above all things, i believe in love.
hi! i'm albion potts, a 26 year old english clothing designer. i live in swindon.
independent oc rp blog
general M!A status:
younger (18yo) and normal (26yo)
specific M!A status:
The stranger’s pseudo-delighted smile fell, and then he appeared almost sheepish—but gravely serious, at the same time.
"Good point. I’ll confess, then, I wanted to scare the hell out of you to leave a memorable impression. Erin and his brother spent a good deal of their time over at my house, with my children, hiding from their drunk-ass old man."
Erin was quiet, a bit red-faced and tense in Al’s lap.
It was embarrassingly, horribly similar to what he assumed it would have been like to have a father figure threatening to murder his date should something happen to him. He tried to keep his mortification to himself, but pressed against his lover as he was, there was only so much he could hold back.
"A memorable impression."
Phin stared up at the huge man through his fingers in strangled, furious disbelief.
What, was that supposed to be charming or something?
"Ghhff. Fucking… Right. I’m going for a cigarette. I’ll guard the outside of the house since we’re all safe on the inside with Uncle Knives.”
He sniffed, tromped out of the kitchen, and slammed the door shut behind him.
Al’s body flinched only slightly at the loud noise but he ignored it.
"I wasn’t asking about your intent to impress. I was disbelieving that sending one of your sons, who Erin has just confessed to falling out of contact with, over here is not subtle while you, their father and less connected to Erin than even your sons, coming over knives blazing is. I was under the impression that we’re already being, at the very least, observed from afar, if not actually directly watched.”
"You can do a few things," he replied, "First and foremost, Erin stays inside, and never alone. I don’t really give a fuck how you work that out, but I know there are enough people in here. If you must take him out, I’ll give you my fucking number and you can let me know, and I’ll send someone to watch you. He’s a shut-in anyway, he can safely slip under the radar for a while. And, I’ll have one of my kids come over if it looks like things are getting rough.”
"That isn’t very subtle," Erin protested, "I’m not even really friends with them—I haven’t kept in touch with them since school."
"I said if things are getting rough. In which case, subtlety can go fuck itself.”
Lock Erin up like Rapunzel. Keep Al’s gun out and ready. Don’t leave the house alone. Guard yourselves. Make sure everyone is on their toes. More people and more worries, more work, less space.
Phin let go of Al’s wrist and put his face in his hands, sighing behind his fingers.
Al let him go, worried but knowing he didn’t need the empath clinging to him all the time.
It was all certainly a lot to take in, but it was, surprisingly, not yet bothering him. He couldn’t tell if it was because he was focused on getting more information and keeping everyone else calm or because he had long ago accepted that he was surrounded by trained killers, however formally or informally that might be. Coming into contact with dangerous people was not anything new to him.
But he narrowed his eyes at the man, suddenly shrewd. “You waltzing in our door with a knife to my mate’s throat isn’t very subtle either.”
Following instinct, the man tipped his head toward the sounds, and found them no closer. Intrigued, he didn’t move away from the phantom touches, gauging the empath’s skill level.
He was only impressed because he hadn’t expected it. And then, he was disappointed, because it was a talent that was clearly going to waste in such a gentle soul.
On the other hand, he was far too old too feel his dignity was at risk if he didn’t outdo the empath’s performance, and so he simply pulled back the fear like a heavy blanket, leaving impressions in Phin’s mind that were like the white marks left by a grip too tight.
"There isn’t a nice bone in my mother fucking body, kid," he spoke slowly, gazing into those clever green eyes, "But when I leave I intend to do so without leaving a scratch on any of you, physical or otherwise. I will, however, defend my own self, if I feel I’m in danger."
He looked at Phin, then, and considered saying something directly to him.
But he addressed Erin instead.
"You’re well aware your old man and I worked together before he went and retired, yeah?" Erin nodded, lips pressed tight together. He was agitated, defensive, a bit angry, but not mistrusting. "He didn’t get off of work on the best terms with our employer, and he’s been on thin-fuckin’-ice ever since. He turned down an offer, a few months ago, and I’m guessing whatever reason he had to be kept alive was gone by then."
And of course, there was a time, about ten years prior to this moment, that the stranger would have given just about anything up to be given the job to kill Forcys de Pora off himself, in the most painful fucking way possible, but given the circumstances and the fragile, well-deserved state of the man’s psyche, he’d found his mind had changed, and he was doing the opposite, because he was charitable like that.
But mostly, he was doing it for Forcys’ children. Connor and Erin both, though ignorant of their father’s profession, would be considered dangerous, or perhaps just liabilities.
Either way, there would be people getting ready to make their moves, and neither of the kids were safe.
Not that they were kids anymore.
"O-okay. But," Erin licked his lips, jittery and tense, "you and my father worked together. And you’re—you kill people." He paused again, and this time he swallowed thickly before continuing, "My dad’s—h-he’s a hitman?”
"A retired one, but he was damn good at his job."
The pale man paled further, the stark flush of his cheeks draining and leaving him looking father corpselike.
Thinking quickly, the stranger added, “He never liked it much. Got roped into it after askin’ a favor from the boss bitch.” That was a story for another day, and not really his business anyway.
"Oh." Erin didn’t sound too consoled.
Phin wrapped his hand around Al’s wrist, drawing from his calm and soothing himself. Al was safe. They were safe. It was okay.
He was embarrassed, tired, subdued like the stranger wanted him to be and he didn’t have the energy or anger to resist it.
And besides, whatever was happening in his head wasn’t nearly as important as what was happening for Erin. He hadn’t liked Forcys from the start (or this stranger, for that matter), but things were starting to make sense now.
His mouth parted and prepared for words, but he closed it again.
"So then what do you propose we do? Suspect every person who knocks on the door is going to kill us? Keep my gun on the kitchen counter? Keep Dirk’s guns on the counter? Tell Phin to get furry every time someone knocks? If we did that we would’ve pointed a weapon at my mum’s face the other day."
Honestly, he didn’t really care what she thought of a gun in her face and him holding it, but it was the principle of the thing.
"We can’t go into hiding because one: that’s stupid, and two: that’s suspicious, and also three: we can’t even be quiet about it because of me. The fashion media would get itself into a tizzy wondering what happened if I just fucked off out of the blue, and I’d really rather not retire, because I really rather like my job.
"Not to mention that means uprooting everyone here, and I’m fairly certain most of the people in this house would like to not do that. And it would come back to point number two: suspicious.
"So what would you have us do?"
Al watched the man expectantly.
It was an tiny, odd fear to perceive, but the assassin was familiar with it. It started off fairly simple: Someone was with child, nurturing a delicate, growing thing in their body.
But of course, there’s emphasis on the delicate part when a threat comes into the picture. Be it a person, place or thing, that tiny life could be snuffed out in an instant.
And of course, the stranger was definitely classified as a threat—big, unfamiliar, powerful. Dangerous. Unpredictable.
The thoughts piled on themselves, built up stress and worry and morphed into fear with so little effort on the stranger’s part.
Stress can cause miscarriages, he suggested, depositing the idea amongst Phin’s many angry thoughts, miscarriages can lead to health complications for the mother.
Father, actually. But the information was generalized.
This turn of events made the stranger a bit anxious—he wouldn’t consider himself emotionally invested in what he was doing at the moment, but he gave a few fucks too many and fucking around with someone’s head and causing a miscarriage would make the entire situation worse for everyone.
So as he flooded the wild one with terror, he reached out to Potts and Erin and leeched away their nervousness and anxiety, carefully smoothing out the ripples he’d left in their minds.
"I’m in your motherfucking kitchen because I told a brother I’d keep his brat alive, because there’s a mark on his head and that makes Erin a target, too.”
Without fear, Erin was left with frustration, curiosity, and confusion, all muddled together.
"I-I don’t get—who wants to kill my father?"
Phin’s angry expression smoothed slowly to near-wonder and began to crumple again, forming something different. It felt like a hole was forming in his stomach. He took a measured step back from the stranger, his hand returning to his side defensively.
The baby. The actual, physical safety of the baby hadn’t really crossed his mind much, but he was aware of it, aware of Al and Erin, aware that these weren’t organic fears coming from himself. The stranger was prying, pouring things into him that wouldn’t otherwise have been there.
But they were now.
All it would take was one accident, one too-slow block, one fall, one swipe of the brutish intruder’s hand—it was a threat, and Phin couldn’t talk himself out of it. He swallowed thickly, aware of the sound of his heart.
What if he couldn’t protect them, what if this happened again and someone meant it? What if it wasn’t just the baby? He would be useless in the face of any of it, he could fail horribly, be left behind, be left alone, be trapped with himself and never be a father, a husband.
“Stop it. Please stop.”
Al’s attention towards the (very interesting) question of who wanted to kill Forcys came to a screeching halt at the sound of Phin’s voice.
It only took one glance between the stranger and Phin to understand what was happening.
He reached out to Phin, wrapped his hand around his wrist with a calm that hid the cold wrath aching to build inside him. He watched the stranger as he forcibly fought off the fear, fought him back from his mates and himself.
It had been a long time since his emotions made his minor talent act up without his permission; his focus on the fear-wielding stranger made his illusions whisper in the man’s ears and dance just out of his sight, touching him ghostly soft.
"You will play nice while you’re in my house."
East bit his lip, containing a smile and a little burst of happiness.
"Okay. Maybe not yet. We will."
He latched onto Bee’s neck again and sucked a simple hickey in place above his collarbone.
The smaller teen squirmed beneath East, hips lifting to press their lower bodies together more.
"Leave all the hickeys you want, gorgeous."
The hand that had previously been pointing at Erin flattened and slammed against the surface of the table.
"You need me to add another point to this conversation, or are we going to talk about the part where the lot of you put those smarts to use and figure out what you’re gonna do if a real threat shows up?”
Phin clapped his hand down on the table near where the hulking man’s was, blocking his view of anything other than his seething expression and angry, amber eyes.
"Let’s also discuss why you’re here, or rather, let’s do that instead. You’ve already been here too long, you’ve already ranked up our kitchen, so hurry up with this or leave."
It crossed Phin’s mind, with strange timing, that Al was pregnant.
The stranger moved in a mockery of a bow, watching, listening, feeling as the other people in the room shifted. He waited till everyone else, the other assassin included, had ceased to move before he pulled a chair from the table and dropped his weight into it.
He thought Erin was a bit big for sitting on anyone’s lap, but the tiny empath seemed to make it work, and the younger of the two looked as content as he could be under the circumstances.
That was to say, tense and confused and mutely frightened, and not at all actually content.
The glare the stranger was receiving was just as snobbish and defiant as he remembered it being, but the face those lavender eyes were set in was a lot sharper than it used to be.
"What’s this—why’d you come in like this," Erin stammered at him, "I woulda let you in."
"You were already scared shitless before I crawled into your fucking skull," the hulking stranger drawled at him, "And I wasn’t so sure you’d recognize me."
Erin huffed an irritated sigh, fingers still clenched tight in Al’s shirt.
"Anyway, I needed to make a good point, because apparently your old man didn’t tell you shit he should have." He pointed a broad finger at him, but the little shit didn’t so much as flinch. "If I’d been sent to kill you, I wouldn’t even have had to step into the damned house to kill you. I could’ve slit your throat and dropped you on the floor for your family to find."
And he smiled, baring his teeth at them all.
"But I didn’t. Because that’s the exact opposite of what i fucking intended to do. I think I’ve made my point clear, by now?"
Needed to make a good point. With a knife, obviously. To relay a message. In lieu of Erin’s father or some crap like that. Phin was hardly even listening.
Part of this was territory and part of this was needing to save some face for just not noticing that a stranger had walked into their house and most of this was reactive, scalding horror that his so-called talent hadn’t worked. He needed to be able to stop these things when it counted and what good was it when he didn’t?
Phin couldn’t, in good conscience or respect to his fury, sit down. He propped himself against the breakfast bar and scoffed.
Al couldn’t help being sarcastic and bratty at least once.
"Was that your whole point?”
"Maple Valley. It’s a beautiful neighborhood."
Al has no idea where that is but he assumes it’s in the same area. “I can’t wait to see it. By the way, these are really good.” He holds up a sandwich.
Phin recalls the nightmarish trip through the asylum, the unexpected visit from Janette, Forcys, Roxy, Cronus, East’s various rowdy exploits…
Drama was certainly an understatement. But a full explanation of recent events would go on too long.
"It hasn’t been boring, to say the least. What about you two?"
He scans over John’s surprised face next to Bee.
"No, not really." John says. "We may be moving soon though."
Dad nods, sipping his coffee before explaining.
"With so many guests, I thought some more room would be useful. And it’ll be closer to John’s college, so that’s a bonus."
John rolls his eyes, grinning. “It’s got a bigger kitchen. Way bigger. That’s what got him.”
Al smiles back, amused and interested. “Oh? Where to?”
"Wait, really?? When were you going to tell us you old tossers were getting married?" says East, plopping himself down in the other seat next to Bee.
Phin swallows his sip of coffee and looks over to Al.
"Well… I think this is really the first time we’ve talked about it with anyone. It was sort of a recent conversation and we still need to talk about some things…"
He runs a hand across Al’s thigh under the table.
"But… that’s the plan. And yeah. The baby, too."
John looks way more surprised than dad. He looks shocked, and a little confused, but he’s aware of the sort of strange things that happen outside of their home. Dad mostly just looks a bit shocked, but not all that confused.
"Well, that’s certainly good news. I’m happy for you both." He grins at them, taking some food for his own plate. "Is there anything else new? Other than that and how you two look." He says, referring to Al and Bee. "Which is wonderful, by the way. You both always make the house more lively."
"Uh, not really? There’s been drama but it’s not anything big. Hopefully."
I’M STILL SCREAMING OVER THIS
okay so the beautiful wonderful lascocks had some sketch commissions open and jesus fucking christ i’ve been in love with her style since eons ago when i was a sherlockian and eveRYONE IS SO POINTY AND BEAUTIFUL AND THEY’VE ALL GOT SMUG LITTLE FACES AND THE BEST EXPRESSIONS AND BIG EYES AND IT’S ONE OF MY MOST FAVOURITE STYLES EVER
SO I BOUGHT A SKETCH COMMISSION OF PHIN, AL, AND ERIN FROM HER AND IT’S PERFECT AND WONDERFUL
PHIN’S GOT HIS SMUG ASSHOLE LITTLE SMILE AND THAT ONE RAISED EYEBROW AND ERIN’S LOOKING CUTE AS FUCK SNUGGLED UP TO THEM AND DOING THE LITTLE EYEBROW THING AND AL LOOKS LIKE THE HAPPIEST LITTLE SHIT ON THE PLANET JUST COMPLETELY FUCKING CONTENT WITH EVERYTHING AND BEING A CUNT AND THROWING HIS LEG OVER EVERYONE
THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER I’M PROBABLY GONNA PRINT IT OUT AND FRAME IT GODDAMN
GO CHECKOUT LASCOCKS' ART AND THROW YOUR MONEY AT HER
"You’ll do nothing of the sort. Those are expensive."
As Bee leans in for a hug, East glances behind his back towards John and gives the other teen a cheeky grin and a wink, quite aware of the looks he had just given him.
Phin, however, finds himself distracted by the thought of good coffee and treats. He’s hungrier than he thought he was.
"I think I’ll make me way to the food, if nobody minds…"
"That’s alright, as long as nothing is broken."
John glances up and catches East’s look, blushing. When the two move in to hug dad, he kisses both their heads. He chuckles at Phin.
"Of course, go ahead. Eat as much as you’d like." He smiles, following everyone into the kitchen. Thankfully, there are enough chairs for everyone. "So, things have changed quite a bit, clearly. It’s been a while."
John sticks to Bee’s side, grabbing a plate and filling it with a few little sandwich bites and cookies.
"Yeah," Al says, sitting down with a few things to nibble. Bee gets half again as much and sits next to John, waiting to see where East plants himself.
Al feels guilty for not having come out to see Dad sooner, and for the massive amount of new events he hasn’t yet told him about.
"Yeah, I mean, besides the addition of East and some appearance changes, not a whole lot has happened, but…I’m pregnant and Phin, Erin, and I are kind of engaged?”
Bee stifles his squeak, evidently not having heard this before.
"I’m a busy man," East says casually, twiddling Bee’s hand and looking around the adorable house. "I’ve got things to do."
Phin shakes his head at his younger self and smiles at the older man.
"Sorry if you weren’t expecting us. It’s nice to see you again."
He can almost feel East’s smirk against the back of his head.
Dad nods, looking between them. Other than the age gap and hair, they look identical. Just like Bee and Al. Although Bee is looking significantly less like Al.
"Well, East, it’s a pleasure to meet you."
He turns around at the sound of footsteps, smiling at John.
"Ah, John, this is East. Phin’s 18 year old self. Like Bee."
John’s eyes widen a little when he sees the two of them, tall and dark and attractive. There is no escape from the attractive boys that his dad brings home.
"East, this is my son, John." As he speaks, John hurries over to Al’s side, a little unsure of if he should greet Bee with a hug (and maybe a kiss) with East holding onto him like he is. So he greets Al that way, smiling at Bee and mumbling hello. "There’s plenty of food and drink in the kitchen, but please don’t destroy it." He jokes.
"I’ll put holes in his leotards if he acts like a little shit, don’t worry."
Al hugs him back and Bee extracts himself to hug John.
The older empath smiles at Dad and when Bee’s done they both hug him.
East rolls his eyes and snorts, wrapping an arm around Bee. ”Pfft. I’m a perfect angel. Right, cupcake?”
Phin slaps East’s head lightly and gives him a look.
"Shut up and listen to Al."
"Ow, hey… Chriiiist."
The door opens and Phin smiles and East puts on his best impression of a civilised lad.
Dad is a little surprised at seeing Phin and… Phin’s lookalike, but he just smiles and steps aside to let them in.
"Hello boys. It’s good to see you all." He looks at East, wondering if it’s the same situation as with Al and Bee. "And who is this?"
"East, Phin’s eighteen year old self. I hope you don’t mind them tagging along; Phin looked kind of interested and leaving East to his own devices is like ordering disaster on a silver platter."
Al smiles sweetly at the young punk.