#*like thros up and dies*

[toestalucia]

good morning i thought about the latest story update a second too long again

[xhyjin]

next door neighbour dilftoji! who, ever since his late wife died shortly after the birth of their only son, megumi, had fallen into bad habits of gambling, drinking, and smoking. he was anything but a good or present father, leaving his son on the front steps of the zen’in clan headquarters. as much as he pretended he wasn’t grieving, he was, and everyone could easily tell. it wasn’t until one day, when he saw his late wife in a dream, telling him to get her son back—to be a father, the man she once knew—that he instantly sobers up and takes his son back from the hands of the clan.

next door neighbour dilftoji! who decided that if he wanted to start anew, he would have to change his surroundings. everything around him reminded him of his late wife, and as much as he loved her, she was holding him back. he spoke to his friend and former handler, shiu kong, about neighborhoods that would be good for a peculiar child like megumi and a place where he could start fresh with no reminders of the past. shiu recommended his own neighborhood—where you just so happened to live.

next door neighbour dilftoji! he moved into your quiet neighborhood with anything but quiet. his voice—loud and commanding—echoed as he yelled at the movers to handle fragile items with more care, all while keeping his son from darting in front of them. it was 7 in the morning when you first heard the noise: his voice, the trucks backing in, the hustle of the move. without even meeting him, you already found yourself annoyed.

you stumbled out of your house, robe loosely hanging around you and your hair a mess from a restless morning disturbed by the commotion. standing on your front steps, you watched the chaos unfold next door, trying to spot the source of that deep, gruff voice. as soon as your eyes landed on him, he locked eyes with you. you shook your head, muttering under your breath, and turned to walk back inside.

next door neighbour dilftoji! after a few hours of getting everything safely into his house, toji decided he would make a good first impression with his new neighbors. he was starting a new life, so even if baking cookies and bringing them to a neighbor was something he’d never normally do, it didn’t matter—because that toji was gone. this was the new toji, a man willing to take risks and leave behind regret.

he had already forgotten your brief moment of eye contact that morning, so when you opened your front door mid-phone call, you weren’t expecting to find him and his son standing there with a box of cookies. the smell was unmistakably fresh, lingering sweetly in the air.

“hi,” toji said, attempting a polite smile that contrasted sharply with his scarred lip and imposing, muscular frame. “my name’s toji fushiguro. this is my son, megumi. we just moved in next door and wanted to introduce ourselves.”

you stared at him in silence for a moment, stunned. you hadn’t expected your loud, irritating neighbor to look so… handsome. and muscular. you’d barely seen him earlier that morning.

“i’m going to have to call you back,” you said, lowering your phone. finally, you replied, “uh, it’s nice to meet you. i’m y/n.” your eyes fell to the box in his hands. “is that for me?”

“oh, yeah,” he replied, glancing briefly at megumi before handing the box to you. “me and megumi baked cookies for you.”

next door neighbour dilftoji! who ever since his brief interaction with you, toji found himself growing more curious about you as each day passed. he noticed you had a job, seeing you leave early in the morning while he was helping megumi into the car for school, and return later in the evening when he sat on the porch, watching megumi play with the neighbourhood kids, yuji and nobara.

next door neighbour dilftoji! who runs into you at the grocery store. megumi sat quietly in the cart while toji stood in the produce aisle, holding a bunch of bananas in one hand and strawberries in the other, debating which to buy. he didn’t even notice you until you cleared your throat.

“hi, toji,” you said shyly, giving him a small smile.

“hi, y/n,” he replied, surprised but glad to see you.

“tough choice?” you teased, glancing at the fruit in his hands.

“yeah,” he admitted with a small chuckle.

“i’d go with bananas. if they go bad, you can always make banana bread,” you suggested, making him laugh.

“good thinking,” he said, placing the bananas in the cart with megumi. from that moment, the rest of the grocery errand turned into something unexpected. the two of you wandered the aisles together, chatting and getting to know more about each other. toji found himself smiling more than he had in a long time, and by the time you both reached checkout, he realized he wouldn’t mind running into you like this more often.

next door neighbour dilftoji! who feels so bad when he has to ask you to babysit megumi on your one day off from work. something unexpected had come up, and he needed to return to the city but couldn’t leave megumi alone. knocking on your door, he stood there with megumi beside him.

when you opened the door, you didn’t expect to see him. “toji, hi,” you said, glancing between him and megumi. “what’s going on?”

“y/n, i’m so sorry. i know this is your day off, but something came up, and i need to get back to the city. i couldn’t find a babysitter last minute. could you please watch megumi? i promise he’s a good kid—no trouble at all,” he said, his tone almost pleading.

“yeah, sure,” you replied without hesitation, opening the door wider for them to step inside.

“i’ll be back early morning,” toji assured you. you nodded. “do you want my phone number?” his expression shifted, almost surprised. “yeah, that’s a good idea,” he said, handing you his phone.before leaving, toji crouched to megumi’s level. “don’t misbehave, alright? i’ll be back for you.” after giving megumi a quick pat on the head and thanking you again, he headed out the door.

next door neighbour dilftoji! who kept true to his word and returned early the next morning, flowers in hand. when you opened the door, still half-asleep, you greeted him with a tired, “hi, toji,” rubbing your eye with one hand.

“hey there, doll,” he said, the nickname slipping out before he quickly cleared his throat. “uh, can i come in?”

you didn’t seem to notice the slip-up and stepped aside to let him in. “megumi’s still sleeping,” you said, your gaze finally landing on the bouquet in his hand. “are those for me?”

he smiled, nodding as he handed you the flowers. “yeah, to thank you for being there for me.”

you took them, a soft blush creeping onto your cheeks. “they’re beautiful,” you murmured, leaning in to smell them.

“i didn’t know which were your favorite,” he admitted, “so i picked the ones i thought were the most beautiful… almost as beautiful as you.”

you froze for a moment, cheeks heating up further as you glanced down at yourself—disheveled hair, wrinkled pajamas, and all. “beautiful? me?”

“yes, beautiful,” he said with a chuckle.

“hope the kid wasn’t too much trouble,” he added, changing the subject.

“no, he’s a good kid—very sweet and polite,” you assured him, toji nodding in agreement.

he hesitated for a moment before speaking. “listen, y/n, i’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“yeah?” you asked, placing the flowers down and filling a vase with water.

“i want to properly thank you for this. do you maybe want to go on a date?”

you looked up at him, wide-eyed. “a date?”

“yeah, i mean… if you want to,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically nervous.

your lips curved into a small smile. “i’d love to, toji.”

his face lit up. “great. are you free thursday?”

you nodded, and his grin grew wider. “a date on thursday with the most beautiful girl in the world,” he said, making your heart flutter.

[nina-ya]

Synopsis: Luffy can't help himself and the night turns into something hotter than the open fire crackling just feet away. Pairing: Luffy x afab! reader CW: NSFW MINORS DNI. handjobs, p in v sex, cunnilingus, unprotected sex, creampie, Luffy goes kinda wild ngl • ficmas masterlist • ko-fi • discord server •

The glow of the crackling fire bathed the room in a much-needed warmth, the flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. You were nestled in Luffy’s lap with a large blanket thrown around you both, his arms wound loosely around your waist as you leaned into him, taking in as much warmth as you could on this frigid day.

Luffy’s chin perched lazily on your shoulder, his breath soft against your ear, the heat of it tickling your skin. His fingers traced aimless patterns along your sides, the absentminded caress making your skin tingle. You savored the moments of silence like these and sunk deeper into the comfort of his embrace. 

But the calm didn’t last long. You felt it first: a subtle shift of his hips beneath you. You ignored it in the beginning, attributing the action to Luffy just being his usual, restless self. But then the second time it happened, the pressure was more deliberate as his pelvis, and what you quickly made out to be his erection, ground up into you not so subtly. 

Your lips curved into a smirk as you tilted your head, side-eyeing him with a raised brow. “Luffy,” you said, your tone accusatory. “Are you grinding on me?” 

The straightforward question had the man freeze below you as a sheepish grin pulled at his lips. “Uh… maybe?” he offered, his hips giving another unintentional nudge against you. “Sorry,” he added, though he didn’t sound apologetic at all. His hands slid to grip your waist as he adjusted himself, but the movement only planted his erection more firmly against you. “Can’t help it.”

A soft laugh bubbled from you, and you decided to take matters into your own hands– literally. You shifted, turning and shifting so you were now straddling him. That wide grin and unrepentant gaze that faced right back at you confirmed that he wasn’t even remotely apologetic. His gaze flickered between your eyes and your lips, and a flush spread across his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire. 

“Can’t help it, huh?” you murmured, your voice teasing as your hand slid down his stomach. The heat from the fire was nothing compared to the heat of his skin searing your fingertips. His grin faltered for a moment, his lips parting as your hand slid lower, fingers grazing the warm, taut skin just beneath his waistband.

The moment your hand wrapped around him, a strangled sound tore from his throat, raw and restrained. His cock pulsed in your palm, hot and thick. “S-shit…” he choked out, his wide eyes locking onto yours, pupils blown with desire. His hips jerked upward, a needy response that made you giggle softly at his lack of control. 

“Shh,” you teased, glancing over your shoulder, your voice a whisper of conspiratorial delight, “You’re so loud, Luffy.” 

“I–” Whatever defense he had died on his lips, replaced by a guttural groan as your hand began to move. Your thumb brushed over his tip, smearing the sticky precum there, and his fingers dug into your hips as if to ground himself. “You started it,” he accused breathlessly.

You leaned closer, your lips ghosting over his in a featherlight touch that made his breath stutter. “I don’t think that’s how it happened,” you replied, voice dripping with a faux innocence as your strokes grew firmer, your hand coaxing more of those desperate sounds from him. 

Luffy’s head tipped back and his beloved hat slipped from his head, landing somewhere behind him. He was a mess of flushed skin and labored breaths, his chest rising and falling as little whimpers and groans spilled from him without restraint. His hands wandered, restless and eager, roaming over your body, squeezing your thighs, gliding up your sides, cupping your breasts. He kneaded at the soft flesh through your top, murmuring “feels so good” in a lust-heavy voice as he pressed his forehead to yours. 

You couldn’t resist, leaning forward to kiss him, your lips moving against his with the same slow, teasing rhythm as your hand. His moans melted into your mouth, his hips jerking beneath you as he sought more, always more.

“Don’t stop” he panted, the plea escaping against your lips, his voice trembling with desperation. His head tipped back once more and you took the moment to kiss along the column of his throat, your teeth grazing his skin just enough to pull a shudder from him, his breath stuttering as he clung to you tighter.

The firelight cast a glow over his sweat-slicken skin, his body taut with the anticipation of release. “I’m so close,” he gasped, voice strained as his hands clutched at your hips. You didn’t let up, your strokes growing faster as you felt him twitch in your hand. His moans turned into broken cries, his body tensing as he finally spilled over, hips bucking wildly against your hand as the warm spurts of his release shot up between the two of you coating your hand. A stray rope landed on your face, leaving a streak across your lips and landing just beside your eye. 

As Luffy’s breathing slowed, the haze of pleasure faded just enough for him to realize the mess he’d made. His dark eyes, still heavy-lidded with lust, locked onto the streak glistening near your eye and the smear across your lips. He muttered a ‘sorry’ and reached out with trembling fingers, swiping at the streak near your eye.

He leaned in, pressing a slow but intoxicating kiss to your lips. The taste of salt and musk mingled with the fire’s smoky warmth and sent a shiver up your spine. His tongue traced your lower lip, sweeping up the remnants, and the intimacy of the act left your breath hitching and your heart pounding. 

He pulled back only slightly, resting his forehead against yours as his hands found your waist. “I want more,” he murmured, his voice deeper now. His erection was still impossibly hard and pressing against your thigh, and the knowing gleam in his eyes made it clear-- Luffy wasn’t anywhere near finished. 

He captured your lips again, the kiss deeper now, turning hungrier, more desperate. His hands roamed your body, groping and tugging as if he couldn’t get enough of you. The blanket slipped from your shoulders as he wrestled with your clothes, his fingers clumsy but determined as he pulled at the fabric. His shorts were kicked off in one swift motion, and he practically tore your top in his haste, leaving you bare before him. 

“So pretty,” he muttered, his gaze devouring every inch of exposed skin. His hands slid down your thighs, pulling you closer. With you still on top, he slid one hand between your legs, his fingers slipping into your slick heat. 

The first touch pulled a gasp from you, your hands clutching his shoulders for balance. His movements were eager but imprecise, his fingers searching for the right rhythm, the right spots to press, as he watched your face for guidance. “Like this?” he asked, voice tinged with anticipation as he curled his fingers experimentally. 

You let out a soft moan, your hips rolling against his hand. “F-fuck, right there,” you breathed out, guiding his hand with yours. He caught on quickly, his fingers stroking and pressing in ways that had you gasping and trembling. 

But Luffy was impatient, his need overriding his desire to take his time. His fingers slipped out, earning a whine from you, and before you could protest, he was already grabbing your hips, positioning you over him. The head of his cock pressed against your entrance, and his hands trembled slightly as he guided you down onto him. 

The stretch was immediate and intense, a gasp tearing from your lips as he filled you inch by inch. His head fell back, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he gripped your hips tightly. “Feels… so good,” he panted, his voice breaking as he thrust up into you, seating himself fully inside. He didn’t wait long to move, his hips snapping upward in a frantic rhythm that had you bouncing atop him. 

Luffy’s hands gripped your hips with a desperate intensity as he slammed upward into you with unrestrained force. Each thrust was harder and faster than the last, the raw need in him pushing past every barrier of control. The sharp sound of skin meeting skin echoed in the room, mingling with your ragged gasps and the desperate little whimpers that spilled from your lips.

You clung to him, your nails digging crescents into his shoulders as the heat in your core spiraled out of control. Your body trembling beneath him with every brutal thrust. “Luffy,,,ahh, f-fuck…” You couldn’t even form full sentences, your thoughts lost in the fog of desire and the overwhelming force of his movements. 

“Feels so good,” Luffy groaned, his voice thick with need, hoarse with the exertion of every thrust into you. His hands moved to your waist, forcing you to stay in place as he worked his hips with a mindless urgency. His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, and his body just as hot as the fire cracking just mere feet away as he pounded into you with an almost feverish pace.  

His movements grew more erratic, more frantic, as though he could no longer hold himself back. You felt his hips lift slightly, a small adjustment, before he lurched forward, forcing you onto your back. Your breath caught in your throat as the angle changed, the shift in position deepening the connection, hitting new spots that had you crying out in pleasure, your body unable to keep up with the onslaught of sensations. 

“Luffy–!” the words broke off into a strangled gasp as he began to pound into you from this new angle, pushing you further into the ground. His thrusts seemed to reach deeper and deeper into you, cramping at the very edges of your sanity. 

You were a mess beneath him, a babbling, incoherent mess as he ravished you. Your hands found his biceps, but they had no strength to push him away– only to pull him closer, desperate for more. You couldn’t think, couldn’t form a single coherent thought. All you could do was feel– feel the fire blooming in your veins, the pressure mounting between your legs, the unstoppable force of him pushing you past your limits. 

His eyes locked onto yours, filled with a primal hunger, and for a moment, you thought he might lose himself entirely. His hips surged into you again and again, his body vibrating with the force of his thrusts, his breath shallow and strained as he neared the edge. 

“I want you… I need you so much…” His words were broken, desperate, as if he was trying to ground himself amongst the overwhelming pleasure of the moment. 

You felt him falter, his thrusts somehow increasing in intensity. Your body trembled beneath him, the pressure inside of you reaching its peak. His hips stuttered before he buried himself to the hilt, groaning your name, body shaking as he finally was thrown over the edge, flooding you with the heat of his release. His body jerked with every pulse, his grip tightening around you as he lost himself completely in the feeling. 

You followed right behind him, the pleasure consuming your being as your body arched up, your breath coming through in sharp gasps. You cried out his name, the sound lost in the sensations that were overtaking you, your body trembling with each pulse of release that rolled through you, unraveling you completely. Your thoughts scattered, drowned out by the intensity of it all as you were left a breathless, shaking, trembling mess beneath him.

Luffy’s body remained pressed against yours for a moment, his breath ragged, but the moment the sharp pulse of pleasure finally started to ebb, he didn’t give you a chance to catch your breath. Before you could even draw in a full breath, he pulled out of you with a strained whimper, his hands gripping your hips to keep you anchored beneath him. 

Without warning, he lifted up you up, positioning you with an ease as though you weighed nothing to him. The shift was sudden and harsh, but there was a heat in his eyes that told you he wasn’t even close to being finished with you. 

He moved quickly, not allowing you a single moment to recover. His mouth descended on you with a brutal hunger, his lips parting to press against your sensitive skin. His tongue flicked over you, each swipe, each suck of your sensitive nub, a hot, wet tease that had you jolting, gasping for air as your body trembled beneath him. His grunts of satisfaction and pleasure vibrated against your core as he desperately lapped at you, licking up every remnant of what he left inside of you to make room for more. You were still reeling from your previous release, your body shaking from the aftershocks, but Luffy pushed you back to the edge with every ravenous stroke, his mouth devouring you like a man starved. 

The whine that escaped you was involuntary, torn from your throat as your body quivered under the weight of his touch. It was too much, too good, too overwhelming, and yet you didn’t want it to end. Every flick of his tongue made you tremble, your hands digging into his hair to hold onto something, anything, as he continued to push you beyond the point of no return. 

His lips pulled away for just a second, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he looked up at you, eyes dark with desire, lips glistening with your combined releases. “You taste so good,” he muttered, a devilish grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “So fucking good.”

And his mouth was back on you as if he couldn’t get enough of you. “Luffy, p-please… I can’t take anymore–!” you gasped, barely able to speak. 

His eyes burned with satisfaction at the mess you’ve become, and if it wasn’t clear before, it is certainly clear now: Luffy wouldn’t stop until you are completely and utterly ruined. 

[cosmic-dust-poltergeist]

Pt2 of Tim Drake having Joker Junior PTSD and scaring people with his laugh

[Click Here For Part 1: Titans]

Part 2: Bats

Tim hadn't slept more than 20 minutes in 4 days. He's been running around non-stop between cases and his CEO duties, and it's taking its toll. His hallucinations started flickering to life a day ago; shadowy figures at the edge of his vision and noise/voices yelling in his ears. It's all very annoying, but unfortunately, he still has to make it through the family dinner before he can barricade himself in his room for the next 24 hours. He plans to sleep 20 of them.

He's literally praying the idiots he calls siblings are too distracted by each other to bother him And that Joker isn't a topic for once. He's one Jason whining about the Joker needing to die away from letting himself from having a breakdown and stabbing himself to get out of this stupid dinner. He's so fucking tired.

Luckily, he must look as dead as he feels because they mostly leave him alone and easily accept his demands of letting him have his mini coma tomorrow. Even gave some backhanded compliments about taking care of himself, as if he isn't the only reason the lights are still on in the manor. He doesn't see any of them pitching in. Maybe they think Bruce is still paying? Man dumped his job on a 15 year old. At this point, Tim is this family's sugar daddy, which is actually really awful now that he thinks about it...

He's off topic. Just have to make it thro-

"Well, if you would just kill him!!"

'Gods fucking damnit!'

The room goes eerily silent as Tim just starts unhinged laughing. He's choking on it as he tries to breathe.

"T-Tim?"

"Re-replacement?"

"I'll grab the antidote for Joker venom. Drake should have told us if-"

Tim holds up a hand, silencing them again, as he forces his breathing to calm a fraction. It's not enough to stop the laughter, but it is enough to get words out.

"The an- HAHA- antidote isn't going- HAHAHA- going to work f-Ha-for this! HAHAHA"

"Tim. I thought these attacks stopped."

"The fuck are you talking about, old man!?"

"They ne- HAHA- never stopped! HAHAHAHA- Juss-st became less- HAHA- often. Only HAHAHA- only if I get tri- HAHA- triggered ss-sssomehow HA"

"Wh-what triggered you, Timmy?"

Tim moves his plate and drink out of the wait before slamming his head onto the table twice with probably more force than necessary or is health. He feels his family jump up to stop him from doing more damage, but he's done, he just keeps his face pressed to the table while STILL Joker laughing. He has a massive headache, and it's not just from the brain damage he just gave himself.

"Wh- I mean, what happened to make Tim have these episodes?" Duke sounds petrified. Tim feels a little bad about it.

"I'll tell you if Tim gives-" Tim gives a thumbs up in Dick's direction. "Oh! Um! Okay, Okay, cool. So I only know what Tim and Barbara told me in the aftermath, but, um, the Joker and Harley Quinn kidnapped Tim. They tortured him for nearly a month to make him into "Joker Junior"."

"Di- HAHAHA- Didn't work! The Bitches! HAHAHA"

"It kinda sounds like it did-" Tim throws a fork at Jason without lifting his head. "Hey!!"

"Asshole. HAHaHa"

"Jason, stop antagonizing your brother." Bruce lightly scolds.

"Hey, Tim? Is there any way we can help?" Duke sounds like he moved a bit closer.

"N-Ha-no" Tim morosely says. "I HaHa just have to HaHaHa wait it out HaHa"

"Man, that must suck." Jason sounds genuinely apologetic.

"Tim, do you know what triggered this episode?" That Batman, not Bruce speaking, and Tim hates it. He throws a spoon at him. Demon Brat makes a squawk of offense, but Tim can't care.

"It's a valid question, Tim." Tim sits up just to glare at Dick.

"It was probably HaHa the fact I started hallucinating yesterday from HaHaHaHa lack of sleep. I haven't been HaHa able HaHa to sleep because I've been running a HaHa HaHa HaHa multi billion dollar company while working on cases for you, HaHa Jason, Bruce, and Barbara HaHaHa as well as 3 of my own cases. THEN, we can't HAHAHA can't even have ONE STUPID DINNER WITHOUT JASON WHINING HAHAHA ABOUT DEAR OL' PAPA JOKER!" Tim runs a hand through his messy hair, trying to self sooth. "I'm so fucking tired. Hahaha I'm just so tired.."

"Okay, okay, have you eaten enough?" Dick asks with a pained look on his face. Tim glances at his half eaten meal and decides it's good enough. He gives a nod, shoving himself to his feet.

"Yeah, haha I'm going to boil myself alive hahaha with a shower and going to bed. Hahaha Don't ask me for anything hahaha for at least 24."

He ignores them bursting into conversation, 100% about him, once he shuffles out. Cass slips out into the hall and catches up with him before he can even get to the stairs.

"Hug?"

"I would haha love a hug ha" Cass gives him a strong hug. It lasts a few minutes, which is abnormally long for a hug, but Tim loves it. It helps his nerves. "Thanks, haha Cass."

She simply smiles at him as she pulls away before pointing him up the stairs with a mock sternness. He giggles his real laugh between the Joker laughter and complies with the "demand".

He knows he'll regret his outburst after he's gotten some sleep, but for now, he doesn't care. He has an overdue date with his bed and he refuses to reschedule.

[reesereadsalot]

𝐹𝒶𝒸𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒜𝓇𝑒𝓃𝒶

previous chapter - next chapter

Pairings: Finnick x fem!reader

Warnings: check series masterlist

Desc: Your 7 months pregnant with Finnicks baby. When your the happiest you were in your life, your whole world comes crashing down. You were reaped for the 3rd Quarter Quell.

Credits: dividers by @cafekitsune

｡𖦹°‧masterlist

“We’re sending you to the Capitol.” President Alma Coin says to dryly. As if your life couldn’t get any worse.

“Why?” You asked before adding, “What about Ronan?” You glared at her.

“We’re sending you because some soldiers have died. And as for Ronan, he will be going with you.” Coin says.

“What! No! You can’t do that!” You yell at her “If soldier have already died whats to stop Ronan from dying!” You are furious. Fuming actually.

“Well, you will have to do your best to protect him.” Coin interrupts before you can protest “and if you refuse, I can make you and Finnick’s life much harder Mrs. Odair.” When you get home that night you cradle Ronan in your arms while you cry.

Your nausea had gotten worse. You assume it was anxiety but you were thinning. You went to the one person you knew you could trust. You had a feeling it wasn’t just nausea. You went to Katniss’ mom and told her of your worries. She gave you a test and you took it. You waited for the results and looked at them.

Positive. You’re pregnant again.

You panic. You tell Katniss’ mom and Prim not to tell a single soul. They agree. Katniss’ mom says you are almost two months pregnant. Upon further examination you have the slightest bump. It’s expected during your second pregnancy because the skin is stretchier. You can’t go to war and be pregnant. But, you don’t tell anyone because if Coin really cared for you or your babies life she wouldn’t have sent you.

Before being dropped of in the capitol they give you a black uniform for yourself and for Ronan. Yours has gun holsters and a knife belt which they have already filled with knives. They give you a pistol and a big gun. Ronan’s outfit on the other hand looks more like a onesie but from what Beetee had told you, it’s more protective than the average soldier outfit.

You see Peeta in the seat across from you in the hovercraft. You offer him a sympathetic glance. You pity him and yourself. Someone hands you a big cloth made of the same black material of Ronan’s outfit. You assume it’s to carry him. You have heard about contraptions like these. The same person who gave it to you shows you how to tie it around yourself and put Ronan in. A tear slips down your face as your near your destination. You oook in your bag and make sure theres everything. Diapers, wipes, tissues, and vitamins.

You exit the hovercraft to see Finnick and Katniss and whoever else is on the squad. Squad 451. Yay. Katniss raises her bow at Peeta before Finnick stops her. You and Peeta both have your head hung low. It’s pathetic really.

“Why are you both here?” Finnick says angrily. All you can do is break down in tears.

“I don’t know.” You say to his chest.

“How are we supposed to deal with a baby and Peeta?” Gale asks. You walk over to him angrily.

“Peeta and my baby will be the least of your worries when I’m through with you.” You’re about to slap Gale before someone grabs your wrist and holds you back. “Let me go!” You yell struggling to get out of this persons grasp. Finnick pops up in front of you.

“Let her go.” The person complies. “Listen to me, this is not a game. Do not mess around. I can’t have you fighting with other people on the squad, okay?” He asks and you just nod. “We will figure something out.” He says then he kisses you.

“Finnick, I have to tell you something. You can’t panic.” You tell him

“I already am.” He says gesturing to a sleeping Ronan hanging onto your belly. “It’s okay we will get thro-” You interrupt him.

“Listen Finnick!” You whisper yell as you lean closer to his ear. You cup your hands around your mouth and his ear as you whisper, “I’m pregnant.” You mumble.

“Hm? You have to speak up.” He says. This is the moment that will make or break everything. You have to choose whether or not to tell him.

“I missed you.” You say louder so only he can hear you. He chuckles softly and places a kiss on your cheek.

“Me too.” He says before tending to Peeta.

That’s when you feel it. The same nausea you get every morning. You immediately throw up. The food you had saved in your gut spilling out of you. Finnick is quick by your side. Holding back your hair and rubbing the small of your back. Ronan had started crying.

“Are you okay?” He asks as he wipes your face of the extra bile.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.” You bounce Ronan up and down and he’s quick to fall asleep again. “Yea, I’m fine. Just anxiety.” You tell Finnick. He looks at you suspiciously but the look you give him tells him to drop it so he does.

You are pregnant with death threatening you every second on this mission. You could die or Finnick could die. Or worse. Ronan dying.

Chapter 10

[my-writing-street]

i accidentally posted this when it wasnt finished so I lost the ask but thankfully I ss fucking everything

anyways some warnings for blood

enjoy!

Once more, you headed into the forest.

Recently, Lord Aphmau asked if you could travel to the woods and collect some herbs for Lady Zoey. You, of course, were ecstatic to help! Lord Aphmau had already done so much for your little village, the least you could do to repay her was collect a few measly herbs.

And so, every day, you would head into the forest. But not alone. Lord Aphmau had assigned you a guard to keep you safe.

Well.. it's more truthful to say that he assigned himself. Sir Laurance, second in command of the guards, had taken it upon himself to keep you free from dangers while you trek through the woods. It was.. eye-opening, to say the least.

Many would say that the two of you made an unusual pair, a respected guard and a humble villager. And at first, you would agree.

You and Sir Laurance had seemingly nothing in common, and you would often question why he came with you in the first place. His answer was always the same.

("I could never let a pretty thing like you wander alone in these dangerous woods now could I?")

Always accompanied by a cheeky grin, his words lit little embers in your heart, and soon you found those embers growing into a steady blaze. How lucky you were to have a guard, a sworn protector of your very village, smitten with you.

Every morning, you would wake up, get ready for the day -however, you have begun to put more effort into your appearance lately- and look forward to your trip with Sir-

("Someone as lovely as you need only call me Laurance.." his words echoed in your mind, interrupting your morning routine with his soothing, sultry-)

Ahem.. Every morning, you would wake up, get ready for the day, and look forward to your trip with..Laurance into the woods.

The trip itself was nothing special, and definitely not dangerous enough to warrant a guard- it was a simple hour-long trip there and back.

The herbs you needed grew by a small river and usually, it was the perfect resting place. The cool water provided much-needed refreshment for you and it often soothed your sore muscles.

Crouched down to the river, you splashed a bit of water on your face to cool off, it had been particularly hot today and Laurance’s not-so-subtle flirting certainly hadn't helped you cool down either. He was always present behind you, but never too far that he wasn't able to voice his silly one-liners.

(“It’s lovely weather for a walk, isn't it?” His voice echoed through the winds, somehow meddling wonderfully with the forest’s own calm and serene symphony.

Your head turned to gaze at him. He stared at the treetops while the sun peeked through the leaves, seemingly lost in thought. But just as you were about to answer, he locked eyes with you and tilted his face towards yours, smiling mischievously.

“But not as lovely as the beauty in front of me.”)

Cheesy, yet endearing: if you hid a smile or a small laugh behind your hands then it would forever remain unknown to anyone but you.

You say on your knees, face peering up to look at your -hopefully- equally smitten companion, intending to restart the chatter that had died down when the two of you reached the river. 

But.. something was off. 

Instead of looking at you -like you had suspected- Laurance was instead looking into the surrounding forest, a hand tensed on his sword’s grip. As if he was waiting for something to strike.

For all your trips into the woods, never once had you seen him like this. No longer was it your charming and silly Laurance in front of you. It was the second in command, Sir Laurance of Phoenix Drop, tense and waiting for battle.

His posture screamed danger and the hair on your arms stood at attention. Like a deer in the path of a hunter’s arrow, you remained still, ready to bolt at the moment Laurance gave a sign.

But you were never prepared for that hunter’s arrow to fly right by your face, only thrown off course by Laurance's quick sword. A thin red sliver opened up on your left cheek, steadily dripping as the arrow lodged itself in the trees behind you.

Laurence was already gone, dashing through the woods. A hastily yelled “Go!” was your only sign to start running.

…

Rushing through the woods, the only thing on your mind was Laurance. He was the second in command so surely he was fine. But those people in the woods.. They were unlike anything you had seen before.

..That's not true.

Once, before Lord Aphmau settled into Phoenix Drop you saw it. Saw him.

A man with eyes so red they could pass for blood. He was covered head to toe in blood with a crazed look in his dark red eyes. He was.. too far gone to notice you in his haze. But you would never forget the crimson and coal armor he dawned.

And it was only a glimpse, yet you saw it. The bow that had carved through your cheek was held by red claw-like gauntlets. 

Trees blurred past you and you found yourself running faster as if spurred on by the sight of ill-gotten crimson armor. You were going too fast and knew that it was only a matter of time until you slipped and fell onto the harsh ground below. Yet you continued on, perhaps putting enough distance between you and the battle would at least allow Laurance to fight at his best without having to worry about protecting you.

Cold, rocky ground met your palms as you inevitably tripped over something and fell. Harsh breaths fled from your lungs out into the air and hoped your heaving wouldn't give away your position. 

“Oh Irene,” you prayed, hands clasped over your heart and kneeling despite the pain in your legs. “Please, watch over Laurance. Let him come to no harm and-”

*Crunch*

A frightened, high-pitched noise left your lips and you cursed yourself as you scrambled to get up. They're coming for you, you know it.

Their footsteps were loud in the quiet forest. They had nothing to worry about if they were making this much noise. You tried to run, but your earlier fall had injured your legs. All you could do was pathetically scamper, each step held up by your hands fisting tree bark.

Tears cascade down your cheeks. The salt stung your wounded flesh but you paid it no mind. You had to get as far as you could-

“..me].”

They were gaining on you. Gods, is this how you die?! 

“-ame]..!”

You were just a simple villager with an interest in plants and this is where it gets you? You would have stayed at home today if you knew this was going to happen. In fact, if you make it out alive today you'd make it a point to never go into these damn woods ever again! No matter what Lord Aphmau needs, it's certainly not worth your life-!

You nearly jumped out of your skin as a cold, clammy hand gripped your shoulder.

“[Name]!”

It was-

“Laurance!” Flinging your arms around his shoulders, you almost managed to topple the both of you to the forest floor when you jumped on him.

Heavy sobs racked your body as you relaxed in his arms. Calloused and steady hands brushed the tears from your face before his fingers caught on the cut on your face.

He pulled back from your embrace and guided you to look up at him.

“Hey, its- it's ok.. Just a small scratch..” his voice was a soft, steady thing for you to focus on while he tried to placate you.

Though his words remained drowned out by your cries, you still found solace in them and managed to calm your sobs enough to get a good look at him through your tears.

Your vision was still blurry so you started with what was closest to you, his hands. Faint scratches marred them and you could smell an iron scent emanating from his palms. 

Gods, he was probably more hurt than you and here you were, crying like a baby in his arms because of one measly scratch.

You wiped your eyes, surely smearing dirt all over your face with how dirty they were. But you couldn't care less, you just had to see him. You had to make sure he was alright.

His hair was disheveled and a leaf or two aly beneath light brown strands. Sweat dripped down his forehead and mixed with dirt, likely from the fight before.

His eyes were-

You pushed him away.

“Wha- [Name]?-”

He looked at you, confused. You were just clinging to him a second ago, what had happened? He took a look behind himself to see if any pursuers had managed to get back up and follow him but he was met with nothing but forest.

He turned back to you. You were slowly backing away. It was odd, had he done something?-

A soft whisper broke the rising tension between the two of you.

“..Your eyes.” your voice was faint.

Blood-red eyes locked onto you.

(Just like the man from before, with bloodied armor, bloodied hair, and bloodied eyes.)

[celaenaeiln]

Is Dick's tendency for self-destructive habits really as bad as some fics make it out to be?

oh interesting!! In some way, yes actually.

Batman (2016) Issue #689

Dick and Alfred!! The duo make me so happy <33

But anyway, it's weird that someone who's so effusive with his affection so often and readily "deflects a moment of genuine emotion." Which is also one of the reasons why Dick Grayson as a character is so fascinating because he's never what people expect him to be. He's like a puzzle box where every time you think you solved, you just opened yourself up to a hard, even more complex one wherein the process repeats on an endless cycle.

He's incredibly self-destructive in the way he drive a burning car off a bridge and he'll know it's on fire, he knows where he's going, but he'll do it anyway because the car has a bomb and it's safer with him than the civilians behind him.

You know what? I just realized he deflects intimate conversations because he wants to keep the focus on the other person. Since he was Robin, Dick has been purposefully neglecting his feelings in order to take care of Bruce's. Right after his parents died, he bottled up his sadness and sorrow because he was worried that Bruce would blame himself and he didn't want Bruce to do that.

It's always been "Tell me what's wrong, Bruce." He's been so busy raising his guardian, his friends, his siblings, his teammates, that Dick has sunk into the role of a performer - the spotlight's on him but the audience is the focus.

I didn't realize until writing this ask but self-destruction is just such a normal thing with him that it's become a part of his personality. In fics it's very obvious when he's being self-destructive or neglecting himself or etc because he's very aware of it but Dick in canon has just made it his thing. It's actually the Titans that realize this and yank him out of it because Dick has no idea what he does to himself.

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #28

The New Teen Titans (1980) Issue #28

He's not self-destructive in a way that he's conscious of it but his habits and his lifestyle don't really give him a choice. He literally works himself sick.

The Titans (1999) Issue #9

"Maybe it's too much. Dick --have you considered that? You're working Bludhaven, even joining their force, you still clearly intend to come here to Gotham every time he calls you -- working so hard you're making yourself sick,"

"No. It's not the newness that's the problem."

People are literally telling him to calm down and he's like 'No! I'm perfectly okay. This is fine, let's continue.'

And this isn't even going into when Blockbuster blew up his life and Dick kinda lost himself to hunt him down and make him pay. People understand that Desmond burnt down the circus but Dick was still connected to the people in that circus, like he used his contacts there to sometimes inquire about things going on Bludhaven. The people at the circus raised him along with his parents so killing them was like killing Dick's aunts and uncles and friends and childhood. What happened then and after the SA was catastrophic. To Dick self-destruction has just become a part of him because he aims for perfection in every aspect of his life.

Like Donna said, "He works with the Titans, on his own, goes to school, and then he works alongside Batman..." and so on. Usually people struggle to maintain even one area of their life like just school or family but Dick's juggling, his work, his family, his friends, his relationship, his teams, and is still on call for Justice League incidents.

Titans (2003) Issue #6

He literally dropped everything to come over and break up the Titans (OF WHICH HE IS NOT EVEN A PART OF RIGHT NOW BECAUSE HE'S IN THE MIDDLE OF DEALING WITH THE OUTSIDERS) and the Justice League full on fighting.

He's not self-destructive in the way he doesn't want to get out of bed or that he isn't clean, it's just that Dick Grayson is a machine. He's got ice in his veins and he just powers through everything. Everything he does has to be top notch, so sleep and social life and happiness can say goodbye because he's too busy for that. This is why the Titans are so important to him and for him because they realize this toxic trait of his and do their absolute best to yank him out of this bad habit because Dick certainly can't stop.

So self-destruction has become part of his personality but unlike in fics, it's conducive self-destruction. It comes from his refusal to feel any emotion that isn't for others because Big Brother Dick Grayson and Best Friend Dick Grayson are always there for everyone but the second he's asked to help himself or someone tries to help him, he flakes. He's the best at helping others and being there for them but he's allergic to getting help or talking about himself.

[mihii-i]

(hsr) Robin angst with fem!reader dying cause of paparazzi, don't even spare a single drop of comfort make it all angst, make me suffe—

grab what wasn’t theirs.

Pairings: robin x fem!reader

CW: sfw, female reader, reader fucking dies, heavy angst lol, violence, blood, paparazzi being monkeys, angy fans, weird people, obsessed creepy stans, mentions of homophobia, death threats, doxxing, suicide, robin brushes off the reader too much, rushed fanfiction, writer is a bit overwhelmed be patient pls, not proofread.

A/N: now THIS is my kinda request I can’t believe I didn’t get to it sooner sorry my friend <3 again this didn’t turn out too good but I hope it’s okay! 🕯️

“You promise I’ll be safe?”

“Don’t worry about it, (Name). I’ll make sure of it. Now what should I order for you?”

—

Yet that promise was one that had drowned in fate’s clutches in a sea of hate, swallowing every bit of your soul in its ice cold embrace which squeezed you tighter and tighter until its claws sunk to tap at your bones. Her pale feathers tipped in a gradient of deep purple stuck from the side of her head, accompanied by the piercing jade green gazing upon you remained as a memory seared into you even in the warm crimson pooled beneath you.

The cool concrete caressing the bruised skin of frosted cheek was even more merciful than the brutal onslaught of furious attacks you had faced in the span of seconds. In fact, you were surprised your brains weren’t splattered across the floor in dark mush after what you just endured in a sickening brutality, wide on public display for all to see. You couldn’t begin to fathom what you could’ve done to deserve such an end, an end that dawned on you for a trivial matter.

Perhaps not so trivial, as love was a sin in this world of cyclical hatred.

You couldn’t move. Making the abrasive scratch of the bumpy asphalt your limp hand sprawled out on all the more irritating to the burn stinging along the reddened muscle peeking out through torn skin. Courtesy of your pathetically failed attempt to fend off the crowd seeking to break your bones and trample you like a wild stampede. Why did you ever think you could have it so good in life? Being the girlfriend of an idol, one of which had some of the most vile fans whose obsessions drooled venom where their affection was supposed to be. It was absurd to think you took her word for ensuring your safety.

At the time, it hadn’t seemed like much of a big deal. A few strange comments pinned up below her posts and music videos, hidden beneath the towers of positive comments piled up to mask them. Implications of you two dating was more of a speculation rather than a confirmation, as your figure would be spotted in the back, or your hand resting on the corner of one of her pictures she posted online which some odd individuals tried their absolute hardest to trace back to your own profile online.

It was all harmless banter initially, merely a couple morons plunged deep into their delusions of craving the touch of their idol they’d never receive. Fingers tapping away on the keyboard sinking down to accommodate their greased hands as thick as their skulls. Unable to comprehend the fact that Robin didn’t even know of their existence, and their infatuation with the woman to a perverse extent was more sick than loving like they had thought.

You could never shake the pit sinking down in your stomach, the discomfort and unease that gripped at you when you dragged the rubber of the scroll wheel down her comment sections. Always having to swallow back the heavy lump piled in your throat at the increasingly grotesque comments, which towered more and more in quantity with the threats and descriptions becoming more graphic. Light insults evolved to downright death threats, detailing your slow and painful death by their own hands, alongside a couple homophobic insults punched in both yours and Robin’s comments.

Her announcement of your official relationship was the final straw that sawed through the fires of hell, setting it loose into earth to roar a cry of hate unto. You had begged her to think it over, or to simply keep your relationship anonymous for the sake of your safety. Both of you. Yet Robin was adamant on announcing her girlfriend to the world, spurring the news throughout Penacony as she was tired of masking her precious gem from the sights of many.

We were all human after all. She never knew it would come to this. All the halovian had wanted was to brag about her gorgeous lover in a playful manner and post cute pictures online with you.

Despite her wishes, what she received was your battered body, showered in rainwater washing away your blood.

—

“How fucked are these people in the head?” You retorted, eyes glued onto the blaring light of the screen burning into your irises in the dimmed atmosphere of Robin’s room. Strings of endless text waterfalled down in her comments, every insult and spits of venom ranging from slurs to gory descriptions—and occasionally photoshopped images that you would rather not think back on.

“(Name). Please leave them be, I know some are…gross. But they’re just words typed by incels behind a screen.”

Your gaze narrowed at Robin’s dismissive words treating the screen barrier like some kind of deal that wasn’t of any concern. Sure, she may have gotten used to such comments, yet you were far from experienced with seeing depraved heaps of commentary under your name, purely because of jealousy from another. Did she not care about you? At all? This was clearly a threat to your safety if they got a hold of any personal details regarding you, and if not that, it certainly spurred on the churning discomfort gnawing away at you.

Silence grasped the heavy tension fostered between you two in the cool air breathed upon you by the swirling ceiling fan of her contrastingly cozy room, not a word uttered from either of your lips. With Robin in particular not daring to push your palpable unease, sights fixed on your clicks against the screen without tearing away.

“…great. We have people downright upset you’re in a relationship, and others that are upset it’s another woman.”

“That’s to be expected. What’s the worst they said?”

“Well…one guy here is making comments on our bedroom life.”

Despite Robin’s face crinkling up in disgust, she drew in a deep breath through her nose, managing a nod as her chin burrowed into the fabric of your hoodie’s shoulder, draped loosely over your torso.

“This one said— ‘no wonder she’s so ugly now, no man wants those unappealing lesbians. If only she ended up with a nice guy.’”

You furrowed your brows, bright reflections of the rotten comments reflective in your eyes as you attempted to continue. That single comment was enough to even make Robin uncomfortable.

“These are just reiterations of them saying that you apparently ‘cheated on them,’ and you were theirs. Usual weirdo stuff…except the one with the dog profile picture said: ‘what a whore, this is unnatural. u shouldn’t be with another girl, our robin’s being brainwashed.’”

Hell, you had to take a long pause to get that one through your brain for a moment..before marveling at the ridiculous nature of the commenter’s words. What a conspiracy indeed, it truly struck you how far the so called ‘fans’ would pry into Robin’s personal life and dictate her choices at every angle. You glanced over your shoulder, noticing Robin’s widened eyes and visibly disturbed state, before swinging around in the spinning chair to cock an eyebrow as you awaited her to finally speak.

“Why are they talking about me like I’m a pornstar or something?”

Sure, her upfront wording and the crass nature of the statement caught your off guard. Especially cutting her sweet nature to showcase her disdain for such wording wholeheartedly as she continued to inspect the messages.

“Is that my address-?”

Your head snapped back from Robin to your screen when you looked over the print details of her residence and IP typed out neatly on the screen, heart hammering in your chest at your growing anxiety beginning to consume you whole. Replacing any rational thought with an everlasting hole of fear.

You’d suppose they’re two sides of the same coins. Dirty hands darting through the holes of their cage to grab what wasn’t theirs, palms ridden with filth curling around your lover’s untouched wrist. A sickening greed that wasn’t condemned, despite the stab it twisted in your side over and over in its sadistic manner. It’s futile attempts to pry you off of the girl you loved only left you with worn nails and exhaustion, clinging onto your girlfriend for dear life with your arms shelled around the halovian, even if they were to tear off your skin and crush your fingers.

For their want for what they can’t have, their claim over another human being they felt entitled to mustn’t go unpunished. No matter how much you suffered for it.

“…(Name). I’ll get security measures. Don’t worry. They won’t hurt us, I promise.”

Robin’s soothing voice wrung from her throat like nectar dribbling along your parched tongue to alleviate your worries, slender fingers slipping beneath your hand as she caressed the fabric of your hoodie. Lifting your hand up to her lips, she planted a gentle kiss atop your knuckles, idly thumbing her lotioned skin smoothly against your own supple flesh.

“You have very pretty hands…your knuckles are especially soft. Surprisingly so considering they’re supposed to be pretty rough.” She chuckled, scanning every bit and dip of your hands as to commit them to memory.

Those beautiful knuckles of yours, soon to be bruised and ripped open.

—

Moments before.

Everything was fine at the time. A quick coffee date that couldn’t possibly go back.

You picked at the twitching hangnail skin bit embedded below your nail rooted outward as your freehand rested on the tip of your cap. Shielding your eyes from anyone who may recognize you or Robin—who was clad in a thick black hoodie strung out to mask her face. Of course, she looked absolutely ridiculous in the massive puffed out clothing meant to shroud her identity from the public on your harmless date out, and you couldn’t help the small giggle that slipped out at how fluffy she looked.

“It’s not that funny, you know..” Robin muttered, averting her gaze to suppress the smile subtly quirking up the corners of her lip.

Sunlight poured through the curtains of the warm cafe atmosphere, peeking out in spills of gold flooding the vicinity as the side of her face brightly illuminated under the gentle glow kissing her cheek. The sunset colored gems dotted beneath her eye glinted in their glorious shine to light up her jade eyes as well, presenting to you an ethereal goddess humming one of her songs idly in the bestowed peace and comfort between you two in this moment.

Your thumb ran up and down in quiet scrapes against the solid paper of your coffee cup in your sea of thought, accompanying the hot touch warming your skin through the cup. Remaining sunken in your mind, away from the worries and burdens of the present, you pondered on every little detail of the cafe catching your eye occasionally. Details ranging from the polished wooden counter, off to the yellow lamps hung above the bar situated beside the coffee desk hammered into the spruce floor.

Maybe, just maybe. If Robin were to leave behind her current career, the two of you could settle down. Live a quiet life and run a coffee shop perhaps.

Inhaling, you tipped your cap down over your eyelids, whispering Robin’s name while your hand remained curled around your cup.

“Hey. Robin? Do you think we could open a cafe like this?”

“Mm. That would sound nice, but my life is pretty demanding..”

“Ah. No, I mean when you retire the whole idol thing in the future?”

“Are you implying I won’t be pretty enough to continue being an idol when I’m older?”

“Not at all. I’m implying I’d prefer this beauty for myself in the future.”

Robin breathed out a silent laugh, hooking her pointer finger over her lip to avoid any attention. Also as a habit she had picked up as a means of being ‘polite’ so her weird fans wouldn’t find even the slightest mannerism unappealing. She exhaled finally, extending her arm past her own cup cautiously to prod at your hand.

“I’ll take you up on it. I think I’d like that.” she whispered, leaning in to shield you two from any other eyes, masking you two in your own personal box that disregarded the world around you. Nothing mattered besides each other. You were—and always will be, each other’s pillar. Your sanctuary. Nobody could rip you away from Robin, even if they clawed at your shoulders, raking along your skin enough to draw spills of blood down your body.

They’d have to kill you if they wanted the woman who wasn’t theirs.

“Then it’s settled. We’ll sell coffee when we’re old and wrinkly.”

“Oh hush. I’ll still be good looking by the time I’m fifty.”

Smudges of your lipstick streaked over the rim of the cup as you withdrew it from your lips, tutting at the sugary warmth melting down your throat with it’s caffeinated kick to boost your alertness. You should get her something, for sure.

“Wait- Robin, wanna stop by the gift shop nearby? I wanna see that new album you realeased on the shelves…along with some of your merchandise.”

She hummed thoughtfully for a moment, contemplating whether she should go out to check them out. On one hand, she’d risk blowing her cover. And it certainly wasn’t worth it to do so over merch she already knew existed in various shops across Penacony. Robin resolutely shook her head, refusing the offer as she leaned back into the charred leather seats framed by oak wood and remaining settled on the safer option.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to risk anything..”

In an attempt to rack your brain for something else, you craned your neck over to the nearby pastry store in the mall’s ring, accompanying the bustling crowd moving back and forth between luxury stores and food trucks.

“How about I get you something from the pastry shop nearby?”

“Actually..that doesn’t sound too awful. But be careful, alright (Name)?”

You rose to your feet, being met with her tender lips smushed to your cheek in a lingering gesture far too long for anyone else’s comfort, yet you couldn’t care less. Relishing in the warmth of her soft lips embracing your cheek as if she were to never see you again. God, how did you get so lucky with someone like her?

—

All the shops surrounding you were quite misguiding to the eye compared to when you peeked through the glass over at the pastry shop, thinking it wasn’t too far from the cafe. Well…you were way off. Turns out you had to circle around further to make it past the other stores towering behind the illuminated board advertisements sat atop the stones blaring a bright screen. Not wanting to return empty handed, you darted your gaze back and forth between each door and title to no avail, brows knitting together in annoyance at the chase you had to pursue for a literal pastry.

But it felt like a stone was chained to your ankle, withholding you from stepping any further as a reign of dread fell upon every sense in your body—screaming at every cell in your bloodstream to get away from there and back to Robin.

The corner of your eye beholds a large crowd filled with individuals grasping at the metal pipes, wooden bats, and whatever blunt objects which resembled makeshift weapons in their enraged grip. Screeching their footsteps through the crevices of the mall with black velcro straps draped over their neck alongside the weight of a camera hung past their torso.

How on earth would paparazzi make their way here..? Your coffee cup nearly burst in your hand from the way your blood ran cold, body freezing up as you stared down at your own shoes as if it were a solution to fix anything they’d do to you.

“Listen, I found out how to track Robin’s phone, and I think they’re here!”

“You sure? We could get arrested for this..”

“Who cares? You want some girl to take our queen from us?!”

They all seemed resolute on killing you. That was for sure. The wretched paparazzi’s eyes snapped around each and every corner of the mall, scanning the area like a vengeful hawk as they squeezed their blunt weapons in preparation with each spin of their head, free hand still gripped onto the camera.

—

“Don’t spare even a bit!”

Screams of fury and triumph reverberated throughout the streets they had dragged you into, your shivering body curled up in the drizzles of rain pattering through your clothing in your pathetic attempts to swing back at them. Your vision left far too gone to consider staying upright and able to fight, fingers cracked back as your nostrils leaked crimson and stained the frozen metal colliding with your purple tinted cheek.

You were left burning in the dark. Wondering what you could’ve possibly done to deserve this. Mind fuzzy through the dirt of the paparazzi members’ shoes descending down to drill your knuckles into the concrete as your skin chipped away under the coarse friction. Their bellowing screams died down to give way to the harsh ringing piercing your ears, lashes fluttering off drops of rainwater as they obscured your periphery.

Shutters and clicks could be heard over your sprawled out body laying limp in the dampening pool of blood swallowing up your already soaked form, drenched in the pools of rain sticking your clothing to your sides, alongside your hair clinging to your cheeks. Taking pictures of your body to gloat on..? That was a low move for them as well..

You choked out a cough, blinking open an eye to shoot them a final glare. They’d done what they had to. You were dead, nothing stood in their way as a barrier any longer. And with their few clicks, you were left to drown in your own blood to meet your end, but not before being met with a swift toe kick pummeled into your limp shoulder harshly to only add more to the ache searing your body all over.

The time was unclear. Whether you were alive or dead too. Everything kept dark, yet you saw it all. And your hearing remained intact as rings and blood curdling screams echoed in your head on repeat.

However, one thing you heard was abundantly clear. The voice of the one you’d never seek to let go again, even in your next life. The whisper of Robin’s cracking voice, shaky and swallowing back tears as her hand grasped at yours once more, inspecting the now ruined & broken remains of your hand. A part of you she oh so adored as she held it up to her face to mask those tear streaks burning at her cheeks.

“You’ve always had..really pretty hands..(Name). If only I could stop them from being destroyed.” She hiccuped out, glancing over the now worn away skin of your bleeding knuckles, exposing the bright vermillion past the top.

“I’m sorry.”

—

It wasn’t even a week after your death.

The news broke all over, a fresh segment that not even children had missed with the cast on television and the large billboards which initially displayed ads and such. The reporter cleared his throat, looking over the script for a moment before diverting his attention back to the camera. Voice truly solemn to deliver such heartbreaking news.

“We regret to inform you all of the star—Robin’s passing recently, where she was found dead in her room yesterday evening at 8:43 p.m. where she was said to have taken her own life.”

He paused, before going on with the charges of the paparazzi who had murdered you in cold blood, displaying various images of them chained and bound in cuffs along with a few mugshots that they had taken so far.

Yet the fact of Robin’s death remains true on one aspect.

She couldn’t possibly live after guaranteeing your safety, only to fail.

Whatever she’d done here, she hoped she could redeem in another life.

And maybe she’d live quietly for once. With you. That coffee shop didn’t seem like such a bad idea…

Perhaps your paths would cross once more, in another life.

A/N: dhmu my writing is so bad rn eeeeeehehdjdjft 💔💔

DUDE WHAT IS UP WITH MY WRITING RECENTLY I’m sucking bootycheeks at it 😭

[ncity-agere]

May I pwetty pwease reqwest cg!Bangchan who comfort regressor who has new job and is overwhelmed an scawed with it cuz is new. Then he help her feel brave even if she accidentally slips at work?

He is my biggest comfort an dis happenings to me now. And im litle an anxious at work evewyday...

Caregiver!BangChan knew that something was off when you left for work earlier. You’d just started a new job and at first, you liked it and went into work with a confident smile but then the nerves started to get to you.

Everything was new. Your work position is new, your coworkers are new, and the change was getting overwhelming fast. And you hated it.

It led to you eventually slipping at work, slinking away from your customers and to a back room, taking out your phone to text Chan. Everything was just… too much. It was too much and you wanted your Dada.

Unfortunately, your mean manager found you crouched down, texting someone and was less than pleased. The manager asked you what you were going and why in the world you spent company time texting your boyfriend.

“No! No, ‘m textin’ my…” Your voice trailed off, finding it harder to speak. Your manager scowled and told you off for slacking, eventually leaving you alone in the back room.

You decide to call Chan instead of text him, wanting to hear his voice more than anything. It rings once, then twice, and he’s on.

“Hey there, y/n. Everything okay?” He’s already worried, since he knows you’re supposed to be in the middle of your shift.

“No!” Your voice wavered as you held back tears. “I don’ wike it here, Channie! Don’ wike it!” You whisper, now beginning to cry.

Chan is startled but coos gently through the phone. “Oh, baby… You’re feeling tiny? Do you want me to come get you?”

You stay quiet, not saying anything. You had a lunch break in an hour and a half, but that was so far away. Still, Chan insists on visiting you and who are you to say no?

You emerge from the back room and try your hardest to focus on your tasks, but it’s hard. Things keep slipping out of your hands, you feel tired and achy, and your mind keep drifting to home and stuffies instead of work responsibilities. Eventually Chan does show up and insists that he take you out on your lunch break. The manager doesn’t like this, but agrees and lets you clock out for a break.

Once you’re away from work, the floodgates open. You start to cry in the car with Chan and he holds you tightly as best as he can in the tight space. You’re bawling and all he can do is whisper about how brave his baby is and how proud of you he is. You spend the break talking and babbling with him, decompressing in a safe space, now able to fully regress, even for a little while. You’re lost in chatting and funny videos on Chan’s phone when his alarm rings.

It’s time for you to clock back in, unfortunately. And you whine and pout and hold onto Chan’s shirt as he walks you back inside of your job, but for a moment, Chan stops at the door.

“Baby? Sweetie, can I ask you somethin’?”

“Mhm.”

Chan frowns. “You don’t like this job, do you?” His voice is soft but accusatory. And you want to shake your head and refute it, but you simply can’t. You don’t really like the job and you’re so very tired, but duty does call.

“I gotta work, Dada- Chan.” You stop yourself, taking a deep breath in and nodding. “I’ll take care, I’ve only got two hours left. ‘M okay.” You assure him.

“Are you sure? Dada can bring you home if you’d like.” He offers.

“I promise, I’ll be okay. ‘M brave, right?

“The bravest.” Chan kisses your forehead as he leads you back to work. “Just… don’t push yourself too much. If you need to come back home, I’ll be there.” He reminds you and you nod, walking you back and leaving shortly after.

You work the rest of the day, still feeling a bit small but managing to focus a little more. Part of you wishes you’d taken him up on his offer and part of you wants nothing more but to push on, clock out, and go home satisfied. And so you do, getting through the workday and returning home, getting increasingly sleepy on the way back.

And when you came back from work, Chan was so, so proud of you! He embraced you with open arms and kissed your hair, murmuring about how brave you’ve been and how happy he is that you’re home.

Your heart flutters a little bit as he leads you to the living room where he’s set up your stuffed animal friends and your favorite food, since you hadn’t eaten practically all day. He holds you close and feeds you and comforts you and listens to you talk about your day. And of course, you know you’ll have to clock in again tomorrow but you know that Chan will comfort you tomorrow and the day after that and even the day after that.

You’re his brave, brave prince/princess, remember that <3

[greenandsorrow]

“CLIMBING UP THE WALLS„

Dale Kobble x fem!reader 🪦

Inspired by Radiohead's Climbing Up the Walls. Lyrics interspersed throughout.

WARNINGS: stalking, psychological & erotic horror, obsession, sexual themes, Stockholm Syndrome, Midwestern gothic aesthetic??, Dale in his "Longlegs" persona, sacrilegious themes, period blood worship, unprotected sex, perv!Dale, self destructive behaviors, it's written to feel wrong if that makes sense

The idea behind this is that you moved into his childhood house, unbeknown to you ofc. It's a place full of religious trauma for him. It's the roof both his parents died under.

(I want to write a horror novel at some point in my life. Not dark romance, erotic h-o-r-r-o-r. So yeah, this is a form of practicing. How did I do?)

-> Choose your outfit at the bottom of the post. Authentic 80's stuff! Click on the images to view them fully!

I am the key to the lock in your house that keeps your toys in the basement.

Dale Kobble cuts the lights the second he steps inside the humid basement.

The moment his boot touches the threshold, his hand is already snapping to the switch.

Like he's done it before, like he's been down here enough times to know exactly where the electric board is with eyes closed.

His fingers know the way. In the dark, they always have.

He was twelve the last time he touched this switch. Blood still under his fingernails. His father in the attic. His mother on the stairs.

He hadn't screamed then, either.

The lights died that night, too.

The bulbs hum and die. The house exhales darkness like it's been holding its breath, for him.

Everything goes black. Not dim, not shadowed.

Gone.

Darkness folds over each room like a blanket, thick and impenetrable and absolute.

And if you get too far inside you'll only see my reflection.

You hear the electricity in the walls sigh out.

It's an old house, but still, you had everything checked before moving in. A steal, but they wouldn't tell you why.

Blindly, you reach for the matches in the drawer of the hardwood bedside table. Candle lit, you shuffle barefoot to the living room.

Despite the Oregon chill, you had stubbornly worn your new JCPenney pajamas.

However, it isn't just the night temperature that makes you shiver full body –it's that primal instinct of reacting to being cornered before your mind truly peaks up on it... that you have become prey.

You hear the first creak at the bottom step.

Another.

Then another.

Slow. Rhythmic.

Like a metronome ticking in the dark. Like the beat of something weirdly patient.

Shadows will stretch across the floor before he does –long limbs bending at unnatural angles.

It's always best with the covers up.

You swear you locked all the doors.

But the one leading to the basement is clicking open now -slow, deliberate, like a grin spreading too wide.

The air changes. Heavy. The hairs at the back of your neck stand up in attention.

You don't even see what or who it is at first.

Just a silhouette at the edge of the narrow hallway.

Tall. Crooked. Wrong.

Then he speaks, and it's not really words –just a low, nasally sound curling in your ear, sticky and intimate.

"You ever feel watched? That's just me, little angel."

There is no weapon, at least not visible. Just his presence... Walking closer and closer.

A smell –women's perfume along with something earthy and metallic. Like vanilla defiled by soil and blood.

A flicker of madness in those eyes, but it's calm. Controlled. Dangerous in the way the lone wolf waits until the unsuspecting lamb wanders away from its herd.

I am the pick in the ice.

You don't scream. You don't drop the candle.

Maybe it's shock. Maybe it's the way his fingers brush the wall beside you, not touching you, but close enough to feel the heat of him.

Close enough to want it.

"I've been in your dreams, but I like you better awake."

His voice has that lull to it, sweet and slow like honey poured over glass shards. It makes you dizzy.

You've been dreaming about flies for days. They nested in your throat. In your sheets.

"You locked everything up so tight" Dale murmurs. "All those little secrets. I just wanted to see."

He steps closer. You back against the wall. His shadow eats the little light coming in from outside.

To your dismay, your body betrays you –chest heaving, thighs clenching.

You aren't afraid. Not enough.

Do not cry out or hit the alarm.

You know we're friends till we die.

His gloved hand comes up, brushing your jaw. "Let me in, babydoll."

"How long have you been watching me?"

Your voice comes out thin. Not quite defiant. Not quite afraid either.

"Since before you moved in" he hums. "Since you started leaving the bathroom light on at 2:17."

But when he touches you again, bare fingers this time, his skin is ice. And holy, like he's waited forever to press against something warm.

Your breath catches.

"Move."

He's behind you now, hand brushing the low curve of your back.

You feel the floor shift beneath you, like you're standing in a lake of slithering snakes. Like the walls have started to listen.

"You moved into the wound" he whispers. "And now it wants to bleed."

You moved into his childhood home. You didn't know. Couldn't have known.

A good deal it was, the kind you don't question when you're broke.

But Dale knows. Of course he does.

And either way you turn, I'll be there.

Open up your skull, I'll be there.

Climbing up the walls.

It's not just a house, it's a ribcage. Full of old dolls and family ghosts. The wallpaper still remembers prayers. The floorboards creak like sermons.

Dale isn't the past.

He's what happens when you pretend too long.

He's the shape you notice behind you just after switching off the light.

And...

You're lying to yourself. This isn't your first time seeing him.

The first time you saw him, it was in the reflection of the microwave.

You turned too fast. Nothing there. But you felt it –the way bones feel a storm an hour before it hits.

You dreamt of cold hands. Of whispers through vents. Of the slow press of a mouth over yours in the dark.

On your fridge, stuck with the Snoopy magnet you adore. A polaroid of your bedroom window.

Taken from the outside.

So when he finds you in the dark, like he's lived there all along, are you really as surprised as you try to convince yourself you are? For the sake of your own sanity of course.

It's always best when the light is off.

It's always better on the outside.

"I want to taste you" he says, voice reverent. "All of you."

Dale glances down at the candle, licking his lips. Then he blows it out, softly. Like a kiss.

"You shouldn't leave your tampons in the kitchen bin" he says casually, leading you by the wrist. "Day twenty-six, right?"

"H-how do you know that?"

"I know you" he chirps, like it's obvious. "I know what you smell like on every week of your little cycle."

He tugs you toward the couch. The floral cover sticks to your thighs.

You don't resist.

You're wearing a pad. You think about telling him. You think about stopping this. But something deeper takes root. Ancient and animal and so wanting.

He sinks to his knees in the dark. The way he touches your hips is pure worship –not sweet, but devotional.

Maybe, just maybe, you even find yourself attracted to this stranger, who doesn't feel that unfamiliar after all.

That should be worrisome, not comforting.

Is it the peachy lip-gloss scent?

Is it the silvery waves and the way they glow in candlelight?

Perhaps, it's the peculiar shape of his nose and how a part of you wants to feel it between your thighs.

"You're bleeding" he breathes, unbothered. Awed.

Your hands tremble as you push your underwear down.

The pad peels away, damp.

You discard it onto the old wooden flooring, where it lands with a quiet thud like a dropped confession.

Fifteen blows to the back of your head. Fifteen blows to your mind.

Dale doesn't hesitate.

He presses his mouth between your legs like he's starving. His tongue working hard, savoring every taste like your blood is Nectar.

He circles your clit first, slow and reverent. Then lower –tongue greedy against the source. He groans like it’s water in a desert, like each drop of blood is the answer to all questions.

The moans he leaves are raw and broken. They vibrate through your bones.

He noses deeper, lapping you open.

You cry out. Not from fear, but from release.

From being seen.

His hair is getting wet with sweat, curls sticking to his temples, and still, he doesn't stop.

"I knew you'd be like this" he murmurs, lips wet with your blood and slick. "Soft. Sacred! I wish I could be like this! Just like you, little angel!"

You clutch the back of the couch behind you, knuckles white, nails gently scratching the already worn material.

Your knees shake. He holds you steady with both big hands, thumbs pressing two bruises into your thighs.

There's blood on his mouth, down his chin and dripping onto his shirt, smeared like war paint. His eyes burn with that sick devotion.

So lock the kids up safe tonight.

Shut the eyes in the cupboard.

You pull him up, fingers tangled in his clothes.

You want to see him come undone.

"I want it" you whisper. "I want you."

He shudders.

Something cracks behind his eyes. He mutters something like a prayer -or a curse- under his breath. It's not English, but you don't care.

"Filthy. Filthy. Don't deserve this."

He fumbles with his belt, breathing uneven. You help. It's slow, desperate, messy, more human now.

You guide him into you, still wet, still bleeding, still open from his mouth.

He sinks in with high pitched moan that sounds like blasphemy.

Your body arches to meet him. You are full. Claimed.

And it hurts, but you want it to.

I got the smell of a local man who's got the loneliest feeling.

He slaps himself hard across the cheek once, twice. A sharp sound of skin against skin.

You gasp. He grins.

"I ruin everything I touch" he says. "Might as well ruin you, too."

You dig your nails into his back, scratching deep, and he thanks you for it. Over and over.

"Hell, you feel like fire" he breathes.

You moan, grinding down on him, rolling your hips.

Dale stutters, trembles.

He fucks you like he does, truly, want to ruin you.

He chants your name into your skin even though he shouldn't know it. Licks the sweat from your collarbone. Bites your shoulder like a sacrament.

And you let him.

Because you're turning.

Because you want this rot in your bones.

Because there is something sweet about being the end of someone like Dale.

And either way you turn, I'll be there.

Open up your skull, I'll be there.

Climbing up the walls.

"Be mine" he growls. "Be mine, babydoll. Like you were made for this."

He looks down between your bodies, at the way he disappears into you, blood streaking his hard, thick cock –and something in him breaks.

He starts laughing. Low at first. Then louder. Hysterical. Awful.

He grabs your face and kisses you hard, his laughter catching on your teeth.

He comes with a shuddering gasp, head pressed to your shoulder, arms tight around you like a child gripping the edge of a dream that's clearly too good to be true.

You follow close behind, whining and gasping as he holds you through it.

After, he collapses to the floor. Sits with his back to the coffee table, legs splayed, cock still hard and heavy. Staring at nothing.

He picks up the discarded pad.

Brushes it with his thumb.

Kisses it.

Climbing up the walls.

"I deserve his fire" he whispers.

"But she… she deserves God."

He doesn't ask you to love him.

He doesn't need to.

Because he's already in your walls. Your lungs. Your bed. His seed in your womb.

Because you didn't scream.

Because you didn't look at him in disgust.

Because you wanted this.

Because he knows what you are now, too.

A holy thing. A dangerous thing.

A woman made of skin and sanctuary.

The kind of thing men like Dale kneel before.

Even if it kills them.

Especially if it does.

Climbing up the walls.

You wake up hours later, alone.

Or maybe not alone –just not watched the way you were last night.

The basement door is closed again.

Your underwear is gone.

On the fridge, under the Snoopy magnet... a new Polaroid.

This one's of your bed.

Taken while you were sleeping.

You're not sure whether to cry, or smile.

He doesn't come back. Not right away.

But you hear the floor creak at night.

Smell burned sugar and blood in the vents.

Your body remembers him like a fever.

And when your period comes again-

You hope he does too.

Support a kinda broke uni student & fuel more of her weird content. Thank you so much! PayPal link

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This post belongs in the Inbetween Stanzas series! (masterpost)

Divider by @strangergraphics.

[imraespace]

STREAMERS! ★ ˎˊ˗

..CHAPTER 6 || CHAPTER 7! || CHAPTER 8..

────────────────────────────

Today's stream is quite different.

Instead of in your room, playing a video game, you are right now streaming as you made your way to your friend's cafe.

"We're here!" You said as you turned your camera towards the building then made your way inside.

The smile of your friend was the first thing your fans saw as you enter the cafe.

"Oh you're here!" Mitsuri exclaimed as she saw you entered with your camera pointed towards her.

In the cafe, Mitsuri had already set up a small station for you all to stream at, and actually that's where everyone is right now. Minus Mitsuri.

You nodded as you both made your way in the kitchen.

What are you all about to do?!

Bake!(yay)

The whole point of turning your friends into streamers was to help out with the cafe so you had the perfect idea to bake in the cafe! On stream of course.

As soon as the both of you entered the kitchen, that's when the magic started to happen.

After setting up the camera and a lot of talking, everyone was ready.

"What are we even making?" The boy beside you asked as he stared at the items on the table.

"A cake!" Mitsuri answered Muichiro.

"A what.." He answered back.

"We are all making a cake..?" You asked.

You thought that it were going to be something simple like cookies.

"Yep!" She said with a bright smile.

"That's gonna be alot of cake." You said to yourself.

"It will be the cafe's special when the fans visit." She said.

.

.

It was going smoothly, everyone followed Mitsuri's instructions until Sanemi had something to say.

"Obanai, you took my food coloring." He said as he stared at the man next to him.

"Why would I take your food coloring.." Obanai mumbled as he looked for this food coloring Sanemi claimed he stole.

"Because you're next to me and it's not here."

"..So..?" Obanai eyebrow raised a bit.

They both stared at each other for a bit. It looked like a fight in the wild west was about to start.

"Sanemi is your food coloring that one on the floor?" Shinobu entered the conversation.

"..It is." He mumbled as he picked it up but in doing so he accidentally knocked off Obanai's cake mixture and it fell on the table.

"Oh god.." You mumbled as you stopped stirring to witness the mess.

Obanai was obviously pissed and Sanemi was pissed for some odd reason when he was the one who knocked it down..

"Can your bowl watch where it's going?"

"MY BOWL? MAYBE BEND DOWN SOMEWHERE ELSE."

"Haha bend down somewhere else-"

Your words were silenced by the random shouting of words from both parties that deafen everyone else.

The whole argument had everyone giggling and Mitsuri tried to break it up.

Your eyes made it to the chat on your phone and saw that they were entertained by the comedy fest that's happening so you threw flour at them. For fun.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU CHILD!?"

Sanemi shouted as the flour hit his face and got into his eyes as he ran towards you but your best friend ever Muichiro! Wasn't having it and threw flour on the floor, causing him to slip but pulled you down with him.

"CAN YOU GET OFF OF ME??"

"I WILL SHOVE FLOUR DOWN YOUR THRO-"

Instead you shoved it in his throat! I'm kidding, you didn't.

No one can see it but you both are now on the floor fighting each other as Muichiro debated if he should dump his cake mixture on Sanemi to save you or save it.

He decided to dump a bit on him, the cold mixture made him let out a surprised noise as you pushed him off.

"LET ME FINISH BAKE MY CAKE." You shouted as he chased you around.

Muichiro gave up and decided to use your mixture and made the cake.

Alongside Shinobu and Giyuu who wasn't in the mess, Gyomei was behind them as Tengen watched the show.

Sadly, poor Mitsuri was now chasing behind you both as Obanai cleaned up his mess.

Wonderful stream!

The commotion has died down and you were now helping Muichiro bake your cake.

Before you both began to bake, you had spilt the mixture and added teal and F/C food coloring in each and baked them.

Now the cake has two layers and covered in white frosting.

"What can we add on this cake?" You asked Muichiro as he gave you candy.

"Add these." He said.

"..Candy on cake?"

"Okay don't add them." He said as he ate some.

"WAIT NO! I want some as well." You said as you snatch the piece out of his hand and ate it.

You both decided to add more decorations on the cake and added sprinkles and boom it's finished.

For the others, Sanemi gave up and Obanai joined in with Mitsuri to bake a cake together.

Shinobu, Giyuu and Tengen already had their cakes made.

Gyomei was here for moral support!

So in the end there was five cakes added as specials for that week and after that, the cakes were going to be added to the Cafe's menu!

STREAMERS!

EXTRA!:

TAGLIST:@deezy12299@s0uldarling@cherryblossomly@boogiemansbitch@delusional-mushroom@ashlovelys(OPEN)

[artiststarme]

Death Waits For No One… Except Eddie Munson

Warning: Temporary Character Death

Could be read as Part 2 of This Post

Enjoy!

~*~*~*~

Eddie dies. He knew it was coming, felt it as soon as he’d stepped foot into the sordid little town as a puny and pale eleven year old. There was a grim acceptance that he wouldn’t survive long enough to leave. He spent his years being as authentic and genuine as possible; loud, eccentric, world-devastatingly handsome with awesome hair, and completely and utterly metal.

He spent his adolescence in Hawkins being true to himself, being someone that he could be proud of. However, there was always an undercurrent of danger. Being different in a small town where everyone else is the same is a hazard and Eddie wondered things everyday.

Would this be the day it ends?

Would Hargrove, Hagan, or any other small minded jock choose today to bash his head in?

Would the cops make an example of the weird “devil-worshipping”, rock n’ roll, high school fiend today?

Sometimes death was the cost of being different and he had accepted that.

Eddie, and unfortunately Wayne, had seen it coming for years and were not so eagerly awaiting his demise. Whether it be a beating from a bully gone too far, an overdose like his Ma, or a fiery crash, they lived each day in tentative hope that he’d escape death’s clutches once again. Neither one of them expected him to die in a haunted parallel universe in pain, cold and alone, with blood in his mouth and holes bitten through his flesh.

Eddie watched Dustin grieve him through teary eyes as the cold set in, warm blood leaking from his wounds and a numbness settling in his bones. He distantly heard Steve screaming for the both of them and maybe even the uncoordinated footfalls from Robin as she ran towards them. He tried to hang on, gripping the last dredges of life with both hands. Eventually though, his eyes closed with the weight of the world and his heart sluggishly slowed its beat.

The last thing he saw before his eyes were forced closed was Steve shoving a crying Dustin aside with determined eyes and a frown on his face. He felt a vague pressure center in his chest before everything faded to black.

Death wasn’t the peace or nothingness that he expected. It wasn’t bright lights or past memories flashing in front of your eyes. He was conscious, worriedly wondering if his friends had made it home from the Upside Down and how Wayne would take the news, if the Party could even tell him anything.

His death was a nightmare to him, everything he hated; darkness, silence, and too much time to ruminate on his thoughts. There was nothing to see and his feet were getting cold in an inch or so of standing water. Wonderful. The only noise he could hear was the blood from his deepest wounds dripping to the water at his feet.

He didn’t know how long he was there. Standing there, admittedly freaking out more than a little bit, and doing nothing could’ve taken three minutes or thirty years.

But when he opened his eyes again after a slow blink, he was back in the Upside Down next to his trailer. His wounds still throbbed with each heartbeat and he could feel the stickiness of blood clinging to his war outfit. Upon further surveillance, he noticed his favorite necklace with his mother’s old guitar pick was missing. Those fucking bats probably ate it. He considered rifling through the rotting carcasses surrounding him before letting out a sigh. He didn’t have the energy to perform necropsies.

The next thing that made itself known was the heat. Eddie remembered the Upside Down being cold, a strange mixture of humid and frigid. But now, the air was practically sizzling with heat and it made the stickiness of blood even more unbearable.

It wouldn’t stop Eddie though. He was apparently still alive after facing death once more. If anything could be said about Eddie, it was that he was a survivor. So, he pulled himself up despite his agony and set out on the trek of a lifetime. He climbed through the gate in his trailer, ignoring the cooking of his flesh and the pain accompanying the burns. He flopped onto the unforgiving carpet of his trailer that he really should’ve cleaned when Wayne told him to. Then he went to Steve’s because if anyone could help him, it was him.

He didn’t expect the town to be in chaos or the rippling chasms of fire that lengthened his walk.

He hid in trees when cars passed him but no one paid him any mind. Everyone was too apt to get out of town than they were to pay the walking zombie (so he supposed) any mind.

Eddie walked until he was standing over a sleeping Steve in his room in the Harrington house. He wasn’t sleeping peacefully and Eddie could imagine why.

“Hey, Harrington. Wake up, it’s okay. You’re dreaming.”

Steve jerked awake and started screaming his fool head off. Eddie stumbled back in surprise and hissed as the movement pulled at the worst of his wounds.

“Shh! Harrington, Jesus H. Christ, calm down. Holy shit, I thought you’d be the calm one. Calm down, please god,” Eddie breathed through the pain and calmed him. He probably looked like shit so he understood Steve’s fright. A small part of him, his inflated ego probably, took offense though he wouldn’t voice it.

“Eddie?” Steve’s voice was tinged with disbelief as if he couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing.

He beamed, “I see we’re on a first name basis now, Stevie. If I knew this was all I had to do, I would’ve died a long time ago!”

Steve threw himself forward into Eddie’s arms with a soft gasp of pain and Eddie let out an oomph of surprise and pain in response.

“You’re not going to be here in the morning, are you?” Steve whispered into the crook of his neck.

Eddie’s shaky hand latched onto Steve’s shoulder to deepen the hug. “Hell Steve, I’ll never leave you again if you’ll have me.”

Steve fell asleep on top of him in what appeared to be his first restful slumber in weeks. Eddie wasn’t going to ruin that. Instead of treating his wounds or showering Upside Down grime and dried blood off, he ran a hand through Steve’s hair and closed his eyes. It would all be there in the morning, after all. What could a little shut-eye hurt?

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[super-ion]

God Fall

It was half past eleven when the god died.

I was just starting to make my way back to the office when reality was rent open at the seams and it heaved itself into existence. The whole great mass of it seemed to hang suspended in mid-air over the park for a few heartbeats before it came crashing thunderously to the earth, sending great waves through the lake.

I had never seen god before, living or otherwise. It… well, it defied compression. The light of it was blinding at first, giving way to fading luminosity that revealed something that was somehow metallic and crystalline and organic all at once. It was all impossible fractal geometries and indescribable colors that strained my limited human perception.

But even the inconceivable shape of it began to fade into something more Euclidean as I watched it in fascinated horror. It was perhaps as big as a train car, splayed out like something from the abyssal deep that washed up on the shore after a storm. Great smoking holes seemed to have been torn from its flesh and it stank of something like rotting flowers and burning metal as ichor leaked onto the surface of the lake, giving an opalescent sheen to the surface of the water.

A flash of light at my feet caught my eye, a tiny spark of light. I bent down to gently pick up the tiny fragment of divinity and held it between my fingers as I examined it. It was small, barely bigger than the head of a pin, but it shone with celestial light that had yet to fade. It was quite possibly the most beautiful thing I had ever beheld.

A rustle of motion to my left broke me out of my reverie. An old man, stooped with age trundled past me, but… but his feet didn't quite touch the ground, only his cane thumped into the earth as he made his way forward. He had too many fingers and he eyed the god-corpse hungrily.

Another shape scuttled into view, a sort of crab shaped thing with thorny armor. Then there was a flash of dusky feathers as a winged female figure swooped down to settle onto the rotting flesh. I turned, surveying the park around me. A few humans, in varying states of shock stood among the scattered trees, but all around us, demons were gathering for the feast.

In any city, demons are inevitable, I've seen my fair share. Most are relatively benign, but it is usually best practice to avoid them. I had never seen so many gathered in one place.

A shrill scream punctuated the air as the harpy woman fought off one of the crab things. Shouts and screams arose as the demons began to fight over the choicest bits of god-flesh.

I turned around, ready to flee, only to meet the gaze of a diminutive figure in my path. The imp was small, the size of a toddler, with a bulbous head, a too large mouth and bat-like ears that stuck out sideways. It stared, not at me, but at my clenched first, where light from the tiny bead of god-stuff shone through.

It only made sense that this diminutive creature would seek out an easy target than risk its safety in the roiling mass of its bretheren.

The wisest course of action would have been to drop the fragment, let the imp distract itself while I made myself scarce.

But the bead had found its way to me and I found myself very disinclined to part with it. Impulse seized me, and before I even understood what I was doing, I had the fragment in my mouth. It reluctantly slid down my throat, sticking uncomfortably as it went.

My mind finally caught up and I coughed and sputtered, my body vainly trying to dislodge it.

But it was too late.

The imp grinned wolfishly and cackled with wicked glee as it scampered around me to join the feeding frenzy at the corpse.

What had I done?

My stomach roiled and I coughed once more, looking around. The demons were coming fewer now. Most of the humans had left by now, though a few remained. A woman clutching a violin case to her chest. A man wearing a grocer's apron. A young couple, their hands clasped with white knuckles.

The woman with the violin met my gaze. A jolt ran through me. She had seen me swallow the god-stuff. It felt like she could look through to the very core of me, as if every wretched secret I kept locked away from the world was on display for her.

It was that feeling that finally terrified me into motion, that vague exposed feeling, somehow frightening me more than the horde of demons.

[el-moscorrofio-y-el-mercachifle]

Besides my obvious annoyance with the new season because of the horrible character understanding from the writers and their ADMITTED goal to change Gaitán's ending, there are other aggravating issues with it:

1. The pacing:

This new novela knows it's in a rush, but we can tell, too. The first episode seems to attack the viewer with so many different new facts and characters and issues. It straight up starts with: Roberto's funeral, Armando and Betty separated and having been so for years now, Armando's presidency in the gutter again, lots of economic issues within the company again, Mila gone for years and her distance with Betty, a new guy that Marcela is suspiciously protective of and planning together to get revenge, Daniel being dead for going to jail from illegal business practices, etc. And all of this in the span of 1 episode. It just hits you with so much that it doesn't even give you the chance to get to know the characters. We haven't seen most of them in over twenty years, and some of them never, so we basically don't know them anymore! It's going so direclty and straight to the point that it feels more like a badly written fanfiction.

2. Lack of builup for tension

Jesus, there is very, very little tension here for the big things that matter. [SPOILER] In one episode we find out that Ecomoda is in bad shape, and just a few ones later, Armando is turning himself in. We don't see him slowly driving himself insane with his moral dilemma, we don't see him desperately trying everything to fix it, we don't even see him turning himself in! Just one episode ends with him saying he was turning himself in, and the next one starts with Armando's mugshot. That's it. No tension at all

3. Bad editing

One of the things that I loved about the old novela were their transitions. The first episodes were amazing with this: while Betty was looking at the magazine of the collection launch and giving her opinions and commentary, we were seeing the pictures of it and then we're taken to the moment the picture was taken. While Gutierrez, Armando and Roberto are talking about Betty and why Gutierrez discarded her, Roberto asks "why would a candidate so well prepared and qualified only want to be a secretary?" And then we see Betty going "because I'm tired of looking for a job!"

Those kind of transitions were incredible, I loved them so much. Now in this new series it just cuts abruptly to something totally different.

4. Inappropriate setting

They really, really tried to make everything seem so modern, and in their effort, they ended up making it so plastic and fake. The office doesn't look like an office at all, but rather a gallery or the lobby of an exotic hotel. The desks almost seem out of place. Sure, it's a fashion business, but it's just so fake looking. Most offices, even modern ones, still look like offices. This one just doesn't feel like it, and that really takes me out of the story.

Finally, and just as a little pet peeve that, objectively, idek if it should count but I'll include nonetheless because I'll forget to make a separete post about it: the robot and the hacking. It's just so cringy and cheap. Are robots like that even in the market fr? AI robots that follow you around and are in the shape of a sewing mannequin? And the whole hacking thing... ugh. As I said it's a personal pet peeve but I always find it cringy when they make these super high-tech knowing characters that can hack on everything and we see on the screen the codes and all of that. I found both of these elements so tacky and unnecessary lmao why not just hide cameras?? Nooo, let's make Daniel wannabe a finance and hacking genius lmao ((this part isn't part of the list I just wanted to vent because my hubby and I died of cringe watching one episode last night where Mila's AI Moving Robot Sewing Mannequin told her someone was hacking into the cameras and Ignacio is cyber-fighting to hide and we see a split screen of him and another of what he's seeing through the cameras and eventually he just closes the lid lmao)) ((anyway little rant over sorry))

[slippinmickeys]

The Unseelie Court 7/16

Scully was throwing her things into her suitcase, not even bothering to fold them, when Mulder came breezing through his motel door. 

“Hey,” he said, smiling when he saw her through the connecting passway. “You’re not going to believe what happened to me.”

She whirled around and his smile quickly faded. 

“What’s wrong?” he said. 

“What’s wrong?” she repeated, anger radiating off of her in waves. “You disappeared for the entire day and I couldn’t reach you, and then I got a phone call from the Assistant Director reaming me out for going out into the field without his approval. Where the hell have you been, Mulder?” 

Mulder shot his wrist out of his cuff to look at his watch and held his phone up in his other hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said, somewhat taken aback by her anger. “I didn’t notice the time, my watch has been working on and off since yesterday and my phone died. I called the morgue from a payphone, but your grumpy diener said you were long gone. Did you even do the autopsy?”

Scully rocked back on her heels. In the corner of the room, the air conditioning unit clicked on and a fusty, cool lug of air wafted across the skin of Mulder’s face and neck.

“It’s five pm, Mulder,” she said. “I finished the autopsy more than four hours ago.”

“It’s…what?”

“It’s five o’clock in the evening.”

Mulder reached up and ran his hand over his chin, as if gauging the time by the beard growth on his face.

“No wonder Skinner is upset, I haven’t had a chance to call him back yet…wait, did you say ‘without his approval?’ He signed off on this assignment yesterday morning.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to remember that,” Scully snapped. 

“It’s happening again,” Mulder said quietly.

Scully sighed unhappily and turned back to her suitcase. She could feel Mulder come up behind her and put his hand gently on her shoulder. 

“I’m sorry I worried you,” he said softly. 

She turned and brushed past him, throwing something on top of her bed, which was still crisply made.

“Charge your phone,” she said. He glanced at the bed. She’d thrown her own phone’s charging cable onto it, which bounced once on the tight drum of mauve polyester. 

He ignored it and followed her into the bathroom. “I’d like to hear about the autopsy,” he said. 

Scully had been gathering up her toiletries and she pushed past him and dumped them into her open suitcase, zipping it up angrily. 

“Nothing,” she said. “The autopsy showed nothing. We have nothing.”

She finally turned back to him. She didn’t know why she was so angry. Worry and fear, she guessed. But she didn’t need to worry about Mulder anymore, standing there as he was, whole and true. And her fear from earlier in the afternoon had dissipated, at least a little. Still, the day had left her agitated.

Mulder watched her as she stood there battling with her own feelings. She was backlit by the bedside lamp, her hair a soft copper glow around her head. She had taken off her coat and jacket and was wearing a white silk blouse, sheer enough that he could see the curve of her body underneath it. A flare of wanting rippled through him that he forced himself to tamp down. 

“The body didn’t show anything?” he asked gently. 

“I’m still waiting on toxicology. But from what the body told me…there is no cause of death,” she said, letting some of her anger go. “Where have you been, Mulder?”

“The crime scene,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “The beach.”

“You mean…”

“I went into the grove. I lost time again,” he said. “And this time it wanted me out.”

Scully cocked her head curiously and he briefly explained what had happened in the copse from which Daly Carmichael had walked. 

She stood there for a moment, quietly processing. Then she looked up at him. 

“I found one, too,” she said. 

***

Mulder followed his partner through the gate at the Carmichael estate, trotting to catch up with her.

“You should have told me to wear my running shoes,” he joked. The pavement under their feet was fissured and potholed, weeds growing up through the cracks.

“I told Skinner we’d be back in the office first thing tomorrow morning, Mulder. We’re being pulled off this case. Is there a point in continuing to investigate it?”

”Scully, what we’re dealing with here… this is an X-File. Aren’t you even a little bit curious?”

”I’m here, aren’t I?” she answered, continuing to walk along at a clip. 

They bypassed the house altogether and walked directly into the backyard. The sun was setting and the light was low, necessitating the use of flashlights. Scully marched past the fountain and cast the beam of her flashlight over the area where she and Avery had found the dark opening only a few hours before. There was nothing but brush and overgrown rhododendron, creeping vine. 

“It was right here,” she said, walking closer to where it had been that afternoon. “There was a sound coming from it. And the magnet you gave me, it…”

”It what?” Mulder asked, still shining his light hopefully around. 

“It started to vibrate,” she said. “When we got close to the opening.”

”Really?” Mulder said, looking pleased.

“Yes, really.” Quite the opposite. 

“So you came out here with Avery?”

”I did,” she said, wondering where he was going with this. 

“Did he see it, too?” 

“The magnet thing? No. Skinner called, I got yelled at for thirty seconds, he pulled us off the investigation and Avery brought me back to the motel. He was a little green around the gills at that point anyway.”

”I meant the grove, or whatever we want to call it.”

”Oh. Well, yes. He did see the grove. Heard it, too.”

”That’s promising,” Mulder said. “Though it’s gone now. More's the pity. Did you find anything else? Anything inside the house?”

Mulder gave the tree line one more swipe with the beam of his flashlight and then turned reluctantly back the way they’d come. 

“Furniture from the turn of the century. Cigarettes and beer cans,” she said. “And a few other weird things.”

“Weird things?”

“Tchotchkes, a half-drunk bottle of mead.” 

Mulder paused, mid-stride. “Mead?” He said. 

Scully nodded, pointed to one of the windows.

“On the window sill.”

“Show me,” Mulder said, and followed her into the house. 

“Here,” she said, when they got to the back room with the intact window. 

Mulder bent down and shined his light on the items sitting on the sill. 

“These are fairy offerings,” he said. “Sea shells, bread and mead.”

“Teeth?”

“Those too. Children’s teeth,” he clarified. “Naturally lost.”

At his feet was a green beech leaf which he picked up, twirling it in his fingers.

“What is the offering meant to do?”

“Appease them,” Mulder said, rising to stand and dropping the leaf back to the floor. “Acknowledge and placate them. Keep them from turning their eye on you.”

Scully nodded, contemplating the items on the window sill. Was the level of the mead lower? she wondered. There were five shells and three teeth. Had there been more?

“Do you think we should head back to the beach?” she asked. “See if that…fairy grove is still there?”

“Oh,” said Mulder, turning to look around the room. “It’s gone. It disappeared the moment I stepped outside of it.”

[pixydustworld]

The room was warm, heat sticking to her naked skin. 

The girl beside her was crying, silent wracking sobs, shoulders shaking with effort to keep the sound at bay — the hum of the conversation was too loud, the lights too bright. Hermione inhaled slowly through her nose, bitter air burning her tongue. The collar around her neck was too tight for her to turn her head and that, somehow, was the worst bit. 

What if it was someone she knew? Someone she’d grown up with? Someone she had hated, perhaps. Once, but never now. 

She wouldn’t cry, not here. Not in front of eager vultures, ready to lick the salt from her skin; she would do it later. In the ever-unfolding after. After she was sold, after she was bought, after she was broken in.

After she killed the men who made the nameless girl beside her sob for a life long past, after she killed anyone who knew about what was occurring — after she slit their throat the muggle way, reveling in the mundaneness of their death. After, after, after,

 After she was done, then she would cry.

*

When Harry died, it felt as if a part of Hermione had died, too. A phantom limb, the feeling of something missing, burrowing all the way to her bones. When his lifeless body tumbled from Hagrid’s arms, she felt it like a blow to her chest, knocking her backward, and splitting her in two. 

He’d killed Voldemort. And himself. It made sense, in its own bitter way — in the end, she wasn’t sure if there had been much of a distinction between the two of them.

Then, in the chaos of death, Hermione had run.

After that, everything had disintegrated, crumbling like grand castles of sand, slipping beneath her feet. She had been captured after two and a half years on the run, long enough to begin to believe she could survive, short enough to know she never would. They had cornered her on a cliff’s edge — the churning sea to her back, an unavoidable future to her front.

Without hesitating, she had turned to jump — to be free in death, that would be enough. To belong, unabashedly, to her own choices. 

But, she had never been lucky. Always clever and bright, but never lucky. A Death Eater had caught her in their arms before she’d slipped away into the mist of the sea, arms tightly banded across her ribcage. 

“Not yet.” They had hissed. 

*

“Do you remember your name?”

The girl tensed beside her and then relaxed at the sound of Hermione’s voice, sobs dissipating, floating away like bubbles in the soft evening air of her childhood. “Daphne.” She whispered. “Greengrass. Tori was in your year, I think.”

“Is Tori here?” It felt foreign in Hermione’s mouth, calling Astoria Greengrass of all people a childhood nickname, but it was somehow grounding, too. To be reminded of all the little things that made someone whole. To know that one day (after, after, after) Hermione would be whole, too. 

“No.” Daphne’s voice trembled. “She fought back after the first round of these —” She hesitated, searching for the right word. “Auctions, I suppose we’d call it. Said it was barbaric and cruel. Managed to kill three or four Death Eaters before they got her.”

Astoria Greengrass had always been quiet, standing in the shadows of her more vocal friends — clear memories of her smile flittered across Hermione’s thoughts. Of how her nose had crinkled when she’d laughed, how she managed to wish everyone in their year happy birthday, despite their house.

In fact, the last they had spoken had been on Hermione’s seventeenth birthday.

“We’ll make them pay.”

Daphne was silent for a long time, the noise in the room ebbing and flowing around them. “Yes.” She said finally, “We will.”

*

In the cloudy moments of clarity, Hermione watched from her cell as the world crumbled around her. Unraveling, like a massive trap; a lazy predator, intent on devouring their prey with ease. Sold to the highest bidder for the prize of her virginity. If she’d had enough energy, Hermione might have even laughed — if anyone climbed between her thighs, she would rip out their throat. 

 She still had her teeth, after all. 

An aching routine of Dreamless sleep potions and blurry thoughts, sticky and stretched out, as if her mind was taffy. 

Then one night, he came for her. 

“Do you want to live?”

Hermione blinked until his face came into view.

“I think I’m already dead.” She said, brows furrowed. “Or dreaming.”

“Hermione.” He said a bit more firmly. “Answer me.”

Hermione frowned. “I did.” She whined. 

Draco Malofy was crouched before her, fingers white around the rungs of her cell. He looked concerned. Angry, even, which meant she was definitely dreaming. “I’ve got some Wideye.” He said softly, speaking to her as if she were a cornered animal. “I’m going to give it to you through the bars, alright? Don’t bite me.”

Hermione snapped her teeth at him anyway, biting his thumb. He sighed, as if he’d known it would happen, but let her nip at his flesh until she was content she’d left behind marks. 

“Always so scared of me.” She said, taking the cork off the vial with her teeth, spitting it somewhere on the floor. “Even when we were little. Do you remember? The first day of potions? I brushed your hand and you almost cried. Said I was stealing your magic with my dirty muggle blood.”

Malfoy grimaced. “Drink the vial, please. I can apologize for all that later. But I need you awake now, we have more important things to discuss.”

“Only because you’re pretty.” Hermione told the dream version of Malfoy, fondness that didn’t belong dripping across her tone. “And bright, I think. Like looking at the sun.”

“That’s very nice.” He said. The hand that she had bitten flexed and then reached out through the bars, touching a stray curl. “Drink up, now. Alright? For me?”

After, when she was awake and he was still there, Hermione scrambled away from him, all trembling limbs and furrowed brows. 

They stared at one another, their breath the only sound echoing through the darkness — she didn’t know what to say. Thank you? Why are you here? Come closer so I can kill you?

She settled with: “I know it was you on the cliff.” Hermione hissed, spit and hatred and all the anger she’d ever felt, pouring gracefully into her words. “I’ll never forgive you for that.” 

Someone would’ve caught her in the end, she knew this. An illusion of choice, snatched from her aching hands; it was a bitter thing, knowing it had been him.

“Is this you thanking me for saving your life?” Malfoy tilted his head to the side. “You’re not very good at saying thank you.”

He didn’t deny it, didn’t scramble to invent a reason for his choices — instead he simply looked at her, eyes unwavering. Unafraid of her, it seemed. All the other guards taunted her, nasty and cruel, but they never lingered. Never crouched to her level, never spoke to her, never called to her by name.

“You think you saved my life?” She laughed, feeling a bit unhinged. Feeling like a piece of glass that he’d glued back together, sharp and uneven edges, not the same as she’d once been. Different, now destined to only draw blood. “Leave.”

“No.” Malfoy was still crouching at her level, so calm and even. Had he always been that way? Beneath all the schoolyard taunts and ill-conceived prejudice? “I asked you something, Granger. Do you want to live?” He hesitated, eyes flickering across her bruised skin, the gash in her side, the determined look in her eyes. He knew she’d bite him, and he’d come anyway.

No wonder she had been the top of their class, Draco Malfoy was an idiot. 

“Do you want to make everyone here suffer?” He asked in a low voice. “Make them die slow and painful deaths? I want that. I think you do, too.”

Hermione knew what was coming. In three days she would be dragged out by her collar, forced to kneel naked before a crowd. What she didn't know was why he was in the cellar with her, dirtying his expensive pants, talking to her. “Why do you even care?”

His facade flickered, but only for a moment. She blinked, and he was back to normal, no trace of anger across his face. “Maybe I’ve decided to no longer be a coward.”

Hermione scoffed loudly. “Not good enough.”

Malfoy’s eyes narrowed slightly, looking annoyed. Good. “I want to save you.” He said tightly. “So that you can save everyone else. It’s what you do, right? Free the downtrodden?”

“You are part of the downtrodden?”

“No.” Careless in his admission of wealth and security. “But someone  — ” He flinched, turning away. “Someone I care about is suffering because of my cowardice. I want to be better. Maybe I can. I probably won’t, but I’d like to try. I’ll buy you and set you free. We can get the other girls' wands. Kill everyone involved.” 

Hermione glared at him. Words were pretty, but often empty. Whispering to her in the darkness — that wouldn’t be enough. A lifetime of misfortune had taught Hermione to never ask for more, but here, at this moment in the cellar, in the darkness, at the beginning of the end, Hermione opened her mouth. 

 “Swear it.” She bit out. “Use an Unbreakable Vow. Swear that you’ll free all of us. That you’ll help me until the very end.”

“Alright.” Malfoy responded without hesitation. “Whatever you want.” He turned back to face her, eyes glittering in the darkness. “I’ll ask you again. Do you want to live?”

“Yes.” She was still spitting, still ready to kill him. But truthful, too. Never lucky, but always clever and bright. If he wanted to free her to soothe the ache in his unredeemable soul, she would let him. “I do.”

Malfoy grinned. Soft and slow, like the sunrise, like the beginning of something wonderful and terrible. “Good.” He said. “That, I can work with.” 

And then: “Give me your hand.”

*

A voice was talking, loud and brash, echoing through the room. Hermione felt more eyes on her body, more and more people drinking in her naked flesh — other girls were brought in, kneeling beside her. Through the corner of her eye, she saw familiar faces. Ones she knew, classmates from her year, from her house, even.

This would never work. Panic was beginning to spread across her skin, flames of worry consuming her completely. She should have fought harder on the cliff’s edge, she should have tried to escape again and again, she should have bitten more people — 

Gloved fingers brushed across her skin, tilting her chin upwards. 

Knees trembling beneath her, sore from kneeling for hours — her collar shifted under his touch, allowing her to see him.

He looked different. Not like the man from before, the one in the cell who had promised her freedom. Face lit up only by the glow of an Unbreakable Vow. In his place was the mask. A creature who wore his face for comfort; almost unrecognizable, cold and distant.

“Hello, pet.” He said. His thumb smoothed circles along her jaw, a light trace of leather on her skin. Somehow grounding her, all at once. Trembling breaths crashed through her chest, heaving and unrelenting, finally remembering how to breathe. “Don’t you look pretty.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes. His eyes were warm on her skin, hotter than the room; he pushed his thumb slowly into her mouth, the taste of his leather gloves heavy on her tongue.

“Careful, Draco.” A voice from her left said. The one from before, loud and brash. The man in charge. She’d kill him last, elongated suffering and such. “This one bites.”

Malfoy didn’t look away from her face. “Oh, I know.”

*

“I’ll have to.” He inhaled, looking away. “Use you. In front of everyone.”

Hermione thought of the inevitability of it all. A series of choices had led her here, to the cellar, talking about publicly losing her virginity to Draco Malfoy. She could dwell on the missteps for the rest of her life, the moments where she chose wrong, pushing herself off the original path.

But Hermione was pragmatic, even now. She knew, with unmistakable clarity, that she would survive this; that one day, she would return to her beloved original path. That sooner rather than later, she would fix all of this — and it would be because of him, too. Because he was willing to risk his life for her own.

 She glanced up, finding his eyes firmly on her face. He never looked below, not even glancing at her shoulders — they’d taken her clothing in preparation for the evening, and he seemed determined not to notice. 

“Better you than someone else.” She said at last.

His face was miserable, so often he seemed to carefully conceal how he was feeling — but not now. “I’m sorry.” He said. “For all of it.” 

Hermione tilted her head to the side, curls brushing her skin. Shivering in the darkness, watching her only companion, someone she had hated, perhaps. Once, but never now. “I actually think you mean that.” She said softly. “How frightening for you.”

*

The evening was unfolding slowly, yawning to life. Malfoy stood by her side, thoughtfully petting her hair as he spoke to others, fingers tangling through the curls. Despite herself, Hermione felt herself begin to sag, leaning softly against Malfoy’s leg’s. He didn't even blink, simply adjusted to support her weight.

“— You have breed them well.” A Death Eater she vaguely recognized was saying, “Keep them busy and full. I’m sure you’ll have a hard time with this one, but they all soften after a while.”

“I’ll try my best.” Was Malfoy’s flat reply.

Hermione was fighting the urge to roll her eyes when she felt Daphne stiffen beside her. From the way Malfoy was still absentmindedly holding her chin, she could see the room better, see who was standing next to her. 

Theodore Nott was staring down at Daphne, frozen in horror. Hermione had given them detention once for kissing behind a tapestry after curfew. They had run back to the dungeons, hand in hand — the sound of their giggles echoing off the walls; the sweetness of youth, love ever fading. Perhaps it wasn’t all gone.

Despite the terribleness of the current outcome of her life, the swirling dread that permanently held residence in her chest, Hermione felt a moment of relief. Daphne would be alright. She knew nothing about Theodore, about the type of man he was — but she recognized the look in his eyes, understood loyalty, felt it thrumming through her veins, even now.

He wouldn’t leave Daphne behind to the wolves. 

The hand in her hair tightened, twisting gently. “Theo.” Malfoy’s voice was soft, a memory of lifetimes ago, whispering to his friends while Hermione glared at them from across the classroom. “Find something you like?”

Theo didn’t look away from Daphne, still staring down at her face. “Yes.” He said finally, voice rough, trembling around the words. Poorly concealed rage breaking through his throat, dripping across his tone. “I think I have.”

*

“I’d rather you do it now.” Hermione said suddenly. “Here.”

“Here?” Malfoy was blinking down at her in the darkness. 

“You’re going to have to fuck me at some point.” Hermione frowned. This had been his plan, had he even considered the outcome? “And I’d rather it be here.” She had thought of how it might happen — how someone might lay her down on a soft bed, trail their hands lovingly up her sides; someone like him, even. Hermione winced at her teenage crush, blinking it away, banishing it from her mind. This was not the time for thoughts like that — this was real, this was happening. 

Sort of happening. There was still a cell between them and Malfoy was still looking at her like she’d grown two heads. 

“Here?” He said again. Sounding a bit like a broken childrens toy, determined to repeat the same word over and over and over. “Hermione — ”

She blinked away the sound of her name on his lips. “You said whatever I wanted. This is what I want.” Hermione tilted her chin up, determined to win. Like she always had been, unafraid of the road ahead: “And you’re going to give it to me. You promised.”

He nodded soundlessly, agreeing without much of a fight. How much had he changed in the years of her absence? How immune she was, Hermione thought, of the idea of new growth. She watched as he Apparated into her cell, standing before her, looking down at her with a tortured expression.

“Just think about her.” Hermione found herself saying. “The one you want to protect. That’ll make this easier.” She let out a shaky exhale, allowing herself tiny niceties. “I’ll think of someone else, too.”

A lie, but he didn't need to know that.

“You won’t bite me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Hermione said. “I’d never promise that.”

*

The Auction was a blur of twinkling lights and laughter. A party, Hermione realized, anger pooling in her belly, spreading across her limbs until it replaced the surface of her skin. 

Celebrating the end of the war, celebrating the sale of her.

She hadn’t even bothered to worry about someone else buying her — hadn’t worried about the consequences of the Unbreakable Vow if Malfoy failed. Through glazed eyes, she watched as bodies swirled across the floor, watched as they reveled in their conquest — she watched as Malfoy bought her, voice firm, unyielding. The first sale of the night, the beginning of the entertainment.

Hermione ignored the voices that cooed celebrations, ignored the sharp fingers that tugged her towards Malfoy’s chair, depositing her at his feet. Kneeling, waiting for him to speak — the room had finally grown quiet, blissful in the aching moments before her life would begin again.

Malfoy was watching her through hooded eyes. Slowly, he tapped his lap, soft leather, no emotion. “Come here, pet.”

Hermione blinked up at him, limbs moving at her own accord. Pushing herself up, collar shifting loudly in the silence, golden decorations spiraling across her limbs, pretty and docile, all for him. 

Malfoy’s eyes betrayed the emotion beneath, glistening in the warm light. Watching in her awe, she felt. Watching her as she inhaled softly, breath catching in her throat. To survive, was to change, Hermione reminded herself. Persistent, like a weed twisting through the crack in the pavement, growing beyond expectations. 

He tugged on the chain of her collar, bringing her to straddle his lap, controlling her movement, a puppet on string. “Come closer,” he said, voice too soft for the world around them. “I bought you, didn't I?”

“Right.” Hermione hissed. “Apologies, My Lord.”

*

“Can I touch you?”

Hermione nodded. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the ceiling, unblinking. She could barely see him in the darkness, a shadowy shape of sharp limbs, moving above her. Suddenly, Hermione wished she could see Malfoy, if only to know it was him. A blistering reminder, a terrifying twist of fate, leading her towards a destination she’d always wanted. A blurry future, patchwork quilt of memories — the way he would stare at her in class when he thought she wasn’t looking, the sound of his laugh, how annoyingly clever he was, the way his fingers had felt brushing along her skin in Umbridge’s office —

 And of course, there had been the sweater incident in their sixth year.

“Go ahead,” she had told Harry, bright smiles, willing to give them without care, too young to ration her joy. “I’ll meet you in The Great Hall. Save some pudding for me!” She had known where to find it, hanging on the back of her chair, in its faithful place — but it hadn't been there. Instead, Malfoy had been standing alone in the room, her sweater pressed to his nose. The moment had been strange and soft, a bit like she was intruding. His eyes had lifted when she entered and they had both stood across from one another, quiet in cautious confusion. She had waited for him to toss it aside, to scoff at the belligerent way she had banged the classroom door open. Instead, he had continued to inhale, eyes closing briefly. “Give that back.” Hermione said after a moment, beginning to sense that her sweater was in danger of transferring ownership. “I’ve only got three good sweaters and that’s my best one.” “This is your best one?” His voice had been muffled by the fabric. “You should invest in some cashmere.” “Thanks.” Hermione had said flatly. “I’ll be sure to do just that.” Bravery was built in, wasn't it? She had squared her shoulders, reaching across the space, tugging softly at the sleeve, fingers brushing along his arm. “Come on.” Hermione had said.  “Give me a minute.” He had said. Normal malice lacking, stripped away, only the raw emotion left beneath. “Just one more minute, yeah?” The following week, everything had changed. Dumbledore had died, the war had begun, and, most importantly, before Malfoy had fled, he had stolen her sweater from her dorm.

 Then, as if summoned by her own desperate thoughts, he was hovering above her face. “I need to hear you say it.”

“Oh.” Hermione said. She swallowed the urge to tell him to get it over with, to insist he power through whatever gentleman-ly urges remained in his chest and to just fuck her already. “Sure, alright. Yes. Touch away.”

Cool hands smoothed up her sides, trailing across the surface of her skin. She shivered, involuntary and wanting. He grimaced at the movement, seeing it as something else; fear, perhaps. Trembling limbs at what was to come.

But she wasn’t afraid, never had been. Not of the dark, not of the unknown, and not of this, either.

Brave, like she had been during the war. Brave, like she had been in the classroom, tugging her sweater from his trembling hands. Brave like now, too. Refusing defeat, determined to survive, to kill and to be reborn. 

She could be brave. 

“I used to dream of you.” An admission, given freely. Floating through the air, settling across his skin, sinking beneath the surface. “Of this.” Hermione grimaced. “Well, not this, specifically. There was never a cell involved.” She let out a sigh, her breath fluttering the hair that hung before his eyes.

He had stopped moving, fingers frozen at their place on her skin, spanning her ribcage. “Yeah?” Malfoy asked. Hopeful, a light in the darkness, eyes flickering to meet her own. “I thought of you, too.”

“I know.” Hermione said simply. “You took my sweater.”

“It smelled like you.” His fingers began to move again, trailing down her flesh, tracing patterns across the tops of her thighs. “I still have it. Under a Stasis charm.”

“Does it still smell like me?” Hermione asked, watching as his fingers slipped between her thighs, tracing through her folds, circling along her clit. She squirmed under his touch, frowning when he stilled her thighs with a firm squeeze.

“Yeah.” He said, still looking at her. Memorizing her face, perhaps. Drinking in this version of her, determined to remember every emotion. “It does.”

“It’s you.” Malfoy said suddenly, her bravery contagious, spreading like a fire. “The one I want to protect. I know you don’t need me to protect you — that you don’t want me to protect you — that you’ll bite anyone who gets too close with your sharp little teeth, but.” He hesitated. “I can’t stop the want, Hermione.”

Hermione was quiet, her buzzing thoughts too loud to speak. Insisting to be heard, overflowing like a river swollen with rain; his touch was soft, sliding through the wetness of her cunt, still looking at her with aching conviction. “I want, too.” Hermione said after a long moment.

Malfoy nodded, blinking quickly. “Okay.” He said. “I — yes, alright.” He smiled, unguarded. Beautiful, unbelonging in the darkness of their world. The sight twisted Hermione’s heart in chest. Despite it all, everything, Hermione smiled, too. Fingers slipped through his hair, soft strands, twisting along her flesh.

“I’ll need to stretch you a bit.” Malfoy was saying, sliding down her body. 

“Right.” Hermione nodded, unhurried in her movements. Soft beneath him. Like they had all the time in the world. “Okay.”

His hot breath on her center was the only warning Hermione received before he was licking her, tongue twisting its way inside her cunt, thumb lazily rubbing her clit. She reached without thought, pressing his face closer to her center — he grunted his approval, tightening his hold around her tummy, the vibration of his appreciation skittering up her spine, muddling her mind. 

Then, Malfoy  closed his lips around her clit and sucked, his sloppy noises filling the room. Wetness was dripping from her, sliding across his face, her trembling thighs — heaving breaths were caught in Hermione’s throat, a babbling voice in her head splintering like glitter across her eyes, trapped inside.

He pressed her to his face, fingers digging into her flesh; each time she withered away from his tongue, his lips, even his teeth, his grip tightened, an arm pressed against the flesh of her stomach. When the pleasure became too much, Hermione twisted almost fully out of gasp but he tugged her back, biting her inner thigh.

“That is my job.” She meant to scold him, but it sounded a bit like a mix between a whimper and a moan.

“Don’t worry, baby.” Malfoy said thickly against her clit, “You can bite me later.”

Finally, finally, finally, she felt one his fingers slip across her folds, sliding through the wetness there. A mixture of the two of them, his spit dripping slowly between her thighs. “Alright.” He said, still lazily sucking at her clit. “Here’s two. You can take that, yeah?” He grinned, and she felt it against her skin. “Yeah, you can.”

Hermione nodded, blurry acceptance, willing to sink away into nothing. To take what was given, to live forever trapped in this moment of hazy pleasure. She could take it.

 Malfoy’s fingers were so much thicker than her own, entering her with a bluntness she wasn’t accustomed to, twisting her open. Fucking her slowly, with no clear intention of quickening his pace. 

“More.” She heard herself demand, voice foreign to her own ears. A version of herself she was unfamiliar with — “Give me more.”

“No please?” He laughed softly when she tugged his hair harder than before, twisting at the roots, tugging. “Okay, baby.” Malfoy said, slowly twisting a third finger in, stretching her open. 

He devoured her until she came with a wail, on an exhale, head tossed back. Hermione twisted and twisted and twisted away, but his hold was firm. “Can’t run from me now.” He bit her again, peppering her skin with bruises, with memories of him.

“I could.” Hermione managed to gasp. “I could run and you’d have to chase me again.” She smiled at the thought.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” He said thickly, mouth still wet. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Hermione breathed. “Alright.”

Pain, but not unbearable. Nothing like torture, but like something else; a stretch of something strange and new, her body trembling around him. Desperate to become as it had once been, but that was the point of growing, wasn't it? Changing? A broken mirror, fractures stretching like spider webs across her skin, but beautiful, too. Like cracks across a frozen pond in the beginning of spring; thawing, coming back to life.

“I’ve got you.” Malfoy murmured along her ear, rocking shallow thrusts inside her. Inching inside, carving a home. She could feel him inside, warm and heavy. 

She felt when he slid all the way in, heat beginning to bloom across her skin, flushed and overwhelming, like the beginning of the summer, like standing too close to a flame; like his body above her.

“I know you do.” Hermione gasped.

*

A twist of discomfort as she sank down on him, a deep ache — less painful than before, but still enough to make her wince at the stretch. The room was blurry, faces mixing together, eyes open wide, drinking her full.

“It’s alright.” Malfoy’s voice was soft against her ear. His arms were a tight band around her chest, just like how he’d held her in Umbridge’s office, just like at the edge of the cliff. “I got you.”

He lifted her, movements unhurried, pulling her back down on himself.

Her naked skin rubbed across the roughness of his clothing, his leather gloves were wet — with her, she realized — and the chains from her collar clinked together as he rocked slowly into her.

 Thumb tracing her clit messily, wet circles. He didn't seem to care that everyone was watching, didn’t notice their wandering eyes — only focused on her. On his prize.

Pleasure built steadily inside her until she was twitching, a whimper caught in her throat. His thumb still moved agonizing circles, his cock hitting deep inside her, an explosion of 

Unthinking, she leaned forward and bit his neck, silencing the sounds, eyes closed tight.

“Go on, baby. Use me.” Malfoy whispered against her neck. His cock was still thick inside her, pleasure spiraling across her skin. She blinked back to awareness at the firm fingers on her jaw, tugging her to meet his eyes. 

He pressed a wand into her hand.

*