#i just want to see somebody who's usually composed covered in blood on their knees- *i am shot and my body is dragged offstage*

[andi-o-geyser]

all my favourite characters are just me seeing them and going "damn you sure do clean up well but I'd much rather see you grinning with blood between your teeth"

#also known as the 'i could fix them but its so much funnier to watch them go feral' phenomenon #i just want to see somebody who's usually composed covered in blood on their knees- *i am shot and my body is dragged offstage* #mizu being happy for one (1) second with her husband VS a fucking demon cutting people apart stopping at nothing for revenge #percy de rolo as a prim and proper lord VS possessed by a demon with a thirst for vengeance and burning orange eyes #james flint as a clean shaven british navy officer VS with a full beard and no morals beating a man to death with his bare hands #ellie williams as a sweet innocent kid VS a bloody tattooed woman on a self destructive quest for revenge knife fighting to the death #vi having a good day VS in a drag on knock out fistfight with another woman (i need her in a way concerning to feminism) #jason todd as robin VS the fucking red hood (he is covered in blood and half his mask is gone and i am going insane) #surprise! they're all on a quest for revenge #blue eye samurai #critical role #black sails #the last of us #arcane #batman #mizu #percy de rolo #james flint #ellie williams #vi arcane #jason todd #andis thought geyser

[aurorablue22]

Scarface - Young!Remus Lupin x Reader

Summary: Somebody decides to mess with Moony. 

(A/N): This can be interpreted as a platonic or romantic relationship between Remus and the reader, it hasn’t been specified! Also, as far as I know, I have created the names and characters of Michael Bershire and his crowd. 

Warnings: violence, blood, mention of scars, heavy swearing. If you are sensitive to these things, please do not continue below the “keep reading” line. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was a typical Sunday night for Remus Lupin. As per usual, he had picked up prefect duties for this evening, and wandered throughout the corridors of the castle. 

Midnight was fast approaching, and Remus paused for a moment. Due to him being a werewolf, his senses were amplified, meaning that one of his abilities was superb hearing. 

Lupin cocked his head towards the dungeon staircase, where he heard a bit of commotion. He didn’t even have a moment to approach the noise before the cause was revealed. 

Michael Bershire and his Slytherin gang. 

Remus forced himself not to roll his eyes. Of course, they just had to be out while he was on prefect rounds. 

It seemed that the five lads didn’t notice Remus until he cleared his throat. They quickly snapped their heads in his direction.

“Lupin, ol’ chap! What’re you doing out so late? Haven’t you got a book to read?” Michael Bershire held his head up high, an annoyingly perfect grin plastered on his face. His gelled auburn hair reflected so strongly the candlelight in the halls. 

Remus had to refrain from rolling his eyes as Bershire took a few steps forward. “Gentlemen, it’s approaching midnight. I’ll have to ask you to return to your dormitories.”

“Oh and that we will do! It’s just, we’re a bit preoccupied at the moment. Isn’t that right, lads?” Bershire looked back at his companions, who nodded fervently. 

Remus was taller than Bershire, but because of his horrible posture, they seemed to be on the same level. He bit back a grimace when Bershire’s painfully minty breath stung his eyes. 

“Now if you’ll excuse us, we have business to attend to.” Bershire dramatically turned, his house robes swishing behind him. 

“Well then,” Remus says, “I’m afraid I’ll have to report you to your head of house, and I don’t believe you’d want that to happen. So if you don’t mind-”

And just as dramatically, the Slytherin boy whipped around again. 

“What was that, Scarface?” 

Before Remus could even form words, Bershire was stalking towards him. 

“How dare you speak to me in such an authoritative tone? After all, you’re... well you’ve got mud in your veins!” 

“And blood on his face.” one of the boys behind him added. Remus recognized him to be Adam Percival, the greasiest boy he knew. 

“You’re right Perce, he does have blood on his face. What, was ol’ Minnie upset you didn’t grade her papers for her? Or was it-”

“Shut it, Bershire.” Remus tried his best to compose himself, but couldn’t seem to look away from his shuffling feet. The full moon was only a few days ago, and he’d been left with a couple scrapes around his jaw and cheeks. 

Michael Bershire was baffled. That is, until he came up with another one of his clever ideas. 

“Boys, I’d say we teach Lupin a little lesson. After all, he should know - given his crowd - that snitches are frowned upon.” The 5 Slytherins slowly stalked towards Remus. “And you know what they say-”

“Snitches get stitches.” 

It was then that Remus was swiftly grabbed by two of the boys, and his arms were held behind him as Bershire swung at his stomach. Once they’d decided he’d had enough, Remus’ arms were dropped and his knees buckled under their forceful kicks. 

They pushed him onto the ground where they continued to harm him; kicking and hitting with all their might. It seemed like ages before they let up. 

Slowly, they backed away, but not before Michael could kneel before Remus’ shaking form. 

“Remember what I said, Lupin.”

And with that, he stood up and hurried away, while Remus was left alone in the dark corridor. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sirius’ head perked up as Remus entered the common room portrait hole. 

“Moony you’re back! Merlin we thought you got lost-”

“Where ya been, mate?” James cut him off. “We had to play three extra rounds of exploding snap waitin’ for you!”

Peter sat up from his position in front of the fireplace. “Alright Moony? You seem kinda quiet-”

“Good Godric Remus, you look awful!” Sirius shouted when Lupin faced them. 

“Yeah, and I feel just as great.” he said, taking a seat on the worn out couch. 

James came to sit on the armrest beside him. “What happened Moons?”

After Remus came to explain the series of events, the rest of the Marauders were fuming. 

“Oh I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him!” Sirius shouted as he kicked over a coffee table.

“Sirius please, not now!” Remus groaned, covering his ears. “All I want right now, is to go to my room, and get a good night’s rest. Alright? I’ll deal with this bullshit in the morning.” 

“Here, we’ll help you up.” James offered his arm, to which Remus took politely. Just as they were lifting the lycanthrope off the couch, they heard giggles coming from the staircase leading to the girls dormitories. 

“Who’s there?” Peter whisper shouted, receiving a “You bloody idiot!” and a slap from Sirius. 

“It’s just us!” Marlene whisper shouted back, as she, followed by you and Lily, entered the common room. 

“What the hell are you doing up?”

“Nice to see you too, Black.” Marlene raised an eyebrow. 

“If you really wanted to know, we were hungry, and figured the house elves might have some snacks for us. What’s your excuse?” Lily said, crossing her arms over her pajama top. 

“Remus just got back from prefect duties, figured we would-”

“Sweet Merlin Remus, what happened to you?” you suddenly exclaimed, making Peter jump. 

You rushed over to him, taking hold of his face, forcing him to look at you. 

“It’s nothing (Y/N), really. My transformation was a little rough, that’s all-”

“Remus, your transformation was three days ago. What the bloody hell is all this?!”

“Bershire beat him up.” James confessed. 

Remus turned to face Potter, shooting imaginary daggers at him. 

“She was bound to find out anyway! Besides, look what he’s bloody done!”

“Michael Bershire did this to you? That bastard-” 

Remus gently removed your hands from his face. “Listen, I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t want to deal with this right now. Can somebody please just help me to my room?” 

The boys swooped in and half carried Remus to their dormitories, while you and your girls quietly said goodnight. 

“Can you fucking believe that?!”

“Marlene, hush.”

“That fucking twat. Oh, I can’t wait to see what the boys have in store for him. I bet-”

“Marlene, please! Remus said he didn’t want to deal with this right now, so we’re dropping the subject. I say we go back to our rooms and get some rest.”

“But I’m hungry!”

“Swallow your spit. Now c’mon.” Lily ushered Marlene back up the stairs, before turning back and taking your hand. 

“You alright, (Y/N/N)?” she gave you a knowing look. 

“I’m with Marlene. I can’t wait to see what’s in store for him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lily was the earliest riser in your dorm. That being said, she took it upon herself to wake the rest of you up in the morning. You’d had a half decent sleep, and as you rubbed your eyes awake, you heard the playful banter of Marlene and Alice.

“Marls, get a move on!! You know what we said about those Hollywood showers!”

“It’s Americano, Ally!”

“I don’t give a damn what it is! Get out!”

You and Lily were ready before the rest of the girls, so you walked arm in arm down to the Great Hall. It wasn’t until the Marauders sat at your table you recalled everything that happened last night. 

“Alright (Y/N/N)? That vein in your forehead looks like its’ bout to burst.” Sirius said while grabbing a stack of pancakes. 

“Do you have an bloody clue what you’re going to do about this?! Remus, you can’t let Bershire off this easy.” you turned your head towards your favorite (and slightly bruised) lycanthrope. 

“I swear, I’m fine. And besides, the boys will work up something eventually.”

“Yea, eventually.” James exclaimed through forkfuls of food. “Moony made us promise to not even look at Bershire for a week!”

“A week?!”

James nodded enthusiastically, cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk. 

“Since when do you defend bullies, Remus?!” you practically yelled, clenching the cutlery you were holding. 

“It’s not that (Y/N), it’s just-”

“It’s because he’s afraid of him.” Peter blurted out, making everyone’s heads turn. His hands shot over his mouth in realization. 

“Why is it the only time you open your mouth it’s to say something stupid?” Sirius said, hanging onto a glare. 

“You’re afraid of Michael Bershire?! Remus that’s not healthy! That’s- that’s horrible! Sweet Merlin Rem, I’ll show him what to be afraid of-” Remus cut you off.

“I’ve told you already, please don’t make me repeat myself again.” Remus placed his hand over yours. “The boys will handle this eventually. If you really love me, stay out of it.”

You settled down then, but still scanned the Hall for any signs of Remus’ attacker. The rest of breakfast carried on as usual, the rest of your friends joining you for the meal. 

Sirius walked you and Mary to class, giving you each a courteous bow. 

“Shall I pick you up after your lesson, my fair ladies?” he said in a deep bow, with a rigid posh accent. “The gentlemen and I were planning on.. err.. skipping our courses.” 

You giggled at Sirius’ poor attempt of finding a replacement word for “skip”.

“Yeah, why not. See ya then, Black!” Mary turned towards the door.

“I bid you farewell my lovelies!” he then proceeded to bound down the hallway to Astronomy, which was on the complete opposite side of the castle. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, passed fairly quickly. And just as he had promised, Sirius came to pick you up, now with James and Marlene in tow. 

Marlene beamed at the sight of you and Mary. 

“Thank Godric you’re here! I was getting tired of these two.”

James gave her a light shove. “We’ll be meeting Moony and Wormtail towards the east end.”

“Couldn’t convince Lily to come along?”

James looked like he was about to protest, but sighed in defeat. You and your friends continued down the corridor, eventually meeting Remus and Peter after their rigorous Astronomy note-taking. You soon found yourself squished between James and Remus, marching down the main hallway.

“Hey, I thought we were sticking to the east end?”

“Silly (Y/N), we were meeting in the east end.” Sirius explained, as if he were speaking to a child. “Now, we’re on our way to the west end.”

“Ah right, and it makes perfect sense to take the busiest corridor in the school.” Mary quipped, and Marlene giggled.

The walk was pleasant, and filled with greetings from fellow classmates. Every now and then, James and Sirius would snicker about something, or mutter jokes to the group. It was then, that you saw him.

Michael Bershire, proud and tall, lead his pack of nuisances opposite you down the bright hallway. Most students ducked out of the way to avoid him, and a few first years were visibly shaking at the sight of him.  

Your vision went red as you locked eyes on your target. It was time.

“James,” you slipped your bag off and passed it to your left, “mind holding this f’me?”

“Uh, yeah su- (Y/N)!!”

In the blink of an eye, you had left your friends’ sides and found yourself hurtling towards Bershire. Although you were smaller than him, the sheer impact of your collision with him knocked the two of you off your feet. You landed on top on him. 

He knocked his head off the stone floor, and for a moment you thought he’d lost consciousness. But the bewildered look in his eyes told you otherwise. It was now or never. 

“YOU BLOODY BASTARD!” you screamed, letting hell rain down on Michael Bershire. You swung left and right, pummeling his once perfectly sculpted face. You could feel the bruises forming on your knuckles already. “HOW DARE YOU TOUCH REMUS LUPIN?! WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, YOU BLITHERING FUCK!”

Somehow, Bershire had managed to wrap his legs around your waist, pulling you towards him and flipping your bodies so that you were beneath him. He pinned your wrists beside your head, and you felt the concrete sting your hands. 

‘No, how dare you, you muddy little bitch?!”

And that’s what set you off. You produced a sound that could only be described as a battle cry, and flung your forehead up and into his. Distracted by the headbutt, Bershire’s tense core loosened the slightest bit. It was enough for you crunch up and bring your knees into his groin, causing him to cry out in pain. 

Using his own momentum against him, you successfully flipped around again, resuming your position above his quivering form. Your hands found themselves around his throat, and without realizing it, you were bashing his head in the ground. 

thunk, thunk, thunk.

It was only Professor McGonagall’s shrill cry of fear that brought you back to reality. 

“MISS (L/N), GET OFF OF THAT BOY!”

You felt strong hands wrap around your arms and shoulders, whipping around to see that it was the four Marauders pulling you away from Bershire. The Slytherin gang was dragging said boy’s writhing and groaning form onto a cot from the hospital wing. 

You only stopped your kicking and resistance when McGonagall approached you, pointing her finger in your face, looking more angry than you’d ever seen her. 

“My office. Now.” she spoke, in such a tone that visible shivers went down your spine. The boys had yet to let go of your arms, and half carried you down the hallway of gawking and goggling students. 

Once arriving to her office, McGonagall stood in the doorway. She looked expectant and impatient all wrapped into one. You were finally let go of, and slowly turned to the four boys behind you. 

James and Peter still looked a bit shocked, and you found little comfort in the proud look Sirius was trying to hide. But Remus’ face is what hurt you the most.

“Rem, I-” you croaked. He wouldn’t even look at you. “I’m so sorry, I don’t-”

McGonagall cleared her throat bitterly behind you, cutting you off. You whispered another, barely audible “I’m sorry”, before following the Professor into her office. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hello my lovelies!! Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed. Let me know if I should follow up with this fic! 

Also, a reminder that requests are open!! <3

~Aurora

#Remus Lupin #Young!Remus Lupin #Young!Marauders #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fluff #young remus x reader #young remus x y/n #young remus imagine #marauders x reader #marauders era

[vassiensupremacy]

first kiss 💋

VASSIEN WEEK | DAY SIX | PROMPTS

Vassa merely smiles supportively as she tries to hide the hurricane brewing inside her. She has learnt how to be politically correct and put on a facade all her life. It isn't the act that is hard, it is the pain inside her. It has always been courtly and political connections that she has wielded her facade for. She has never had to conceal her pain and put on a nonchalant facade in front of someone she cares about. Someone who is the world to her. But she has mastered the art over years and she won't let the cracks in her heart show, not even now. Not even if it hurts.

Lucien sighs as he winnows back to the manor with Vassa after attending a party at the Night Court. Usually, he is skilled at handling events like these but this one was hard. Lucien had to dance with Elain because it was tradition for all mates to dance together in the ballroom. It was a painful experience to say the least. Because neither Lucien nor Elain is interested in keeping the bond when their hearts are no longer theirs. Elain's heart was stolen by Azriel while Lucien's belonged to Vassa. Lucien wasn't a huge fan of traditions but he respected them regardless. It was this one that infuriated him the most. What was the point of forcing two people together because of a mating bond that neither of them wanted? Despite the exhausting event, Lucien was happy about the decision they had taken. He sighed as he watched Vassa go upstairs to her room, but couldn't stop himself from asking her how she felt. Vassa paused in her tracks and turned to face him. The smile on her face said enough but she added, “I feel great, it was such a fun party. Thanks for taking me along.”

This was not the answer Lucien was expecting. He wanted to know if she cared, if she felt the same as he did for her. The fact that Lucien's dance with Elain didn't bother her one bit just went on to prove that she didn't feel the same way. Sadness crept into his heart as he saw her turn away and up the rest of steps to her room.

It was only when Vassa shut the door to her room that she allowed herself to break down. Tears streamed down her face as she thought of Lucien holding onto Elain as they danced. Mates, they were mates. Of course they would choose to be together. Why did she even let her heart hope otherwise? Vassa had met plenty of men in her life, matches from dukes to princes and yet none of them had ever mattered to her. It was only when she met Lucien that she even realized what it felt like to fall in love. She knew he was the only one for her. And knowing that he would never be hers hurt way more than she could explain. Images of Lucien and Elain came flashing back into her mind, giving way to rage. The vase kept on top of the drawer felt like the perfect thing to break and so she did. It broke into pieces and Vassa felt her anger reduce just a little. The pieces felt like a representation of how she felt, broken. Vassa bent to pick up the pieces but one of them was sharper than she'd thought. It cut through her hand and—

Vassa froze when she heard his footsteps. She hurriedly wiped her tears away and quickly hid the pieces under a jacket. Moments later, there was a knock on the door. Vassa walked to the door, maintaining her earlier poise and opened it to see Lucien standing in the doorway looking troubled and wary. He peeked into her room.

“I heard something shatter and rushed as fast as I could. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah of course, everything is alright,” Vassa replied as she held her hand behind her back.

Lucien's eye zeroed in on it and he asked, “Why are you hiding your hand? Did you get hurt?”

“It's okay, it's fine. Let it be.”

“Let me see,” Lucien said as he guided her arm in front to inspect her hand.

Vassa's throat welled up at his soft touch. She didn't want him to know how much this pained her, how shattered she felt.

“Vassa you're bleeding,” said Lucien panicked after seeing the trickling blood.

“It's just a cut, not that big of a deal.”

“Whether it's a cut or a scratch, it will always be a big deal to me.”

“No it isn't a big deal to you. Just let it be.”

The worry on Lucien's face only increased. “Vassa, just let me heal it. How did you even—”

Rage flooded Vassa again. Why was he making it even harder? Why couldn't he leave her alone?

“Why do you even care?” she shouted.

Lucien stepped back, surprised. “What do you mean? Why won't I care? I—”

Because I'm not your mate, Vassa thought.

Vassa broke down, her knees giving out as she thought of Lucien with somebody else. As she thought of her own life without him by her side.

“Vassa, what's wrong? Talk to me, please.” Lucien asked kneeling next to her.

Vassa couldn't look at him, couldn't face him as a storm of emotions flooded her. Lucien guided her face towards him. He wiped her tears away and Vassa broke even further at how tender his touch was. For a moment, just a moment she let herself imagine him being there with her at every stage of her future but then—

“You shouldn't be doing this,” Vassa said bluntly pushing Lucien's hand away.

“What— Why?” he asked confusion clouding his beautiful tanned face.

It was then that Vassa locked her eyes with him. “Because you have a mate and it's not me.”

Lucien stared at her for a moment, the silence washing over him like a strong wave.

“Elain and I—”

Lucien stopped abruptly as Vassa turned away, tears starting to form in her eyes. She couldn't bear to look at him as he talked about his love for someone else. She just fucking couldn't.

Vassa covered her face with her hands as the sobs shook her body. She felt Lucien pull her into himself, one of his arm wrapping around her while the other held her face.

“Why?” Vassa whispered against his chest.

“Vassa, listen to me.” Lucien said cupping her face and sliding his hand in her fiery red hair.

She looked up at him with tears in her eyes as her hands gripped onto his jacket. Looking at him only made her realize what she was losing. What she never really had to begin with.

“Elain and I have decided to reject the bond.”

Vassa's sobs came to a halt as she absorbed what Lucien had just said. Stunned silence gave way to a million questions.

They had decided to reject the mating bond?

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Vassa couldn't believe what she was hearing, couldn't understand if this was real or something she was imagining.

Lucien smiled hearing her curse, “That's right, Vassa. We decided to reject the bond. Neither of us wanted it after all.”

“But why?”

“Because I'm in love with someone else.”

The silence returned with double force. Vassa couldn't blink, couldn't breathe, couldn't wrap her brain around this information. A thousand questions rushed through her mind again. With the questions came the sinking feeling. What if the female he loved wasn't her?

Vassa took a breath as she realized that despite the mating bond being no longer an obstacle in their path, there was another thorn in its place. Vassa could feel her heart breaking again even though she tried to compose herself. Looking back at Lucien, she smiled, “Congratulations. Looks like your happily-ever-after isn't far off. I'm so happy for you. You deserve the world.”

And even though her heart broke to picture him with someone else, she did mean what she said about him being happy. She would do anything for his happiness and if this was what it took for him to be happy, so be it.

“You don't look very happy,” Lucien remarked.

“Oh it's nothing. I am happy for you.”

“Are you sure?”

Vassa looked at Lucien then, wondering why he sounded so relieved. As if he had just realized something that he wasn't aware of earlier.

“Totally, she is really lucky. I hope she makes you feel like the happiest male,” she replied, her voice cracking despite trying to keep it stable.

“She does.”

“Well that's all that matters,” Vassa said as tears threatened to fall down her face again. “And I cannot wait to see you two—”

Unable to hold it in anymore, Vassa broke down again. She couldn't stop herself from leaning on him as she sobbed. So close, yet so far.

Flashes of their time together rushed through her mind. The smiles, the laughter, the banter, the arguments, the happiness.

She couldn't let him go without telling him what he meant to her. She didn't want any regrets.

“Lucien, I—”

“Yes?” Lucien implored as his eyes shone with an emotion unreadable to her dejected mind.

“I just wanted to say— I mean I—”

Lucien just tilted his head, waiting.

“Ugh, fuck it.” Vassa groaned.

Lucien smiled in amusement as Vassa locked eyes with him, her hands cupping his face.

“I love you,” she declared.

Silence, utmost silence and then pure joy went through Lucien. He had waited forever to hear Vassa say this. He couldn't stop the smile that bloomed on his face as he let her words sink in.

A laugh escaped Lucien's mouth, his happiness knowing no bounds. It wasn't until Vassa talked about the bond that he realized that his feelings were returned. That she was miserable about it and that she felt the same for him.

“Say it again,” Lucien whispered.

“Wh—”

“Just say it again.”

“I love you, Lucien.” Vassa repeated, her pain giving way to confusion.

“I've waited forever to hear you say this.”

“You've what?”

Lucien couldn't hold it in anymore. He had to tell her that he felt the same. He wanted to see her smile and let go of the pain. He wanted her.

“And I love you.”

Silence again and then, “You do?”

“Of course I do. How could I not? You're strong, beautiful, smart, fiery and—”

Before Lucien could complete his statement, Vassa's lips were colliding with his.

It was like a flood of joy, it was heaven on earth. As if the universe was healing. It was pain and yearning and passion. It was contentment and need and want and hope. It was like magic and dreams fused together. It was everything that Lucien could have wished for. When they finally parted, tears smeared both their faces. The two looked at each other breathless, their foreheads touching. Vassa's cerulean blue eyes had such emotion that Lucien's heart couldn't believe it.

“Are you sure about this?” Vassa asked.

“Never been more sure about anything.”

“What will rejecting the bond—”

“It doesn't matter. What matters is you, what matters is us. Now and forever.”

Lucien stroked her red-gold hair softly as he said, “I love you, Vassa. I want to be with you.”

“But Lucien—”

“Not now, I just want to be in this moment right now. I have you by my side, it will all be okay.”

Vassa smiled at that and Lucien's heart buzzed at the stunning sight, the familiarity.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” Vassa said kissing his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, his scars, his jawline and then his scars again.

Lucien laughed contentedly, his eyes closed. Finally, finally, finally, he thought.

“Say it again,” Lucien whispered.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

“I love you.”

“I can't believe the wait is over. Again.”

“I love you, Lucien. Now kiss me,” Vassa said, grinning widely and his heart flipped with joy.

“I'd be more than happy to.” Lucien said lifting Vassa off the ground, their lips entwining, their love flowing through the room.

#vassien week #vassien #lucien vanserra #vassa #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #band of exiles #fan fiction #vassa x lucien #lucien x vassa #mp

[wri0thesley]

Hey, I love your writing so much! It’s so so so good!!! I was wondering if you could do something for la Squadra dudes where their s/o, a innocent and incredibly kind and caring being, has been found by them dead and bleeding out still on the floor of the base after getting back from a mission. You of course do not have to do this idea. Regardless, love tour work, keep it up!!!

it’s ANGST TIME

warnings for death and sad and violence

Risotto goes quiet. The rest of his team, around him, prickle with fear - they have never seen Risotto get angry, really, but they would not blame him if now was the time. Risotto’s jaw set hard, teeth grinding together, and his voice is a knife edge when he whispers to the rest of them to get out. His hands are balled into fists and some of the man notice a bead of blood drip from clenched fists onto the floor, but they’re silent as they troop out. Prosciutto lingers, for a moment, just to ask if he needs help cleaning up - but Risotto’s voice is broken and grating as he tells Prosciutto, again, to get out. He stands there for a moment, looking at you - and if he lets himself cry a little, nobody is around to see it. He’ll take care of your body himself. 

Formaggio doesn’t believe it at first. He bounds over to you, laughing - some of the other members of the squad notice that his laughter is a little too loud and there’s real panic in his eyes - but he will not believe it until he has no choice. Hands on your shoulders, gently shaking you, as your eyes don’t open . . . But through that, Formaggio is talking. “Hey, babe! Come on! This isn’t funny anymore! Babe? Sweetie? Angelface? D-darlin’?”. The rest of them are quiet as Formaggio’s questions get more and more desperate, interspersed with hiccuping sobs. They don’t know what to do about this. They’ve never seen Formaggio so raw and open and real. 

Illuso’s usually the kind of guy who likes to be home before the rest of his friends, and - for once - this turns out well for him. He has time to compose himself after dragging your body somewhere it won’t be seen (he doesn’t want your privacy to be violated any more than it already has). He’s shaking imperceptibly as he tells his comrades what has happened, and some of the shrewder members can see that his bluster has blown away, but Illuso leaves his sobbing until he’s in the mirror world and he can be alone. 

Prosciutto schools his face blank. He spits out something grey and wordless and meaningless about how this is always a risk, dating within the Mafia. The rest of La Squadra think of him as heartless as he does it - you’re well-liked, obviously, for your nature and sweet smiles and gentle way of pulling out the softer sides of the assassins - but what he’s really doing is trying to remember the way he felt when you laughed and kissed his cheek and told him you loved him, so he can lock it away and never feel this again. Prosciutto copes by compartmentalising. He won’t cry over your death - but a part of his heart goes icy and shatters, and he never feels in the same way again. 

Pesci’s held back by some of the other members so that he doesn’t see your body - but this is one moment in which Pesci will not allow himself to be pushed around. Pulling himself through the wall of bodies around him turns out to be a mistake, as he stares at your lifeless body and the pool of blood and he just breaks, tears streaming down his face, knees buckling beneath him. Prosciutto goes to say something about this being a casualty of the job but is promptly socked in the face by Formaggio. The others comfort Pesci. They won’t make him clean your body himself. They’ll be kind to him for a few weeks. Treat him carefully. But, in the end, Prosciutto is right - this is the kind of thing that happens, and Pesci is weak. 

Melone goes cold and clinical. He touches your corpse, rolling you over, checking your vitals. He holds his hand against your cheek and one of the other members of La Squadra says something ill-timed about Melone’s perversity (it’s probably Gelato) and Melone is suddenly a feral wildcat, scratching against the other man, being pulled away by Risotto. People think it doesn’t get to him, because he too is able to compartmentalise - but they aren’t inside his brain, seeing how he compares every possibly Baby Face host to you, seeing that his thoughts are running a hundred miles a minute with the idea of your smile. Melone puts the memory of you high on a pedestal, and nobody else will compare. 

Ghiaccio gets angry. He needs to be held back by other members of his squad, his fists balled up and already turning icy, fighting against their hold and hissing and turning on everyone. He accuses everyone in the room of being in on it - you’re usually a calming influence on your unpredictable, angry boyfriend, but without you there to keep things buzzing all of his fears and frustrations come right to the surface. Nobody wants to see Ghiaccio cry, but his face is reddening and his sobs are frustration more than anything else. Somebody else will have to take care of the body. Risotto will have to restrain Ghiaccio to stop him from turning on everyone and to reassure the man that whoever did this will be brought to justice. 

Sorbet and Gelato have seen enough corpses to know what’s happened. The rest of La Squadra - aware that your softness and sweetness has often been the only thing keeping Sorbet and Gelato on the (reasonably) straight and narrow, see the change quickly. Gelato’s eyes going cold. Sorbet’s mouth pursing. They turn and leave immediately. If they come back later on that night covered in blood, weapons messy, gore spattering their shirts . . . nobody says anything. 

#jjba #jojo headcanons #death for ts #violence for ts #risotto nero #formaggio #illuso #prosciutto #pesci #melone #ghiaccio #sorbet #gelato #Anonymous

[duskandstarlight]

Embers & Light (Nessian, multichapter fic)

Embers & Light

A Nesta and Cassian fic - a tale of how Nesta slowly starts to heal and how she and Cassian grow back together.

Now, in that study at the river estate, Cassian looked down at the female who would be staying with him for the near future. At the eyes that had drained of fire at the sound of her sisters words and were now nothing but hollow, unseeing.

“You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains,” he told her.

Those steel blue eyes bore into his, unblinking. He waited for the retort, for the snide remark that would send him reeling but it didn’t come.

Somehow, that was worse. It meant that the situation was far graver than any of them had realised.

Ao3

Or read Chapter One below...

Chapter One

Cassian

Feyre had found him at the House of Wind. Cassian’s chest was heaving after some early morning hand-to-hand combat with Azriel, his hands braced on his knees as he gulped crisp, fresh air into his lungs. Summer was giving way to fall, the chill hanging in the air a promise of what was to come — of the fiery riot of autumn colours as the trees shed their leaves and bracing wintery days.

It had been a long time since Cassian had fought with his brother. His business had kept him in the Illyrian mountains more often than not, but his daily sparring with Windhaven’s most promising warriors had paid off, and although he was sporting a split lip and swollen nose, Azriel was definitely the worse for wear.

Wiping away the blood and sweat from his face onto his tunic, Cassian looked up to see Feyre materialise out of thin air a few feet away from them. He grinned at her in greeting. From the way Feyre grimaced at him, he gathered his teeth were covered in blood.

“I thought we weren’t training this morning?” he asked as he spit red over the edge of the sparring plateau. Waving Azriel goodbye he shucked off his tunic, tossing it to the ground so his skin could air dry. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Feyre rolled her eyes at him and rested a hand on her hip. “Must you find any excuse to undress?”

Scraping his hair back into a messy bun, Cassian barked a laugh, “If it’s making you all hot and bothered, I can’t say I blame you. Should I speak to Rhys about properly satisfying his mate in the bedroom?”

“Such a large ego,” Feyre mused, “it makes me wonder if you’re over compensating, Cassian.”

He snorted at that. “I have the largest wingspan.”

“So you say,” Feyre huffed, which turned into outright laughter as his eyes gleamed. “Oh stop, i’m just teasing you.”

Nodding, Cassian poured himself a glass of water. He gestured to Feyre with the glass but she shook her head. When he’d finished downing it, he found her watching him apprehensively.

He surveyed her stiff posture, the way she had begun to worry her bottom lip between her teeth before he commanded, “Out with it.”

A moments pause. Then, “I want to talk to you about Nesta.”

Cassian stilled. He did not like to speak about the eldest Archeron sister if he could help it. He did not like to think about what had happened between them or about what was happening to her.

His voice was too light, too conversational when he asked, “And why would you want to do that?”

Sighing, Feyre shifted her gaze to focus somewhere over his shoulder. The sound was tormented and defeated. “I’ve been thinking long and hard about what to do about Nesta,” Feyre started to explain. “She’s tearing herself apart and I — I don’t know what to do. I’ve stood on the sidelines — we all have — but you saw her in the summer. She’s wasting away. From what I can tell from Azriel’s updates, she spends most of her time drunk or bedding other males and it’s… it’s gone on too long. We need to intervene.”

Cassian didn’t know what to do with his body so he crossed his arms firmly against his chest instead. He and Feyre had never spoken about the males Nesta took home — the males she made it her mission to find — as she sought out sleazy establishments and took her pick at the end of the night. They were always tripping over themselves to have a go. She was, after all, the female who had killed the King of Hybern.

At the beginning, when Nesta first moved out of the town house, Cassian had staked out on the rooftops of whatever tavern she was frequenting, waiting to following her home to make sure she got back safe. He never dropped down on the pavement beside her, never made a point of scaring the shit out of the male who was planning on putting his cock where it didn’t belong. No, he kept a healthy distance from Nesta whenever he could. He had razed enemies to the ground knee—deep in mud and gore and not batted an eyelid, but Nesta had a way of making him feel as if he were balancing on a tightrope between two cliffs with his wings bound.

So Cassian would perch himself on the rooftop opposite her worn apartment until a dim light cast itself out of the dirty windows. Once, he had remained beyond that — there was something about the male she had chosen that set him on edge — but in the end he had felt so sick with rage that he’d taken to the skies until the dark had bled into the pastel hues of dawn.

He hadn’t gone back, after that.

Levelling his gaze with his High Lady, Cassian tried to appear unaffected, but his voice too low, as he asked, “What are you suggesting?”

“I was thinking that you could take her with you to Illyria. I know you’re leaving tomorrow.”

Everything in him went taut and loose all at once. Refraining from sending Feyre a sharp look, Cassian took a moment to calm the thrum of blood that pounded through his veins. “Is that wise?”

“I think the fresh air could do her good,” Feyre admitted. “It would get her out of Velaris. Nesta always wanted to travel and see the world. Rhys said you’re going to be stationed out there for a while and it would force her to get clean. She’s a functioning alcoholic, Cassian. She’s draining Night Court funds left, right and centre to feed her habit.”

She peered up at him. Those grey-blue eyes of hers were identical to her sisters in colour but they lacked the ice cold fire that burned so ferociously in Nesta’s. It was a fire that never failed to kindle a heat within him.

“Would you… would you do it?” she asked uncertainly.

“Feyre —” he started gently, but she cut him off.

“I know -” she interrupted. “I know that things ended badly between you but she’s my sister, Cassian and I’ve failed her. This has all got so out of control. Nesta guards herself so carefully and pushes everyone away that I just… I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what was right. But I have two options: I watch her wither away and die — because she will die, Cass if she continues this lifestyle — or I become the evil sister and intervene.”

Feyre’s face crumpled then and Cassian allowed her to step away, to look out at the view of Velaris whilst she composed herself. The city unfolded before them like a rolling canvas of colour and light and the Sidra sparkled as it weaved itself like a serpent through the centre of the city until it met the sea.

Taking a deep breath that Cassian could tell gave her courage, Feyre said with a quiet fervour, “I’d rather be evil in this narrative than to not have tried to make things better. Nesta says she doesn’t need saving but she does need guidance — she needs somebody who will bring her out of this shell she’s become — and I can’t think of anybody else that might pull a reaction out of her. I know you travel a lot so she’ll still have her space but she’ll be in an environment that won’t feed her habit.”

Feyre turned to face him. Her braid caught in the wind and Cassian watched it fly behind her. “I know it’s a lot to ask. And I’m not asking as your High Lady, I’m asking as a friend. I know she’s been horrible to you but if we trialled this until Solstice…” Feyre trailed off at his hardened expression. “Would you do it? Take her with you, I mean.”

A muscle feathered in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. “She’d have to live with me. It’s not safe for her to stay by herself.”

“Yes,” Feyre agreed.

“I have a housekeeper who can keep an eye on her when i’m away.”

Feyre had blown out a breath — it was an exhalation of nerves, of the relief that came with him not saying no. She grabbed for his hand and squeezed, a silent thanks and he had sent her a small smile, even though he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut.

Now, in that study at the river estate, Cassian looked down at the female who would be staying with him for the near future. At the eyes that had drained of fire at the sound of her sisters words and were now nothing but hollow, unseeing.

“You’re coming with me to the Illyrian Mountains,” he told her.

Those steel blue eyes bore into his, unblinking. He waited for the retort, for the snide remark that would send him reeling but it didn’t come.

Somehow, that was worse. It meant that the situation was far graver than any of them had realised.

There was no reaction in Nesta’s expression. Her impenetrable mask was either too honed after years of practice or any emotion she should have felt had been suppressed under the claws of those demons that haunted her every move. The only indication that she had heard was in her posture, that preternatural stillness and something wholly other of hers froze, as if she were on pause.

The air around them snapped taut as everyone waited to see what she would do… how she would react.

But after a few beats, all Nesta clipped was, “When.”

“Now,” Cassian said firmly, folding his arms across his wide chest in a stance that conveyed he was taking no shit, especially from her.

“Fine,” she snapped, but her voice was flat, devoid of the anger that should be consuming her. “Am I allowed to pack my things or am I no longer allowed my possessions?”

“I told you to wrap up warm,” he gritted out, pressing the scarf he had grabbed from her apartment into her hands.

“The only thing I’ll need, I’m sure.”

Strike, parry, strike. Their insults were as sharp and brutal as their usual wordplay but something felt off. Wrong.

His gut twisted and roiled, like a serpent uncoiling ready to strike.

In his peripheral vision, Rhys stepped forward but Cassian snarled in warning, flinging out his hand behind him. Long suppressed anger bubbled to the surface so fast red slid across his vision. Fisting his hands at his side, Cassian wrestled down his rage as he tried to block out the image of her beaten up apartment, the dirty sheets and the scent of multiple males. He wouldn’t go back there. He wouldn’t allow another male near her, not if it killed him.

He’d have to have Feyre or Elain pack her a bag and Azriel could winnow it over later.

“We’ll fly, not winnow,” he said to Rhys shortly, not bothering to turn to his friend as his wings rustled agitatedly, the promise of the open skies the only thing keeping him from losing it in front of his friends.

He wasn’t even sure what he was angry about. Everything, probably. This situation, the vacant cold that laced Nesta’s every word, every movement… Her capacity for pushing away those that cared for her. For his promise that they would have time, only to see it wasting away before his eyes as she bedded male after male and drank herself into a stupor.

Cassian knew Rhys well enough to sense that he had opened his mouth to protest but had then closed it. But Cassian’s gaze didn’t break from Nesta’s as he mustered all of his strength into drawling the four words that he yearned would provoke outrage and indignation… some fiery emotion from her that would tell him that the Nesta he had known was still there under all of the layers of ice and trauma. “Time to go, sweetheart.”

Stalking out of the study into the small courtyard, Cassian stopped by the stone fountain at its centre. The water spilling down into the pool basin was the only sound — even the birds had stopped chirping, as if they too had sensed his wrath and had turned mute.

Nesta had floated out last, her chin raised, her shoulders back, as if she were a queen ready to greet her loyal subjects, despite the unkept drabness to her hair and the creases in her stained clothing.

Amren hadn’t even bothered to leave the study. She was picking her nails, a look of complete boredom adorning her feline features. Cassian hadn’t been privy to the barbed words between Rhys's second and Nesta on that summer boat, but it must have been bad if Amren hadn’t even unleashed the power that bubbled so close to the surface of her skin.

The threat of it looming over Nesta was worse, somehow.

As if sensing his thoughts, Amren’s upper lip curled slowly. Those stormy eyes flashed and those actions alone had his blood crawling… He needed to get them out of here.

Feyre looked anxious and small amongst them all, her worry coming off of her in waves. Rhys had his hands in his pockets — a telling sign that he was refraining from comforting his mate — most likely because he had spoken out of turn earlier.

“Nesta,” Feyre tried softly, clasping her sister’s limp hands in her own. “I think it will be good for you in Illyria. To get away from everything and get some space. Elain and I love you very much. It hurts us to see you like this.”

There was no response. No barbed words or venom. Nesta just held Feyre’s gaze, expressionless.

Cassian couldn’t bear it… those dead eyes, so he closed the distance between himself and the sisters, severing the moment.

Feyre glanced quickly at Cassian and then back to Nesta, as she promised, “I’ll write to you. Elain and I will both write.”

She nodded at Cassian, giving him the permission that he hadn’t even thought to seek, his mind too preoccupied with taking to the skies as soon as possible.

“Have Az bring her belongings,” he told Rhys and Feyre, securing his hair with a leather tie.

He didn’t falter as he wrapped his arms around an unusually compliant Nesta, and shot into the sky.

Air rushed into his lungs in a steady torrent, the bracing air anchoring him. He ignored Nesta’s sharp hiss at the sudden speed, at the half—moons of her nails as they dug through his leathers.

When he reached the perfect altitude, he gave a few powerful flaps before spreading his wings wide, giving himself a moment to soar and drink in Velaris for the last time before following the northern curve of the Sidra.

Neither of them spoke during the long journey. With each beat of his wings, Cassian’s anger gradually dissipated to a low hum… and then to total exhaustion. He had barely slept the night before — a constant these days — especially having known what was in store for him the following day. Somehow, the lack of verbal sparring had left him even more spent, the knowledge that things were far worse than they had thought roiling uneasily in his gut…

They should have interfered sooner. Much sooner.

Focussing on the slow burn in his wings to take his mind off things, Cassian expended some of his power to block out the climbing chill. It was a drain on his already tired body, but he hadn’t had the energy to fight Nesta into Illyrian leathers before they left. She’d have only given him hell for it anyway.

Not daring to glance down at her, Cassian kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead as he tracked his way through the sky. Despite the thick material of her dress, he could feel Nesta’s sharp bones digging into his arms and she felt too light — so light that he had to swallow down his worry. The first thing he was going to do when they got to Windhaven was make her eat something, even if he forced it down her. Perhaps he could bribe her by threatening to burn one of her beloved books — it was sacrilege, he knew, but when needs must...

Banking to the right at the first sight of snow capped mountains, Cassian flew straight into the thick snow clouds surrounding a wide mountain pass. Pure, white snow fell thick and heavy around them, so fast that if Cassian hadn’t grown up flying these skies then it would have been too easy to become disorientated. The wind was its own force now and even the best of Illyrian’s would have been tossed around like a moth on paper—thin wings. But Cassian wasn’t any Illyrian warrior and his seven siphons weren’t for nothing. As a howling gust threatened to toss them aside he dove, tucking in his wings tight as he shot towards the ground as straight as an arrow. He felt Nesta’s sudden death grip and the sharp tang of her fear as they raced towards the war camp, but he just watched the pitched tents take shape and the sparring plateau full of moving figures come to life beneath him as he waited… waited...

The wind dropped as quickly as it had come and Cassian flung out his wings, launching them backwards. Grinding his teeth, he back—flapped hard, his tendons straining and burning at the sudden drag of air.

He did not acknowledge the fear that slammed into him, nor did he express his relief that Nesta was capable of feeling something. He merely steadied himself before touching down on the powdery ground, his voice gruff from the hours it had remained unused, “We’re here.”

#nessian #cassian #acosf #sarah j maas #a court of silver flames #nesta x cassian #acotar #nesta archeron

[thegreenfairy13]

Salacious Start Part 1/2

A Gobblepot Fanfic. AU. Edward Nygma leaves Oswald Cobblepot for Mrs. Kringle. Heartbroken, Oswald tries returning the goods he bought for a very special night with his boyfriend. At the sex shop, he runs into sales assistant Jim Gordon and develops a massive crush. Read it on Ao3 here. 

Her name is Kirsten, or Kristine, or Kristen. Oswald doesn’t know, doesn’t care. All he knows is that her name, whatever that might be, numbs him, makes him feel weak to the core. Red hair, wherever he spots it, feels like being engulfed in fire; he’s sick of red hair, and frumpy glasses, and pencil-skirts. Heels make him want to gag.

Kirstine Krankle. That’s her name, probably, maybe, could be, doesn’t matter. Before that bigoted witch entered his life, everything had been fine. Deep down he knows it’s not her fault, but the wound is still too fresh, his love for Ed still too deep for him to think clearly. Only days ago, they had been in love, almost ready to go public, to tell the world that the entrepreneur Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot and his bookkeeper, Edward Nygma, are a couple. Of course, that was before Ed found Kirsten - and back to God, whatever that might mean.

“You know, Oz,” he said, holding his hand too tightly for it to be comfortable, sweating profusely while doing so, “I’m not really gay.”

The table had been set for a romantic dinner. Olga, his housekeeper, had placed flowers on the dining-room table, candles had been lit, silver cutlery and crystal-glasses sparkled in the pale light. A metal clamp grasped Oswald’s heart and squeezed it tightly.

“I’ve never been,” Ed carried on, and honestly, it would have been more merciful if he had just shot him into the guts. “You’ll understand, in my line of work, it wouldn’t look good if I was with a man.”

Oswald’s ears are ringing. Not really gay? What's that even supposed to mean?! What line of work? He’s a bookkeeper, for fuck’s sake! Not that he’d ever say ‘fuck’ out loud, he’s way too dignified for that, but in his own head, he can swear all he wants.

“I won’t deny it, I’ve been infatuated with you, but you’ll have to admit, we’re not suited for the long run,” Ed said, looking expectantly at the man who had only seconds ago been ready to spend his entire life with him. “It was a misstep, and I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said gazing intently into his eyes. “But we can remain friends,” he suggested and Oswald wanted to vomit.

“I understand,” he said instead, forcing a broad smile onto his face.

And that was basically the story of how Edward Nygma walked out of his life.

Well, almost.

There was still this little, discreet, white plastic bag in the corner of his bedroom. It should have been a surprise for Ed.

Oswald knows Ed likes it rough. He himself isn’t particularly fond of pain but who is he to deny Ed his pleasure? So one fine day he set out and bought shackles with pink plush covering the metal, a whip, and a blindfold. He wanted to give Ed a special experience, an unforgettable night. Now, those items just make him want to cry.

Entering the sex-shop once more, even weeks later, isn’t any easier than it had been the first time. His heart is beating too fast, his hands are shaking, and not even his sunglasses grant him any sort of privacy. He’s constantly looking over his shoulder, hoping nobody he knows will recognize him here; despite the fact that those people would be shopping here too.

He rushes through the aisles, hoping to find a salesperson soon. Oswald just has to return the items before they drive him crazy.

He bumps into a man built like a locker: broad shoulders, heavy biceps, perfect abs, gorgeous blue eyes, hair like the color of the sun.

Swallowing heavily, Oswald reads the name tag: ‘Hi, I’m Jim,” it reads and there’s another button right next to it: ‘Don’t be shy, I’m bi.’

Oswald feels the blood rising up his cheeks as he takes the information in. His throat runs dry when the other man arches his eyebrow at him, staring him sternly down. All of a sudden, he can see the appeal of whips, shackles, and blindfolds with absolute clarity. And good graces, he does feel shy.

“Can I help you?” the man asks and if Oswald ever heard thunder, well, it’s not half as intimidating as this deep voice. It’s a low rumble, the sound of molten lava on its way to destroy entire villages. It's only purpose is to wipe out each and every resistance. Oswald’s knees go weak.

“Yes,” he squeaks, having never felt smaller in his entire life. The man talking to him is a Roman god come to life, he’s Apollo, he’s Ares, he’s gorgeous, perfect, beyond words.

And he?

He’s Oswald: too scrawny, too pale, too black-haired, and he’s got a disability. Ever since that damn car-accident, he limps, his knee is turned sideways at the weirdest angle and he can’t even outrun a snail.

‘Hi Jim, I’m bi,” could probably outrun a sports-car if he wanted.

Swallowing heavily, Oswald clutches the plastic bag tightly to his chest. And no, he’s definitely not ogling the man, not a bit, no sir! He’s just very tastefully checking him out, that’s all.

Jim rolls his eyes and waits for his tongue-tied customer to speak at last.

“I’m certain you can help me with all kinds of sorts,” Oswald blurts out, mentally kicking himself how that came out. For a second, the employee looks taken aback but he composes himself quickly enough. By that point, Oswald’s cheeks probably resemble a wildfire.

“I simply want to return some goods,” Oswald finally shares, slowly releasing his death-grip on his plastic-bag. In comparison to Mr. Ares, he sounds like a teenage girl talking to one of the Jonas brothers.

“We don’t take anything back unless the sanitary-seal is still intact,” Jim informs him cooly while already holding out his hand to take the bag from Oswald’s trembling fingers. “You’ll understand that in this kind of shop we only resell stuff if…”

“I perfectly understand,” Oswald interrupts. “And I can assure you that my seal is perfectly undamaged, untouched,” he rambles on, fighting the urge to bite his fingernails. “You can totally check if you want,” he adds nervously. “In fact, I’d love you to see…”

Oswald thankfully snaps his mouth shut when observing Jim’s eyebrows slowly creeping up to his hairline. It takes him a moment, but then he finally understands. Slapping a hand over his mouth he just stares at Jim, mortified.

“That,” Oswald stutters. “That,” he soldiers on, stumbling awkwardly through the words, “that wasn’t me trying to tell you I’m a virgin.” “My seal is broken,” he rattles on. “I mean if I had a seal,” he adds, earning himself a bewildered expression from his newfound Roman god.

Shaking his head, Jim takes the bag mutely from Oswald’s hands. “I think I’ll check for myself,” he mutters flatly and the raven-haired man prays for a hole in the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

One year! One year he had been with Edward, his first boyfriend, his only boyfriend. It just hits Oswald now how easy everything had been with him. Everything had progressed naturally, no awkward flirting on either part had been necessary, and thank god for that! He’s terrible at it!

To Oswald’s endless mortification, Jim tips out his purchases over the counter and checks if the original packing is indeed still undamaged. “You still got the bill?” he asks, not a hint of emotion to his voice.

“I, yes,” the embarrassed entrepreneur rasps out, checking each and every of his pockets and coming up with nothing.

“Sorry,” Jim tells him flatly. “Not taking anything back without the receipt,” he adds with determination and if that attitude doesn’t make Oswald’s blood run hot and cold at once! This man is steadfast, he can tell, and it’s a massive turn on.

But Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot isn’t used to taking orders. Especially not by some sales-assistant. He’s used to getting his will and right now, he wants to get rid of his Ed-memorabilia - right the fuck now.

“I’m sure there could be something arranged,” he whispers conspiratorially once he found his voice again. He doesn’t know it comes off as slightly disconcerting. “I mean,” he continues, dropping his voice an octave in order to sound more persuasive, “it won’t be that hard for you to just issue an invoice for your, eh, services." Oswald’s eyes wander down Jim's chest, reading the name tag once more, and really, somebody should have told him to be more subtle. "The tip I’d leave would be as handsome as you if you know what I mean, Jim,” he adds with a clumsy wink, trying to sound flirtatious.

Jim drops the bag as if it had bitten him. “I’m sorry?” he asks slowly, sending off all sorts of alarm bells in the other man's head. “I think I’ve misheard you,” he says, drawing out the words very slowly, almost angrily. He straightens himself. With his back stiffened and his chest puffed out, Jim looks even taller - and a lot more intimidating.

“I, no?” Oswald asks insecurely, shrinking another two inches.

Shoving the bag back into the pale man’s hands, Jim backs away. Eyes narrowed threateningly, he goes into a lecture the usual sales assistant wouldn’t dare to give a customer. “The button on my chest might say ‘don't be shy’, but that sure as hell doesn’t involve proposing paid sex," he informs him bluntly. "It's just our way of encouraging our customers to ask questions. If you need someone to fulfill your desires,” he adds with a knowing twitch to his lips and simultaneously shoving the bag back into Oswald’s arms, I’d go to another establishment. But I’ll happily answer any question on penis pumps you might have.”

With those words, he turns on his heels, leaving a mortified Oswald behind. Again clutching the bag helplessly, he’s right back where he started with the only difference that he made a complete fool of himself. Cursing under his breath, he tries figuring out how that encounter could have probably gone so terribly wrong. Worrying his lower lip, he considers calling after Jim but the man won’t even look into his direction.

Shoulders slumped, Oswald decides to leave the store and wait until Jim finishes work. Well, in hindsight he really should have given that idea a second thought.  

#gobblepot #gobblepotsummer2019 #fanfiction

[warpedtourniall]

#13 but you pick the ship

“Things You Said at the Kitchen Table” 

It’s like this: 

Louis will be missing home. He does, he always does. It’s not very grown up, so he’s trying to squish it as far down as he can. He’s eating a well-known brand of sugary, American cereal. His mum would shake her head at him if she could see him. 

It’s too late to text her without her worrying. Between the time difference and the way it seems like he’s aged four hundred years since they all left for judges’ houses, it’s like he can never find the right, normal, casual time to talk to his mum. He wonders if it’s always going to be like this, now. 

He can hear somebody snoring. He listens. It’s Liam - he’s had a cold, lately, and it makes them all nervous. None of them want to cover for him during a show. 

There’s a hesitant footstep, and then Zayn is by Louis’ shoulder, tapping his knuckles against the plastic tabletop before sliding onto the bench across from Louis. Outside the tinted bus windows, there’s acres of cornfields whipping by. 

They haven’t seen anything but cornfields in hours. 

“Y’alright?” Zayn says. His voice is soft and old-sounding. It sounds like the voice of a very old, rotting tree in a forest somewhere. What a stupid thing to think. Louis must be very tired. 

Zayn looks like he’s only just woken up. There’s a gob of something in the inner corner of his eye, and Louis is gratified by it. He likes to be reminded that Zayn can look ugly, can sound terrible. Zayn can smile sleepily at him across the table and just be his friend, and it can be simple. 

“Yeah,” Louis says. “Can’t sleep, ‘sall.” 

Zayn bumps his knuckles against Louis’ and takes the cereal box from him, digging a hand in and pulling out a fistful of marshmallows. 

“‘Kay,” he says. “Let’s stay up.” 

It’s like this: 

Zayn will wander through the bus after a shower smelling like sandalwood and the undercurrent of cigarettes he never quite manages to wash off. He’s sending a text, so he keeps nearly running into things, even as Niall leans up off the couch to tug on his sleeve, keep him from tripping over somebody’s upturned duffel bag.

From this angle Louis can’t tell what he’s writing, but it must be about the size of a novel. The text box takes up the entire screen. 

He’s been going through it with Pez, since the pictures, and all. 

Louis could’ve seen that coming. It’s not that Zayn’s a bad guy, or anything. At least Louis doesn’t think so. It’s that he makes mistakes on purpose, sometimes. He’s always testing his limits. Louis thinks sometimes Zayn fucks up because he needs to know people will forgive him, and he keeps doing it, and they keep letting him, so it’s probably not going to get better. 

Zayn fills a glass of water and sits down with his knees drawn up, composing the rest of his text. 

It’s an awful thing to say, but Louis has always enjoyed being an accessory to Zayn’s exercises in self-sabotage. It makes him feel like they’re closer, like he knows Zayn in some essential way nobody else does, because they’ve seen the worst one another have to offer and come away unimpressed. 

We can do better than this, they think. There’s so much we haven’t done yet. 

It’s like this: 

Louis will be just stoned enough to feel stupid about it, but not enough to be having any fun anymore. It’ll be late, or early. He can’t remember the last time he felt well-rested. He can’t remember the last time he could say, with certainty, exactly where he stood. 

Suffice it to say he’s not taking the breakup well.

Another terrible thing to admit: Louis likes it better when Zayn’s the one really making a mess. He likes to pick Zayn up off the ground when Perrie’s trying to decide if she’s leaving for good this time. It’s always felt good to know that he treats El better than that, that they’re steadier, stronger. 

He’d felt so betrayed, so stupid, when she finally finished with him. 

Across the table Zayn is rolling another joint, his lips parted in a soft “oh” of concentration. After a moment he passes it to Louis with his lighter. They’re drinking beer, too, the piss-yellow midwestern stuff you can get at any truckstop, any time of the day or night. Zayn finishes one and crushes the can in his fist before taking the joint back from Louis. 

Two sadsacks, they’ve got the bus to themselves tonight. 

Louis thinks about how Zayn’s mouth looks, cradling the joint in two fingers as he lets out a foggy exhale. How it might feel to be the one who really fucks up, for once. How satisfying it might be, to really crack is life open like Zayn’s always doing. 

“Zee,” he says, but he chokes on the smoke and coughs, like he’s a teenager again. Zayn pushes a beer across the table and Louis gulps it. He takes a deep, juddering breath when he’s done. “Let’s go to bed,” he says. It’s there in his inflection, if Zayn’s looking for it. Louis hopes he’s looking for it. 

Zayn blinks slowly, his big doe-eyes bloodshot and wary. He knows what Louis means. 

“Alright,” he says, and they do. 

It’s like this: 

Zayn will go silent for days. It’s not like how he’s usually quiet - he’s like a cat, usually, he likes to sit in the room where the people are, even if he’s not saying much, even if he’s reading a book or drawing or fucking around on his phone. 

Aside from the soundchecks and the gigs, Louis feels like he hasn’t seen Zayn in days. He’ll hoist himself up into his bunk when they get back to the bus, and he won’t come back out until they have some obligation the next day, press or an itinerary check or whatever. 

Louis spends his nights rattling around like a marble in a beer can, alone on the bus, while Zayn sleeps or avoids him or does whatever he does when they’re not together. When Zayn misses dinner one night Louis makes him a sandwich and texts him to say he’s leaving it on the table for him. 

It’s still there when he wakes up the next morning.

It’s like this: 

Louis will feel so angry he can’t think, or speak. 

At first he’d spammed Zayn’s phone with texts, and then he’d gotten to calling him, endless, over and over again. It went straight to voicemail every time, like Zayn had turned off his phone. 

Louis cracks the mirror in his hotel room’s en suite bathroom and it gashes the side of his hand, shallow but bloody. Liam - who’d been sent as some kind of emissary to calm him down - had grabbed both Louis’ hands and held them against his own chest, not letting go even when Louis had shouted at him to fuck off. He’d gotten blood all over Liam’s ridiculous Kanye West plain white t-shirt. 

They both end up on the floor beside the marble tub, Liam cleaning Louis’ hand with hand sanitizer and a paper towel, apologizing for the sting. 

Liam doesn’t have anything to be sorry for, Louis thinks. He lets Liam say it anyway, because it seems to make him feel better. Liam holds the paper towel around Louis’s hand with both of his. 

“I miss him too, you know,” Liam says, quietly, like he knows Louis might snap at him for invoking Zayn. 

“It’s not the same,” Louis says. He doesn’t need to look to know Liam is making that wounded little boy face of his. “I don’t know how to explain it but it’s not the same, so stop pretending like it is.” 

Liam lets go of his hand and stands up, dusting himself off. “I know you’re hurt,” he says stiffly. “But you don’t get to be an asshole to the people who are trying to help you.” Louis can tell he’s trying not to cry. “You don’t get to behave like you’re the only one affected by this.” 

Liam leaves him alone, then, which is what he’d really wanted. It’s stupid, but true: at that moment, the only person who’d know how to console him is Zayn. 

Louis pulls his phone out, hovers his thumb over Zayn’s name in his recent calls. He knows he’s not going to answer. He gets up and plugs the drain in the bathroom sink, and runs cold water until it’s full. He tips his phone into it, turns out the lights, and goes to bed. 

#zouis #i had to exorcise some demons apparently SORRY #mj.txt #dinoflangellate

[winemum-ignis]

Veiled in Black

Notes:  MAJOR SPOILERS HELLA SPOILERS.  This is set after the events of chapter 8 in game so if you are not at that point be warned all ye who enter here!  I had a random mental image of Gladio and Ignis’ first interaction after the incident and I kept thinking about it and then it became this.

I’ve been working on this for a while actually, rewriting etc trying to get it how i wanted and it is finally there.  To do that I did however have to give it a singular PoV so I may rewrite the entire scenario from Ignis’ perspective.  We will see, depends if I want to give myself all the angst again.  Who am I kidding of course I will it’s just a matter of time.

Gladnis. 2025 words. angst. brief mention of violence/gore and canon character death.

All under read more due to spoilers

The dawn broke over Altissia, glowing red sunlight reflecting off of the now still waters that showed no sign of the turmoil that had arisen from them the day before.  Amber eyes watched the sunrise intently, lost in the moment of pure serenity as for the first time that night Gladio’s mind was able to stop for a few moments to bask in the glory.  While it currently was far from its former glory, the city on the sea was still a sight to behold as rays crept over buildings and structures casting away the shadows brought by the night.

 Leaving the curtains open just a crack, the dark haired man looked to the still figure in the bed. There was still no sign of him awakening, and sadly nobody knew how long it would be until the prince awoke.  All they knew was that harnessing the power of the Lucii drained the user and after the hell that Noctis has rained down on the Hydraen with the royal armiger there was no telling how long it would take for him to recover, coupled with the emotional trauma they were all now just playing a waiting game. Sadly, they didn't have all the time in the world so every minute was precious moments being thrown away.

 The door to the current makeshift chambers in the hotel clicked, blonde head poking round the side to see if there was anybody else in the room.  From the looks of it, Prompto seemed to have had about as much sleep as Gladio who stopped his slow pacing by the grand windows that looked out upon the devastation that had wrecked through parts of the city.  “Anything?” Soft voice was barely above a whisper as Prompto stepped further in to the room.  While he knew he could probably shout at Noct right now and he still wouldn't awaken it just seemed the right thing to do.  A part of him was  expecting the shake of a head that he got in response even if it wasn't what he wanted to see.  “I stuck a head in on Ignis on the way…” Prompto’s trailing off spoke for itself as eyes met across the room.  “Still asleep, aswell.”

 Gladio breathed a quiet sigh of relief.  The last thing he wanted was Ignis waking up on his own when they still didn't know the full extent of his injuries, however the duty that had brought him to Altissia had also brought him to ensure the state of the new king of Lucis. “You stay with Noct, I will go sit with Iggy.” Clearing his threat to try and clear some of the hoarseness that came out with his words, the pair smiled weakly at each other, a smile that didn't even reach the eyes as neither could get their heads around the situation and the gravity of it all. “I'm sure he'd much rather see your mug than mine when he ever wakes up.” Large hand clapped down reassuringly on the blond gunmans shoulder as he walked past, being sure to close the door quietly behind him as he entered the hallway.

As he walked into the room, all he wanted to do was climb under the sheets and wrap himself around Ignis’ sleeping figure and they could just stay like that, asleep and at peace pretending everything was still on track.  While he did eye up the bed and the perfect amount of space there was for him on there, he instead opted for the comfortable looking chair that sat by the window, facing towards the bed.  There was no predicting how the sleeping man would be when he woke up after all and he didn't want to run the risk of overdcrowding him so to speak. Slouching into the chair, one leg rose to rest ankle on opposite knee, soon finding himself dragged slowly into the light clutches of sleep.

 He didn't know how long he was out, but it wasn't a peaceful rest.  As soon as his dreams started going to a nice, serene place he heard it; the cry of leviathan piercing through the clash of metal, the imperials closing in on them, a shout, but no matter how quick he turned he couldn't stop it and then it came, the blood splashed across the cold stone floor, the pained cry of his partner.

 Eyes snapped open as Gladio took a few moments to slow his breathing, trying to ignore the heavy feeling of dread that settled in as the reality that It wasn't just a dream sank back in.  Rubbing awake eyes the first thing he looked at properly was the still body in the bed. Except he wasn't as he had left him. He was sat up?  “Iggy?” Pushing himself up off the chair it only took a few strides and Gladio was at the bed, sitting carefully on the edge as a hand took that of the younger man who reached out to him as he sat down, fingers lacing together tightly, reassuringly.  His lips parted, a sigh of relief tumbling from them before he was able to say anything more but somebody else got their before him.

 “I didn’t know you were here.”  While his voice was its usual, calm dulcet self the tightness with which Ignis gripped onto his hand gave the swordsman a somewhat truer glimpse as to how he may have actually been.  Always one to keep up appearances.  “How's Noct?” Gladio’s eye roll was practically audible as he questioned why he expected anything else out of Ignis’ mouth.

“How're you?” He didn't mean the retort to come out as sharp as it did, but he was in disbelief at how the strategist was still seemingly putting his duty before himself.

“I'm inconsequential, is he okay?”  He already knew this wasn't anything worth arguing about; with everything that had happened it was the last thing they needed, but emotions were running high right now and he needed Ignis to think of himself and the situation that he was in.

 “He's fine, as far as we can tell.” If it took putting his mind at rest to talk about other pressing matters such as the state of himself, Gladio would get the formalities out of the way first.  “He's not woken but everything is stable, all things considered. Prompto is with him in case he wakes up.” Thumb gently stroked over the back of slender hand that still resided in his, his gaze watching Ignis tentatively.  “Now again, how're you?”

 “Luna?”  For a moment Gladio forgot that he didn’t know about the outcome of the Oracle.  There was nothing that they could have done for her and while she paid the ultimate price, she had in doing so given them a fighting chance to do what had to be done. The silence that filled the room said more than words could, the pair sitting still as the gravity of the situation sunk in.

 Raising the hand in his, Gladio pressed a soft kiss to Ignis’ fingers before letting them go, scooting on the bed slightly so he was closer to the brunette.  “Now can we talk about you?”  Choosing to ignore the sigh that escaped the other man he brushed hair from forehead, hesitating as he loitered over the dressings that covered that handsome face that he adored so.  The beautiful green eyes that he could get lost in for hours.  The what-if’s were endless as he hesitated, but it was picked up on.

 “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”  Such softly spoken words, but it was enough to spur Gladio on as he gently removed the smaller of the two dressings, exposing the lesser of the two injuries. Compared to when it first happened, the older male had to restrain from the sigh of relief as to how much better it looked now it was cleaned and stitched up, the cosmetic side was one thing but the lasting damage was yet to be discovered.  That and this was only one half of a greater whole.  It wasn’t like those few years previously when the tables were turned, Ignis declaring with such gusto that he would be fine after taking an attack meant for the crown prince.  He still remembered the exact tone to his words as he declared how lucky he would be if it did scar, it might make his face more interesting. The thought alone drew a shadow of a smile to Gladio’s face, a bittersweet smile as he watced Ignis wince slightly as he tried to blink open his now uncovered eye.

  With a deep breathe he worked up the courage and slowly started peeling away the second dressing. He almost closed his own eyes as he did it, not wanting to see the true extent but the hand that found his leg, settling on his thigh softly reminded him that he had to.  “Your silence is very reassuring.”  The comment drew a nervous little chuckle from Gladio as he completely removed the second dressing, that sigh finally leaving him but it was not one of relief.

 “Ignis…”  Gently brushing finger tips over a part of soft skinned cheek that wasn’t dominated by the still tender injury that consumed that part of his face Gladio found himself blinking furiously as tears threatened to fall from his face. The last 24 hours had been too much for one man to handle and as he looked upon Ignis who was still so defiant in appearing strong and composed despite all this it was almost too much.  “I’m so sorry…”

 Voice threatening to crack as he spoke he swallowed the lump in his throat.  He didn’t know what else he could say, as far as he could see he had failed; the state everything was in he couldn’t do anything to prevent it and it weighed on his mind like a ton of bricks.   Before he could say anymore hands found him, taking him by the shoulders and pulling him close.  Amber eyes closed as he let himself relax against Ignis’ chest, arms embracing him tightly.  

 “Gladiolus Amicitia, sworn shield of the king.”  The words spoken to him were barely above a whisper as his own arms snaked their way around Ignis’ waist.  “Your life is dedicated to protecting the king as your father did, as your grandfather did and everyone in your family has before them.”  He should have been the one comforting the brunette now, not the other way around but he still found himself unable to interrupt Ignis as he spoke, his words being a comfort that he didn’t know he had needed, as well as the truth that he needed to hear. “And I, Ignis Scientia, am not the king. It isn’t your duty to protect me.”

 Unburying his face from the advisors chest, he looked up into the scarred face that wore a soft smile on features, albeit haunted with a certain melancholy, the one eye that was able to be opened unfocused as he looked in Gladio’s direction.  “I’ve known the risk that comes with my position from day one, my safety will never be a priority as long as the crown is at risk.” He didn’t understand how he could do it, how he could lay there and just accept what had happened but as silence once again grew between the two that’s when he heard it, the slight shake to Ignis’ breath as his hand searched for Gladio’s face, thumb softly stroking over his cheek and the swordsman’s own scar that he bore from doing his duty as Noct’s guard.  It was the only indication that perhaps the advisor wasn’t dealing with this quite as solidly as his demeanour may have projected.  Shifting slightly Gladio leant up, lips softly brushing against Ignis’ before letting his head rest on his shoulder, amber eyes closing as he relaxed for the first time that morning to the sound of soft whispers.  “But I know I couldn’t, and will never, have better comrades to stand at arms with, than the people I left the crown city with.”

#ffxv #ffxv fanfiction #ffxv fanfic #gladnis #gladnis fanfic #gladnis fanfiction #ignis #ignis scientia #ffxv ignis #ignis fanfic #ignis fanfiction #gladio #gladiolus amicitia #ffxv gladio #gladio fanfic #gladio fanfiction #wmific

[andhiseyeswereofbluesky-remade]

Star Material Part 1

A woman stood there in the frigid air waiting to be admitted into the crowded club by the bouncer who was reminiscent of every Russian hitman in every movie ever. She strode up confidently in her emerald dress and showed her I.D, he took the card from her fingers in his hands covered in scars but he barely looked at it. Instead his eyes scanned her cleavage that was shown in her dress and she made a mental note to keep the dress if she ever needed something else to draw a simpleton’s attention to unimportant features. He gave her a nod and she smiled at him and stalked past him into the heat of the club.

She decided to get a drink and bide her time. She looked out over the crowd as she told the flamboyantly gay bartender to get her a gin and tonic. He slid her drink across to her and the cool glass touched her fingers. She could feel her heartbeat starting to quicken and reminded herself to keep her composure, this was her debut she could not lose herself to nerves. She took a swig of her gin and savoured the warmth on her throat and felt her shoulders release as tension left her body and she embraced the balmy feeling spreading through her. She finished her first and ordered another. Thinking that she could ride out the buzz that would come from them.

She was scanning the crowd looking for a face she knew she’d find. It didn’t take long at all. Her target slithered into her peripheral vision. Tall, dark haired and stunning although she was not put together to her usual standard which could be an attempt to blend in or laziness but she seriously doubted that it was the latter. She finished her gin and tonic and then walked out into the crowd never losing sight of her target but snaking her way through the dancing bodies and feigning enjoyment as her body met others. She found herself behind the woman she was so focused on. She studied the way she moved, the cautious nature of her body.

“Nice job dressing yourself down but you are still the most striking woman in this place.” She whispered in her target’s ear. The woman turned around looking shocked, her mouth gaping.            “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said, her face was believable save for her eyes. “Oh please, you’re Adrianna Solano. Anybody with half a brain could recognise you a mile away.”     “Look, we just come here so we can avoid getting hit on by creepy guys. It’s a lot safer.” The woman’s mouth twitched and broke out into a smile. “Sure, I come to the gay club because it’s a lot safer too. I guess you don’t want to dance then.” She turned and went to walk away. “Hey! Wait! You can dance with another girl without being gay right?” Adrianna was looking at her with a face that betrayed what she really was and she was a little amused at the vulnerability. “I’m sure you can dance with another woman without being gay. We’re just a couple of girls out at a gay club to avoid groping, dangerous men.” She said as she took Adrianna’s hand.

A half hour passed and she had started to make her move. She had moved her hands from Adrianna’s to her shoulder down to her hips, gripping them tight as they swayed to the music. Adrianna relaxed against her body and hands as she breathed into her ear and kissed her neck. Her fingernails grazed her thighs and scratched along the soft skin. Adrianna shuddered underneath them and she felt a deep satisfaction with her amount of control and how this stupid slut was putty in her hands. “Follow me.” She pulled Adrianna and she didn’t resist. She pulled her into the bathroom and suddenly they were in a stall completely alone, the bathroom a stark and barren contrast to the club that seemed to have a life force of its own.

They stood across from each other and Adrianna considered the woman she found herself so attracted too. The red tousled hair and the hazel eyes that burned into her with intensity she couldn’t describe, the emerald green dress that enveloped a petite frame, her long legs. Perhaps she was a dancer. She was drawn back to her eyes, they seemed animalistic, almost angry but that just drove Adrianna to reach out to touch her.

Adrianna reached out to touch her and she grabbed her hand hard and held it firm. “You are not allowed to touch me, I am in control and you will do what I say.” She saw a flash of excitement in Adrianna’s eyes and watched her unconsciously bite her lip. “Turn around.” Adrianna turned and she could hear the audible change in her breathing. “Put your hands behind your back.” Adrianna obeyed and surrendered her wrists. She took them in her hand and held them tight. She heard Adrianna catch her breath at the force with which she held her. Then she reached up and made a fist in her hair and tugged slightly. Adrianna exhaled and she knew that she was getting very different ideas about how this would end, she could see the goose bumps upon her skin. She pulled her head back, bit her ear softly and then waited to build the suspense.

Adrianna was completely enrapt in this woman. At her mercy completely in this bathroom stall. She surrendered her hands and any power and enjoyed the tingles igniting across her scalp as this woman pulled her hair. She realised she didn’t even know her name. She knew nothing about her except the effect she was having on her body. She could hardly contain her desire to touch her and her knees shook as she bit her ear.

She waited until Adrianna relaxed completely under her touch. Then she pulled her hair back with all her might and smashed her face into the back of the cubicle. There was an audible crunch as her cheek bone met the wall that she was aware was made of concrete. The blood upon the wall only filled her movements with more enthusiasm and she drew Adrianna’s head back. Adrianna let out a cry which was cut off when her face met the wall again in a violent kiss. She continued until Adrianna was moaning quietly and then she kicked her legs out from underneath her and she submerged her head in the toilet.

Adrianna realised that she was getting hurt. Badly hurt and she tried to struggle against this woman she had thought may end up being one of the best lovers she had ever had. She tried to free her wrists and was met with a vice grip she never would have thought possible for someone of such a small frame. She thought all she could feel was pain until she felt cold and wet and she realised she was drowning. No, no, fuck no, I’m gonna die was all she could think. I’m going to fucking die in a bathroom stall. This can’t be happening. She struggled as much as she could and fought and fought and she kept thinking, I don’t want to die here, I don’t want to die until she couldn’t think anything anymore.

Adrianna hadn’t moved in three minutes. She let go of her hair satisfied that she was well and truly dead but she checked her pulse all the same. Dead as a door nail. Stupid fucking dyke she thought as she walked out of the stall. She inspected her face and realized there was slight blood splatter on her face. “Dammit.” She muttered but she thought nobody would notice if her makeup was smeared so she wet her face and blotted away the blood and she realized the makeup she had had on her tattoo had come off during Adrianna’s last ditch struggle. She quickly dismissed any worries because nobody would be looking at that in this club. She composed herself, looked at her handy work once more, pushed up her cleavage a bit more for insurance, patted herself on the back figuratively and walked out of the bathroom, then out of the club and walked home.

She got in early around 4a.m and she tiptoed upstairs because the last thing she needed was her mother to wake up and question her on her whereabouts and actions. She stood in the bathroom and inspected her naked body. No scratches to speak of so there’s little to no chance of her DNA being left on Adrianna’s body. She stood in the shower for 45 minutes liking how the water fell across her body and washed away the nerves of her first performance. She gave herself a standing ovation as the water sprayed across her naked body and she laughed at how nervous she had been in the days leading up to what she had just done and gotten away with.

Then she got out of the shower, replaced all her tools and got into her bed and she fell asleep to the notion that Adrianna would never breathe or smile or shower or sleep again and that was the thought that brought her a sense of peace she didn’t know was possible. She slept long and hard and awoke to the smell of slightly burnt toast.

Another woman was warm and asleep in her bed and was rudely awoken by her shrill ringtone. She groped her bedside table like a horny teenager with their first partner until her hand found her phone. “Hello!” “Not a morning person huh?” “Ugh Jenkins, what is it?” “Murder downtown in a gay club. It was pretty violent so we have been called in. Get up sunshine.” “Bring me coffee or I’ll be violent too.” “Sure thing.” She swung her feet to her hardwood floor groaning and she was confronted by how cold it was. They say you get used to the sleepless nights but that is a goddamn lie she thought as she dragged herself to her closet to grab some clothes and to wake herself up with a splash of cold water to her face.

Twenty minutes later she was walking into the crime scene with a piping hot triple shot in her hand, she drank it gratefully and was looking forward to feeling the caffeine vibrate through her system soon. “So, who was the victim?” She asked nobody in particular knowing Jenkins would answer. “Adrianna Solano, she’s an actress who was just signed to do a movie part after being in soap operas for the last five years. Just about to make it big when somebody decided to make her nothing. They don’t know if it is a hate crime yet or if Adrianna was confirmed gay Lily so we have to be careful about how we handle this especially with the press.” Jenkins lowered his voice at the last part and looked at Lily. Lily returned his gaze and sipped her coffee. “You know I’m no fan of the media Jenkins, I’m not gonna go out there and start rumours about this poor dead girl.”

Lily flashed her badge at anyone in her way and entered the bathroom that had been taped off. The first stall was where Adrianna had met her end and it looked like nothing short of a crime scene. There was blood all over the back wall of the cubicle meaning someone had smashed her face into the concrete repeatedly from the looks of the spatter. There were no defensive wounds on her hands but there was slight bruising, her assailant must have had her wrists behind her back rendering her pretty much helpless to the violence to come. Lily stepped over the body to get a look at her face and felt something crunch beneath her boot, she lifted her foot and saw a tooth. She felt a pang of sadness, this poor girl had suffered underneath this person’s rage and Lily wanted to find out why.

“So, what do you think Lily?” Jenkins asked. Jenkins already had an idea of what had gone down in his own mind but he knew that Lily always had a view of the other side of the coin. “I don’t think this was a hate crime. I don’t know but this person smashed her face into that wall and I think that means it’s fuelled by jealousy. Adrianna Solano was one of the most beautiful young actresses coming out recently. Maybe somebody didn’t like her making her big break?” “Or maybe someone didn’t like the fact that she was gay? Hate crimes are known for their violent nature Lil.” They were sparring now but in a friendly fashion. Lily brushed some errant hairs out of her face and considered everything. “Was anyone here with Adrianna that has anything useful to tell us? Maybe they saw her with someone?” “There are a few girls outside the club who say they were with Adrianna. Let’s go see if they saw anything of note.”

There were two girls standing outside when Lily emerged from the club. They were visibly shaking and one had her makeup smeared from crying, the other was blank, near catatonic. Possibly dealing with the shock still. “Hi there, I’m Lily Hadden. I’m going to be handling this case. I know you two were here with Adrianna, are you two close to her? Did you see her with anyone?” The one with the smeared makeup spoke up first. “I’ve known Adrianna for years, she was so excited to finally be doing a movie and she just wanted to celebrate. Come out and have a good time. She didn’t deserve this.” Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence. Lily reached out and held her hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “No, she didn’t deserve it. What happened to her was awful and I am so sorry for your loss but please can you tell me if you saw her with anyone suspicious or if anyone was paying extra attention to her in there?” The girl with the smeared make up started to cry. “I was so wasted and I was so focused on this girl I was eyeing at the bar that I barely registered anything. I feel like I should have seen something more but I broke off from them to try and see if I had a shot with this girl and I didn’t see her again.” She began to cry so hard that Lily thought she may break. She looked so fragile and hurt and Lily knew this girl would blame herself for what happened forever.

“I saw her with someone.” The silent girl spoke up and startled Lily. “Can you describe this person for me? Did she go anywhere with them?” The silent girl found her voice and started recounting what she had seen. “There was this girl who come up to Adrianna while we were dancing. She was taller than Adrianna and Adrianna is…was about 5’7 so this girl had to have been 6’1 in her heels. She came up to Adrianna and started talking to her, hitting on her I suppose and then she went to leave and Adrianna called her back. She was a red head, wearing a green dress, I think her eyes were blue or hazel. I didn’t get a really close look. She was all over Adrianna, hands on her and kissing her neck and touching her.” The girl looked at the ground for a second and then continued her story. “This woman grabbed Adrianna and pulled her away from the dance floor. I assume they went to the bathroom after that. Adrianna probably thought they were going somewhere more private to…you know and then something entirely different happened. Adrianna was so trusting, she never would have thought that someone would want to hurt her like that. She was a good person.” Lily saw the tears well in the girl’s eyes as she finished her story.  The two girls huddled together and Lily thanked them for their time.

“Jenkins, does this club scan I.D’s?” Lily asked hoping for a much faster way to find this mystery woman. “No, unfortunately they are not yet up to date. It isn’t one of the most popular gay clubs around here so they probably didn’t feel a need.” “Maybe we can question the bouncer, see if he saw a girl matching that description.” “Lil, do you know how many people that bouncer would have seen tonight?” Jenkins retorted. “There were over 300 people in that club and that’s not taking into account the people that came and left in that time frame. He’s probably not going to remember one girl.” “Okay, fine then what do you have in mind?” Lily snapped at him immediately regretting it and cursing her coffee for not kicking in yet. “Well Ms.Snarky, there are security cameras covering the entrance and exit so if we review the tapes we may be able to narrow down how many suspects and then show the witness we have to get her to identify the assailant. It should also help us to get a time frame because I don’t think I’d hang around after I did something like that.” Jenkins looked at her with a look so smug she couldn’t help but smile. “Okay Mr.Know-It-All, we’ll go with your plan. Sorry for being an asshole.” Jenkins laughed and they walked back inside to get the security tapes to review.

Back at the station house Lily rubbed her static assaulted eyes. “Jenkins, the quality of these feeds is bullshit, if I have to get glasses I’m blaming you.” Ugh she groaned, it was 11a.m and she already wanted to go back to bed. Instead, she got to her feet and poured another coffee. Lily knew she was being crabby but she couldn’t help it. Lucky that Jenkins was such a laid back guy otherwise she probably would have had a few insults hurled at her this morning along with other things. Lily poured another cup of coffee as a peace offering and slumped down next to Jenkins. “Have you seen anyone matching the description yet?” She asked pensively. “I have seen 3 so far but I want to make sure we review these thoroughly and find all possible suspects then we can zoom in and get the tech guys to fix up the quality and show the photos to your witness.” Lily looked at his notebook and noticed he had written down the times all 3 girls he thought looked like the suspect had walked into the club. “Well, I’m glad one of our brains is working today. How about I go find out what new movie Adrianna was meant to be in? Maybe there were some understudies who wanted her to literally break a leg? Or face?” Jenkins grimaced at the last part but she saw the corners of his mouth turn up slightly when he realized she just wanted a reaction. “Go on Lil, you’re always better at interacting with the people anyways. I’ll stay here and if I need glasses you’re buying!”

Lily called Adrianna’s mother and asked her as much as she could about who Adrianna was working with and soon she was walking into the office of Adrianna’s former director, Marius Arvanii. Marius was an animated man who would have been handsome when he was younger. Lily got the distinct impression that he thought he still had the same charm he used too.

“So, what can I do for you Officer? Or is it Detective? You seem a little young to be a Detective.” He smiled at Lily and she was already feeling offended and the lack of sleep wasn’t helping. “I am 28 and I guess I was just real good at catching bad guys so anyways, I was hoping to talk to you about Adrianna. Was there anyone here on set that seemed to have an issue with her or was she wary of anyone on set?” She smiled across at him as he reconsidered his manner of speaking. Marius cleared his throat and told Lily that he had not seen anyone nor heard of anyone having anything against Adrianna and likewise on her end. “Adrianna was just so excited to have a lead role for the first time even if someone did have something against her I doubt she would have picked up on it in her happy haze.” Marius looked across at me looking clueless. “Okay, well would you mind if I spoke to a few people around here? Tried to get a few leads?” Lily asked and smiled at Marius for the first time since she sat across from him. Marius relaxed and agreed to let her talk to anyone in the studio.

The smell of burnt toast emanated through the kitchen and she could hear her mother clambering to get rid of the slight smoke that would have been coming from the toaster. She never was any good at gaging how long the bread needed to reach the perfect amount of toasted. She groaned and got up because she knew her mother would soon be yelling her name and as she pulled a tee shirt over her head the unmistakable tone of her mother’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Erin! Erin, come down here! I made toast!” Erin rolled her eyes at that notion, her mother never made anything with any kind of success except a mess or her angry but she trudged down the stairs anyway.

“Mom, what are you doing?” She asked as she opened the fridge and grabbed a yoghurt and an energy drink. “I made toast and I know what you’re gonna say oh it’s burnt well for your information charcoal is good for your teeth and I noticed yours are starting to get stained from all the coffee and soda. You’re never going to get a leading role without perfect white teeth. No need to thank me.” Erin ignored her mother, she was used to the advice on her appearance by now. Her mother was a beauty queen growing up and Erin came up short of her expectations. You see, her mother was a lithe blonde in her day and her emerald green eyes made her incredibly striking when in contrast with her pale skin. Erin assumed she took after her father with her too small hazel eyes, freckles everywhere, angular features and her lacklustre brown locks.

Erin watched her mother bustle around the kitchen, doing nothing in particular. She was once a star, she wasn’t in films but she was in stage shows and revered for her strong voice and emotive face and her overall talent. How lovely it must have been to see her name up in lights and how disappointed she must have been when she found out she was pregnant with her. Emilia never told her that but Erin knew it, she let it show in her constant comments on Erin’s shortcomings.

“So darling, what are you doing today?” She asked as she slid into a seat with her meagre piece of toast and tea. Cordelia worried that with age she was losing her looks and waistline, she was right but for a woman of 52 she was still attractive, very attractive in fact. “Why are you only eating one slice of toast? New hip diet?” Erin deflected to try and steer away from talking about herself. It would only lead to more talk of her shortcomings. “I asked you a question first and not everybody can have a figure reminiscent of a pixie without trying Erin. Now, what are you doing today?” Erin moved her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m going into the studio to help with the lighting, like I do every day.” Emilia got up to get more tea and tutted at Erin. “You’ll never end up with your name in lights if you’re the one positioning them and goodness please do something with your hair. Why don’t you put on a little make up? Wear something nice to work? Try and.” “I have to shower Mum or else I will never get to work but thank you for the advice.”

Erin stomped up the stairs, feeling her anger seeping out of her pores. Fuck her, she thought, I will see my name up in lights because I am a goddamn star. I will be bigger than she ever was. Erin sat down in front of her mirror, looked at the wig she had donned the night before and wondered if she looked differently would it help her to get a role then she waved that thought away not wanting to reduce herself to appearance when her talent was so boundless. She looked at herself once more, brushed her bangs out of her eyes and then got dressed. She scolded herself internally for worrying so much about unimportant things. She would have to have her wits about her and not lose her composure today. I can’t break character, she thought, that would mean disaster. Erin got herself together and drove to the studio rehearsing in her head.

The studio’s atmosphere was heavy when Erin walked in. The sudden realisation of how much Adrianna’s death affected everything hit her with a mix of annoyance and admiration.  Adrianna was after all just a pretty face and a nice set of tits attached to a dumb Hispanic girl. Erin approached Sam, a girl she has gotten friendly with for appearances sake. She couldn’t very well go around showing her real disdain for all the idiots she worked with.

“What’s going on Sam? Why is everyone freaking out so much?” “You didn’t hear? Adrianna was murdered last night. Everyone is scrambling because we don’t know what is going to happen with the movie now. Marius is losing his mind over it trying to find a replacement for her. I can’t believe you didn’t know it has been all over the news this morning.” Sam said watching as Marius paced around talking to various team leaders from the studio. “I didn’t even turn the television on this morning. She was murdered? Why? That’s just so random. It’s not like she was a mean girl or anything, she was always nice when I spoke to her.” Sam and Erin spoke for a little while longer about the whole fiasco until Marius addressed everyone saying that this was a tragedy to have such a beautiful young woman lost and that she would be missed but that everyone should go back to work and get everything set up because it’s what she would have wanted while he finds a replacement for Adrianna. Yeah right, Erin though, more like you don’t wanna waste any of your cash because the bitch bit it.

It wasn’t long before some of the techs started whispering about wanting to go for Adrianna’s role as a lot of them had gone to acting school and had just fallen into different jobs and by midday three of them had already gone to speak to Marius. Erin bided her time, wanting to avoid suspicion and the stench of desperation. Instead of approaching Marius in the first wave she sat in her makeshift work shop and fixed the lights and day dreamed about how good it would be to be in front of a camera when suddenly there was a woman inviting herself into her workshop to speak to her about Adrianna. Erin felt her chest tighten slightly and then invited the woman to sit and talk with her. Erin was ready for this performance.

Lily had been asking around about Adrianna for hours and the hustle and bustle of it all was getting to her. So far she had spoken to 23 people about their whereabouts, what they thought of Adrianna, if anyone had major issues with her and she just wanted somewhere quiet to sit for a moment then she spotted a girl in a workshop working on some fixture and figured that was a good excuse to sit with her.

“Hi, I’m Lily Hadden. I’m a Detective and I am looking into what happened to Adrianna Solano so I was hoping that I could talk to you for a few minutes?” The girl looked up at her with a blank expression and Lily noticed the freckles across her nose and cheeks. She smiled and thought the girl looked like a pixie with her fine features. “Yeah, that’s fine. Sorry, I am just trying to fix this light fixture.” Lily sat down and felt the relief spread through her feet and legs. “Thank you. It’s been a long day. I’m assuming you have heard what happened to Adrianna?” The girl stopped and looked at Lily for a moment before looking back down at the fixture. “Yeah, it’s such a shame. She was a very beautiful girl and very talented. I can’t believe she’s dead, it still hasn’t really sunk in.”

Lily sat and let the girl compose herself for a moment after hearing her voice audibly crack. Lily thought it best to steer the conversation away from Adrianna for a few minutes and was looking around the room to talk about something else of depth and saw that this girl had a very detailed tattoo on her forearm. “That’s an interesting tattoo. Why a raven?” “I got the raven because when I was little the first acting I ever did was a dramatic reading of “The Raven” by Edgar Allan Poe and it was when I knew I wanted to be involved in show business. It was the day my life changed.” The girl looked at her forearm admiringly while she spoke. “Sorry, it just dawned on me that I don’t even know your name?” Lily said chuckling the end of her sentence. “I’m Erin. Erin Weatherall.” Lily smiled at Erin and thought that surely this girl was one of those people that you never really knew no matter how much time you spent with them. Something about her told Lily she had secrets.

Erin felt the nerves disperse as she spoke to the Detective and she settle into the role of the meek lighting girl who fades into the background. She felt the more she spoke the more the Detective was buying into it and she could see the harsh lights of suspicion fading away from her. “So, you can’t think of anyone who would have an issue with Adrianna? Nobody harbouring some jealousy over her success?” The red headed Detective probed further. Erin looked at her and pretended that she was really thinking over the questions for a few second. “Look, this is the movie business. There are a lot of beautiful girls in this company working in different areas hoping for a break. I guess if they had been hoping to break into a role after paying their dues and they saw Adrianna get to where they want so easily it could cause some animosity. I know a few girls have already started thinking about putting themselves forward for her part.”  Erin said matter of factly as she resumed tinkering with the light. “So, you aren’t one of those girls? Waiting for her big break?” Erin felt the panic rise in her chest but her face did not show it. “I am never going to be in the movies. I am not the pretty girl and that’s fine. I still get to work in this amazing industry and I get to contribute to something beautiful and that’s all you can really ask for in this industry.” Erin smiled warmly at the Detective and Lily returned it. “That’s a nice way of looking at it. Well, I better get going and let you fix that light. Have a good day Erin and if you think of anything you think could help us please don’t hesitate to call me.” Lily handed her a card and Erin took it with a smile as she bid the Detective farewell.

Erin looked at the card and started thinking. That nosy bitch was going to be around for a while so she would have to lead her into a direction that lead away from her. Erin started formulating a plan to start getting closer to her end goal. She was doing this to be a star and she would get there even if it killed her. Erin’s mind started running a mile a minute on what her next step would be to throw off the ginger cop. They were looking for a woman now and Erin decided the best way to take them away from that was to give them a male suspect and that was something that Erin could do. It wouldn’t even be a challenge for her but she would have to avoid anyone in her studio for now however that would not be an issue. Erin was a freelance makeup artist as well as a lighting technician so she had a myriad of air head beauties that she worked with to take out next. Even if it didn’t get her closer to this part at least she was eliminating the competition that Marius may call upon. She didn’t mind playing the slow game.

#story writing #psychologicalthriller #writing