#Beware the Slender Man

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #38

Harbringer

Imagine dis…

I’ve always wondered why despite Gotham being old as time only has a single nursery rhyme. We all know that nursery rhymes have a connection to real-life events no matter how gruesome the truth behind each upbeat tone. Yet in DC particularly in Gotham, there was only one nursery rhyme that kept being mentioned, and that one is the only thing that turned out to be true aka the Talons.

Why aren't there more legends? Or myths in the human world? DC is a breeding ground of legends and myths turning out to be true…

…

A thick fog covers the streets of Gotham, draping every street, alley, and rooftop with only shadows and the occasional shrieks of stray animals to be heard. The Talons may have their nursery rhyme that supposedly strikes fear in the hearts of Gothamites but also serves as a silent warning that hides behind such an innocent rhyme of a child.

However, despite the Talon’s rhyme being sparsely hummed, it is an even more ancient and more forgotten rhyme that only the older and elderly still remember the bits and pieces of such rhyme.

"Beware the headless rider at night,

In shadows deep, he brings his blight.

Green mist flows where his head should lie,

One look, and then you die."

The elderly used to think that it was Gotham’s version of a Dullahan that came from an ancient Celtic god that spread its influence in Gotham.  Nevertheless, it was repeated in hush whispers as if no one wanted to speak loudly, to avoid said gaze. As it was not a man nor any creature they had seen, if you have the gaze of it then you only have mere moments to pray to whatever god you believe in for salvation before its scythe drops down on you like a guillotine.

…

One foggy night, a Joker card slid slowly on the sidewalk outside an abandoned Gotham warehouse, and a loud, piercing laugh from within disturbed the eerie calm. The Joker cherished his next plot, his next punchline to the bats, until the sound of hooves broke through his cackles.

And through through the thick fog, he appeared.

The single nursery rhyme that the elderly remember only bits and pieces of its lyrics, whose reputation was as old as Gotham itself. Mounted on a black stallion with eyes that burned like molten embers, he was a nightmare made of darkness. In one hand, he held a scythe, the blade a slender, vicious arc of gleaming green metal. His other arm clutched his head—a pale and dead face with black hair and a pair of blue eyes that smoldered with icy, unwavering malice, linked to his neck by a moving strand of green smoke.

The Joker, perhaps the only man insane enough not to flee in the face of this nightmare, grinned even wider.

He cackled and laughed like the madman he is and exclaimed if he was one of the bat's new brood, or maybe a meta that had a grudge against him, and so on. Ignoring the shiver that crept behind his mind, and the slight twitch in his ever-confident smile that he usually uses to bare his teeth in bold defiance.

A shadow swept over the cracked glass, and he noticed it. That cold, lifeless head in the rider's grasp, stared at him with eyes that beheld every twisted corner of his psyche. The green mist filled the room, wrapping around Joker's ankles and pressing against his chest, chilly as the nothingness.

His scythe rose in a slow, methodical arc, cutting through the mist as if it were silk. Joker's grin vanished as an icy weight fell to his bones. His heart stopped, a chilly, unnatural stillness seizing him as if the air around him had frozen. The green mist tightened, coiling around his neck, filling his lungs and pulling the last wisps of air from his lips.

He swung his scythe and sliced through the darkness in a smooth, flowing stroke. And at that final, fleeting second, Joker saw his reflection in the rider's eyes, twisted and broken, captured in a flash of green.

Then quiet.

When the fog slowly disappeared, the Joker lay sprawled on the ground, his lifeless eyes staring at the darkness, as his infamous smile that used to be a symbol of fear in Gotham now has that uncertainly or some call it fear, forever etched on his face.

He rode away, going back into Gotham's shadowy streets. Somewhere ahead, his next prey waited, blissfully oblivious to the approaching judgment.

Following his departure, the nursery rhyme floated back into the night, scaring the elders who were blissfully sleeping, and woke up in alert as if they were back within their parent’s embrace after being scared of the old rhymes that their parents had just whispered to them in the dead of night.

…

Danny used to be a protector on both sides of his ghostly and humanity side. As years pass by, he the same faces of both the GIW and his parents committing the same atrocities, escaping justice time and again. Each innocent ghostly life and even the ghostly animals and blobs became a haunting reminder of the limits of mercy.

When the Observants summoned him, they gave him two options: remain powerless as innocent souls were lost or take on a new purpose—one that only someone with a heart as broken as his own could bear. They dubbed him the Harbringer, the one who would see that the irredeemable face the consequences of their brutality, that day he became both the judge and executioner of both realms. Though his duty didn’t stop between the two realms, He traveled in between dimensions using the countless doors in the Infinite Realms as a way to fulfill his duties.

He reluctantly accepted, and with it came the curse: he would no longer feel warmth or joy from those he once loved. His sole companion would be the ghostly steed that delivers him to his next destination and the faint echoes of a nursery rhyme that accompanied him in each timeline and in between worlds.

Now, he hovered over countless worlds, as a headless specter burdened by a task no one else could bear—a duty that he carried alone, all in the hope that one day, he could finally regain the peace he had long lost.

…

PS: If someone out there wants to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

PPS: I will be a bit busy so let me just post this early.

[smileycarat]

delulu thoughts: jeonghan ver

a/n: just me fangirling about jeonghan lolz, sorry for potential typos

whenever i see jeonghan, i automatically think he’s such a gentle kisser

don’t get me wrong, i do think he can have those more heated moments and such, and i would later love to explore that in another fic

but something about the thought of just lounging together on a sunday morning and him giving you the softest kisses throughout the day i aM SEVERELY UNWELL

just enjoying both of each other’s presence away from the public and the limelight that seems to follow him everyday

being in the comfort of your own home where he gets to let lose and relax without constantly being aware of what happens around him in public

having the opportunity to see how he’s like behind closed doors and to experience the way he cups your face with his sweater paws and kisses your brow-bone first, then your cheekbone, then your nose, and finally your lips with the most feather-like kisses there is

being able to wake up to him softly tracing the bridge of your nose and then softly your cheekbone as you wake

you being the first person he speaks to in the morning, his voice still rough from sleep, and you being the last person he speaks to before bed, his voice laced with sleepiness but still pushing through to make sure he wishes you goodnight even if you’re already asleep the moment your head hits the pillow

i think a lot of people would expect him to be slightly chaotic based of how he sometimes presents himself in gose or concerts and yes he can be chaotic, but he’s a gentle chaotic (idek if that makes sense???)

he will sometimes surprise you with the most odd things out of nowhere, like that one time you had a little bit of frosting on your nose from biting into a cupcake

mans is giggling at your appearance and you’re confused because you don’t know what has set him off this time and you’re just looking at him like ???

and he just jokingly rolls his eyes, makes a tsk noise while shaking his head but reaches out to hold your jaw to stop you from moving

then he proceeds to just lick off the frosting off your nose

“what? i couldn’t just leave you like this without telling you” he says after your wide eyed expression

“you could have used a napkin like a normal person!”

he giggles at the way you roll your eyes and pulls you back by the crook of your elbow as you start to move away

“look, we’re even now” he says after he smears frosting on his lips

you both could just be relaxing on the couch laying down and on opposite ends, but he always has either a leg or an arm extended to have contact with you

is completely the type to pull your legs up to his lap to rub at your ankle

or be the type to use his slender hands to knead at the knots between your shoulder blades

i could see him liking to lay down on top of you during a nap and kissing you right under your ear all the way down to your collarbone

this isn’t even in an explicit manner, he just likes to do it for the sake of doing it (also loves the giggle he gets out of you if you’re feeling ticklish)

i could see him as liking to be the one to stay in on his days off and just lounging in matching sweats with you

but also willing and always ready to take a quick trip down to the convenience store with you past midnight in your matching sweats and slippers to grab a snack

absolutely WILL hold your hand all the way to and from the convenience store even though it’s just a few minutes walk

beware, he does not like when you get separated by a street lamp and will pull you to his side so you don’t have to unlink your hands

just a few delulu thoughts about jeonghan <3

[piratefishmama]

Beware the Thorns

(a NSFW multi-part ficlet)

In many in journalistic circles, Eddie Munson, was Steve Harrington’s partner. The eye candy on his arm, cool, indifferent to everyone, he didn’t stray to the cameras for his five minutes of fame, he breezed by them as if he were just… better than them.

He was beautiful, skin like pale porcelain, dark curls full of lustre, and volume, dark doe eyes mysterious and inviting, broad shoulders, slender waist. His body only ever donned in the most expensive of dark fabrics, Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Dolce, nothing touched his skin but perfection.

To those who knew him better, he was Eddie Munson, professional escort, his services were expensive, he catered only to the rich, but he was good at his job.

Services included attending events, non-sexual but intimate bathing, the ‘boyfriend’ package, something Steve had been paying for, for ooooooh two years now? Long distance work, sex… sex was usually a given according to MOST people, and they did like to try and argue for it being included in the price of something basic, but Eddie charged more for it, and was often coy and promising enough to make them wait for him if he wanted to hold off.

And boy did he have them on a hook when he held off, the hunger to sink into his pert little ass keeping them paying, and paying, and paying for his time, for his presence on their arm. He was worth the wait, but he didn’t want to give in too fast, less they cut ties after getting what they wanted, they were his business, he had to keep them wanting.

He was a long game escort, he wasnt a wham bam ka-ching thank u ma’am/man kind of deal, wasnt a one and done sex worker. He put more time into it. He put serious effort into it. He was good at it.

He even had his own website.

Granted the website was listed as something else entirely so you had to know what you were looking for because wow, some of it was illegal, but word of mouth got him around more than enough to keep the lights on in his Indianapolis penthouse apartment, it was cosy, had everything he needed.

It helped that his clients were LOADED. One had to know where to go to get those big bucks, had to know which big fish to dangle the worm in front of.

He’d dangled that worm in front of Steve Harrington while on the arm of someone else, there were… rumours, of his sexuality floating about, stories from his high school years, that one gay bar he’d been spotted in with his friends, the way he’d touch pretty men, and look a little longer than necessary at things a straight boy shouldn’t be looking at while high as a kite.

He just hadn’t come out yet, at least, he hadn't until Eddie had been seen on his arm at a charity gala, having appeared to jump ship from the arm of the Hagan boy somewhere behind the scenes.

Nobody could get a word from the sole heir of the Hagan Hotel fortune as to what happened either, lips were zipped shut on the matter, he hadn't even tried to smear Eddie's name which some journalists found. Strange. Given Hagan's verbal evisceration of his previous exes.

Tommy wasn’t… bad, per-say.

He could be sweet when he wanted to be, but he rarely wanted to be. He was also overconfident, he lacked the ability to hold insults to himself, and had on more than one occasion called Eddie a useless whore in a fit of anger over some such nonsense.

So. Eddie cut those ties at the first big fish opportunity.

He was one of Eddie’s… longer lasting clients though, the half a year he spent seeing him regularly was… sometimes okay, the sex was fun, access to the good drugs was awesome since Hagan didn’t shy away from them, and he got paid nicely for his time, but he was glad he didn’t have to spend all his time with the man as an actual partner would have.

Probably would have strangled him by now.

Steve Harrington wasn’t like him though… Steve was his favourite client.

~~

Eddie Munson had waltzed into Steve Harringtons life with all the ease and grace of a man who’d lived in wealth his entire life.

Like a rose he was beautiful, but hidden beneath the pretty petals there were thorns to consider.

He wasn’t truly his, and therein lay the thorns. He was paying for the privilege of his company, paying for him on his arm, paying for him to breeze by flashing cameras in fancy suits, paying for him to act the part of a loving, attentive boyfriend for the paparazzi trying to catch a glimpse of his love life.

It was easier to pay a professional, than allow a civilian into his life.

It was easier to bring Eddie home with him, watch him waltz around his living room in his tailored semi-sheer silk button-down shirt, tucked neatly into his black Gucci tux trousers, his blazer left draped over one of the chairs, it was easy watching him sway, the twinkle of his draping silver chain ear cuff catching the light from the lit lamps amidst beautiful dark curls, his slender hips swaying to the quiet music Steve had put on that evening after a long night of schmoozing with the press, with his peers.

People who probably knew who Eddie truly was, but… were tight-lipped enough not to spill the beans, because blowing that whistle would of course shine a spotlight on how they’d know.

It was safer for them to just smile and nod.

It was easy, joining him, slipping behind him, and pulling him close, ass to groin, trailing kiss after kiss down his warm, smooth neck, hands on his hips easing him back, into him, close to him in a slow, rhythmic grind of intent.

Easy to convey what he wanted to a professional, knowing he’d get it.

It was easy to lose himself in the idea that this man was his to take to bed, and because he wasn’t truly his, but an employee…

It was easy to let him go in the morning, his wallet some three grand lighter, depending on what they did the night before… it was easy… until it wasn’t easy anymore.

Until the brief press of lips to his forehead as he feigned sleep in the morning, and the soft rustle of his wallet being rifled through for the exact amount owed and nothing more, because he’d long since told Eddie where he kept it, and gave him permission to just take what was owed and go if he had to go.

Until all the things he’d found so easy about Eddie’s presence in his life… stopped being easy for his heart to ignore.

The soft press of lips to his brow in silent goodbye left him wanting nothing more than to pull his beautiful porcelain rose, thorns and all, back into bed and demand he stay just a few more hours, the feel of his body pressed close in the night, curled under the Egyptian cotton sheets with him, had him lying awake at night longing for the sun to take just a little longer to rise.

Eddie Munson wasn’t his. Not really.

And maybe, maybe he figured, as he slipped on a pair of dark leather gloves for his early Monday meeting, the touch of his hired lover still lingering on his skin, the bruising hickey the brunette had left during the night, before disappearing before dawn as he KNEW Steve had an early meeting, knuckles cracking as he flexed them within the reinforced gloves.

Maybe, he figured as the iron knuckles embedded in his gloves met the soft, weak, easily breakable jaw of the latest person to cross him and his business partners, the sickening crunch of bone breaking beneath skin...

Maybe Eddie not really being his was a good thing.

That didn’t stop him, or his heart, from wanting.

It being a good thing didn’t stop his hands from dialling those digits he’d long since memorised, he didn’t even need them saved in his contacts, he had them, the only number he’d ever memorized, he had it there by pure muscle memory. A number carved into his very soul.

Sometimes even if he wasn’t trying to call the brunette, his fingers would dial as if his heart had simply taken over his mind when it came to him. This time however, he purposefully dialled.

After cleaning his hands of the sickly, dark red that’d stained them, gotten under the fabric of his gloves and ruined them, he dialled, knowing that when his addiction answered, and he always answered… everything would feel okay again.

The racing of his heart would slow, calm would wash over him like waves slowing their turbulent rolls after a storm had passed.

“Well, if it isn’t my favourite person in the whole wide world~” his voice thick and throaty, he always sounded so fucked out when he answered the phone, like the strongest whiskey mixed with the finest of honey. Steve knew this wasn’t a greeting purely for him, Eddie didn’t save numbers, he didn’t to keep his clients safe in case the police got hold of his phone, and he sure as fuck didn’t speak like that in private, he’d heard Eddie in private…

Heard him when the brunette didn’t think he could hear, when he thought Steve to still be in the shower, he was on the phone to someone, probably a friend, who Steve didn’t know but definitely not a client, Eddie always sounded different when speaking to a client… somewhere deep down… Steve almost wished he had that relationship with him instead. Almost.

He did wished he could see the real him, hear the real him instead of this imposter, instead of the façade he put on, it worked for him, fuck did it work, he could fuck his own fist for hours just listening to that voice, but… he wanted more, he’d wanted more for some time.

But he’d take what he could get. If all Eddie would give him were an imposter, then… an imposter he’d take. It wasn’t as though Steve were being truly honest about himself either.

Thorns. So many little thorns.

“Flatterer” he hummed, earning a deep laugh from the speaker that had his heart thump against his ribcage, fuck, he didn’t deserve that laugh, didn’t deserve the warmth it filled him with, a man lay broken not far from his feet, blood pooled around his head, barely alive, he didn’t deserve the warmth Eddie gave him.

But he’d greedily soak what was offered up.

Eddie didn’t seem surprised it was him either, which was nice, it made his greeting seem all the more real, he just… adapted, quick as lightning “as if you don’t deserve it, are you gonna be home tonight, baby?” Deep down he knew this wasn’t Eddie… deep down there was a fiery, excitable, loud, nerdy man hidden beneath the surface probably cringing at the tone of voice being used, but it was what he was allowed to hear, it was all Eddie was willing to share with him, and that was okay.

In every part of his life, he was in control, he could have what he wanted, get what he demanded… but with Eddie… he got what he was given, and he was happy for it.

“I should be home by eight…”

“Ugh good… I’ve missed you, sweetheart.” Whether it was the truth or not Steve never knew, he liked to believe it was, he liked to think his addiction missed him as much as he missed his addiction while he was away “what do you want for dinner?” He smiled against the phone, silent for a moment as he basked in the domesticity of it all, how easily Eddie made him just… BELIEVE that he was a sweet housewife, ready to tend to his every need “… baby?”

“Just thinking… you know I love everything you cook, so many options…” Eddie was incredible at everything, he used a knife better than some of his most skilled bodyguards, men who’d trained with a bladed weapon for most of their lives, he had two ex-black ops on his staff and neither of them could handle a knife quite like him, of course comparing them wasn’t exactly fair, one used it to fillet fish and cut vegetables, the others… cut into other things.

He liked Eddie’s use of them far more than the other.

“Want me to surprise you?” He liked giving Eddie creative freedom, liked it far more than when he told him what to do, telling him… didn’t always get the best results, Eddie liked his freedom to create far too much, surprises tended to feel more… personal, tailored to what he thought Steve might like.

“Please, I could never choose, it’s all so good” another laugh, softer, it sounded so real… so honest, a spell he dare not break by saying the wrong thing, tearing into the space they created together, the fantasy life together by insinuating that this wasn’t the norm… that he couldn’t always have Eddie making his dinner like he longed for.

“Have a safe flight, okay? I’ll see you when you get home…” he was doing something, couldn’t stay on the call, was he with someone else? No… he’d never answer if he was with someone else, the thought made him grip the phone tighter though, jealousy coursing through him at the mere idea that someone else could be occupying his time… stealing his attention away. “Love you, baby” it wasn’t real, just a fantasy.

It still made all his fears, all his worries vanish, pop like bubbles, washed away by the torrent of warmth that flooded him with those simple words.

“Love you too” he only wished Eddie’s words were as real as his own.

Part 2

[theundeadsnake]

(Separate) SlenderMan, and Zalgo as husbands? I love these two more than any Creepypasta guys XD

Part 1 - Slenderman as a Husband.

The second part will be released later on, though beware, in practice both Slender and Zalgo are pretty much opposites as husbands.

Note: One's relation to Slender and the label he assigns you will affect how he treats you and is towards you. Being his spouse puts you at the top of his world, though the label of lover, pet, and toy also exist.

Marriage is typically not an idea people consider when referring to the creature. Nor is dating. Despite that, you have somehow managed both, which is telling of a lot of things.

Firstly, you must be incredibly important and precious for this monster for him to both view you as his, and him as yours. Slender considers marriage to only be an act that can be done by equals. Of course, this does not mean you two hold the same strength, nor that you must be an inhuman entity just like him. Instead in his mind, you are a person who he will treat with respect. You are different but equal.

You are not a pet. You are not one of his underlings nor are you, his enemy. You are his one and only lover, the one he plans to treasure for life.

This means and has a lot of implications for your safety and his level of care.

Slenderman is a powerful entity, whose enemies stand little chance of hurting. You on the other hand are deeply meaningful to him, and so much easier to hurt, meaning that in a sense as his lover, and now spouse you have been walking around with a target on your back.

Worry not, for your husband won’t let any harm come your way. He will make sure you are well protected, aware of the situation, and that you have all that you may need.

This of course does not mean that you will lose your freedom or be limited in any way. You can go be and live how you want to, just with security at hand which I am sure you will agree to. It may not be the most comfortable way to go around town, however, Slender will go at length to you about the dangers of being with him poses. You will be made aware of the risk as soon as you two become lovers, way before marriage. If you are married to him, you have already agreed to do what it takes to keep you safe.

Otherwise, he would have had to let his sunshine go.

As both a husband and a lover Slender will ensure to devote proper time to you. He has his work and responsibilities that he cannot abandon, though certain less-important duties can be handed over to his trusted right-hand man.

Nevertheless, he won’t be with you all the time. He still has a lot of work to handle. However, he will pull through to be there for you when needed. Panicking? Scared? Unable to get out of bed? Your monstrous Husband will be there at your side, helping make you feel better and more comfortable.

Quality time spent together, and telekinesis of adoration are his main love languages.

He as a husband will take his position very seriously. He always does. Jokes and giggles have never been his cup of tea. As a husband, he will not only treat you well, respect you, protect you, and love you but he will also want you to have the word at your feet in any way you desire. Having his lover feel and being at their best makes him want to melt.

Look at you, that bright smile, that cleaver mind, and all that potential are constantly on his mind. How you managed to make him, an otherworldly being make him such a significant part of his life does make him wonder.

[bitethedustfools]

Crossover ideas 1

TCF x TWST

(Spoiler alert. Beware)

Yall know that Lilia Vanrouge raised Malleus Draconia so I raised you this question: What happened when he meet Cale Henituse who also raised a baby dragon?

They both are father-shaped, a general/commander of war, a trusted friend of a royalty, you see the point.

I just wanna see some crossover between my beloved story/game and I do not have the skill to write a story. I only have idea.

I think its neat to put Cale in TWST world. Hes so lovable that small and big fairies alike just latched onto him even though he have such villainous traits thats barely shown unless someone mess with his loved ones. Just like a cat lounging around lazily but had no problem fcking you up.

The senate is gonna be fcked and got their golds looted or something because Cale is a scammer and got that Dominating aura and everyone keep mistaken him as a dragon.

Lilia is going to be his best friend or a platonic partner or something since they both are similars in so many ways. Look, they both have a dragon as their kid. It's perfect. let them raised them together.

Meleanor is 100% approved cuz she hates the senates and Cale did a great job giving a big middle finger at them.

Just imagined how he got dropped into this world out of the blue, cursing loudly at the gods like a sailor or just quietly seething cuz Raon is with him. Maybe he got dropped during a war, or infront of Lilia and perhaps Meleanor.

But anyway, everyone is watching him with surprise and with the intensity of the sun at what Cale, a stoic, pretty and a slender man, carrying so preciously and tenderly in his weak arms.

Its a dragon! A baby dragon!

Can you imagine the chaos? The misunderstanding? Like Raon, although his form is different than Meleanor's dragon form, he is by far most similar to her, minus the purple colour. It could be said a slight changes in characteristic due to different species of a father.

In other eyes, they probably mistaken him as the heir or that they dont know that Meleanor had two children and began to plot.

And then Raon, offended that they think he's someone elses son, pointed at Cale and said, "He's my father."

Que, everyone thinking he's a dragon or that Meleanor actually have two husbands and had hidden one. Meanwhile, Lilia here is trying to jog his memories if she ever told him about this or hes just forgot.

Or maybe Cale got send here and Raon at random place and Raon just coincidentally got dropped at the egg chamber. Everyone just thought that the egg had hatched even though its not.

Raon either admit or commit to the bit, just like Cale. Gonna trick them thinking hes the heir to the briar valley while he put this egg here inside his personal storage dimension and he latched to this one person that reminded him of Cale which is Lilia.

Lilia is sus but he had no evidence. Like, Raon is powerful alright and he's the only baby dragon here. he's also smart, but okay. The only reason he believed hes Meleanor's son is because Raon is so rebellious to the senates and they cant do anything because hes too smart and can obliterate them in one go.

And thats all, really. Dont have any ideas now. Thanks for reading this.

[hiebies]

hold my hand (as long as you want to)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | desc; how does it feel to hold a hand, one that fits as if it were meant to do so with your own?

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | pairings; barnabas tharmr : clive rosfield : benedikta harman : cidolfus telamon : dion lesage : joshua rosfield : jill warrick : hugo kupka -> x gn!reader

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | mlist

holding hands with clive is a bit awkward- the first few times, especially. your hands will bump together, fingers half mangled and mashed together; the first few times are those for trying. his hands are warm, always. warm from the heat of the fire they produce, warm from his own nerves that heat his palms and make his skin perspire, warm from nervous tendencies where he wrings his hands together or against his clothes; they are warm, but earnest, as is clive himself, to be held just as earnestly.

when holding hands with benedikta, beware; she is always thinking on ways to pull you in closer. scheming away, thinking of an advantage to seek out further contact with the skin of her beloved. her hands are calloused along her palms from long years of swordplay, though they are long from loosing their softness. typically she prefers to link just a few fingers together- perhaps just pinkies- and progress her way to pressing your palms together, arms knocking together if walking and body creeping closer if simply sat or layed together.

joshua’s hands are softer than one might expect; perhaps even after so many years, certain self care habits are engrained, perhaps it’s his preference in not using a blade perhaps it’s just something so.. joshua, that it just is. his fingers are long and slender, like one might picture of a pianist, slight calluses formed on his thumb and the heel of his palm juxtapose the other parts of his hands. holding hands with joshua is like a new spring- a rebirth for your emotions and his, life anew, peace, every time you hold his hand. the feeling of home.

as much of a titan of a man hugo is, his hands are surprising in their dexterity. large fingers and even larger hands work tirelessly, work until his hands are practically dust so that they may curl around your fingers and your hands. all he wants is their reciprocal touch, their wandering over his- simply holding, admiring the security each lover brings to the other through simple touches. and he does, really does try, to convey the cadence of his admiration through the touch of his hands to your own- caressing your palms, rough fingers dragging over knuckles and lips ghosting over fingertips.. sometimes simple adoration is all he needs.

the feeling of his hands is a conundrum- dion’s hands both provide shelter in their adoration and cause calamity in their overwhelming sweetness. worn but well cared for, his hands are those of a warrior, blemished yet soft and dexterous while while still remaining strong. his thumb is somehow always dragging over your palm- slowly and in small circles when calm, backwards and forwards over your knuckles when sad, gripped a smidge too tight in anxious moments.. his hands, ones that will always seek to cradle, will always seek your hands out.

though his hands are clumsy and calloused, barnabas will never reject the offer to hold your hand. call him greedy, he’s perfectly fine with the acceptance of such a title, just please keep your hands pressed into his. let him feel your fingers tracing the backs of his palms, the dull thrum of your pulse in your fingertips and the one more steady at the junction of your wrist. let him sink into his subconscious, let him feel you, feel how real you are and how steady your presence is in front of him. please stay close to him, let him have this.

upon first thought, holding hands with jill would not ever lack sincerity- she has such honesty that she wears like a suit of armour, such sincerity that breaks through the crack of every falsehood that ever has been, is or will be. holding jill’s hand is like the first night sleeping on clean linen, like the reprieve of being rebuilt with cool air after standing outside in the summer heat to melt, like dandelion fuzz in the wind or the satisfaction one feels upon returning home after a long trip away. holding hands with jill is kisses to knuckles in quiet moments and whispered confessions in moments of twilight wakefulness.

scars, burns and other marks in every shape and size may litter the skin of his hands and arms- his entire body really- but cid’s hands, mighty as they are and have ever been, will always be tender upon the first contact with yours. the faded and fresh scars on his hands, from scrap ups as a younger man and years of continuous use of a blade make his skin rough and raised, not at all smooth but with its own story to tell. each scar, each burn and old battle wound is worn with pride- he will tell you the story of each and ever one (no matter how silly some may be, believe me some are), with an arm around your waist and one hand holding yours, mapping out the stories of the marks on his skin.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | notes; first post done weeeeee!! :D (mayb i’m jus thirsty for content that this was my first one too) i might do more of this same thing for dif fandoms depending on how i feel

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ hiebies 2023 ©

[dragonnan]

Eavesdropping

May Prompts 2024

May 13

Here is another one from the archives - it actually has two instances of eavesdropping so it was an excellent fit for the prompt!

Beware the Jabberwock, My Son

Warnings: Child Abuse, Abuse of a Minor

Forty-five minutes. Not the first time he'd been left to linger in the blazing sun while his brother cavorted with some random dignitary in need of a good pandering. Mummy and Daddy had been in Prague for the past week, and weren't due back for another three days, so Sherlock's fate, then, rested with his lazy git of an older brother to collect him at the end of term. Of all the luck.

Sherlock held back on the urge to kick at the untidy scatter of gravel that had been strewn across the pavement, with the exodus of students, not long ago. It had been a hit to his dignity, being the last student remaining after everyone had gone. It wasn't so much his outcast status; he rather preferred it to the humiliating and, at times, painful treatment he'd received during his brief stint at Winchester. That didn't mean, though, that he wanted to wander the grounds indefinitely like some wraith from a Dickens novel.

Stomping down the zig zagging steps to the small courtyard below, Sherlock tugged the stiff collar of his starched shirt away from his throat – the loathsome tie already wadded and crammed in the pocket of his dark blue blazer, which hung askew from one slender arm. Mummy would have a fit at the state of his neckwear but he could barely tolerate it most days and tended to rip it free the first chance he got. Cutting across the manicured lawn, he worked his way round the side of the complex where large trees offered an amount of shade. His overnight bag dragging behind him, leaving a small groove in the verdant grass, Sherlock was nearly to the wide spreading oak near the dormitories when he heard a clipped whine.

Shoving his bag up against the peeling tree bark, blazer thrown aside and landing atop the bag more by luck than design, he scuttled to the outer wall of the raised courtyard in order to gain an unimpeded view. The trees were thicker, here, towards the back. Too early for the groundskeeper, the litter from an impromptu rugby game, among the older boys, still lay scattered about. Sherlock toed aside a paper serviette, stained with grease, before gracefully climbing into the branches of one of the smaller beech trees. Hidden amongst the aubergine leaves, he leaned forward, wrapping his fingers around a branch smoothed by many a young man's grip, to peer out at the scene below.

There were two figures – one significantly larger than the other – about 10 yards further on and close to the treeline. The large man Sherlock didn't recognize; though it wasn't difficult to surmise the relationship. The boy was someone Sherlock knew more by nature of a shared disdain, cast upon them by the greater student body, than due to any sort of interaction. Intelligent, gentle, and possessing a sort of oddness that set him apart, Lucas Peacock had even less in common with the rank and file of Harrow than Sherlock did. At 16 he was two years Sherlock's senior. However he was one of the few students whom Sherlock had felt any sort of affinity; though their interactions had started and ended with Lucas offering the rare smile and Sherlock giving Lucas his lunch on exactly one occasion. It had been beans and franks; appalling, bland, and of an unidentifiable protein source. Not the first meal he'd foregone – there were limits, after all. Lucas hadn't minded one bit – gangly as he was and somewhat concave he'd wolfed down the meal and nearly licked the plate.

Now, he frowned as the large man; father, going by the similar features, gave Lucas a vigorous shake before slapping him across the cheek.

Slipping from his perch, Sherlock darted across the manicured green, quickly drawing dual attention.

Mr. Peacock scowled at his approach. “Run along, boy!”

Thin arms folded over his chest, Sherlock took in the darkening bruise on Lucas's cheek as well as the swelling of his lower lip.

“The grounds are off limits to anyone not a student and are restricted to students and faculty only. You aren't supposed to be back here.” Not entirely true, in fact, though it was unlikely the brutish man would be aware of school policies.

“Aren't you a bit young to be attending this school? Where are your parents?” Peacock looked about himself with a trace of unease.

Sherlock sniffed. “I'm nearly sixteen.” Well, sixteen being relative; he was roughly thirteen months shy of sixteen, not that this thundering oaf would know the difference anyhow. “Aren't you a bit old to be beating up children?”

Drawing himself up tall, the man shook Lucas by the grip on the boy's collar. “What I choose to do with my son is no concern of yours, boy! Now run along! This is no affair of yours.”

Instead, Sherlock crowded closer – sneering at Peacock's unkempt clothes – the spot of gravy on his collar – the untucked shirttails – the overall slovenly manner with which he carried himself. “Perhaps not but I'm betting the school administrators would take an interest in what you're doing.”

The congealed rage was barely a warning as Lucas was abruptly thrust towards the grass, his shoulders impacting hard enough to knock the wind from his chest, as Peacock turned fully towards Sherlock.

Sherlock was suddenly, vibrantly, aware of two things. The size of the man he'd elected to confront, and the absolute absence of any other human life, outside of their tiny drama.

He realized that a wise option, hinted in his brother's bored tones, would be to turn heel and run for the main building and the promise of adult support. He was light on his feet and very fast and knew he could easily outpace the stumbling drunkard at barely half his normal speed. However that option also came with a cost. By the time he was able to reach the headmaster's office, navigate the throng of staff demanding he explain what he was doing indoors “without a parent or guardian”, locate an adult willing to actually listen, and then prod, wheedle, and harry said adult back out onto the grounds, Peacock would be long gone and Sherlock would very likely be presumed of either a wild imagination or outright lying.

So, instead, he spread his stance; feet slipping a bit in the damp grass, and subtly turned himself to the side. Instructions unfolded in his mind – those long afternoons in a light cotton gi, the pants of which were always slightly too long.

At his movement, Peacock first grinned; then laughed. “And what is it you intend to do with those tiny fists, boy? Box my kneecaps for me?” He laughed again – making a mock lunge. With practiced ease, Sherlock twisted to the side, spun on one foot, and slammed his heel in Peacock's groin – hard.

The large man howled – cupping between his legs and nearly going down on one knee.

And that was where Sherlock made his devastating mistake. Intent on ending things, quickly, he darted around the broad figure, elbow poised to bury in a kidney, when a shattering blow impacted the side of his head and threw him five feet back into the solid ground.

His shoulders twitched as he tried to remember how to lift his arms. There was a reason he needed to stand, and quickly, but he couldn't seem to order his thoughts enough to remember why. And then pain tore at his scalp as heavy fingers twisted into his hair and pulled; forcing him to his knees. Peacock shook him violently and Sherlock was certain he was going to vomit. A bright halo surrounded the man that Sherlock knew meant Bad Things. But before he could consider that information Peacock was spitting something furious at him – similar to the hate-filled words directed at his son. Sherlock was finally able to lift one hand and lace his fingers around the man's wrist.

“Get your hands off me you little shit!” Peacock released his hair just as he backhanded Sherlock across the cheek.

He was on the ground again – stomach heaving acidic bile when the hands grabbed him for a third time. Sherlock couldn't help it, he whimpered, arms raising to cover his face. And Peacock laughed. He laughed, and laughed, and then his open hand struck the side of Sherlock's head; once, twice, and on the third slap Peacock let him drop.

“Stay away from my family or there'll be more of that! And worse!” Sherlock heard him spit; and then there followed a hazy period – the vague sense of footsteps retreating and time slipping by in some fashion.

Shadows passed over him but he couldn't imagine moving – between the halos and throbbing shapes and tinnitus if he so much as lifted his head he would vomit. So he stayed on the ground and counted his breaths and tried his damndest to block the misfiring signals-PaIn-nAuseA-bleEdiNg-DizZy-hammering at the soft tissue inside his skull.

He had no idea how long he lie there.

He'd been cringing at the piercing screedch of cicadas when the cacophony of mating insects was broken by the rapidly building thunder of steps pounding through the grass.

Peacock coming back for more, just as he promised! The moment hands touched him Sherlock bellowed – swinging blind and feeling his left hand rake along flesh; the satisfaction of a pained grunt immediately lost as his wrists were caught and soft words made headway through his panic.

“Easy. You're safe. Focus on my voice.” Repeating cadence as slowly he was released – the hands staying well away and allowing him space to breathe – to regroup.

Then, eyes still tightly shut, he sniffled and turned his head. “Mycroft?” He hated the tiny warble but couldn't help the relief when his brother responded.

“I'm here. Are you able to move? Is anything broken?”

Sherlock flexed his hands; his arms. But when he braced against the ground and tried to push up he gasped – subsiding again as sharp pain ballooned through his skull and shrieked through his ribs. “It's... I can't...”

A firm hand pressed solid against his leg. “I'll fetch the matron...”

“No!” Sherlock snatched outward and managed to catch a sleeve by pure luck. “Please, My just... I want to go home... please...”

A sigh followed. Then... “Very well. However I will need to carry you. Do you need time...?”

“I...” Fingers dug in the grass, Sherlock curled into himself. So Mycroft waited while Sherlock steadied himself – taking the steps needed to prepare for what would certainly be both painful and grating. Deep breaths – fingers playing against the earth. Then, finally, he nodded – even that small movement crashing a tsunami of stomach rolling agony through his head.

Mycroft was careful but there was no avoiding the turmoil caused by hefting his brother in his arms. It was brutal. Sherlock gagged; longer fingers clinging to Mycroft's jacket as he used every technique he knew to hold himself together. It seemed an age before, sweet blessed relief, they reached the car and Mycroft helped ease him onto the back seat – covering his face with his jacket to block out the throbbing rays of sunlight.

He sank against the cool leather and knew little more until, an undetermined time later, his brother's voice intruded once more.

“We're home. Just a short distance to the house, if you can manage it?”

He could – though he had to cling tight to his brother the entire time and depend upon his guidance to avoid stumbling as Sherlock still couldn't manage vision without a sickening swoop through his belly.

And then he was laid on the couch – both of them agreeing that navigating the stairs to his bedroom was too daunting a prospect. What followed was yet another exercise in misery. For half an hour Mycroft held him steady as he repeatedly heaved into a bowl. Attempts to stifle the flow with medication led only to repeating bouts to the point he was sweaty and shaking by the time it abated. In between gagging up his organs, Mycroft dabbed a wet flannel at his various wounds – primarily the seeping split that cut a line through both his upper and lower lip – courtesy of the ostentatious emerald on Peacock's ring.

Eventually, though, the bloodied rags were gathered and the bowl rinsed and left on the floor near his head. Mycroft insisted on pain medication and a few tentative sips of juice. Afterward Sherlock was left alone. It was only a short time later that sleep finally pulled him under.

It was dark when Sherlock woke. His head still hurt but not in that violent way from earlier. He was able to open his eyes and, best of all, the sickening halos were gone. But other aches had now asserted themselves. His ribs and right hip were nearly immobile after repeated impacts against the ground. There were bruises and small cuts on the back of his hands from trying to block the blows Peacock had rained on him – the gemstone in his ring leaving narrow gouges behind – and his shoulders felt half twisted from the sockets. As for his face it was a network of throbbing hurts.

Grunting, he stiffly pushed upright – wobbling as he struggled to regain his balance. From the kitchen, he heard a small sound, and then Mycroft stepped into the room. His face gave away little but his eyes flicked up and down Sherlock's form in an evaluating fashion.

Sherlock noted, however, that Mycroft's hands were in fists at his sides.

“You've been asleep for three hours. How is your pain?”

Both arms wrapped around his middle, Sherlock groaned. “Painful.” He squinted as he regarded his older brother. “I see you capitalized on the opportunity to invade the icebox.”

Eyes losing some of their softness, Mycroft snorted. “Quite. The devastation was incalculable.” Stepping forward he braced a hand against Sherlock's back. “I prepared dinner, you insufferable brat.”

Swatting away the probing fingers, Sherlock was, nonetheless, grateful at the proffered ice pack – which he held against his tender scalp. He briefly considered an entire tub of ice water – surely every bit of him could benefit from the soothing cold.

While he was busy with the ice, Mycroft returned to the kitchen; only to reemerge minutes later with a bowl and glass of water.

“Lentil Bolognese.”

Sherlock regarded the heavy soup; inhaling the rich scent and wary of his sensitive stomach. However there was no indication of further upset so, gathering some broth on his spoon, he sipped delicately. In short order he'd eaten more than half before setting aside his utensil. Dinner was followed by a decadent slice of tarte tatin supplied generously with a heap of thick créme fraîche. Sherlock ate every crumb and watched enviously while his wretched brother followed suit without so much as offering a single bite from his share.

After the plates were cleared away, Sherlock settled back against a heap of pillows and sighed. When Mycroft took the chair across from him, however, Sherlock clenched his fingers and stared towards the fireplace.

“This cannot be avoided, brother mine. I need to know.”

Still looking away, Sherlock hunched his shoulders. “What for? There's nothing to tell. I picked a fight and lost. Certainly that wouldn't be the first time I came out the wrong end in a scrap.”

“No, but you also are not one who typically initiates a fight. So why now? And with an opponent of clearly larger size, going by the shape of those bruises.”

At the continued silence Mycroft sighed. “Very well. I suppose I shall have to speak with the Administration as well as members of the staff. Surely one of them will have seen...”

“It was Mr. Peacock.” The admission came out in a soft murmur – Sherlock's throat flushing with heat.

Mycroft stared at him, openly aghast. “Bradford Peacock did this to you?”

Finally lifting his head, glaring, Sherlock jutted his chin. “I believe I told you that I started it.”

“Yes, you did. However, you failed to mention that your opponent was an adult man with at least ten stone on you.”

Sherlock's thumb dug into his index finger while pondering the stability of his limbs. At least in his own room he could conceivably lock Mycroft out. Not that his brother wasn't capable of entry if he so chose – locks were more of a suggestion for the both of them, much to the dismay of their parents.

“He has a young son, as I recall. A boy close to your age. Lucius.”

“Lucas.” Sherlock's eyes had returned to the fire but he could feel Mycroft's heavy gaze bearing on him.

“He was abusing him.” There was no question in the statement. Sherlock didn't reply but his teeth tightened together. Mycroft's voice fell softer still; dangerous. “And when you attempted to stop him... he beat you.”

“Beat me. He hardly-”

“You have two cracked ribs, a concussion, and there was blood in your vomit!” The fury in his brother's tone snapped Sherlock's jaw shut like a vise. His fingers twisted and pulled at the legs of his trousers until he noticed and forced his hands still.

Twice his mouth opened with a retort at the ready and twice he swallowed it back. His tongue dragged across his broken lip and he flinched. His fingers resumed their movement so he tucked them beneath his arms. Voice a dull rasp, he finally managed to get something past his teeth.

“I did what I had to do.”

Across from him, breathing out heavily, Mycroft nodded. “As will I.”

It was a week later; Sherlock's bruises mutated to a sickly green and yellow, that he was crouching in his favorite listening spot at the top of the stairs behind the top pillar. An unrepentant eavesdropper he had his head tilted back and both feet braced on the opposite wall. Below, his mother was preparing breakfast while his father and Mycroft sat at the table sharing the paper. Since his parent's return he'd been expecting some sort of outrage with regards to his injuries. Though he'd been able to mask the pain to his ribs he couldn't hide the variegated hues on his face. Yet, upon their arrival home, collected by Mycroft in Father's old sedan, Mummy had merely tsked; brushing the hair from his forehead with worried eyes before sighing. “Oh, Sherlock.”

Whatever fantasy Mycroft had spun, it had clearly been good enough for his parents. No doubt painting Sherlock in a less than favorable light.

Still, the truth would have been worse, with consequences that didn't bear consideration.

The scent of his mother's scones began to waft up the stairway. Sherlock breathed in appreciatively – eyes closed and lifted towards the warm morning light, when his mother's voice, and a familiar name, suddenly cut across his musings.

“I heard Bradford Peacock was arrested.”

Sherlock stilled – a cool weight heavy in his belly. After a beat his father hummed; likely swallowing a sip of coffee. “I hate to speak ill of anyone but I have always felt there was something not quite right about him.”

Mellie made a sound before her voice rose again. “It seems he was discovered behind a pub in the village.”

Mycroft's voiced filled in when Mummy trailed off. “As I read it he had apparently been beaten. Severely. In fact, both hands were broken and several teeth were knocked out. Given how he had been treating his son it was the least he was due.”

“You needn't sound so delighted, Myc! Atrocious business.”

Sherlock barely held himself back from peering around the corner and giving himself away – though he had no doubt that his brother knew he was there.

“No, what was atrocious is the reason why he was arrested in the first place. And I will delight in any punishment delivered to a man for hurting a child.”

In that moment Sherlock was certain Mycroft was not, entirely, thinking of Lucas. It left an odd heat behind his eyes.

There was a familiar clunk of the oven door and the rattle of a tray setting down on the counter. “No. I suppose I cannot fault how you feel. In truth, when I read how he'd been abusing that precious child I wanted to race to the constabulary and personally tear out his eyes.”

Father chuckled. “I would have driven you there, my love.”

Nose wrinkling, Sherlock let himself slump back against the bannister.

“Still, I feel for that poor boy. It destroys me to think of him taken into care.”

Mycroft's voice interceded again; deeply pleased with himself, no doubt. “You needn't fear, Mummy. I understand he will be taken in by his maternal grandmother. From what Sherlock has told me, she cares for him a great deal.”

Sherlock had told him no such thing; though he didn't doubt it was true. Not that he appreciated being made an accessory to his brother's schemes. Still, he could admit to being... content... with the outcome of Mycroft's intervention.

Conversation soon drifted to less interesting topics and Sherlock entertained himself with his own thoughts – roaming the fields in his mind until-

“Alright, young man, enough lurking! Breakfast is on! But do wash up before coming down here; no doubt you've collected several pathogens on those hands.”

Silently, Sherlock stood and crept back from the stairway. Mummy may suspect him of listening in but as yet could not prove fact without eyes on. On cat's feet he eased his way back to his room and up onto his bed – waiting several beats before loudly allowing his heels to thud against the floorboards. Shuffling to the door, he cracked it open – letting the hinges squeak, before calling down in a voice heavy with sleep.

“Did you call, Mummy?”

Her less than convinced snort carried easily from below. “Oh, you heard me. Hurry, now, before your eggs go cold.”

Grinning, Sherlock made his way to the washroom.

No doubt he would owe Mycroft for his illicit use of manpower on a less than sanctioned mission. His brother always did collect on his debts. Still... Sherlock couldn't deny that the results had been worth it. Maybe he could even convince Mycroft to procure a booking photo of Mr. Peacock.

Fingers clean enough and somewhat dried, Sherlock pressed his arm against his side and headed for the stairs.

It appeared it was going to be a fantastic day.

Comment of AO3

@sgam76 @totallysilvergirl @sevdrag @helloliriels @calaisreno

[elle-p]

All of the Fortune-Teller's P3R dialogue(minus the bit about the Tartarus changes).

Fortune-Teller: Hmm… I feel a strange aura around you… In my mind, I see visions… People's pasts, presents, and futures… For most people, I see clearly and far ahead… But you are different… Your future is filled with both blinding light and stagnant shadow… I can see but a small portion… What lies beyond that is shrouded in mystery… What a peculiar fate you carry… Now, young man… Bearer of light and shadow… If you wish to know more about the near future… come and talk to me… I will share my limited visions with you…

Fortune-Teller: Now, tell me… What shall it be?

Fortune-Teller: Would you like to know your fortune?

{Yes, please.}

Fortune-Teller: Then let us begin… Fortune-Teller: Let us hope that you find fortune in your destiny...

{No, thanks.}

Fortune-Teller: Come back any time…

Fortune-Teller: You have pulled fate's trigger… The bullet passes through many, heading directly to its target… What target that may be, however, is unknown to me… You must find that out for yourself…

Fortune-Teller: A long rail under the empty sky… On it stands youth in disarray… You seem to live a tumultuous life… What do you see at the end of the rail…?

Fortune-Teller: I feel another change… A strong wind blows across the world, sending a blue flower's petals into the air… How will you interpret this wind…? As a weak and frail breeze, or a brave and mighty gust…?

Fortune-Teller: It seems you have made another friend… A late-night affair, unseen by all… A bond made in the darkness, where the shadows lurk… The result of this bond is too distant to be seen… The only way to know how it will end is to see for yourself…

Fortune-Teller: Shadows within shadows… Many shadows crawl amidst the immense shadow… Twelve shadows feasting upon the heart of man… Monstrous, yet dignified… They gather around you… Beware…

Fortune-Teller: Guns scattered in the billowing shadow… Arms reach in to grasp them… Their muzzles pointed at different shadows; their triggers pulled on different occasions… Where do you point your gun? What will occur as a result of its firing…? Can you collect all the guns that have been scattered…?

Fortune-Teller: I see a girl… She stands between light and dark, life and simulacrum… She falters… as if not knowing on which side she belongs… Hm…? She is trying to tell you something… Can you hear her words…?

Fortune-Teller: Three blades close in on you, tearing the shadow apart… A brave howl confronts them… Things seem to be stirring around you once again… There is more… In the depths of the abyss, another blade watches you closely…

Fortune-Teller: A dark past sinking into the deep shadow… It enfolds the people who are involved and captures them… Who are the ones that are trapped…? Hard though I try to see them, my vision blurs, and everything becomes obscure… Can you see…?

Fortune-Teller: The golden sky spreads outside the window… A girl holding a world of white in her slender arms… A boy struggles, searching to find meaning in himself and the girl… But the conclusion has not yet been written… It is entrusted to the girl and her white world… You must stand firmly, and watch things unfold…

Fortune-Teller: After the storm comes not calm, but another trial… Do not despair, however… I sense strong forces at your side, even more so than before… Be brave, and confront this hardship with unshakeable resolve…

Fortune-Teller: A light has disappeared… The shadow grows darker… But the lost light's will lives on in a strong, new light… You have reached a turning point… The light has begun to challenge the shadow… Your time is coming… soon…

Fortune-Teller: A strong wind blows across the world, sending a blue flower's petals into the air… The flower discovered the world, made friends to protect, and has become another light… The lights are gathering around you… Be prepared…

Fortune-Teller: A bridge lit by the full moon… Songs of victory echo in the air as the shadow is overcome… Go… Now is the time for celebration…

Fortune-Teller: Under the fat crescent moon… a feeble light at the hollow tower… A gunshot rings out, shattering my vision into a thousand pieces… I am sorry… I can see no further… But I can say this… The shadow yet remains…

Fortune-Teller: Oh…? Is this a new friend…? How mystifying… No one can see into his essence… No one, save for one girl…

Fortune-Teller: The answer and the secret to life are passed on, one life to the next… Two lights now pierce through the shadow… The hour draws near… How do you fare…?

Fortune-Teller: A girl falls under the full moon… A boy walks amidst shadow, and he himself is shadow… A child who bears shadows within… The immense shadow approaches… Its depth unfathomable; its extent without limit… It comes to end all things… The darkness hidden by the shining heavens… How will you stand against such a fate…?

Fortune-Teller: You have pulled the trigger of fate… I see it now… The target was the shadow of impending doom… Your goal is now clear… Keep your flame of life ablaze until the end…

Fortune-Teller: I see nothing… No… What I see is nothingness… It is the void… But do not lose heart… Emptiness is not necessarily the end… The void is infinite… as is the universe… Whether this marks an end to all things or a beginning… It is in your hands…

[ninadove]

Nina reads Dracula 🦇

May 16th

Thought things couldn’t get worse for our good friend Jonathan…? WELL YOU WERE WRONG:

God preserve my sanity, for to this I am reduced. Safety and the assurance of safety are things of the past. Whilst I live on here there is but one thing to hope for, that I may not go mad, if, indeed, I be not mad already. If I be sane, then surely it is maddening to think that of all the foul things that lurk in this hateful place the Count is the least dreadful to me; that to him alone I can look for safety, even though this be only whilst I can serve his purpose. Great God! merciful God! Let me be calm, for out of that way lies madness indeed.

Is the Count running for N.1 Abusive Technically-Not-Boyfriend? Because he has a pretty strong shot.

Up to now I never quite knew what Shakespeare meant when he made Hamlet say:—

"My tablets! quick, my tablets!

'Tis meet that I put it down," etc.,

for now, feeling as though my own brain were unhinged or as if the shock had come which must end in its undoing, I turn to my diary for repose. The habit of entering accurately must help to soothe me.

We’re his only comfort and we can do nothing to help… 😭

When I had written in my diary and had fortunately replaced the book and pen in my pocket I felt sleepy. The Count's warning came into my mind, but I took a pleasure in disobeying it.

The fact that this was an intentional infraction breaks my heart in the best way possible.

In the moonlight opposite me were three young women, ladies by their dress and manner. I thought at the time that I must be dreaming when I saw them, for, though the moonlight was behind them, they threw no shadow on the floor.

More normal human things!!!

There was something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips. It is not good to note this down, lest some day it should meet Mina's eyes and cause her pain; but it is the truth.

Honey I think Mina will forgive you for [checks notes] being manipulated through vampire pheromones

There was a deliberate voluptuousness which was both thrilling and repulsive, and as she arched her neck she actually licked her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lips and on the red tongue as it lapped the white sharp teeth. Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and chin and seemed about to fasten on my throat.

SOMEONE DRAG HER AWAY FROM HIM

I was conscious of the presence of the Count, and of his being as if lapped in a storm of fury. As my eyes opened involuntarily I saw his strong hand grasp the slender neck of the fair woman and with giant's power draw it back, the blue eyes transformed with fury, the white teeth champing with rage, and the fair cheeks blazing red with passion. But the Count! Never did I imagine such wrath and fury, even to the demons of the pit. His eyes were positively blazing. The red light in them was lurid, as if the flames of hell-fire blazed behind them.

NO NOT YOU

"How dare you touch him, any of you? How dare you cast eyes on him when I had forbidden it? Back, I tell you all! This man belongs to me! Beware how you meddle with him, or you'll have to deal with me." The fair girl, with a laugh of ribald coquetry, turned to answer him:—

"You yourself never loved; you never love!" On this the other women joined, and such a mirthless, hard, soulless laughter rang through the room that it almost made me faint to hear; it seemed like the pleasure of fiends. Then the Count turned, after looking at my face attentively, and said in a soft whisper:—

"Yes, I too can love; you yourselves can tell it from the past. Is it not so? Well, now I promise you that when I am done with him you shall kiss him at your will. Now go! go! I must awaken him, for there is work to be done."

Queer-coding? In my XIXth century monstrous villain? It’s more likely than you think!

"Are we to have nothing to-night?" said one of them, with a low laugh, as she pointed to the bag which he had thrown upon the floor, and which moved as though there were some living thing within it.

Oh oh.

Then the horror overcame me, and I sank down unconscious.

Jonathan would love 2024 Tumblr slang! He too was once overcome by The Horrors™!

I awoke in my own bed. If it be that I had not dreamt, the Count must have carried me here.

YIKES.

I am sure this diary would have been a mystery to him which he would not have brooked. He would have taken or destroyed it.

😭

As I look round this room, although it has been to me so full of fear, it is now a sort of sanctuary, for nothing can be more dreadful than those awful women, who were—who are—waiting to suck my blood.

Was this staged…? Was this entire assault staged as a fucked up manipulation tactic to get Jonathan to seek protection from the Count??? I need answers

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[spicywarl0ck]

🥰 Happy Friday! I was too late to announce my own participation today but I can still send prompts! :D Either "I would give anything to see you smile" or "Have I ever lied to you?" - "Are you really asking me that?" for mHawke/Fenris, our mutual all-time-otp, of course <3 Whichever takes your fancy! 🥰

Thank you so much for this prompt x3 I had so much fun writing this for @dadrunkwriting beware, it turned a bit lemony (but also not really, no details) but they are unfortunately interrupted before they can do anything naughty. Pairing: male Hawke/Fenris Length: 864 Rating: M

“A ball?” Fenris arched one dark eyebrow at him, his green eyes glaring dangerously. “Don’t tell me you are serious about this Hawke.” the elf added in clear distaste, his arms crossed in front of his chest as he leaned against the wall, close to the balcony. It was hard for Hawke not to get sidetracked by the beautiful view of soft orangy light painting Fenris's white hair in the colours of the setting dawn. He’d probably never get used to his handsome husband. “The Inquisitor invited us. It would look bad not to go. Plus, I am certain it will be fun.”

“Fun? What about me gives the impression that I’ll have fun at a social gathering in Orlais?” Fenris sighed. “If I might remind you, we have been to Orlais before, it has been a disaster. You’ve been imprisoned even.”

“Only briefly!” Hawke countered. “And I still think it was fun. I certainly had fun,” he added. 

��You were the only one.” Fenris's eyes darted to the side as he took in the mountain view of Skyhold for a heartbeat. “And we are speaking about the Winter Palace Hawke. The Empress herself will be there. Do you truly think she’d allow you to bring me in?”

“Why shouldn’t she? Because you are an elf? Pfft, the Inquisitor is elven himself and brings a Tevinter Altus as his company. I think we’ll be fine.” Hawke paused a moment before he added: “Aw, come on. I am sure it’ll be fun. Have I ever lied to you?” 

“Are you really asking me that?” Fenris scoffed, his green eyes narrowing at the man with the shit-eating grin. 

“It was hypothetical.” Garret sighed. “Nevertheless, I would love to attend and walk in with you.” He closed into his grumpy husband, one arm softly wrapping around the slender elf’s waist to pull him closer.

“And I would love if you’d do me the honour to dance with me,” Hawke added softly.

“An honour yes?” Fenris chuckled as one of his hands stretched over Garret’s tunic. It was astounding how the elf still managed to make his heart beat faster with one gesture after all these years.

“Of course.” Hawke leaned in, almost close enough to kiss the man who made him the luckiest man in Thedas

But even though he initiated, Fenris closed the gap between them, his hands wrapping around Hawke’s neck to pull him closer. He deepened the kiss with a grunt before he got pinned against the wall, both lips moving against each other feverishly.

It had been a while since they shared the pleasures of intimacy and Hawke had trouble keeping his hands to himself.

He didn’t hesitate to lift Fenris within his arms, the elf’s fingers twitching where they rummaged through his black hair, tugging ever so slightly to demand more while a tongue was all too eager to pry his lips open.

Fenris was quick to invade his mouth with a feverish hunger, a sound close to a moan swallowed by each other’s mouths.

He felt every movement of Fenris's tongue as it pushed against him, every tug the elf’s fingers made against his eat and every grunt breaking loose from his lover’s lips as their hips ground against each other already.

“Bed.” Fenris broke the kiss impatiently, his voice close to a growl and demanding.

Hawke was all too happy to follow the order and set it into motion quickly as he carried his lover over to the bed, dropping him onto the soft pillows without a thought before his hands started to unbuckle his belt as he watched his lover undoing his tunic swiftly.

There was nothing that could have prevented him from ravaging Fenris right here and then, except for the knock on the door.

“I am sorry for the interruption Serah.” The ambassador's voice was muffled as it broke through the door before it creaked as she opened it. “I wanted to discuss the matters of the Ball with you…” she added before her eyes widened at the sight of two flustered and dishevelled men.

“Uh, my apologies. I am…” Josephine brushed one of her dark locks behind her ears, clearly staring at the champion whose pants slowly dropped down.

“I will wait for you in my office,” she concluded, yet it took another heartbeat before she pried her eyes away, the door closing behind her. Yet, only to open one more time with a whispered: “I am sorry.” before it fell shut again, unmoving.

“I think we should get dressed.” Fenris sounded unpleased, his fingers already moving to close his tunic.

“Or…we could continue.” Hawke offered instead. “It’s not like she’s expecting me anytime soon,” he added but admitted defeat when he saw Fenris’s expression. He didn’t stand any chance.

“And make it even more awkward?” Fenris shook his head as he stood up. “No, You should go,” he added as his hands clung firmly onto Hawke’s tunic, their lips so very close to touching again. “I will be here when you return and then…” The elf paused as he stretched onto his tippy toes, his lips brushing against Hawke’s ear.

“We can lock the door.”

[godsandvillains-if]

Is there any facts you're able to give us about Pierce? Pronouns, general description, etc... Will we be given their motive as to why they've gathered a group of superpowered individuals as well?

Pierce goes by he/him, tall, slender but fit, blonde, and in his late fifties. The motive and the reasons for him to gather a team of super-powered people are a mystery, even to the team itself. He is a very shadowy and cryptic man, and he has an ulterior motive for saving the MC from the clutches of the terrorists.

Just beware of him. Keep that in mind.

Thank you for the question!! 🥰

[rogerswifesblog]

1 - Broken bones and broken hearts

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: I don’t know shit about boxing, don’t come at me. All I know is from Google. Anyway, we ( @jamneuromain )came up with this story a while ago and I totally forgot about it. It’ll contain a lot of angst, some smut and of course fluff. This trope is so friends to lover (or maybe even a bit of friends to enemies to lovers?) and miscommunication-so If you get angry and frustrated easily…beware🤣

Pairing: Boxer Steve Rogers x Reader

Series summary; There was only one rule between best friends. Don’t have sex. But what happens when you break it anyway?

chapter Summary: Fights are won, titles received and a mistake is made…was it a mistake tho?

Warnings; teasing, silly jokes, slightly insecure reader if you squint, jealous Steve, implied/mentioned Clint x Natasha, alcohol, smut, p in v, fingering, spit kink, Captain kink, cum eating, cum play, creampie, slight breeding kink? Maybe?, squirting, marking (hickeys), angst, cliffhanger Anything else??

Words: around 6 k

Steve Rogers was many things; a talented boxer, intelligent, strong and handsome. His body is built like the ones of a Greek statue or even a god. Over six feet tall. Shoulder to waist ratio that should be illegal. With piercing blue eyes and a sweet boy-nextdoor-vibe that women and men are going crazy over.

Steve Rogers was also your best friend. And the love of your life. Which of course, he does not know.

You’d never tell him that. It would destroy your friendship of ten years. You couldn’t lose him. He was too important. Too important to risk everything for something that would probably never happen- Steve could have every woman or man he wanted. Why would he want you? If he’d want you, you two would already be together. But you weren’t. He didn’t want you.

Sighing you entered the gym, already having waited ten minutes in the car. Why the hell wasn’t he coming? He asked you to pick him up at five. You were on time.

He wasn’t.

“Steve! You’re late!” you entered the room he was training in, currently in the ring with someone. For a moment he looked back at you- before the other person hit him straight in the jaw. “Don’t take your eyes off of your opponent, Rogers. Now go to your girl, she sounds mad.” Steve rubbed his chin lightly, stepping away from the ring.

“Is it time?” For a moment you didn’t listen, being too taken aback by his glistening naked chest… by these gorgeous big pecks… “Don’t stare at my nipples” “but they’re right in front of my face-“ “I’m also not allowed to look at your boobs-“ “Steve that’s different” you laughed, gently punching him in the stomach. He gasped, pretending to be hurt.

You both grinned for a moment. God, you loved this dork. The friendship and comfortable feeling you had with him.

“You’re late. Let’s go-“ “but I need to shower.” You sighed, grabbing his massive, hard and damp with sweat biceps and pulled him with you. “You’ll shower at my place. I’m hungry and I just ordered food for us, so we need to get home soon.”

Steve smiled dumbly, letting you pull him by his arms- but before you left the gym, you told him to put on a shirt which he did.

Within ten minutes you were home and just in time to get the food.

While you sat down on the couch and turned on your current binge-watch-series Steve showered. And you tried not to picture him in your shower, wet and naked… his hard muscles glistening with waterdrops… grabbing his hard dick with his rough hand. Stroking it…

Gasping you shook your head quickly, trying not to think about your best friend in such a situation. God you were so deep in it. Always thinking about Steve- so many inappropriate thoughts- not just those but enough for it to be hard to look into his eyes. How many times have you come picturing him over you? His thick fingers teasing your hole instead of your slender ones, not even being able to reach that special spot. Him kissing you gently, worshiping your body…

He talked about it a lot. Well, about what he did to his partners- which meant not to you. To some one night stands or ex partners… you knew he loved pleasuring others. Taking his time… god, you never had someone this attentive. You’d love to spend one night with him. If you couldn’t have him as your lover… or maybe-

“God not this again. Let’s watch something else.” Steve's voice interrupted your thinking, making you look into your takeout box. You felt your blood rush to your cheeks, making your blush furiously.

„But I like it.“ „but I don’t-“ „And you think I give a shit about- Steve- no- give it back!“ you scoffed, trying to take the remote from him but it was too late, he turned off your binge-series. „We’re watching something else.“

You had to watch some baking show.

Great.

„And I don’t like this-“ „see, now I’m not giving crap about that-“ „Steve you shit I bought you food-“ „And I’m very grateful for that. But I will never, I mean never, watch whatever the hell your show is called“ he grinned, pulling you closer against him, making your heartbeat quicken.

Sighing you leaned your head against his shoulder. „Fine. But I’m mad at you.“ „Nope, you’re not. You love me too much“ Steve laughed, kissing your temple gently. Once again you sighed. You couldn’t be mad at him.

You ate your food, watching people bake while Steve commented on the whole show- while he wasn’t a baker himself. He was shit at cooking and baking. You were always cooking for the two of you- well when he stayed over or was at your place which was actually quite a lot.

You should ask him to pay rent. This thought made your chuckle which of course made Steve look at you, confused. “What?” “Nothing just…thinking” you laughed. Steve couldn’t stop himself from grinning. “Oh you were thinking? That’s a dangerous-“ “I was thinking about making you pay rent.”

“-nevermind.” He stopped his teasing quickly, grin vanishing which made you laugh out loud.

Shaking your head you looked back at the tv. “You’re an idiot, Stevie.”

The name made his heart flutter. At the same time his throat tightened. God, how he wished to be with you. Be your Stevie. But you were only his friend. Best friend… he couldn’t risk this amazing friendship because of a silly crush. (It was, in fact, not just a silly crush. He loved you more than he thought was possible for a human being.)

“But I’m your idiot” he laughed quietly.

You wished he would mean it.

„I’m nervous…“ you heard Steve’s voice after a while. A quiet whisper, barely audible. But you still heard it. „About the next fight?“ asking, you already felt him nod against your neck. Somehow you had changed your positions a bit, both of you slid lower with Steve’s head against your throat. Burying his face against the warm skin of your neck, his cheek against your pulsepoint. “It’s not just a fight… It's about the title of the state champion. I don’t think I can-”

„Steve, you’re always awesome, don’t worry, baby“ you whispered, the pet name slipping from your lips like it was normal. But it wasn’t. You could feel it, as Steve tensed for a moment. Shit. Now he’d think you’re weird. Or… something. But his muscles relaxed immediately after. What you didn’t know is how much he actually enjoyed hearing it. Even though it had surprised him at first.

He wished you’d say it more often.

“Please be there… I think you’re like a lucky charm. Every Time you’re there I win” he smiled against your skin, making the hair at your neck stand. Chuckling you pulled him a bit closer, grabbing a blanket and putting it around Steve’s shoulders. He quickly cuddled closer to you, closing his eyes. “Just sleep a bit, you need to rest” with that you kissed his head gently.

Steve nodded, sighing comfortably. He could stay like this forever.

But he couldn’t, especially not after hearing the awful theme song of the show you were currently obsessed with. “No- I hate this-“ “shhhhh, just sleep” you grinned against his head, pulling him closer to you, holding him in a headlock, making him unable to move. A quiet laugh escaped his lips while he turned around and buried his face against you, not wanting to watch the show. “You’re unbelievable” he shook his head slightly,

“And you’re unbelievably weak for a boxer who’s supposed to- Steve stop!“

With that you two fooled around a bit before you both laid down and took a nap together.

A week later you were standing with Steve in the hall where his match would happen in a few minutes. You could tell he was nervous, seeing as he was fidgeting with his fingers and calming his breath every few seconds.

“Hey- Steve- it’s okay. You’ll do great. I know it” you whispered, gently grabbing his hands and squeezing. Sighing, you let your gaze slide over his face. Steve was really trying not to show how nervous he was but… he wasn’t doing a good job. He was a shit liar. “Your coaches said you’re ready. You’ll rock it. I know, you’ll do” with that you pulled Steve in a tight hug, feeling his muscles relax against you.

After a while Steve had to go into the ring, being introduced as Steve Rogers aka Captain Rogers- or what many people shouted “America's Sweetheart” which made you giggle. You could see Steve’s cheeks turning a slight rosy color, making you laugh in delight.

Steve’s rival was… huge. Like, really, really huge. He was a few inches taller than Steve and pure muscles. People chanted ‘thunder’ like it was a prayer while the referee introduced him as Thor.

He was kinda handsome… Steve noticed your gaze, unknowingly pulling his eyebrows together and glaring at you for a moment but you didn’t even notice, too busy ogling Thor.

And Thor was popular. Many people were shouting his name and also how he’d destroy his rival, Steve. You could tell it made Steve even more nervous- which you actually understood.

Thor seemed very sure about himself while Steve looked like a lost puppy.

God this can’t be happening! Steve trained for this for so long. And now he’d lose his confidence because of someone’s fans? Not on your watch!

You stepped a bit closer to the ring, grabbing Steve’s attention. “You’ll do it, baby. I believe in you” you grinned at him, making the corner of his lips twitch a bit.

The first three rounds were… mostly Steve getting punched and trying to dodge Thor’s hits.

You could tell the judges weren’t really impressed by Steve- not that he was bad. He was just insecure. You could see he was once again more of the small kid, than a boxing champion. But you knew he was amazing! He just needed some help.

After the fourth round Steve was pulled back into his corner where he drank a bit and got his blood wiped away, after Thor got him in the nose.

Even though Steve’s coach didn’t want you to come closer to him, you managed to step right next to the ring, pulling at Steve’s arm. “Stevie- look at me” you cupped his face in your hands when he leaned down to you. “You can do it, baby. I know you can” you whispered before taking a deep breath and pressing your lips to his in a passionate kiss.

There was some cheering behind you but you blended it completely out. The only thing that mattered right now was the feeling of Steve’s soft lips. You could taste a bit of blood from where his lips had split slightly but it didn’t make the kiss any worse. It wasn’t a perfect kiss but it was just like your friendship, chaotic. People shouted in the background, the coach started hitting Steve’s arm gently to get his attention back to the match while his break slowly came to an end. You let his tongue slip into your mouth, not being able to stop the quiet moan that escaped your lips.

Fuck, he was really a great kisser. You wondered what else he could do with-

Grinning he pulled away, quickly giving you a last peck on the lips before standing up. “Go get ‘im Captain!” you called breathlessly after him.

He definitely got a boost of energy and confidence, winning every next round and nearly punching Thor K.O. in the last round but the time ran out.

Both men stood now with the referee between them, holding both of their arms.

You felt your breathing stop for a moment.

Steve had to win! He was so good!

“And after ten rounds, we have a winner though a split decision…”

You prayed to god it was Steve. He deserved it so much.

“Captain Steve Rogers, our new state champion!!!”

Steve’s hand was lifted into the air.

The people started cheering, you were probably one of the loudest while even Thor congratulated Steve with a firm handshake and handsome smile. He seemed really happy for Steve.

Steve grinned at him happily, saying something before literally jumping out of the ring, rushing to you, lifting you up and spinning in circles while he jumped like a happy little kid. “I did it!!” he laughed, making you laugh as well. “I knew you’d win! You were great Steve” you grinned, kissing his face where he wasn’t bruised.

Slowly he put you down, grinning once again. For a moment he looked down at your lips, but before he could do whatever he had been thinking about his coach called his name. “I’ll be back in a minute” he was still grinning.

It took Steve around ten minutes to finally come back to you- with a golden belt in his hands and Thor right behind him. They both were laughing, even though they still had some dry blood on their faces and bodies.

Steve kinda looked hot like that.

Could your brain please stop thinking like that?

“Thor told me there’s always a great big party for the winner at the bar just around the corner. Would you like to go there with me-us?” Steve asked while Thor stepped closer and held out his hand for you to shake. “Thor, pleasure meet you, pretty lady. Steven already told me you’re his best friend- seemed like more than friends to me but I sometimes don’t understand your culture” you laughed quietly, shaking his hand and introducing yourself.

“Well, yeah, we… we are friends… it’s- we- Steve needed some motivation” you blushed. “That’s right, My Lady, he indeed did need a lot of motivation-“ “I wasn’t that bad.” “You were, Steven. I was pretty sure I could’ve knocked you out if I wanted to”

Steve only glared at him while Thor seemed like he didn’t even notice having insulted Steve. You could already tell Thor was a good guy. Maybe a bit of a himbo but in a good way. He was nice.

“I’d love to join you but you both need to shower… and put some clothes on.”

You waited for them half an hour just checking your social media’s. And also thinking back to the kiss…

Would it change anything now? Did it mean to Steve anything?

For you the kiss meant a lot, not just a bit of motivation for Steve to win. You really tried to put your feelings into the kiss…

But what if Steve really didn’t feel the same? Maybe he’d just forget the kiss. Hopefully…

Before you could overthink it any more the two blond beefcakes came out and pulled you out of your thoughts when you heard Thor's booming laugh.

“Shall we, pretty lady?” said the taller man, holding out his arm for you to grab onto. Grinning you did just that, not noticing Steve’s jealous gaze lingering on the two of you.

With a pleased smile on your face you walked with Thor ahead while Steve followed the two of you.

Why were you walking with Thor like that? He should be the one you were holding onto.

“You coming, Steve?” you called over your shoulder, making Steve sigh quietly while he followed. He really hoped this kiss could’ve changed something but maybe it was really just to push his ego a bit. At least he won.

A win is a win…? No. He’d rather have his girl than a stupid title. Would he now lose you? Because of Thor? Thor didn’t seem like someone who’d steal his- someone’s- girl.

But then, he didn’t really know him that much.

The people in the bar seemed to know Thor, greeting him as soon as he walked through the door- not only that, they also greeted Steve immediately.

After sitting down a round of beers and a mojito for you was brought. “Oh it’s not the usual Clint. Jane isn’t coming today, what would you like to drink, pretty lady?” asked Thor, but you already pulled the mojito closer to you. “Oh I’m totally fine being Jane for the night” you grinned cheekily, making Thor and also Clint laugh.

Steve slid into the booth right next to you, putting an arm around you, making you look at him in surprise while you put your soft lips around the straw, drinking the cold liquid. “So, Jane?” He repeated the name, making you roll your eyes. “It’s Thor's girlfriend. She’s studying something… well, science. She couldn’t join us- Thor talks about her a lot” you grinned, putting your slightly cooler hand on Steve’s thigh.

He felt the coldness though his pants, making him gasp. For a moment he could see your eyes sparkle mischievously but then you quickly looked away when more people came and sat down around the table.

They all introduced themselves as Sif, Hogun, Fandral and Volstagg. And they were all pretty nice.

Thor asked Steve to invite his other friends here which he did. After half an hour you heard Buckys laugh, while Natasha, Tony, Sam and him entered the bar. Wanda had texted you she couldn’t come today since Pietro came home after traveling a few months and they wanted to spend some time together.

Bucky squeezing next to Steve, already hugging him happily.

After a few minutes everyone was seated and had a drink or beer in their grip. You grinned at Bucky for a moment- and he already knew what you were thinking about.

“Tequila?”

“Tequila.”

With that he went to the bartender- Clint- and ordered a tray of tequila shots, knowing damn well Natasha would drink like half of it and still stay the most sober of all of us.

Few minutes later he came back with the shots, putting the tray down on the table. Thor and his friends just drank their beer, not being fans of tequila- not that you minded. More for you and Bucky. Steve would probably also only drink two and otherwise drink his beer.

Maybe that’s good, someone had to be sober enough to call the cabs- but when Steve was the first one to down a shot and bite into a lime, your mouth fell slightly agape. Even Tony seemed surprised and he was the one always trying to make Steve drink. You looked at Bucky for a moment- his eyebrows nearly disappeared in his hairline.

“What?” Steve mumbled while a blush crept along his neck to his cheeks. You just shook your head with a happy laugh. “The new title affects our Stevie more than we thought-this calls for a second tray.”

You could already feel you were tipsy-you felt the buzz of the alcohol right to your toes, warming your whole body pleasingly, especially with Steve’s arm around your shoulders. Your head was resting on his shoulders, while you unknowingly rubbed his thigh with your hand, dangerously close to his crotch-and it was making him crazy.

He couldn’t stop thinking about your touch. About your lips. Maybe it was just the Alkohol, but he felt like you were doing this on purpose. Your hand was so close to his hardening dick, he felt like you could probably feel his pants tenting.

Fuck it.

For a moment he looked at you, pulling you a bit closer, while he grabbed your hand and slowly moved higher. Everyone around you was busy with heated conversations about…you weren’t sure anymore. You haven’t been listening for a while at this point.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling his hard dick against your palm. Fuck, he really was big. Just like you remembered and often imagined.

And fuck you really wanted to actually feel him. In your palm. Mouth. Cunt. You wanted him everywhere. You wanted him to fill you.

For a moment you stroked over his jeans, before seeing from the corner of your eyes that a new drink was put down on the table, making you jump away from Steve. You pulled your hand away and giggled into Steve’s shoulder, while he also couldn’t stop the grin from his lips.

Clint brought a new drink for Natasha-even though she hadn’t ordered anything. That’s exactly what she said. Clint blushed a bit. “It’s from…me. It’s a-it’s a White Russian. I noticed your accent and thought you would like it. Now that I’m saying it out loud I feel pretty stupid. Sorry. Just-just forget it” While he quickly turned around and walked away-nearly falling over a chair-Natasha watched him for a moment, before grabbing the drink and taking a sip. A small smile appeared on her lips, which she quickly hid behind her Glas.

So you had been right when you noticed Clint had been ogling her all evening.

Bucky leaned closer to Natasha, wanting to grab her Glas. “Lemme try” “no, it’s for me-“ “but I’m Russian too-” “well, then go and ask him if he makes you one too. Maybe if you let your pretty eyes do the work he’d do it for half price.” Bucky laughed, even though he tried to pout at her-which didn’t work of course.

You felt Steve squirming next to you, making you look back at him. One of his hands was in his pocket, probably trying to hide his bulge, while he was still holding you close. Your gaze fell to his rosy lips. So soft…you really wanted to tell them again. But not here In front of all these people.

They would believe you if you’d go home because Steve was tired, right? And since he was supposed to stay at your place today, you’d have to go with him…

Grinning you leaned closer to Steve, whispering into his ear. “Let’s get out of here…wanna go home.” Steve looked at you in surprise before grinning cheekily and nodding. “Yeah, Let’s go home.”

You quickly said your goodbyes, feeling your friends eyes on your backs while leaving the bar.

Steve called an Uber and luckily it didn’t take long for him to arrive. Sitting in the backseat Steve already started kissing you passionately, his hands exploring your thighs and ass, while you pressed your own palm to his clothes cock, stroking him over the pants. Feeling his arousal your hole clenched around nothing, wanting to be filled. Fucked.

A quiet gasp escaped his lips, while the kiss became more passionate with every second. It was more teeth and tongue than before. He was taking your breath away. Literally.

His hand slowly slid to your-

The driver cleared his throat and when you looked out of the window you noticed you were already at your Adresse. A blush crept over your cheeks imagining how fast he was probably driving just to get the two of you out of the car.

You left the car quickly, grabbing your purse and looking for your keys, while Steve was standing right behind you and kissing your neck. “Fuck-baby, hurry up. It’s cold”, Steve laughed into your neck, but didn’t stop kissing your skin, even while shivering. After finding the keys-“finally”-you opened the door, pulling Steve into the elevator where he quickly pressed you against the wall, not stopping kissing your neck.

“Smell so good”, he mumbled against your throat, sucking a hickey into your skin, leaving even more red marks behind when he kissed down to your cleavage, while he opened your jacket and pushed it down your shoulders. A quiet gasp escaped your lips when he gently hit into your skin. “Fuck-Steve-“, the elevator stopped and you pushed Steve out of it, grinning when he seemed surprised at your sudden strength.

Once again opening the door wasn’t as easy as hoped, especially not with the beefcake kissing your neck and pressing his hard dick against your ass, just grinding against you and whispering filthy stuff in your ear.

You even dropped the keys once, but when you bend down Steve even enjoyed it more than before, pressing himself even harder against you. “If you don’t open this door soon your neighbours will get a show, sweetheart”, he whispered impatiently, already opening the zipper of your pants and letting his hand slid into your pants.

His fingers slid into your dripping hole without resistance, just welcoming him like you belonged to him.

And maybe you did.

He moved his fingers into you, making it unbelievably hard for you to get the key into the door. With the way he was fingering you, hitting your sensitive spot Everytime and also rubbing your clit with his palm he nearly made you cum right there. In the hallway.

In the fucking hallway.

And it was so fucking hard not to moan his name out loud.

It was filthy. You felt filthy. Especially while listening to your own slick squelch with Steve’s finger fucking you. Your legs trembled, your forehead hitting the cold door, unintentionally you pressed back into Steve, feeling him grind his hard cock into your ass. “My filthy girl. You don’t even give a shit if someone walks into the hallway hm? I could just fuck you right here for everyone to see. Show them who you belong to. Show them what a slut for me you are”, when he curled his fingers you couldn’t stop the moan leaving your lips as a sudden orgasm rushed over you. “That’s it babygirl, so good for me”, he kissed below your ear before sucking at your earlobe.

Steve grinned into your throat when he felt your walls squeezing tightly around his fingers, sucking him right in wanting more, more and more…

Your hands were already shaking when you finally got the door open. Your legs like jelly.

Steve pulled out his hand from your pants, making you whine. Before you could react more, Steve pushed you into your apartment, already dropping his jacked and ripping his shirt over his head. His clothes dropped quickly to the floor, your followed, till you both were only in your underwear.

Once again he was pressing you against the wall, kissing you breathless. Not wanting-or not being able to-wait any longer you pulled Steve’s boxershorts down, enough to pull out his hard cock. He was already leaking enough for his boxers to be damp with his pre-cum. Moaning Steve rutted into your hand when you wrapped your fingers around him, not being able to fully close your first around him.

Fuck, he was huge. And you wanted all of it. You wanted him to split you in half. Use you like a toy. Fuck you so god you’d feel it next day.

Steve definitely couldn’t wait any longer either, putting his arm under your knee and lifting your leg, while he pushed your panties to the side letting you line up his tip with your entrance.

With just one hard thrust he was seated inside your tight channel, making both of you moan each other's names.

He was filling you so good. You were so, so full. He was stretching you like you’ve never been stretched before.

And Steve felt like you were trying to suck him right into your tight pussy. God, he had never felt so good before. So perfect for him.

“Fuck, baby. Your pussy was made for my cock, huh?”, he grinned against your cheek, before kissing it gently. His coming thrust was anything but gentle, hard and fast he was driving into you, making you moan with every movement of his hips. The sound of slapping skin and squelch from your pussy would probably make you blush if you wouldn’t be fucked this good.

In this position he was hitting your g-spot perfectly, making it unable for you to think about anything else than the feeling of his cock. Steve pulled your leg a bit higher, making your other foot only touch the floor on your tippy toes.

He was literally holding you up.

Your whole weight.

Just fucking into you.

You were like a fucktoy in his hands.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

If that itself wouldn’t bring you to your orgasm then definitely his hand that slid between your body’s and started circling your clit. Without further warning the white overwhelming pleasure rolled over you, your legs trembled and if it wasn’t for Steve you probably would’ve fallen. “Oh god-Steve-Captain”, you nearly sobbed, grabbing onto his hair and pulling him even closer. The second orgasm even better than the first one.

Feeling you pulsing around him and pulling at his hair made him nearly cum aswell-but he didn’t want for it to end so soon. “Yeah, that’s it sweetheart. Cum for your Captain”, he whispered, pulling you closer against him. He was still thrusting into you, but a bit slower. “That’s right baby. All for your Captain…bet Thor wouldn’t make you scream like that”, he mumbled possessively sucking another hickey right under your ear.

You weren’t really listening, but still nodding and chanting his name like it was your favorite song. Too overwhelmed with pleasure, you couldn’t really think of anything else than him. Just Steve. Steve and his big cock, still filling your hole. “Please, Steve..”, you kissed him on the lips again, but a whine interrupted it. It was your whine. Because Steve pulled out. “No please-“

“Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’m not done with you yet”, he pulled you onto the white soft fluffy carpet in your living room. He always imagined fucking you on it, it’s just so soft and warm.

And he really couldn’t wait to do that.

Letting his boxers drop to the floor completely, he finally also took off your bra, preparing your breasts with kisses, sucking your hard nipples till you were too sensitive and pushed his head away. Then he did the same thing to the other one, while he listened to your soft pleading moans. His hand found your slip, ripping it right from your body and throwing it behind him.

A quiet gasp escaped your lips when you felt the cold air hit your most sensitive parts. Hearing this Steve chuckled, pressing his lips again to yours in a demanding kiss.

You couldn’t concentrate on anything besides him. He was everywhere. His hands explored your body, his fingers were once again pressing into your wet hole, while his other hand grabbed your wrists when you tried to hold onto his shoulders.

Steve pulled them over your head, pressing himself closer to you, caging you against his body. Skin to skin…so much warm skin. His breathing on your neck and against your ear and-fuck. He was everywhere. You felt drunk on him.

“Steve-“ “Shhh, shhh sweetheart. Just let me take care of you”, he whispered, bringing you quickly to another orgasm just with his skilled hands. He was still holding your wrists above your head, making it impossible for you to grab him or anything besides the soft material of your carpet. Grinning, Steve watched you for a moment.

You were pressing your body against him, arching your back to feel his chest against your skin, already coated with a thin layer of sweat. “My sweet girl…”, he kissed your neck again, taking his fingers from your hole and bringing them to your lips.

When you felt the tip of his fingers against your mouth, you wrapped your lips around the thick digits, licking your release off, swirling your tongue around his fingers like you’d do to his cock, if he’d let you.

But Steve had other plans.

With a quiet moan he pulled his fingers away, grabbing your cheeks and squeezing, till you opened your mouth looking up at him with big, curious eyes.

Spitting into your mouth he watched as his spit coated your lips and tongue, before shutting your mouth again. “Swallow”, you did as told, quickly opening your mouth again for more.

A moan slipped past Steve lips, while he repeated this action two more times, before kissing you hungrily. “Fuck, so perfect. Such a good girl”, he murmured against your lips, before sitting up and looking down at your body.

God, he could see you were completely out of your mind.

He had fucked you dumb.

So cockdrunk.

He’d love to just coat your body with his cum. Rub it into your skin…mark you as his. The hickeys on your body already showed his claim on you, but it wasn’t enough-yet he needed to cum in your tight pussy more. Fill you with his seed till you are dripping with it.

“Steve-please-”, you whined, feeling his tip glide between your folds, teasing you. Whining you tried to move your hips against him, but Steve only slapped your thigh gently. Warningly. “Baby, don’t do that or I won’t fuck you-“ “but Steve-please-Captain-I need it. I need your cock”, you sobbed, putting your legs around him and pulling him closer.

Not being able to wait himself Steve thrusted roughly into your pussy, not stopping before starting to move. Hard and fast. He watched as your mouth fell open. Your breast moved with every thrust, while the room was filled with the sound of your slapping skin. It smelled and sounded like sex in the apartment.

And it made Steve crazy. God, he’d never had such good sex. He had never fucked someone so good.

“You’re so perfect sweetheart”, he whispered, letting go of your hands and sitting back on his heels, grabbing your calves and putting them on his shoulders, while he once again started roughly pounding into you.

The change in position changed also the angle he was thrusting into you, hitting your spot with every move. Hitting it dead on. You’ve never been with someone who was able to find it with their fingers-definitely not with their cock, but Steve? It seemed like he didn’t need to look for it. He just knew.

Steve watched your breasts jiggle, not being able to quieten his own moans, especially when you tightened around him. He knew you were close. Again.

Fuck.

He’d love to know how many orgasms he could bring out of you at once-but not today.

“m close-Steve-close, so so close”, you whimpered, grabbing his hard. Up until now you had held them in the position Steve wanted them to be-but now he let you grab onto his arm. Your nails were pressing into his skin, leaving half moon marks behind, he could even see one of your nails break from the grip you had on him.

Steve started stimulating your clit with his fingers, making you moan loudly. “Baby, come for me-show your Captain how much you love his co-“, before he could finish his sentence he felt you squeeze incredibly tight around him, your release gushing out around his dick making a mess on his thighs,while you were arching your back and throwing your head behind. His name coming from your lips like a mantra.

Seeing you squirt on his dick was enough to throw him over the edge. Blinding pleasure rolled over him, while he filled you with his cum. You could feel him twitch between your warm walls, coating you with his seed.

He kissed your panting lips softly, before pulling his slowly softening dick out of your sensitive pussy. He watched your mixed releases slowly leak out of your gaping and throbbing cunt. He couldn’t stop himself from scooping it up with his fingers and pressing it back into your hole, enjoying the filthy squelching sound, fingering you for a bit more.

You whined, pressing your legs together, but your muscles were useless. After being fucked like that you couldn’t do anything besides just take whatever he wanted to give you-but he pulled his digits out of you, pressing them instead to your lips to clean the mess up. You sucked at his fingers lazily, yet still completely hungry for his and your taste.

“Fuck, such a filthy girl”, he whispered, slipping his fingers one more time in your hole and feeding you more of his release, before lying besides you and pressing his lips to yours, in a gentle kiss. You cling to his warm body, putting your arms and legs around him.

Steve slowly pulled away from the much gentler kiss than any of the kisses before, holding you close and slowly standing up with you. If your legs wouldn’t feel this numb you’d probably walk alone but…right now you just wanted to be carried by Steve.

Laying you down on your bed Steve quickly brought a washcloth and cleaned you two up, before laying down next to you.

You immediately cuddled into his side, a smile creeping onto your lips. Your heart fluttered when his arm wrapped around you. It finally happened. You finally went further than just friendship. And you were so incredibly happy about it. Your whole chest and stomach was filled with butterflies.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment, feeling completely relaxed and also slowly becoming tired. “That was…so good”, he mumbled, making you slowly lift your head from his chest and look at him.

That was so good?

That was so good.

That’s what you tell your hook up-

Did Steve-

Didn’t it all mean anything to him?

“Steve, I didn’t mean for it to be-Steve?” gently shaking his shoulder you noticed he was asleep.

He just fell asleep.

No talking, no…nothing…just…

Fuck.

You felt tears fill your eyes.

Maybe that’s how it was supposed to be. You weren’t meant to be with Steve and that’s…so not fine. But you’d be fine. You always were. You always are.

Enjoying the last moments with Steve you put your head back on his chest, listening to his gentle heartbeat. Even though your own was breaking.

You woke up when the sun warmed your skin, sweetly telling you it was time to wake up. You felt an arch in your whole body, a good one. That one after having sex the night before and-

Fuck.

Steve.

You opened your eyes but he wasn’t in your bed.

Oh god. Did he really leave? Like a fucking-

Then you heard his voice from the bathroom, talking to someone on the phone. You didn’t want to, but you listened anyway.

“-No Buck you don’t get it….no…I mean yes-but it was a mistake. I shouldn’t have-“

You just blended the rest of his words out.

It was a mistake.

A mistake.

You were a mistake to him.

Something inside you broke.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it!

Let me know! Support your writers by reblogging and leaving feedback! Please tell me how you liked the first chapter<3

Questions? HC ideas? Drabble ideas? Thoots? (For this au or in general) -> flood my inbox!😋❤️

Taglist; @patzammit @justalonelyslytherin @hawkeyes-queen @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @jesterstrange @inlovewithchrisevans @slutforchrisjamalevans (I tagged a few people that had reblogged the series Masterlist but if you don’t wanna be tagged let me know!)

Wanna be tagged? Be active (reblogging and leaving feedback!) and let me know.

❤️

[rayspookyhistory]

𐙚 Hachishakusama 𐙚

Hachishakusama, also known as "Eight Feet Tall" (八尺様, Hachishakusama), is a compelling urban legend from Japan, known to haunt and terrify children.

Hachishakusama stands at a towering eight shaku, about 240 cm or 7 feet 10 inches. She is often depicted wearing a long, flowing white dress or burial kimono. Sometimes, she is described wearing a wide-brimmed hat. Her face is usually obscured, adding to her mysterious and ominous presence. She mainly resembles a lady.

She emits a deep, masculine voice that repeats the sound "Po... Po... Po..." in a slow, rhythmic manner. This sound is often the first sign of her presence.

Hachishakusama typically targets children, usually those around the ages of 8 to 13. The reasons for her preference for children are unclear, but it adds a layer of dread to the legend. Once she has chosen a victim, she begins to stalk them relentlessly. The child and those around them might notice her figure lurking in the distance, her voice growing closer over time. Children who have seen or heard her are marked for abduction. The legend states that once marked, the child has only a few days before Hachishakusama takes them away.

Origin of the Legend

The legend of Hachishakusama is a modern creation that has gained popularity through the internet, particularly on Japanese forums and horror websites. It is a part of the larger genre of urban legends and ghost stories that blend traditional Japanese folklore with contemporary fears.

Protective Measures and Rituals

Surrounding the child with bowls of salt and placing protective charms (omamori) around their living space can help ward off Hachishakusama. The salt is believed to purify and create a barrier against evil spirits.

The child may be confined in a room with religious symbols, such as Buddhist sutras or Shinto talismans. These symbols are believed to provide protection by creating a sacred space that evil spirits cannot penetrate.

Moving the child to a distant location, preferably outside of Japan, is considered one of the most effective ways to break the curse. The belief is that Hachishakusama's influence weakens with distance. However, the minute they step back into Japan, they are to be abducted.

Cultural Impact and Interpretations

Hachishakusama has appeared in various forms of media, including horror manga, video games, and creepypasta stories. Her story has been adapted and retold in numerous ways, cementing her place in contemporary folklore.

The legend taps into deep-seated fears, such as the fear of the unknown, the supernatural, and the vulnerability of children. It also reflects societal concerns about the safety of children and the ever-present threat of danger in a seemingly safe environment.

Hachishakusama shares similarities with other supernatural figures in folklore, such as the Slender Man from Western urban legends. Both are tall, mysterious figures that target the young and evoke a sense of pervasive dread.

Popular Story Example

A well-known version of the Hachishakusama story involves a young boy visiting his grandparents in a rural village. During his stay, he encounters Hachishakusama in the garden, hearing her eerie "Po... Po... Po..." sound. His grandparents, recognizing the signs, quickly take protective measures, isolating him in a room surrounded by salt and religious charms. Despite their efforts, the boy feels her presence growing stronger. Ultimately, he is sent away to live with relatives far from the village, breaking the curse. This story highlights the combination of traditional protective practices and the ultimate need for distance to escape her grasp.

BEWARE THE WRATH OF THE HACHISHAKUSAMA

and also look at my cute drawing i did of her during making this :3

[slendermanlore]

"...perhaps the largest quality-controlled list of creepypasta on the Web."

Happy Halloween, Internet/rabbits/HYBRIDs/all creatures of the night in-between! At this peak of spooky season, I have once again updated my masterlist of all things creepypasta, Alternate Reality Game, and unfiction, and the goody bag of other web 2.0 curiosities.

Some notable additions to the list this year:

White Enamel: The classic point-and-click exploration of an abandoned asylum in the same vein as 99rooms, still playable.

In the Darkness of the Fields: An r/nosleep classic conveying the horror of rural isolation, major The Silence of the Lambs vibes.

Three Visits to a Hidden Tribe: Another r/nosleep story exploring the horror of consensus reality and the fallibility of memory.

Liminal Land: An analog horror alternate reality game created by two YouTubers well-versed in the field.

SkyCorp Home Video: A channel not so much analog horror as analog humor, irony-poisoned in the best way.

Welcome Home: The multimedia ARG that has recently made waves for its elaborate puzzles and worldbuilding, with genuine love for the colorful "lost media" puppet world it depicts.

Chainmail Chasers: An unfiction webseries and affectionate throwback to the age when creepypasta was a novel catalyst for discovery.

Netizens beware, you're in for a scare 🎃👻🦇

[dyrewrites]

Yes, Mistress -- Mariette has thoughts

So the big, hot puppy thinks he can go and write a book with me in it and not tell me? Not share all the pretty coins it earns him, after all I’ve done for him? And what a book it is!

My my my!

What lies he spits of me.

Of us.

Painting my Mistress and I as single-minded things, boring things wanting only for his kitty. Well, that won’t do. No, no, no.

Here is my story, delicious reader. Wherein all my most delectable toys, all of my tastiest meals and even the horrid little dungeon my Master forced me in, are explored in full.

Beware, in here there are no places to hide from truth.

You are not safe. No one is.

But I promise it’ll be fun...won’t you play with me?

—

Vampires are real, I saw one.

Okay, so I already knew they were at the time, but that’s not important.

It was sometime in the mid 1600s and I saw a vampire in person...and fell in.

Love is a strong word I’ve never been comfortable with.

But it was something.

She was out in broad daylight, which I didn’t think they could be. Mother always insisted they were a nighttime monster, and that we had to keep garlic around to ward them off—I suspect she was more trying to ward off the pretty young ladies I kept bringing home.

Yet this one was out in the sun. Midday even!

The ones she fed on seemed to consent to it too, swooning, even moaning, and what a sight.

Still, it is a shock to turn a corner and see someone on a bench with another person’s neck in their mouth. Their hands on their back and head so intimately...with blood dripping in a slow, somewhat salacious manner down their collar. Mm, where was, right—the vampire’s eyes shined brighter than the sun as they fluttered with the feeding, skin not so much pale as glowing. It was tan, mind, her skin that is. Deliciously tan.

There was something so perfectly alien about her. For it had to be female, you understand; so beautiful, such flowing hair and slender fingers, however long they stretched—and I wouldn’t have craved her so were she male.

Ethereal, I thought, and terrifying as she finished and dropped her meal unceremoniously to the stone walkway. Oh, oh but when she licked blood off fangs near the length of my finger—jaw shrinking back to something resembling human—well...that cinched it. I had to have them inside me. Somehow, some way, I had to. If I lived, all the better, but even to die in them would be bliss.

So I returned to that bench the next day, and the next, hopeful the beautiful vampire would see me...want me. Choose me.

When I heard talk of bodies, drained and left to rot, I chased outside my city—my home. To another and another, chasing those fangs, those hands, those eyes brighter than sunlight.

What I found was no sweetness, no ethereal woman come to make my death bliss.

No, I found a man, a small man of deathly pallor and eyes of sleet. Yet he wanted me, he chose me...and he was too quick to escape. He broke me into something new. Something feral and strange, fangs too thick and unruly, fighting my lips until I bent to them and became the thing they wished. Oh, I could change back as easy, seamless and painless. Wolf to woman and back again. But my maker found it disgusting, found me disgusting, locked me in a dungeon with his other failures until I learned to stop being a wolf.

My change wasn’t the sensual affair sweet Vicki was given...nor was it much of an affair at all. A bite, a drink of iron and cold piss and I woke in a coffin.

As for the dungeon? What Master Jacques called failures...I cannot. They succeeded in all they intended. He tossed me in clothed, but they were certain all my skirts were torn, my corset chewed off, and the pretty camisole I wore beneath it shredded. It got worse from there.

[4thenookie]

so i rewrote eyeless jacks story

happy halloween! beware of gorey descriptions, some of this stuff is pretty gnarly.

Heaving a sigh, the young man closed another book with a dull thud. Jack Nyras was soon due to graduate at the very top of his medicine course, yet here he sat in the local library as if it were any other night. In front of him lay a plethora of books, as well as a quickly filling notebook. Upon the pages he scrawled the facts he’d raked his dark eyes over at least fifty times before, and each time he dragged pen across paper his hand seemed to get heavier. After briefly nudging his glasses further up the flat bridge of his nose, Jack got to work squinting at the impossibly small font of the third book he had picked up that day. The slender hand gripping his pen seemed to move of its own accord, as if it knew what to write before his mind caught up. His dark brows shifted slightly as he picked up a voice mere inches away from him. “You’re gonna make a great doctor, y’know. You’ve already got the handwriting for it.” a feminine voice joked, strangely enrgetic for a late midweek afternoon.

Reluctantly, Jack turned to face the girl stood peering over his shoulder from close behind his seat. He spent so much time registering another person actually speaking to him that he forgot to respond altogether. The girl’s glossy lips parted in a soft giggle, revealing a sliver of pearly white teeth. She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, then eventually decided what to say.

“You’re on the medicine course, right?’ she asked, but she seemed to already know the answer.

Jack nodded. “I recognise you from classes.” he commented simply, thinking it rude to remain completely silent.

The girl’s eyes lit up at his response, her smile widening. She then seemed to consider something, her meticulously plucked brows knitting as she thought. “Sorry, remind me of your name?” she asked him with an apologetic look.

The brunette’s lips quirked. “Jack.”

“I’m Jenny.”

Jack nodded, and said nothing more. Jenny, who expected a little more from him in terms of a response, was quiet as well. After a moment spent in silence, she spoke again.

“Listen, I’m having a little get-together with some friends after graduation. Be there, please?’

Her blue eyes softened as she noticed the apprehension that crossed Jack’s face at the mention of any sort of ‘get-together’. “It won’t be anything big, don’t worry.”

Jack hesitated, a little taken aback by her offer.

“It would mean a lot to us- to me, if you’d come.”

With a sigh, Jack gave a small nod. Jenny’s eyes sparkled as she beamed at him.

“Great.”

Then she was away. Jack watched her go, a slight regret for giving in to the girl so quickly creeping into his conscious. He shook his head a few times, mildly tousling his dark hair, and returned to the solace of his books.

It took Jack until nearly a day later to realise that he had no means of finding out when or where this get-together was going to be. He was in luck, however, as Jenny approached him after their final lecture of the day. “Hey, Jack!’ the blonde called out just as Jack had made to leave. He turned to meet her beaming smile and bright eyes with a lightly earnest expression. Following continuous giggles and profuse apologies, Jenny presented him with a phone number, presumably hers, and skipped off to rejoin her friends. Jack watched after her for a few moments, his gaze lingering until she was out of sight. Pocketing the slip of paper Jenny had given him, Jack retrieved his books and left the hall.

Once it's door had been eased open, Jack made his way into his apartment. Having to confine his extensive work into such a small space, the books and papers sprawled across every possible surface made up the majority of his decorations. With a heavy sigh he threw his messenger bag onto the sofa, the rustic leather a stark contrast against the cream plush of the seat. Jack crossed the room to his record player, under which was a stand for his growing collection of records. The following moments were filled with the sound of Jim Morrison's croon, the psychedelic melody bringing life to the dim living room. With that he returned to his settee to continue his diligent work.

In the ensuing days Jack noticed that he saw Jenny very little. Although the last of his work was taking up nearly all of his time, the thought of her always lingered in the back of his mind. A brief glance at his calendar reminded him there were only two days left until he had to spend an evening with Jenny and her friends, and only one day remained until his ceremony. The thought of his doctorate dreams being even closer to achievability rendered him rather enlivened, and he found that for once he couldn’t wait for the day spent revising to pass.

The anticipation Jack felt while waiting for his name to be called was almost painful. His hands, which were rested in his lap, continually tightened and relaxed around part of his robe. Wearing the black garment somehow felt unreal, as if he were wearing somebody else’s clothes. Simply put, Jack felt like he was on top of the world, like nothing could possibly go wrong on this momentous day. It felt as though his heart might burst out of his chest when his name was finally called, and he couldn’t hide the smile that crept onto his face. His hand was almost shaking as hands were shook, and he could hardly believe that the certificate clutched in his hand was his. Jack’s eyes darted down to the paper, and away, and back again, as if he thought it would disappear. Once the final name had been called, Jack glanced around at the students surrounding him and realised Jenny was not among them. The thought to ask after her crossed his mind briefly, but it was quickly forgotten when he was pulled into a warm embrace by his mother. Once she eventually released her son, the woman beamed up at him, her dark eyes twinkling. “Oh Jack, I’m so proud of you.” she joyfully gushed. Jack smiled down at her, his eyes filled with the same warmth. He presented her with his certificate when asked, and happily embraced her again. The two had drinks, and good food, before Jack had to be away. His mother, while disheartened to see him leave, was relieved to hear he had found good company. With a final hug and apology to his mother, Jack left for the address Jenny had given to him.

Upon his arrival to the house, Jack was warmly welcomed in by Jenny as soon as he reached the doorstep. She ushered him in, a musical echo emanating from another room. He was lead through the house to the living room, where Jenny’s friends sat with an assortment of food and drink. Jack was continually offered both, but he declined everything except a glass of water. A friend of Jenny’s immediately complied, and Jack was presented with a tall glass of the icy liquid. He took the glass and gave his thanks to the other young man who had given it to him, oblivious to the ice quickly sinking to the bottom of the glass. As the group talked and ate and drank, Jack slowly sipped at his water and noticed an odd taste left on his tongue. He found himself struggling to keep up with whatever conversation was being had, as though his brain was falling behind. Suddenly, nearly everybody in the room rose and left, leaving him and Jenny alone. She crossed the room to take a seat next to him, her beaming smile brightening her icy blue eyes. Upon his commenting of seeing none of her at the ceremony, her expression fell and twisted in a way he’d never seen anybody’s face shift before. After some moments she uttered a “Don’t worry about it.”, and said nothing more. The two sat in a heavy silence, and Jack noticed the room start to spin, then blur, then fade, then there wasn’t a room at all. There was a crash as his empty glass slipped from his hand onto the floor, and his body crumpled completely.

Once Jack awoke, he immediately realised his change in location. He could now feel the biting cold of the night’s breeze against his face, and the mild warmth of the candles surrounding him. Candles? The red wax slowly dripped onto the grass around him, and he registered something cold and course against his back and the chains binding him to it. A tree, presumably, considering he appeared to be in a forest. He found he couldn’t remember any forests being nearby. Then, the chants started. Jack rose his head and stood ahead of him was Jenny’s group, all draped in black robes with a sort of mask obscuring their faces. Above the chants in foreign tongues he could just about pick up the shrill sound of something sharpening. Just as he turned to figure out what the sound was, a cold hand seized his jaw and forced his head to turn upwards. He met eyes with Jenny. Her eyes weren’t shining anymore, and a blank frown soured her face. Wordlessly she raised her right hand, and clutched in it was a scalpel. Jack’s eyes widened, and he attempted to struggle and scramble away from her to no avail. The cool metal first met his face just under his left eyebrow before it was swiftly drawn diagonally across his eye. a scream was ripped from his throat. The sound pierced the air above the continued chants. Another cut was made in the opposite direction. A warm substance gushed from the incisions and down his face, rolling down his cheek and dripping onto his shirt. Then, something foreign clutched around his eye. Jenny plunged her fingers into his eye socket, her claw-like nails raking against the insides of his head. With a forceful yank, Jack didn’t have enough air in his lungs to scream again as the eye still in its socket met the eye held in Jenny’s bloody hand. It felt as though more pressure was applied this time, and the blade was drawn across his right eye at a sadistically slow pace. The second cut was rather juxtaposing - it came with an agonising speed. Over the burning pain overtaking his empty socket, Jack could hardly register the scrape of Jenny’s nails against the inside of his eye. His remaining eye was tugged and twisted from his head, and he found himself without the energy to scream. His vocal chords felt as if they had been ripped in two, the lack of breath in his lungs leaving his mouth bone dry. Blood dripped into his mouth from either sides of his face, the irony taste overwhelming his senses. The cold breeze against his warm, bloody sockets was jarring, and the sensation felt white-hot. Jack could hardly hear the continued chanting over his desperate gasps for breath, but he did make out another set of footsteps approach him. Few words were exchanged, and Jenny’s once jubilant tone was now as cold as her icy gaze. A pair of footsteps departed, and Jack faintly heard somebody shift in front of him. Albeit hoarse, a howl of pain was tore from deep in his chest as a scorching sensation overwhelmed his empty sockets. An indescribable substance filled the new cavities in his face, the thick liquid charring the delicate insides of his head. It ran down his face like lava from a volcano. Jack felt the skin of his cheeks burn and blister beneath it. He couldn’t hear the chanting anymore. He couldn’t see anybody anymore. He couldn’t think anymore.

Jack immediately knew that the body he was now in was not his own. The only reminder that this body had belonged to him was the scorched, empty sockets where his eyes would have been. His hands, now dark claws, were unnatural and ungainly, as though they weren’t ever his hands at all. A set of horns, pointed and gnarled, sat high on his head like a broken crown. His teeth, larger and sharper than before, left countless tiny cuts on his greyed lips. His greyed skin had lost all life. Jack no longer felt like the Jack Nyras he graduated medical college as. He now felt like a monster. A monster that was starving.