#Asphalt OGs

[screams-n-shackles]

"Are you afraid of me?"

A simple question. And Whumpee found themself going through everything that happened so far.

The pain, the screaming. The pure terror Whumper managed to program into their very being.

The fear of dying and the loss of their will to live. Stuck in an everlasting loop of panic attacks, only reduced to the frame of their personality.

And finally they had enough.

Whumper didn't even know, didn't even recognize, what he put Whumpee through.

And it ignited pure and unfiltered rage.

Whumpee knew this sinking feeling in their stomach, sitting right next to the the person that broke down every happy moment they ever had. And Whumper dared to ask if they were afraid of them. As if nothing ever happened.

They were shaking, but for once not out of fear. Not anymore. They were over it.

"No", was their simple answer.

//Not anymore.//

As they clenched their fists they decided to put an end to Whumpers reign over their life.

And with some luck they could spare others the same fate.

[semiotomatics]

so fucking grateful that after 16 years my favourite band is still making music i absolutely adore

[erodasfishtacos]

Let's Be Alone Together - Trucker!H Prt II

prompt: harry doesnt understand why he asked her to travel with him, why he cares, or why he seems so drawn to a girl who cant stop apologizing and is too kind for her own good.

word count: 3.8k words

warnings: depression, suicidal ideation, lack of resources (food), childhood trauma - this is not a light-hearted read so use caution for yourselves!

author's note:

the first part was posted on tumblr here

there are currently eight more installments of this up on my patreon and still being posted

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

---

YN had laid back down in his bed after they had settled that she would go with him, that neither of them were attached to anyone else in any way, and all this was a bit of company - nothing more, nothing less.

Harry tried to keep his mind blank as he watched the road ahead of him.

It was a slippery slope that typically never led to happy thoughts when he lets himself be alone with them for too long at once.

They would creep in, like slow-cresting waves, and then hit him with the impact of a tsunami.

His body moved in practice, subconscious motions as he shifted gears with ease, flicking the windshield wipers up a notch because this weather was brutal and unrelenting.

Normally, Harry wasn’t concerned about such treacherous conditions where the roads were a sheet of white, snow flurrying rapidly and thick enough the clog the wind streams to make it nearly blinding.

He sickeningly enough enjoyed it because of the risk.

The higher possibility of death.

It was because what was the worst that could happen?

His truck could veer off the road.?

Hydroplane off the asphalt, hitting him into a guardrail, flipping it over until he’s falling down the steep embankment?

He would never want that to happen, only for Birdie’s sake, but if she wasn’t a factor then his answer would be different, most days.

 Harry hated to admit that there were more days than not that he thought about how much he wouldn’t mind such a thing to happen to him.

His life had never been easy, it’s why he fled his home when he was sixteen, lied about his age, and had a rough-around-the-edges older man who had hired him for some odd jobs around his mechanics shop taught him everything he needed to know about driving a semi-truck.

And as soon as he could get his commercial license, he found a job that had him driving a truck from one end of the states to the other to deliver furniture from a custom brand out of Canada.

He didn’t mind the job, except for when he was granted his time off.

It was three weeks on, two off, and for people with families, children, it was rigorous schedule but they looked forward to having the extended time to relax at home before another three weeks took them away.

Harry didn’t know what to do with himself for that two weeks.

His bosses had looked at him like he was insane when he asked if he could just not take those two weeks off.

The first time, he came back to his hometown because he didn’t know where else to go, and it hadn’t ended well - he gave his mother too many chances and it resulted in him heading back out onto the road with twelve hundred less dollars in his wallet.

He never went back, left all of his belongings at his childhood home, changed his number so that his mother couldn’t get a hold of him, and cooped up in extended stay hotels wherever he landed for those two weeks.

Occasionally, he would meet a cute girl at the local bar or a waitress at the diner who he would spend a night with.

He really wasn't a one-night-stand guy or just a casual hookup either, but he sought out those women when the thoughts got dark, when the loneliness seemed overwhelming, and he really wasn't seeking out sex as much as he was comfort and intimacy even if just for a few hours.

He never felt enough of a connection with any of them to visit on his next off-time, even if he had promised it a few times to smooth over the hurt he had caused by crushing their hopes of a relationship.

His work paid for his meals during his weeks on, he stayed in cheap hotels, and didn’t spend money on anything except necessities that his company card didn’t cover which led to quite a hefty sum in his bank account.

Enough that he could purchase on his own semi-truck, used and beat to shit, breaking down every couple thousand miles and causing more financial burden than it was worth, but it helped him start his own business.

He had his own transport company now, just his truck and him, nothing fancy or overly complicated.

He could pick and choose his work, always picking the highest paid contracts, and it really made him successful.

Enough so that he could purchase a new, top-of-the-line semi which he reasoned was the best investment because not only was he purchasing his work truck but his home as he would be living out of it.

Ever since he started his own company, with no off time because he had contracts lined up to fulfill for the next year, and then some that never gave him a break - just like he wanted, no time to get too lost in his own miserable shit that he preferred to suppress. 

No time off meant no life.

Harry hadn’t chatted anyone up at the bar, hell, he can’t remember the last time that he was even in one.

He can’t remember the last time he had sex either.

At some point, the company of a woman didn't quell those thoughts.

Sex workers knocked on his cabin door quite frequently, his flashy truck drew their attention with the hopes that he would be a generous tipper, but he always shooed them off.

He would be extra pissed if they woke him.

At some point between his first job and now, his depression had worsened to a deeper state than it had ever been in his life.

Life was a routine, monotonous and never-changing, miserable and defeating.

Harry convinced himself he didn’t need people, he only needed the open road and his dog, and that would be enough to suffice.

It was…

Somedays.

But other days (most of them), Harry found this sense of hopelessness, the weird in between where he wouldn’t do anything to end his life, but he wasn’t going to go kicking and screaming if it happened.

This world wasn’t made for him, he had told himself a long time ago.

It was destined to be a path of unhappiness from the moment he was born to the woman his mother was.

Happiness, prosperity, excitement towards life had never been an option when the woman who raised him rejected it all.

Harry couldn’t possibly start to consider his own behaviors of inviting this girl on a five-day trip with him around the country.

He was just being nice, is what he’ll tell himself because he’s fine being alone, really, he is.

It’s been this way for years; this was certainly just a blimp before his life becomes routine again.

++

Birdie is always sleeping in the passenger seat during the day.

It was weird to look to the side to see the seat empty, the expensive leather worn from the amount of time her lazy ass slept there.

However, Birdie was back with YN, tucked into her like they were the best of friends, and Harry never existed.

Traitor.

Acting as if Harry hadn't nursed her back to health when she was a puppy, too young to be away from her mother, and completely reliant on Harry to survive.

Could fool him.

Harry didn’t even want to acknowledge that Birdie has never taken to another person, ever, like she had with their visitor.

YN must have not slept well for weeks at this point, obvious by the dark circle under her eyes that had been covered with thick concealer when they’d first met.

YN didn't stir from his bed until nearly five in the evening, he had kept the blinds down, and the black-out curtains drawn so that no light was seeping in to disturb her as she slept, making up for lost time.

When YN finally does wake up, after using the bathroom, she pads up to the front of the cabin, and sits in the passenger seat, legs crossed and tucked under her as she glances out the windshield at the snowy mountains ahead of them.

Harry looks over at her, his eyes accidentally falling on her chest before they’re darting back up to her face - she wasn’t looking at him anyways but the henley she was wearing wasn’t the thickest and the pebbling of her nipples was obvious.

“Sleep alright?” Harry asks, eyes already back on the road, with this weather he didn’t have the luxury of not being vigilant.

“Yes, thank you,” YN replies as she curls her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees, and resting her chin on her kneecaps.

Harry just nods, he’s not good at conversation, at one point he was but that was a skill he wasn’t familiar with anymore.

The extent of his communication was over the radio, letting other truckers know that they’re driving like assholes or the customers he had contracts with - that was really it.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, it’s comfortable for Harry but he can tell by the way that YN keeps looking over at him and then out the window, that it wasn’t the same for her as the only noise filtering in was the engine.

“Why don’t you have a home to go back to?” YN’s voice breaks the quiet, her voice is unsure because what were they supposed to being doing on this trip together?

Was YN supposed to keep him company by conversation since her purpose to come wasn’t sex.

Or did Harry just want the physical company?

Just a body in the seat, nothing more than that.

“Why don’t you?” Harry replies in a terse tone, it was defensive because he didn’t talk about his past, to anyone, fucking ever.

He felt emotion when he thought about what his home used to be.

It trudges up anger, helplessness, desperation.

All things that his depression helped him ignore.

He isn’t an open book, the most binded close, lock-protected type because he wasn’t going to share anything that made him vulnerable, weak, and the only thing that got him to the point was recalling what a shitty childhood he had.

Shitty was an understatement.

Harry feels instant regret for his choice of words when YN flinches at his response back, arms coming to wrap around her knees a bit tighter, and that has him cursing himself out in his mind.

He didn’t want YN to be scared of him, he could tell she was already a jumpy thing which most likely came with the required hypervigilance of the work that she does, and he doesn’t want her to have to feel that way with him.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes, a nervousness in her voice as she positions her body more towards the door, and away from him.

Fuck.

Harry doesn’t reply because he doesn’t know how to say ‘sorry’ without showing emotion.

As he never did before, vulnerability was his worst fear, and he was going to do anything and everything possible to never show it.

“I didn’t mean to snap at you,” Harry says instead, glancing over at her but she’s looking out the window, head now resting on the cold glass.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it,” YN dismisses easily, not turning to look back over at him.

And she didn’t say it in a way that she wanted sympathy or that anything like that.

Her voice was kind and forgiving, understanding which just shows how beat down she is.

Tired enough to just accept others' behaviors because that’s easier than fighting, accepting how people talked to her because she was so used to it that it didn’t seem like anything special when they did.

And God, that made Harry feel like absolute and utter shit.

He didn’t know YN, no, but he had a feeling that she really was a sweet girl under all the anxiousness and turmoil, and didn’t deserve that treatment from anyone.

Harry doesn’t want YN to feel like she has to get used to him treating her the same way that others have but they only have a few days together.

Why did this bother Harry so much when in the grand scheme of things, their time together was so limited that he shouldn’t care like he does, and he’ll continue to lie to himself - to chalk it up to a lame excuse.

Instead of apologizing, his voice is probably still too gruff when he responds, “You shouldn’t be used to shit like that. You need to stand up for yourself, not let people walk all over you. S’not right.”

YN picks at a loose thread of the pajamas pants she’s wearing, “I shouldn’t have asked, it’s my fault. I get why you said that.”

Harry hasn’t registered guilt as an emotion he’s had for a very long time, it hasn’t been a necessity, and it’s not YN’s fault that it's pounding inside his skull right now.

There’s something about how understanding she’s being, kind and giving him every opportunity to act like it never happened, and she deserves to be treated nicer - nicer than he was treating her too.

“S’not your fault,” Harry shakes his head, his fingers knuckling the steering wheel a bit harder because going from zero to a hundred of getting his feelings back wasn’t an easy thing to try to sift through - it was overwhelming, and he didn’t know why it was happening.

YN doesn’t say anything else, props her chin back on her knees after a while and watches the open road, her eyes trailing over the snow-capped mountain tops, to the wildlife they would occasionally see off in the plateaus. 

Harry finds himself wanting to talk.

He wants to know more about her, but he can’t do that when he just shut her out.

“You can go nap again, if you want. It’s going to be at least another hour before we’ll stop,” Harry tries to keep his voice more friendly, but it just comes out flat, monotone, bored.

YN had been leaning down to scratch behind Birdie’s ear, lounging right at her feet on the floor, perpetually dozing off - “I won’t sleep tonight if I do. If I’m bothering you, I can go back there.”

She slips her feet out from underneath her, standing up with the intention to get out of Harry’s space.

“No, that’s-” Harry cuts off when he realizes he had wrapped his fingers around her wrist to stop her, light with no real intention to stop her actions.

They both look down but Harry’s dropping his hold on her, continuing where he left off without acknowledging the touch, “That’s not what I meant. I just know this can be boring. I didn’t want you to feel obligated to feel like you had to sit up here with me.”

YN doesn’t seem alarmed or angered by the touch, she didn’t try to rip from his hold or shake him off, her body language was as calm as it had been before.

It was a relief because Harry was starting to have a sense of anxiety that YN  might be scared of him or intimidating, and he knew he came off…strong, unapproachable, unfriendly is just a few ways to describe him.

However, his intention is never to make her feel fear or concern about her safety around him.

His goal in these past twenty-four hours has become the exact opposite, an intense urge to protect her, even though he doesn’t know her or what she’s been through.

“I like sitting up here with you,” YN tells him shyly, her eyes darting away from him as she moves to sit back down in the passenger chair.

It had been a miracle that Birdie hadn’t snagged it in the short amount of time that YN had been out of it.

Harry’s chest warms at the admission, but he doesn’t let it show.

Of course he doesn’t.

Fuck, she’s pretty and Harry has to look back at the road because he could just stare, admire, and try to memorize her features because each time he gets a good look, he feels like he discovers something new about her.

He doesn’t say anything back, only leans over to turn up the heat a bit when he realizes that she has goosebumps on her arms, and she smiles to herself at that - almost like she doesn’t realize that she did.

And that anger floods in because all he did was turn the fucking heat up for her and apparently that gesture, that miniscule gesture, was enough to cause her to smile which make Harry wonder what the fuck she had gone through in her life.

Harry likes her smile, he thinks that he’d like to see it more often, and that thoughts are scary to him - all of this is more terrifying than it should be because his mind was becoming occupied with her.

So much so that he hadn’t thought much about his depression, his lowness, that dank place he tries to keep his mind out of at all today when normally it’s the only thing that is circulating in his mind.

++

Harry had been very spot on when he predicted that they would hit the next town in just a little of the hour.

He hadn’t eaten yet today and with a realization that he didn’t think that YN had either.

“Did you eat anything?” Harry asks with a frown, he knows that he startles YN a bit because they hadn’t spoken in that hour, and they probably would have if Harry had shut down the initial attempt at conversation, “At all today?”

“Not yet,” YN tells him as she sits up, stretching her arms above her head.

Harry knows to keep his eyes up because even out of his peripheral vision, he can see the flash of her smooth belly as the shirt rising just the slightest, and since when did he find his eyes wandering to that of any woman before?

It seemed that every inch of her body was of interest to him.

And even though that sounds bad, it truly wasn’t in a predatory or sexual way, it was more of an awe, admiration to how beautiful she was, and how perfectly she was crafted albeit much too skinny.

He can see the outline of her ribcage when she stretches, not enough fat on her bones to disguise them at all, her hip bones more prominent than they should be, and all of this a clear indication that she wasn’t eating enough.

And was Harry the person to talk to?

No, not really.

He was skinnier than he should be too.

Depression sucked the appetite from him, but he did enough to keep his muscles, even if his ribs are showing more than his abdominal muscles at this point but it was hard to have any motivation to care about his appearance that much. 

“Aren’t you hungry?” Harry doesn’t mean for it to come out as accusatory as it did, he really needed to work on his tone.

YN pulls at the hem of her shirt, almost like she realized that Harry noticed how skin and bones she was under her clothes, “I am but I also learned how to cope with the hunger pains when I get them. I try to save my money to eat when it gets to that point, where it hurts.”

Harry doesn’t like that one fucking bit.

“You’re not going to do that bullshit when you’re with me, you got it?” Harry huffs, letting his irritation show and he doesn’t know how it translates - whether she gets that it is because it concerns him or that she thinks that he just finds her annoying.

It’s a tossup at this point.

“You’re going to eat when you’re hungry, no stomach pains, none of that shit,” Harry meets her eye, facial expressions firm to show that he means it.

“I’m sorry,” YN apologizes again, eyes wider and remorseful, “I’ll eat.”

Harry wishes he had the words to tell her not to apologize, to explain his behavior, and that it was all with good intent.

He wasn’t yelling at her, but he was concerned.

Instead of saying those things, he just grunts out, “Good.”

“Did you eat?” YN asks in return, not throwing it in his face but genuine concern in her words.

Harry holds up his coffee cup, “This is my fuel.”

“But…you have money to eat?” 

The confusion knits her brow in a way that shouldn’t be as cute as it is.

“Yeah, m’just not hungry a lot of the times,” Harry shrugs, it’s not a lie.

YN’s lip twist at the side, thoughtful as she reties the knot of the pajama pants, too big and slipping down her hips, her voice quiet like if Harry hadn’t really been listening, he wouldn’t have heard it, and she probably wouldn’t have said it again.

“I really love McDonalds.”

+

[ntls-24722]

FNAF FANARTISTS!!!!!!!!!!! DJ MUSIC MAN AND MUSIC MAN ARE NOT THE SAME CHARACTER

many times, when fnaf artists are requested to draw music man/dj music man, they get them mixed up!!! which is reasonable!!!!!!! we know almost nothing about them, google mixes them up constantly, and a certain matpat meme has only made it more confusing!

They all have very similar faces, but they've got some staggering differences!!!!! so im detailing them and also giving some trivia/our known knowledge of them!!!

MUSIC MAN (FFPS)

The OG music man! He made his debut in FFPS/Pizzeria Simulator and makes another appearance in UCN. He is!!! weird!!

He's not built like a spider-centaur, he's literally like a minecraft creeper with a torso and a bunch of legs at the bottom.

He's got a design unlike any other fnaf animatronic, even deviating from the style of the human ones, though this is speculated to be because he seems to have design elements from enemies and bosses from Scott Cawthon's other game, The Desolate Hope.

He's described to have "something undesirable" inside him (it's never explained what) and in the Posh Pizzeria group he is the only one to have a liability risk at times - in UCN he's the only one of the posh pizzeria that can and will kill you. Also, weirdly enough, in UCN he's the only animatronic other than the original Freddy, Bonnie, Chica and Foxy to use the FNAF 1 scream. Despite being called Music Man, his gimmick in UCN is that he hates noise and you need to keep it down for him to not kill you - music also counts as noise for him.

He's voiced by Matthew Curtis, who also voices nightmare Balloon Boy, here are his lines for UCN!

DJ MUSIC MAN (Security Breach)

DJ Music Man! (Always abbreviated to DJMM in-game)

If MM is built like a creeper then DJ is built like a pig - he's Horizontal and looks more spider-y

There's even less info on him, but here goes:

He's a party host who makes up all of his music on the spot, but in between sessions he cleans around the Plex! The reason why he goes nuts and tries to kill Gregory is that he has an experimental but prohibited bouncer mode that was turned on, which is why he's chill afterwards. He also doesn't speak, unlike Music Man.

BONUS: WINDUP MUSIC MAN (Security Breach)

Windup Music Man!

Designwise they're almost identical to MM, but they look like they got microwaved and scraped across asphalt at mach 10. And also got a windup key stuck in their back. And TINY

Ingame they're described to be a prototype of Music Man that escaped the little museum part of the Plex, and that's all we really know. Other than that, their dynamic together is kind of comparable to a bunch of ants working together. They also JUMP and can be seen conversing/playing together.

ALSO: Those cymbals are not legs, they just have a really weird stance similar to actual tarantulas.

There's technically 394 Windup Music Men because the game randomly generates them from a collection of fucked up parts.

There's no height indication for Music Man but here's one for the security breach cast by @/musings-of-astromonster

happy music man-ing

[ahhhwomen]

Copycat

Pairing: Dark!Wanda Maximoff x Dark!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Fem Reader

A/N: Well here it is! The new and (hopefully) improved version of Copycat! The OG will not be removed btw, so don't worry if these changes aren't to your liking. Tbh I gave up editing this thing halfway, but I definitely think I improved it.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language. All mistakes are my own.

Warnings: Ghostface, implied murder, knife play, humiliation, degradation, smut, so much smut, Mistress kink, Halloween, dub-con, Dom!Reader, Sub!Wanda, Wanda is a total bottom in this entire thing Minors DNI 18+

Summary: Halloween is around the corner, all you want is a calm night home alone… though it seems the universe can never give you a break. Or; Your phone rings with a mysterious number on the night of Halloween. What’s your favorite scary movie?

Word Count: 7.2k

You have always taken a liking to Halloween, but even you have to admit this year was turning out to be too much. Between the excessive amount of Halloween activities, decorations, and the new wanna-be Ghostface, it was starting to get to you.

Since the start of October, bodies have been turning up left and right, all with the same knife lacerations. All from the iconic Ghostface's choice of weapon.

Or a copy of it, anyway.

You snicker to yourself as you scroll past the multitude of outlandish articles trying to pinpoint why the town killer suddenly changed their routine after five years of dedicated Halloween night slaughters.

The screen is cold as your thumb glides against it, trying to escape the new narrative that the OG has gone off the rails, more so than the town of less than two thousand people can wrap their heads around.

If you thought like them, you would also be confused and terrified.

Yet-

You don’t have to be a genius to know it's a mere copycat.

For starters, a true killer would never change the storytelling of their kill within such a slim window, and even if they did, their true dedication would never change to such a drastic contrast as the recent kills showcased.

Whereas the real Ghostface would play with their victim and start off by only slicing nonthreatening veins in a close to surgical precision, this new imitator would finish them off by mere coincidence, there was no way for them to keep control over their victim´s lifespan with the rouge slashes that the news spoke of.

Whomever this copycat was, they were sloppy and attention-seeking.

The real Ghostface has been killing for over five years at this point, and still, they remain unknown.

This copycat will probably be busted before Halloween even takes place.

However, you would be lying if you said it didn’t concern you a bit; at least with the real Ghostface you knew when to expect havoc and you could take precautions to keep the ones you love safe.

A copycat is not as easy.

With keys in the form of pepper spray, you keep caution locked inside your heart, as you continue your trudge toward Wanda´s house.

The plastic canister rattles with every step, weighing down your right pocket as it slams against you. The frequency of each click changes depending on the asphalt, and as you step foot on the wooden porch it settles with one final clack against your midthigh.

With Halloween just around the corner, you have come to reiterate the tradition between yourself and the redhead. That tradition being to watch all your favorite horror movies the night before Halloween.

It started because you would both be busy, trick-or-treating and partying the night of and it would be a waste not to celebrate such a strange day with your favorite person.

Or, she would be busy trick-or-treating and partying, while you stayed at home worrying about her with your doors double locked and the porch lights off. You like Halloween, you just prefer to stay home and be comfortable, rather than to fit into a tight outfit and worry if too much or too little of your ass is showing. 

You ring the doorbell on Wanda's ridiculously decorated door and wait while the creepy plastic skeleton stares you down from where there would usually be a wreath.

You don’t have to wait long, and soon you can hear subtle footsteps close in on where your feet are planted to stained wood.

It's Mrs. Maximoff that opens. Her tone is gentle as she acknowledges you, “Hey Sweetie, Wanda is just in her room, go right ahead.”

She lets you in with a warm, welcoming smile and a pat on your shoulder. Her hand settles something within you that you can’t explain, and you smile back. You thank her and climb up the stairs of their expensive house.

You can’t help but feel more at home here than at your actual home as your fingers run along the intricate design in the stairs railing.

You like Mrs. Maximoff.

Ever since you were little you have been best friends with Wanda. When Wanda´s mother and father realized you were often alone as a child due to an absent father and an avoidant mother, they took you in and quickly became your pseudo-family.

You will always look up to Mrs. and Mr. Maximoff for their help and welcoming presence, but it was different with Wanda.

Her parents treated you as their daughter and you felt immensely grateful and happy to be a part of it, but Wanda has never been like a sister to you. Even when you were kids, she was always so much more to you, though as much as it breaks your heart, you can never tell her that.

You shake your thoughts off as you enter Wanda's bedroom to find her changing.

Your eyes kiss the back of your skull with how hard they roll from her antics. “I know you could hear me walking up and yet you still chose the last second possible to put your clothes on.”

The light from outside her ginormous window encapsulates her body perfectly as your eyes dance over the expanse of her stomach while you chuckle to yourself.

Wanda snickers as she pulls the hem of her t-shirt down, not all the way, she leaves a couple of inches ridding up her sides, just enough to tease you.

A sultry voice carries over the room and blesses your ears, “Well, I gotta give my little pervert a show, don’t I?” Wanda smiles with mirth and you return it.

This girl, you think to yourself.

Playing it cool you answer the way you usually do. “Pretty sure you are the pervert in this equation.” You say with a shrug.

It's now Wanda's turn to roll her eyes as she lays down, with a pat on the bed she signals for you to do the same.

“Potato potahto,” her light laugh floats around the room as you settle yourself beside her, you can’t help but lift your lips into a gentle smile as the redhead laughs to herself at her stupidity.

You missed her, you hung out just the other day, but you miss her on a deeper level.

It has been like this for a while, so you push it down as you stare up at the ceiling.

An array of pictures, posters, and drawings of the infamous Ghostface stare right back at you. One shift of your view and the very same can be said for every other surface within her room. From the ceiling to her desk to her bedside drawer, it’s all covered with different illustrations of the cold-blooded murderer.

Ever since that Halloween five years ago, Wanda has had a deep obsession with the Ghostface killer. An unhealthy obsession, you think to yourself as your eyes sone in to see a new replica of the Ghostface mask on Wanda's desk.

With a sigh, you look over at Wanda with disapproval at the new addition.

Wanda pretends not to see you.

You know to tread carefully around this subject, but you can’t help yourself and you lean up on your elbows and voice your disdain for her “hobby”.

“Wands, we talked about this.”

She pushes herself up on her elbows and slaps your arm gently. “It's not that bad,” she gives you her best puppy dog eyes, but you don’t budge.

“It's wrong that’s what it is, you can't simp over a real killer Wanda. It's not right” You can see irritation build in her delicate features as she thinks your words over.

“You are just jealous I am giving someone else attention.” She huffs. You know she doesn't mean it like that, but it stings when it’s put so bluntly. There is a hint of truth in what she says, but you ignore it.

“I am not jealous; you are just sick.” You say it in a lighthearted manner, but you can tell Wanda does not appreciate the call out.

“No, what is sick is what that dickhead would have done had Ghostface not killed him that night.” You have to agree with her on that part. So, you nod, but make sure to add a

“Still.”

Sensing that this is not the right time, you change the subject by asking what movie to start with.

“Same as always dumbass,” Wanda giggles as she gets up to retrieve her computer. Already set up with Friday the 13th.

A heavy sigh echoes throughout your empty home as you drag your hands down your face in frustration.

The night has dragged on for far too long. Kids and teenagers alike running up and down the streets for hours on end sure can piss you off.

You have been camping on your couch the entire night, making sure to keep the news on as you scroll through social media.

Wanda said she had some family over, so you don’t have to worry about her this year.

Which is a relief, you aren’t really in the mood for an extra adventure today anyway, it's been forever since you could just stay home the entire Halloween night.

Even so, unease has plagued you ever since the night started.

It's strange, the copycat and the original have not shown their face today. The night is almost over, but only party drama and yelling neighbors have been reported on. The original is one thing, but you were sure the copycat would take advantage of the night. Surely this build-up hasn't been for nothing?

You are almost disappointed.

In the mood for something to do you get around to making dinner, it may be the middle of the night, but like the nocturnal creature you are you don’t care either way. You never had a routine, not until you started hanging out at Wanda’s house, so some habits are hard to lose.

You are just finishing up with the dishes when your phone calls. The newly dried plate clatters as you put it down. You dry your hands with the kitchen towel, the material is rough and scratchy as your hands glide against it, then once your hands are fully dry you make your way over to the couch where your abounded phone lays.

Peering down at the metal thing you tilt your head in confusion.

The caller ID is unfamiliar. 

Usually, you wouldn’t bother picking up, but for some reason today was different. So, with an uncertain sigh, you shrug the chills that prickle your spine off and answer.

“Hello?”

Your brows furrow when silence hangs in the air. Just as you are about to hang up a deep voice answers.

“Hello, is Ms. y/l/n there?” You narrow your eyes as the voice questions you.

You don’t trust it; your mother always insists on people calling her by her first name.

You can't even remember the last time you heard someone call her by her last. It must be a work call then, maybe your mother mixed your numbers up. Something even more peculiar, you are not even sure she knows your number.

You right your posture and lean more heavily on your right foot, shifting your weight. Already suspicious, you make sure to answer vaguely.

Whomever they are, you aren’t interested in talking much more.

“No, I'm sorry. This is her daughter, I can give you her number if you would like?” You can hear a puff of laughter on the other end. Their tone unsettles you.

“Aah, so you must be y/n. I have heard quite a bit about you.” Your grip tightness against the offending object as the person on the other line lies to you. Your mother barely acknowledges your existence, and there is no way she talks about you.

Even family members have been blindsided when they heard your mother had a child. You were seven at the time.

Something is definitely off.

“Who is this?”

Now fully engaged in this mystery of a conversation you turn off the TV and leave the living room, intending to end this conversation swiftly, after getting some questions answered, and going to bed. Its only 1 a.m., but all the noise has been wearing you thin the entire day.

Again, there is a long silence before they answer.

“I'm your mom's friend.” They don’t add anything beyond that. You know they are lying; no one calls your mother by her last name if they are her friends. You are curious as to what they could want, however, so you keep the conversation going.

“Oh, really? What's your name?” You subconsciously cross your left arm over your right while holding the phone tightly to your ear.

“You can call me Mike.”

You blink, stopping in the middle of ascending the staircase.

“Mike?”

“Yes.”

You remove the phone from your ear and look at it briefly before answering.

“Mike is the only name you could think of? Really Wanda?”

You smirk, continuing your travels up the steep staircase and turning left toward your room as silence hangs between the two of you.

“…”

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” Wanda avoids your question by asking her own.

You bite your lip; satisfied with yourself. You let the soft plush of your clean sheets engulf you as you lay down. Then, and only then, do you choose to entertain this mood of hers.

“SpongeBob” Wanda will find that reference hilarious, you were nine when she introduced the show to you. You had nightmares about that damn sponge for weeks, there was just something about him.

That’s why it takes you by surprise when the voice seems angered by your response.

“This is not the time for games!”

You agree, you are far too tired for these mind games so if this is how she wants to play this then fine.

“Fine, how about this? Who is your favorite killer?” You put extra flair of dramatics into your voice while you question her. The dramatized voice paired with trivia questions comes naturally to you after watching all types of trivia game night shows with Wanda throughout the years.

“I asked you first.” Childish.

“No, you asked me what my favorite horror movie is, I answered.” You thought it over, “Oh well I answered a show, but you get what I mean. Now I want you to answer my question.”

There was a tense rustling on the other end and stomping footsteps before it got silent, and the answer was a mere whisper. “Ghostface.”

Not very surprising. You smile to yourself as you roll over on your stomach and fiddle with your duvet. You wonder what she is up to.

“It's my turn now,” the deep voice darkened, “Why did Ghostface kill that boy five years ago?”

Your body tenses. You don’t like where this is going, so you play dumb. “How am I supposed to know?”

The voice gets louder. “Answer me!”

You feel yourself tighten a little at her tone, what is she getting at? “Look Wanda I don’t know what you want. I don’t know why Ghostface killed Vision.”

All background noise disappears from the call, you can’t even hear breathing. Then, a strained voice, like cat claws on a chalkboard, speaks up.

“Wrong answer.”

Before you can reply, the phone call ends.

You debate with yourself on whether or not to call Wanda, she usually plays some prank now and then, but this was something else.

You don’t have time to think about it before a knock can be heard on your front door. An unpleasant feeling pools in the bottom of your stomach as you try to ignore it. Plenty of children can’t take a hint and come here looking for candy, you rationalize with yourself.

You are just paranoid.

The knocking doesn't stop, however. You puff your chest before getting up and deciding to put an end to this. When you unlock and tear open the door, intending to give a stern talking to whatever kids were up so late, you are stunned at the lack of anyone.

You slam your door closed and lock it. Whomever they were, they were messing with you. Probably just some bored teens from your high school, or Wanda. Either way, if you didn’t react, they were sure to get bored.

As you head back upstairs the pieces of the puzzle take place.

The voice, Ghostface was known for using a voice box and calling their victims with stupid trivia questions. You knew this well, you just didn’t expect it to happen to you.

You are three steps up the stairs when you hear your door unlock.

You snap your head to the sound. Only three people have the keys to your house: yourself, your mother, and Wanda. You know Wanda likes her fun, but she wouldn’t take it this far.

The handle doesn't move. You wonder if you imagined it all together? No this isn’t right. You scan your surroundings before going back to the door.

Sure enough, both locks were undone.

“Enough!” You hate to admit it, but you were getting nervous.

“Whoever the fuck you are, fuck off!”

You can hear your phone go off in your room, “Damn it,” you curse yourself for never taking it with you as you again lock the door. The cold metal does little to settle you as you triple-check that you indeed have locked the door.

Then, taking a glass from the kitchen, you rigg it up on the front door handle. Some kids don’t know when they have taken it too far, so you have to make sure to be one step ahead.

Like always.

You walk deadly silent as you go to get your phone, now that you have finally caught on, you have no doubt of what game will start once you pick up the phone.

You are being hunted.

Despite the consequences, when you see the lit up screen atop your duvet, you don’t hesitate. You slide your thumb over the screen, picking up the call.

All the while, you keep moving.

“What do you want?”

The voice sounds rough and excited. “Me? I am just trying to get someone's attention.”

Go figure. The one Halloween you just wanted to spend in peace the damn copycat has to target you.

“Right. The infamous copycat is it? So is it like a kink or..?”

You are standing in your kitchen now, if they want to play, you’ll play.

You tighten your hands into fits as you anticipate the comeback.

“Cheeky. No, I am just trying to prove a theory.” This bitch.

You can hear heavy breathing on the other end like they are running… Or have just stopped.

You grab the strongest knife in your drawer. Then you put it back.

It’s a risky move you know, but you also know that no one ever thinks of the back door leading into the woods and it's safer for you to run than fight.

At least for now.

Besides, what’s the fun of ending it this early?

“And what do I have to do with this theory?” You chew your lip in annoyance as you lean your body weight forward. Ready to bounce any second now.

“You don’t, you are just an easy target.” This absolute fucking bitch.

“What theory is it that you are trying to prove? Trying to test Ghostface's ability to kill or something? There can only be one or whatever?” You try to keep calm, but you can hear your own voice echo on their side, you sound pathetic, with your breathing fast and escalating by the second.

“Don’t be jealous, this will be over soon.” They have no idea.

The glass shatters and you run.

You don’t even think about it, you dash straight out the back door and into the thick forest surrounding your home.

It doesn’t take long before you can hear them close behind.

The voice box activates. “There is no point in running!”

Truly an amateur, everyone knows running will be your safest bet when you don’t have a weapon. Fighting should always be the last resort when you are inferior to the killer. It's basic movie logic.

You run until you see it. Your safe haven.

The shed.

The shed creaks open and slams shut as you barricade the door. You have been trying to hold it together all night, but now that you stand there surrounded by your darkest secret and seconds away from revealing it to the psycho copycat, you can't help it.

You are getting excited.

It's been ages since you got to play, and there is no need to run now. They are about to enter your territory; they will be inferior.

You have just finished getting ready when you hear the door kick in. Just as expected the killer stops as soon as they take in their surroundings.

Got you.

The copycat threads carefully, the shed is unexpected. Unfaired territory, filled with… Filled with Ghostface?

The shed is a rundown, abandoned, shit box the copycat has never seen anyone use. Yet here it stands, filled to the brim with every crime and murder Ghostface has ever committed.

As their eyes glide over the various papers and pictures strewn about, they are riddled with confusion. Everything is written in more detail than what they could ever put together themselves. They have read all the pieces of information out there, yet they don’t even know half of the scribbled and planned murders that litter the walls and table.

It only takes a moment for it to set in.

They just walked into the fucking lion's den.

And you will show no mercy.

The copycat freezes as a voice rings through the still air.

“Don’t look so disappointed. You are getting what you want, aren’t you?”

It’s delicious really, the way you stalk your prey as they flail their head around trying to locate you in the dark shed. Your infamous knife is strongly gripped in your right hand, then with a deliberate creak of wood beneath your feet the copycat wooshes their body toward you.

As your eyes connect, they start walking backward, startled by your closeness.

Their knife drops to the ground as you trudge forward. God, there is nothing quite like the sight of them shivering beneath their poorly made mask.

A mask you have most definitely seen before.

They walk straight into your little homemade table and you take the advantage to press your body into theirs. Your masks; almost touching.

“Tell me,” you raise your hands to their covered face. Slowly peeling the mask off as you continue. “What theory was it you wanted to prove? Hm?”

Just as red hair reveals itself a hand takes hold of your wrist to stop you from going any farther. That’s fine by you, you know they didn’t realize when you deactivated the voice box.

Nagging them on you continue, “Don’t leave me hanging, what do you want to know? I might just answer it before I cut your pretty tongue out.” You hold the knife up to their face before slowly dragging it down the mouth of their mask and leaving it just under their jaw.

Wanda's meek voice responds.

“I- I I didn’t mean too- too-“

You mock her “too- too-?” “Spit it out pretty girl.” You dig the knife in, just a little.

Too lost in the situation, Wanda hasn't caught onto her voice filling the room.

“Why do you keep killing for me?” So, the age-old question is finally voiced out loud.

You smile beneath your mask. You consider lying, but it's Wanda.

“Because I can.”

Truth be told, it started when you saw the football jock Vision put his hands on Wanda five years ago at a random Halloween party. After that night it evolved.

It just feels right to kill for the things you love.

You don’t let Wanda query anymore, taking hold of her mask you rip it off, revealing her tear-stained cheeks and scared eyes. You have to resist digging the knife in harder, yet it still digs minuscule more. Just enough for one drop.

A single drop of blood that slides onto your gloved finger.

Your eyes snap toward the red drop as it disappears against your black glove, as the dampness against your finger hits you, you can’t resist anymore.

Wanda lets out a squeak as you push her onto the table. Your knife never leaving her pale skin. Using your weight against her to keep her compliant, you straddle her. Leaning closer to her, you force eye contact by pulling her hair just right.

You want her to look at you. You want her to see you the way she did when you killed that pathetic football jock.

Wanda is not one to disappoint, her blown pupils are a window to exactly what you want.

Her feelings are on clear display; she is scared, yet deeply aroused.

Your gloved hand drags the tip of your knife down her body until you are hovering over her covered breasts. With your left hand, you clutch the fabric of her gown, cutting it open with the knife held in your right. Wanda whines as she squirms to get away from you.

You laugh at her pathetic little sounds as you forcefully grab her by the chin.

You lift your mask, only enough for your mouth to be seen, and you press your lips against Wanda´s quivering ones. She only resists for a moment, and then a delectable moan vibrates against you.

You return it when you push your tongue into her sweet, hot, mouth. You swirl your tongue around while your hands rip open her outfit. You let your hands glide and grope as they please and soon you feel her bra-clad breasts heavy in your hands. You let the knife slice her bra like butter.

You break the kiss to give your full attention to the sinful heaven exposed in front of you. Wanda turns her head away from you as she catches her breath, you let her. The only thought occupying your mind is how you will destroy her so sweetly tonight.

After keeping yourself at bay for so long, there is only so much you can do when she whorishly seeks you out. And in such a rude manner too. She was using you to get to, well you, but she didn’t know that. A punishment needs to be set in place; one you will have no regret enforcing.

You settle your mask back in place as you stand and move away from the poor birdy.

She looks up in confusion and disappointment when you go.

Picking up Wanda’s knife and walking over to an armchair nestled in the corner of your den Wanda struggles to sit up as her chest heaves with each manual breath, uncertain of what you want, as you study her from your corner.

You point her knife towards the open door. “Close it.”

Unsurprisingly, Wanda hesitates before complying. You tsk in disapproval, Wanda moves just a tiny bit faster at the sound. It's flimsy, the way she has to wobble her way over as her shredded clothes gather just before her thighs.

After it's properly closed you instruct Wanda to lock it using the plank you point out. This time she does it in a timelier manner.

After it's done she takes a timid step towards you and you nod in approval.

However, when the redhead tries removing your mask you take ahold of her wrist and bend it until she yelps in pain. The surge of power and arousal that shoots through you almost makes you lose your calm, but you soldier on.

Your gaze remains unfaced as she sniffles in pain. “You don’t get to touch me.” You say as a matter of fact.

“Why not,” tears gleam in the redhead’s eyes as she whines.

“Because only good girls get to touch their Mistress.” Wanda whimpers at your words. Her knees buckle and her nipples harden. You put the knives between the cushions of the rough chair.

You will need both of your hands for this.

As she stands there you can't help but admire her. She looks just the way you imagined she would. Her frame is perfection, even with her clothes hanging off her and tear stains gleaming on her flushed cheeks. You want to eat her up. But first, her punishment.

You act unbothered as you command her.

“Kneel.” Wanda’s eyes widen as her desperation dampens her underwear.

There is a dull thud as Wanda’s knees connect with the water-damaged wood planks. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from singing her praise for such a simple task, but you can’t help it when you automatically pet her hair gently in reward.

You think of all the times you dreamed of holding her like the pet she is. Your palm smoothes her hair down while you mule over how long it's been since you had a good orgasm. When she´s putty beneath you, you grab a fist full of red tresses and roughly pull her closer to your crotch.

Taking the hint Wanda lifts your dark gown and gasps at the lack of underwear. It's cute that she convinced herself you believed the copycat was anyone but her. This punishment has been long in the planning.

You push more intently on her. “Don’t stop now. Be a good whore and mistress may give you a reward.”

You are glad you kept the mask on as you drool looking down at her while she gets to work. She’s so tiny and irrelevant, one calculated squeeze and you can have her begging for her life while she eats you out. The power imbalance is almost enough to make you cum before Wanda can put her talents to use.

When Wanda's hot mouth makes contact with your folds, sucking and teasing you, you have half the mind to tie her down and force her to watch while you fuck yourself with your fingers. However, you can't resist her when she finally sucks your clit into her keen, wet, fuck-hole.

You wonder if she has done this before as it only takes a minute for your eyes to roll into your skull. Jealousy takes hold of you at the thought.

Pushing the redhead away from yourself, sooner than she can get a word out, you lay her onto her back on the cold floor and straddle her face. Wanda goes to grab your hips, but you force her down. Holding her wrists over her head you instruct her to stay still.

You can’t help but tease her by riding the air just higher than what Wanda's greedy tongue can reach. You drag your body slowly back and forth sensually, making sure to let some breathy moans and groans rile her up.

“I thought I told you to be good.” You tighten the grip around her wrists in warning.

Wanda, who had been slowly trying to lean upward, lowers herself. She is smart enough to act remorseful, you decide to let it go this once. Far more concerned with satisfying your thirst you take your seat right on Wanda’s waiting mouth.

Wanda makes the jealousy easier as she moans loudly into your pussy while pushing her tongue against your hard clit. It's erotic the way Wanda’s hips buck aimlessly while your juices drip down her chin.

The harsh oak makes your knees sting and you can only imagine how Wanda's back must feel. Of course, Wanda is too far gone, she’s moaning and rocking against the air with her eyes closed.

With this small turn of events, your punishment needs an adjustment.

So, you improvise. Originally you were going to make her fuck you until you ran out of cum. However, being on the floor may prove to make that difficult.

The jingle of the whore’s boobs, whilst she tries humping anything she can get between her legs, does give you an idea.

Leaning back you mindlessly search the chair. When your hand connects with the handle of a familiar steel knife you grab on. Keeping it behind your back so as to not let the redhead get a peak. You doubt she can see it even if she wants to, too deep in your cunt for her to see anything. Besides, she has her eyes closed as a bead of sweat runs down her forehead.

She continues lapping up your wetness like a dog, none the wiser as you debate on whether or not to hold the knife against her jugular. Reflecting over it, she has been good, so you keep the knife behind you.

If only to use it if she misbehaves.

Misbehaving seems to be the last thing on her mind however, she is devouring your pussy like it’s the last meal on earth. When she introduces her nose into the mix, bumping it into your clit while you ride her tongue, white-hot pleasure runs through you.

Sounds, like you have never heard yourself make, escape before you even think to stop them. Your toes are close to curling and tension tightens in your lower back. Yet you rearrange yourself away from the redhead's hungry mouth, now is not the time.

After Wanda finishes gasping for air that you hadn’t allowed her, her eyes fly open at the lack of your taste.

You stand over her.

Scrunching her eyebrows together, the redhead whines in confusion, but you ignore her in favor of fixing your outfit. Like the good girl you know she is, Wanda stays in place. All fight evaporated as soon as you touched her. You can’t help but scoff at how easy she is.

She looks like a bitch in heat, panting and twitching as you stand over her with your knife gripped like a phyton.

You tilt your head. The torn rags still holding on by a thread annoy you. “Take your clothes off.”

Wanda's eyes lack any thought as she heeds to your every whim.

She removes the cheap outfit slowly, pushing it off her shoulders and down her waist, over her ass, and past her legs. She removes her ruined bra next, sliding it off each arm and letting it fall into a heap beside her.

You sneer at her disobedience.

“All of it.” You accompany the words with a snap of your fingers.

There is a long silence while the demand sinks into her empty head. Then like lighting, Wanda takes off her soaked underwear.

She trembles as you leisurely walk around her, tapping the knife in a set rhythm against your hand.

You soak in her completely nude and vulnerable frame.

Just how you like her.

Stopping in front of Wanda´s open legs. Her body is begging for you to touch her, she is heaving, drooling, desperate. And you have no plan on soothing it.

Ever since you were younger Wanda has always been a particularly touchy person, she needs human touch to function. Without it, she can't do certain things. Like how she refuses to take a walk unless you hold her hand, and how you can see her struggle to get up and shower if you don’t promise cuddles after.

That’s why when you found her little devious plan three months ago you decided the only punishment fit for a sadist like her would be to remove all sense of touch. Deprive her of the one thing she needs to cum, your touch.

You return to your chair, mask back in place, knife tightly gripped.

“Touch yourself.”

Wanda swallows thickly as she watches you beneath heavy lids before nodding to herself.

You have seen the way, Wanda slowly gathers her wetness and spreads it around her libido while her breath turns shallow, many times. You can’t count how many times you silently sneaked into her bedroom, always mindful of what floorboards would give you away.

You have seen the way she struggles when she gets close. So close, yet so far away. Alone and desperate.

This is different, this time she is doing it for you and only you.

Wanda never breaks eye contact through the black mesh of your mask. It's only when she pinches her clit that her head gets thrown back and a prolonged moan emits from her that she can’t keep her act up. She is close, but if you play your cards right, she won’t be going over.

You dig the knife into the armrest and swirl it back and forth, fiddling like you're bored.

Wanda’s eyes burn holes in your mask as she studies you from where she sits just a few feet away, but you overlook her.

Wanda, very much, does not like this newfound disinterest you have in her. She speeds up her fingers, moving them clockwise and pressing down hard. Every time she tries to get your attention by moaning louder or trying to press her foot into your boot you tune her out and move away.

Just as you thought, when the redhead’s orgasm approaches, she struggles. Her moans of pleasure turn into whines of frustration, and you don’t look at her. You keep your focus on the knife. This is where the real punishment starts, one mistake from you and you know she will have no issue falling over the edge and screaming her pleasure for the entire world to hear.

No, you will make her suffer, if only a little.

After all the running you have had to do tonight you are making sure she will be left breathless and exhausted before an orgasm is in order.

For ten minutes you distract yourself, for ten minutes Wanda balances painfully on the edge of pleasure.

You only take pity on her when she taps the floor twice.

Raising your eyes you see Wanda with fresh tear tracks running down her cheeks while her fingers work overtime trying to move faster than you have ever seen them move before. You have to hold back a moan at the sight.

You stand slowly, dragging every movement out. Wanda stares wide-eyed and hopeful as she cries from the pain and pleasure. You make your way between spread legs and crouth down to her eye level. Lifting her chin with the tip of your knife, she stops her movements.

Good.

You know you have her attention now.

Without uttering a word, you remove your mask with your unoccupied hand.

As soon as your face is free of its confinement and Wanda sees you in all your mad beauty, a moan so deep and sonorous it leaves her dumbfounded, fills the damp air.

While she is distracted by the new sound, she can make, you hold eye contact and leave the knife in place. Without looking, you reach down and pinch her neglected clit so hard she screams.

She comes so hard she sees stars.

Wanda is a heap of moans and whines as your gloved fingers pet her folds and clit gently, bringing her down, it takes multiple minutes before her vision returns.

When she gets back to herself you are lying on top of her and petting her sides. She doesn't even realize she is crying until you carefully wipe her tears away while praising her.

“There you go, baby.”

“It's okay, you did so well.”

“Mistress is very proud of you.”

“Just breathe for me, honey.”

“That’s it honey, good job.” You sooth her while she gathers herself. She came for a full three minutes before she promptly passed out. As worried as you were in the moment, you have to admit you are a little proud of yourself.

That is definitely the hardest you have ever seen her cum.

After a while, you can hear her mumble something.

“What’s that baby?”

Wanda, in a surprising turn of events, locks you against her chest and flips you both. You blink up at her as she giggles from your tense reaction.

“Sorry,” you watch her giggle to herself, and you know for a fact she is not sorry, “I couldn’t help it, you just look so cute when you are surprised.”

You grin with her, but you also grab the knife beside you and lift it to her neck. She quickly stops laughing, but she isn’t scared. Not anymore.

“Behave, don’t forget who´s in charge here.” You fix her with a stern glance.

Wanda deflates a little, but her hands never leave you. She trails her hands up and down your body, groping everything she can. You dig the knife deep enough to where she has to stay still if she wants to keep her vocal cords.

Wanda mewls, “please.”

You roll your eyes at her. “Please what?”

“Please can I touch you, Mistress?”

You smirk, “You are touching me.” The disappointment rolls off Wanda in waves, but she knows what she needs to do.

Not wanting to actually hurt the redhead you had loosened your pressure without realizing it, Wanda uses that to her advantage.

The deviant redhead swiftly moves your hand out of her way to attack your mouth with a round of kisses. She then pushes her tongue in and swirls it teasingly around yours. You moan into her as she grinds her leg against your covered clit.

You let this go on until you need her inside you.

Clutching the fine hairs at the back of her neck you tear her away from yourself. You tighten until she wheezes, then you speak.

“If you ever disobey me like this again I will tie you down with a vibrator and leave you like that for hours. Do you understand me?” The redhead nods as best as she can.

You let go of her neck only to grab her hair again. You stand, dragging her with you. “Sit.” You point at the chair as you let go.

Wanda obediently listens without defiance this time.

“You are lucky,” you tell her as you straddle her thighs.

“If I wasn’t in the mood for an orgasm I would have you over my knee now.” You grind into her lap as you speak. This time when Wanda goes to grab you, you let her.

Wanda controls your hips as you pound yourself into her lap. She is more than eager to comply when you command her to put a finger in.

You ride her until you can't take it anymore and reach down to draw tight circles over your forgotten clit.

You cum so fast it almost gives you whiplash. Wanda moans with you as clear liquid coats her hand.

You both fall into an exhausted pile of post-orgasm bliss as you settle. Wanda cuddles into you and you lean your chin atop her head. She nuzzles into your neck and sighs with satisfaction.

You are half-dosing when a giggle abrupts from the girl in your arms. You look down at her with a confused tilt to your head. Wanda is already grinning up at you.

“Same time next year?” You laugh at your girlfriend of six years and nod while kissing her sweaty forehead.

“Same time next year.”

[enjoythesilentworld]

thx to that og anon for the prompt! here's the part where the idiots stop being idiots

call ur crush!

Simon shrugged and looked down at his feet.  It must’ve rained, because the road was shiny in that way it got when the oil from all the cars mixed with the water and collected in beautiful rainbows across the asphalt.  “You called me,” Wille repeated, taking a step closer. 

chapter 3: Truth or Dare 🍇 (2.2k, 3/3)

[sphireath-wisp]

Sypnosis: Being transported into the historical manhwa you were reading is no fun, is it? What's even worse is that you're the villainess in this story! But wait! Something's off. You've tweaked the story and changed the course of fate. What route will you take now?

Warnings: Strong implications of F! Reader (since we're talking about manhwa), not proofread, Alternate Universe, (kinda) close resemblance to the original plotline of the OG universe

Where are we? -> Prologue

The glaring headlights face you head-on, almost entirely blinding your field of view. Everything feels like it's in slow motion, you can't run in time and neither can you stop now. You can hear the engine of the car, it's pitiful that you didn't get the chance to say goodbye to your loved ones. However, you don't get the chance to think about any of that now - your body has lunged forward due to the car crash.

'From rags to riches,' they say, but this is all much too sudden. Whether you consider yourself lucky or not, you've been graced with a few more conscious minutes and the pain that comes after is unforgivingly quick. The grainy asphalt against your back is uncomfortable. The car screeches to a halt beside your limp body and the driver shouts out worried yelps. You don't know whether the liquid pooling beneath your body is rainwater or blood.

Black dots your vision before you hear any sirens. Perhaps the afterlife will give you some solace. It's a thought you entertain and it comforts your fear of death. Eyes fluttering shut, you can't find the energy to open them again. You've died. You would've died. You, by right, should've died.

So then... where exactly are you? Maids left and right shoot each other cautious, but worried glances. Stumbling your way past the maids and out of bed, you find yourself in front of what's supposedly your vanity, much too luxurious and intricate than you're used to. A face that's not yours looks back at you and, this time, your memory doesn't fail you.

"Ah," Even your voice sounds alien, smooth like the sweetest of honey. Your head turns back to the maids gathered in your room, the grandiose bedroom, the spacious canopy bed, and... your uncanny reflection. You've been reincarnated, but out of all the strange possibilities and probabilities, you've been bestowed a chance to live the life of a Villainess in the novel you browsed through on a whim.

(Name), a tyrant at their peak, and a ruler doomed to meet an early death by the guillotine with the jeers of your people. Your consciousness is now bound to the body of a cold-blooded heir of the Mortalis Kingdom, and you must take up their name as your own.

With a hand on your beating heart, with your body burning up more than it should, you feel yourself collapse. "Your Highness!" the maids scramble around you like a flock of bewildered fletchings, but they all hesitate to even graze your skin. "You shouldn't leave your bed, your grace. You've only just got over that terrible fever!"

Ah, so that's why you felt so tired. No worries, you'll spend much-needed time recovering and resting to your heart's content. Plus, you can spend all that extra time planning your next course of action without a disturbance - you'll need it! The Elysian Kingdom, ruled by the angels, already have a sour impression of you, (Name). Where do I even begin with the demons in the Umbryss Kingdom? You're such an easy puppet for them to take over Mortalis! Thorns overwhelm your path to a long life and the revolution that will take your head isn't far!

Will you make it?

Hi! In case I was too vague, let me explain the world I've created simply for those who are confused.

Mortalis -> Human World

Elysian -> Celestial Realm

Umbryss -> Devildom

In this world, you are the villainess in line for the throne, the direct descendant of the ruler of Mortalis. I'll introduce each character slowly and give them time to develop. Please note that there will be an overlap of characters in various chapters, BUT - of course - each character will have their own chapter to star in.

Note that demons and angels DO NOT exist in this universe, but magic does! Remember that these are spin-offs so the characters won't be the exact same as canon.

Tag list: @honeymoo-cafe, @whatever-fanfics

[weixuldo]

Unconditionally Epilogue (pt 1)

Anakin X Reader

a/n: UNCONDITIONALLY IS BACK FOR A FINAL GOODBYE!! this fic really means a lot to me and i wanted to end it out with an epilogue, so here is said epilogue!! (i always said i’d get to it, didn’t i? hehe) this one has a bit of fanservice lolll, I had to incorperate the og trilogy somewhere!

10 years later...

Warnings: cursing, kids?

___________________

The sun was hot as you walked from your car into the bakery; today was the twins' birthday and you were going in to fetch their cake.

As you walked across the warm asphalt you offered your hand behind you, in no time a smaller hand grabbed yours and you smiled.

Your daughter returned the expression, “Hi, Mommy!”.

“Hi baby” you smiled back.

Five years ago, your and Anakin’s first daughter together was born, Rey; she was an unexpected surprise that came right as you finished med school.

You had her in the winter before you started your residency at the city’s biggest hospital. 

The twins were 12 when Rey was born and were beyond excited for the new addition. They spent most of their free time playing with her and Leia would even teach her new concepts she learned in school (not that Rey remembered any of that). 

Your daughter looked alot like you, but she definitely had some signature skywalker traits; her thick luscious hair, her high cheekbones, and her beautiful eyes.

You absolutely adored her.

When you told Anakin the news all those years ago, he could hardly believe his ears; he didn’t think that he would have the opportunity to be a new father again, but he was ecstatic. 

Throughout the pregnancy he would kiss your belly and run over your bump with his own arms, rather than the stiff prosthetics; he told you it was because he didn’t want to disturb the baby with the more harsh motions he made with them on. 

Around that time he was just returning to work again and came home exhausted from all of the walking and meticulous tasks, yet he would still make sure you were as comfortable as you could be before he would relax for the night. 

He was so thoughtful. 

As for Anakin himself, he had his good days and his bad days, but as the years passed his good days began to outweigh the bad ones. His body had gotten accustomed to his prosthetics and he was able to go a whole day with them on without too much discomfort. 

He got himself back to a healthy weight and even started working out again; his routine was much different than what it used to be, but with the help of some specially designed prosthetics he was able to go to the gym with little to no trouble. 

Nowadays his biceps and triceps were particularly defined- some of the new devices allowed him to hold weights and even hold his weight on the pull-up bar. He also got some running blades and tried to make it to the track at least once a week. 

He still had bouts of phantom pains, but those only really came after long periods of wearing his limbs or when he would get stressed. 

His lungs also got significantly better over time with multiple treatments in the earlier years; now they only gave him trouble in winter when the air got thin and crisp. 

__________

“Mommy, which cake are we getting for Lukey and Sissy?” Rey asked as she surveyed the assortments of colored cakes in the glass display case. 

“The baker made their’s specially, so we just have to pick it up” you smiled as you waited for a worker to assist you. 

Today was Luke and Leia’s 18th birthday and were planning a big party. When the twins got into highschool they both made a plethora of friends, so since it was their birthday and so close to school being back in session they decided to have an end of summer and birthday party. 

It took a while to get the date sorted out because you and Anakin had your 10th anniversary vacation planned for around this time since last year.

You decided that you would celebrate the twin’s birthday with the family and close friends then they could have their party later in the week when you and Anakin were gone. 

Maybe it seemed irresponsible to leave two newly 18 year olds to an empty house as you went across the country for a weekend, but you and Anakin trusted the kids, they were responsible and with Leia around, nothing would get too crazy. She grew up to be just as mature as you always figured she would. 

Finally an attendant came up to help you and gave you the cake box in no time. 

“Alright baby, let's go home” you said to your daughter who trailed behind you with an sweet smile on her face. 

__________

Across town, Anakin sat in his office going through documents on his large touch screen computer. 

It was a really good thing for him to be able to go back. The office celebrated his return with a nice cocktail party downtown (very fitting for the prestige of his company). 

Even though you had been with him for a decade, you still weren't quite sure what his business did, you just knew it was very successful (obviously with the income he made).

He and Ben tried to educate you countless times, but you were never a big economics or business girly. 

“I think I’ll just stick to my medical knowledge and leave the economy to you guys” you jokingly told him and Ben. 

Anakin’s return was pretty seamless, he never lost the momentum he once had at work. He hated pity and sympathy more than anything so he made sure to let his work speak for his capabilities. And after only a month and a half back he brought the company's stock up 17%; safe to say no one was questioning his capabilities after that. 

Today was no different, he was on a grind to get extra work done so that he wouldn’t be behind after coming back from the vacation. 

His office was pretty tricked out with innovative tech to help him do things easier. First off, everything was digitized since he didn’t have the dexterity to sift through stacks of papers. Everything was touchscreen for his convenience as well (he wore one of those touchscreen gloves at work). 

The doorway to his suite was expanded so he could go in and out easier on days that he needed his wheelchair.

He also had a bigger office so that he could bring R2; he even had a little treat jar for him. 

Anakin leaned back in his chair and stretched. 

“Almost done Artoo, then we’ll go back home, alright?” he promised, petting the dog beside him. 

After another 30 minutes Anakin was finally finished; he gathered up some of his stuff and put on his work backpack and suit coat. He grabbed R2’s  leash and hooked it on to his “service dog” vest before heading for the door. 

_________________

“Leia, who are you all inviting to the party?” Luke asked from the kitchen. 

“I don’t know? Probably some of my friends from model UN and maybe a few from debate club” she shouted back from the couch. 

She turned to the guy she was leaning on, “you’re definitely coming to the party”.

He made a face, “no, actually I’m not coming and I never wanna see you again”.

“That's fine” she said nonchalantly and turned the other way. 

“Let's see how you function without me,” she smiled to herself. 

“You’re right, what would I do without you? How would I take care of Chewie on my own? The horror… the Horror!” he cried dramatically. 

She giggled and cuddled further into him, “You’re so stupid, Han”.

“Right back atcha sweetheart” he winked before kissing her gently. 

Han Solo was Leia’s long term boyfriend; they started talking in middle school but Anakin didn’t want her to date until sophomore year of high school and even then he didn’t want her to date, but you convinced him to loosen up (Leia was insanely grateful). 

The two of them met after they were assigned to a project in physics class; Leia hated physics and just wanted to be in her gov and econ class that was next period, but she was stuck here with a sarcastic lab partner.

She was annoyed, thinking she would have to do all of the work for their labs but he surprised her; one lab required a long list of calculations so they split them down the middle and Han finished all three of his before Leia had even gotten to the second one. 

“You’re not the only one with brains here,” he said.

“B-but-”

“I know I look as dumb as a bag of rocks, but I sure know my numbers”.

From then on, she was hooked. 

Han had an outward impression of a kind of trouble maker, but he was one of the most genuine kids out there. He was very polite the first time everyone met him and even helped Leia choose a birthday gift for you. He was about a year and a half older than the twins, but had taken a gap year to work.

Leia was really really into him; she would come ask for advice on how to keep the relationship healthy and how to be a great girlfriend. It was cute. 

Han also had an absolutely massive dog named Chewie who was a big sweetheart; he had long brown fur and was always smiling with his tongue out.

Often Han would bring Chewie over to the house because he got along really well with Artoo; they spent many afternoons playing in the backyard while everyone else did their own things. 

As for your kids (when the twins were twelve, you legally adopted them), they turned out to be wonderful people with amazing goals; you and Anakin were beyond proud of them. 

Leia was academically focused and even solidified the spot as the class valedictorian. She joined the debate club and model UN- a natural leader and you and Anakin were beyond proud of the young woman she turned out to be (afterall, you had been raising her for most of her life at this point).

You and her bonded over your shared love for learning and not long after you and Anakin were wed, she started calling you “mom”. 

Unlike her brother, Leia was content spending the weekend at the house just reading books and watching random dramas (not to say she didn’t like a good party); she just didn’t need the typical teenage activities to have fun. 

Luke on the other hand was more entertained by his friends and enjoyed doing typically teenage things. Most weekends he would hang out with his buddies at whoever was hosting’s house; mainly they played video games, watched tv, or just did other random shenanigans. 

He got really into mechanics and welding early on in highschool, so you had him enrolled in a certification program. He now worked at a car shop after school and absolutely loved it. He even had a little crush on one of his co-workers who attended a college nearby (that would have to wait until a bit later). 

On occasion you would smell the nostalgic smell of weed on his jacket as he breezed by to head up to his room; most of the time you would shake your head with a smile, remembering those days. 

But of course you gave him the typical “be smart and safe” talk, but he needed to learn his limits himself, when did telling kids they weren't allowed to smoke ever stop them…?

Exactly.

The age gap between you and the twins never really crossed your mind when they were younger, but since they were growing up and puberty hit them and their friends you noticed some things. Luke’s friends would spend more time asking you how your day had been and their curious eyes lingered longer. 

You really were only about 15 years older than then but apparently they thought you were a milf- you only enjoyed their juvenile attention when Anakin was around (you liked to see him get annoyed by their terrible flirting). 

Often he would walk up and place his mechanical hands on your waist or grip your hip as he came up to “tell you something important”; usually it was just him whispering naughty things into your ear. 

His jealousy was endearing- both of you knew these kids were just sorting out their hormones and that they didn’t stand a chance- but he still felt the primal need to show them that you were his. 

_____________________________________

You pulled into the long driveway of your house and helped Rey out of her carseat before grabbing the cake box from the passenger seat.

Your daughter excitedly ran into the house to find her beloved siblings, which made you smile . 

Soon enough, you saw Anakin’s car pulling in beside yours; you always loved when your schedules would align. You set the cake back down and went over to his door to greet him. 

“Hey, darling. How was your day?” he asked with a tired smile as he opened his arms for a hug. 

“It was pretty good, I’m ready for this vacation though” you smiled into his chest. 

You felt the familiar stiffness of his mechanical hand cradling your waist, “yea, me too” he said, kissing the top of yoru head. 

“Shall we?” he asked, motioning towards the house. 

“We shall” you agreed, picking up the cake once more. 

He turned off his car and Artoo hopped out of the passenger seat; the fluffy dog came over to greet you with a wagging tail and a smile. 

“Hey buddy!” you smiled as he rubbed against your leg. 

Once you set the cake down on the counter, your sleek cream colored cat came sauntering from your bedroom; happily you picked him up and kissed his head. 

“Hello, 3PO” you exclaimed and he meowed back. 

After Anakin had R2 for a couple months, you realized how much you wanted a pet of your own; you always really liked cats and thought that it would be better to have a cat than two dogs with all of the other responsibilities you already had at the house. 

You continued the tradition of naming the pets after your liscence plates; 3PO was the last digits of the car you had when you first started working for Anakin. 

3PO was a very loving kitten, he often curled up in your lap or on your chest at night. At first, Anakin wasn’t a big fan of him- he didn’t really like cats- but as the years went on 3PO grew on him (just like you did). 

Now adays 3PO almost acted as an emotional support pet while R2 carried out the duties of a service animal. 

Either way, you were just glad that he finally approved. 

Anakin walked into the kitchen with a slight limp. 

“Are you alright, Ani?” you asked, helping steady him at the counter. 

“Yeah, my right leg is just giving me trouble today. I think I might have gone too hard at the gym” he said.

“Alright” you said, before tilting your head up for a kiss. 

He brushed your hair out of your face and smiled, “Nothing to worry about, Angel”. 

Afterwards he granted you the kiss you were waiting for; even after all of these years he still gave you butterflies. 

***

a/n: so i made ur kid Rey since shes "an honorary skywalker" in the sequels and in this universe, she's luke and leia's halfsister (technically. even though she sees them as her real siblings). this was a lot of background and hopefully it wasn’t too muddled!, i really just wanted to write this for funsies :)) i hope you all enjoyed though!! there will b one more part!!

Taglist: @katsukiswrld , @wtf-andys , @angeelcoree e , @jetiikote , @khaleesihavilliard , @sxoulchvn, @sakura-amethyst, @dottodottoo , @vader-is-hot , @circuloctm , @jellydodger , @shadowheads-shitshow

[simply-shifty]

Realizing that, now that i've made a modern genshin dr, i'll get to experience CR life with my favorite people. Just without all the bs.

My trauma will still be there but with safeguards in place to keep my current situation, minus the few good things, from happening.

I'll get to wake up and roll over to texts from Xiao and Rain and get to roam a new city with Venti after college classes and dance in the summer rain with Yoimiya while the street lights light up and the smell of rain on fresh asphalt....

I'll get to go to Xiao's backyard and laugh with Xiao as the fireflies light up the darkening summer night.

I'll get to tall Venti why i dislike alcohol and get to hear him say it isn't and never was my fault.

I'll get to whack Ajax on the back of the head playfully after he and Cyno make really corny jokes during a terrible tv show...

I'll get to see Tighnari's ears flick as we walk down a darkened country road as the moon and stars hang overhead and he rambles about his botany major and how collei, his little sister who is friends with my sister amber, is always learning new things from him and that he's so proud to be her older brother.

I'll get to be home here before i get to be home in the og genshin timeline....and that is such a blessing that shifting has given me

[perennialwitness]

The Real OG(an excerpt)

Please say the following aloud:

When you’re here, 

You’re family. 

If your mind made the connection to Olive Garden just now then we probably come from a similar background. Semi-suburban– too far to take public transit into the city, close enough to drive. Forty-five minutes, with no traffic. And we all know there’s no such thing as ‘no traffic’, only varying levels of density. The freeways more like rivers than roads, their red halogen flood line rising and falling with the moon and the weather. Kept fed by a sprawl of Commuter Towns, their  farthest edges in constant creeping development.

I grew up in one of these places, vast stretches of single-family homes connected by high-speed stroads. A town with clearly delineated lines between the Blacks and the Whites, everyone else fell somewhere in between. Then there were Subsections within that for the rich(meaning they more than likely owned their home) and the poor(straight down past section 8 and into the dusty outskirts). Streets would change suddenly from one to the next. The asphalt under your feet rapidly degrading as you made your way toward the Blacker, Poorer side of town. It mattered that you knew this. It was a way to communicate things oftentimes hard to say aloud. For instance, I lived on the poor Black side and went to school on the poor White side. Anyway,

Growing up, family events that warranted a drive to the city were rare. If it was your birthday, graduation, funeral, divorce– didn’t matter, there were only a handful of places to celebrate, all of them inhabiting the same mile long shopping plaza. There was; Applebees, famous for their happy hour specials. Chevy’s, Tex-mex where they make the tortillas out in the middle of the restaurant, which had the appearance of a beach cabana. Sizzler or Red Lobster if you were feeling extra spendy(dim lights, lots of wood grain, for date nights and so forth). And then there was the Olive Garden, which was reserved for nights when you really wanted to fill up. 

“Ain’t no bigger bang for your buck than Olive Garden on a coupon,” My step-dad would say then he’d rap his overstuffed wallet against the table and let out the hoarse rattle that was his laugh. He was right, if you were smart about it you could make one dinner last three days easy. 

Truth be told the food is barely food, classic recipes trimmed down to the bare necessities as a way of cutting costs and increasing turnover. Heapings upon heapings of pasta swimming in sauces brewed by the vat. Bread sticks, soggy with butter and oil, coming out in the dozens from the kitchen like clockwork. Servers in a mad dash to ensure every table’s basket full, lest they screech about meal comps, how they were advertised endless breadsticks and how they would sue if they weren’t offered compensation.

Bigger bang, bigger buck. 

To their credit the owners of the Olive Garden had tried to keep the place classy. The walls were painted to look like the cracked plaster of a Mediterranean villa, there were “stone” columns wrapped with vine decorations, arranged by someone unconcerned with structural support. Italian-sounding string accompaniments droned over the PA to complete the immersion. It was, all things considered, a nice place to bring the kids. And my parents, swept up in the fantasy, would drink wine there, instead of their usual Whiskeys and Vodka Sodas. They’d pretend they were in love, and we-- the kids I mean-- we tried our best to behave like “family”.

In my adulthood I avoided these places. Not because I cared about the quality, I don’t have qualms with cheap bad food. My aversion was psychological. These chains represented a place and a lifestyle that I couldn’t return to. The make-believe of it all. The gamified domesticity. It isn’t simple to correct your vision, removing the blinders is painful, seeing the truth of things deteriorates the sense of self. There’s just too much comfort in familiarity. So easy to lull oneself back to sleep amongst the herd, so more than anything else what I feared was regression.

[screams-n-shackles]

Encountering Truths - Hero / Villain Whump

After a long and exhausting day leader finally arrived home. It was already in the middle of the night and the light from the defective streetlamp was less than enough to lit the porch. But when leader climbed the steps to their front door they found the doormat slightly moved from it's original place. Not enough to raise the suspicion of others, but Leader instantly knew that something was up.

That someone got their hands on leaders key.

They already changed to their casual clothes so their gun was safely locked away. They resulted to their second best option and retrieved their emergency knife from their boot. This would have to make do.

Taking out their keys they slowly opened the door, ears trained to pick up any weird noise from inside the dark hallway.

A few Seconds passed in which leader waited for an attack only for nothing to come their way.

They opened the door completely and stepped into the darkness. Only the awful light from outside casting weird and flickering shadows, while they moved a few steps into their apartment.

Still no further noises except for the wind from outside and their own footsteps.

Leader decided to atleast close the door for the time being, so they gave it a light kick before they followed the floor to the living room.

Then, right before they set foot into the room they heard it.

Soft breathing. Barely audible and apparently a little bit strained. And it came from the couch.

Knife ready to slash into the flesh of the unwelcome intruder Leader slowly approached the couch, to encounter a figure draped over it.

Deep asleep. Or atleast good at faking it.

Due to the now nearly none existent light source they couldn't tell who or what decided to invade their very own home and save haven.

But that was an easy fix.

Knife prepared to hold off the unknown person, their other hand extended to the table next to the couch. Switching on a small lamp the living room was doused in a yellow shine.

And finally leader came to see their guest. More or less.

As they stared right into the cracked porcelain mask of Villain. Red stains were smeared all over, and before Leader decided to end it once and for all, their eyes slipped to the torso of villain.

Which was covered in bandages died red from the bleeding. Blood that was probably also soaking the couch right now.

"Allright. What the hell, Villain?", was the first mumbled wonder leaving leaders lips as they rounded the couch to inspect their newfound injured.

[erodasfishtacos]

Melt Your Cold Heart

prompt: harry’s been alone for years. a bland, bleak life where he needs nothing but his dog then he stumbles upon someone who gives him a purpose…even if for a few hours. word count: 8k

warnings: heavy angst, emotionally unavailable harry, suicidal/depressive thoughts, mental health struggles, mentions of trauma, discussion of sex work

authors note:

There is 3 more parts to this up on patreon (and currently being updated this month!).

I upload a piece of writing every 1-3 days.

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 3 mini one shots (1-4kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 350 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here!

++++++++

Harry hadn’t wanted to pull over but it was impossible to continue on the highway without potentially causing an accident.

The snow was coming down hard enough that it was a white sheet, the high speed winds were making it to be a tornado of pure smokescreens that made it impossible for his windshield wipers to work.

The semi-truck had eighteen wheels but they were all at risk of hydroplaning or losing grip on the layers of black ice that covered the asphalt without a second thought.

With such a heavy piece of equipment, he didn’t have to only look out for himself but anybody else on the road because one wrong judgment call could turn the semi into a weapon of destruction.

It meant that he was going to be at least twelve hours behind on his delivery which was making him on-edge as it was because he hated having to deal with the dickhead client that he was delivering to.

The town he stopped in was small, nothing to note, and not unsimilar to the towns he had stayed in before in his twelve years on the road.

A small Midwest town that had a truck stop with a twenty-four hour gas station, a diner that was already closed for the night, and a pavilion of bathrooms for truck drivers to clean off.

It was just about midnight when he parked his rig, taking off his baseball cap and running his hand through his hair, it was getting long and he was due for trim next time he was home but fuck, he was tired.

He never really stopped working, constantly moving across state lines and delivery shipments as a self-employed hauler - he was his own boss and he pushed himself like no boss would (who wouldn’t want to be violating labor laws).

This wasn’t one of the nicer stops.

The buildings were outdated, looking like they hadn’t been renovated since the eighties, and that was being generous.

The parking lot lights were flickering like in a horror movie, not that it frightened Harry, he has dealt with his fair on the road, and has seen a lot of things that he would have preferred not to.

It’s why he always carried, just on his hip, in case.

He would wait until the next stop to shower, at one of the more luxurious, updated places where the showers were actually decent, there was privacy, and it didn’t feel like bathing in a back alley.

For now, he just needed the restroom and a drink.

The bathrooms were just as foul as he expected, washing his hands with extra hot water to give himself a sense of cleanliness before he’s trailing over to the gas station next door.

The wind was insane, blowing the snow directly into his face, and sticking to his eyelashes.

His eyes burned with the freezing temperatures, blinking harshly as he tucks his head down until a warm gust of air hits his face as he enters the building. The lights were blindingly fluorescent and he had to adjust for a minute after driving in the dark for hours by now.

There was an older man at the counter, sitting on a stool and watching a static-filled rerun on a small television next to the register, and his skin was a sickly yellow, most likely from working the graveyard shift for far too long.

The man nods in acknowledgement but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen.

Harry walks towards the back, towards the line of coolers to grab something to drink, a soda that he normally didn’t drink but he was craving carbonation, he hadn’t eaten yet today.

He was definetly a bit too skinny.

Truck drivers were normally the opposite, out of shape, and overweight from lack of movement.

They were sat in trucks all day, every day with nothing to do but snack.

Harry was the opposite, though he was too lean, he took pride in his appearance and maintained his muscle from strapping down, unloading, and all the physical work of the job that he did himself (unlike most drivers).

He did not eat well, he knew that but found it hard to care.

Harry was in a slump, he had been for the last few years.

With being on the road, missing all major holidays, and never sticking around one place enough to settle down - he was depressed, an understatement but no one was around to listen or care.

He was alone, truly, and at some point, that had become comfortable to him.

Harry went through the motions, driving, hauling, delivering, sleeping, and repeating it over and over again.

The only thing he had was a Fire Bird (Birdie) his cattle dog who was named after his favorite car growing up, one that had been in his grandfather’s shed, and was only taken out on the town on very special occasions.

Birdie kept him sane, gave him a reason to get his ass moving every morning, and to take breaks because though he was convinced that his dog was the laziest bag of bones. Every few hours, she required a field, her ball, and Harry throwing it for her for at least twenty minutes before she passed out on the passenger seat for a few hours.

It was his routine.

Their routine.

He had found when she was a puppy.

Some trucker at a stop in Milwaukee had left the pup in the field next to the lot after she’d chewed through one of his seats.

She was malnourished, overheated, and covered in fleas.

Harry had never had a dog on the road, never thought it practical but the first time he had seen this spotted puppy with the saddest brown eyes and its tail wagging timidity on the ground.

Well it was the first time Harry had felt anything in a long time.

That was eight years ago, Birdie was a bit slower now, a gray coating her muzzle, and an attitude of a spoiled queen.

A lot more days than Harry would like to admit, she’s what keeps him going because it’s definitely not work or the money.

Harry had a hefty sized bank account from all his hard work but it sat and sat, he never spent it on anything but bare necessities so it continued to stack and stack which wasn’t a bad thing but it was nothing that brought him excitement.

It wasn’t the dream life of a thirty-three year old.

Harry had grabbed a coke before snagging a bag of overpriced jerky off the nearest display - he can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t heavily processed.

There was a girl in the store too.

Harry had just caught the slightest glimpse of her as she stood by a cooler on the other side of the store, browsing the energy drinks.

She was out of place.

Harry hadn’t seen a car parked in the lot, only two other semis, and she wasn’t a truck driver by the look of her outfit.

It wasn’t weather appropriate at all.

Not for winter in the Midwest.

The woman had on a fitted black dress, it wasn’t overly fancy but it hugged every inch of her body, and high heels of all things.

Harry wonders if she was with one of the other drivers.

He doesn’t pay much mind to her until she faces him, a purple can in her hand, and she’s noticeably pretty, more so than average.

Harry wasn’t trying to be an asshole but women who hung around these areas weren’t typically most attractive.

This woman was.

Albeit the makeup she had on was too much, thick eyelashes, her blush too heavy, and a rouge lip that contrasted the complexion of her skin in an off-putting way.

Her heels click as she steps over to the counter, putting the drink on the counter, along with a protein bar, and rifling through a small purse on her shoulder.

“Eight thirty-three,” The cashier announces after scanning it, his eyes crudely running up and down the woman’s body before focusing on her face again.

The woman is rustling through her purse, pulling out crinkled bills that had been shoved carelessly in the clutch.

Harry stands a safe distance behind her, in line, watching as she smooths out the one dollar bills hastily as the cashier looks completely unamused.

“I only have five,” The girl mumbles embarrassed after she comes up empty with no more money to be found, “Can you please take off the protein bar?”

Harry doesn’t feel much often.

Tonight, he does.

A little glimmer of compassion.

But very much like himself, the girl is too skinny, not eating enough, and from what he can infer - not being able to afford food to feed herself.

“I got it,” Harry interrupts, stepping up next to the woman, and putting his stuff down aside hers, taking his wallet out of his back pocket to pluck out his bank card.

It’s the first time they make eye contact, “Oh, you really don’t have to. I’ll be okay with just the drink-“

“I’m not asking,” Harry replies curtly, tapping his card to the screen when the total rings up before tucking his wallet away and grabbing his items.

“Here,” She insists, trying to hand him the crumpled bills that she had laid on the counter, five dollars that she needed much more than him.

“Keep it,” Harry waves her off, refusing the money before walking towards the door without another look her way.

He was drawn to her.

He wouldn’t offer most, really anyone a handout - he never got one.

Harry can feel the woman’s eyes on his back as he stalks out of the station, hugging his jacket tighter against his body as he walks back to his truck to sleep for the night.

“S’fucking cold, Birdie,” Harry had complained as he locked the doors, placing up all the blinds to keep wandering eyes out.

Birdie was currently dead to the world, unbothered by his words as she snores softly from her fluffy dog bed on the floor of the cab.

Harry had just tugged off his winter jacket when he hears a knock at the driver’s side door - for a moment, he’s convinced that it’s the wind but then a few seconds later, it comes again.

“Fucks sake,” Harry grunts with annoyance, he much prefers when people leave him the fuck alone, and he has a hunch it’s the gas station cashier or another driver.

However, when he opens the door, after unlocking it, and having to use a good amount of effort to push it against the force of the wind - it’s neither.

It’s the girl from the gas station.

Her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle.

Her lips were quivering as she tried to prevent her teeth was chattering, blinking harshly through the wind up at him.

“What?” Harry asks, it wasn’t overly friendly or friendly at all.

“Are you looking for company?” The woman replies but she’s the furthest thing from confident, eyes darting around but not meeting his, “I…My rates are reasonable.”

And oh, this is what she was doing here.

Harry couldn’t tell you the amount of times that he’s had a knock on the door and been propositioned for ‘company’.

Most drivers indulged in it, they were lonely and usually away from their spouses for long spurts of time that led them to pay for the replacement.

Harry had never.

Nor did he plan to now.

As he said, this woman was fucking gorgeous, would be even more so without the cakey makeup and slinky outfit.

But he wasn’t ever going to be that lonely.

He grew up with a mom in that line of work, he felt like it was disrespectful to put a monetary price on a woman’s worth, and he had never been into casual hookups.

So yes, he would absolutely love her company but not ever under these circumstances, where she’s offering out of need and not desire.

Harry can’t remember the last time he’s had sex but the depression had killed his sex drive for the most part anyways.

He didn’t seek it out.

“No,” Harry responds flatly, not indecisiveness in his voice at all, “Not interested.”

Typically when Harry turned a proposition down, the woman wouldn’t be too thrilled whether she delivered him a ‘fuck you’ or spit on the door of his truck - that was normal response.

However, not for this girl, her face drops in a twist of embarassment and shame, and it’s also the first time someone apologizes for offering.

“I’m sorry to…to bother you. Um, have a good night. Safe travels,” She stutters out, it was obvious that she was flustered and mortified which again, made him feel just a twinge of empathy.

Harry’s about to assure her that it wasn’t a big deal but she was already turning in her heel, walking briskly back to the pavilion and disappearing inside.

He shuts his door, slumping down in his driver’s seat for a second as he rubs his hand across his face with a groan, he was too tired for this shit.

However, the thought of that girl offering her services to the other drivers or having to sleep in that dirty, run-down building wasn’t acceptable to him.

“The fuck is wrong with me,” Harry mutters to himself as he tugs his jacket back on, he never cared about any before.

Why now?

Harry’s body detests being lured back into the frigid weather, missing the warmth of his cabin instantly as he shuts the door behind him.

By the time he’s walking toward the building, the girl had disappeared inside, and wasn’t visible to him anymore.

What was he even doing?

He should turn around and go back to his truck.

But he finds himself tugging open the door, it was warmer than the outside but not by much, the heater must be in its last leg, and it was sticky - almost humid.

Harry’s nose twitched in disgust at the smell of cheap disinfectant, a half-ass cleaning job, and garbage that hadn’t been taken out soon enough.

He doesn’t see her right away, figuring he may have to go towards the women’s restroom - he follows the sign towards the back of the building.

Harry finds her, tucked into the corner of an alcove, resting against the side of a row of vending machines - smushed and hiding.

She had taken off her bag, bundling it up, and pushing it between her head and the machine to create a makeshift pillow.

Harry wishes it didn’t make his chest ache, he was so used to not feeling, and it was pissing him off that he wasn’t feeling numb to it.

Her eyes were closed but her body was tense like he knew shouldn’t couldn’t full let herself relax because she wasn’t safe.

Harry clears his throat, standing in front of her with his hands in his jacket pockets.

She startles as she hadn’t heard him approaching, bumping her head off the hard plastic of the machine covering and wincing as she tenses.

“Let’s go,” Harry waves his hand impatiently.

Yeah, his communication skills were not the best.

The woman blinks up at him in confusion, reasonably nervous as she shuffles off the floor, stumbling as she pushes herself up on a knee, uncoordinated and clumsy as she tries to get re-oriented.

Harry sighs impatiently, sticking out his hand for to take, and when she very gingerly puts her freezing cold one in his, he yanks her up to her feet with little effort - she couldn’t weigh much.

”Did you…uh,” The girl’s voice is shaky as she grabs her purse, a backpack, “Did you want to know my rates?”

Harry stops, turning back towards her, and starting to unzip his heavy, down winter coat as he shakes his, “Don’t need ‘em. I’m not interested in your services.”

The girl pauses too, swinging her backpack over her shoulder, “Why did you come get me then?”

Harry doesn’t make eye contact as he shoves his jacket unceremoniously towards her, “Put this on.”

She accepts it but doesn’t move to, “Why?”

Harry grunts out an annoyed huff, shoving his hands in jean pockets, “S’not safe for you to be sleeping in a place like this. It’s freezing in here, you’re not dressed for the weather. You can stay the night in my cab before I head out.”

YN swallows anxiously, weighing out her options before there’s a banging noise.

Someone barging through the front doors of the pavilion, a large middle-aged man that had dirty overalls on, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, and a scraggly graying beard.

When this trucker sees the woman, he smiles like a cat who just got the cream, and doesn’t hesitate to ask in a raspy, smoker’s draw, “How much for the night, sweetheart?”

Her eyes widen in unwelcome surprise, lips twisting as she struggles to find a response.

”Um…”

”I already got ‘er,” Harry gives the man a hard, faux-possessive look (maybe it wasn’t as fake as he thought it was because he really did feel a protectiveness over her for some reason), “Tough shit.”

”Let me know if you finish with her early,” The man laughs, his gaze was predatory and foul, it made even Harry feel unsettled to just see the way he was looking at her - like an object.

“Fuck off,” Harry dismisses the man easily, though Harry was skinner than he’d prefer, his muscles were still prevelant and enough to intimidate, especially the out-of-shape man.

The girl tugs the jacket on hastily, the other trucker clearly motivating her not to stay in here.

”That’s why you shouldn’t try to sleep in here, you think he would think twice before dragging you to his truck?” Harry scolds as he steps forward, without thinking, he zips the jacket for her because the zipper can be finicky at the best times - it was old and needed replaced three winters ago at least.

”I know you could lie,” She says softly, the most she’s really said thus far, “But you’re not going to hurt me, are you?”

It was dumb question, on her end.

Why would anyone tell her the truth if their real intention was to cause her harm?

Harry really should be questioning what he’s doing.

Never once in the past has he ever taken it upon himself or felt the need to do what he was doing for this girl.

He should mind his own business and realize that she isn’t his responsibility.

“No, I’m not going to. You can get warm, get some sleep, and tomorrow at five in the morning I’m kicking you to the curb,” Harry informs her, trying to maintain the coldness that he normally keeps in his tone but he feels guilty even talking to her like that.

“Okay. I…Thank you. I’m YN, by the way,” She tells him, still shy as ever and really a contradiction to how a sex worker is - outgoing and assertive.

“Harry,” He replies as he walks them towards the exit, not looking forward to having the freezing temperatures hit the bare skin of his arms nor have the wind throwing icy clumps on snow in his face but he would take it if it meant YN stayed a bit warmer.

YN’s face pinches up when the door opens, the cold hitting her aggressively enough that her hair goes flying behind her in the wind, every which way as it tangles into a bird ‘s nest.

Harry is lucky he turns around to check on her because right as he does, she slips on a patch of ice which has her nearly falling backwards.

He grips her forearms tightly, a gnarled frown on his face as he gripes, “Who the fuck wears heels in below zero temps?”

He expects a snarky response back.

And he feels even more like a piece of shit when she tucks her chin down, mumbling an embarrassed apology as he guides her, keeping a hold of her arm.

Harry unlocks his truck, swinging open the door, and steps back, “Go ahead.”

YN hesitates for a moment, glancing back at the pavilion and seeing the truck driver from early emerge, winking at her.

She hurries inside as quickly as she can in her outfit, trying to tuck her dress to her thighs to avoid it flipping up and giving Harry a view.

Harry shuts the door behind them, locking it tightly, and double checking both side of the doors before he’s unfastening the blinds - blocking the outside world.

Last step is to put up the privacy screen along his windshield as YN keeps tucked carefully by the corner of the driver’s side.

“C’mon, I have a dog. She doesn’t like anyone but me so just leave her alone and she won’t bother you,” Harry informs her as he pushes back the curtain to his cabin, it was always spotless, and clean which was probably surprising to her.

It was a luxury sleeper, it wasn’t anything extravagant but Harry had put his savings to good use about three years ago.

A small kitchen, a dining room table that folded his bed out, and a television mounted on the wall that was usually on for background noise more than anything.

“This is really nice,” YN stands timidly in the breezeway of the front of the truck, unsure, and looking out of place.

Harry just grunts in agreement, questioning what exactly his plan was, and he grabs fresh sheets out of a small cabinet.

“You can have the bed,” Harry tells her as he strips off his sheets, they weren’t dirty but he had slept on them a few nights, “I’ll take the lounger.”

It wasn’t the most comfortable chair but he’d survive.

“No, no. I can take the chair,” YN insists sincerely with a shake of her head, her teeth still clenched as her body shook from the cold.

Harry ignores her, tugging the new fitted sheet onto the mattress, changing the pillowcases, and the comforter - he’s lucky he had a spare.

He doesn’t say anything else before gathering the comforter he’d just taken from the bed and tossing it on the lounge chair.

“Go to sleep,” Harry signals impatiently because she’s just standing there, shaking with how cold she is and he moves over to bump up the heat.

YN listens, walking slowly towards the bed, her eyes catching on Birdie’s sleeping form (who hadn’t even stirred) - what a shit guard dog.

YN sits on the edge of the bed, her hands were trembling from the cold and nerves, fingers stiff, and when she leans down to unstrap her heels - she can’t get a grip.

Harry watches for a moment before stalking over, kneeling down and wrapping his fingers around her ankle to hold of still.

YN watches him quietly as he slips the shoes from her feet, annoyance prevalent in his words as he asks pointedly, “Why the fuck would you wear these today? Do you have no self-preservation? You’re lucky you didn’t get frostbite.”

She shuts down again, like earlier when he had questioned her clothing choices, and doesn’t respond for a long second, voice soft when she does, “They’re the only pair I have.”

And…well Harry didn’t think of that.

Harry doesn’t have anything to reply with so he makes quick work of taking them off her freezing feet and she needs socks - they felt like ice under his own cold fingers.

He stands up, turning to a built in storage unit to his left as YN nervously moves to lay down, completely unsure as she lift the comforter.

“Not yet,” Harry gruffs as he digs out what he was looking for - a waffle-knit henley, a soft pair of flannel pajamas pants he never wore because he much preferred his underwear, and a pair of thick wool thermal socks, “Here. It stays relatively warm in here but it’s freezing outside. Put these on.”

“Thank you,” YN replies quietly as she stands up, without hesitation she reaches for the hem of her dress and begins to pull it up.

“Jesus,” Harry mutters as he quickly turns, giving her the privacy she deserved, rubbing a hand over the bridge of his nose.

“I’m dressed,” YN tells him after a minute of rustling as she changes into the clothes provided, “I didn’t mean to, um, make you uncomfortable. Most men want something in return, I figured you wanted to see me…change.”

Harry feels disgust seeping through him.

Not at her.

But at the deplorable men she had to be in the company of when at these types of stops.

“I told you, I don’t want shit from you. M’just trying to be a decent human being and I’d rather not see your picture on the morning news tomorrow. This is a horrible part of town,” Harry was too blunt, was constantly scolded for it during his upbringing but he never got better at it.

YN was still nervous, trembling at that as she sat down on the edge of the bed - all of the clothes were hanging off of her, the shirt slipping down her too-thin shoulder.

“I really appreciate it. I haven’t been able to sleep somewhere even half this nice without…you know, working,” YN sniffles as tears start to gather in her eyes, “I’m so tired.”

Harry feels that same tug on his heartstrings, a sensation that reminded him that he even had a beating heart.

“You’re safe. I know you just have my word but I won’t let anything happen,” Harry promises, feeding his own need to keep her safe and also make her feel that way too.

YN nods as she wipes her eyes, the makeup smearing around the edges thay has him sighing and getting up to head to the small bathroom.

He runs a clean washcloth under warm(ish) water before wringing it out.

Harry steps out to walk closer to her again, her chest was heaving as she let out emotion that Harry didn’t understand.

He doesn’t say anything - he wouldn’t even know what that would be because he hadn’t had real communication with anyone other than the other truckers on the radio for years now.

Harry is slow in his motions so that she’s not taken surprise at any point, with barey any pressure, he cups her face with one hand.

He brings the cloth up to wipe gently at the layered, tacky makeup that comes off in a thick muck, wipe after wipe.

When her face is clear of the overdone eyeshadow, harsh blush, spidery mascara clumped lashes - its startlingly how beautiful she is.

Her skin is perfect or nearly close to.

Smooth, clear, glowy in the dim light of the sleeper.

Her lips a puffy, delicate rosé pink - full and pouted.

The clean face takes at least a few years from her, that makeup had accentuated every wrinkle and crevice - aging her more than she was.

Fuck, she was pretty.

Harry tosses the cloth in his hamper, walking towards the lounge chair and kicking off his heavy, steel-toed boots.

He wasn’t obviously going to sleep in his briefs tonight and he had just handed her his only pair of pajama pants.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d slept in his jeans nor the last, some nights he was too tired to strip them off before collapsing in bed.

“Goodnight, thank you,” YN murmurs after a mute snuffle, he watches out of the corner of her eye as she wriggles down into his bed - looking like she fucking belongs there.

“Sleep well,” Harry rumbles as he shuts off the lamp, throwing the cabin into darkness - the only light filtering through the curtains of the neon gas station sign - bright enough to grab the attention of people on the highway.

Harry reclines the chair, he didn’t normally sleep on his back but he would manage for tonight - for her.

The wind was gnarly, scraping against the sides of his truck - the occasional loose tree branch hitting, the sleet pattering against the windows.

+

Harry didn’t sleep in, his body didn’t allow him.

He ran on five hours of sleep at max before he needed to get up, move around, and get on the road.

When he blinks his eyes open, blearing at clock on his wall - three fifty-four am.

Normally, Harry wouldn’t waste much time.

He’d be on the road within the next thirty minutes after letting Birdie out, getting her breakfast, and popping into the gas station to get the biggest size coffee they had.

However, when he glances at Birdie’s bed, he has to do a double take because she’s not in there, and his heart starts pounding instantly.

Harry didn’t care about much on this earth, really barely anything but he cared about his dog - the snappy, crotchety thing.

She was always in her bed.

Harry sits up quickly, a horrible thought that the girl he let sleep her had stolen her but as soon as he is standing - he hears a telltale snore from the dog.

He follows the noise and to his utter dismay, literal dismay, because Birdie didn’t like anyone but Harry (and she didn’t like him sometimes either).

The mutt is currently being spooned by YN.

It was the most absurd thing he had ever seen.

YN was on her side, facing towards him with her face half-smushed in his pillow, her arm was slung over Birdie as the pup was nuzzled into the shape of her body.

Birdie was relaxed as can be, snoring up a storm, and pillowing her head in the crook of YN’s shoulder like they’d known each other forever.

The dog hadn’t even woke up when YN had entered.

Traitor.

Harry tucks back into his boots, tugging on his winter jacket that YN had discarded on the back of the kitchenette chair.

As he fills the disposable coffee cup, black - no cream or sugar, he tries to map out his course to Washington state.

He had done the trip many times before but having to account for horrible road condition would tack on at least a day of travel - if not more.

Harry had to get on the road as soon as possible if he didn’t want to be later than that extra day.

The weather hadn’t changed, granted, it was only nearing four in the morning but he swears that the temperature dropped even further.

As he steps back up into the cabin, his eyes trail to YN and Birdie, all cuddled up like this was their home together.

Harry needed to wake her up, kick her to the curb like he had told her (and himself) but he couldn’t imagine waking her.

Not when only a few hours prior, she had cried as she told him how tired she was, and fuck - where did his heartlessness go?

He didn’t mess with sex workers, not that he judged the profession but Harry was never a casual sex kind of guy.

And anyways, the depression that was nearly constant killed his sex drive to the point where he rarely got the urge to take care of himself - let alone pay someone to do it for him.

Harry sighs as he contemplates his choices, he was going to be behind, and he couldn’t find it in him to shake her awake.

He decides to shower, even though the rest stop was foul because he had the time and he sure he has showered in worse places.

The water doesn’t get as hot as Harry would like but the pressure get good on his aching back, he’d always had a bad one, and sleeping in the lounger would make him sore for days.

Harry takes him time, washes his hair extra well, shaves off his stubble, and he’s not doing it to be more presentable to YN - he’s not.

By the time that he’s dressed in clean clothes, it has to be close to five in the morning, he refills his coffee on the way back before he’s unlocking his truck again.

Harry’s met by Birdie, who was acting strange, she rarely waited at the door and didn’t often whine like an injured pup.

However, Birdie was clearly upset as she anxiously paced in the small area, these high pitched yowls coming from the back of her throat - head upwards as she howled.

“What is it?” Harry asks her, automatically concerned as his eyes dart to the bed.

She was gone.

The bed had been made as neat as a pin, the clothes she had borrowed were folded on top of the comforter, and it’s like she’d never been there.

Harry should feel relief because he wouldn’t have to wake her up, kick her out but it doesn’t feel anywhere close to relief,

Not when he had this vicious, innate urge to protect her.

He didn’t know what made her so special.

Harry had stumbled upon countless women down on their luck before, it was part of working around the country, stopping as places were those people tended to populate, and he had never felt any desire to help them.

He knows she must have either went to the gas station or rest stop, she didn’t have a jacket so she couldn’t have gotten far.

A sickening thought of her getting into the scumbag from last night’s truck makes him close the door and head back toward the building.

He was just in the gas station to get another coffee, he would have seen her, and when he goes back into the dank rest stop - he walks towards the women’s bathroom.

Outside the door, he can hear the patter of water streaming from one of the ancient showerheads, and knows that has to be her showering.

And so he waits.

He hears the telltale signs of heels clicking and he has to laugh when she exits the bathroom.

Her hair was sopping wet because she didn’t have a towel, her black dress was waterlogged where the ends of her hair were kissing the fabric - all while wearing those god damn shoes.

YN’s eyes go wide, scared instantly as she stutters, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Harry’s replies, brow knit in confusion.

YN’s face contorts, eyes darting away for a moment, “Um, I don’t know? You look upset with me. I-I left as soon as I woke up like you said.”

Was Harry upset?

Yeah, he guesses he actually was.

But not with her, not really.

He was upset that she was in a ridiculously small dress with wet hair (and clothes) in sub zero temperatures.

“What is your plan?” Harry answers instead, watching as goosebumps erupt all over her skin - it was a sticky humid in the cinderblock building but the cold couldn’t be ignored.

“My plan?” YN repeats, he hates how nervous she is around him - he understands but it’s so unnecessary, he wants to keep her safe.

He should leave.

Let her do her thing.

It’s not his business.

“Where are you going? What’s next?”

YN picks at the skin of her thumb with her index finger, chin tilted down, “I am hoping to get enough cash today to get a jacket, maybe a hotel room? That, um, that guy yesterday is still out in his truck and offered me a hundred and fifty so that’s why I was..showering.”

Harry wanted to be sick, his stomach was actually churning the coffee he had chugged down because she deserved better than that.

“No,” Harry says without thinking.

YN’s eyebrows raise in surprise, “I don’t know-“

“Three grand,” Harry interupts her, “I’m going to Washington. I’ll give you cash today to do the trip with me. Five or six days overall. I’ll buy your food, get you clothes, anything you need. On the way back, I’ll drop you off here again.”

YN is rightfully confused, biting at her bottom lip, “And what do you expect of me?”

“No sex,” Harry assures her, “I won’t try anything.”

“But why? This doesn’t make any sense. It’s just wasting money,” YN points out, she was starting to tremble from the cold.

Harry tugs off his jacket once again, this time he holds it out, and YN slips her arms in without complaint - she was freezing.

“You seem easy-going. I’ve been on the road for five years, guess I’m lonely and some company would be nice,” Harry shrugs, a rueful smile as he adds, “Also I’ll be damned if you’re getting in that scumbag’s truck. You deserve better than that.”

YN does something that shocks Harry.

She steps forward and wraps her arms tightly around his middle, her face burying in her chest as she hugs him.

The tips of her hair are dampening his own shirt but he cannot find it in him to complain.

This hug makes him realize just how long he’s been without human touch.

Harry is stiff, still processing, and YN must realize that because she starts to pull back with wide eyes, “I’m sorr-“

He shakes his head, finally moving his arms to wrap around her back, and he pulls her back into the hug - just for a moment.

“I got you, alright?” Harry rumbles as he pulls away, taking a step back, “Do you have a cell phone? Is there anyone you need to let know that you’re leaving for a few days?”

“No to both. I don’t have a cell phone, it broke a while back, and I couldn’t afford a replacement. And no, I don’t have anyone who will be concerned,” YN replies quietly, her voice was soft and sweet and filled with hurt.

“Okay,” Harry responds because he doesn’t know how to put into words that he doesn’t understand why she’s in a place like this, with no one.

She didn’t seem to have a bad bone in her body.

Harry guides YN back to his truck, as he opens the door he tells her, “I’m going to run Birdie for a few minutes. The clothes are still folded on the bed. I’ll get you new ones on the way. There aren’t stores for the next long stretch of miles.”

YN nods in agreement and as soon as Harry opens the door, Birdie is down the four steps and bounding towards YN.

Birdie jumped up on her hind legs, tail going wild as she accepts ear scratches and coos from YN, leaning down to kiss her snout.

And that’s another thing Harry doesn’t get, Birdie doesn’t do that with other people, normally she growls and bristles, bares her teeth and barks to get them away.

Birdie gets her love before bounding into the snow-topped fields, swallowing her up until Harry can only see flashes of black and white as she darts around.

It’s too cold to give her the normal amount of time and plus, he didn’t have his jacket so Birdie only got ten minutes before he whistled for her to come back.

Birdie’s whiskers are ice-tipped, snow dusting her beard, and she races back into the cabin with no issue in escaping the cold.

YN was already changed again, sitting on the bed.

Harry would be okay if he never saw her in a tight black dress or high heels again.

“I’m going to go refill my coffee, do a quick check of my truck, and then we’ll get out of here, okay?” Harry asks as he wipes Birdie off with a towel to get her dry - her fur was coarse and pretty water-resistant as it was, “Do you want food, a drink?”

YN shakes her head, declining as if it’s the polite thing to do, “No, thank you.”

Harry nods before disappearing back out of the truck.

The gas station is as desolate as it’s been the other two times that he’s gotten his coffee but now he had an armful of things.

Juices, water, hydration drinks, granola bars, a breakfast sandwich, a few cellophane-wrapped pastries.

The same clerk is still behind the register, his skin almost translucent from how pale he was, purplish veins contrasted the yellowish tone of his skin.

The man is old, his name tag reads ‘Gary’, and he scans the items with a bored expression, eyes blearing up to Harry at one point.

He had a rough, mid-western accent that made him harder to understand as he spoke, “Never a good idea to fall in love with a hooker.”

Harry is taken aback, startled by the comment as he replies, “What did you just say?”

Gary nods towards his truck out front, he clearly had seen YN going back and forth from the rest stop to his rig.

Then he nods down at the snacks, “M’just saying, son. Don’t put your eggs in her basket. They’re all smoke and mirrors. They’ll say and do just about anything for cash. Remember that.”

Harry is silent as he taps his card to the screen, he wasn’t in love with this girl, he had just met her mere hours ago under weird circumstances.

He didn’t feel anything towards her.

At least that’s what he was going to continue to tell himself so that he can remain headstrong on the promise he made to himself that he doesn’t need anyone.

He’s fine by himself.

Just him and Birdie.

Harry doesn’t give him a reaction nor a response, grabbing the plastic bag, and trudging back out into the cold.

Ready to get the fuck out of here.

YN is still where he left her but Birdie had finished her breakfast and was currently nuzzled up next to her thigh like she was her mother.

Harry unceremoniously drops the bag of items next to her, opposite of his traitorous dog, and doesn’t say anything - awkward and unsure.

YN opens the bag, glancing inside before looking up at him.

“It’s for you,” Harry waves his hand dismissively before moving to rub the back of his neck, why the fuck was he acting like this?

Like he was trying to court her with cheap gas station food and his clothes.

“Do you do this often? For girls like me?” YN wonders out loud, it’s not necessarily judgemental but curiously confused.

“I’ve never had a girl in here before, so no,” Harry shrugs, unable to hold eye contact because she’s pretty and he’s embarrassed.

“Do you…” YN hesitates, glancing down at her hands, “Nevermind.”

“You can ask me anything,” Harry doesn’t have much of anything to hide, “S’fine.”

“You don’t have a wife and kids at home, do you?” YN is timid, like she’s worried about how he’ll react to such a question.

Harry snorts, nonplussed, “No. I don’t have any family and I call this rig my home. No wife or kids.”

“Guess we’re both alone,” YN picks at a loose thread on the pajama pants, it was a fact for both of them, and the air was solemn between them.

“Well, for the next few days we have each other, right?” Harry huffs as he turns to the cabinet, out of sight, he punches in the code to his safe, and takes out the cash he promised, “Here’s the money.”

YN’s eyes go wide, taking it after a moment, running her thumb nail under the bills as they flutter before she’s tucking it into her backpack.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve your kindness but I am so grateful,” YN said earnestly, her eyes were doe-like and molten like heated caramel.

And Harry realizes for the first time since he’d met her that he hadn’t thought about his depression, about how he didn’t want to be here most days, and how most days had been all of his days lately.

She had given him a reason to keep on going for at least the next few days because he had her to take care of, protect.

Birdie was the only thing that had kept him here for the last three years, when it’s started to get really bad because he’d never abandon her.

Even if it meant enduring his own suffering for her - he would do anything for that dog, his lifeline, his lifesaver when he’s drowning.

He’s getting that same feeling with YN and he knows that’s dangerous because she could want to jump ship tomorrow and he’d be alone again.

Despite Gary’s forewarning, Harry might be putting his eggs in the basket of a girl he met less than twenty-four hours ago.

[udekai]

35. things you said at the top of your lungs MattFoggy

Ohh, that's a good one. Hope you don't mind if i take it and run. 35.) things you said at the top of your lungs

This is not the first time Matt's been shot.

Deliriously, he thinks he should probably be better at taking them by now. Practice makes perfect, right?

But now he's lying on the asphalt, and he can't really move. He's literally in a suit and tie, because this happened before he had gotten home. It's not a heroic feat. He heard some screaming and some crying. He rounded the corner towards an alley, a second soon enough to distract the man with a gun from the guy he was waving it at.

It sounds like a family dispute gone awol, and instead, the bullet goes to Matt, and both people involved run like hell before they get arrested.

He's trying to pull spider-web threads of consciousness away from the urge to let his head roll to one side, and they keep snapping on him.

He doesn't realize there's anyone around until they're on top of him, and their heartbeat is crystal clear. His hearing is never as good, nor as fleeting, as after an adrenaline high.

He knows this guy. Foggy, his mind offers from nothing, and though he can't really grasp the urgency of that right now, he thinks it's telling that he recognizes him right away. That he can even think to try and form the syllables, even if the "f" won't quite happen.

"Og. Hhhhhfogg."

He can't map out where he is right now, but he can hear the stir of the air, and he can hear a gasp of horror that moves from his right side to over him, and assumes Foggy's spotted him.

Warmth seeps into his side when Foggy gets close, kneels down, cussing like he's listing every one that he knows.

"Fuck. Dammit. Shit," he mutters, shrill. "Matt."

Ah. Matt's name is included.

He groans, because there's a hand smacking his cheek frantically, and he can't lift an arm to swat it away.

"Hine," he grumbles, and he is most certainly not fine, and he's really not sure why he said that. Maybe "fine" in this context was only to mean that he wasn't dead.

He knows he's going to be fine, because there's Foggy next to him. Even if he's going to die here, he's fine, and he feels his head start to roll. A hand yanks it back upright by the cheek, and he can't even grunt in protest.

"No, no, nononono," Foggy orders, like he's reeling in a leash. "Not today, buddy. Not today. Stay awake, alright? The ambulance is on the way. No naps."

"Innuh."

"What?"

"I knuh."

"You know. You know?"

"Sssorry. Can'. Sorry, 'og. Sosry."

He thinks his cheek's swollen, but it's hard to say. His hearing's starting to go, or else he's just not processing any of it. He thinks he might actually die.

It's been a long time coming.

His head shakes, and it jostles a little bit of consciousness around.

"No!" Foggy snaps. Matt's heard him almost this mad, a couple of times before. He can't remember them now, but he knows it was his fault.

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize. Stop talking. Stay awake."

"'Orry."

"Matty, stay awake."

"Why?"

"Because I love you, you fucking asshole!"

His voice is truly the only thing that comes in over the garbled mush of cars and people and blood. This is not in the least because he screams it so hard that his voice breaks.

Matt knows that. He thinks he's lucky to be near to someone who loves him right now. He wants to touch him and he can't. He can't lift his hand. It's a very, very bad time to talk about emotions, and it's a very, very bad time to tell him he loves him too. Even though Matt knows he'll have a hell of a time spitting it out later.

"Tryin'," he says, anyway, his fingers grasping the air two inches above the ground where he tries to hug him. "Tryn."

He doesn't quite make it, but a large car screeches to a stop at the curb. He knows what an ambulance sounds like.

"Just hang on."

Foggy's voice sounds like it's been through a cheese grater. Matt has never been more upset that he couldn't reassure him.

"'Kay."

_

Thank you <333333

[fabdante]

*happy stimming about all the DMC talk* Many thoughts, head full, thank you so much! 💜

-Not sure how plausible this would be in canon, but I love the idea of reboot Dante being able to read, speak, and understand different languages innately because of his angel heritage. Slowly, at first, and he probably needs to hear a language spoken a lot before it "clicks" for him, but he gets there. It gets easier the more into his angel powers he delves/uses. I headcanon the first time he spoke in a language he didn't previously know, the only reason he noticed the difference is because Kat asked him when he learned to speak that language afterwards. It just sounded/felt like English to him. Not sure how this magical translation would effect slang, since even in its native language, that varies so much, but its still fun to think about.

-Dante unlocking healing abilities (from either side, tbh, since we've seen demons heal people in the preboot continuity, and angels being able to heal people just seems like a given) in order to help heal Kat. Also love the idea of him sprouting wings/angel feathers (like Vash from Trigun) as a way to shield Kat or someone else from harm. And maybe learning how to do that shield thing the Witches do, that'd be cool. Just! Let him be protective! Let him have powers that focus more on building and maintaining connections rather than just destruction. I love that trope!

-Idk if you've read Brandon Sanderson's "The Stormlight Archives" series, but I keep chewing over the idea of angelic and demonic energy being less like opposites and more like Stormlight and Voidlight from Sanderson's series. If you haven't read the series and have no idea wtf I'm talking about, just skip this, sorry.

-Something I noticed when playing the reboot after playing all of the original DMC games:

The demons in Limbo City all look... less organic, I guess? Than the demons do in the original DMC timeline. Like, OG DMC demons all look like things that coupd exist in nature, if a bit twisted into something more dangerous, like goats or monkeys or lizards. Even the bigger demons, like Berial or Echidna or Bael and Dagon all look more organic/natural than the demons in the reboot.

This isn't a complaint, btw, I really do like this detail! Because the only demons that I think can really compare to how mechanical/constructed the reboot demons look are the Angelos- i.e. something Mundus literally made. And Mundus has made other, more "natural" looking demons, too, like the Blades and Frosts and such- but the designs of the demons in the reboot make me think that THIS is what the demons that Mundus "designs" (shapes to his purposes) look like after 2,000 years of having the Human Realm as a testing ground for his minions and no Sparda to stop him.

This could also just be what the demons under Mundus look like after they've had 2,000 years to adapt/evolve in or to the Human Realm, since according to the OG DMC canon, demons change based on what they want or a driving desire, like moving really fast or having extra mouths to make it easier to cast spells. But also I kinda like the theory that the demons we see in the reboot are like this because this is the way Mundus made them to be. It vibes well with Mundus' boss form being a big construct of asphalt and fire and darkness, and that weird darkness that the collaborators bleed from their eyes after Lilith/the demons brainwash them.

of course!! i am always very happy to talk about dmc 💖

I have a huge soft spot for bilingual characters so I think this is a very fun concept! I personally headcanon reboot Vergil as fluent in Italian (further elaboration is his adopted family is Italian American with close roots to Italy and family still there and he has to talk to his Nonna somehow). And I've always liked the idea of Dante kind of picking up something in osmosis. He's a clever boy I would love for him to speak more languages and this is a fun idea!

Expanding upon the healing abilities is very fun to, I think. It would be very cool to for him to adopt a sort of power focused on defense particularly since in the reboot he kind of explicitly picks up a protector role and everything, it'd be cool to see!

(Also I have not read the thing you mentioned but I do like connecting the angels and demons in the reboot more then just having them be sort of opposites)

However I think the idea that a lot of the enemies we see in game are created by Mundus (or someone in general) is really interesting and makes a lot of sense with their doll like motifs. The bulk of the demons in game that we fight feel very...controlled. I've mentioned before on other posts but I've always kind of thought of Limbo as a body and the things in it acting like an immune system so the idea of the demons being a fabrication of Limbo to protect itself like antibodies is something I find interesting. But given the preboot and the Angelos it makes a lot of sense that Mundus could have made them also. Something I like a lot about the reboot to is how there's such a contrast between the more sentient demons (the Hunter, the Succubus, Mundus, Phineas, Lilith, those guys) and the bulk of the ones we fight in game and it just makes me really curious about what the demon world is like in the reboot (very fun to fill in with headcanons and fanon!)

[whovianwholikesgirls]

For You Self Ship Asks:

what’s your funniest or most embarrassing memory together?

what inside jokes do you share?

describe your f/o in 6 words or less

would you rather go to their world, or have them come to yours?

the most random thing you associate with your f/o (foods, shapes, even textures! anything that’s not an obvious)

Okay I’m def answering for Spence for these bc he’s my husband duh but also the first question made me think of Jonathan so I’ll add my “side piece” as @itsfreakingbats deemed him and I affectionately refer to him now to the answers too

Funniest or most embarrassing memory together

Jon: when Steve attempted to drop his camera onto the concrete after picking on him for the pictures of Nancy. (Yes Steve was in the right bc he was protecting his girl but I had to protect my “best friend” too. All of season 1 we were just pinning lol) I caught the camera before it hit the asphalt of the parking lot, handed it to Jonathan, then punched Steve in the face. Then we had to run to the car 😂😂😂😂

Spence: after we said I love you for the first time, I had the smart idea to prove and science knowledge to him and try to flirt. Bad idea. I made the worst jokes in the history of jokes by saying,“so I’m guessing you’ve got a lot of dopamine and oxytocin in your system right now?” He laughed and kissed my forehead. I wanted to die.

Inside jokes:

Honestly? We don’t have any. We have plenty of core memories, pet names, favorite ways to show affection, and favorite ways to spend time together. We don’t have inside jokes tho. These will be fun to add to canon at some point

Describe them in six words or less:

Spence: devoted, comforting, DRIVEN

Jon: a sneak peek of a fic that’s over 8k words and still needs more scenes that I’ve been working on for months, like since at least this last summer, I’m determined to finish this year:

The fastest way to get out of Murray’s place was up the stairs he just went through and there was no way they were going to let that nosey little hermit see how his words affected them, no matter how right he was.

Well, mostly right.

They would use words far more eloquent than “babe magnet” to describe Jonathan: steadfast, pulchritudinous, and altruistic were among their favorites.

Would you rather them come into your world or go into theirs

Spence: both🙈when I want him all to myself I’d rather him come into my world but if I miss the found family vibes of the BAU, which I’d more often then not, I’d go into his

Jon: a magical ST AU without the upside down because I want to be in his world to hang out with all the characters and to see REM and Nirvana live, but without the stress of the monsters. El obvs still needs her powers and meets the OG party but the actual upside down isn’t a threat. Basically that’s all gone and Brenner and everyone and his lab go to jail for experimentation on children. Yay happy ending

Random things that remind you of them:

Spence: most people would say the obvious, books, vinyl records, doctor who. All of those things are correct but a raise you the color olive green. It’s always been one of my fav colors but it just looks so good on him I love it even more

Gifs for reference https://www.google.com/amp/s/undertheniall.tumblr.com/post/626721895783546880/amp

Jon: oh boy I have a list

Cars bc he’s fucking hot when he drives

Black denim jackets bc of the iconic one in seasons 1 and 2

Waffles and pancakes because I just know he makes the best ones

It’s canon in the fandom that he’s the fan of the cure so the cure makes me think of him too but he also canonically has an REM poster in his room in season 1. *screaming* they’re one of my favorite bands of all time thanks to @anything-thats-rock-and-roll introducing me to him. It’s only natural order of things that REM fans are also fans of U2 so Jay and I both HC he’s a fan of U2 in my AU too

Both of them: converse!!! I have a collection myself and I’ve loved them since I was a kid but now when I wear a different pair depending on my outfit I automatically feel closer to my boys 🥰

Thanks for these!! They’re seriously making my entire week 😍🥰❤️

[comeonhelene]

This one hurts. Barley's Taproom was one of the OGs of downtown Asheville's renaissance, opening in the 1990s. I vividly remember my first pizza there with my co-counselor friends from camp. They were all from Louisiana and, naturally, shook a generous layer of Tony Chachere's Creole Seasoning on their slices. Being from coastal Georgia, I'd never seen nor tasted that condiment before. It's been a staple ever since.

I also recall Barley's being one of the rare spots with A/C that let people inside during Bele Chere - blessed relief from the frying pan of asphalt outside, chock full of humans crackling in the summer heat. Happy people sat on the pool tables upstairs overlooking the raucous scene below.

Then there's that fading Polaroid of time when Lex Ave's Vincent's Ear was on its way out (unbeknownst to us) and the Orange Peel had just opened. It was the upside-down days of the 2000s (I refuse to say "Naughties"). Everybody, but everybody would swing by Barley's for a slice and pint after the Peel's show ended and make our way to North Lex for round two, only to discover the Vincent's Ear crew still sipping their morning coffee at 10 p.m. Greasy grins all around.

And! Highland Brewing got its start in Barley's basement. There's a plaque at the entrance that's dedicated to their founder and our beloved local hero, Oscar Wong, to prove it. Highland is Asheville's first brewery and they're still doing us proud as a cornerstone of our community for over 30 years.

Long story long, Barley’s closing is a hit to our city on so many levels: economically, historically, gastronomically, and culturally. Without Barley’s pioneering spirit when downtown was a crumbling shell of its former self, restaurants like James Beard award-winning Cúrate, right across the street on Biltmore Avenue, might never have existed a mere 17 years later.

Every time I eat or shop at a local gem we love, I try to get a sense of how folks are feeling before I ask how things are going. I can’t help but worry that each visit to our favorite corners of Asheville might be the last... many won’t make it through the summer, let alone the year.

If you’re not a local, please - come visit. Whether it’s a volunteer weekend, day trip, family reunion, conference, concert, retreat, or festival, we’d love to have you. The money you spend while enjoying Western NC is ultimately an investment in our local economy which will help us keep these landmark places alive during these exceptionally lean times.

A quick word of friendly advice for visitors: Please tread lightly with Helene-related questions when you're out and about in WNC. Some people are happy to share, but others are running on empty and need a reprieve from reliving the trauma. Maybe ask if someone is willing to talk about Helene before going into specifics. What are innocent questions of concern to you may stir up difficult emotions in us. Thank you for your understanding and grace.

Muse - Starlight