear and whispers under his breath, “No one will ever make you feel as good as this, never.”

You don’t reply.

~~~

The first day you bring that guy over Tate watches darkly from the shadows. He hears what you say to him, the same things you used to say when the two of you were together. It makes him sick. He thought you changed your mind, but the day after everything went down you went back to your previous choice. You want Jake, not Tate. But he’s not going to let that happen.

When he goes to use the bathroom Tate strikes. He knocks him out with one swift blow to the head and drags his body down the stairs and into the basement. He ties him up in a chair and takes his phone, quickly texting you saying he had to go home early. Tate knows you won’t go down into the basement; it’s always scared you. He’s glad.

The guy, Jake, wakes up after ten minutes. He starts screaming, but his mouth is duct taped shut. He wiggles in the chair, it amuses Tate. He moves so fast the chair almost falls over, that’s when Tate emerges from the shadows. Jake stares at him, his eyes wide.

“I bet you’re wondering why you’re here right now,” Tate starts, Jake tries to rip out of the duct tape. “I can understand wanting her, I want her too. She’s the prettiest, sweetest, most wonderful girl I think either of us will ever know.”

He walks close to Jake, his dark eyes locked on him. “Only one of us can have her though and it’s going to be me. You see, once she starts to realize you aren’t returning her calls anymore, she’s going to be upset, and she’ll run back to me so fast you’ll just be a bad memory.”

Jake squirms in the chair as Tate walks back into the darkness. He returns within seconds though, a bloody stained hammer in his hand. The boy in the chair screams into the duct tape, it almost makes Tate smile. He walks to him again, stopping only a foot away.

“She’s mine, and you’re going to die with that thought in your head.”

With that, Tate starts to smash the hammer into the other boy's head, the sound of his skull cracking like music to his ears. He doesn’t go too hard though, no. He wants him to suffer. He smashes his kneecaps, his elbows, all while the poor boy is still alive. But when he gets too close to being dead Tate stops and drags his body outside, being careful so you won’t see. He throws the boy's body over the fence into Constance's yard, his spirit won’t even be able to reach you.

After he’s done, he cleans himself up and returns into the house, a smirk on his lips. You’re his again, he knows it.

~~~

“Tate, can I ask you something,” you speak.

The two of you are in your bed again, you’re lying on his chest. It’s been a week since he killed your boyfriend, and so far, he thinks he’s gotten away with it. The boy’s face was too mutilated to identify at first sight, and besides that Tate hasn’t heard his identification on the news or from you. He thinks it may be his perfect crime.

“Anything,” he says after a few seconds.

You sit up, covering your chest with the blanket. You look nervous. “Um, I know this may sound crazy but, did you kill Jake?”

“What?” Tate replies. How did you find out?

“That body in Constance’s yard, it was Jake,” you answer.

“Why would you assume it was me? Of course, I didn’t kill him that would be crazy,” he lies, pretending to be offended at your accusation.

“You were the only one who had a problem with him Tate, and you live right near my house. Listen I won’t- I won’t turn you in just tell me the truth,” you explain.

Tate sits up too and looks you in the eye. “Why does it matter? You’re back with me y/n, and since he’s been gone there haven’t been any issues between us. I thought you were happy.”

You scoff and get out of bed. “Tate you killed an innocent boy!”

“So what? We are happier without him; we are happier together. Whether I killed him or not those are the facts.”

“Are you serious?” You ask, a horrified expression on your face. “Did you do this so I would fuck you again?”

“No!” he exclaims, getting out of bed on the other side. “I did it so we could be together, I did it because I love you y/n. I love you way more than that jerk ever could.”

You pull on a t-shirt and underwear before heading toward the door. “This can’t be happening.”

Tate quickly pulls on his boxers and follows you. You’re about to open the door but he slams it shut with his hand. He towers over you from behind. He can see your hands are shaking, you’re afraid of him. He can’t have that.

“I’m not going to hurt you y/n, I would never hurt you,” he says softly.

“You’re a killer.”

“You love me, and deep down you’ve known what I’m capable of.”

You begin to cry. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“You aren’t stupid,” he tries to comfort you. He wraps his arms around your torso in a tight hug.

“Yes, I am, I fell in love with a monster,” you mumble.

Tate holds you close, his lips kissing the top of your head. It’s all coming together, he thinks. He knows you’re going to kill yourself soon, you can’t handle this. Once you’re dead he’ll finally be able to tell you the truth of this house. But by then you won’t be able to get out.

If he can’t have you, no one else will.

~~

a/n:

why did i just realize this can kinda be a prequel to a cruel punishment???

[sillyrabbit81]

The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood - Part Six

Series Summary: Lori "Babycakes" Tate swore she would never date a biker but when her life is in danger, she is put under the protection of a small club known as The Fallen Wolves Brotherhood. She suddenly finds herself attracted to not one, but five bikers.

A reverse harem, biker AU.

Part Six Summary: Syverson has an unusual request for Marshall which leads him to a decision that could change the fate of the Brotherhood forever.

Pairing: Captain Syverson x OFC, Walter Marshall x OFC, Mike x OFC, Geralt x OFC, August Walker x OFC

Word Count: Approx. 3.4k

Warnings:

Series Warnings: Reverse harem, age gap (OFC 23, ages range from 23 to mid 40s), oral sex (male and female receiving), unprotected p in v sex, anal sex, group sex, masturbation, praise kink, mentions of body fluids, drug use, recreational drinking, sex work, criminal activities, mention of death, violence, use of weapons, mentions of war, mentions of abuse, angst, fluff, probably a lot more that I will add as they come up.

Part Six Warnings: Smutty thoughts, angst, fluff.

Authors Note: Thanks as always to my lovely BBFs (Best Beta's forever) @henryobsessed and @nashibirne. Its been a while since I've written Walter and I've never written his POV so I hope you all enjoy it.

Divider made by me. Edited by me, there will be errors.

Masterlist

Parts Masterlist

Part Five Part Seven

Marshall

When Sy brought her out of the room with his arm around her, both of them were flushed and looked a little tousled. For half a second I felt a stabbing pain of jealousy and I wanted to look away. Then I saw him run the back of his finger down her cheek with a tenderness I had never seen in the Brother. The moment appeared so private and so personal, like it had been when she slept in his arms, it seemed wrong to look at them.

You’ve gone soft Walter, I told myself. But I felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth. 

Despite all of it, I was happy for him because I hoped he was going to get a chance to make up for some of the mistakes of his past and move through them. He wasn’t all the way healed yet. Like all of us, his scars, his pain, and his trauma ran deep. I spoke to him truthfully last night; he deserved her as much as any of us arseholes did. I wouldn’t stop him and I would hurt any of the Brothers who got in his way. 

I glanced at Walker, yes even him.

Although I didn’t hold the same level of animosity against Walker as Sy did, I understood their rivalry. They were both capable leaders, both could have been president, but in the end, Walker had connections that Sy didn’t have. It wasn’t just Sy being put out that he had to bow to Walker’s leadership though; Walker had never let Sy forget his loss, throwing his position in his face for years until Geralt had a word with him. Sometimes I think we all fucked up and should have made Geralt Pres, but Geralt wouldn’t hear of it.

Sy helped her put her jacket on, her helmet and gloves. Walker revved his Dyna impatiently and Sy threw daggers at him as he languidly got on his bike. His face was mostly covered by his helmet but I could imagine the smirk on Sy’s face as Lori climbed on behind him and held him tight. As soon as she was settled, Walker took off and Mike, who was cruising in the front with him, had to light his back tire up to catch him.

Shaking my head, I looked over at Geralt who was mirroring my gesture. Unspoken, we knew something had to be done about the situation between Sy and Walker before it got way out of hand.

We stopped for lunch at a truck stop. The food was awful but the bathrooms were clean and that made up for a lot. Lori, Sy, Mike and I sat in a booth together while Walker and Geralt sat in another.

Mike talked incessantly, but she seemed to like it, smiling and giggling through his constant chatter. Sy didn’t seem to mind that Mike kept monopolising her attention and looked at the two of them like an indulgent uncle, happy for the younger ones to be getting along. 

Sy kept throwing me looks however, like he was trying to work something out in his head and thought maybe I’d have the answers. 

At one point Lori leaned into Sy and he put his arm around her shoulders and kissed her temple. I saw her close her eyes and it looked like she shivered with pleasure. I squeezed my eyes shut and looked away, avoiding eye contact with both of them until food arrived.

I was in my own world as I ate, trying not to think when I realised everyone was quiet and looking at me.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,” I said, putting my almost finished burger down and taking a sip of my coke.

Lori smiled at me while Mike scowled. “Babycakes asked if you ever played football.”

“You mean American Football?” I asked.

Lori nodded. “What other kind is there?”

I raised my eyebrows.

“Here we go,” Sy said, chuckling. “You’ve opened a can o’ worms here, sugar.”

Deciding to take it easy on her, I forewent the explanation of “football” versus “soccer” and answered in the spirit of her question. “No. I played rugby.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that. It’s like football, but no helmets, right?”

“There’s more to it than that, but yes.”

“So you’re English?”

I let myself smile. “What gave me away?”

She laughed softly, dropping her eyes a moment and she tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear as if she were embarrassed by stating the obvious. Jesus, she was pretty and her throaty laugh warmed me enough that for a second I imagined what her deep mahogany waves would look like fanned over my pillow like a corona as she threw her head back with a moan.

Mike interrupted then, inserting himself back into the conversation and I was relieved when her attention was diverted. But every so often Lori would look over at me and smile. Sy kept throwing those pondering glances and again, I wondered what he was up to.

After we ate, Sy handed Lori over to Mike and lit a cigarette as he called me aside. I lit a smoke myself and followed him out of earshot.

“Walker is sending me on a job when we get back,” Sy said with no preamble.

I was only slightly surprised. I took a long drag on my smoke. “Want me to go instead?”

“It’s a logistics job, so it’s got to be me.”

“How long are you going for?”

“Walker says two days to a week, so who knows. I haven’t seen the brief yet.”

“What about her?”

I took the risk to look at Lori. She was sitting on the curb outside the diner having a cigarette with Mike who was telling her a story, his arms moved wildly. She was bloody breathtaking with her hair all mussed up from her helmet, her long legs bent with an elbow resting on her knee and hand covering her face a moment as she laughed at whatever Mike was telling her. 

Sy took a deep breath. “That’s what I want to talk to you about.”

My eyebrows shot up. “What do you need, Brother?”

Sy sucked in another deep lungful of his cigarette and stared at me. His eyes squinted almost shut as he looked towards the sun behind me and blew the smoke out again before he spoke as if he were still making up his mind what he should say. 

“I wantcha to take care of her,” he finally said.

I felt my brows draw down low as I tried to process what he was asking of me. “You’re gonna have to be clearer than that, Sy.”

He sniffed and glanced over at the girl before he looked at the ground. “Just be there for her. Keep her occupied, away from Walker.”

“Fuck,” I swore under my breath.

“I know what I’m askin’…”

“No, you fucking don’t,” I said harshly. “You’re setting me up to betray you, my Brother.”

Squinting again, Sy looked me in the eyes. “It ain’t betrayal if you have permission.”

I blinked. Completely floored, I stared at Sy my mouth working several times before I was able to speak. “What the fuck are you talking about? She isn’t a whore to just pass around.”

“Fuck, I shoulda asked Geralt,” Sy ran a hand over his close cropped hair, “He was the one who put the damn idea in my head in the first place.” 

He turned away in frustration and I grabbed hold of his arm.

“Wait a minute. What did Geralt say to you?”

“That she could choose more than one of us.”

I took a step back. “Fucking hell.”

“Look, I know we all want her—”

“Syverson—”

“Let me finish, God damn it,” Sy growled. I put my arms up and he continued. “We all want her. Geralt’s of the mind she can have all of us if she wants to, I don’t doubt Mike would go for that too. But, Mike’s too young to stand up to Walker. It’ll still be up to her. I ain’t sayin’ ya gotta force yourself on her or nothin’. Just give her the option.”

“So, this is all about Walker? Are you so fucked up that you’d give up a chance at happiness, just to spite Walker?” I shook my head. He can’t be fucking serious. “She could choose Walker anyway, you know? Then where would you be? Sharing her with him?”

“He only wants her to fuck with me,” Sy growls. “The rest of you, I see it in your eyes, you care about her the same as me. This ain’t a competition for us. And you’re my Brothers, and… Fuck.” Sy grabbed me by the back of the neck, drawing our faces together until he was looking me in the eye. “And I trust you with everythin’, with my fuckin’ life, with hers. Ya feel me?” His jaw jutted forward, and his grip on my neck tightened. “If you’re who she wants, if any of y’all are who she wants, or if she wants us all, then I’ll do it for her and I’ll do it for you. Ya get it?”

Fuck, he was serious. He was actually considering this shite. And not just considering it, he seemed hellbent on it; his eyes burned with a passion I’d rarely seen from him before. 

I put my hands on his shoulders. “Alright, Sy. Alright, my Brother. Relax, okay? She’s looking this way.”

“Fuck.” He let me go and took a few steps back, making sure not to look in her direction. “Is she comin’ over?”

“No.”

“Good.” Sy rolled his shoulders a few times, releasing built-up tension. “So what do you think?”

“I think you and Geralt are living in some kind of fantasy if you think this could possibly lead to anything other than disaster.”

“I thought so too, but…” Sy shrugged, “I don’t know. I still don’t wanna leave, but knowin’ that you’d be with her takes the edge off. Something about it feels right.”

“Syverson, I—”

“Do me a solid and just think about it, alright? For me, Brother.”

I nodded, still too shocked to really argue with him. Sy returned the gesture, turned abruptly on his heels, and walked swiftly over to Lori. He squatted in front of her, resting his chin on her bent knees. Without looking at him, she reached out and scratched at his beard, I could almost hear him purr in response.

He doesn’t mean it. There’s no way. He thinks he does, that’s what it is. He’s so fucking narrowminded when it to Walker that he’d rather see himself share her with another man than risk the chance that he’d lose her to Walker.

“You gonna do it?” Geralt spoke from behind.

“Do what exactly? Throw myself at my Brother’s girl, pretending it's ok cause he wants me to?” I spat bitterly. “How could you put this lunacy into his fucking head?” 

“He’s got no claim on her.”

Slack jawed, I gestured to Sy, still on his haunches in front of Lori, he still hadn't taken his eyes off her.

“Even if he hasn’t fucked her, look at him. He’s a bloody lovesick puppy. I can’t take that away from him.”

Geralt put a hand on my shoulder and made me look at him. “You won’t be. She looks at him the same way.”

“Then what’s the point? She’s made her choice.”

“She looks at all of us the same way.”

I looked at her, really looked at the way she was staring at Mike. Then her eyes drifted to Geralt then slowly to mine, and she smiled when she saw I was looking at her. Fuck, Geralt was right, she’s attracted to all of us.

“I need to think about this.”

“Don’t take too long, or I’ll move in myself.” Geralt said and grinned. “I will anyway. But I’ll let you have the first shot.” I looked at him sharply and his grin turned into a laugh. “That look tells me, you’ve made your mind up, you just haven’t told yourself yet.”

I grunted. I lit another cigarette craving another hit of that antsy rush as the nicotine hit my blood stream. Geralt patted my shoulder, leaving me with a hum and a sinking feeling in my chest.

Pizza was ordered and somehow we all ended up in Lori’s room eating and knocking back a few beers. Except for Walker and his absence was noted.

“Is he always left out or is it because of me?” Lori asked me quietly. 

She was sitting between Sy and I against the headboard of the bed, while Mike and Geralt sat cross legged across from us. The pizza was long gone and I was on my third beer. I should have stopped at one, but after my talk with Sy earlier, I needed the extra buzz.

“I can see there’s tension between Sy and Walker and I don’t want to make it worse,” Lori shrugged, “I know how shit can go when there’s issues between members and it usually isn’t pretty.”

“He could be here if he wanted to. Walker often chooses his own company.”

“Still, I feel kind of bad for him.” She dropped her head a little, scratching at the label of her beer bottle.

“Don’t worry about it, Lori,” I said, lowering my own head to catch her eye. “The issues between Sy and Walker go way back. If it wasn’t you, they’d argue about the colour of the sky.”

She gave me a half smile and nodded before turning her attention back to the guys.

I took some time to really observe what was going on here. The dynamic was oddly normal. Lori slotted into the group easily, almost like she’d always meant to be with us. It wasn’t exactly the same as it was when we first became Brothers, even Mike had changed that dynamic, but like him she enhanced us, as if the four of us had been waiting for him and now her. 

If you had told me a month ago that a woman would come into our lives that we all developed feelings for, I would never have imagined this scene. I would have envisioned a growing animosity between us, a heightened level of competition, of each of us trying to outdo each other for her attention. But again, oddly, it was the opposite. She was bringing us together in a way that I thought would be impossible. It hardly made sense. It seemed to go against every instinct I had and yet… Could it work? Could we all be with her? Would it be enough for us?

The only spanner in the works was Walker. And really, that was an issue for Sy and Walker to work out. Lori didn’t begin the animosity between them, but her presence has accelerated its cancerous growth.

And she had noticed. She was aware of the way Walker held himself aloof from the rest of us sometimes. He was as much my Brother as the others, my loyalty to him was as strong but there had always been a distance between him and the rest of us. For a brief moment, I entertained the possibility that she could be the key to unlocking his final walls, to bring him closer to the rest of us and finally settling the futile peacocking that went on between him and Sy.

But that was a ridiculous thought and I was getting way ahead of myself. 

I finished the last of my beer and caught Geralt’s eye. He seemed to be thinking the same thing I was and dipped his head slightly. 

“Right,” I said, climbing off the bed, “Come on Mike, let's get some rest before our shifts start.”

Mike opened his mouth seemingly in protest, but I gave him a firm look and his mouth snapped shut. Mike glanced at Sy and Lori and had enough sense to yawn and ungracefully stretch. 

“Yeah, I’m a little tired.”

We silently tidied up the empty beer bottles and pizza boxes and when we were finished Lori looked at us a little awkwardly.

“Well, goodnight,” she said.

Mike said goodbye first, giving her a kiss on the cheek and a hug, not as flirtatious as he had yesterday, but he whispered something in her ear that made her smile and her cheeks warm as she stepped out of his embrace.

“Night Geralt,” she said softly, perhaps even a little shyly.

“Lori,” he said simply pausing briefly to nod his head in her direction as he walked past her and followed Mike out the door.

Then she turned her attention to me and wrapped her arms around my waist. I think I hummed as I returned her embrace. I could feel the rise and fall of her chest, the soft tickle of her warm breath on my neck and my eyes slid shut on their own accord. She stood on her toes and suddenly my nose was in her hair, her fragrance unavoidable, delicate and intoxicating in its fresh, sweet, citrusy aroma.

“Good night, Marshall,” she whispered.

My heart was thumping harder than my Fat Boy at idle as I let her go. I held her at arms length by the shoulders. She was beautiful. She had an easy, unpretentious, girl next door sexuality that made me want to crawl inside her and make her filthy. 

Fuck.

As if her skin was suddenly a hotplate, I let her go.

“Night, Babycakes,” I said. My tone was a little deep, but at least it didn’t waver, “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Her brows furrowed, “Aren’t you on duty tonight?”

“We’ll be standing watch outside your room,” I explained. Geralt had a word with Walker and it was agreed that Sy would stay the night with Lori and the rest of us would guard the door outside. How Geralt convinced Walker to allow it, I’ll never know.

“Sy?” Lori said, turning to him.

“I was going to stay with you, like last night,”

Lori looked at the floor and her cheeks flushed slightly. 

“If you don’t want me too, I’m sure I can…”

“No, no,” Lori said quickly, “I’d like you to stay.”

Sy grinned and cupped Lori’s cheeks, tilting her face up to his.

Not wanting to intrude on what was undoubtedly about to take place, I left quickly. However, Sy surprised me by following me outside after telling Lori he’d be back in a minute.

Mike was smoking and Geralt was leaning against the wall, their heads both lifting as Sy and I came out.

“Aren’t you staying with Babycakes or did she kick your old ass ou–Ouch!” Mike grunted. 

Geralt smirked as he dropped his arm by his side and Mike threw him a murderous look as he rubbed the back of his head. I scoffed. If Mike only knew what Sy and Geralt had in mind.

Sy shook his head, and ignored Mike. 

Geralt smirked and threw an arm around the kid. “Come on, little Brother,” he said and took him off to his room. 

When they were out of earshot, Sy spoke to me in a low voice as he pulled a cigarette out of his packet, “Did ya think about what I asked?”

“Yeah.” I said. 

“And?”

“I’ll do it,” I sighed.

Sy took a deep breath and let it out roughly. “Thank you, Brother.”

I crossed my arms across my chest. “Don’t fucking thank me yet. What are you going to tell Lori?”

“I already told her, if she needs anythin’ and I ain’t around she should go to you.”

“I think you should tell her more than that.”

Sy took a long drag on his cigarette before crushing it beneath his foot. “Yeah. I’ll speak to her.”

He stood for a while, flicking his zippo between his fingers. Mike and Geralt had left, no doubt going to get some rest before their shifts began.

“Hey, man. Maybe you should spend some time with her tonight,” Sy said. “Let her get comfortable with ya before I leave tomorrow. I can take an hour of your shift, wait here and—”

“No Brother,” I interrupted. He was really serious. Part of me thought he’d take it all back once he realised what he agreed to and what it would mean for him. “You don’t know when you’ll be back.”

Sy’s eyes were drawn to the motel door. “Yeah,” he agreed.

I patted his shoulder. “Go on, she’ll be waiting.”

[youcouldmakealife]

Owen/Willy; substitute

For the prompt: We all wanna know what it’s “Complicated” means, Owen Thomson!!!! No, but for real, in all seriousness, I’m super excited for their story to happen- I’ll take anything in either of their POVs!

Tate was brought up to revere hospitality, sharing what’s yours, making places home. Carpools, billets, rooms shared on the road, long bus rides shoulder to shoulder, coaches who took you aside and asked if everything was okay away from the rink, cities that embraced you like you’d always been theirs.

Which is all to say, Owen’s sitting alone at a table, nose in his phone, which is unacceptable for a guest of the team. And by bringing him, Money has made him the guest of the team. And then left him alone on his phone. Unacceptable. Tate would have thought Money knew better.

“Lost Money, there?” Tate asks, sliding into the vacant seat in front of him.

“Money?” Owen asks, blinking up at Tate. “Oh. Joey’s talking to Scratch.”

Owen gestures loosely, to where the Tweedles are standing at the bar, deep in conversation about something. “And I’m trying to find someone to fill in for trivia night on Monday.”

“You do trivia nights?” Tate asks.

“Free drinks if you win,” Owen says. “First rule of grad school is always knowing where the free stuff is.”

Speaking of —

“I’m going for another round, you want one?” Tate asks. It’s the least he can do to make up for Money’s uncharacteristic rudeness.

“I didn’t mean—“ Owen says.

“I know,” Tate says. “Vodka soda, splash of cran? Or is that just you going with Joey’s order?”

“No, it’s fine,” Owen says. “I like it.”

Tate waits.

“Gin and tonic,” Owen says. “Thanks.”

Tate gets two gin and tonics. A good rule: if you don’t have strong preferences, and Tate doesn’t, drink what the person you’re with is drinking. Easier for the bartender, easier for the bill, especially if you’re splitting, easier to make sure you’re drinking at the same pace. Typically with the Scouts that means beer, the cheaper the better, so gin and tonic is a good palate cleanser. One day someone’s going to explain to him why so many of them go straight to the Budweiser or Coors Light. Probably not to his satisfaction, however.

“Find anyone for trivia night?” Tate asks when he returns with the drinks, but judging by the way Owen’s frowning down at his phone, he doesn’t think so.

“I can’t think of anyone to fill in,” Owen says. “Greta was the only one who knows anything about sports, and they always throw some of those questions in. If it was any other subject I’d know someone, but — ugh.”

“Sports,” Tate says with a scoff, and Owen laughs, before looking at him consideringly. Tate has a feeling Owen’s about to enlist his help as an emergency trivia backup, assuming Tate has satisfactory sports knowledge, being that he plays a sport for a living. Which, Tate must admit, is a fair assumption. He’s probably more knowledgeable than the average person.

"Joey says you know more about sports than anyone he knows,” Owen says. “He says you’re practically sports almanac, you can throw out so many statistics.”

“Joey makes it a point not to know many people,” Tate says. He remembers numbers easily, that’s all. He was the same with remembering dates in history class, though sports related numbers are more interesting to him, so he seeks them out as much as he retains them.

Tate’s not even the most knowledgeable on the Scouts: that title goes to Lurch, who follows practically every sport under the sun, and can recite every team to win the Stanley Cup in reverse chronological order, then go on and do the Grey Cup to top it off. One very sloppy night he rattled through them like he was reciting the alphabet: what was already an impressive skill was even more impressive considering he was weaving drunk when he did it. And the constant stream of boos and mockery of Canadian football when he started on the Grey Cup could not have helped.

“My expertise is mostly in hockey,” Tate says. “Well, and football. A little bit of baseball and basketball. Some tennis. And soccer, but just the basics.”

“That sounds like knowing a lot about sports,” Owen says.

“I know almost nothing about cricket?” Tate says. “I’m about to join your trivia team, aren’t I.”

“Only if you want to,” Owen says, but he gives Tate a hopeful look. “It’s not a game day; I just checked.”

“Fine, but if I screw up a cricket question you can’t get mad at me,” Tate says.

“I won’t expect any cricket answers from you,” Owen says. “Is that a yes?”

Tate really can’t disappoint that hopeful face. He doesn’t have the heart.

“Okay,” he says.

“Yes!” Owen says, doing this goofy little fist pump, and Tate smiles down at the table.

“Out of my seat, fucko,” Money says, with a lot of entitlement for someone who abandoned his guest for the dude he sees every single day.

Tate snorts, and stands. “Talk to you later, Owen?” he says.

“For sure,” Owen says. “Thanks for the drink.”

Tate waves a dismissive hand, scans the bar. No one’s alone except for Scratch, who’s at a table by the bar with an empty pint glass and a thundercloud face. Tate goes to see what that’s about.

“Scratch,” Tate says.

Scratch grunts, and Tate follows his eyes to see Money gesticulating, the back of Owen’s head as he tips it back in a laugh.

“Get a grip, Scratchy,” Tate says. “Money’s allowed to have two whole friends.”

“Fuck off,” Scratch mutters, and Tate rolls his eyes when he keeps frowning at Money and Owen.

“What’re you drinking, big boy?” Tate asks, and Scratch brightens up a bit. It doesn’t matter if someone’s a broke grad student or a man making three quarters of a million dollars: people like free stuff.

“Banquet,” Scratch says.

Fucking Coors, Tate swears. He sighs and goes to get pints for both of them.

“Want to talk about it?” Tate asks when he returns.

“Nope,” Scratch says.

“Okay,” Tate says. Owen’s texted him the time and place, and Tate puts it in his calendar, sends Owen a smile and a thumbs up so he knows Tate’s received it, Scratch scowling at Owen over Tate’s head as Owen sends him a smiley back.

[asterekmess]

I can’t sleep, thank you insomnia. Do you have any sterek fics you absolutely love and read when you’re having a bad day??

I do! The catch: They're pretty much all my own fics. XD I just find my own stuff so familiar, and since it's mine, it's always to my taste. There ARE a couple that aren't mine though, so I'll try to give you a lil list:

1. Lock All the Doors Behind You - @entanglednow Rating: Mature WC: 25.9k Tags: Feral Behavior, Violence, Aftermath of Torture, Protectiveness, Hurt/Comfort Summary: He has no idea what you're supposed to say when you find one of your...werewolf acquaintances, completely out of their mind, growling like they're about to see what your insides taste like. There's no handbook for this. Stiles is thinking that if he survives he might write one. My notes: I know that this one is very commonly suggested, and I can't even say why I read it on off-days, but I do read it. Rereading fics isn't something I usually do, unless they're mine, but this one just has...I don't even know. There's a certain level of respect Stiles has for Derek that I appreciate, even though there's also plenty of teasing? 2. Too Long To the Weekend - @dizzyredhead Rating: Explicit WC: 5.2k Tags: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Smut Summary: When Derek agreed to show Stiles around Berkeley, he was thinking of Stiles at fifteen, his childhood friend, the son of his mother's best friend.

He was not prepared for Stiles, all grown up. My Notes: This one is short, sweet, and it's just a lighthearted, fluffy piece that doesn't make me feel too much, you know? It's not super intense, it's just a gentle, nice experience. 3. Why Can't You? - Me Rating: Teen & Up WC: 3.6k Tags: Family Feels, Hurt Stiles, Emotionally Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Good Alpha Derek Hale, Pre-Slash, Mentioned Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, but it was an accident, Magical Stiles Stilinski, BAMF Stiles, One Shot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Sheriff Stilinski Doesn't Know. Canon-Typical Violence Summary:

Now. This was happening now, and he couldn’t be less prepared.

-

After a long night, things between Stiles and his father come to a head.

My notes: I like rereading this one because of the comfort, because it's nice to see Stiles feel raw and vulnerable, and to have Derek soothe that somehow, even if it's just by being near him. 4. The One You Choose - Me Rating: Mature WC: 13.4k Tags: Post-Season/Series 03B, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depressed Stiles Stilinski, Touch-Starved Stiles Stilinski, Hurt/Comfort, Stiles Stilinski is Pushed Out of the Pack, Derek Hale is a Softie, Sharing a Bed, Nightmares, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Beta Derek Hale, True Alpha Derek Hale, Frottage, Scent Marking, Scenting, Stiles is a Year Older Than Scott, because I said so, Post-Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, I have too many tags, Mentioned Sheriff Stilinski Summary: Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours. My Notes: Again, with the liking the comfort. Having someone's hurts soothed always kinda soothes my own hurts. 5. Easy - Me Rating: Explicit WC: 3.1k Tags: Getting Together, Fluff, Literal Sleeping Together, Morning Sex, Blow Jobs, Derek Hale is Good at Feelings, Stiles Stilinski is Good at Feelings, One Shot, I've never done a one shot before, I don't know what other tags to add Summary: A late night visit is nothing unusual, but something is different about this one. My Notes: This is another one that's not too intense, it's just gentle and soft. 6. All Roads Lead To Home - Me Rating: Mature WC: 42.7k Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - High School, Growing Up, Minor Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes, Minor Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Minor Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura, Minor Derek Hale/Paige, Minor Derek Hale/Heather, Minor Jennifer Blake/Derek Hale, Mentioned Braeden/Derek Hale, mentioned Derek Hale/Jordan Parrish, mentioned Derek Hale/others, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Warning: Kate Argent, Abusive Relationships, Bad Parent Talia Hale, Good Peter Hale, Aromantic Isaac Lahey, Demisexual Stiles Stilinski, Bisexual Derek Hale, Minor Allison Argent/Malia Tate, so much swearing, Literally everyone cries at least once, lesbian Allison Argent, Miscommunication, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending, POV Stiles Stilinski Summary: Stiles Stilinski moved to Beacon Hills in the fifth grade, ten years old and still raw from his mother’s death. My Notes: This one is longer, and it's got a bit more of a growing up, rollercoaster type feelings thing. Has some sad bits for a chance at borrowing the catharsis, and some happy bits that soothe the ache, plus some nostalgia layered over top. Again, I know how it sounds, that I mostly just reread my own works on bad days, but eh, it works for me. I hope one of these might make you feel better, and that you can get some sleep!

[graktung]

Playlists masterlist :)

mostly for characters but i’ll link them all :))

i’ll link my spotify here

Favourites

sane after dark

rockstars girlfriend

Marvel

100 year old cinnamon roll (a bucky barnes playlist)

falling in love with bucky barnes

smurf (a loki laufeyson playlist)

god of hammers (a thor odinson playlist)

hidden paradise (a wakanda playlist)

queens (a peter parker playlist)

wiggly-woo hands (a wanda maximoff playlist)

ninja (a natasha romanoff playlist)

god herself (a peggy carter playlist)

big monstor (a bruce banner/hulk playlist)

leader of the ants (a scott lang playlist)

genius billionaire playboy philanthropist (a tony stark playlist)

capsicle (a steve rogers playlist)

bird dude (a sam wilson playlist)

the better iron (a pepper potts playlist)

speedy (a pietro maximoff playlist)

wannabe katniss everdeen (a clint barton playlist)

build a bear plus a tree (a gotg playlist)

knock-off iphone (a vision playlist)

avengers assemble

one world, one people (a karli morgenthau/flag smashers playlist)

1940’s mcu

Star Wars

Flyboy (a poe dameron playlist)

wannabe master (an anakin skywalker playlist)

Teen Wolf

mischief stilinski (a stiles stilinski playlist)

mostly red marker (a malia tate playlist)

the hot girl (a scott mccall playlist)

sour wolf (a derek hale playlist)

teen wolf type of vibe

Criminal minds

boy genius (a spencer reid playlist)

falling in love with Spencer Reid

chocolate kisses (based on this - all creds to writer, i absolutely love the story)

pov: i’m a profiler

Randoms

a lover’s tragedy (a romeo & juliet playlist)

the og cottagecore lesbians (a george & lennie playlist)

monster killers (a love and monsters playlist)

Vibes

spooky season

crying in the middle of the night

choreo

throwbacks

sunsets

in love

abc

theatre kid/disney

a playlist for 8 year old me

80’s jams

power

all eyes on me

ambience

villains have more fun

instrumentals

Monthly

Liv’s playlist: Oct

Liv’s playlist: Nov

Liv’s playlist: Dec

Liv’s playlist: Jan

Liv’s playlist: Feb

Liv’s playlist: Mar

Liv’s playlist: Apr

Liv’s playlist: May

Liv’s playlist: June

[gublersmessss]

Fix It | S.R.

summary — a stupid, stupid little reaction from you is how the day starts. when spencer leaves for work, you leave to get out of the house, right into the wrong arms. it isn’t until a phone call is made to garcia that they even realizes you’re missing...

warnings — some language, angst, mentions of blood, mentions of death (unsub death), mentions/usage of drugs (xanax, forced.) Some hurt feelings & just a touch of fluff. Mostly angst.

word count — 3.1k

listen to — you broke me first by tate mcrae & no time to die by billie eilish

a/n — ah my first oneshot on this blog! enjoy & my inbox is open!

You groaned. There’d been a sharp, throbbing pain in your left temple for the past twenty-five minutes, driving you up the wall. Standing still for a moment waiting for the vertigo to subside, you grab your bottle of ibuprofen off the kitchen ledge. You popped them into your mouth before taking a quick swig of the icy water in your water bottle.

You heard papers shuffling behind you, knowing it was Spencer. You’d been dating Spencer for about a year now, and only just moved in together. The small apartment you shared was extremely cozy, the only downfall was the heater had been broken the entire time of living there, leaving the winter months brutal. Luckily for you, Spencer loved his scarves and blankets, letting you take them whenever you needed.

His hair was partially in his face, and you watched as his nimble fingers came up to push a piece behind his ear as he was hunched over, trying to straighten out some papers in his satchel. You eyed him as he straightened his spine back up, looking at you with those soft hazel eyes.

“You alright?” He asks, rubbing his hands together. You saw his eyebrows furrow with concern as they ran over your face. You nod and turn away from him, taking one more ibuprofen.

“How many was that y/n?” He asks again, this time his voice a little higher, still waiting for your words. He inches closer to you as you put your water bottle down. You placed your hand on your head as the throb continued, harder this time.

“I’m fine, Spencer! Okay?! Is that what you wanted?!” You said, a lot ruder than you intended. You hadn’t intended it at all. You saw his face fall, and it broke your heart on impact. He had an open mouthed frown across his lips and he nodded, putting one hand on the opening of his satchel, one hand on the strap. He nodded softly and looked down at the mismatched socks that peeked out from under his pants.

“I got called in. There’s some papers I have to sign from Hotch. I’m sure I’ll be home by dinner time.” He tells you with a quieter tone before approaching you slowly, softly grabbing your cheeks with his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I hope you feel better.”

You nod and just like that, he’s out the door. You knew he loved his job, and you were supportive of him. He was a borderline genius, and you’d seen first hand just how well he can get when talking to an unsub. You’d seen him out in the field, you could just tell he loved saving the lives that he could.

It was already about noon when you went back to your shared room, rummaging through your dresser, looking for some warmer clothes you could wear to go out grocery shopping. You chose your warmest jacket, along with one of Spencer’s favorite purple scarves.

-

Your gloved hands grip the handle of the shopping cart, pushing it down the darker, less inhabited aisle 12, paper plates and napkins. You glanced down at your list looking at what was next to get, a new fork. The one that was yours somehow got stuck down in the garbage disposal, sending Spencer into a laughing fit when you lost it. You smiled to yourself at the memory and heard a deep chuckle beside you. You got the chills, and it wasn’t from the cold.

You looked up and saw a man. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties, maybe late-twenties. He had on a black t-shirt, a working shirt, so he was a worker. No name tag. And combat boots unlaced over his black pants.

“Something funny sweetheart?” He asks. He takes a step closer to you, digging his hands into his deep pockets, and you immediately went rigid. This is why you almost never went out without Spencer. He always taught you red flags to look out for with people, how some can seem so nice and genuine and then brutally murder someone. Everything about this man was off. He smelled bad. Extremely bad.

“Oh, no.” You chuckled and pulled on the strap of your purse, holding it right against your neck, as far on you as it can get. You began pushing the basket down the aisle towards the front of the store. You felt your stomach drop when you heard his clunky boots following right behind you, almost pulling off the back of your shoe he was so close.

You saw a hand with a rag come around your front and trap it onto your nose and mouth, pulling your back against his body. You tried to fight back or even make a noise but everything went black so soon.

-

When you came to, you were sitting in a chair. It was dark, literally pitch black. You tried to move your hands and feet to stand up, but low and behold, no movement. You looked down to see what was stopping you, but it was too dark to even see your hand. You tried to scream but the rag that was stuck between your teeth prevented you from it. It tasted horrible, like some type of chemical. Definitely wasn’t good to keep your tongue on it.

Oh how you wish you never left that god damn apartment. You wish you never acted out on Spencer like that. Spencer. What if you never saw him again!? Those were the last things you said to him, you yelled at him. You looked up at the ceiling, seeing no light coming down from any cracks. Were you in a bonker?

*Spencers POV*

I finished all the paperwork for Hotch, just some aftermath from the previous case still had to be done. I nodded at him and left the office, walking back into the bullpen. My desk had so many papers on it, so many it drove me crazy.

As I sat down in my chair, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket. I sent y/n a text, letting her know I just had to clean up and then I’d be home, and I'd help her make dinner.

My fingers tapped at the edge of my desk as Garcia waved at me from across the room. Smiling, I waved back at her and waited for a text back from y/n. Normally she would reply within seconds, especially if she was already home. Unless she’s gone to the store to get things for dinner.

When I left the building, I began getting worried that I hadn’t heard back from her for fifteen minutes. It seems so bad to be worried after only that long, but when she always replied so fast, this worried me terribly.

I went back to the apartment. It was locked, that was good. Means she could just be asleep, she did have a headache after all, would make sense to rest, right?

“Y/N?” I called out, setting my satchel down by the door. I cranked my head around the wall of the kitchen, not seeing anything on the counters. But what caught my attention was the wind blowing through the open window in the living room, leading out to the fire escape. My hand gripped the gun in the holster against my hip, I pulled it out and aimed it in front of me. Turning around the corner of the living room quickly, my eyes caught sight of my favorite purple scarf on the table with a note stuck to it. I raised an eyebrow and walked slowly to the note, looking behind me before I reached it. I opened it and read it.

‘Paper plates, napkins, salt & pepper, soup.’

This was y/n’s shopping list. I flipped it over and on the back was someone else’s handwriting. Messy, written in a hurry. Whoever’s handwriting it was, they looked to be disorganized. My heart began to race as my eyes scanned on the paper.

‘If you want your precious angel alive, come alone.’

“Shit.” I grabbed my phone and dialed Hotch’s number, and as I put it to my ear the lights went out.

-

*Your POV*

A man came into the room. The light from outside was absolutely blinding, but it ended as soon as it happened. You whimpered as he kneeled in front of you. He had a pill in his hand, and in the other hand a bottle of rather cloudy water. You saw his eyes, they were deep dark brown, almost black. They looked so lifeless, like a shark lurking in the water searching for a wounded seal.

“Must be thirsty huh.” He says, his voice making you shake and clench your fists. He laughed at your attempt to move, but he shook his head.

“Ain’t nobody going to hear you out here! Not even that scrawny lover boy of yours.” You furrowed your eyebrows and knew he was talking about Spencer. He looked over your shoulder, smirking at something that you could not see. You scrunched up your nose at the stench on his hands as he came up and pulled the rag out of your mouth. You grimaced as he caressed your cheek. You tried to move away but he ticked his tongue.

“Your girl sure is beautiful Dr. Reid.” The man said, and you looked up at him, trying to turn your head but he grabbed your cheeks, making you pucker your lips.

“Don’t look away from me. Believe me. You don’t want to see him like that.”

You feel tears prick your eyes as he tells you this and he quickly brings the hand with the pull in it up to your lips. You struggle against him as he shoves the pill down your throat. He pushed your head back and forced you to drink water, you coughed and choked until you finally got it down.

“Why are you doing this?” You scowl, and he shrugs, smiling at you. What a psycho.

“Want to watch the show?” It’s as if he completely changed personalities, now all cheerful, giddy almost.

Before you could answer, your chair is turned around and you see Spencer sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the room. There is a shiny chain wrapped around his body, keeping him still against the chair. He sees you from across the room. His eyebrows raise as he sees you stuck to the chair.

“Y/N?! Oh my god, are you okay?!” He says, moving against the chains, not budging one bit. He has a gentle line of blood coming down his temple, and his hair is completely messed up. He sees your eyes get more and more hooded.

You try to reply, but everything starts spinning.

“S-Spence..” The man pulls your hair back, yanking your neck back, making your throat exposed. You can just barely hear what is going on around you as you get sleepy. You can see the ceiling, your eyes finally adjusting to the dark. It looks like the ceiling of a barn, very well maintained if you can’t see sunlight. But then again, maybe it was dark out already.

“Dan come out here! Grab a bat.” The man tells someone, and you don’t see but you hear some footsteps coming up behind you.

“Ralph, please don’t hurt her. She didn’t do anything! Hit me instead, please.” Spencer’s voice rings out, raspy and aching for water. He knows him?

“Oh? Tough guy huh?! Don’t want us to hurt this precious baby do you?”

You just about can’t move, you feel so tired but you can still see and hear what’s going on. You could barely feel anything until you feel the cool metal of a blade pressed against your neck. Not pressing hard until Spencer speaks again.

“NO! Please don’t! If you want to kill someone, just kill me!” He just about sobbed. The man above you looked down at you, looking at your glazed eyes.

-

Garcia sat at her desk, tossing a lollipop back at JJ who was sitting at the chair behind her.

“Have you heard from Reid? He’s never been this quiet. I’m starting to miss his smart ass remarks.” JJ says, unwrapping the candy as Garcia dials his number to his phone without even saying anything.

It rings a few times until he, no, someone answers.

“Who in the hell is this.” A man's voice called out, and Garcia and JJ both sat up straighter.

“Spencer?” Garcia asks, reaching her arm behind her to get JJ to sit next to her. When she moves forward, they hear a thud and hear you scream in the background.

They both jump and JJ immediately runs out to get Morgan and Hotchner.

“Oh you must mean the Dr. Spencer Reid! Oh yeah he’s here with us! We’re just having some fun with y/n as well! Enjoy never seeing them again!” He says as he hangs up just as the men come into the office.

“I-I- Sir we were just thinking about him so we called him, b-but..” Hotch cuts her off.

“Track his phone. There’s a GPS installed and if the unsub wasn’t smart enough to remove it, we can find them. Text me the address Garcia.”

“Yes sir, on it.” She turns around and begins typing.

They leave the BAU in their SUVs and floor it as Morgan’s phone dings with the location.

-

You feel numb, and your heart and brain both seem to flutter with the effects of the pill. Your head drops and you open your eyes to see Spencer with his head hanging down, fresh blood in his hair. There’s a man standing behind him, wiping the blood off of the tan baseball bat with a rag.

“S-Spence..” Your voice is raspy, aching something horrible.

“I’m sorry.” You tell him, having your hair yanked back again, giving you a clear vision of him. He has tears running down his cheeks as he’s breathing heavily against the chains holding him down. There’s blood coming from his lip as well, and it quivered as he looked across your whole body.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you this morning..” Spencer’s mouth fell open and his eyebrows pinched upwards, his eyes swelling with tears as you mumbled.

“Aw how cute! You’re sorry for yelling at him? Is that why you're sorry?” The man got down close to your face, his nose pressed against your cheek as you clenched your teeth. But his attention was drawn away at the sound of a closing door outside the barn.

“Go check that out.” He tells the other man, and he grabs a handgun instead. Pressing it tight against the side of your neck as he hurriedly untied your hands and ankles, forcing you to stand up. You were walking towards Spencer, and you tried reaching out for him when you were pushed to the floor right in front of him. Your chin hit his knee as he looked down at you, still trying to break out of the chains, but that's when the gun is removed from you and pressed right against his temple.

“You’re not going to want to do that.” Spencer says, looking at up Ralph. Ralph just moves the gun, pointing it directly between his eyes. He holds it there while attempting to tie your hands back together behind your back. You wanted so desperately to fight back, but whatever he gave you had you almost completely immobile.

“Stop talking to me.”

“I’ve studied people like you Ralph. You don’t want to kill people. You have compassion deep down. But your past..” He paused as the fun pressed right against his forehead, he shuddered lightly at the coldness of it. “Your past doesn't define you.”

His sentence was punctuated with a gunshot from outside before the door busted open, as you turned your head you saw Hotch and felt set free.

“Shut up!”

“Drop the gun.” Hotch says, in the calmness his voice always is. Ralph turned to him, pointing the gun at him instead. You can see his hand shaking, and hear his breath shaking just as bad. You twist your body and kick your foot out, tripping the man. Thinking you succeeded, waiting for Hotch to run over and kick the gun out of his hand, instead he reaches over and hits you sharply over the head with the butt of his gun.

“NO!” Spencer cried as he watched your eyes close, and the blood flower on your forehead.

That moment, Hotch shot Ralph right in the middle of the eyes. He falls and Spencer moves violently in the chair desperate to get out and save you. Hotch runs to him and gets the key out of the man's pocket, undoing the chains as Morgan runs to you as well, checking your pulse.

“I NEED A MEDIC!” He yelled into his mic, flipping you onto your side, undoing your hands and you open your eyes at the feeling of hands touching your face. Much softer after getting beat.

“Y/N, Y/N i’m right here okay?! We’re getting an ambulance, you’ll be okay.” He kisses your forehead softly as your eyes flutter open and closed slowly.

“What.. What did he give me? I'm so tired.” You say, bringing up a hand to press against your forehead. You look up to see Hotch digging in the man's pocket, pulling out an orange bottle with a white label.

“Xanax. It could have been so much worse but we will get you help. You’ll be okay.” He tells you and Spencer is still hovering over you. You bring up a hand to touch his lip, not directly touching the open wound there but caressing his cheek lovingly.

He smiles down at you and holds your hand that’s on his face.

“You shouldn’t be sorry. I shouldn’t have gone in to do those goddamn papers, I should have just stayed home today and made dinner with you.” He tells you, his nose scrunching as he sniffs his tears back.

“Let’s just get out of here. Then we can make dinner.”

-

Taglist — @blissfulparker @railmereid