#draw tom or die trying

[tomwambsgays]

it’s the season of giving (mistletoe kisses)

[A REDRAW OF THIS OLD PIECE]

#tomgreg #tom wambsgans #greg hirsch #succession #succession fanart #my art #this isnt my usual artstyle but I wanna try something out in procreate #hopefully ive improved bc its been 2yrs I think 😭😭 #im gonna keep drawing them till I die im afraid #anyway merry christmas tomgregs hope yall have a good one

[theostrophywife]

little dove.

pairing: tom riddle x reader.

song inspiration: if u think i'm pretty by artemas.

author's note: can't believe this is my first tom fic, but please know that this man awakens the feral, unhinged side of me. let me slytherin to your chamber of secrets and ride that basilisk tommy 😏

This was a stupid, idiotic, and terrible idea. 

Unfortunately for you, those were the conditions in which Harry and Ron worked best under. In your defense, you tried to talk them out of the prank, but the boys were determined to leave their mark. You suppose you could’ve told Hermione, but you didn’t want to interrupt her date with Draco. When it came to talking sense into their thick skulls, you were completely and utterly alone. 

After much argument, you finally accepted that you weren’t going to get anywhere with Harry and Ron. The only thing you could do was supervise their reckless pursuits and minimize the damage as much as possible. So here you were, sneaking into the dungeons under the cover of darkness. 

“This will be the best seventh year prank yet,” Ron whispered as he trailed close behind. “Fred and George are going to be so jealous.” 

“If we don’t die from the cold first,” Harry quipped sarcastically, slightly shivering underneath the invisibility cloak draped over the three of you. “The Slytherins really take the whole cold-blooded thing quite literally, don’t they?” 

You huffed in response, trying your best to muffle your steps. “Can we please focus on not getting caught? We need to be in and out of the dungeons before the prefects start their patrols.” 

The boys nodded as you inched further into the serpent’s nest. Luckily, the corridor that housed Professor Snape’s office was empty. You held your breath as you began to unravel the wards protecting the entrance. You had to give it to him, Snape was incredibly thorough when it came to his security measures. Good thing you were an expert on unlocking charms. 

With a final flick of your wand, the door gave way and creaked open. Ron and Harry wore matching grins as the three of you spilled into the office. Closing the door behind you, Harry’s green eyes crinkled with mischief. 

“Let’s get started.” 

Surprisingly, Harry and Ron’s half-arsed plan was actually coming together. The three of you worked in silence, the boys handing you paints and supplies at the snap of your fingers. After a few more strokes, you flicked your paintbrush over the wall and cocked your head to examine your work. Nearly every single surface of Professor Snape’s office was covered in your illustrations—technically vandalism according to wizarding law. 

The drawings, imbued with the same magic that powered the moving portraits, depicted caricatures of Professor Snape, all of which scurried like rats along the walls, hurtling globs of paint at one another. The head of Slytherin house was going to have a fit when he saw what you’d done to his office. You almost wished you could be there in the morning to witness the look on Snape’s face when he uncovered your masterpiece.

“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear as he packed up the paints and brushes. “You’ve really outdone yourself, Y/N.” 

Harry chuckled and nudged your shoulder. “See? You do have a taste for trouble, after all.” 

You rolled your eyes fondly. “Yeah, yeah. Now help me clean up so we can go.” 

As you carefully wiped the office of any trace of the three of you, Harry suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. You looked up, ready to scold him for idling, but fell silent when you saw the panicked expression on his face. 

“What is it?” you asked quietly. 

Harry held up his hand and slowly opened the door, peeking out into the darkness. A muffled clicking that sounded an awful lot like footsteps echoed from the corridor. “Do you hear that?” 

Ron cursed lowly. “The prefects must’ve started their rounds early.” 

You peered over Harry’s shoulder and felt the color drain from your face. “It’s not the prefects,” you said, swallowing thickly. “It’s the Head Boy.” 

Both the boys swore under their breaths. You steeled yourself, knowing that panic was not going to get you anywhere. As quietly as possible, you retrieved Harry’s cloak and beckoned the boys underneath it. 

“We’re so fucked,” Ron mumbled. 

“No, we’re not,” you chided sternly. “Get under the cloak and don’t make a sound.” 

Harry scooted in beside you, clutching the invisible fabric over his shoulders. “Do you have a plan?” 

You nodded. “Run like hell and don’t get caught.” 

“That’s a bloody terrible plan!” said Ron. 

With a glare, you tugged the redhead underneath the cloak. “Then please, let us hear your brilliant idea, Ronald.” Ron stayed quiet, his freckled face etched with fear. “That’s what I thought. Now stay close and for Merlin’s sake, try not to stomp around like a damned erumpent.”

Stupid. 

Idiotic. 

Terrible. 

Every ounce of apprehension you felt earlier that night came rushing back as the three of you cowered in the darkness. It was pitch-black in the corridor, but you didn’t dare cast lumos for fear of getting caught. Thankfully, a small light up ahead provided you with a vague sense of direction. You remembered passing the lit emerald sconce on the way down. All you had to do was get back to the entrance without running into the head boy. 

The glimmer of hope became clearer and clearer as you neared the stairs that would lead you out of the dungeons. You were so close. Barely a few metres away from freedom. 

Just as you thought you were safe, Ron knocked into a table, sending one of the snake sculptures guarding the alcove to the common room tumbling. The marble cracked against the concrete, breaking into a million pieces just like your hope of escaping. 

“Run!” you huffed, urging the boys to go on. 

A solid plan if you hadn’t been nearly blind in the dark. You could hear the shuffling of footsteps beside you. Three sets belonging to you, Harry, and Ron, while an unknown fourth inched closer and closer. Whoever it was wasn’t running, but they were definitely in pursuit. 

You stumbled through the dark, nearly tripping over your own feet. From up ahead, you could hear Harry and Ron urging you on. As you broke into a sprint, paints and brushes came spilling out of your satchel. Under any other circumstance, you would’ve abandoned your art supplies, but leaving them behind would fully incriminate the three of you. In the time it took to pick up the damning evidence, you stopped hearing your friend’s voices. 

It would’ve worried you, but in all honesty, you were relieved. If you could no longer hear the boys, then that meant they made it safely out of the serpent’s nest. A feat in itself given their track record. Those two couldn’t be inconspicuous if they tried. Without the need to worry for them, you were confident that you’d be able to slip out undetected. 

In hindsight, you were perhaps a tad bit overconfident. You were great at sneaking around, but apparently not good enough to slip the head boy’s notice. As soon as you started to creep past the dormitories, you ran into a wall that hadn’t been there before. 

Except it wasn’t a wall. 

It was a strong, firm chest. A chest that belonged to none other than Tom Riddle. 

Leave it to your terrible luck to run straight into the arms of the scariest boy in the castle. 

Determined not to cower, you lifted your chin defiantly and faced Tom head on. “Head Boy,” you greeted in acknowledgment. 

Emerald eyes unflinchingly surveyed you, that intense green stare sweeping from the top of your head to the bottom of your feet. Beneath the faint glow of the Black Lake pouring in through the stained glass windows, you could’ve easily mistaken Tom Riddle for an angel. He looked like an illustration straight out of the Sistine Chapel. Beautiful, intricate, perfect. 

Yet utterly terrifying. 

Danger prickled at your skin as Tom’s lips curved into a sinister smirk. “My, my, what do we have here? A little dove out of her cage.” 

You bristled as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his voice a seductive caress. It was low, husky, and a little rough around the edges. Just like its speaker. Tom plucked a paintbrush out of your satchel and examined it between his fingers. “I saw what you did to Snape’s office. Quite artistic, aren’t you?” 

A part of you considered denying it, but it would’ve been a futile attempt. There was paint splattered all over your skirt and flecks of it were already drying on your skin. Tom had quite literally caught you red handed. The only thing you could do was to own up to it and face whatever consequences came as a result of your foolish actions. 

“Are you going to turn me in to the headmaster?” 

Tom shook his head, his brown wavy hair falling over one eye. “Not until I catch your two helpers.” 

Panic seized your body. It may be too late for you, but Tom hadn’t seen either Harry or Ron. There was a chance they could come out of this unscathed. 

“I was alone,” you declared with your chin held high. “There was no one else with me.” 

Anger contorted Tom’s handsome features. Those emerald eyes lit up in flames as he backed you into a wall, bracketing each side of your head with his arms as he leaned down. You tried not to cower under the intensity of his stare, but gods was it hard. Tom towered a good foot over you and as if that weren’t intimidating enough, he also blocked every possibility of escape with his body. 

“Don’t lie to me, little dove,” Tom growled, tilting your chin up with one hand. “I heard three sets of footsteps running through the corridor.” 

You swallowed thickly, praying to Merlin to grant you the ability to flawlessly lie your arse off. “I swear, it was just me. No one else. I did it all by myself.” 

Tom hummed as if unconvinced. “Well, you’re certainly on your own now. Your idiotic friends left you down in the dungeons all alone. Don’t you know that dangerous things lurk in the dark around here, Y/N?” 

“Like I said, I was alone.” 

“So it appears,” Tom said, flashing you a smile that told you he was the most dangerous thing lurking in the dungeons. “Poor little dove wandering the serpent’s nest all on her own. Hasn’t anyone told you that us Slytherins have teeth?” 

“Why?” In an idiotic surge of courage, the words slipped out of your mouth before you could pull them back in. “Do you plan on biting me, Tom?” 

Tom grabbed your jaw roughly, making you whimper in surprise. “Insolent girl. You’ll learn your lesson soon enough.” 

Without warning, he grabbed you by the elbow and started dragging you down the corridor. At first, you were certain that Tom was taking you to Dumbledore’s office, but as the minutes ticked by, you realized that you were going in the opposite direction. If anything, he was leading you right into the heart of the dungeons. 

Tom’s grip tightened to the point of pain as he guided you up a set of twin staircases, practically flying up the steps on the right side, which you assumed led to the dormitories. It had a similar layout to the Gryffindor common room, except instead of leading into the towers, the narrow hallway opened into an intricate maze in the lower levels of the castle. 

Nestled into the underbelly of Hogwarts was a large, dark room that was surrounded by more stained glass walls that looked out into the Black Lake. A school of fish swam by as Tom ushered you through the door, which he promptly locked behind him with a series of complicated spells you had no hope of deciphering. 

You were trapped. Alone in a room. With Tom Riddle.

Upon closer inspection, you surmised that this had to be his private suite. It was twice as large as your dorm back in the towers and extremely private. A luxury that only the Head Boy and Head Girl enjoyed. 

“You’ve been very bad, little dove,” Tom reprimanded. "You deserve to be punished, but I’ll tell you what. Give up the names of your accomplices and I might find it in my heart to go easy on you.” 

His drawling voice echoed in the bedroom as he leaned back against his desk, twirling his wand between his fingers. The look he leveled at you is enough to awaken your fear. Plus another emotion that you couldn’t quite place your finger on. 

Merlin, Tom was sizing you up like he was the lion and you were the helpless deer frolicking through the meadow. You steeled yourself and doubled down on your lies. 

“There was no one else, Tom.” 

He smirked as though you’d given him the answer he’d hoped to hear. Tom stopped twirling his wand, tucking it away in his back pocket as he stalked over to you. “Very well, then. I suppose you’ll just have to endure their punishments too.” 

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. It occurred to you that while you had your wand, you were completely and utterly defenseless against Tom. It should’ve scared you shitless, but instead you felt a strange sort of thrill as he came closer. “What…what sort of punishment?” 

A smirk curved at his lips as he fisted your hair between his fingers and tilted your head back to meet his gaze. “I think you know, babydoll.” 

Heat ignited in your veins as your tongue darted out to sweep across your bottom lip. “This is crazy,” you whispered. “Shouldn’t you be telling Dumbledore? Snape? Someone in charge?” 

“I’m the one in charge,” Tom growled as he shoved you against his bookshelf. Your back hit solid wood, disturbing the neatly organized tomes behind you. “You snuck into my dungeons, under my watch, and defaced my home. I will dole out your punishment as I see fit.” 

“And if I refuse?” You asked, hoping that you emulated the bravery that your house was infamous for.

Tom pressed his body against yours, leaving barely a hairsbreadth between you as he flashed you a feral smile. “It’s laughable that you still think you have a choice.” 

“I could scream bloody murder. Wake the entire castle up and alert everyone that you're holding a fellow student against her will."

“You could,” Tom mused as amusement flickered in his eyes. “But we both know you won’t.” 

“What makes you so sure?” 

“You’d never risk such a scandalous act to go on your record. First vandalizing Professor Snape’s office, then sneaking into the Head Boy’s dorm after curfew? You’re on a downward spiral, aren’t you, little dove?” 

“I didn’t sneak into your dorm. You dragged me in here.” 

“Please,” Tom said with a scoff. “Let’s not pretend that you don’t want to be here. I’ve been watching you, you know. The perfect little Gryffindor good girl. You think you have everyone fooled, but not me.” You groaned as he pinned your hips in place, sliding his thigh between your legs. 

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me in class? Bending over in that tiny little skirt of yours hoping I’ll glance your way? Leaving the buttons to your blouse undone so you can give me a view of that lacy red bra? Biting your lip when you’re thinking dirty thoughts about me in class?” 

You flushed at his spot on assessment. Tom might be right on the mark, but you weren’t about to admit that to him. Not when your pride was on the line. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Dirty little liar.” Tom whispered against the shell of your ear. “You know, your mental shields are impressive, but it’s like you can’t help yourself when I’m around. You’re practically broadcasting your filthy fantasies every time we’re in the same room.” 

Fuck. 

This was bad. 

This was really fucking bad.

How many times had you sat in class staring at Tom while thinking the filthiest, dirtiest thoughts about him? Tom bending you over a desk. Tom slipping his fingers under your skirt. Tom making you scream with his head between your thighs.

All this time, he had complete access to those dirty daydreams.

“That’s right, doll. You may be a powerful occlumens, but you’re no match for my legilimency.” He chuckled darkly, caressing your jaw. 

A heavy pressure weighed down the constraints of your defenses as Tom poked around in your mind, teasing and taunting as a lover would. The act of him prodding around in your subconscious was oddly sensual, mixing pain and pleasure together as he waited for you to yield. 

There’s no use hiding now, Tom whispered into your subconscious. I’ve already seen inside your mind, doll. And your thoughts are just as fucking filthy as mine. 

Glimpses of your deepest, darkest fantasies flashed through your mind. The images were a never ending rolodex of filth and smut. Tom fucking you like his perfect little slut. Tom panting above you as he spread your legs. Tom working you with his fingers until you were a sobbing, whimpering mess. 

He was right. You were shameless. 

But so was he. A new image of you on your knees while Tom unbuckled his belt, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as you stared up expectantly took center stage. Since it was from his point of view, you could only assume that he was showing you one of his fantasies. It was oddly satisfying. Tom was basking in the depravity with you, sharing his equally fucked up thoughts. 

“Tom…” you breathed, leaning into his touch as he continued to pin you against the wooden bookshelf. 

“Not Tom,” he grunted gruffly. “You’ll address me properly from now on, little dove.” 

This was so fucked up and yet so hot at the same time. You were so turned on you could hardly speak. “Yes, sir.” 

“That’s better, doll.” Tom declared with a smirk. “Now that I’ve been inside of your head, I plan on being inside you in every other way as well. Starting with that pretty little mouth of yours. On your knees, little dove.” 

A strange sense of deja vu washed over you as you knelt onto the floor. The concrete nipped at your knees, but you welcomed the pain. It kept you centered as your body buzzed with anticipation. You watched as Tom unbuckled his belt, deft fingers slowly sliding his boxers down as he gripped himself with one hand. 

With a smirk, Tom brushed his thumb over your bottom lip, looking down at you with lust blown eyes. “Open wide, babydoll.” 

Tom pumped himself slowly. The sight of his cock made your mouth water, your head spinning and dizzy with desire as you tried to calculate how you were going to take all of him. The tip of his cock glistened with precum as he rubbed over it. Tom was thick, long, and absolutely delicious. You groaned as he rubbed his head over your lips, the salty taste of his arousal resting on your tongue. 

“I won’t ask again,” Tom warned. “Be a good girl and open your mouth. I’ll make you regret it if you don’t.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

A satisfied smile graced his handsome face before he shoved his way in. Your lips parted for him, opening your mouth wider as you accommodated his size. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” 

You nodded obediently, eyes filling with tears as you took Tom all the way back. He fisted your hair in one hand and rocked against your mouth, hitting the back of your throat. A garbled sound crawled out of your chest, but it was soon silenced with Tom’s impatient thrusts. 

“Fuck,” Tom cursed. “So wet and warm. Such a perfect little throat. What a pity that I’m about to ruin it.” 

Ruin was an understatement. Tom fucked your throat with precise thrusts, angling deeper and deeper and groaning as you gagged on his cock. He was so deep that you could feel him bruising your tonsils. The more he abused your throat, the wetter your pussy got. You were practically soaked as you moaned on his cock, sucking your cheeks in and bobbing your head up and down to take more of him. 

“Such pretty noises,” Tom said, his fingers curling through your hair to the point of pain. He tugged at your scalp, forcing you to meet his eyes as you sucked him off. “If your mouth feels this good around my cock, then I can’t even imagine what your cunt will feel like.” 

You groaned in pleasure, making Tom’s eye roll back from the vibrations. Controlled, compulsive, and perfectly composed Tom Riddle was fading before you, replaced by a man driven only by his base desires. He was an animal lost to lust and so were you. 

Tom squeezed your throat, groaning when he felt himself moving beneath his grip. “Your throat was made to be fucked, doll. You like that, don’t you? You love it when I’m rough.” 

You struggled to nod in acknowledgement, saliva sloppily collecting in the corner of your mouth as you continued to let him use you for his own pleasure. Tom chuckled at your pathetic attempt to respond. “Don’t bother answering, little dove. You won’t be able to speak when I’m done with you anyways.” 

The filth flowing effortlessly from his mouth made you clench your thighs together. Tom threw his head back, those pretty curls tousled and plastered against his sweat soaked skin. A moan tore through his chest as he got closer and closer, fucking into your mouth with reckless abandon. He chased after his orgasm, shuddering as he spurted hot ribbons down your throat. 

“Fuck. You see what you do to me? Swallow, doll. Every single fucking drop.” 

The fantasies that you’ve been harboring for the past few years finally came to fruition, but none of it came close to reality. Tom was a fucking god. A masterpiece coming undone above you. You’ve never seen such a beautiful sight. All the artwork in the world would’ve paled in comparison to witnessing Tom Riddle at his most vulnerable. 

In awe and wonder, you looked up at him with mascara streaked eyes, tears and saliva staining your face. Tom hauled you to your feet and claimed you with his mouth. The taste of him was still on your lips, but Tom didn’t seem to mind as he parted your lips with his tongue. The kiss was neither sweet nor innocent. It was dark and dangerous and there was an edge of possessiveness in the way he demanded your submission. Almost like he was marking his territory. 

Tongues, teeth, and lips met with a clash as Tom carried you over to his desk. His books and journals clattered to the ground as his teeth grazed the column of your throat. The taste of him was intoxicating and you licked, sucked, and nipped at every inch of skin he allowed access to. You gasped into his mouth as Tom parted your legs, not bothering to warn you as he palmed your soaked panties. 

Your core clenched as he slipped a finger inside of your pussy. A squelching sound filled the room as Tom added another digit, pumping you full and fucking you with his middle and pointer fingers as you begged for more. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tom studied you like one of his books, with meticulous precision and alarming intensity, pouring all of his efforts and attention into making your body sing. 

It wasn’t long before that familiar warmth singed your veins, your moans growing louder and more desperate as you clawed at Tom’s back. You were so, so close. You were practically riding his hand as he brought you closer to the precipice. Just when you were about to come, Tom pulled away and denied you the orgasm. 

“Don’t be mistaken, doll. This is still a punishment.” Tom said as you whined from the loss. He silenced your complaints by bending you over his desk. 

“Tom, please—“ You clawed at the wood as he lined up and filled you with one sharp thrust. “Oh my fucking gods.” 

Tom gripped your hips, the slap of his skin against yours echoing in the room as he fucked you from behind. He was relentless, thrusting in and out and arching your back while he railed the absolute life out of you. It wasn’t long before you were getting close again. The sharp angles of his thrusts had him hitting all the right spots, making your knees weak and your pussy sensitive from the roughness of his actions. Sensing that you were close, he rutted into you, letting that tension uncoil before ripping the orgasm away from you once more. You whined, fresh tears soaking your cheeks as you chased after that high. 

“Like I said, this is still a punishment,” Tom taunted, slowing his thrusts to a snail’s pace. “That’s two orgasms I’ve taken from you, which leaves you with two more. Four for every wall you defaced. It should be twelve, given that you had help, but I’m in a forgiving mood. I think I’ll just spank the other eight out of you instead.” 

With your head bowed, you wiped the tears off of your cheeks and braced yourself. You knew that he was telling the truth. To Tom, this was mercy. You should’ve found it sadistic, but you fucking loved it. Maybe you were a masochist. Whatever the case may be, it seemed like the two of you were a match made in heaven. 

“I’ll be good,” you whispered hoarsely. Your throat was still raw and sore from earlier. “I’ll happily take the punishment. I promise I’ll be good, sir.” 

Tom chuckled darkly, relishing in your submission. His hand came down with a hard smack against your right ass cheek, making you jolt from the contact. Before you could recover, he repeated the action on the left. 

“That’s two,” Tom said proudly. “Can you count out the rest, babydoll?” 

You nodded, biting down on your bottom lip every time his large hand came down on your ass. His rings bit into the soft flesh of your skin, but it was a delicious sort of pain. One that you could easily become addicted to. 

Three. Tom tugged at your hair. 

Four. Teeth nipped at your shoulder. 

Five. Fingers curled around your throat. 

Six. Hips slammed against you. 

Seven. Lips trailed down your spine.

Eight. Moans echoed in your ears. 

When Tom slipped his fingers down to your clit, your eyes rolled back so hard that you saw fucking heaven. “It’s not a punishment if you’re enjoying yourself so much, little dove. I can feel you creaming my cock. You look so innocent, but you’re just a filthy fucking slut for me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes sir.” 

“So. Fucking. Perfect.” 

Tom emphasized each word with a thrust and worked your clit faster and faster, bringing you to the edge. This time, he didn’t pull back. Tom let the orgasm build until it threatened to wipe you out entirely. White hot heat coursed through your veins as stars exploded behind your eyes. You whimpered through the intensity of the orgasm. After being denied four times, the pleasure ripped through your body so fiercely that you nearly blacked out. 

“Fuck, let me fill you up,” Tom growled. “Take it, doll. I want you dripping with my cum.” 

“Yes, yes, oh gods. Please cum inside of me, sir.” 

Tom released a guttural grunt, gripping your hips in place as he filled you to the brim. Nothing in the world compared to the sensation of Tom filling you with his warm, wet cum. You glanced behind you and found him staring intently as he slipped out of you, stuffing his cum back into your pussy as it dripped down your folds. You bit your lip, utterly aroused by how fucking sexy this man was. 

His gaze met yours, a proud smile curving against his lips as he swept you off your feet and into his arms. “I think I’ll keep you, little dove.” 

#i welcome him would open arms and open legs #tom riddle #tom riddle smut #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic

[kelppsstuff]

Time of year

Summary: Alastor trying to impress you with mating season just starting

ALASTOR X F!READER

Masterlist

Warnings: nswf, biting, wax play, tied up, begging

Taglist: @fandomsbookclub @leathesimp @michelleszn @sashaphantomhive @ladyninggs @sirenetheblogger @jawline-of-steel

Alastor is a gentleman. Always had been, always will be. His mother had raised him to be one.

Every year Alastor would feel a change in the air — mating season — and every year he never indulged himself. Alastor had no interest in being with someone, why would he give them false hope?

This year things were different. This year he was living in a hotel for sinners to be rehabilitated. This year he’s back in hell after seven years of being gone. This year he met you.

Despite these differences he expected one thing to stay the same, mating season. He expected everything to remain normal this time of year, and at first he didn’t notice the slight changes.

It first started when he’d grow annoyed at people getting way to close to you.

—

Alastor walked out into the main room of this hotel. A normal thing for him.

He looked over and saw you at the bar, laughing with Husk. Alastor’s ear twitched with annoyance along with his eye. This wasn’t Tom and Jerry, Husker was not that funny of a cat.

Husker looked over your shoulder and noticed his soul owner giving him a threatening glare. Odd.

Alastor made his way over to the bar and placed a hand on your shoulder — which startled you since he hated another persons touch — he spoke with a grin that husk knew was him being pissy.

“Pardon the intrusion however I was going to ask if you would care to join me on a stroll.”

A simple ask that you agreed too, and you had thought the walk went swimmingly. However Alastor’s mood had just worsened.

He spent the whole walk just fending off creepy looks others would give you. He even sent his shadow away go torture a few.

—

You were walking down the stairs to angel — who stood by the door — putting on the back of your right dangling earring when Alastor saw you.

He spat out his coffee and began to choke on his own spit, you were absolutely gorgeous. You wore a small dark Maroon dress, that made him feel feral. That was his color.

He hurried to you before you and the spider could leave. “Darling! Where are you off too looking so charming?”

His words drew heat to your cheeks and you blessed him with a smile that made him feel like he was going to die in the best way possible. “Angel and I are heading out to that new club called consent.” Alastor’s mind went through simple math.

A club, that had people. People liked good-looking people. You looked divine. People would try and get with you. When hell freezes over.

“Perhaps I should accompany the two of you.”

“No need, I know it’s not your scene.”

You waved him goodbye and walked out. Alastor silently returned to his room. Where he very reasonably smashed every piece of furniture. All reasonable of course.

Alastor had just told himself he couldn’t let his guests of the hotel go out and fuck up there hard work. Let’s be honest though, he didn’t give to shits what angel was up too. He was staring at you.

He noticed a guy, about to walk up to you so he was quick. Grabbed your arm and twirled you into his chest.

You looked up in confusion and when you saw Alastor you voice was mixed with concern. “What are you doing here?”

He leaned down and whispered, “isn’t it obvious? I’m here to dance. I will say we could use better music.” He nipped at your ear with his sharp teeth — drawing blood that would no doubt leave a scratch later — and jazzy music started to play.

You giggled as you twirled you again. Your feet started to move faster in pace with his own.

Alastor picked you up and twirled you in the air. You felt almost alive again at the feeling. Alastor caught you and when you looked at him like he was the only person in the world, Alastor knew this was right. You were right.

—

The two of you continued to dance all night, and surprisingly everyone had got down with the fast pace jazz playing, not an ounce of complaining. 

Another thing that happened that night was people took photos of you and Alastor. Most had him glitched out but there was one, once that wasn’t.

It had been when he dipped you and you clanged to him in fear of falling. Alastor had a teasing grin and that photo had spread everywhere online.

Typically Alastor hated people being in his business, but he wouldn’t lie he loved the claim it gave you.

At first Alastor felt annoyed at the photo, but when he was walking around cannibal town he overheard two chaps talking about “the radios demon girl.”

He liked that name, he didn’t acknowledge the thought that popped in his mind after that.

‘I’d prefer Radio Demon wife.’

—

Nope this year mating season was normal. Right? Sure he felt a tad bit more possessive but it was normal. Wasn’t it?

—

When mating season came around Alastor never once indulged in the desire for a release. Hated the thought of even doing it.

Though when it became so unbearable that it caused him so much pain he decided once couldn’t be bad.

However it was the image of you in his mind that made him cum all over his hand.

That’s when he knew, this year was different.

—

He was scared at first but soon the need for you overcame that fear. He was the radio demon, he could do anything. So what if he experienced a little change? I mean have you seen you?

That’s when Alastor decided to pull the old charmer he once was when he was kicking in in the living world.

Alastor’s wouldn’t lie, he knew how to charm a lady, he’s had experience. Sure he hasn’t done any of that since he stepped into hell but he sure it couldn’t be that hard.

—

Alastor took a seat next to you at the vacant bar. He tapped his fingers as decided to open his mouth. And pure stupid slipped past it.

“So did it hurt when you fell from heaven?”

Alastor swears he saw a legit loading screen over your head. For the first time since ever Alastor was nervous.

“I think you have me confused with Lucifer.”

Rage bubbled into his skin at the sound of you saying someone else’s name. But nervousness washed that down.

Alastor made a terrible excuse and teleported away. “There’s always next time!” Sureeee.

—

Alastor was looking for you — something he had been doing often — only to find you in the kitchen with Nifty.

You smiled down and here and took a sip of the soup she gave you. “Absolutely lovely. You should go and give a bowl to Husk.” Nifty nodded excitedly and hurried off past Alastor.

You laughed a little and spoke to Alastor when you were sure Nifty was gone. “That was so salty oh my gosh.”

Alastor spoke before he could register you words even. “You wanna see if I’m salty?”

“What?”

“What?”

You two just stood there staring at one another for a good 10 seconds. Just processing. By the time your brain caught onto what he was saying he was already giving a stupid excuse to leave and rush to his room.

—

Now you had noticed Alastor trying to flirt. You noticed his little acts of service, and you noticed his jealous tendencies.

It was honestly funny on how Alastor would try to impress you. Alastor felt as if you weren’t interested in him. Let’s say that put quite the downer on his mood.

Alastor sat at the bar, drinking some whiskey when you walked past him. “Hey handsome.” He immediately perked up.

He became so needy for your attention and now that you were giving it to him? That made him want you more.

—

This was your first time in hell. Your first “mating season.” Most animalistic demons was around this time. So when you found Alastor knocking on your door in the middle of the night, good in hands, something in you went feral.

You invited him in to eat, he placed the food gently on your table. However Alastor felt like he needed to leave, or else he couldn’t control himself.

The smell of you all around? Not to mention he could practically taste your hormones on smell alone.

Alastor took a deep breath and started to excuse himself. “I should be off to bed now.”

He started to take steps to the door but you got in his way. Hand on his chest, eyes slightly begging yet demanding.

The two of you were quiet but the air was thick. It took you glancing one time at his lips for them to suddenly be on yours.

The kiss wasn’t soft, it was hard and rough. Like you was dehydrated and this was y’all’s first sip of water.

You pushed your hands into his hair while he tapped your legs. Understanding the silent command you jumped onto him, letting him pin you against the nearest wall.

You nipped his lower lip, drawing blood. The metallic taste mixed inside your mouth. It made Alastor even more painfully hard.

He let you stand and started to lead you two to the bed. Stripping you along the way as you did him.

By the time he pushed you into the mattress you only had your undergarments on while Alastor only had his pants.

The bed rocked slightly and hit the nightstand. “Careful Alastor the candle.”

Alastor’s gaze flickered over to the lit candle. He pushed you further up the bed and summoned some ropes. Effortlessly wrapping your hands to the headboard.

Alastor reached over to the candle and you whined out in anticipation. At first you were worried at the hot wax, but when Alastor tipped it slightly and the red mold dripped onto you skin you moan out in pleasure.

You hadn’t expected that to feel good but all you wanted was more. You had no doubt Alastor was a masochist but maybe you were one too.

“That’s a good girl.” His voice had a rasp that made you beg him for more.

“Please! Please Al.”

Alastor set aside the candle and started to kiss where the hot wax was starting to harden. He slightly snipped at your thighs causing you to beg him more.

“Please Alastor!”

“Please what?”

“Bite me.”

Bite you he did. Blood drew at the sharp bite he scattered across your thighs. Marking you his. He liked every drop of blood that would flow out the wound until it became to much. He couldn’t wait another second.

He discarded his pants and rubbed his top against your fold. Slightly grinding against your pussy.

“Please Alastor I need it.”

Fuck he needed it too but if he did this there would be no turning back. His afterlife would truly change forever.

But it already was changed, from the second he met you. So fuck it.

He thrusted up into you hard. While he would usually be a gentle dotting partner this time he just couldn’t wait.

He started the push himself all the way inside, not giving you a second to adjust. Blood dripped from your heat and Alastor grew to love the sight under him. You spread out blood, wax, his markings all over you.

He started to move quicker and quicker not giving you a second to adjust to his size. He fast a rough pulling sounds out of you that you didn’t even knew existed. Like you were some porn star.

Alastor sure as hell was fucking you like one.

You clanged to the radio demon, feeling your end about to wash through you.

“Alastor! Oh god I’m going to cum.” He gripped you chin and kissed you roughly. “You cum with only my name in your mouth.”

He pinch your clit and you came hard. Alastor’s name was the only thing you knew as you cried out to him in pleasure.

Alastor didn’t stop, he was selfishly chasing his own release, even if you were overstimulated.

You felt tears form in your eyes and you clenched around him, while he spilled himself inside of you.

When you both came down your high — panting — he slipped himself out and gave you a tender kiss.

He placed tender loving kisses on your thigh and face, slightly massaging your legs, while also making sure his cum stayed deep inside you.

—

The next morning was filled with the same Lust as the night before, however it was more gentle.

He explained he was like this because of mating season and why you were like this as well. The two of you came to an agreement that this sexual relationship would end when mating season did, even if both of you felt like dying while agreeing to it.

However when the air returned to normal you two relationship did not. You two continued your sinful acts. Like the two of you could never get enough of one another.

It wasn’t long till you confessed your feelings for Alastor, and him returning them.

Ahhhh! I’m trying new things out with my banner so if it’s a bit different in my upcoming post then that’s why.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #masterlist #x reader #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor

[liamlawsonlesbian]

what book I would give each current formula one driver to introduce them to the joy of reading

an intellectual exercise no one* asked for

Max Verstappen: Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond - if you are nd and have read this book, you may understand me. otherwise just trust me. the impetus for this post

Checo Perez: The Trumpet of the Swan by E.B. White - this is an excellent read-aloud book for Sergio Jr.'s age, and there is nothing as wonderful as reading a compelling book to a kid you love, imho

Charles Leclerc: The Golden Compass by Phillip Pullman - he is on the record as a Potter enjoyer. also, I think he would enjoy having a little animal friend

Carlos Sainz: Priestdaddy by Patricia Lockwood - okay yes this is partially a joke about the title, but this is a hilarious and wonderful memoir, about weird families and Catholicism, and I think Carlos would enjoy it.

Lando Norris: Guards! Guards! by Terry Pratchett - in my mind Lando is a little bit like @bright-and-burning but less cool, so this fits. also, the combination of high number of jokes/page + action/mystery seems like a good fit

Oscar Piastri: Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie - this book has the kind of mystery that really draws you in, plus I think Oscar would dig the questions about AI it digs into. I choose to believe with zero evidence that he would be interested in the funky gender stuff

Fernando Alonso: Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell - look me in the eye and tell me this book wasn't written for Fernando Alonso

Lance Stroll: Ender's Game by Orson Scott Card - yeah

Lewis Hamilton: Die Trying by Lee Child - Lewis deserves to read mildly trashy thrillers <3 plus there's a Tom Cruise movie

George Russell: Changing My Mind by Zadie Smith - as a proud Brit, George should be reading one of the premiere English authors of the 21st century. her first book of essays is a fun and readable place to start

Yuki Tsunoda: Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel - I don't have a Yuki-lore explanation, I just want to give him one of my favorite books

Daniel Ricciardo: The Gunslinger by Steven King - The Dark Tower series is Lord of the Rings-esque in scope but Western-inflected in aesthetic and written by The Horror Guy, I think DR would enjoy

Alex Albon: The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee - I say this with so much love in my heart, but Alex wants to be seen as smart. this book is brilliantly written pop science

Logan Sargeant: Bloomability by Sharon Creech - yes this is a book for tween girls, but it's about boarding school in Switzerland, and Sharon Creech is a genius. if I could convince him to read it, I think he would love it

Valtteri Bottas: The Fellowship of the Ring by JRR Tolkien - what are hobbits if not humanoid moomins?

Zhou Guanyu: Piranesi by Susannah Clarke - a fun, exciting, stylishly written book for a stylish guy

Kevin Magnussen: Watership Down by Richard Adams - rabbit warfare <3

Nico Hulkenberg: A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles - Hulk SEEMS like a Dad Who Reads Historical Fiction, even if he isn't yet

Pierre Gasly: Six of Crows by Leigh Bardugo - I almost said A Game of Thrones but I don't think that would be good for him. so, Six of Crows. he likes heists!

Esteban Ocon: City of Brass by S.A. Chakraborty - a superhero origin story of sorts for Mr. Spiderman

Bonus: Liam Lawson: Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir - lesbian from New Zealand. let me have this

*ro asked for it, take it up with them @oscarpiastriwdc

#put the body of this under the cut bc it's embarrassingly long #these books are all originally in english which i know would not be ideal for many of the drivers! but those are the books i know best #do not lose

[isalisewrites]

TERRIBLE, BUT GREAT - CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

SUMMARY:

“Harry Potter.” The cold burrowed into his flesh, the scent of cloying death and molding earth clogged his senses.

“The Boy Who Lived.”

A strange sense of loss and disappointment rose within him. That brilliant, yet cruel boy could’ve been so much more if he’d not stepped down this bloodied path.

Terrible, but great. He pitied this creature.

“Come to die.”

Harry Potter faced the flash of green light with the bravery of a Gryffindor and the broken heart of a Hufflepuff.

---

When Death gives Harry a third option, one that can save everyone he ever cared about, he takes it unflinchingly. Even when that means doing the impossible: falling in love with the enemy, Tom Riddle.

---

TWENTY-SEVEN EXCERPT:

The scars of a harsh life were branded into Harry’s very skin.

Rage boiled inside Tom. He strode towards Harry.

“Uh, Tom? What’re you—oh, fuck—”

Tom grabbed him by the upper arm and forcibly whirled Harry around. He couldn’t hear Harry’s protests or the endless string of profanity. No. He could only see the belt scars of many whippings. So many. The scars disappeared beneath the towel, hidden from view, but there was no doubt they continued downward. Some of the scars were faded with age, but a couple of them were far too recent for Tom’s taste.

“What the actual fuck, Tom?!” snapped Harry, trying to wrench away. But Tom tightened his hold, relentless and furious. He jerked Harry closer, who let out a strange, high pitched sound.

“Where did you get these?” demanded Tom.

Harry struggled, surprisingly powerful muscles flexing beneath Tom’s hand; he twisted and pulled against the hand holding his upper arm, almost managing to get away. Tom shook him lightly, wresting some of the control out of Harry’s fight; his free hand snapped out and gripped Harry by the face. His fingers pinched Harry’s cheeks.

“Who did this to you?” hissed Tom. “Tell me the name—their location.”

“Tom, stop!”

Those green eyes glimmered.

“Were these made by your parents?”

“N-no! Of course not—Tom, fuck—calm down—”

“Then, tell me who they are!” shouted Tom.

He would kill them.

Harry became frantic, squirming and jerking, but Tom wouldn’t let go. It was a violent dance, their struggle against each other, until Harry slammed into the tile wall and let out a cry of pain. His head whipped up with the beginnings of furious tears in his eyes and he glared at Tom fiercely. “They’re dead!” he cried. Tom stilled. The fight died between them and Harry sagged against the wall. “They’re already dead. They’re…” He squeezed his eyes shut.

Tom’s chest heaved and the hand pinching Harry’s cheeks loosened. His hands slowly dropped to his sides as the clouds of fury parted in his mind. Tom shook on the inside. He wanted to curse something into the oblivion, but there was nothing to curse here.

Tom met Harry’s eyes. His tears hadn’t fallen, but they still glistened, making the color glitter with the light. It reminded Tom of one beauty, the surface of the Great Black Lake as the full moon rose high above it, its waters rippling with the shimmer of moonlight. Harry shivered, drawing his hands over his arms. Droplets of water slipped down Harry’s neck over another scar - claw marks? - down his collarbone; they drew his gaze towards the burn scar there. 

Tom swallowed. “Pity,” he whispered. “I would’ve liked to have killed them myself.”

#harry potter #tom riddle #tomarry #hp #fanfiction #fanfic #harrymort #hp fanfic #terrible but great #mywriting #harry potter/tom riddle

[beastofburdenxo]

Raising Catherine

~Chapter 1~

Tommy takes in a friend's daughter to raise on a deathbed promise. No smut, language, hint of violence, mention of blood and death. 1.3k words. Tommy is a sweetheart in this one ^^

“You’ve got to promise me, Tom, that when I die, you’ll take care of my Catherine. Promise me please.” Thomas looked at his ailing friend in the eye, knowing it wouldn’t be long before tuberculosis took him. “I will, I promise. She will be safe with me old friend.” Three months later, at the funeral he stood beside his dear departed friend's daughter, Catherine. “I’m sorry for your loss, Love,” he told her, “He is no longer in any pain.” She was silent in mourning, she just took his hand and lightly squeezed. After the funeral, he took her back to pack some things to take with her. “I’m afraid you are coming with me,” Tommy told her, “I promised your dad I'd take care of you, and that is what I plan to do. I have a huge house, plenty of room for us both. There will be lots of room to play, what do you like to do?” Catherine just looked at him with the somber eyes of a woman beyond her years, “I’m 12 Tommy, I don’t play.” He chuckled, “Well I'm sure you’ll find something to do and pass the time.” He takes her bags in his arms and leads her to the car. “I like to draw and paint.” Giving her space to say goodbye to her childhood home he replies, “Do you now? Consider it done, catherine. Whatever supplies you need I will get you.” 

The first week in the new home was difficult to say the least. The place was huge, and Catherine got lost several times, she had to ask the maid Frances for help. It was difficult for Tommy too, not used to having to take care of another human, much less a 12-year-old girl. He had no idea what to do with her, what to say to her. He just knew to keep her fed and make sure she had enough art supplies. Tommy knew she was hurting, he too knew loss, but didn’t know quite how to go about it. Sometimes he’d walk by her room and hear her crying. He wanted to comfort the poor girl, but how? One night, he heard screaming, a terrible, gut-wrenching sound coming from her room. He also knew of night terrors and decided to go check on her. The poor thing was thrashing in her bed, her face red and tear stained. “Catherine, wake up sweetie, wake up it’s just a nightmare.” Tommy lightly shook her awake to not scare her further. “Oh God Tommy, it was terrible,” she sobbed, “I dreamed he was lying in bed, covered in blood that was oozing from his mouth. He wouldn’t stop screaming. There was so much blood Tommy...” Tommy wrapped her up in his arms, “Shhh, it’s okay,” he soothed, “It was just a bad dream. It's over. Your dad is in a better place now catherine. Easy now, love.”  

He held her for a while, gently rocking her, until the tears stopped. “Try and go back to sleep now, I'll be close by just in case, okay?” Catherine just nodded her head, as she allowed Tommy to tuck her back in. About an hour later, right when Tommy was just fixing to go to bed himself, the screaming returned. He woke her back up to her sobs of terror. “Oh God, it won’t stop. Why won’t it stop? I can’t sleep, I see his poor sickly face every time I close my eyes. Tommy don’t leave me! The blood, so much blood...” Tommy held her again, rubbing her back. “I’m here, I'm here, I'm not leaving. Why don’t you sleep in my bed tonight, eh? Keep me from going back and forth.” He scoops her up like she’s a newborn baby and carries her to his room. “There is plenty of room for us both. I’ll be right here love, if you get scared again, eh?” Tommy tucks her in his bed, lying down beside her. He refused to go to sleep himself until he heard her relaxed breathing. She only woke up only one more time after that, and Tommy vowed to himself that nothing was going to hurt her ever again. If it was the last thing he ever did.  

They both started to adjust to each other. When she wasn’t at school, he’d sometimes take her with him to the betting office. She’d always have her sketchbook with her, drawing everything and everyone she saw. One day after school, she walked to the office and Tommy noticed that she was upset. “Cathy love, what's wrong? He asked her. Trying to be brave and not sniffle, she told Tommy about the boy at school that was bullying her. Apparently, it had been going on before her dad died and she just didn’t tell anyone. But she finally couldn’t take anymore. Tommy was furious, “What’s the little shit’s name? I'll find him and handle this right now!” Of course, she tells him, further making his blood boil. Polly walked in, hearing Tommy’s angry fit, “Alright, what’s it this time Tommy? You’ll find yourself with a heart attack one of these days I swear it.” Tommy tells her Cathy’s plight. “Tommy, you can’t handle this like a peaky blinder, you must go about it like a responsible parent! What are you gonna do, find the kid and cut him a smile? Put him in the cut? Then what, pay off his parents?” Tommy starts to pace, “I know the shit’s father, if he’s anything like him, they both need to be thrown in the cut. The whole lot of them are assholes! They need to learn not to fuck with the peaky blinders.” Catherine softly interjects, “I’m not a peaky blinder Tommy, or a Shelby. You know that.”  With a softened expression, he bends down and strokes her cheek. “Yes, you are, Love.” he tells her gently, “You are one of us just as much as my own brother is, and we take care of our own.” With a forehead kiss, he sends her off with Polly.  

Tommy calls Finn into his office, with him being close to her age he’s the perfect solution. “You’ve got it Tommy,” Finn tells him, “He will be taken care of. Cathy will be left alone. I’ll walk her to and from school just to be sure.” Tommy slaps him on the back. “Good man, Finn. Just don’t kill the boy, I’ll have Polly on my ass for sure then. She already thinks I'm overreacting. I’d do it my damn self if the fucker was grown.” The next day, she saw her bully with a swollen eye, avoiding her like the plague. It was a good day. She asked Finn on the way home what happened. “Oh, I have no idea,” he replied with a smirk, “But I bet he’ll be quiet from now on.” After dinner, she made her way to Tommy’s office. He was busy with paperwork as usual. “Come in love, how was your day?” He patted his lap in invitation. She accepted, wrapping her arms around him. “It was good. James had a swollen eye today, and he refused to even acknowledge me.” A ghost of a smirk reached his lips at this news. “Well then, looks like he messed with someone he shouldn’t have, eh? Got what was coming to him? I bet your day was good then.” Catherine is curious, she must know if he had anything to do with it. “Tommy, did you have anything to do with this? I asked Finn about it on the way home, but he was being dodgy about it.”  

“Why would Finn know, love?” he asked her, “All that matters is that you are safe and happy. Don’t worry your little head about it. What’s done is done.” The topic of conversation changes to her favorite teacher, needing a new sketchbook, and what she is reading now. At bedtime, Tommy tucks her in her own bed, her nightmares finally a thing of the past. “Tommy,” she whispers to him right before he closes her bedroom door. “Yes, Love?”  

“Thank you” In the darkness, he can finally release the grin he’s been holding in at her bully’s misfortune. “Don’t mention it.”

#tommy shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

[eternal-love]

Austin and Me

“Baby?”

“Wife to the ‘king’. Icon to the world. Destined for more.”

Summary: At 18 years old, she fell in love with Austin, at 20 years old, she became his wife, by 22, she was his doll. In which Cynthia’s life changed drastically after falling head over heels with a man that promised her the moon and the stars. She takes us down the memory lane of what could’ve been— the perfect marriage.

Inspired by the book: Elvis and Me by Priscilla Presley.

I do not condemn any of the portrayals I decide to do about certain people, it’s just fanfiction. And it would be divided in parts.

English isn’t my first language so I’m trying my best!

MASTERLIST.

As filming started again, I saw him way less than before and that only put a strain in our relationship. Everyday I dreaded the fact that I wasn’t filming anything right now, I wanted to act, I wanted to be able to work on my craft, but I just couldn’t. I had only myself to blame, I was the one who decided to come to Australia with him, to put my career at hold.

I stayed back at home, taking care of Lori and trying to be the best mother at least, I’d call my agent whenever I could, trying to see if he could get me something to act in, even if it was just a minor role, anything.

I started to notice Austin being a bit more distracted, he was coming home late after filming, but not the normal kind of late. Tom Hanks lived a floor above us and he came at a certain hour and Austin came back usually almost three hours later.

I finally found something, some love notes. I was snooping through his jackets and pockets because it was laundry day, and I found it. I didn’t want to be nosy but I ended up being, and I regret it.

‘I can’t wait to see you again, I miss you already, baby. XOXO, Livia’

I wanted to die, I didn’t even understand half of the emotions I was feeling. I felt mad, sad, confused, irritated, jealous. Why? Why did he so this— Livia. Olivia Dejonge, his co-star, the girl playing Priscilla. I had a small battle with myself, should I confront him or should I not?

I slowly walked towards his office where he was just chilling out, drawing on a notebook while he was on a phone call with his agent.

“I don’t even want to go straight to another project in the first place…” As he saw me enter the office he ended the call, a sigh of annoyance escaped his lips. “Now don’t go on imagining things.”

“Like Olivia?” I asked, he was almost cynical as he stayed silent and got up from his desk. “Livia? Baby?” I said, the thought of him calling her baby and then calling me baby made me feel disgusted.

“I said it, woman. I don’t want to hear no more.” He walked past me but I wasn’t going to let him get away with this. I started following him towards the bedroom.

“Well tell me now, is there something you’re hiding from me? That you don’t want me to know?” I followed him, as he walked he turned to look at me and raised his voice.

“I have nothing to hide from you, you’re just being to aggressive and demanding. Like a jealous psychopath!” He yelled at me, completely making me feel as if I was overreacting.

“I’m not a psychopath!” I tried to defend myself, little did I know that Austin was actually great at gaslighting.

“You know? I think you should get a little time off and stay at another place.” He said as he went on a full temper tantrum and tossed one of my suitcases on the floor, throwing anything that I owned inside of it. He felt guilty or I made him feel guilty enough for him to start acting this way, he could’ve apologized like a normal human being would but no, he decided to start acting like a man-child. Look, I know I wasn’t the perfect woman but my goodness, it was in me to help him and to just be repaid with this? There a fucking pandemic going in the world and he was threatening me, his wife, his rock, the mother of his daughter, to basically fuck off on my own?

I got down on my knees and started placing everything in the suitcase, sobbing and flinching whenever he threw my clothes directly at me or at the suitcase. He stopped yelling and I could only hear my sobs and his heavy breathing as he iced around, apparently he calmed down, he kneeled by my side and grabbed my arms softly.

“You understand?” I looked at him, my eyes filled with tears. “Calm down baby, come on, come on.” He helped me get up and sat be on the edge of the bed with him, his arm around my shoulders and his other hand caressing my chin. “You see, baby? You need someone to keep you on check and put you in your place.” He whispered and I hugged him tightly, I knew I was stupid but I knew he was also stressed so I tried to justify it, a whole damn much. Feeling humiliated I could only sob on his shoulder, I was relieved to be back in his arms but all of this had to happen for him to finally hold me and kiss me again?

He seriously could’ve told me that the moon was made of cheese and I would have believed him in that very moment. He could break me, step or spit on me and I would have still come back to him when I was finally fine.

That same night I stayed up all night, looking at the beach from the balcony, I felt so— lonely. Truly, he was here but at the same time he wasn’t, so close yet so far away. The incident was never mentioned again, but he made sure of making me feel guilty every now and then. Like whenever he was talking with his best-friend, Ashley and I walked past him he’d say.

“No, I’m telling ya. I’m feeling depressed.” And when he noticed me walking past him, holding Lori and smiling at him, he’d give me a side-eye and tell her. “No, I feel like nobody understands me.” And he made sure I heard him.

And it really hurt me because I tried to help him but he’d shut himself out, not letting me in to help him, comfort him, talk to him and then he’d go around telling his friends and agents how depressed he felt and how nobody around him tried to help him.

I just wished he’d trust me more, I wished he went back to who he was. But little did I know that this was just a small taste of what our marriage would become.

Man, I wish I could hug Cynthia.

#Spotify #austin butler #austin butler fanfiction #austin butler fic #austin butler imagine #austin butler x reader #austinbutler

[gffa]

what order would you recommend reading the batman comics in? also where do you find the comics?

"What order would you recommend reading the Batman comics in?" only has one answer and that answer is for me to immediately burst into tears. Okay, this list is designed around what I think is most likely to get you into comics and having a good time, if you're enjoying the kind of posts that appear on this blog: - Nightwing 2016, you can start from issue #1 and just keep reading (well, once you hit the Ric Grayson arc, you can skim if you want) because it's a fun, light-hearted series that's just very easy to read and is my comfort series in a lot of ways. I enjoy Dick Grayson's character, it does a lot of work to establish him in his own city, but also touches on his relationships with his family, and I think is a great starting place. You can start with Better Than Batman, Back to Bludhaven, Nightwing Must Die, Blockbuster, Raptor's Revenge, The Untouchable, The Bleeding Edge, Knight Terrors (not to be confused with the 2023 event of the same name!), Burnback, The Gray Son Legacy, The Joker War, Fear State Then there's something of a 'soft reboot' where the volume numbering starts over (but issue #s keep going) with: Leaping into the Light, Get Grayson, The Battle for Blüdhaven's Heart - Robin & Batman (2022), a beautifully illustrated series from the early days of Bruce and Dick, where Bruce is not exactly the world's greatest parent, but he's trying, there's an amazingly emotionally satisfying hug, and it shows what a delightful hurricane child Dick Grayson was. - "The Murder Club" is just one story out of many in Batman: Urban Legends but it's a fantastic one, with beautiful art and a story that's about Thomas and Martha Wayne traveling forward in time to see what's become of their son, and they don't necessarily approve--until Dick and Damian are basically impossible to ignore and they see what Bruce is fighting for. For more general Batman stories (rather than ones focused on my Blorbo), I'm enjoying: - The Court of Owls [vol. 1][vol. 2] by Scott Snyder, which is a solid case story and introduces the Court of Owls, which I genuinely like as a relatively recent addition to Batman's rogues gallery! - Batman 2016 is a bit of a controversial pick, because not everyone enjoys the authors writing for this series, but I've had a blast with a lot of Tom King's writing, personally. I especially enjoyed a lot of the run-up to the Bruce/Selina wedding with Rebirth book 3 (there's a double date with Bruce/Selina and Clark/Lois that's just a silly, fun good time!), The Rules of Engagement, Bride or Burglar, The Wedding, and Cold Days. I wasn't really a big Bruce/Selina shipper before those issues, but they really won me over because I love a good hot mess of a couple that have a bunch of thorny issues between them, that Selina loves Bruce not as some mythic figure but as the dumbass guy she loves, and then some bonus quality content with Bruce's kids, especially once the wedding falls apart and he's in such a bad place and Dick Grayson is so good at stabilizing Bruce that it's unreal. (You can also read Preludes to the Wedding in around here, if nothing else the Dick + Hush one was really, really fun! Clark and Dick take Bruce to Batburger for his bachelor's party because they're horrible people who think they're funny, and it's DELIGHTFUL.) - Batman/Superman: World's Finest (2022) by Mark Waid is also more light-hearted, but is so much fun, the characters banter with each other, but you can see their genuine friendship and how it became to be one of foundational relationships in both their lives, and plus Dan Mora's art is always TOP NOTCH. (Plus, volume 2 is out as well.)

I limited myself to anything from the 2016 reboot ("Rebirth") because I think that's easiest to draw someone in and these are the starting places that I would enjoy, though, they do assume a fair amount of pre-knowledge about Batman characters, like personally I enjoyed Batman & Robin Eternal but I don't think it's a good starting point for what the comics are actually like. As always, if someone has a good suggestion for a newer fan, I'd love to hear them! Especially since I tend to be Nightwing-focused, that's where my area of expertise is, if you have some good Tim or Jason or Damian recs, feel free! Though, in general, I think you can pick up almost any trade paperback and it'll be designed to be read without too much confusion, so just find a character you think you'll like and jump in! :D (p.s. I'm linking to Hoopla pages because, if you have a library card with your local library, you can use it to sign in to Hoopla!)

#lumi.txt #dc #batfam #dick grayson #comics recs

[mischiefmanaged71]

The Great War (3/10)

Summary: After landing in a place he has no idea about, Tom comes across someone who can finally help him get back to Manchester

Pairing: Tom Bennett x fem! reader

The sun dipped through the window, dressing the room in its warm glow. Tom relaxed against his pillow, wondering when he would get out of this place. Each day he spent here was another test of his patience given the ever-growing threat of the Nazi occupation. He stared at the ceiling with a blank expression, anxiety stirring in his chest. Doctor O’Connor laid on the bed opposite while the blood transfusion took place. He had hoped Y/N would continue her daily visits, her conversation and presence being one of the few comforting things in this distressing situation. 

Tom admitted he was out of his depths here. A British soldier in a German-occupied country. In these circumstances, it wasn’t expected that any British persons would be shown mercy with the lines drawn in this war, should he be caught. Tom was anything if not determined to leave as Doctor O’Connor explained the plan they devised.

“You register as an injured prisoner of war.” Doctor O’Conner said.

“Then what?” Tom asked

“You die.” his voice deadpanned.

Tom fell silent, glancing over at the man with an astonished look, “Well, I hate to be picky. This will work will it?” 

“You’ll know before I do. We’ve never actually tried before.”

An exasperated laugh escaped Tom’s mouth as he sighed, turning away from the man. “Great.”

The sound of approaching footsteps caused his head to turn. Y/N approached, dressed in a coat and pants, aside from her usual nurse's gown. Tom’s eyebrows raised at her attire, comforted at her soft smile. 

“How are we today?” She directed this at Tom.

“He’s fine. I, however, am ready to leave his presence.” Doctor remarked, earning a chuckle from the woman. She held Tom’s gaze, checking with him. An apologetic look as she awaited an answer.

“Doin’ okay.”  her heart clenched at the defeat in his tone.

She nodded, glancing between the men, “Did I interrupt something?”

“Nothing-Doctor here was just telling me-”

Doctor O’Connor shushed him, sending Y/N an exasperated look as she helped him remove the needle from his arm. A nurse passed the group, interrupting the conversation to escort the Doctor away. Y/N fixed her eyes on Tom, recognising a hopeless look behind his facade of calm. She took a seat on the bed opposite his.

“I’m sorry I’ve been absent these past days.” bringing his eyes to her’s, “I’ve been trying to sort some things out that took longer than I expected.”

“It’s alright, love. Not like your obligated to keep in my company.”

“I didn’t want you to think I just left.”

Something twisted in his chest, unfamiliar with this feeling of want aside from the devotion of family. Outside that, Tom had always felt alone. 

“I’ve come to understand that feeling. People move in and out of your life. How things are.”

She bit her lip, understanding that feeling all too well with how all her loved ones had turned and left at one point. Many of them taken from her in the depths of war and internal battles. He watched her clasp her hands, pondering over thoughts. 

“Why did you serve in the first place?” she posed the question.

“The truth?” he exhaled, drawing his hands to his chest. “I’m always in trouble and it finally caught up to me.” he exhaled, “It was either this or a permanent spot in a cell for something petty. And I...”

“And...”

“Well, I understand I was wrong about some things.” Tom swallowed, “The things I saw, well- I’d rather not see it again.”

“If I’ve learned anything recently its that conflict, it brings out a new side in people. You’ll find new parts of yourself to use to survive.” she said.

Tom reflected on that moment on the beach. When the bullet tore through his shoulder, the blood spilling from his wound. The dizzying impact of his head cracking against the ground, and feeling this overwhelming crash of thoughts. What ifs? What had he done with his short life that had just started? His thoughts had darted to his dad and Lois. All of the things he had wished to tell them. How much he appreciated and loved them both. All of the unsaid words that he wouldn’t get to tell them if he died on that shore.

“I’m sure he’s proud of you.” she said, noticing his distant eyes, “Your father.”

“Don’t know what he thinks half of the time.” Tom shook his head. “I’m sure him and Lois are glad to have the breathing room.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.” she smiled warmly, “There are many words left unsaid between family. In my experience...best to not leave them unsaid.”

Tom glanced at her expectantly as she bent down and grasped the bag on the floor. A bag was placed between them, though Y/N held onto it with hesitance. 

“What’s the bag for?”

“For you.”

His eyebrows perked up in slight surprise, “What’s inside?”

“You’ll have to open it.” 

***

“What the fuck is this outfit?” his Manchester accent coming across strong in his exasperated tone.

“Something wrong?” she smirked, finding amusement in his response.

“I look ridiculous.”

Y/N had her back turned to him as he changed. “I’m sure it’s not as bad as you are making it out.”

The sound of his shoes stepping closer caused her to turn, glancing at Tom in his clean clothes that she brought. He looked perfectly fine in them. Clean and simple, which is precisely what she was aiming for. It was a mixture of beige and green. He certainly did not look bad in the outfit. He could probably make anything look good with his looks.

“They’re simple and plain. They don’t stand out which won’t separate you from the rest.” she confirmed, stepping closer to tug the collar up and flatten it down. She felt Tom’s gaze on her as she adjusted it, averting her eyes.

“Now the only thing separating you is your accent.”

“So...” he looked down at her, “keep my mouth shut.”

“You’re learning.” she quipped with a smile, the charming smile she received almost leaving her breathless. Y/N grabbed the bag from the floor, bringing Tom’s attention to it with a confused glance.

“What’s that one for?”

“This one’s mine.” she pulled the bag over her shoulders.

“What’d you need that for?” his face twisted in confusion.

“Well I can’t exactly make the trip without supplies.” she replied.

His face softened, “You’re serious?”

“I know we haven’t known each other for more than a few days-so, yes. I’m very serious.”

“It’ll be dangerous. More than I can ask of you.” he breathed.

“I’m a nurse in a war zone. I’m no stranger to it. You need a way out, and I speak the language. I’ve lived here my whole life. If you have any chance of getting out of here, it’s with my help.”

“But why?” his voice cutting through the air.

Now she was the one dumbfounded as she stared at him, “What?”

“Why would you help me?”

She wet her lips, stepping closer to him “I understand the risks and I’m going with you.”

“It could get you killed if we’re caught. You realise that?”

“Yes, but someone has to make the trip. If this route works, then many others can leave too. I know what I’m doing. Do you trust me?”

A moment of silence passed as he studied her expression, his blue eyes glossing over her features.

His warm breath brushed against her cheek, “Guess I’ll have to.”

“It certainly won’t be easy and...” she paused, a flush running over her cheeks.  She pulled something from her pocket, the sound of something clicking against each other as she held open her hand.

“You proposing already, love? I’m flattered, but its a bit soon isn’t it?” as she held out the rings in her palm. Her face flushed at the comment, forcing herself to remain neutral at his flirtatious smile.

“This was the only option I could think of to disguise you. I know it’s a bit uncomfortable, but-”

“Who said there was a problem? You can do whatever you like, love.” he had this enchanting effect with his words and his smile that caused her to flush.

She shook her head, grabbing his hand. “You are now my husband, and I, your wife. Hopefully we won’t be pulled aside, if all goes as planned. That is our cover.” slipping the band on his ring finger.

He leaned forward, meeting her gaze, their lips inches apart, “And in the case that doesn’t work?”

“Plan B.” she said, gripping onto the straps of her bag.

“What’s that?”

She remained silent, leaving the room.

“It’s not very nice to leave your husband behind. You’re not gonna answer my questions?”

Y/N sighed, licking her lips. This would not be an easy trip. Certainly with the way that man sent butterflies soaring in her stomach.

“Plan B is exactly that. An alternative that I’d rather not have to use.” she absolved, looking up at him who stared at her with a teasing smile.

“And you’re not gonna let me into it?”

“Not here.” she began walking, allowing him to walk beside her “First, we make it through the city without being spotted. We’ll meet a correspondent who can get us to the next spot. From there, we’ll be on our own.”

“And you’re sure about this?” he asked, glancing at the bands on their hands, “What are the odds we actually make it to the border?”

“There aren’t many other options, so I’ll guess we’ll have to try.” 

TAGS

@pearlstiare @dothrckis @aemonds-sapphire @xcharlottemikaelsonx @amnesiiiac @khaleesihavilliard @filipinamultifandom​ @padfooteyes​ @aemondsvhagar @batsyforyou @yentroucnagol @darkarya964 @cl-0-vr @viviartsy

#tom bennett #tom bennett x reader #world on fire #ewan mitchell #aemond

[drunkonimagination]

tlh cast going ice skating, because it's that time of the year 🌨️⛸️

cordelia: incredible, an absolute queen, no one is doing it like her. she's a combination of natural skills, immaculate technique and that extremely elegant bearing that just carstairs own. everyone looks at her in awe (especially james), like 'can't believe she's a professional ice skater and we didn't know? this girl is insane'

james: he's fairly good, of course nothing to do with cordelia, but he handles it. he is content of going around the rink two, three times...but then he gets easily bored. this of course unless cordelia skates on his side...then he could spend hours ice skating and simping for his wife.

christopher: read a bunch of books about ice skating, took a little look at the rink, checked the ice's thickness and consistency and...fell at the first step on ice. but after that first slip he actually learns pretty quickly and everyone is kind of amazed. he even manages to do some little jumps emulating cordelia.

grace: she's trying, she's really trying, but ice skating is just not her thing. she remains very close to the border the whole time and refuses to take even one little step ahead. at some point christopher offers her his arm and after a little moment of hesitatation she takes it. he starts rambling about science almost immediately and the girl visibly relaxes. she even enjoys the whole experiences, since kit doesn't leave her alone for a second.

matthew: as infuriating as it is (cit alastair) he is a natural. his movements are kinda rough and he doesn't have cordelia's perfect technique, but god if he knows how to skate. he's incredibly skilled and definitely the fastest. he also acts like a little kid once he steps foot on the rink: he gets super excited, wants to make speed races all the time and skate backwards just because 'it's so fun!!' ('christopher's brother is way more mature' cit alastair pt II)

lucie: same kid attitude as matthew but less skilled. she's more on james's level but has twice fun while skating. she puts everyone in a good mood with her sparkling excitement and is basically a born motivator, like 'you can do it kit!! yeah!! that's what i was talking about!! by the angel, daisy that was awesome!!! please teach me!!!' everyone just adores her.

jesse: a fan of the border like his sister. he really didn't want to do this, but lucie's adorable face makes him do things he would have never imagined. he even learns some fundamentals after lucie drags him with her in the middle of the rink. and he also falls several times, but lucie's laugh makes it completely worth it <3

alastair: he's the only one who can keep up with cordelia. initially no one really noticed because he didn't want to draw attention, but when cordelia challenged him? no way he would just back off. so he gave his little perfect performance shocking everyone in the process. but he didn't spend much time showing off (even if he definitely could if he wanted), because he had something else to take care of.

thomas: he's that something. the man is absolutely terrified, looks at the ice rink once and immediately goes 'nope, this ain't for me'. but alastair insists like 'c'mon tom, just give it a try' 'why can't i just look at you being perfect on those skates?' 'i don't want to force you...but wouldn't it be nice if you at least try it once?' '*violently puts the skates on* UGH FINE.' worst decision of his life, instantly regrets it. he grips on alastair's jacket all the time like he's going to die at any moment and when alastair finally convinces him that he's got it and he's not going to fall- thomas falls. completely on alastair.

bonus for thomastair because i am a clown:

thomas: *apologizing in every possible language, regretting all his life decisions, thinking he's somehow caused brain damage to alastair with that fall*

alastair: *lying on this back with thomas's body pressed on him, noticing little snowflakes stuck in thomas's hair, looking at thomas's red cheeks, lingering on thomas's lips moving, thomas's lips moving, thomas's lips, thomas's lips, thomas-*

matthew passing by and taking one (1) look at them: if you start making out now, i will not hang out with you two ever again.

#thomas *gasp*: WE WERENT GOING TO MAKE OUT!!! #alastair: we weren't? #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #cordelia carstairs #james herondale #matthew fairchild #christopher lightwood #grace blackthorn #lucie herondale #jesse blackthorn #tlh #the last hours #chain of iron #thomastair #jordelia #ghostwriter #chain of thorns

[nichenarratives]

Bittersweet

An Obscure Oneshot

Inspiration art by: Tracy J Butler

The night is stiflingly still, interrupted only occasionally by a poorly concealed drunken hiccup or the murmur of cabbies working late, ferrying the conspicuously intoxicated home before the local police can lock them. The street lamps have long been lit, the oil burning low in the city smog, illuminating narrow pools of cobbled streets in hazy orange light.

Mordecai is used to the dark; his job - both past and present - demands discretion and secrecy, making the cover of night perfect for his needs. There's no better time to assassinate targets, equalize grudges or raze a competitor's warehouse to the ground than while the pillars of society slumber. The night is his armour and often, his advantage.

Tonight isn't just another job, however. Tonight is personal.

Apartments are always harder to break into. Not only does one have to find a way into the building but also the correct unit, all without being heard or seen. Thankfully, having lived within the city for over a decade, Mordecai has a vast pool of experience to draw upon, making this house call just as easy as any other assignment.

Rather than breaking into the lobby, he finds a window on the second storey to squeeze through, likely left open to quell the scent of mold and mildew infecting the walls. It's a revoltingly familiar smell, one that calls forth memories the tom would much rather leave forgotten: his mother crying on the stairs after Hannah passed in her arms, suffocated by the fungus in her lungs…

Uncomfortable emotions swell in his chest, a swift reminder to squash them down. Focus, he chides himself. Now is not the time for sentiments. Wrinkling his nose, he gets back to work. Retrieving the lock pick kit from his coat, he crouches in front of his target's door. Mordecai dare not put his ear directly to the grimy wood, but in the serene silence of the night, he doesn't have to; the click of success is almost deafening in the tiny hallway.

He slips his tools away and with a hand on a gun concealed within his jacket, steps inside.

Mordecai pushes the door barely wide enough to slip through, aware its rusting hinges would creak if opened a crack more, then closes it almost soundlessly behind him. There he pauses, large ears poised for any movement or threat, but greated only by the strained, heavy breaths of an injured man sleeping roughly in his favourite chair, the tom allows himself a second to relax.

As wide eyes adjust to the darkness, they scour the room in its entirety. The apartment is in worse shape than predicted; crusting cups, plates and bowls amounting to days of use and a pile of untreated bandages that smell suspiciously of puss are the worst offenders. Bacteria notwithstanding, a number of magazines are scattered aimlessly around the man's feet and a broken radio sits dejected in the darkness on the windowsill, its cogs on full display for all to marvel at.

With ears folding back and a disgusted curl of his lip, his gaze shifts to his target. The hulking ginger bobcat wheezes in the armchair, legs propped up on an ottoman Mordecai doesn't recall being previously present. His eye patch rests on a side table, and a heavy blanket across his lap has been tucked meticulously under the armpits, turning the once intimidating man into a rattling, cozy burrito.

Viktor grimaces with every breath, occasionally pausing to hiss through grit teeth before exhaling to begin the cycle anew. Seeing his old friend in such a state - and knowing he is the direct cause of his pain - raises unwanted empathy to the surface. This is why he doesn't try to make friends out of accomplices; loyalties shift, people die, plans change. Mordecai sighs and releases the butt of his pistol.

It's easier not to care, or you end up visiting old allies in the dead of night to check on them, forgetting they're an enemy.

All he can deduce tonight is he feels… something. It's not the burning anger of betrayal or frustration with a job gone awry. It's not even akin to the irritation he feels surrounded by unintelligent morons at the Mirabel Hotel. Those feelings all burn in his gut, devouring his patience, simmering below the skin until he extinguishes them. This is a solid weight in his chest, immovable and unforgiving. Guilt…?

In truth, Mordecai doesn't know what he should feel at that moment. He's gotten so good at suppressing natural emotional reactions, those that make it to the surface are often expressed in the same manner; frustration or anger, either at himself or the cause of distress, and an unending need to control it before it gets out of hand.

Mordecai scoffs silently at the idea. Why would he feel guilt, when he expressly told Viktor to retire? When he re enforced his message with a swift shot to the man's good knee? I practically autographed his retirement slip, he thinks as he stares down at his former friend, but his glare doesn't return. He can't seem to form it. If the obstinate bobcat had simply compiled, he wouldn't be in critical condition.

The reasoning is indisputable, yet the leaden feeling in the sharpshooter's gut remains unchanged, suffocating and nauseating all at once. Mordecai removes his pince-nez and rubs his eyes roughly, the beginnings of a migraine starting.

His composure is slipping, the monochromatic tom can feel it. Taking a deep breath, Mordecai straightens his posture and holds it for a few heartbeats, then releases the breath slowly. Focusing on the air leaving his lungs cements the man back in the moment. A sharp mind swiftly rifles through possible next steps, and by the time his glasses are back on his muzzle, Mordecai has a plan.

Not wanting to get his clothes covered in unidentifiable filth, the tom shrugs off his suit jacket and carefully lays it over the back of the cleanest looking dining chair. Detaching his cufflinks, Mordecai stows them away in a breast pocket for safety - the last thing he wants is to leave behind evidence of his visit - before donning his favored black leather gloves and getting down to the real dirty work.

He's got a lot to do before sunrise.

oOoOo

He doesn't remember finishing his task. It had been early in the morning - the sun had already kissed the horizon - when the tuxedo started his last piece of clean-up. He recalls being up to his elbows in soapy water, leather gloves replaced with rubber to keep the residues from touching his skin. One of them springs a leak, but he perseveres until…

A heavy thunk on the head startles Mordecai out of slumber. He first gasps, then retches as he inhales a thick cloud of dust. Another thunk and incoherent yelling in his left ear. More filth and cobwebs clogging his airways. He scrambles to get out of 'bed' but instead falls over the arm of the wingback chair he'd evidentially passed out in.

A hearty smack to his backside and Mordecai yelps, swiftly righting himself, an embarrassing tangle of limbs and fine fabrics crinkled from a night's sleep. He desperately tries to brush the dirt from his head, frantic hands messing up his usually coiffured hair and whiskers. He doesn't even notice the fourth swing until it sweeps within an inch of his side, to which Mordecai jumps another pace away from his assailant and reaches for his holstered firearms.

His shoulder holsters are gone, as is his jacket.

It's enough of a surprise to bring Mordecai securely into the present; neither his holsters or jacket come off unless their owner feels secure. Green eyes squint and attempt to focus without spectacles, which were also abandoned somewhere around the wingback last night, to find his attacker is a fuzzy orange lump flailing some form of bristled stick between them, loudly cursing in Slovakian.

The night prior comes back in an instant. Mordecai snuck in to check on his friend, only to find the place in disarray, and couldn't bring himself to leave without cleaning up first. He'd removed his jacket and holsters for the added flexibility, rolled up his shirt sleeves and got to work tidying the room; moving the disgusting old bandages to the tub to soak in bleach solution, picking up the magazines, then washing the dishes before leaving them to dry in the rack.

Underestimating the severity of slobbery, he didn't complete the last task until almost five in the morning, whereupon he dried his hands before taking a seat in the wingback he used to favour for a short rest. Intending to be gone before the angry Slovak awoke, he'd felt a little calmer about his former friend's unfortunate situation after helping, so much his eyes had begun to droop. He'll assume his Mrs Bapka or Miss Pepper assisted. I need only vacate before he wakes.

Except the familiar environment, coupled with an old friend's presence after months of working with the imbeciles Mr Sweet employed, has killed his exhausted body to slumber.

Now, I'm coated in…. He can't help it; Mordecai shudders just imagining what was on that broom. His tail puffing up in disgust as he turns on Viktor, his usually plain facade is splintered by the angriest expression he can muster while chronically squinting. "You oaf! You've ruined this suit with your… your perennial mote collection!"

His vision is too fuzzy to read the bobcat's expression, but Viktor launching the broom at his head communicates the sentiment effectively. Mordecai raises his hands to defend himself and grunts when the wooden handle rebounds off his bare palms. Damnit! I need my glasses. Why did I take them off?

"You ruin good knee!" Viktor roars back and grabbing the nearest item off of his side table, throws it at the other. The reminder of his past transgressions simmers Mordecai's anger a little even if his expression remains fierce, but gives him enough pause to allow the magazine to slap him square in the face before flopping to the floor. "Vork fine with one knee, vork vell. Now, can't even climb stairs!"

"In my defense, you were supposed to retire," Mordecai retorts swiftly, then flinches back as Viktor attempts to pick up the end table in his rage. Thankfully, with his lungs full of holes, the Slovak can't lift it off the ground and it only rocks precariously before settling again. Mordecao decides to try reasoning with the hulk of a cat again as he fumbles around for his pince-nez. "I told you I was leaving, Viktor. I warned you it would be distasteful. If you'd just listened-"

"I listen, and tell you no," the old Slavok asserts through grit teeth. "Then, you take guns! Give to farmers! I have swiss cheese lung thanks to you! No climb stairs naow, thanks to you! No help in bar, thanks to-"

"Victor?" A familiar young voice asks through the door. Both men freeze, their gazes snapping to the worn wood as the knob jiggles in its housing. When the door doesn't budge, Miss Pepper knocks a couple times, fast and worried. "Are you okay? Is there someone with you?"

Large green eyes snap to Viktor the same moment his gaze returns to the tuxedo tom. They stare a long moment before another attempt at the lock has Mordecai in motion, blindly snatching up what he can locate - his holders in the coffee table, jacket over a chair - while acutely aware of the single eye burning a hole in his back. He still can't find his specs when another familiar voice pipes up. "Miss Bapka has a spare under her flower pot. I'll go grab it."

"Okay. I'll stay here," Ivy responds softly, and there's a short pause while Mordecai is pulling on his boots before another knock and a worried voice. "Rocky's getting the key, Viktor."

With it being light out and Viktor's apartment up on the third floor, jumping from a window isn't an option. He'll be seen or worse, break his leg and get caught. Neither Lackadaisy or Mirabel staff can know he was here; both would question his loyalties, based on the fact he cleaned instead of killing the bobcat after breaking in. I'll have achieved nothing, besides alienating former cohorts. They can't find me. I need to hide.

Still without his pince-nez, Mordecai is forced to navigate the small apartment from memory, passing close enough to Viktor for the old cat to grab his collar. There aren't many places to hide - the bedroom is too close to the front door, the bathroom could potentially be used by a visitor - but the tuxedo cat knows of one. Quiet as a mouse, he slides open one of the pantry doors and slips inside, squeezing his slim frame between said door and the shelves.

Almost as soon as he pulls the door closed, the front door springs open. Through the crack, Mordecai watches Rocky launch himself inside with a yell, shoe raised over his head and eyes darting about the room wildly. A moment passes and he straightens, looking confused as Ivy walks past him. "Does it…" He pauses, scratching his head with the sole of his shoe as he finds the words. "Look cleaner in here?"

"Maybe Mrs Bapka cleaned some," Ivy says as she steps carefully over the discarded broom, raising a brow at it as she balances a small cardboard box in her hand. From his current angle, Mordecai can't see the bobcat's face, but the young flapper feline looks quizzical. "I could've sworn I heard you talking to someone, though."

"Maybe he was talking to himself," Rocky suggests, his smile unwavering as he hops about trying to put his shoe back on. "I do it all the time! I have the best answers to questions I didn't even know I asked!"

Ivy ignores him and presents Viktor with the box, placing it carefully on his chest. "Rocky's taking me to university, but we stopped at the Little Daisy and got you your favourite pastry. Thought it might cheer you up a bit, you know… being stuck in here all day." She smiles a bittersweet smile, but when Viktor simply huffs sadly it fades. "I'm sorry, I wish we could make things better… if there's anything we can-"

"Hey, whose are these?" Rocky asks as he scoops a pair of glasses off the floor, straightening to scrutinize the missing pince-nez closely. Mordecai feels his chest tighten as Ivy leans in close too, frowning at the little circular spectacles. "Oh! I recognise those" she says suddenly. "Aren't they-"

"Old looking glass," Victor interrupts with an obvious lie before either of the two young visitors can say anything more. They both glance up to the orange bobcat, who holds out a meaty hand for the delicate eyeglasses. "Had made for reading. Vas joke with old partner. Ve match for vhile."

Rocky and Ivy share a glance, but the gray tabby hands the glasses over without fuss. "I didn't know you need glasses to read," Rocky states as Viktor neatly places them on the magazines now carefully categorized on the side table. "Oh, I remember!" Rocky explains with a snap of fine fingers. "They're like Ol' Serious Face's glasses! You know, the guy that-" he mimes a finger gun directly at Viktor's knee, and Mordecai can smell the sour expression it garners from Viktor. Rocky doesn't seem to notice it as he 'shoots' the knee with a soft click of his tongue.

Ivy swiftly pulls Rocky out of reach just as a huge hand goes for his neck. "Well, this was nice," she says brightly as she hurries Rocky towards the door, pushing him harder when he aims another finger gun. "But I really should get to school now. I wouldn't want to be late. Enjoy your cake!"

With that, the hurricane of youth exits the apartment and all falls silent again. Mordecai stays in his hiding place a little longer, to be sure they won't be disturbed again, before he finally slips back out of the pantry. From the kitchen, he can see Viktor staring down at his cake blankly, devoid of any discernible emotion, holding the little box with both hands.

It's a stark contrast to his earlier anger, and that heavy mass settles firmly back in Mordecai's chest seeing it. Like his mother's grief, this isn't something he can gloss over or fix, but it is his fault. That somehow makes everything worse.

He picks his way back through the living room, forced to run his fingers along surfaces and furniture as he nears them to avoid falling over, until he's so close to Viktor the cat is once again just colourful blobs. From here, Mordecai fumbles on the side table for his glasses and relieved when his hand closes on them, swiftly brings them to his muzzle.

Close up, Viktor looks like a caricature of depression, with pale lips drawn down so far it deforms his face and broad shoulders slumped towards his lap, apparently uncaring that the monochromatic tom is close enough to punch. The cake ibeads condensation from being recently removed from a cool display cabinet, the powdered sugar on top flavouring the air sickly sweet, as if openly mocking the bobcat's emotions by counteracting them effortlessly.

Mordecai sighs heavily, and not just because there's a large fingerprint smudging the corner of his glasses. "I'm sorry," he says, perhaps as earnestly as he ever has before, hand lingering above Viktor's shoulder but never making contact. It doesn't feel like a good time. There's so many feelings in his head, so many unnamed emotions and sentiments he can't make sense of, things he should say that Mordecai simply doesn't know how to express. "I should… I'll go."

He strides for the door, pausing for one last look at his only - now former - friend before letting himself out. Mordecai is fairly sure he hears the cake hit the door not a moment afterwards.

#lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #lackadaisy mordecai #mordecai heller #viktor vasko #viktor lackadaisy #friendship #ex friends #hurt/comfort #hurt no comfort #angst #mordecai cant emotion #tracy j butler #inspired by art #art inspo #oneshot fanfiction #oneshot #fanfiction #fanfic #no beta we die like atlas may #obscure oneshot #obscure oneshots #niche narratives

[thelightsandtheroses]

Call It What You Want: Chapter 2 - let me put my lips to something

Pairing: Frankie Morales x female reader (she’s Tom Davis’ half-sister, however there are no physical descriptions)

Summary: Tom Davis’ younger half-sister never expected to move back to Florida, but eight months after her brother’s untimely death and in the wake of her, in hindsight, ill-advised marriage ending, here she is. Frankie Morales is trying to get it together after his relapse on returning to Florida led to the breakdown of his relationship. His priorities now are finding his own place so he doesn’t need to sleep on Pope’s couch, maintaining sobriety, spending more time with his daughter and getting his pilot’s licence back. So when the two of them end up sharing an apartment, it seems like the ideal solution. However, things are never that simple, are they?

Chapter Warnings: Minors DNI (18+ only), language, discussions of drug abuse and addiction, allusions to a previously abusive relationship (not detailed or specified), discussions of death, PTSD.

Notes – thanks for your patience with this one. The chapter title is from Eat Your Young by Hozier.

Word Count: 4.8 k

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Frankie

Frankie curls his hands around the paper cup, his feet tapping the floor.  He’s been thinking about flying again.

It’s been more than nine months since he flew last and he’s not even sure if he should count Colombia. If the helicopter crashes and everything turns to shit, are those miles you want to log?

If he’d just been firmer, if he’d realised Tom was lost in dollar bills and they were all heading the same way. He was the one who’d been to flight school, he knew the weight was a problem.

He could have stopped it.

He could have been slower to the trigger; he could have done it all differently.

No.

No, this was spiralling. This isn’t healthy. Frankie straightens in his chair, takes a deep breath.

If he was more like Will, he’d probably know exactly what number NA meeting this was now. Whatever number it is, it’s too many.

The meeting finally draws to a close. Finally!

Frankie is not sharing today. He has, in the past, but it’s been carefully selected. Frankie offers a creative reimagining of his relapse that removes all criminal liability from the events of the past year, to protect the people he has left. Besides, how would he even start to explain what had happened to anyone who wasn’t there?

It’s frustrating sometimes. He hears people share about terrible childhoods and difficult upbringings and all these things that somehow don’t legitimatise addiction but explain it.

Frankie Morales grew up with loving, if a little stifling, parents and no deep dark childhood trauma. He supposes the army is where it all started to change.

What a fucking cliche.

Maybe you can never really come back from who they make you. He thinks of Will’s paid speeches, of the way he just owns the fact they’ve been trained to manipulate, assess, take your emotions out of the equation. They don’t die though; they just get locked away and weigh heavier and heavier.

Frankie understands how the meetings help him overall, why they’re important but sometimes they don’t work. Sometimes all they do is make him feel like he shouldn’t be there, or they pull his weaknesses out in front of him like teeth with pliers. It’s bloody, painful, unnecessary. Every one of his ghosts will sit in the room with him on those days, silently judging.

Frankie takes a deep breath, shuts his eyes, and tries to pay attention to the rest of the meeting.

Frankie pushes Gaby on the swing further, waving at Santiago as he approaches.

The meeting this morning was rough, but Frankie’s already feeling better. He has his daughter with him gleefully smiling and laughing in the playground. He has one of his best friends back, things are starting to look up. He’s making it through this.

Santiago walks over, slaps his hand on Frankie’s back. “Oh, I see how it is,” he jokes, casting his eye around the playground which is filled with the usual crowd of mothers and possibly nannies. Like Frankie can tell the difference.  “Hey princesa,” he adds, smiling at Gabby who beams up at him.

“She chose the park,“ Frankie says. 

Santi smirks before asking, ”How’s the apartment working out?”

“It’s good. Glad to have my own bed again, fuck I’m too old to crash on sofas.”

“Tell me about it. Are you getting on okay with Tom’s sister?”

“She has a name.”

“Hey, I like her! Look, Frankie, Molly says she asked questions about what went down with Tom, before she moved out of there so just - be aware of that, okay?”

Rain and storms and too much fucking weight on the helicopter flash through Frankie’s mind. He shouldn’t have listened to Tom; he should have been assertive. That’s always been his problem though, that’s what his dad says, he goes along with the crowd. At school, in the army, with Santi and Tom?

Frankie digs his hands into his pockets. “She hasn’t mentioned shi - anything about it to me, barely mentions Tom actually. I get the sense they weren’t close.”

“Sounds about right. You ever hear Tom talk about her?” Santi scoffs. “Families.”

Frankie looks at his daughter. He thinks of Melissa, how they prioritise Gaby. It hurts, the life he could have had with them and the ideas that died with his relationship. They’re still close to friends though, they look after Gaby. Frankie let both of them down but neither of them have given up on him.

He thinks about what Santi’s just said.  Tom barely ever mentioned his sister, barely ever seemed to even talk to you. It’s weird.

He pushes Gabby on the swing, listens to her happy squeals.

“Can we grab a coffee?” Santi asks, “I’m fu - freaking exhausted.”

“Sure,” Frankie says. He seems to remember the bookstore and coffee shop you work in is a short walk from the park and without thinking about why, he suggests that particular coffee shop rather than the Starbucks down the road. It’s better to support small businesses anyway, right?

It’s different watching you to work to seeing how you are at home. You’re wearing a loose black t-shirt, with a band logo Frankie vaguely recognises but can’t quite place.

When you see the three of them, you smile widely. Frankie’s introduced Gabby to you once when Melissa dropped her off at the apartment. Frankie thinks that she wanted to just verify the apartment was as she hoped, and that she could see Frankie was making the right moves.

He’s trying.

The day after that visit she had texted Frankie to say he could have Gabby overnight there next week if he wanted. He’d spent the rest of his shift beaming and wouldn’t tell anyone why.

You smile at Frankie and Santiago when they walk up to the counter.

Frankie lifts Gabby out of her stroller, balances her on his hip so she can see the counter. Her tiny hands clutch around Frankie’s shoulder and she reaches for Frankie’s cheek.

“Hey guys, and good morning, Gabby,” you say as Gabby giggles and then buries herself in Frankie’s shoulder.

“How’s the bookstore and coffee world?” Santi asks, that wry smile Frankie recognises all too well on his face. His voice is honeyed, his whole face has lit up in a way that Frankie’s watched so many girls fall into blushing giggles over. Frankie’s never quite been able to do that; it’s not that he’s necessarily had issues attracting women, and God that feels arrogant to think, it’s more that of his group of friends, well it’s hard to compete with them sometimes.

“Same as ever,” you say breezily, “Where’d you end up then, the park or the zoo?”

“Gabby chose the park.”

“Atta girl. So, what can I get you?”

“An Americano and then another Americano with one extra shot of coffee, right Frankie, and a-” Santi looks over at Gabby and then Frankie expectantly.

“She’s not even two, Santi, she’s not drinking coffee.”

“Hey, I’ve seen how much coffee you drink, I’m surprised that’s not genetically built into her.“

Frankie laughs, but his hairs stand up on his neck. He’s thought about it a lot already - what if his daughter inherits his addictive personality, how can he do that to her.

“Babycino?” you ask suddenly, breaking him out of his reverie, “I’m guessing she’s too young for hot chocolate?“

“Yeah, yeah, that would be great, thanks.”

“No problem, give me two minutes.”

You turn away and start making the drinks as Santi reaches for Gabby’s hand, smiling at her widely.

“You settling in okay?” Santi asks you as Frankie tries to distract Gabby from the cakes in the display.

“Yeah, things have been good,” you say cheerfully, handing the first coffee to Frankie. “I’m taking it you’re the extra shot, Frankie?”

Frankie nods.

“How much do I owe you?” Frankie asks, placing his cup down so he can reach for his wallet cautiously as Gaby squeezes around his neck. He doesn’t want to disturb her too much, doesn’t want to show how awkward this position is for him.

“It’s fine.”

“No, no, I can -” He can’t take advantage of his roommate like this.

“Eh, roommate and friend discount,” you say casually, handing Santiago his takeaway cup of coffee and Frankie a small cup of steamed milk for Gabby; this must be the babycino, Frankie thinks.

“What about her?” Santiago asks, pointing at Gabby who grins widely from Frankie’s arms.

“Oh, like I could charge her anything,” you reply, smiling back at Gabby and then meeting Frankie’s eyes. “You’ve got a special kid there, Frankie.”

“Don’t I know it,” he replies, kissing Gabby’s forehead. “Say thank you for your - I can’t call this a babycino, seriously. Drink, can you say thank you for your drink, honey?”

His daughter giggles and says her version of thank you. Frankie watches how it makes you smile, how he’s noticed when you it’s genuine, you scrunch your nose.

“We’ve got some new books in that she might enjoy,” you say, “If you want to get any of them, let me know and I can use my staff discount.”

“You’re not offering me a book discount?” Santiago asks.

“I just gave you a free coffee! You can afford to pay full price so I can keep my job. Gabby is too young to have an income.”

“That’s not fair,“ Santiago says.

“Life isn’t,” you say lightly, winking at Frankie and then moving on the next customer.

There’s something about you. It draws him in, makes him want to ask more, know more about you. You seem so light around him, Benny and the others and Frankie knows there’s more to you than that. He can see it.

That’s the thing - you can always see it in others, those matching scars and insecurities. It’s a honing beacon, it’s as visible in a stranger’s eyes sometimes as if you are wearing the same football team shirts. We’re the same, it says.

You’re not though. He knows who he is. Frankie is failure and disappointment and regret, all handily tied together in faded t-shirts and too long hair.

Frankie is why your brother is dead.

Frankie is why the mission failed. Santi needed a pilot, one who would stand up and see if the helicopter was too heavy and not back down, who wouldn’t shoot first.

He can be your friend though, surely?

Santi doesn’t say anything to Frankie until the three of them have left the shop, Gabby clutching a brand new book in her stroller while Frankie pushes her with one hand and drinks coffee with the other.

“You’re in trouble, huh?”

“What do you mean?” Frankie asks, suddenly panicked.

“You like her.”

“I live with her, Pope, it helps to like her.”

“Nah, you know what I mean.” Santi stops and touches Frankie’s arm. “Be careful, hermano, please.”

You

Work has been quieter than usual. You spend your days, idly rearranging book displays and experimenting with the coffee grind and tamping, try and perfect your latte art. Making a good cup of coffee is an art; you must get the grind right, then tamp it with just enough pressure. Steaming milk’s the same; it needs to be the right quality, the right amount of air let in, the right swirling vacuum as the process goes on.

You like the routine now. You like talking to customers and reminding yourself of why you loved books in the first place. Academia taught you a lot, skills you use every day and you’re proud of but overanalysing texts sometimes can make you forget why you loved books in the first place. And yes, perhaps you wish more people were actually buying books in the store, but you’re spending your day surrounded by things you love and that’s a luxury.

And oh, you used to love reading. It was the escape from your parents arguing, from a childhood where you felt like an only lonely child because Tom was older and resented you and didn’t want a sister. At least that’s what you’d assumed over the years.

This new life you’re building in Florida; a new job, new and old friends? It feels right, comfortable even.

So, you don’t even notice when Ella starts trying to set you up with the coffee guy.

And when he asks you out one day, you’re so surprised that he would ask you out, that you find yourself saying yes without even thinking about it.

On paper, he’s everything you would look for surely. He’s passionate about coffee, he’s mentioned books he’s reading idly in conversation, he has a good smile and amazing biceps. So, why not say yes? This is part of building your new life, right?

That’s how you find yourself now, walking back into your apartment after what can only be described as an utter disaster, or at least a complete disappointment.

If this is what dating makes you feel like after a divorce, you don’t want any of it.  Your anxiety has run rampant over the last few hours, along with a deepening and worrying sense that the problem is you.

You’re the one who hadn’t felt the connection after all. You’re the one who held back, who just couldn’t bring up the right feelings like a defective clock.

“Hey,” Frankie says, looking up from the sofa as you walk in. You hadn’t anticipated this - you remembered Benny saying that him and Frankie were hanging out tonight which is why you thought you could get away with just sneaking in and had even scheduled this date for tonight. Crap. This makes it even more humiliating.

“How was Benny?” you ask mildly, shrugging your jacket off and hanging it up.

“Yeah, it was uh-” Frankie pauses, “it was good. He’s training for Friday’s fight, are you coming to that?”

“Yeah, think so.” You walk over closer to the sofa.

Frankie’s staring at you. “Oh god, do I - I look stupid, don’t I?” You self-consciously pull the edge of your dress down, wishing that you’d worn something else instead.

“Not at all,” he says, voice low.

“Thanks,” you say as you walk into the kitchen, “drink?”

“Please. So, how’d it go?” Frankie asks. “I take it you didn’t get dressed up like that just to go hang out with your friends.”

“Hey, I could have.”

Frankie holds his hands up. “No judgement here, sweetheart.”

“It was a date,” you confess finally, “I don’t know. It’s weird. I haven’t had to do small talk for years, I don’t know if I like it.”

“I get that.”

It’s easy with your friends; Danny has known you for a long time, Ella is Ella, Benny and Will just get you and there’s no pressure with either of them, you haven’t known Santiago as well but he’s always consistent. As for Frankie, living with him has been surprisingly easy. He’s calm and even and kind - you like living with him now. It feels more natural than living with your ex-husband ever did.

It strikes you that now you count all four of your brother’s former team as your friends - they were your brother’s first, but now, now you wonder if they might be a little bit yours too.

“So other than the small talk, how’d it go?”

“I don’t know,” you confess, “Hey, how long were you and Melissa together again? I kind of remember her vaguely from Tom’s birthdays and barbecues when I was here.” You hope Frankie will take your oh so subtle subject change without argument.

“Five and a half years. What about you?”

“Me and Melissa?” you joke, causing him to roll his eyes dramatically.

“Ha-ha, you know what I mean. I seem to remember he was always around - it was a long time, right?”

“Ten years, married for nine of them.”

“What?” Frankie looks at you almost in surprise. “That’s longer than I thought.”

You shrug and take a sip of your drink. “My date sucked,” you say after a moment.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.  I think there might be something wrong with me?”

“What did that asshole say? What was his name again? Want me to go beat him up?” Frankie asks, a crooked smile on his lips that really shouldn’t be so attractive.

“He didn’t do anything, Frankie, it’s me. I - I should have felt something, right, I mean he was literally gorgeous, right? I should have wanted him.”

When Frankie doesn’t reply, you glare at him and jab his shoulder until he shrugs.

“What are you saying?”

“That I should have wanted to rip his clothes off, but I didn’t though.” This is humiliating. “I mean, shouldn’t there have been butterflies, or even just good old-fashioned lust, or something? Right, there should have been something there? I just felt like we were going through the motions. There was no - I didn’t feel any chemistry.”

Frankie doesn’t reply for a moment and you take the time to really look at him instead. Sometimes when you look at Frankie, you wonder how he’s still single because he’s a good-looking man. In the time you’ve lived the apartment, he’s never been on a date. He hangs out with Santiago, Benny and Will and he does go out to other places, but you’ve never seen him go on a date or bring anyone back. Thankfully. You’re not entirely sure how you would feel about that.

“Look, maybe he just wasn’t your type,” Frankie says after a moment. “You’re being hard on yourself.”

“He was into coffee and he had perfect arms. We liked the same bands. How the hell was he not my type? What is my type but that?”

“Everyone likes Fleetwood Mac.”

“No, they don’t.”

“It was the wrong guy, that’s all. You’ve been single for a while and is this your first date since the break-up, right?”

You nod. “I couldn’t really date at Molly’s and I thought I should wait a while anyway.”

“Exactly so maybe you’ve just got to, I don’t know, see what works, let things flow a bit? When you know, you know. Did you even like him before the date?“

You think about it for a moment and shrug. Ella had encouraged you and if you were honest, you’d just wanted to prove that you were over Nate, over the trauma of that marriage, that this was the new you. Maybe Frankie’s on to something. You should have fancied the guy, but you hadn’t.

Reassurance flushes through your body. You’re not broken, you’re not.

“I don’t think I did fancy him. I thought I should, but no.”

“Yeah, so it would be a shit date. Next time, date a guy you really like, or something. Oh man, look I am really bad at this sort of talk.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Can we pretend I am?” he asks, nudging your arm as you both laugh. “Can we pretend so we never have to discuss this again because I am so out of many comfort zones right now.”

“It’s practice for when Gabby dates.”

“No, because that’s not happening. I’m going to do the whole cliched, polishing my gun on a porch thing, and she’s not gonna date until she’s at least thirty. Plus, if you think I could be intimidating, you should see Mel. Like, no-one has a chance in hell.”

“Uh-huh, sure, Frankie.”

“Dammit.”

You laugh and Frankie shakes his head. ”Hey, I’ve got an episode of our show saved if you want to watch it?”

“Absolutely.”

He presses buttons on the TV remote, sets up the streaming platform and you lean back against the sofa, exhale and finally feel relaxed.

Frankie has an arm over the side of the sofa you’re sitting and before he presses play, he looks over at you.

“I’m glad we did this,” he says, “that we got this apartment. I like living here.”

You feel it then, the slight tightness in your stomach, the unsettled butterflies flitting around.

Oh.

Oh.

This is going to be a disaster.

After your realisation about Frankie, everything feels different. It’s like the world has just shifted slightly off axis but only you know. Frankie is thankfully oblivious and so the next morning, things continue in the steady routine you’ve both formed.

You drop the milk back from your spoon into your cereal bowl as you notice Frankie join you in the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asks.

“My hero,” you reply, pushing your empty mug towards him for a refill.

He laughs. It’s almost self-deprecating; the way he looks away when you compliment him.

You notice the way his T-shirt rises as he grabs a mug from the top cabinet, you notice the line of hair on his stomach right down to the grey sweatpants he’s wearing.

You can’t do this. You quickly try and remind yourself of all of his annoying habits; he never remembers to leave the toilet seat down, he smokes which is a horrible habit.

He hands you a cup of coffee, made just how you like it. He is not helping you at all.

“Are you working today?”

“Yep, hopefully people will actually come in and want to buy some books today. I had like three people yesterday who asked for recommendations, so I spent time with them, I curated a list.”

“Curated?”

“I curated, Frankie, I curated a perfect list. You know what they did?”

Frankie winces. “I have a nasty feeling.”

“They said they’d order online, Frankie, online!”

“Heathens, monsters, the lot of them.”

“I thought academia was evil when I was in grad school, but this is just sick.”

“So, what happens with that?” Frankie asks, “Weren’t you partway through when you left?”

“I was,” you sigh, looking away from Frankie and taking a large gulp of your coffee. “It’s difficult. I burned a few bridges by leaving like I did, without notice and in the middle of the semester. I mean I was TAing and - I can reapply here, try and find a suitable supervisor, but I don’t know. If I’m honest, I have no idea what to do right now, I like where I’m working at the moment. I’m not even sure who I was doing the PHD for by the time I left. I love literature, but I don’t know if I was still in love with it when I left - am I even making sense, Frankie?”

Frankie nods. “Perfect sense.” For a moment he looks haunted. You get the sense that there are a thousand things in his mind at that mind, swirling behind those deep brown eyes. He looks haunted sometimes, there’s more to him then you know. It doesn’t surprise you because you remember seeing the same thing in Tom over the years.

 He checks his phone and curses. “Sorry, hon, I gotta go to work, see you later?”

“Yeah, see you later.”

You watch him make his way to the bathroom. Oh, you’re screwed.

Apart from the quiet hum of traffic in the distance, all you can hear is the evening birdsong and the start of crickets chirping. You’re sitting on the small balcony of your apartment, a half-drunk glass of wine on the table next to your book.

In New York, there was always so much noise, so much activity. When you moved there it felt overwhelming at first, then comforting somehow.

You prefer this though.

The sliding door opens and you turn to see Frankie behind you, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“Hey, you mind?” He indicates to the empty metal chair opposite you and you shake your head.

He sighs loudly as he exhales, stretches his legs out.

“Long day?”

“The longest,” he says, “Work was flat out and oh- I need this weekend.”

“Hey, some of us have to still work tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, an apologetic smile on his face as he scrunches up his shoulders. He’s wearing a beaten old t-shirt with a faded logo you can’t quite make out and grey sweats. Frankie removes his hat for a moment, revealing unruly curls that he sweeps back before replacing his hat.

“What’s the story with the hat?” you ask, your curiosity finally getting the best of you.

“Why’s there gotta be a story?”

“There’s always a story, like -” you pull at the familiar necklace around your neck. “This was a graduation present from my Mom and I wear it every day.”

“Cute. I don’t know. I guess I got used to wearing a hat after I joined the army. You have the buzz cut and it gets cold, and then I don’t know - I guess it just feels like me now.”

“I get that.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s cute. I mean, your hair is cute without it -”

“You think my hair’s cute?” Frankie looks up at you, his expression almost childlike with wonder but all you can think is how you’ve definitely ruined everything now.

You stand up and immediately grab your wine glass before moving back inside to the safety of the kitchen.

You down the wine and rest both your hands against the edge of the counter, try and take deep breaths.

In for four, hold for four, out for four.

“Hey, hey,” Frankie says from behind you. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. You didn’t do anything, I should say sorry.”

“Why the hell would you say sorry?”

“I don’t make things awkward.”

“’S not awkward,” Frankie says in a low voice, gently turning you around to face him. “We’re good, right?”

You nod tentatively.

“So you think my hair’s cute, huh?” he teases.

You shake your head and look down, mumbling his name as you place your hand on his shoulder. You notice Frankie’s hand is still on your waist.

“Don’t tease me,” you say.

“I’m not teasing,” Frankie murmurs, “I’m surprised.”

“Why? You’re a good-looking guy.”

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t quite sound like he believes it.

“You are.”

He leans in closer to you, his other hand framing your waist now. “You’re beautiful, you know? And smart. I’ve gotta wonder what the hell would you want with me?”

“Frankie,” you say gently, running your hands down in his arms in an effort to reassure him. Is this happening? Is this actually happening?

You can feel the butterflies, feel that warmth of desire and want in your body. You haven’t felt this in years, hadn’t remembered how intoxicating it was to long for someone. Frankie was right, when you know, you know.

Without thinking, you close your eyes and lean in.

“Mmm, this - this is a bad idea, right?” he asks, lips dangerously close to your neck.

“The worst,” you mumble.

He smells like sandalwood shower gel, there’s a hint of tobacco on his clothes and the sharp smell of mint trying to cut through as he moves, his lips just inches from your own.

“We shouldn’t do this.”

“Nope.”

“It’ll make things complicated.” His fingers lightly trace your collarbone to your shoulder and he leans in closer. You swear you can almost feel the heat radiating from his body.

“I’m used to complicated,” you say gently before you meet his lips.

It’s bold, for you, you never initiate, never make the first move normally. It’s only he’s there and you need him.

It’s been months since you were last kissed.

He gently pushes you against the counter, lifts you so you’re sitting on it while never breaking the kiss, deepening it as you open your mouths.

He tastes like hope and promises and new beginnings.

You wrap your legs around his hips, wanting him closer.

“You’re so goddamn pretty,” he says, trailing kisses down your neck to your throat.

“You’re - oh, fuck,” you groan.

“Yeah?” his voice is teasing, lighter than you’ve heard it since you’ve moved in.

“What do we do now?”

Frankie smiles at you, his smile lighter than you’ve ever seen it. “Well, what do you wanna do?”

“I can think of some things.”

“Oh yeah?” He kisses you again, skims his hands down your arm and moves even closer against you. He’s so warm, so solid against you. “Well, we better get started, huh?”

#frankie morales x female reader #Frankie morales x reader #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier #frankie morales #*call it what you want

[reveriesofawriter]

book rambling don't mind me

the book kept saying anharion was his title... so was that also his name? did his name become a title when the Betrayal happened? does "anharion" translate to Betrayer or is that just what he's known as? was it a mistranslation from the old language? edit: I just reread the part where sarcean said he used to be called something else and now I feel like that's going to give away the whole ~is he the sun prince~ thing

I've seen some theories about the Collar and to what extent it actually controls james and like. as much as it would be less big and exciting to see it this way... what if the Collar is mostly symbolic? bc sarcean can talk people into doing what he wants anyway and james was obviously not immune to the charm (it's magnified for him even) well before will knew anything about himself or his powers so what if the collar was just a way to show other people that anharion belonged to him? but GOD if this moral stronghold of not wanting to manipulate james into kissing him and wanting him to do it of his own free will stops these boys from having a lil smooch for the majority of the third book I will Die

I've also seen people try to draw lines between will/sarcean and james/anharion as far as their past/present personalities and the consensus seems to be that will has a more clear line between himself and sarcean but I saw someone say it was more like intrusive thoughts and I think that's fascinating, also that will is seeing james and not anharion the betrayer when he looks at james but james in every sense is this cocky little asshole (affectionate) who flirts and uses his powers to take advantage of people while anharion in the past wasn't like that sooooo I think will isn't Seeing james as who he is I think he's seeing anharion for who he used to be before he turned against sarcean. which is so interesting when you think about will saying people shouldn't be judged by what they've done but what they can do

the tangled web of who hates who is so messy but I trust violet to, if not outright take will's side, then to convince the others to let him go like banish him or whatever instead of killing him right away (even if james's powers would physically protect him from that I just need violet to believe in him)

I'm still thinking about little 6 year old will setting a rich fucker's clothes on fire bc he laid his hands on a woman who was nice to him, how violet saved his life and he's spent every day after that trying to return the favor including using a newfound power he doesn't know how to control yet to set her free from a cage in another country

can't wait to see how the narratives shift when we get other perspectives on what the past was really like bc from what I can tell sarcean and the lady weren't really In Love they just had a fling one time

on that note I thought will was switched out for the girls somehow when they were kids but elizabeth was told her mother had a son before her and she believes that son is will, which would mean will is both blood of the lady and the dark king, which brings to question who his dad is bc they said it wasn't simon but I don't think his birth was a virgin mary situation, also I know sarcean got around but are will and simon's family related any closer than one ancestor thousands of years ago? is sinclair will's father?

I don't think tom and violet will fight to the death, tom may die in another way tho

what's the fourth kingdom and how does that pay into this? bc the first gate was in england the second was underwater somewhere and the third is in italy so the fourth...? on that note there must be more stewards alive who weren't in the hall when it was torn through, people who either left that life behind, or like cyprian at the beginning who didn't drink from the cup but still follow the lifestyle, or maybe like small covens of stewards who never went to the hall bc they found their own communities elsewhere idk it's just very eurocentric to think everyone from everywhere would meet up in this one place when the whole rest of the world exists

will needs some alone time after all this someone give him a safe place to rest and a hot drink

phillip and visander... and the unicorn....... love triangle of the ages... (I wonder if visander will find his way back into a man's body somehow or if he's stuck looking like katherine forever lol) (realistically. I don't think this man fucked his horse. but. metaphorically? metaphysically? whatever they had was probably as erotically charged as that magic scene right?)

#dark rise #dark heir #def some spoilers in here #got two friends now who have said they need to read these books #side note i read it not listened to it. how do you pronounce sarcean? bc in my head i've been saying sar-cean like the second half of ocean #which feels like a very irish way to pronounce it but if the name is rooted in latin it would probs have 3 syllables? sar-say-ən?

[crushedsweets]

neeed to hear the context behind ur most recent art. please enlighten us

you guys dont even know how excited i get when someone asks smth like this abt my art or headcanons or au.

i actually wrote liek a fucking essay oh my god im so sorry anon ill have the actual drawing context after the big bolded caps

TW for typical creepypasta story type stuff

anyway ok UNNECESSARY BACKSTORY: liu spent a long time trying to just psychologically recover from everything. he hated jeff and he hated the memory of everything. jeff signature murders would occur every now and again, each time liu would fall into a deep depression. the murders stopped for a while, and everyone believed jeff 'retired' or died. liu was conflicted about it. until Jeff committed his final full-blown 'jeff fashion' murder (janes family) in tuscaloosa alabama. liu had another breakdown and ended up moving to tuscaloosa because he was completely convinced he needed to find jeff again because he could fix it (or die trying and he'd be fine with that too)

nina was always one of those girls obsessed with 'true crime' but like.... the murderers instead of the cases. she was 12 when jeff's first rampage happened and she just fell head over heels in love with this freak. she began to act out, miss school for days, sneaking out to meet older people, etc etc. eventually she did the classic jeff smile cut into her face(she pussied out on making it like jeffs, so she has cleaner, less noticeable scars) . she started getting severely bullied (for being creepy and worshipping a literal murderer) and her parents sent her to live with her grandparents in mississpi. she started stalking liu through social media and whitepages when jeff was presumed dead. but eventually, jeff's final murder happened in alabama(a state away from her) and after turning 18, she ran away to go find jeff convinced he would 'save her' from the life she created for herself. nina got wrapped up in slenderman business because of her constant Tom Foolery. she met her idol

JEFF IS A BAD PERSON IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD. he did a beautiful job in using his #1 fangirl and enjoying the worship. she scrambled for pennies to afford an apartment, she'd sleep on the couch if he wanted to use her bed, she's ride her bike hours to go get weed or something from rando drug dealers that give better deals to pretty girls, make him food, do his damn laundry, literally anything and everything bc THATS HER MAAANNNNN (no he isnt.)

jeff DOES NOT GIVE A FUUUCK about everything nina does for him . one day he finds her trying to creepily get into contact with liu (and liu actually responded) and he loses his shit and stabs her and goes on and on about how 'you ruined your own useless fucking life your family is never going to take you back you did this to yourself' etc. he didn't intend to kill her only cuz he knew she'd forgive him and he liked all the shit she gave him

NOW ABOUT THE DRAWING ITSELF:::::

afterwards nina gets patched up from jeff stabbing her, she has some weird 'liu will save me' spiral (not romantically just in a very literal 'he can fix this' way). liu's been on his own spiral since finding out jeffs alive which is the only reason he even gave nina the time of day. eventually she ends up at his house to 'talk about jeff' bc she sent him creepy pics proving she knew jeff yadayadayada.

im not sure the exact conversation i imagined for the drawing, BUT liu eventually says something that sets nina off and she tears at her stitches and breaks down and drips blood all over his kitchen talking about 'I CAN MAKE HIM LOVE ME AGAIN I JUST NEED YOUR HELP PLEAAASEEEE' or something.

liu's a good man, much to his own detriment, and can't help but comfort this kid who's bleeding and crying in his kitchen at the fault of his own brother. he's all too familiar with wanting to repair his relationship with jeff, despite the amount of rage, betrayal, misery, etc he felt at jeffs hands. he doesn't ACTUALLY want to reconnect with jeff, but it's a very deep internal longing for the baby brother he once had that VERY RARELY overshadows his hatred

i want to reaffirm that liu does not feel positively about jeff at all, does not want to see him, and only moved to alabama b/c of a long ass mental health crises and is now too wrapped up in new financial commitments(plus jane) to move again. and now he feels obligated to help nina

he just misses being a big brother :( not so much the jeff part

also none of this at all is shipping at all i am terrified at the idea of people taking anything romantically . even if nina is in 'love' with jeff its purely for the story/horror . ITS ALL REALLY BAD

#creeped #hcs #guys i dont know why i keep doing this LMFAO IM SORRY ANON I TALK TOO MUCH I ... theres something in my brain #asks #soisjkhjdgvdkj #should i tag this as liu and nina... ok fuck it #homicidal liu #nina the killer #i literally have no feelings towards jeff as a character.. but the amount of people he ruined in his path ? damn . ok. got me

[frasier-crane-style]

Thinking this afternoon about comic book stasis and how Spider-marriage haters keep saying that Spider-Man should stick to a status quo. Which makes it funny that the big complaint about The Boys is that it keeps to a status quo season after season, with Homelander and the Boys plinking away at each other, scoring minor victories or minor defeats, getting a little more popular or a little less popular, but never achieving a lasting victory anymore than Tom or Jerry does.

Yeah, Doctor Octopus and Norman Osborn are drawings, you can keep them around forever, that’s a positive of comics books--but the downside of that is you keep them around so long that the only stories left to tell with them are ridiculous farces like Ock taking over Peter’s body and trying to rape his wife and then being best friends with him. Or Norman turning good and being best friends with Peter. Or Mary Jane becoming a superhero (yeah, that’s a more natural progression for her character than becoming a wife and mother).

I’m not saying there’s nothing good about a status quo, just that you lose out on as many stories adhering rigidly to it as you do actually letting characters die and mature. And some of those stories you get to hang on to aren’t really any good, they’re just cheap stunts that alienate the reader.

#spider-man #the boys

[shippingdragons]

Toby Stephens Returns to the New York Stage to Investigate the Media In ‘Corruption’

Stephens talks about playing Tom Watson, the member of Parliament who pursued the investigation of the UK phone hacking scandal. “We’re still living in the aftermath of all the stuff that came out," he says.

By Harry Haun • 03/25/24 4:55pm

Toby Stephens as Tom Watson in Corruption at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater. T Charles Erickson

“I love doing what I do on stage,” declares Toby Stephens, more joyfully than boastfully. Call it a (very) early calling. The gifted offspring of genuine theatrical royalty (Sir Robert Stephens and Dame Maggie Smith), he plies the family trade with distinction on two continents. He can’t help it.

When Broadway first saw Stephens, he was drawing double duty in the 1999 revival of Jean Anouilh’s Ring Round the Moon, playing patrician twins who turn into romantic rivals. A quarter of a century later he has finally returned to New York in Corruption, where he is one of just two actors in a company of 13 who does not play multiple roles.

Stephens portrays Tom Watson, a British Parliament member who helped squeeze a death rattle out of Rupert Murdoch’s News of the World for hacking the phones of thousands of celebrities. Playwright J.T. Rogers adapted Watson and journalist Martin Hickman’s 2012 book Dial M for Murdoch: News Corporation and The Corruption of Britain into Corruption, currently getting a world-premiere staging from Bartlett Sher at Lincoln Center’s Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater, the site of the duo’s previous Tony winner, 2016’s Oslo.

In the 25 years between his New York stage sojourns Stephens has been busy doing his thing “in an industry that’s becoming more and more precarious,” he tells Observer. That’s meant keeping “a variety going,” trading movie roles like the Bond villain Gustav Graves in Die Another Day with a turn as Hamlet with the Royal Shakespeare Company. “I still try to balance theater with making money. That’s what it comes down to—finding that balance.”

What was the lure that brought Stephens back to New York? “A number of things,” he begins. “Firstly, I worked with Bart and J.T. on Oslo in London and enjoyed the experience. Secondly, Corruption is a new piece. Really interesting new writing is quite rare these days. Lots of revivals are done, but I really want to work on something new.” And then there’s focus of Corruption: the media, privacy, and truth itself. “It’s an important subject because we’re still living in the aftermath of all the stuff that came out. It’s still on-going.”

It’s not been an easy play to bring off. “There’s a point in rehearsals and previews where you suddenly feel like ‘Oh, I’m in control of this. It’s not in control of me,’” he says. “What I hate is when you aren’t quite in control of the material. It’s just beyond your fingertips.” The challenge of Corruption was its complexity. “The play is freighted with information, and you have to get that across and make it all seem naturalistic and real. You must leave the audience believing this narrative.”

Adding to the complexity, the show changed throughout previews, a process Stephens calls “terrifying,” though, “that’s how J.T. and Bart work,” he adds. Some of the changes were subtle, others were major. “By the time we reached the first night, it was a very different piece than what we started with. The skeleton was there, but the way we told the story was different. They tightened it up, cut things, rearranged things, even put new scenes in.” Still, there was enough time to work with the material that by opening night Stephens had found the control he was looking for. “I had fun because I knew it was cemented and this would be the piece we’re doing.”

How deeply did Stephens delve into the character of the man he was playing? “Not very,” the actor admits. “I know of him because I’m aware politically in the U.K. I read the newspaper and follow current affairs. I’ve watched him through the years. In terms of research, I believe the play is the play. That’s my main touchstone. I have to trust J.T. has done thorough research, which he has.”

Tom Watson, Toby Stephens, playwright J.T. Rogers, and director Bartlett Sher on opening of Corruption. Tricia Baron

In fact, Stephens opted not to read the book the play is based on. “I find doing loads of research—beyond what the material is— isn’t helpful. All that does is confuse and muddy what you’re doing,” he says. “My business is to do the play I’m given and make my character dramatic and nuanced enough for audiences to deal with.”

So for Stephens, the research is the script, though he does admit one addition to get Watson’s accent right. “He’s got an accent that’s quite broad when he’s talking as himself, but when he’s in Parliament or talking officially, it’s slightly subtler,” he says. To nail that, he watched “a lot of videos—but up to a point. I don’t want to do an impersonation.”

Tom Watson was a surprise guest at Corruption’s opening. “Thank God, I didn’t know that he was present,” Stephens sighs. “Afterwards, Tom said, ‘If this play was done in London, it would be a lightning rod.’ I think he’s right about that. It’s still very fresh in people’s memory. There’s still legal action against newspapers for hacking.” Though Watson had read the play before seeing it, Stephens thinks he was slightly stunned by the whole thing. “Actually seeing it, seeing somebody else playing you, is a completely different thing. You’ve got someone who has lived the real story, and you’re doing a simplified version of that. But I think that he was very, very impressed by the show. ”

#toby stephens #corruption play #lincoln center theater #Broadway #theater #interviews #tom watson