#A New Lease on Death
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madlovenovelist · 3 months ago
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Most Anticipated New Book Releases October 2024
Not a lot of titles that piqued my interest for October – probably for the best considering the previous two months had large offerings. Now I might be able to catch up in the lull: Don’t Let the Forest In – C. G. Drews (YA, Horror, Fantasy, LGBT+) Once upon a time, Andrew had cut out his heart and given it to this boy, and he was very sure Thomas had no idea that Andrew would do anything for…
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seanalmond · 17 days ago
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'A new lease on death,' by Olivia Blacke! It seems like a fun read with an interesting premise. The human-ghost duo angle, no doubt will be interesting to explore.
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spankerella · 2 months ago
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Do you like mysteries? You should give this author a read, and I'm not just saying that because she's a close friend that I have known since first grade.
https://oliviablacke.com
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carolearlycooney · 2 months ago
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A New Lease on Death by Olivia Blacke
Dear Fellow Reader, Hey look!  It isn’t a Christmas book. Yea!  But this book is a different genre than my usual. It is not historical fiction, or cozy mystery, or fiction or even biography. This is in the supernatural mystery category. Now, I know that some of you might be turned off by that label, but I ask you to have an open mind. The book opens with the death of Jake Macintyre. Jake lived…
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jolieeason · 4 months ago
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Bookish Travels---August 2024 Destinations
I saw this meme on It’s All About Books and thought, I like this!! So, I decided to do it once a month also. Many thanks to Yvonne for originally posting this!! This post is what it says: Places I travel to in books each month. Books take you to places you would never get to. Bon Voyage!! Please let me know if you have read these books or traveled to these areas. Countries I visited the most:…
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allastoredeer · 4 months ago
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"Alastor doesn't bottom because of his ego" = broke, kinda suspicious to think bottoming is lesser or more humiliating than topping
"Alastor bottoms because he has more control over his partner's pleasure + he doesn't need to be hard to bottom" = woke, more up his alley, doesn't assume topping is automatically an ego thing, while bottoming is vulnerable and the "weaker" preference
THANK YOU!!!!!
I hate the assumption that bottoming is lesser, humiliating, or the weaker preference. I know people like to bring up the era Alastor grew up in, but that guy has been in Hell for a LONG time now, okay? Even if he never had sex with anyone, or wasn't interested in sex, doesn't mean he hasn't seen it all. (AND SEX AND LGBT+ INDIVIDUALS STILL EXISTED IN THAT ERA, AND IN FACT, A LOT OF LGBT POC IN NEW ORLEANS LIVED IN THE FRENCH QUARTER IN ALASTOR'S TIME, WHICH IS WHERE ALASTOR WOULD'VE MOST LIKELY HAVE LIVED, SO TAKE FROM THAT WHAT YOU WILL).
Love this, Anon 👌 It's perfect. No notes.
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mail-me-a-snail · 1 year ago
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i think perhaps someone should give vance a night city poptart and tuck him into bed for once. good lord he is not having a good time
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asgardian--angels · 1 year ago
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folks on twitter are convinced izzy is going to die in the finale
dunno where I stand on that, as it wouldn't make narrative sense as far as I can tell, but people have pointed out a couple of shots in the trailer/bts footage where it looks like izzy's, at the very least, incapacitated, and then a later scene with a grave on the beach. the episode description says 'a devastating loss' which, yknow, isnt reassuring
that being said - I'm more confident that the Revenge is going to be destroyed somehow. the tagline for this season is 'prepare to have your ship wrecked' which is most likely a double entendre, referring not just to ed and stede but the literal ship too. this could also be the 'devastating loss' and what jenkins is referring to partly as 'the end of piracy' - and the circumstances around ed and stede leaving off the season living in that beach shack. the revenge is sacrificed/caught in the crossfire during the battle with the English, and works to symbolize Ed and Stede leaving that life behind.
could be both. who's to say. I'd hate to lose Izzy after he's worked so hard to break free from the confinement of pirate culture, and after the incredible performance Con has given us. the season opened with izzy dying in a dream; on the one hand, it would be cyclical to have him die in the end, but on the other hand, it would be more fitting for him not to, as stede was wrong in his dream to have izzy being the thing in the way of his and Ed's happiness, when the whole season showed us otherwise. on the other other hand, izzy's comment about finally understanding that ed and stede are good for each other might be foreshadowing to him sacrificing himself so they can escape the english, as a callback to when he sold them out in season 1. suppose we'll find out in a few days...
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giantkillerjack · 2 months ago
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Catholicism.
[.... oops I accidentally wrote real analysis in the tags lol]
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why is he like this
#les mis#original#the man is just too catholic sorry#poor guy#it's a REALLLLY sad ending if you're an atheist#at least if you believe in God then like. obviously he's going to heaven but if you don't it's like.#OH FOR FUCKS SAKE JEAN [uncontrollable weeping]#he got a new lease on life but that lease said 'you need to at the very least symbolically crucify yourself'.#and he combined that with the self-hatred and isolation that comes with being an ex-con in a society that hates convicts#and so by the time everything is settled and he has nothing else to sacrifice but himself he simply#kills himself in cosette's name and to cosette's utter horror and grief. because if no one NEEDS him then all he knows is self-sacrifice so#it becomes a rather chilling tragedy of what happens when a man is determined to engage in self-sacrifice even when it's not needed#this probably was not Hugo's intention. but to me it's about when self-sacrifice becomes self-harm and that is#the ultimate tragedy of Jean Valjean that I missed when I read it at 15. back when i too believed what my catholic upbringing had taught me.#like I became an atheist at age 11 but the idea that the only way to be a truly good person is to place literally everyone in the world#before myself even if they don't want me to .... I'm still trying to outgrow that at age 30.#and I did not become aware of it being an issue until like my mid-20s.#it wasn't until the past couple years I could actually articulate why the end of les mis was so upsetting to me.#probably bc to me at age 15 it was confirmation that the best thing i could do for the world was to die for it.#when really now what i see is cosette's grief and the utter lack of necessity in Jean's sacrifice and i think how much more beautiful it is#to instead LIVE for one another. because unnecessary self-sacrificial death is just suicide. jean commits suicide bc his belief system#and his trauma and his oppression make it impossible for him to see saving his own life as a moral good.#oh no I've written an actual answer dammit this was meant to be a silly haha post but yeah Catholicism saved him until it damned him#womp womp [uncontrollable sobbing]
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themidnightcrimson · 2 months ago
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malevolent ࿏ wm
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summary: in which moving into a new house brings you horrors you never imagined.
words: 7.6k
warnings: forced breeding, strap-on, dubcon/noncon, demonic, horror, gore, top!wanda, evilmommydemoncockwanda4life
this is dark!fic for 18+ only. minors dni. read with discretion.
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The day was cold and bleak. The air had a frostiness to it that manifested in a sheen of white over the long-dead grass that had yellowed at the passing of autumn. The leaves scattered around were no longer vibrant reds and oranges but rather dulled browns. The trees were barren—dark, crooked cracks in the grey skyline. You noticed a pack of buzzards eating at roadkill.
Death.
Christmas was just around the corner but, unlike everywhere else in the country, this town seemed to not be celebrating much. You’d noticed that the very first time you drove through—this sort of head-down feeling about the place that differed so much from what it looked like. The town itself was charming and cutesy with so many little shops and beautiful gathering spaces. It was colorful, too. But something about it seemed greyed, like a ghost town almost except the people were still there. They didn’t talk much, especially not to outsiders apparently. They only whispered to each other with concerned faces and low voices, like they were afraid something lingering around in the air would hear them. They held their children very close to them.
So it wasn’t exactly the neighborliness of Westview that attracted you to move there. The town felt like something very dark had happened in a place that otherwise was a great place to live.
To be quite honest, the housing market in that town had taken a sudden dip down in the past couple months. You didn’t understand the housing market and thought maybe people just didn’t like to buy houses in the winter, but there were a few neighborhood roads that had recent For Sale signs up in every yard. It’s like people were evacuating the town. Running from something.
There was a specific house, actually, that had taken a steep dip down in price. It was put up for sale a couple months ago for a shockingly low price. You were stunned when you found out there were no bids, no one who had showed interest since it’d been put up. It was a beautiful house, a perfect family home. Not that you had any family to put in it. It was just you, but you liked space.
And for a price that cheap? In a quiet town away from the city? You couldn’t pass up on it. You were anxious, anyways, to have somewhere to yourself. Crashing on your friend’s couch wasn’t exactly the most glamorous post-breakup living arrangements, but the apartment lease was in your ex’s name.
Now you stood, on this dreadful day, in front of that house. You couldn’t help but feel like the windows were eyes staring at you, measuring you the way you were measuring it. Evaluating, judging. Maybe your confidence was just shot from all you’d been through the past few months. You had a house now. It was time to make it into a home.
It didn’t so much seem like the dark energy of town had made its way into your house, but rather that the house was some sort of energy field pushing it out into the town. This was a strong assumption to make, but as soon as you walked into the front door, you could feel it. The air was thick with something more than just the dust of time. It was still. So still. You could feel the still air on your face like a thick cloud of smoke that wasn’t there. It was energy brimming all around you. It made your stomach turn.
You couldn’t lie and say that you didn’t feel this eerie energy when you viewed the house. You felt it from the very beginning, but you just needed somewhere, and this house was the only one in your budget.
Cursed, is what the local kids called it. It was cursed because of the family who lived there. When you questioned your real estate agent about it, she sort of brushed it off and said that they just disappeared, that whatever happened to them, happened outside of this home.
You were reluctant to believe that story, but you were a skeptic anyways. If a young family had been axe murdered here or something, it was still just wood and brick to you.
The first few days in the house were busy. The moving company was taking all your stuff from your ex’s apartment and moving it into your house, which meant you had to deal with her calling you and screaming that she definitely bought that chair even though you distinctly remembered ordering it for the living room. You hated having to speak with her, with all her narcissistic tendencies. As much as you mourned the relationship, you mourned how stupid you were for ever putting up with so much for so long.
The house apparently was built in the 50’s and hadn’t been touched since besides the usual renovations every decade or so, which you enjoyed. Older houses had so much more character, like the adorable little partition window between the living room and the kitchen. You opened and closed the little shutters, imagining what 50’s housewife used this for so many years.
So you didn’t have much time to dwell on that eerie energy in the house while the movers brought everything in, until they left. And it was just you and those walls.
Luckily you could focus on unpacking all the boxes stacked around. You did so dutifully, and since you really had nothing else to do, you finished pretty quickly. By the next day you were untaping the last box which was full of random childhood artifacts. Trying to think of where you could put these things that you wanted to keep but didn’t really want just lying around, you suddenly realized that this house had an attic. The agent had vaguely pointed to it previously but you had never went up there.
Going upstairs, you opened the attic ladder and carefully climbed up the rickety thing, instantly inhaling thick layers of dust as your head entered the dark attic. To your surprise, you saw a few boxes lying around.
“Huh,” you murmured with interest as you swatted away cobwebs, the floor dangerously creaking beneath you as you approached the boxes. Whoever took the previously family’s stuff out of the house must have forgotten about the attic, which you found strange. Were they in that much of a hurry to get in and out?
Crouching down, you wiped the thick layer of dust off the box. How much dust could have accumulated in a matter of months?
None of the boxes were taped, only folded shut. Was it wrong of you to look through their stuff, especially since they were basically considered dead? To be fair, the house was yours now, and you needed to put some stuff up here. So you opened the box and looked inside.
This one was full of different colors of fabric. A red fabric crown of some sort, green tights, a blue headband, a can of silver spray paint for hair. Halloween costumes? All of superhero-esque kind?
Opening another box, this time you find some sort of fake lobster. A doorknocker? There’s some baby stuff in there too—a book about the psychological effects of pregnancy, a crib mobile made of butterflies. You go through all this stuff, the usual family keepsakes that the mother was too sentimental to throw away, until you suddenly come across something starkly different.
A book, but a different kind of book. It’s at the bottom of the box, and it’s heavy. The front is dark and somewhat torn with strange inscriptions on it. Heaving it out of the box, it falls into your lap with a cloud of black dust. What the hell did a family have to do with this? It looked more like a Halloween decoration than anything.
Mindlessly flipping it open, you saw that the pages were full of language you did not understand. Markings, almost, like hieroglyphics. Symbols. You come across a page that has the only recognizable thing you see—the figure of a woman, hair flowing, seeming to levitate on the page. This page is much darker than the rest, and the corners more torn. Like whoever read this book always seemed to seek out this specific page.
A sudden popping noise that sounded like weight on a floorboard startled you, made the book fall (it felt more like it leaped) out of your hands. You turned around to see nothing but the dark empty attic.
It was much too creepy up there.
Leaving your box of childhood memories up there and deciding to swap it out for this strange dark book, you carefully climbed back down the ladder and closed it.
The air felt thicker than ever now. Vibrating. Like it had just woken up.
You were mostly settled. Things still felt weird in the house, even after you put up every decoration you owned, but you figured it would go away with time. You’d been living off takeout the whole two weeks, hence the pile of Chinese takeout boxes in the corner of the kitchen. Deciding to go shopping to have some real food in the house, you pulled on your jacket and stepped out into the bitingly cold air. There was even a harsh wind, too, that made your nose hurt. Hugging yourself, you walked down your driveway and noticed a woman standing in the yard of the house next to yours. It was one of the few houses still lived in on the street, and you hadn’t even seen your new neighbor until now.
It was a middle-aged woman checking her mailbox. You struggled internally to decide if you should say hi or not, knowing that being all alone in a strange town was probably not the best idea, but something told you to just keep walking. You almost made it to your car until suddenly you could see her head snap towards you out of the corner of your eye. Instinctively, you froze, looking across the yard at her and seeing that she squinted her eyes suspiciously at you.
“H-hello,” you weakly greeted, shivering from the cold.
“Who are you?” the woman called out loudly, turning her body fully towards you now as if she was braced to defend herself. Great, a crazy neighbor.
“I’m y/n. I just moved in.” You tried to give a smile as you pointed to the house.
Looking between you and the house, the woman hesitated before walking towards you. Wishing you’d just ran to your car and left, you tried to be polite as she approached you.
“It’s nice to meet you,” she said gruffly, sticking out her hand which shook yours rather aggressively. You noticed now something neon green on her hip—a watergun? “Detective Agnes. I work for the FBI. I’m working on a murder case here.” She pulled out a black wallet and flipped it open towards you. You knew that there was supposed to be a gold FBI badge there, but it was only a CostCo membership card for someone named Ralph.
“Oh,” you mumbled as she sighed officially and put her “badge” back in her pocket. She was also wearing a purple shirt with a picture of Dolly Parton and the word “Jolene” on it. Who the hell was this woman?
“Better be careful, newbie,” she said, pointing to your house. “The kids love to egg this house. Don’t worry though, I’ve got top of the line security system.” She nodded proudly and pointed to the roof of her house, which you noticed had one solitary print-only Polaroid camera haphazardly duct taped to it.
“Oh,” was all you could say again, feeling the intense urge to run away.
“Unfortunately the department frowns on tasering the little shits even though it’s what those punks need to set them straight,” she said, stretching and tapping on the other side of her hip, which had a toy car on it that she apparently thought was a taser.
Nodding slowly, you started backing away to your car. “Okay, well, it’s nice to meet you.”
“You, too, young lady. Be safe out here. It’s a crime-ridden place.” She dramatically looked around the nice, quiet neighborhood as if she was looking at Gotham City and went back to her mailbox. You got in your car and sped away.
Westview only had a tiny market in town. It was liminal with its old linoleum floors and flickering green LED lights that buzzed overhead. It smelled slightly of rotting meat. You wondered if you could steal Detective Agnes’ fake CostCo card.
It was deserted in there, too, besides the drunk clerk with a scruffy beard who stared blankly at you. This was the point where you started to realize the citizens here did not take well to new people.
In fact, you had noticed the only other shopper in there seemed to be following you around. You didn’t feel in danger, given that it was just an older lady in a sweater buying fig newtons, until suddenly she came out from the other aisle and slammed her cart into yours.
“Hey!” you yelled out, looking at the older lady with short blonde hair.
“Get out while you still can!” she whisper-yelled, her eyes pleading. “You’re going to die!”
“Excuse me?”
“Run! Get out of that house, get out of this town! Wanda! She’s going to kill you! She’s going to kill us all!”
She was screaming now, eyes tearing up, knuckles turning white as she gripped her cart. You stared at her, wondering if you should call the police, until suddenly her face changed into a pleasant one.
“Ope! Sorry, dear! These carts have a mind of their own!” She let out a cheery little cackle before wheeling her cart away, going down the aisle to look at the Pop Tarts.
You stood there dumbfounded for a moment before deciding to just leave and go to Eastview for your shopping needs.
Your ex thought you weren’t worth much, but you knew she had to miss your cooking. Cooking was an art to you, a hobby you enjoyed sharpening your skills in. Tonight, since you’d been living off of leftover orange chicken for days, you were making a nice ribeye with lemon green beans and garlic mashed potatoes. A comfort meal. Maybe it would cheer up the angst-imbued house.
The interaction with your neighbors, specifically with the lady at the market, was unsettling. Why was she telling you to get out of that house? Who the hell was Wanda and why was she going to kill everybody? Was everyone in that town cracked out or out of their mind?
It was a little cozier, admittedly, as you were cooking that night. The kitchen had plenty of space for all your cooking tools and equipment, which you had a lot of. They were precious to you, so you had spent almost an entire day arranging them in all the drawers and cabinets.
You limited the lighting in the kitchen to the oven range and the little lamp in the living room. Setting your phone up, you let classical music fill the air as you prepped your steak while your potatoes finished boiling.
You felt calm and at home for the first time in a long time.
Until you started hearing a strange clicking noise.
Your first instinct was to check the oven since this was your first time using it. The clicking was not coming from there. You listened all around in the kitchen until you realized it was coming from the living room. Looking through the partition, you saw that the floor lamp on the other side of the living room was flickering.
Your pot of potatoes steaming and boiling, your steak left on the counter, you emanated through the flip door into the living room. You had just put a bulb in that lamp—no way it was dying already.
The closer you got to the lamp, the more it flickered. Faster and faster, causing your stomach to fold into anxious knots, until finally you lunged and turned it off all together. The room dark now, you caught your breath that you didn’t even notice was quickened.
You reached and turned it back on to find that it was no longer flickering. It must have been a weird glitch with the bulb. You were about to turn away when it suddenly clicked off by itself.
“What the fuck?” you say, reaching to turn it back on when it clicked right back on by itself. Taking a step away as fear imbued you, your eyes widened when the bulb in the lamp started getting brighter.
“What the fuck?” you say again, reaching to turn it off only to find that the bulb was so hot it burned your fingers. “Ow!” Stepping away, you watched in horror as the bulb kept getting brighter and brighter, filling up the entire room with light so that every corner and shadow was lit. You could see everything. And then it got so bright that you couldn’t see well. Your eyes burned, your skin burned with the heat of the bulb. The lamp was shaking where it stood, the fabric of the lampshade starting to burn up to expose the hot bulb even more. Even the metal pole was starting to melt where the bulb sat on it. You could hear the classical music playing from your phone in the kitchen, except that it was frenzied, angered, violent now.
It got brighter and brighter until your face was red hot and your hair felt like it was about to catch fire and all you could see was bright hot white, and you screamed a silent scream “STOP!”
With a loud electrical popping noise, the bright white faded away. You were blinded now, everything pitch dark, the heat replaced with a sudden coolness as the bulb popped and sparked on the lamp where the shade had half melted off. When you could finally see again, you unplugged the lamp and stepped away from it.
“What the fuck?” you said for the third time this night, heart beating fast as you rubbed your hot, aching eyes as your vision came back to you.
Before you could even process what had happened with the lamp, you looked over at the partition window and froze. Your heart stopped in your chest. Every hair on your arm stood up. Your eyes instantly watered with fear.
As you stood across the living room, staring through the partition window into the kitchen, you saw that every single cabinet and drawer in the kitchen was fully opened. All of your cooking tools, all the utensils and knives and equipment, hung suspended in the air right above or in front of the drawer or cabinet you had them in. It was like they were all on strings. And where your dining table was, all 3 chairs were hung upside down in the air above the table.
The air felt alive now. So alive you could feel its heartbeat, feel its breath down your neck, feel it on your skin. It was watching you, taunting you, burning eyes into you. There was something else there with you as you stared at all your kitchen stuff hanging in the air by themselves like they were on pulleys. But they were all so still. Nothing swayed or trembled.
A sigh breezed against the back of your neck. And then everything fell.
All of it dropped, every tool and utensil, every chair. It dropped like dead weight from where it hung, like gravity had suddenly been turned back on. It was deafeningly loud, all the metal tools clanging against the hard tile floor and countertops. Even your boiling pot of potatoes went down with a loud splash of steaming water. It was a deafening clatter, pure chaos as all of your stuff went right down to the floor. Even the chairs cracked onto the ground as they dropped heavily.
Things rolled and trembled until finally it all came to a stop. The air no longer felt as thick, but it was still there. It was silent now except for the eerie classical music still playing from your phone, calmly now.
You didn’t know what to do, or think, or feel. You felt fear. You felt confusion. Fingers trembling, you took frightened steps forward towards the kitchen, unsure of what lied in wait for you in there. Flipping open the door, you expected something to get you. You could feel it, you swore. Watching you. You swore you saw something dark swoop down under the surface of the island counter, but nothing was there. It was just you and all your broken tools and chairs. You avoided stepping on the mushed potatoes that still steamed as you walked through the warzone.
On the counter, your steak laid where you left it. Except that it was bleeding now, covered in thick, black blood that oozed out of it. It dripped down the counter, covered your floor. The center of the steak seemed to throb. Too much blood for just a ribeye, and when you touched it, it was warm.
Not that you had anyone to tell, but you didn’t speak of what happened. Dumbfounded, you numbly cleaned the mess up and went to bed. After the steak, you couldn’t eat beef for a week.
The house felt different now. Still eerie and angsty, but not as devoid as it did at first. Whatever devoid feeling had been filled the day you went into the attic was angered since the day in the kitchen. It felt like the house was resentful, like it was going to snap at any moment and swallow you. Even the doors kept slamming on your fingers when you tried to close them.
You thought about the lady in the market. Couldn’t stop thinking about her. Something very bad had happened in that house.
“Wanda?” Detective Agnes repeated when you asked her about it. You saw her in her backyard, duct taping another Polaroid camera to her patio. You spoke to her over the fence. It was gnawing at you to know what had happened. “Where did you hear that name?” she asked gruffly, perking up and approaching you at the fence, causing you to take a few steps back.
“Some lady at the store,” you blurted. “She was saying something about a Wanda, like it had to do with my house.”
Agnes squinted her eyes at you, and then she suddenly perked up as if she was listening to something. She grabbed a nearly all-brown banana from her hip and put it up to her mouth like a walkie talkie, speaking in a deep voice. “312 on the move. Dealing with concerned civilian. Be there at 1600 hours.” She tucked the banana back into her belt. “You wanna know about Wanda?”
You nodded, wondering if you should even trust what she has to say.
Agnes sucked at her lip and then blurted, “She’s dead. But you didn’t get that from me.”
“I kind of figured… Did she live here?”
Agnes tilted her head. “And what do you plan on doing with that information, huh? You trying to blackmail a federal officer?”
You raised your hands and backed away. “Look lady, I just live here and want to know why everyone is being so weird about the house I just bought.”
“Look,” Agnes interrupted you, “Wanda Maximoff was found dead in the woods. She’s gone, deadso, totally corpsed out, alright? I’ve got her on an operating table over at the morgue if you don’t believe me.”
You shook your head. “But she lived in my house?”
Then Agnes did something weird. She spoke, “I don’t know.” But she nodded her head.
You looked at her in confusion. “What?”
“I said, I don’t know!” she yelled, but she nodded her head again. The expression on her face was angry, but there was something wrong with her eyes. They were almost… pleading. But like she didn’t realize it.
That conversation didn’t make you feel any better about the situation. And when you got home to find that the old book you’d brought down from the attic was sitting on the coffee table open like something had been reading it, you weren’t exactly comforted.
It was turned to that same page, the one with the figure of a woman wearing a crown. Feeling aggravated with the lack of knowledge you were getting from both the internet and your neighbor, you slammed it shut and threw it under the couch, out of sight. If there was something in this house fucking with you, you would not just lay down and take it.
Things continued to feel off in the house. Your TV kept going off and on at random times. Doors slamming, footsteps in the hall at night, knocking on the walls. None of it felt as aggressive as that night in the kitchen, though. You’d come to terms that you had picked a slightly haunted house, though you still didn’t truly believe in all that stuff. But as a logical, sensible person, you knew that there was something strange causing all these strange occurrences that couldn’t be overlooked.
But when all the little events were mostly docile and didn’t get in the way of your usual living, you just carried on. You wouldn’t forgive what happened that night in the kitchen, but you could live with it and try to forget it. Even though you had to buy so much new kitchen stuff.
That was until you were cleaning one day and picked up that old dark book from under the couch so that you could vacuum. You set it on the coffee table and kept on cleaning, forgetting to put it back in its place of hiding.
That night, with a clean house, you decided to take a nice relaxing bath. You lit candles all around the bathroom and turned off the light as the tub filled with hot water. There’d been more flickering lights and knocking on the walls that evening, but you were starting to get used to it. It was an old house, after all. Maybe it was all just your imagination, and it was all very explainable in a scientific way.
But this event marked a point where you could no longer believe that.
As you laid in the tub, muscles relaxing under the hot water, you opened your eyes momentarily and saw something strange. In the water where you lay, you saw foggy threads of red floating through the water.
Were you bleeding?
Sitting up sharply, you check yourself all over. No marks, no wounds or cuts, no time of the month, but there’s trails of blood floating in the water.
Your heart starts to quicken as the air grows thick around you again, that same feeling as the one that night with the lamp. It swarms you.
“Stop,” you whisper, watching more and more blood appear from nowhere in the water, making the water turn crimson red.
Glancing at the reflective metal surface of the bathtub faucet, your heart stops when you see, in the warped reflection, some shadow of black sitting right behind you in the tub.
That’s when you scream and leap out of the water, nearly slipping on the tile floor as you freak out. There obviously was no one or nothing sitting behind you in the tub, but you most certainly saw the dark reflection of one.
The lightbulb above you starts flickering, even though the light was not turned on.
The blood in the water had gone, but during your jump out of the water your foot had pulled the stopper up. The water was draining now, very loudly, making a deep guttural sound as the water drained quickly. When it was all gone, it was silent.
Something dark appeared at the wide-open hole of the drain. It looked liquid at first, like some black substance was oozing out of the drain onto the white porcelain of the tub, but when it started rising up out of the hole and moving in a very alive way, you realized it was fingers.
Blackened fingers rose out of the drain, wiggling, pulling up a hand along with it. The fingernails were sharpened, the slender hand feminine even with its charcoal fingers.
You screamed when a whole arm shot out of the drain and grabbed at the side of the tub.
All you could think to do was run out of the bathroom and slam the door shut, holding onto the knob and listening as you heard the sickly wet sounds of something being pulled out of the drain and slapping against the wet tub, and even the sound of it stepping over the tub onto the floor. Heavy breathing with effort. Distorted wet footsteps across tile floor.
You wanted to run and call the police, but then you felt the knob gently turn in your hand. This bathroom door did not have a lock.
With some sort of screech of breath, whatever thing that was behind the door pulled hard at the knob. Screaming, you pulled the door back shut before you could see whatever was on the other side, wanting to rather die than to actually see what it was. The thing wrestled with you over the door, pulling hard and fast. You held on with all your strength, hands still wet from the bath, putting your foot against the threshold for more leverage. The air was screaming now, loud in your ears, a heartbeat that was not your own beating from inside your own brain. The lights were all flickering, and the house felt like it was closing in on you.
The thing pulled and pulled, screaming and screaming until it got the best of you. The knob slipped out of your hands, and the door swung wide open.
Instinctively, you slapped your hands over your eyes. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t want to see. You’d rather die than see.
Breathing heavily, you waited for something to get you, because you were certain that whatever was in your house was trying to do that all along.
But nothing came.
Inhaling oxygen and exhaling bravery, you tried to ignore all the visions your brain guessed that you would see, and parted your fingers. Through the slit in your fingers you saw… nothing. The bathroom was empty. The tub was drained but clean. The flame of the candles all around were perfectly still.
But then you heard a creaking noise from behind you. Slowly, breath held, trembling, you turned around and raised your eyes.
A black figure clung to the ceiling. It was the shape of a person with soft edges. It was a shadow, in human form.
It jumped down at you.
With a scream, you buckled to the floor and covered your head, trying to shield yourself. Nothing touched you. You bravely opened your eyes again and looked all around only to not see the black figure anywhere. There was nothing but you, naked and wet on the floor.
The air felt empty again. The thing had come and gone. You were safe.
For now.
It was hard to feel settled after that. Things got more aggressive. It was like whatever demon was with you had finally laid eyes on you and was set to get you now. You couldn’t find that book anywhere. It wasn’t on the coffee table nor under the couch. You looked everywhere to no avail.
Detective Agnes knocked on your door one night to tell you that someone had been lurking at a window at the side of your house. She was holding a full-size Nerf Super Soaker and said that she had tried to snipe the suspect wearing all-black but they had somehow jumped into your closed window (hence the sound of spraying water you had heard on your window). She demanded to look through the house, which she did and found nothing. You’re pretty sure she swiped a pair of your underwear, though. She taped a Polaroid camera to your roof for good measure and said she took photos of “damning” evidence which included unconcerning pictures of your flowerbed. You knew it wasn’t a person, but rather a thing lurking from within the window.
Nights were the worst. You had never been someone to be so scared, but you could barely sleep from how hard your heart thumped with fear as you lay in bed at night.
A few nights after the bathroom event, you managed to halfway fall asleep somewhere around 3 AM when you suddenly heard loud banging coming from within the walls. Waking up with a shot of anxiety in your chest, you heard the banging again, loud and clear, like someone trying to break down a wall from the inside.
Feeling frozen, you forced yourself to sit up when you fully froze at the sight of something horrific. In the corner of your bedroom, right beside the window, was that dark figure hiding in the shadows. It seemed more formed this time. You could see the outline of hips, hands, legs. The worst part was that you could see two red eyes gleaming at you in the dark.
“Go away!” you instinctively yelled, but it came out barely audible due to the lump in your throat.
The figure slowly came forward, and the moonlight from the window casted over it.
It was some creature of a woman. She was decrepid, slightly hunched over. Her eyes were red and glowing, her mouth set wide open as if her jaw has been broken off. But where her face would have been… Where her face would have been, her skin had been stretched upward into two points, like her skin had been stretched over horns, or over a crown. She was unnaturally tall and skinny, her skin pale and yellowed.
Dark red hair laid at her shoulders, and she was wearing some torn and ratted red suit. Her hands were deformed, long and sharp and bony, blackened at the ends. The horrible smell of death and blood suddenly filled your nostrils, making you gag and cover your nose. The creature smelled of death and appeared deformed, demonic, monstrous, evil.
“Who are you?” you questioned, trying to think of what to say or do. This thing must have been some sort of manifestation of the thing that had been torturing you, and so you say the only name you know. “Wanda?”
The creature erupted into a monstrous screech so loud you nearly went deaf, and in a flash, she lunged fast at you. You swore you could feel her push you down onto the bed when you suddenly sit back up, coming out of a horrible nightmare.
You were sweating through the sheets, panting, looking all around your empty bedroom. Had it been just a dream?
Feeling a sting at your shoulder, you look at it to see a bloody claw mark there, so deep it was already dripping blood.
Once the demon had first seen you in the bathroom, she got more aggressive. Now she had tasted your blood… What was going to happen now?
As you expected, everything got worse. The knocking and footsteps got more violent than ever, doors slamming on you, knives throwing themselves across the kitchen towards you. This thing was trying to get you.
You leased an apartment in Eastview as quickly as you could.
You couldn’t move in for a week, so you were stuck there with that thing trying to murder you. Your friend you had been crashing with was on holiday, but you could not stand to sleep alone in that house. So you asked the only person you could think of…
“No worries, tuts,” Agnes said as she strode into your bedroom with an armful of blankets and pillows. “It’s my job to keep my fellow citizens safe.” She threw her blankets and pillows down on the ground right at the foot of your bed.
Awkwardly, you watched her make a pallet. “You know, I have a couch downstairs… That might be best so you can, you know, watch the front door.” You had told her you were having fears of break-ins and just needed someone to stay with you for a night or two.
“No, no, I can do my job best from right here,” she said as she plopped down onto the pallet. “Besides, these nights can get a little…” She undid her police jacket, which was actually just a varsity jersey jacket with the name Bohner on the back, as she looked up at you with a smirk. “Lonely…”
You just stared down at her, with her banana and water gun. “Okay, Agnes.”
Honestly, the night went better with Agnes there. There wasn’t any knocking or footsteps, no creatures in your corner. It was just Agnes’ obnoxiously loud snoring like a lawnmower right in your bedroom that kept you awake, but eventually you drifted off.
You had dreams of red. Of red and blood behind your eyes. Voices, names, memories, all in red. You don’t know what it was that jolted you awake, but something did, and when you flapped open your eyes, you saw her.
She was on your ceiling.
Red scarlet hair hanging down. Her face was not malformed this time, but rather, it was somewhat beautiful. Even with the glowing red eyes and darkness.
“Wanda,” you whispered, somehow knowing for sure that this was her. Wanda, the woman who had died, who had a family in the house you bought, who had been torturing you for weeks. Her fingers, black, clung to the ceiling as if that’s what kept her there, but you could tell it was magic. It was the same magic that froze your body and made you unable to move as she slowly drifted down the ceiling, closer to you, until she hovered right above you.
She didn’t seem real. This beautiful ghost, demon, whatever she was, her nose so close to yours, breathing over you with red eyes full of desire.
“You opened the Darkhold,” she spoke in deep unnatural voice without moving her lips. “You beckoned me.”
You tried to shake your head, but you couldn’t move a muscle in your body except your mouth. “No, I didn’t…” You thought of the old dark book. You had opened it.
“I can live on…” she spoke, reaching out her hand to touch you. It landed on your stomach, causing you to jump. You could feel her hand. You felt silly for expecting it to just go right through you. Her skin was touching your stomach over your shirt. It made you feel fear and excitement at the same time. “I have a womb now.”
Your eyebrows sewed together. “A womb?”
Chills filled you as Wanda’s lips stretched open in a wide grin that was too perfect to be real. Her face looked fake suddenly, like it was just a pretty human mask put over the real face of something horrible. “A womb for my children,” she said without moving her lips.
Suddenly, your legs were spread wide open in the air. You let out a scream of shock and fear, which made Agnes’ snoring finally stop. Agnes jumped up, stumbling, holding her Super Soaker. Her eyes widened when she saw the demon hovering over you.
“Get down!” Agnes yelled to you as she held up the Nerf gun and sprayed a sharp stream of water at Wanda. To your surprise, once the water hit the demon, it steamed and burned. Wanda hissed and turned to Agnes, levitating upright in the air as Agnes continued to spraying her.
Getting out her banana, Agnes yelled, “664 we need backup over here! I repeat! 664 we’ve got a code red!”
Wanda lifted her hand. Agnes rose up into the air, and with a flick of Wanda’s wrist, she was flung right out of the second-floor window.
Wanda turned back to you, and fear jumped at your spine again. Now it was just you and her.
Flying back towards you, she used her magic to peel the sheets off of you, settling herself down on the bed over you.
“What are you doing?!” you cried out as she somehow tore your clothes off your body, exposing your skin to her.
Her hand immediately went between your legs, groping at your core. “I have been waiting so long for you, detka,” she spoke, her voice sounding a little more natural. Her eyes, once robotic and blank, looked softer now. You couldn’t tell if it was real or not.
You tried to squirm but her magic kept you still. Her hand was expert—she rubbed circles at your clit as her other hand snaked up over your stomach, up to your breast which she groped. “The perfect vessel,” she whispered. “I can live on. I can have my children again,” she repeated as she slid her hand down to your tummy again, her hand glowing red. “Your womb is so fertile. I could feel it when you first arrived.”
Your head was spinning as this demon woman worked at your pussy, pinching your clit and slipping two fingers inside which made you yelp. She was gentle yet firm at the same time, somehow knowing exactly what would make you feel good. You were getting wet for her—you could hear it in the wet sloshing sound that your pussy made as she pumped her fingers in and out of you, curling them at their deepest length.
“Fuck,” you breathed, your head feeling suddenly very hot, as if a fever suddenly set upon you.
“You are so good,” she breathed, voice deeper this time as she adjusted where she sat between your legs, now kneeling over you. Suddenly, something large formed at her crotch. It was a strap—long and maroonish red with charcoal darkness at the tip.
“What are you—”
Wanda grinned and shushed you as she stroked her length, red magic glowing from within her strap. “Be a good, quiet vessel, detka.”
Something evil was showing through in her eyes.
“Wanda—”
She used her magic to shut your mouth so that you could only make muffled noises as the demon nestled between your hips, using her hands to spread your thighs further open. She wanted you as open for her as you could be.
Frightened but also some sickly form of turned on, you watched as the demon stroked her cock and brought it to your entrance which she had prepped and made soaking wet for herself. Her cock was larger than anything you’d ever taken. It was throbbing with magic.
The tip pushed through your entrance painfully, and you cried out through the magic covering your mouth as the demon suddenly pushed her entire cock inside you, ripping open your walls. Pain seared through your human body as the demon forced her way inside you, but when she passed a hand over your head, the pain suddenly went away. It turned more into a feeling of butterflies, of throbbing, of pleasure. You could feel blood leaking down your thighs, but she had taken away your pain.
“You are going to give me such beautiful children,” Wanda murmured, cupping your chin with her dark hand as she started to thrust her hips, pumping herself inside you. The pressure came against your cervix in a hot flash of pleasure each time. She was so long and so large, fucking herself so deep inside you that your stomach bulged. The demon pressed her hand on the bulge and cackled, feeling herself fuck you from inside.
You could feel everything, how deep she was, how the ridges of her strap glided against your walls, the way your stomach bulged with each thrust. Your pussy was being stretched open around her demon cock, taking every single inch no matter how girthy.
“The perfect bride,” Wanda said, her demon voice showing through as she started to fuck you harder. Her hand slapped around your throat, holding you down and halfway choking you as her thrusts became quicker and quicker, demonic grunts coming from her. You could feel yourself tightening inside, preparing for what was about to come.
The demon’s cock seemed to swell inside you, forcing you to stretch even more. Sickly squelching noises filled the air. Blood was all over the bed now. You felt nothing but electric, all-consuming pleasure.
“Stay still,” Wanda said as she choked you harder. “You’re going to take all of my seed. You’re going to give me such beautiful children, my beautiful bride.”
She went harder and harder, fucking deep into your womb until finally, the energy broke. She let out a guttural noise, and you could feel her cock go rigid inside you before a load of warmth filled you deep inside. As you shook from your own blinding orgasm, you couldn’t even see the fact that your tummy bulged as the demon kept filling you with her seed which glowed red from inside you.
Sighing, Wanda relaxed against you, keeping her cock inside you. It was still swollen, stuck inside your cunt. “I’m going to keep myself here until I know it takes.” She smiled for real this time as she stroked your glowing, swollen tummy. You were more than feverish now as you felt things start to change inside you at an inhuman speed. You could feel it taking, feel your tummy swelling more and more.
You didn’t know that once you birthed, she would slaughter you like breeding cattle.
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syxnewt · 2 years ago
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i don't wanna die i want to suddenly gain superpowers that make everything 100000x easier
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odinsblog · 6 months ago
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JERUSALEM (AP) — Israel has approved the largest seizure of land in the occupied West Bank in over three decades, a settlement tracking group said Wednesday, a move that is likely to worsen already soaring tensions linked to the war in Gaza.
Israel’s aggressive expansion in the West Bank reflects the settler community’s strong influence in the government of Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the most religious and nationalist in the country’s history. Finance Minister Bezalel Smotrich, a settler himself, has turbocharged the policy of expansion, seizing new authorities over settlement development and saying he aims to solidify Israel’s hold on the territory and prevent the creation of a Palestinian state.
Authorities recently approved the appropriation of 12.7 square kilometers (nearly 5 square miles) of land in the Jordan Valley, according to a copy of the order obtained by The Associated Press. Data from Peace Now, the tracking group, indicate it was the largest single appropriation approved since the 1993 Oslo accords at the start of the peace process.
Settlement monitors said the land grab connects Israeli settlements along a key corridor bordering Jordan, a move they said undermines the prospect of a contiguous Palestinian state.
U.N. spokesperson Stephane Dujarric called it “a step in the wrong direction,” adding that “the direction we want to be heading is to find a negotiated two-state solution.”
The newly seized land is in an area of the West Bank where, even before the outbreak of the Israel-Hamas war, settler violence was displacing communities of Palestinians. That violence has only surged since Hamas’ Oct. 7 attack ignited the war in Gaza. Settlers have carried out more than 1,000 attacks on Palestinians since October in the West Bank, causing deaths and damaging property, according to the U.N.
The land seizure, which was approved late last month but only publicized on Wednesday, comes after the seizure of 8 square kilometers (roughly 3 square miles) of land in the West Bank in March and 2.6 square kilometers (1 square mile) in February.
That makes 2024 by far the peak year for Israeli land seizure in the West Bank, Peace Now said.
By declaring them state lands, the government opens them up to being leased to Israelis and prohibits private Palestinian ownership.
(continue reading)
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to-thelakes · 4 months ago
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heard ( carmy berzatto x reader )
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content warnings; depiction of panic attack and anxiety, mentions of suicide/death (mikey), reader gets a cut (but super minor)
summary; you've had a really overwhelming day and carmy has to calm you down from a panic attack he mostly caused
dropping this here and running, i'm in love with carmy berzatto, i'm so sorry
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Working at the Beef was stressful. Usually, you didn’t mind. In fact, you loved it. The stress meant that you didn’t have time to overthink anything because you were being ordered to do a million things all at once. It was good. You loved it.
But not today. 
Carmy had given you a new recipe to learn and you were fucking up creating the pea puree. Somehow it always ended up too runny and no matter how you changed the temperature while you cooked or how long you left it to reduce, it turned out like shit. Runny, tasteless shit.
It was like the universe had decided to take a cosmic shit on your already fucked up day.
You had left the house at the ass crack of dawn and unintentionally woken up your roommate who had decided to call you and berate you for your entire journey on the L. It’s safe to say you were regretting your 12 month lease with the roommate from hell. But you tried your best to swallow down all the cruel words and carry on with your day.
Work had always been a good distraction but it was two hours till service started and you felt like you were already losing it. You were sure everyone could see how you were cracking under the pressure too.
As you tried to learn the new dish, Carmen would come over every five or so minutes to check on your progress, taste the dish and you could see him getting increasingly frustrated under the surface. 
He had been unusually calm since the start of the day but the cracks were beginning to show. Since everyone had come in, Marcus had been distracted by his desserts which meant he had ignored all his usual prepwork. Carmy had kindly tried to remind him that desserts was not his job yet. Then Sydney and Richie had been arguing all morning which Carmy, of course, found himself in the middle of that. 
On top of that, Richie had decided that today was the perfect day to bring up how Carmy shouldn’t have even owned this place. That it was Richie’s place and just because Mikey had left it to him didn’t mean shit.
That had riled Carmy up and the two had a screaming match in the front room before Carmy came stalking back through to the office. You knew that if you fucked up on more attempt at this sauce, he was gonna lose his shit at you. 
You had never been at the receiving end of his anger before so you knew that if he lost it, so would you.
So as you fired up the next attempt, you replayed every piece of advice that Carmy and Sydney had given you since the start of the day and tried your best. You really tried. Even if T had distracted you halfway through, you thought that the puree had come out perfect.
And you were relieved. Because in your attempt to create this dish, you had forgotten about the rest of your prep work. 
“Fuck,” You cursed under your breathe as you noticed Carmy heading your way. You knew that you were about to be shouted at, you could just tell, and you could feel the anxiety rising in your chest. You had just finished plating your latest attempt and the puree seemed to be at the right consistency. Hell, it even looked good. Your station was spotless and clean. There was nothing Carmen could be mad about.
Except for no prep work. 
You glared at the plastic tubs of veggies like they could have done anything to change your fate.
“How's it looking, Chef?” Carmy asked, a frustrated edge to his voice. You snapped your head towards him and forced a smile onto your face. The tension in the room seemed to increase ten fold at that action.
“Pretty sure I finally got it down, just need to finish prepping the veg and then I’m ready for service,” You responded, forcing a smile onto your face. Carmy nodded and you passed him a fork, slipping away to the box of veggies. This was probably going to take you until dinner service.
You really fucked up but you ignored the anxious feeling in your gut in favour of beginning your prepwork. With a knife in hand, you quickly began to chop. You were skilled with a knife. That had been the main thing you were good at, something that Carmen had praised you endlessly for in the few weeks he had been here.
So, you hoped that if you just got the prep done quickly and perfectly, it would alleviate some of the simmering anger.
But then you heard a fork clatter harshly against a plate and you whipped your head to look at him. There was no alleviating the anger now. He was a powder keg about to explode and you had just triggered it..
“It’s a simple fucking dish, Chef! How do you keep fucking this up?” He shouted as he stared at you. You were looking back down at your prepwork again, going back to chopping. He slammed his hand on the counter, “Hey!” The whole kitchen’s eyes were on you now, “Look at me when I’m talking to you,” He snapped. You stopped dead in your tracks, looked at him, wide-eyed. He had caught you off guard and that pissed him off even more, “It’s a fucking pea puree. I could make this when I was 12 and you still can’t get it fucking right! It’s so fucking simple. Do I need to fucking baby you through every step? Jesus fucking Christ! A toddler could do this better than you can and you’ve been at it for fucking four fucking hours. Stop wasting everyone’s time and if you can’t get it right then get the fuck out!” He snapped. You blinked at him, frozen to your spot, “Don’t just fucking stand there, get to work!” He slammed his hand on the side again.
You nodded, mumbled “Yes, Chef” and went back to prepping your veg as Carmy picked up your plate and threw the attempt at the dish in the bin. You swallowed the lump in your throat, trying not to feel the overwhelming anxiety that was making you dizzy. You couldn’t breathe.
Your whole body felt like it was on high alert, ready to give up at any given moment. You tried to suck in deep breaths but suddenly the kitchen felt too hot. You couldn’t do this. Sydney noticed.
“Go take a breather, I got this,” She came up beside you, hand on your shoulder. You shook your head, not wanting to disappoint Carmen even more. Prepwork was where you excelled, this is what you did best. You didn’t trust yourself to speak though, you could feel your chest restricting.
You continued chopping, it became more frenzy-like as Sydney glanced around. The whole kitchen had watched your interaction with Carmy, unsure how to react to it. Sydney didn’t know what to say.
But then you sliced your finger. You were moving too quickly, mind not being able to catch up with your hand quick enough to avoid the slice. You cried out as your knife clattered to the chopping board. You grabbed tissue and quickly wrapped it up as you stepped back.
“Go get a plaster, I’ll finish your prep,” Sydney reiterated as she gently pushed you away from your station. You shook your head, desperately trying to keep up. You couldn’t but then you felt the ground feel like it was tilting under your feet.
Maybe she was right. You needed to get out and so you went straight for the backdoor. You didn’t even bother to clean up your cut, just holding the tissue to it as you stumbled down the steps to the alley. 
Your back slammed against the wall as you sucked in breaths but it was like you couldn’t get enough oxygen. The tears started and you couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it. You slowly slid down the wall, still squeezing the tissue over your cut. 
You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t do it. You were doomed to be a failure and you couldn’t fucking breathe and it was too hot.
Your arms wrapped over the top of your head, eyes squeezed shut as you desperately tried to take in deep breaths but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. You were sure you were going to die like this. It would be the end of you.
In the fucking back alley of a shitty restauraunt with a shitty new owner and the last owner killed himself and you weren’t surprised. You couldn’t do this. You were choking on nothing.
Then a hand suddenly came to rest against your knee and your legs were being pushed down. You were trying to fight it, words of whoever it was coming through like they were trying to speak through water.
“You gotta breathe,” They said as they finally managed to break through your strength to straighten your legs out. You dropped your hands to your lap and when you looked up, Carmy was there. You felt the panic come back twice as hard and you turned your face away, bringing your knees back up. But he shoved them back down.
“Hey, hey,” His tone had softened. It didn’t seem as angry anymore and that terrified you. Angry men who pretended not to be were the worst kind of men. You still couldn’t breathe, the panic constricting your chest as you stared at your legs, “You gotta just breathe,” Carmy said as he reached out. He grabbed your hand, the bloody tissue still wrapped around your cut, “I know it’s hard,” He said as he glanced at your face. You were completely boneless, it was like your body had lost all its will to live.
Your world was tilting underneath you and you couldn’t think straight. Carmy’s touch was somewhat grounding though as he unwrapped the tissue and wiped the cut before putting a band-aid over it. It gave you something to focus on but you were terrified that he was going to scream at you.
“I’m sorry,” You managed through panicked breaths. He nodded, “I don’t know what’s wrong,” You choked out. The tears filling your eyes as you stared down at your bandaged hand. You still weren’t breathing right but the panic was slowly starting to fall away, “I keep trying but I can’t do anything right today,” You lifted your knees up again, wrapping your arms around your head again.
“You're constricting your throat,” He said as he nudged your knees again. He was sitting against the wall beside you, watching you. 
As frustrated as he was with you and as angry as he was that you couldn’t just make the fucking dish, he also didn’t like seeing you like this. He cared about everyone in his kitchen and the thought that he had given you a panic attack tore him up inside. He didn’t know how to express it. He had always been shit at apologies.
You straightened your knees out again, letting your arms rest against your thighs as you closed your eyes.
“I’m sorry, Chef,” You said after a beat, “I know I should have done my veg prep earlier and the recipe is easy. I’ve made pea puree before, ask Sydney, I just- I don’t know why I can’t get it right today,” You muttered. Carmy looked at you, the corners of his lips turned down a little and you looked so defeated, “I’ve been off my game and I have this roommate from Hell that makes me think I’m so goddamn selfish. I just,” You let out a ragged breathe, tears welling in your eyes, “I promise, I’ll be good for dinner service,” you muttered. Carmy looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed ever-so-slightly.
“You’re not selfish,” Carmy responded. 
“Heard,” You muttered. He nodded and then turned back to look up at the sky, as did you. It was so strange with Carmy. He never really said much. He’d been here for about a month now and he was desperately trying to claw the business out of the ground. He seemed to care so much but he had an odd way of showing it, I suppose.
“I’ll show you how to make it again,” He said after a minute or two of silence. You nodded.
“Thank you.” You let out a soft breath, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You hadn’t fucked up that much, at least.
“You two fuckers just gonna sit there or help us?” The voice of Richie broke through the relative calm that had settled between you. It was probably the quickest you had come down from a panic attack, ever.
“Like you fucking help us anyway,” You bit back as you slowly pushed yourself to your feet. Carmy was quick to follow.
“Doing a lot more than you lazy fucks right now, sat there staring at the sky like God’s gonna answer your fucking prayers,” Richie continued to bitch as you walked inside with him. Carmy followed quickly after.
“I don’t pray," You stated as you rounded the corner back to your station. Sydney was mostly done with your prep now and you were beyond thankful, “I got it from here,” You said, slipping in next to her. Sydney smiled, glad to see you feeling a bit better.
“Why’s he so calm?” Sydney asked as she watched Carmy walk past. He seemed in a better mood than he had been a moment ago.
“Fuck knows, thought he’d tell me to fuck off when he found me,” You admitted as you glanced back at him. His fucking arms drove you wild and the fact that he had his hands on you, forcing you to straighten your legs. Fuck. You didn’t want to think about it too much. And he had put that plaster on you, the warmth of his hands was something else. If you hadn’t been so fucked up with anxiety, you probably would have jumped his bones.
“You gonna fuck up another dish?” Sydney teased as she stepped away, passing you a glove for your plastered hand. 
“I’m getting a private lesson for it actually,” You retorted, a smile plastered on your face as you winked at Sydney.
“Less talking, more chopping,” Carmy said as he slipped past the two of you. You nodded.
“Yes, Chef,” You both parotted back to him. Sydney grinned and headed back to her station while you settled back into prep. You felt more like yourself now. Though, you did also really want a piece of Carmy.
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running-with-kn1ves · 4 months ago
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Need you to write more WLW 😫😫😫😫
It’s the only thing keeping me sane!!!!!
A/N: I wrote this based on a random ass scene I saw in The Boys and now...here lies this creation. (Female fitness trainer is nearing completion)
CW: blackmail, manipulation, toxic relationship type beat, controlling behavior, threats, cigarettes
Synopsis: you attempt to break up with your girlfriend-- she's too much. But she was going to keep you, one way or another.
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You knew the rough crowd around town was... intense. But this chick was on another level. Kali liked to scare you; with how little you knew about her friends, leering on their motorcycles as she watched from behind a cigarette, your mind swam with scenarios of being abandoned on bloody asphalt behind a dumpster.
The music she blares in her shitty, one-eyed car and the smoke trail she left in bathrooms-- she liked being revered as nothing but trouble. You were doing your best to stay away from any kind of danger, focused on fixing the pieces of your tarnished education as your grades had not been kind to you. But Kali got to you first, ripping away any thoughts of work and reparations to your tuition debt.
So, despite the foggy kisses, lipstick stains on your jaw, and unexpected clinginess she showed to the idea of moving you in with her, you're making an attempt to break up with her.
"You... want to ditch me?"
"What? No! I'm just, I'm extremely worried about this next semester." You put a hand on her square-cut, polished fingers. "If I fail even one class again, my scholarships will drop me. I'm already on probation with the university."
You hope she can see how worried you are in your eyes, squeezing her hand to ease the news. She was going rigid, stiff as a tree with the strength of a waiting titan.
"School, huh."
Kali watched you beneath wispy bangs, looking straight through you. As if you weren't there, heart-pounding and palm-sweating in front of her.
You were glad she balled her hands in fists before you grabbed them, having one too many instances of your fingers crushed in her grip.
"B-but... we can still see each other.. maybe, sometimes on the weekends. I just can't afford any distractions, I've already spent a fortune getting to where I am."
"Is this because I want you to move in with me?" She blurted, straight faced and tight lipped.
Dark, midnight eyes bore into you for the truth.
Her ears perked at the sound of your jaggy sigh, knowing this would come up. "... No, but I have to say that it is still pretty early in, well, "us", to be considering... that."
"Really?" She asked earnestly, cold fingers finding their way around your forearm. "Because I still feel pretty confident about the idea, baby."
You hated how she could call you "baby" so easily, how every "sweetheart" was patronizing or forceful, or could be the most saccharine thing you heard when you first woke up.
her boot tips pressed against the side of your shoes, trapping you in like a snake wrapped around a rat. One hand held yours in a death grip, the other raking shivery nails against your knee from under the coffee table.
"I've got a perfect place for your stuff, work's only ten minutes away; why would there be any little reason to stay at your dusty old apartment?"
"I, I don't think you're hearing me--"
"No, no baby, I think you forgot who's choice this was to make." Your skin was a deep color under her fingers, her strength far outmatched as your clammy, fragile hand was brought to her cheek. She tutted under her breath, tsk'ing in condescention. "What would you do without me? How are you going to survive alone, no car to get to your classes, or the grocery store, unprotected around your peers... I can't imagine it, especially since your landlord never got his money to re-lease your apartment next month..."
From under the table her swift fingers brought a bulging envelope to the table, previously stuffed in your landlord's mailbox.
It wasn't even opened, the cash and tenant forms sealed without a mark.
Your jaw went slack, coffee cup cold in your hands.
"How did you--"
"Try it again, and I'll find it. You'll keep losing money, keep draining chances to come to me lovingly."
Kali sweetly tiptoed her black nails up to your shirt collar, sending shivers down your neck with each gentle, uncharacteristically slow touch.
Without warning, the woman snatched your shirt in her fist and jerked you forward, pulling you tightly against the coffee table. The seething anger she bore hardly made a sound, leaving the fellow cafe attendants nearby unbothered.
Your wince left her apathetic, bear-like eyes relishing in how unnerved and frantic you were becoming.
"I so rarely give out second chances. You, my love, are very lucky to be the exception. Don't make me regret it," your girlfriend was only inches apart, painted lips plump and teasing only breaths away. "I don't like to play dirty, but I will if you run from me. Is that clear, baby?"
You swallowed thickly, letting your gaze run away from hers as she bore into you with intense malice.
"Say yes," She whispered, on edge of twisting your wrist. "So I don't have to show everyone in here who you belong to."
Your cheeks lit up, terrified of the baristas and groups of students who'd look your way if she carried out that threat. Kali was unpredictable, something you found so endearing when you first met. She was always moving, doing something you couldn't expect. Now, it was scaring you.
You nod your head, regretting the idea of trying to break up with her in public. She wasn't afraid to make a scene, unlike you.
"Of course, Kals. There won't... be any need for that."
You hoped the sweetly familiar nickname with a hint of an anxious smile would make you sound casual, as if you weren't sweating behind your jacket and avoiding her blinkless stare like the plague.
"That's right." She whispered, letting go of your collar to pull at your jaw, this time only with the intent of dragging you closer. She was always so rough with her grip, capable or causing pain with its force, or merely leaving you breathless.
The punk's hand from beneath the table took mercy on your thigh with its painful rakes, moving instead to your cheek. Cold rings nicked your skin, her knuckles brushing against your face in a gentle, longing caress. You were hunched over the table now, uncomfortably risen as she sat like a queen in her cushioned chair, your face in her hands and your breath stolen by her.
Her pierced tongue came to graze the inside of your mouth, all-consuming and grinning through her teeth.
She tasted of stale cigarettes and mint gum, her current oral fixation besides the longterm smoking vice she's had since middle school.
You reluctantly kissed back, feeling wrongness in your gut. This isn't how it was supposed to go, you weren't supposed to be sharing hot breaths or hearing her satisfactory groans for capturing you once again. You were supposed to be leaving teary eyed and frightened of what she'd do now that you were no longer on her good side. But this, was far worse. You were walking on ice that was already breaking, the freezing water below beginning to flood the only surface of land you had left.
Kali pulled away, not without a few last kisses to the corner of your mouth and cheek, leaving wet lipstick stains. Your lips were probably about as red as hers were now. Dark lashes heightened by her thick mascara clouded your view, your girlfriend looking up at you through them with a gentle hardness.
She wasn't so scary when you were falling to her whims, like putty in her fingers and teeth.
"Kal..." you mumble, upsettingly conflicted between your failure to carry out what you came for, and your fear of what her threats would do. Her history of breaking into your bedroom window and making herself at home wherever she tracked you left you without a doubt of her potential. It made you all the more anxious of what she would be like if you didn't follow through with what she wanted.
"My friend is out of town for the weekend, said I could use his condo by the beach... a getaway, just for us baby." Her cold thumb smoothed over your bruised lips, an inkling of a smile coming to curl her mouth upward. "You'll be there, tonight. Dressed in that cute little number you wore on our first date. Is that right?"
It wasn't a question, it was a challenge. 'Are you going to let go of this once in a lifetime second chance I'm giving you? ' is what she was asking.
You didn't want to say yes. You didn't want to show up, to spend another agonizing second with her knowing that your failing at everything you hold dear. But her hold on your face brings you to fall back into your comfort zone.
"Yeah, Kals. I'll... I'll be there. But--"
She laid a firm hand on your shoulder,  leaning against your ear with wrathful delight.
"Promise you won't bail on me, sweetheart. I don't wanna come looking for you," She let go of your sweet lips to play with a strand of your hair, curling it around her finger. "I really don't enjoy forcing you to obey.."
That was such a lie. She loved it, relished in your mild disobedience at times. But this was a different level of rebellion, one she detested.
You swallowed your protest, frustration bubbling in your stomach in distress and fear.
"I promise, Kal."
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plasticfangtastic · 6 months ago
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Dairy Girl
A Homelander X F! Reader fanfic
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A/N: I am still working on my other projects but I just wanted to write something fun and light to get me back into writing. I hope y'all enjoy this short little piece, btw i aint got no kids so i have very little idea how milk banks work, this will be a 2 or 3 part story.
Synopsis: In order to provide a constant supply of fresh breastmilk for Vought’s number one hero, Vought has had to get quite nifty in order to prevent this secret desire out the press and the public– you have unfortunately discovered the truth.
Tags: Stockholm Syndrome, abusive dynamic, Homelander being Homelander, dub-con, dark, mild smut, breastfeeding kink, kidnapping, child-death mention tw, cheating tw, set in s4 but canon nothing, slow burn.
Word Count: 3K
Part 1– Heifer
Such a small box, smaller than a shoe box, just big enough to fit its contents with enough space for his ghost to move. You stared at the small box as its buried in the family plot… you never thought of visiting this place to ever bury the last shred of happiness you had left, his body was born weak, so small you wonder if you’d given birth to a child or a chick, 2 months ago you had come home to find your now ex in bed with his ex, he had turned this betrayal on its head and blamed you for it, something about your lack of desire lately, about how your pregnancy had given him amounts of pressures he'd never agreed with, talking endlessly about his needs and how much you’d ignored him.
Whoever this man was, you didn’t recognize him.
Time blurred into nothing but disconnected colors and shapes, all you know was that the stress and anguish lead to this.
A box under soil.
Days passed and in your empty apartment, surrounded by all the stuff you bought you stood in front of the sink, throwing a bottle of fresh milk down the drain feeling tremendous guilt, the doctor said you would dry out soon enough but your breast had swollen so much your bras no longer fit– even the spare ones you bought just in case they’ve grown a size too big from what you expected, you booked an appointment with your doctor hoping they could give you whatever cocktail of drugs to dry you out and save you from the pressure and pain in your chest, it had been nothing but a passing message from a worried neighbor who had stop by to give you some mail that had been sent to them by accident when she mentioned her daughter-in-law had donated her excess milk after her little one refused to latch, she gave you the name of the charity and after much thinking you gave in, you lost your baby but there was some woman out there who could end up experiencing your same grief if their baby starved to death, yours simply born too small and weak to hold your finger for very long.
It felt good, you met the women running the charity and even some of the faces of the women you helped, as you delivered your frozen packs to the women’s clinic where the charity operated, it helped you heal, it gave your pain purpose, but as the months faded behind you a part of you worried about how much you keep producing, less than before but still too much, yet you keep going knowing it would end soon enough. 
Perhaps somebody in the clinic or the charity had dropped your information to these people but you'd received some mail regarding some research trials Vought International was running and how they needed some donors to drop fresh samples, in their pamphlet they offered to pay a decent amount--your divorce had been costly plus having to move to a new place and breaking your previous lease had left your bank account quite dry, this was cheap money, you had given your milk for free, you looked at the few pouches you had collected for next week's drop you saw a wonderful opportunity to make some quick cash.
You went to the Vought Clinic and saw a few other women filling up forms, reading old magazines or dilly-dallying on their phones until some nurse called their numbers, you filled the medical form, waited less than half an hour before your number was called, brought into a small bleach scented room, the nurse read your form and told you she would take a blood sample, a doctor came in, reciting whatever script he’d been given about what this project was, giving you big words you had no interest in, this was about providing better milk formulas closer to natural milk than anything currently in the market apparently, thanking you for your donation, he looked at your form smiling as he saw your inked words.
“You're still producing 4 months after…” The doctor handed you a disinfecting wipe and a freshly steamed breast pump in a silver tray– we just need two samples, please press the alarm to let us know you’d finished, then follow Nurse Potts to the front counter to sort out your payment.”
It had been an awkward experience, but there you were 300 dollars richer, you probably should’ve read those papers a bit closer before signing but money was money and you were told to come back if you could.
You did it a couple times for 2 months, much like a man donating sperm for pocket money or plasma to pay the rent.
That was the first mistake, you headed home and woke up the morning after wishing you had stayed out for an extra hour or two, perhaps caved in to your friends pressures and tried going back to dating (after all your ex was whoring himself all across the lower east side without moral qualms) or hookups so you would had gone to a different address, maybe you should had taken a taxi instead of taking the train and walking home.
Regardless you woke in some strange empty room, the only thing beside your person was a pair of pale pink hospital gowns, grippy socks, clean underwear and a pair of thick large towels, you screamed and banged on the door for an ungodly amount of time but nobody ever came, you stayed alone in that room for what could have been 12 hours or more… maybe less… who knew it was all too much, suddenly a sharp sound cut into the silence a note had been slid under the door, you rushed to the note.
It was instructions, they wanted you wearing their clean clothes, you could not leave the room unless you did so, and as much as you hated the idea, you wanted to get out so badly, you knew if you wanted to escape your only chance came in knowing your surroundings, you begrudgingly and tearfully changed, waiting until anything changed– the doors hissed opened, a woman in a sharp cream coloured suit stood there with clipboard and an armed guard, at the sight of the heavy looking gun– you froze.
Then you took the first step towards hell.
You knew the following things: You lived in some basement area– there were no windows, only elevators. You weren’t alone, there were other women here and they made sure to keep your interactions at minimum no doubt to keep all of you submissive and not getting any ideas, sometimes familiar faces will fade and you could only speculate nightmares. Lastly… your purpose, the reason you were trapped here in the first place was… to lactate.
A plucky little thing that stayed optimistic despite your shared horror called herself a ‘Heifer’ she wasn’t wrong… you lived in a small cell where everything had sat on top of each other feed to keep fat and producing milk much like a cow, whoever developed this diet knew of all the ingredients known to help production, and you knew there were putting something else in the food for your breast begun to feel uncomfortable, for a little while you thought you could fight it by starving yourself, then two men with guns came into the room and told you to eat or else.
The time you spend outside this microflat hong-kong style cell was in the milking room and the shower room, you were ordered to stay clean and quiet, at least in the milking room you had some television and could spend time with the other women, but they keep you isolated, you could do very little, sometimes music would play and a book would be dropped with your food but your happiness wasn’t priority, you had to fill a quota.
After a couple weeks of this you simply accepted defeat, too many guns… not enough spaces to run, and nothing to come home to… a man that wanted to sue you for more feeling as if the judge had been unfair, a pestering family who acted as if they had been the only ones who experience loss, an empty cot you still hadn’t gotten rid off and piles and piles of bills, in this quiet cool room you had spend endless hours thinking, you didn’t love your job, you had been distant from most of your friends and you could only imagine that they assumed you had run away or killed yourself after what happened nobody could blame you.
Existing for the sake of existing until you could figure out what to do next.
“Good Evening… I’m glad you’re eating so well” The lady you met the first day said as the door hissed open, she watched you like a hawk as you process this sudden interruption, clutching at your paper thin blanket, you looked at the floral fabric in her arms and the clipboard under her arm– I need you to sign this before you’re allowed upstairs”
“Am I being let out?” You said anxiously, no way it could be that easy you thought.
The lady let her smile waiver, looking at the unseen guard then at her wrist watch as she handed you the clipboard.
“Your performance might determine how soon you'll be release…”
“You assume I won’t go to the police…”
“That wouldn’t be wise Miss L/N but we assure you that you’ll be sufficiently compensated for the inconvenience.”
You wanted to yell, but a voice in the back of your head thought of this but nothing but pageantry, you were dead either way, but perhaps this could be your opportunity to escape, whatever they wanted to do now meant being outside of these buried walls, you signed the sheet without thinking, briefly considered stabbing the bitch in the eye but is likely they would turn you into swiss cheese before you even took a step too close, she took the paperwork from your hands and in change handed you a long sleeved dressed straight out of the mormon section in target, she closed the door and you dressed up.
The halls looked so odd when you didn’t wear your prison clothes, the other few doors housed sleeping and bored girls, your plucky friend hidden behind one of them, the new girl hidden behind one of them and the girl you seen before in the milking room once hid behind one of them.
They took you to an elevator– it was old box, if you had to guess by the button’s design maybe built in the late or mid 70s, you never left their side until the elevator closed before them, the box moved slowly, a dingy silver box with low honey coloured lights, so dim… and you were alone, as the light chime as it went up you felt your entire being sink into your stomach, your heart beating so fast you were sure you were gonna have a heart attack before the doors opened once again, swallowing dry spit, your eyes opened so wide it hurt.
Quiet… it was so quiet when the doors opened, you expected something else, something menacing… something frightening– not an old house, an old house in the middle of some evergreen forest, everything screams old, untouched, museum like, like it's meant to present this idea that somebody lives here but not really, despite it being an elevator hidden behind a bookcase, you take a few cautious steps, your naked feet bury in the plush carpet, there’s bird singing outside and the sun is so bright and warm it hurts your eyes, the cool tones gone and this feels like a bad dream, pinching yourself but you’re awake, tragically awake, a weird wiry smile creeps on your lips, an almost laugh escapes your lips before you can feel tears burning your eyes.
“Hello…?” You ask and you don’t know why.
As you venture into the living room, hands firm against the tacky dark pink wallpaper, you found old floral couches that matched the drapes and despite how old school it was it had a charm to it.
Then you saw him.
Perusing the VHS collection filled the entire bookcase on the wall, just rows and rows of VHS boxes, some plastic and some cardboard, the TV boxy and just as antiquated but who cared— he was there.
You ran before you even realized you done it, crashing into him with desperation, tears staining your cheeks and you could barely breath as you tried so hard to speak.
“Homelander please help me!! I’ve been kidnapped!! Please!!” You cried, pulling on his suit– please!!”
Those endlessly blue eyes more poison dart hide than veronica flower bush the more they stared at you calmly, his lips into a thin smile and his hand thad taken your wrist inflicting just enough force to keep you firmly in his grip… to show you how he wasn’t an ordinary man, he looked at you as your tears changed meaning as if you were the most unfortunate creature he’d ever seen, his lips parted just enough to show those sharp canines that had looked so charming in sidewalk posters, now you could sense their presence squeezing at your jugular.
“You are so much prettier in person, Y/N.” His voice is disturbingly soft and calm, intimately quiet as he takes a whiff of your neck, moving you to make it easier, his free hand creeped towards your hip– I was so glad when I saw your picture and you weren’t hideous.”
Trembling against him, a nonexistent cold draft blew against you, your whole body shivering and covered in goosebumps.
His eyes fixated in your breast, mouth agape as his tongue dared to lick his lip, watching you like a starved man at a las vegas buffet, his hand slithering upwards, you know where this is leading, you can’t stop crying but you can’t scream either, you're just there as his hand avoids your breasts and creeps towards your back and presses your bodies together.
“I’m so glad you signed that sheet, I was getting sad endlessly waiting for one of you to agree to the deal” He says quietly, you stare at him and you realize you should’ve actually read that stupid sheet– why so scared? I ain’t gonna bite.” He bites the air as a joke and you could tell that that single bite could have torn your finger off cleanly.
His eyes shift to your clinging fingers that stayed so stiff against his padded suit, you stopped squeezing at him now they rested limp against him.
“Let’s watch a movie…” 
It’s an awkward dance concluding in sitting down on a couch, its surprisingly soft and you’re sinking on the cushion while your mind dissolved in the sky, the coffee table had a humbled spread of snacks, pizza and milkshakes, not once did you notice, you stared at him clutching at your dress as he picked something out of the shelve, watching as his hand worked the VHS player, the clicks and whirling all you could focus on. He sat beside you as the speakers began to play the included trailers, he took the drink urging you to do the same with a menacing look, filling you with incomplete thoughts as you obeyed.
Malt vanilla marinated in your tongue, you had a terrible thought.
‘Milk’ 
You were there to provide milk… to whom? Why just milk? You thought they would sell your body or your organs, experiment on you but… they wanted your milk, but who was buying it? Who was drinking it? Where did it go? You stared at the pretty blond whose arm kept your shoulders still, you saw the news– you’d known he had a child and who knows with whom but his kid was old enough to not need it… was it for him? You thought… thinking of it as ridiculous until you remember how 20 minutes ago  he was staring at your tits as if he was malnourished, you looked at his lips pursing as he took a long sip of his milkshake and wonder if that was milk… from a cow… not a heifer like you.
Homelander smiled at you.
“I don’t like ‘The mothman prophecy’ , never been a Richard Gere fan” he said casually.
“He was really good in ‘Pretty Woman’ . This one is okay…” You looked at the screen your voice so stiff– what’s going on…? Mr. Homelander… I…"
“Shhh… watch the movie” He leaned against you resting his head on your shoulder– you tasted the best… every batch perfection– such delicate custardy taste… So this is what we are gonna do… I’ll keep you in this floor so you’re not so bored ."
You swear he’s purring as he rubs himself against you marking you as much as he was making himself comfortable.
“There’s cameras everywhere… The glass is bulletproof, doors won’t open without a fob and code, and there’s no phones or internet, but if you do manage to get out of here just be aware I’ll know.” He said such terrible things as if it was nothing– if you tried to off yourself there will be 3 armed guards and nurses here in less than a minute but if you behave I promise you– you’ll be allowed out, but only if you gain my trust.” He looks up at you as you focus on those thin lips of his– there’s no kitchen but your meals will be delivered… if you want anything just tell the camera over there.”
He pointed at the corner tucked in between two VHS tapes was a small camera.
“I like you Y/N you're cute… you’ll behave for me, right?”
You nodded, too afraid to disagree.
“Now… let’s finish the movie… I actually like this part”
You stared at the pizza box, you could at least tell that the pizza was from an american restaurant, which made you feel safe ‘Select Pizza and Grill” said in the box and you knew you were somewhere in Pennsylvania, far from your apartment in Clinton Hill.
You looked at your boobs feeling his piercing gaze on them, you started drawing lines connecting weird things together, back when you were donating your milk, girls joked about people buying for medicinal and fetish purposes, this spelled itself out for you.
Maybe you could get out of here… but you had to do something weird… but as you heard the birds outside and the warm light peeked into the room, you realized maybe you could leave… no you’ll leave, you’ll go back home and you would find a way to ruin this man and those bastards beneath you, you’ll get them out too, so you took one courageous breath and forced a smile on your dried lips.
“You really liked it?”
“Huh?”
“My milk…” You mumbled– you know I never tasted it myself but am glad to get a review.”
“It’s really tasty” he bites his lip.
Your hand plays with one of the buttons on the dress.
“It hurts a bit… I usually get asked to pump around this time… dunno if you know this but it's a bit painful when they get this swollen.”
The look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know and as you leaned away from him pulling on buttons with slightly trembling fingers, you watched him follow your movements like a snake chasing prey.
“Would you help me out, mister superhero?” Is not flirty but is slightly playful and you’re surprised that you can lie that well, he’s so shameless as he shakes his head enthusiastically, mouth opening for you– please don’t bite.”
He gasps as you let him see all that he’d wanted from the get go, why he put you in that box, why you ended up in this place for.
His body was lighter than you thought as he sunk against you-- eyes closed, body limp against yours, he made the softest sounds it put you at ease somehow, for a moment you saw a very small being latched on your chest, you’d only experienced it once before, and it was seared into your mind as a painful yet tender memory, so you close your eyes dreaming of a fantasy far removed from this peculiar reality, half lid eyes found a man so blissed out your lips curved, this was unbelievable, the world most famous supe keeping you hostage just so you could indulged him.
But you knew now… that this was your way out.
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jolieeason · 4 months ago
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August 2024 Wrap-Up
Here is what I read, posted, won, received, and bought in August. Let me know if you have read any of these books and what you thought of them. Books I Read: Did Not Finish Books Reviewed: Ami (Guardians of the Dawn: Book 2) by S. Jae Jones—review here Agony Hill by Sarah Stewart Taylor—review here Shock and Paw by Cate Conte—review here The Full Moon Coffee Shop by Mai Mochizuki—review…
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