#I do know one site that I've used a bit but it takes an hour or 2 to download the album

[fuck-customers]

🚐🚐🚐🚐🚐🚐

24/10

I worked a seasonal position as a receptionist, and my boss offered me a temporary position helping out in another department for a month once my contract was up. I accepted on the basis that it was 30 hours a week max and all I'd be doing was admin tasks, no speaking with clients. Which after a season full of holidaymakers I was desperate for.

The week I'm supposed to start I receive no communication from who I was told was my new boss until the day before I'm supposed to go in for a little bit of training, and she's put out when I reiterate that that week there's two days I can't do due to previous commitments I made while I thought I'd be unemployed. And when I get to work on the training day, the person who actually will be my boss doesn't ever work that day, so my poor previous boss had to scramble to find something for me to do, since no one could train me nor could I get on the company system properly as my new boss hadn't sorted my contract.

I'm annoyed but hey, things happen. It's the first week, so there's bound to be hiccups, right?

I get to work the next week and my new boss starts to train me with the system I'll be using, only to be pulled away because we have an auditor in and of course that's more important. I don't mind that at all, but don't have me come in to work if you know you don't have time to train me. The same thing happens the following day and there's another new hire from a different department in the same position as me, so we end up doing hardly anything all day and feeling like spare parts. By this point I'm fairly pissed off that the three shifts I've done have been pointless, but I'll persist.

I do two more shifts this week, both of which are actually me being trained and working, and it's becoming very apparent that I will actually have to speak with clients for this role; it's not just helping the department catch up with paperwork. I'm very much feeling lied to, messed about, and like I'm not the right fit for the job, so I take the weekend to think about it, and message my new boss on Sunday morning to tell her that I'm grateful for the chance but I won't be coming back in. I was very polite in my message, I didn't mention my frustration with the disorganisation in the department, the fact that everyone looks down on you for actually taking your lunch break rather than just working at your desk while you eat, or that, morally, I cannot be involved in helping sell holiday homes to people on a site that's severely rat infested and crumbling, but the general manager refuses to spend any money to revamp the place.

I was very final with my message, which I think was obvious by the fact that I wished my new boss the best of luck and a good holiday season, so I figured that would be that. I'll admit my anxiety has me refusing to check whatsapp so I can't see what she's said, because a) I'm not ready for that and b) to me, it's done and dusted.

She's tried to call me five times in the last 20 minutes. I don't know what the hell she wants, but I'm not answering. My best guess would be she wants me to work my notice, but there's absolutely no point. I'm still not trained properly to do this new job, so at least some of my one weeks notice would be me being trained for a job I'm leaving. Normally I'd never quit without giving and working my notice, but in this instance it's pointless.

I'm not going to answer her calls or call her back. I don't care. Honestly, working on reception was bad enough; it's very clear that the company as a whole values profit over guests' happiness and safety. It's one thing to sell someone a holiday on our shit hole of a site, but it's another thing entirely to be a part of them becoming an owner of a run-down holiday home. At least with guests, I can give them vouchers or money off a future holiday or at a push a refund. With this new job, I can't do anything but apologise for the shitty situation I've helped put the new owners in. I wish I was brave enough to say that to my now ex-boss.

Posted by admin Rodney

[im-not-a-sheep]

does anyone know any sites that let you download osts/albums/music to mp3? That are preferably good quality

[theoxenfree]

vampire x crime scene cleaner!reader | 16.1k

you're a crime scene cleaner who happens across an advertisement for a mansion housekeeper in exchange for room and board. it's close to work, close to your university, and an easy job. the ultimate package. right away, you notice the owner's beauty as well as his eccentricities, but decide to commit to it. the spiral into depravity and debauchery begins when you're tasked with cleaning the site of a savage murder, solidifying you as a irreplaceable treasure.

warnings; dead dove do not eat; explicit non-con, extreme dubon, sadomasochism, blood play, overstimulation, choking, cigarette burns, smoking, hypnotism, theological themes, exploration of morality, gunshot wounds, extreme & graphic depictions of body horror + gore + grotesque details, graphic depictions of crime scene cleanup, possibly inaccurate depictions of crime scene cleanup (not looking for feedback on it), obsessive & possessive behaviors, heavy prose & details, the entire work is allegorical, murder, vampire is written as a monster bc that's what they are lmao, dividers are used between scenes

reposted from 2kmps; previously proofread by @ceruleansol

I shouldn't have to say it, but I will: nothing in this oneshot is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it is entirely fictitious.

this was a project that took me quite a bit of time to do, so I would be immensely appreciated if you'd please reblog + interact with it!! I'd love to hear your feedback!!

Another internet search bore fruit.

The image bouncing back at you from your phone had been hastily taken with a tremble in your hand, all the while launching a few too many cautious looks across your shoulder to either end of the dim, long hallway making up part of the second floor. There wasn't any particular rationale for your apprehension and busy eyes but the belief the mansion owner wouldn't be too pleased to see you taking pictures of his valuables rather than cleaning them.

That fear hadn't stopped you from reverse image searching a good couple of curiosities over the widening gap of time you had been living there.

Tonight was a Chalmette table vase displayed on a pedestal in the hall; brassy gold gilding cradled a somewhat drab white bloom that reached high and sprouted open to a hollow inside. Similar surviving articles went for thousands.

You totaled the prices of everything so far as enough to outright buy a house on the more modest side of town.

There was a daring thought that loomed in the back of your mind, an ugly little thing that told you one or two missing antiques wasn't any big deal. He wouldn't miss them, let alone even notice they were gone, because he was the strangest man you had ever met.

Four months ago, he had only ever introduced himself by the name Montague, letting an anticipatory stillness hang in the air while you waited for him to finish. He never did, handsome features lifting as his dark eyes thinned and smile inched higher. He had you in a tight handshake.

"I enjoyed reading the resume you sent in with your response to my advertisement." He had traces of an accent intact but had cleverly adapted to one more common to the area. "You're the first person I've come across wanting the room who's done that. It really stood out to me. A crime scene cleaner? Must be a difficult job."

"I know it was probably overkill, but I think this will be perfect for me." You were led to a suede armchair, his hand anchoring onto your shoulder to lower you into the seat. He sat across from you in something similar, one leg crossing. "I recently had to move out of my other place, and the university will be about an hour closer. My work won't be as far of a drive, either. I—I, uh, clean some gross stuff, so taking care of your house won't be anything."

Even after that spiel, Montague never let his smile slip. Rather, it seemed to widen as though delighted by your oversharing. He looked like a man basking in glee over a rare find, an offer he couldn't possibly turn away.

"All amenities in the house are yours." This was after he showed you to one of the rooms on the second floor: a capacious, well-dressed space behind a red door at the end of the hall. "As long as you listen to a few rules and keep things clean, we should have a very amicable... cohabitation."

You thought it was an odd choice of wording. "Okay. Well, what do I need to know?"

"No guests." It was immediate, his tone suddenly a touch edgy, razored, unyielding. "Not unless I give you explicit permission beforehand. I keep many important valuables; they're very dear to me. Also, do not invite anyone in unless I am there."

Again, odd, but it was his house.

"Sure," you said agreeably, having half the thought to write down these peculiarities of his. "What next?"

He was set on your shoulder, reaching out to pull a thin, frayed thread off of your jumper. "The downstairs—as in, the basement—is my personal space. If I need you down there, I will ask you for you to go down. You can go anywhere else in the house, on the property. None of it concerns me."

"Why the basement, though?" It felt damaging to press a question like that so early on, but you figured it was innocent enough. "This house is so big that we could be on the same floor and hardly see each other."

The muscles around his mouth twitched slightly, only once. You still noticed it. Noted: he didn't like to be questioned. "Sorry, I'm not trying to-"

"It's cold downstairs." he injected, shifting to look around the room as though taking in the newness of it as well. "I make sure it stays comfortable all year, all throughout the house, but the cold suits me best."

With how downright frosty his skin felt in that handshake earlier—on a mild day in mid-spring—you thought that explanation checked out. He must have only just come up to greet you at the front entrance.

You tried to forget the feeling. "Alright. Next?"

"Oh," he restrained an unseemly laugh, using one hand to crowd into a pocket on his dark blazer, "there is nothing else, at least nothing pertinent. It's my understanding that we're both quite busy, so this would be the current arrangement unless something changes."

What changes? You wanted to ask, thwarted to silence when he revealed some sort of silver thing pinched between his fingers with a thick handkerchief. It was a dainty-seeming contraption with chains linking several old skeleton keys at the end. The fabric he used to hold the clip concealed all of the elegant tracery that made up its shape.

"Traditionally, this is called a chatelaine. It’s something I’ve modified for you to get around the house. It’ll be easier to clean." Montague said, fast to force the mess of cold silver and chains into your palm, rubbing down his fingers with the handkerchief afterward. "The smallest key is to your room. The largest one opens the doors to go outside, so don't lose that. One of them is meant for doors in the basement—can't recall which."

He could see the wariness behind your eyes, a worrying crease forming in your brow. "This house has been around for a long time. I've just never gotten around to modernizing the locks."

Other questions came to you, but he hardly acted interested in entertaining them. You let him swivel on black soles, stopping him just as he reached the doorway.

"Why haven't other housekeepers worked out?"

Montague let his fingers rest on glazed woodwork framing the threshold, drumming out a soothing rhythm while considering an answer for all of two seconds. "In short? They couldn't follow the rules. Now, let me show you to the yard."

Afterward, the so-called cohabitation had become a seamless blend for you both. You had learned right away that Montague wasn't one for idle chatter and niceties without purpose. He had deviated from it once, on move-in day, to reassure you that the mysterious nature of your life schedule and odd hours you were called to a clean scene wouldn’t be a source of concern.

Shortly after settling your things around the house, the reason for his amenable attitude was a little more apparent. Several times a month, you would be pulled from your forensics projects to the landing at the end of the hall, piqued by fresh voices always indistinguishable at first, and folded your waist over the railing to see down.

The top of his head, hair short, impeccably styled, and ash-brown, was the first thing you noticed, followed by someone on his arm. Sometimes a woman, sometimes a man—always conventionally attractive, always utterly enraptured by him. It struck a nerve with you once or twice, finding your thoughts swimming bitterly: Of course a man who looked like him would go for types like that!

Why did he act so much differently with them than you?

He wasn't nearly as friendly and affable as he was making himself out to be.

You stopped peeking down on him after an instance where his eyes shot straight up, pinning you where you stood. He simpered at you before leading his companion away to the basement, and that was it. You never saw them leave and never bothered to ask.

Tonight was different, however, both in the way you nearly toppled the two-figure Chalmette vase off its pedestal with flighty fingers and a duster, and the echo of a scream piercing the hollow halls to you. It stayed in one spot on the first floor, luring you down the center staircase with your duster clutched to you like a sword. At that point, your heart bursting in your ears was louder than the agonized cries resonating around the corner.

You looked around, spine wrapped in dread as another scream, weak, garbled, and wet, came from the basement, and then nothing at all. It was soundless in the house. Distantly, one of the clocks mounted in the kitchen archway toned onward. You followed its beat with the shuffle of your feet.

Hello, hello? Those words clung tightly in your throat, yet you were too afraid to announce yourself like that. Still, nothing came as you slowly pulled at the basement doorknob, brass and freezing and unlocked. The stairway plunging down inside was filled with inky black, so dark you couldn't get your eyes to adjust to it.

Is everything okay down there? Hello? Hello? You ran the imaginary chatter through your mind, lips sealed but trembling during your slow descent, the path now illuminated by white glow from your phone. At the bottom, the stone stairs turned into seamless gray marble and red wetness crawling toward the soles of your slippers.

"What–" You gasped, taking a step back while flicking the flashlight higher, deeper into the basement. The vivid red puddle glistened in your light, widening around a motionless figure with pale skin—a blonde woman you didn't know. Her face pointed up at the ceiling, twisted in terror, black tracks of mascara curving along her cheeks.

She was naked on the floor, surrounded by her own blood, something you didn't have to look at twice. Your breaths grew harsh, taking in the sight of her neck, or lack thereof; there wasn't much left of it. Only a few stringy bits of sinew and muscle kept it from a full decapitation, and blood still pulsed out in spurts from mangled arteries and veins.

A motion nearby made your nape prickle. It was like feet padding across wet pavement after a fresh rain, except this smell carried the malodor of rust and something sour under your nose.

You settled a pillar of light on the source, capturing the view of Montague standing amid the bloodbath, sickly skin bare and saturated in rich crimson.

Something was wrong with him, came an instantaneous, instinctual reaction the moment his head spun toward you, catching pale eyeshine in the white light.

The bones in his jaw cracked as the length of it began to recede into the semblance of something more man to you, rows of jagged teeth retracting into the depths of his throat until only a pair of long incisors remained.

Montague skimmed the tip of his tongue along his lower lip, smiling at you affectedly, saying as though it were some trife thing, "She started screaming."

You were gone and out of the basement after that, clearing the woman's body and kicking away the slippers on your feet when they squelched with blood. Montague said something after you when shrieks ripped out of your lungs and reverberated through the house. You winced as the basement door let out a hollow rattle when he collided with it, heart matching the rhythm of the skin on your feet slapping against old marble, thoughts disarrayed, frantic the closer you got to the front door.

Almost there. Almost there. Almost there. Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! You were panting in unison with the vicious chants.

The doorknob was in your hand. The door was open—and it was thrown shut with the force of your body thrust against it, fingers wrenched off of the handle and enveloped in Montague's cold fingers as he pushed himself flush into you.

You felt his palm clamp around your mouth, whittling your screams into panicked whimpers, nostrils flaring with your ragged breaths.

"Ah, no, no." He had to stoop his neck to talk into your ears. "Shh, shh, shhh. Far too loud. I don't like screaming. Shh, shh, shhhh."

Tears seared red behind your eyes, making you think you could follow the warmth down your face as they filled the crevices in his hand. "It's really, truly a pity. She was a pretty one but far too smart. I'm usually decent at picking out the ones who wouldn't suspect anything or, at least, catching them before they try to scream.

"You'll have to forgive me. I swear to you I'm not ordinarily that messy. I prefer to keep everything tidy, especially so you don't have to go down there. After all, you're already so busy. You're already doing so much. I can't recall when I last saw you relax."

The weight of his palm softened, a wordless agreement that you honored with continued silence as he used that arm to lean against the door. His voice shifted around your head to your other ear. "That's it. Just wonderful. There's no need for screaming, is there? It's only the two of us."

"Are—are..." You couldn't get it out, lips and throat suddenly sucked dry. "Don't kill me, please. Please. Please."

His chest quaked while a subdued, eerily delighted laugh hissed through his lips. "Kill you? Oh, no, no, no. Never. How could I ever kill you when you're so remarkable? My home has never looked so beautiful and lived in. I'm enjoying how it looks with you in it."

You wilted away from his lips sinking to a spot below your ear, now taking far too much notice of his erection curving up along your lower back. It felt disgustingly wrong to wonder whether the violence and blood turned him on, or it was you and your fear. The man wasn't even human; that much was clear.

"What are you?" There was no shortage of daring questions in your arsenal. Montague was beginning to find the charm in them.

"That's quite difficult for me to answer." He let his chin lay on your shoulder. "I've been called many things over the centuries. I suppose the closest anyone has ever gotten is vampire, but even that's not quite right. You're free to guess as much as you'd like, though."

He was satisfied when you didn't, freeing the weight off of his arm to slide his hand under the hem of your shirt, fingertips still slick with that woman's blood as he explored your navel. You were too aware of the roundness of his fingernails stepping across your flesh, sometimes pressing deep, and other times a light touch you needed to scratch. His throat vibrated against your shoulder.

"What are you thinking? I'd love to hear it." He wanted to devour your fear in more ways than just feeling you wince. "Well? Tell me."

"I want to go." Go? Where could you possibly go that he couldn’t find you? If he ripped out the side of a woman's neck, he could track you down.

He leaned his cheek into your ear again, relishing the warmth that spread into him. "Where would you go? Who would you tell? Humor me, where is the first place you'd go?"

"The police," you said.

Montague let out a pleased hum. "Of course. It only makes sense to report a terrible scene such as that to them. Forensics and the police play together often, don't they?"

Your nod was weak.

"I know how hard you've been studying, how much stress you're under to commit to your degree, your work—to me." His hand crept along to your stomach, fingers splaying wide across the protective layer of skin and fat. "Let's say they were to find something I left behind. Who becomes a suspect in their eyes when they learn that I have someone who tidies up after me? Who knows the dirty insides of cleaning up anything and everything?"

You were starting to panic, fitfully struggling against his body. It's like he was made of stone. "They wouldn't accuse me of murdering anyone."

"Haven't you seen the news lately? Are you so sure?" he said derisively. "No, perhaps you're right. Maybe you'd be fortunate, and they wouldn't have your head for murder, but they would certainly try to peg you with something else. As an accomplice, maybe? And that's assuming that I don't disappear and let rip you apart.

"Can you imagine it? Can you feel your heart break at the very thought of losing it all? Your degree? Your job? Safety? The world is cruel, darling. You'd never have another moment of peace or anonymity. Anywhere you'd go, you'd be found, every alias sullied with your sins. All because you decided to speak up about it."

You knew he meant to send you downstairs to do something about the mess, spend hours scrubbing and mopping until what had once been there was a secret that thickened your tongue and made it hard to swallow. No one would ever find out, but you would carry it in every waking thought until, one morning, the cute barista on Market Street had an eerie semblance to that dead woman, and the light roast in your hand suddenly looked so red.

"Thump. Thump. Thump." Montague mocked the heavy thrum of your heart behind your ribs, his cold fingers skimming your nipples before resting over your sternum. "You can go if you'd like, but I'll find you. I'll hear your little heart until it bursts and drag you right back here. You're mine."

The push of his body gradually faded away, giving your chest the room to expand, leaving you to gulp quivering, greedy breaths that didn't stop even as the pads of his feet grew distant.

He called back to you, "Give me ten minutes or so, and then come down."

You were already partway through the front door with your car keys to pop the trunk when, floating like a spectre's moans in still night air, his voice reached out once more, "You may want to clean up yourself first. You have blood all over your face."

༺ ♰ ༻

A damp towel came before your descent back into the basement. In tow on your shoulders were three bags of absorbent, the fancy stuff hospitals liked to use to throw on puke and piss and anything else they just lazily wanted to sweep around. It worked for blood in smaller quantities, blood that was still wet, anyway.

The woman hadn't been dead long enough for her body fluids to dry, so you didn't anticipate needing anything except the basics stowed in your car trunk.

You weren't sure what you expected to see down there, noticing the lights were turned on high, fully illuminating the gray marble, the furthest reaches of the blood puddle with your slippers saturated dark red and ruined. What came as a shock was the woman's dead eyes and shredded neck being nowhere in sight. Montague had moved her body but to where?

For some reason, you were drawn to ridiculous spots like the walls, ceiling, and tiny cramped corners that he could have feasibly stuffed her in. There was no sickly trail of blood leading any which way, droplets only reaching as far as the stairs and first landing where you had been pursued—nothing else.

Where did he take her? Part of you was ready to turn a blind eye to all of this because you knew you would have to in order to keep everything. If you kept your head low and groveled a little bit, maybe he'd get bored and leave you alone, biding you the time you needed to finish your degree. But, that'd be two years of this.

You weren't sure you could stomach it.

As you moved granules of absorbent through blood with coarse bristles from the kitchen broomstick—shifting the puddle more than the actual absorbent—you wondered if he could hear your heart now from wherever he was.

You thought about a lot of things while letting your eyes roam the space. It was enormous, taking up the entire underside of the house, outfitted impressively with mahogany accents, sprawling bookshelves, armchairs, and loveseats pulled tight in leather and velvet. Across the room was a disheveled bed, creamy sateen sheets in a luscious heap but otherwise undisturbed.

To the adjacent end of this expanse were two doors you didn't notice at first, one a little taller than yourself in height, about as wide as any normal arm span, and looked old, so old that everything else was too new. Even from where you stood, you knew it'd take a skeleton key. The other door was more coherent with the rest of the basement, cleaner but certainly still part of the house's original construction.

By the time Montague had returned, you already had much of the ordeal pitched into a biohazard bag with some trace remnants putting you on your knees to scrub away. You hadn't realized he was even there until the tips of his shoes—brown leather loafers with a scalloped tassel near the toes—appeared in your peripheral, sending you launching back onto your hocks.

"This work is spectacular. I knew I had a good feeling giving that room to you." he said with a beguiling smile. All of the blood was gone; he was clean in a dark dressing robe with black trousers, a look you hated that you saw as alluring. "Don't forget to clean the floors upstairs. We made quite a mess there as well."

"What happened to that woman?" You were asking your pesky questions again. Montague wasn't so sure he found them as charming now, but you were still a prize.

You leaned away as he crouched in front of you, nearly risking the soles of his shoes in the blood and hydrogen peroxide. For the first time since meeting, you kept eye contact and saw that his reached a depth you didn't think could be possible for a human. He wasn't touching you, yet it felt like he had you caged, trapped in a vise that held you tight.

He did touch you then, grazing the side of your face with a thumb. Suddenly, he brought it to his lips and licked it as he rose to full height.

"You still had some blood just there on your cheek." There was an armchair a few feet away that he dropped into, withdrawing a gold compact from a chest pocket on his way down. "Don't worry. I wouldn't ask you to carry away the bodies. I'm not that Roman."

"That's not what I asked." you rejoined.

Montague tucked a cigarette between his lips, igniting it with a match he kept inside the compact. His first few puffs looked like they calmed him as he crossed a leg and settled deeper into the leather. "You shouldn’t expect answers to things you don’t need to know—or want to.”

But he humored you with a slight lean of his head towards the old door far away. "The original owner of this house was ingenious and built tunnels that were used to shuffle people in and out. Mistresses. Servants. More unsavory things—you must remember the era. At any rate, it stretches beyond the house and some ways off. I do not recommend ever going inside."

You understood now why you never saw any of the dates he brought home leave. And you believed every bit of his warning.

It inspired you to move away from the grim reality dwelling beyond that old door. You hovered over the same spot, drenching the floor with more of the disinfectant, grasping for a distraction. "I didn't know vampires could smoke. Isn't blood enough for you?”

Montague flicked his cigarette over an ashtray beside his chair. "Well, we all have our vices. Mine just happens to be five or six of these a day. Keeps enough of the edge off so you get to sleep at night."

Something about that comment made the entire stretch of the basement feel so confining—claustrophobic, even. Your back was wide open to it, to his ravening gaze and leather toe turning fluid circles as though to pace himself before lunging.

"I have class in six hours." You finished the job by tying off the bag. "I'd like to get the upstairs done and take a shower."

"Of course. Try to get some sleep, you've had quite a night." He didn't move to see you out. "Oh, and leave the bag. I'll dispose of it."

༺ ♰ ༻

Meredith Nimu died approximately twenty-three days ago after a stroke left her immobilized in her favorite armchair. Her body wasn't peeled away from the murky-green polyester until day twenty-four, following enough neighbor complaints about a bunch of rats dying in the vents.

Getting rid of the chair was half the battle in this case, something that Meredith's overzealous, recently divorced daughter spouted off as sacrilegious. She insisted that the carpet cleaner she used for her obese dogs with raw patches on their legs could do it all. Your supervisor had been inflectionless when telling her it didn't work like that.

One of your teammates, a middle-aged black man affectionately nicknamed “Hoss” had unceremoniously slammed the apartment door shut and flipped the lock so the daughter's rancorous eruptions were somewhat contained outside. The other half of the duo responsible for pitching the chair, T.J., a white man who could never tan, wheezed out a laugh as he labored a hard bristle brush through the gunk left behind from Meredith's decay.

"Boss ain't gonna be happy about that." T.J. couldn't commit to the act of a brownnoser even if he wanted to. A couple more chortles rattled through his respirator. They were infectious, ridiculous sounds that coaxed similar from Hoss when he rejoined the effort to get the job done and over with.

You could still hear the daughter on the other side of the door, never once allowing your supervisor a word in edgewise. A part of you wanted to pity her, perhaps conjure up a shred of empathy for someone so completely enmeshed in the throes of grief and anger. She was clearly spiraling, her entire life yanked out from under her—and she was free-falling with nothing to catch her, no thin wire she could snag in the bend of her fingers and watch as the velocity of that cruelly, cleanly severed white tendon and bone.

Where would she fall after that? You didn't know. You didn't care. She could regain control over her life even without fingers, but what about you? No one understood how disconcerting it was to know that your survival depended on a vampire's good mood. An old woman was meant to expire, but you were young and had aspirations—yet that could be stolen from you just as quickly as a clot could kill the brain.

It wasn't fucking fair.

Hoss had called out to you repeatedly until the hard brushes stopped scratching the floor, and he and T.J. were settled back on their heels, staring at you. You were used to leveraging your commitments in life as a means to get them off your case, but even they could tell this was different.

"You've been real spacey lately." It was enough to gently reel you back to the moment, eyes unstuck from remnants of putrid matter hidden under a deluge of chemicals and soap. Now you were thinking that the landlord would probably have to replace this entire spot in the flooring. It would be an expensive fix.

"Everything okay at home?" Hoss tried again, emulating fatherly concern in his tone and sidelong stare. It was something he couldn't help since you were so similar in age to his adult kids. "I don't think I've seen you eat today. We oughta finish up here up and grab somethin' quick on the way back.”

"Sorry, yeah, it's just the usual things." They didn't know what that meant to you, but readily accepted with dour expressions masked by their respirators. "I think I saw a gyro truck down the street."

As many times as you had regurgitated the same thing when they pried into your well-being, you were surprised they still asked at all. That made it hard to wave after them as you pulled the lever to the trunk, waiting to be left alone once the job was done to stack half your weight in absorbent until the back bowed to it.

It was just past two in the morning when you were locking the front door of Montague's sprawling estate behind you. Every time you did, a part of you hesitated to seal it the whole way, as though if you did, your final traces of freedom would be stripped away entirely.

"Welcome home!" Montague came out from prowling somewhere in the shadows, seeming to materialize from the darkest parts your eyes couldn't adapt to. He was in a dressing robe again, this one forest green with gold embroidery and a burgundy handkerchief tucked away nicely in his breast pocket.

He already had a cigarette lit between his knuckles, fussing with the little stick as he went to an open window, sucked in, and expelled pungent gray smoke. "I apologize. There's a bit of a mess for you tonight. It's unlike me to be so untidy, but it shouldn't take you too long—oh, darling, don't make that face."

"Why can't you get blood from other sources, like a blood bank?" It's been on your mind for a while, but Montague had a habit of turning petulant if you asked him too much.

He was in good shape tonight, though, despite still puffing away antsily. "Where's the satisfaction in simply being given what I want? Blood banks are a finite supply, but out there"—he gestured through the open window—"there is an infinite supply from any walk of life that I so choose. Did you know that not all blood is equal?"

You sensed him at your back, awash with that same vulnerability as the night on your knees in the basement. He strolled along with you while you collected your things, examined his leftovers, which fortunately wasn't as sensational as before. It looked like a Rorschach inkblot almost, purple-red and pristine, obviously untouched for some time.

Just like that dead blonde woman, there was nothing left behind of the victim except what Montague was too careless to handle himself.

"The worst blood is what you find in hospitals or on the streets. It doesn't matter their type; it all tastes like shit." he continued, even while you worked. Just like before, he sat himself nearby and observed your process with gross fascination. "In a pinch, though, I do what I must. It doesn't matter if a man is homeless or a woman is looking for a night out. When I hear their hearts dance, that thump, thump, thump—oh, I have to have it. I can taste them through their skin, even before I sink my teeth in.

"The fear in their eyes. The ragged breaths I see in their chests, watching their bellies pulse. I like to think in those moments they know exactly what's going to happen, like little flies in a spider's web."

Montague let more smoke slither out from his lips in skinny, swirling wisps that dissipated once it touched the air. The haze of it remained, just traceable to your eye. "I always find it interesting that they all struggle, even as they're writhing in their own blood. Sometimes I'll count how long it takes for them to die."

These weren't confessions of a madman because that would imply he was human. He was treating you akin to the way an old man recounted the fondness of his flawed, flickering memories. There were sensations of joy and affection in the work he did, a true love and visceral desire for carnage and suffering that made it hard for you to stomach. A few times throughout his soliloquy, you needed to bear your weight on the kitchen broom to keep yourself from toppling from nausea.

You shouldn't have been curious. "Has anyone ever survived?"

The surrounding space grew darker, not from loss of light but from the way his lower face sunk behind the hand wielding the cigarette. You saw his smile widen through sickly appendages and faint smoke.

His response pierced straight through you. "I'm looking right at it."

Suddenly, the urge to run rushed forefront in your mind, an instinctual reaction that you had trouble wrestling over with logic. The broomstick was easily pulled from your fingers and discarded onto the floor with a reverberating clatter that made your spine race with cold needles as Montague stepped into your proximity.

You shivered against the hands slowly climbing your neck to the underside of your jaw, cradling your face as he lifted it to meet his eyes. Something was so wrong with how black they were; you didn't see a pupil, nor did your reflection stare back at you in them. It's almost as though there was nothing there at all, the dark of them growing into an abysmal chasm that made your vision cross and blur, eyelids weighing like lead when you felt him kiss you.

His lips were the same kind of cold as the rest of him but full and unrelenting, never granting you the chance to mold the kiss in any other way. Surprisingly, the taste of stale smoke on his breath was just slight, a mediocre vexation you overlooked the moment his hands started groping you under your clothes.

And you didn't think much of it when your back settled into the clean linens on your bed, skin flushed with the crisp evening air and lips mapping their way south across your stomach and navel, delving lower to your core. It was too dark in your room to see down your body at the top of Montague's head, but you felt him with your fingers, coiling pieces of his ash-brown hair to your knuckles while he pushed your thighs wide open for him.

An anxious patter swelled in your chest, a vague understanding that something was horrible about this, but you were too wrapped up in a dreamy fog to think about it. More than the resounding boom of your heart, you heard your own breaths dissolve into lewd moans and slurred pleas for him to do more, more, more.

It didn't sound like you. It didn't feel like you despite knowing that build-up in your abdomen better than most things in your body. The hands in his hair, the back bending off of the mattress like an archway, the shaking limbs, and the cries begging for more were someone else entirely up until the very moment rapture fluttered behind your eyes in searing white, body deluged in hot release that left your scalp tingling and toes curling and spend on your sheets.

"Give me more." You tasted him again, his tongue pushing hard into your mouth where those salty notes of yourself lingered on your cheeks. His silhouette melded with the rest of the room, tangible only in the way he roamed every surface of you.

Montague had shucked the clothes from both your bodies earlier, preferring to lean into the flush of heat you radiated. Everything was only skin-deep away from him; he could feel your pulse throb on his lips when he teased himself against your carotid, your radial, trailing all the way to the powerful beat of your femoral nestled there in your groin.

His teeth came close many times to piercing you, allowing him a sliver of a taste like a parched king waiting for a drop of golden wine. But half the thrill of having you around was denying himself of you, knowing well that if he were to start, then he'd never be able to stop, and he'd fully hamper your dreams of escaping.

The air smelled like you now, heavy and like damp skin and your fluids soaking into the linens. He watched your face bunch and fall apart when he split you open with his cock, hips colliding, your skin sure to bruise as his thrusts turned savage. There wasn't much left in his heart anymore. Most of it had atrophied over the centuries, and yet the sound of yours spurred him on.

He could follow the path of your blood through your body, an extensive subject he had studied and dissected at length in his lifetime. The most vulnerable spots were gorged and worked the hardest, almost glowing red through your skin for him. When he thrust a little bit harder, a little bit faster, and felt your fingertips pushing against his chest, he heard your heart be the loudest it ever had been.

"That's it. That's it. That's it." His own breaths were ragged now. The sheer exhilaration of pushing his lips deeper, hot sweat leaving a slick layer on them, and that one big artery in your neck pounding out was doing everything for him.

Your frantic pants were a close second. He could feel you unraveling, tightening around his cock until you were soundlessly writhing on the mattress, clutching anything you could bunch together. The final few thrusts he made were purposeful; they were forceful and jolted your body, a show to make sure you wouldn't forget the feeling of him inside of you.

The clean linens were sodden with cum, some still dripping out of you while you lay there, legs splayed enough so you wouldn't feel it stick to your thighs. Whatever haze had been hanging over your eyes before lifted away, leaving you ruined and exhausted on the sheets but not alone.

"You've got class in a few hours, don't you?" Montague said from above, shoulders nestled in your headboard while one leg hung off the side of the bed. He was smoking again, acting the calmest you had witnessed him. "I don't really think you're in any shape for that. Why don't you stay home today?"

You were too spent to respond to him, somehow using the occasional breaths he blew out into the vast room to lull you into a dreamless sleep.

༺ ♰ ༻

Shin Nakamura had been a selfish man in life. Mid-fifties, thinning hair, and twice divorced from women who knew better—his tenants did not. He had built a reputation on the north side of town for hidden costs and faulty appliances that were never fixed. Once or twice in the past four years you had cleaned up scenes, they came out of Nakamura's buildings in the summertime, stuck to the floor and infested with maggots and flies in different orifices.

Everyone had asked at one point, yourself included, how he was able to get away with that level of blatant cruelty and disregard—and the answer was as simultaneously simple, complex, and terrible as poverty. The north end was an area notorious for local crime and violence, but more than that, it was forgotten in favor of gentrifying other areas of the city—pretty little boutiques that'd make a splash on social media and a couple of upscale dining spots, all of those meant to change the online scales deeming an area's walkability, and therefore, profitability.

The blind eye most city commissioners turned to the north end made it an easy life for Shin to do as he pleased without many consequences despite living in the area himself. Most of everyone found it an odd sort of justice when he was discovered in his office, unrecognizable from how badly the dozens of stab wounds had disfigured his face and body. One look was enough to know that it was personal, a tenant who had received their condemnation via a neon-pink eviction letter hastily taped to an off-white door.

Only, this time, Shin chose a person backed into a corner at their breaking point. There wasn't much left to lose, yet Shin had ultimately lost it all. Rumor had it that no one sold out the tenant who committed the crime, something even the more moralistic part of yourself could fathom. These were the cases that painted a grim picture of your future in forensics and often speared to the front of your mind at the worst of times—could you really be part of the reason why a person shattered by the powers of society goes to jail?

Shin Nakamura was a terrible man, but were his crimes punishable by that sort of torture? What about the tenants who probably heard Shin screaming for help, crying in agony—were they any better than murderers themselves?

What did that mean for you? An accomplice who quietly scrubbed clean murders at a monster's behest, you allowed those people to be swallowed up by Montague under a guise of fear, or was it selfishness?

That discomfort lasted you your entire shift, like an incredibly nauseating pill with a bad smell that sat in your nose for hours. You couldn't wipe away the thoughts like you could dried blood on smoke-stained walls or lumps of serrated flesh and fat wedged between slabs of wood on the floor.

"Man, he coulda been cleaner about this." T.J. had his feet planted solidly on the middle step of a ladder, well at work with a long-handled brush pushed flat to the ceiling. The splatter had gone that far, earning a few awestruck coos from him and Hoss earlier. "It would've made our lives easier."

It was a normal joke. You'd laughed at the exact same one many times before, even finessed your own commentary in there on occasion because the dead can't sue, and a murderer had no rights—but now, you thought it'd taste bad on your tongue.

The two hulking men noticed, far sharper than you gave them credit for. Or maybe you were just worse at hiding things than you thought. They didn't allude to anything until everyone was packed up in the van, dried from the sweaty protective suits and summer heat by the AC.

"Listen, it ain't my business, and I swear I've been trying my best not to ask." There was a furtive look linked between Hoss and T.J.; it was something they had talked about when you weren't around. "That guy you're living with. He isn't doing anything to you, right? You used to talk about him all the time in the beginning. Haven’t heard a peep about him in ages. God, you're not living in your car, are you?"

From the outside in, you weren't doing much to try to embellish fancy stories and reasons onto your drastic change over the months. You simply let it be and navigated every day with the hope you'd remember where you were going with your head down. It probably didn't look too good to a paternal man like Hoss, and to T.J., who had several younger siblings.

"No, it's not him—" But, of course, it really was and everything surrounding his cruelty, everything he made you do, and what you never refuted. "I'm just perpetually exhausted. I'm sure you've heard that from Sylvie and Deshaun while they've been in uni."

"All the damn time." Hoss beamed, chest perked a little higher with the mention of his children. It wasn't enough to diffuse the tension lingering in the van, however. "Just know, I'd do for you what I'd do for my babies—put the fear of God in that man. If he puts a finger on you, you let me know."

T.J. gave an agreeable hum, fingers sticking to the steering wheel as he moved them around, making a turn down some street. "We'll catch him by surprise and everything. I'll call in a couple favors, grab a few shovels and bags of cement from my dad's place. It's all good."

For some reason, their entire spiel only spiked your uneasiness, and suddenly you were far too aware of your bladder. It was enough initiative for T.J. to floor the gas and get back to headquarters, giving you the chance to break away and race the remnants of daylight all the way home.

༺ ♰ ༻

It had never happened before, but you managed to catch Montague by surprise when he walked through the front door to find you standing there in the foyer. The kitchen broom wrapped in your hands was a nasty ploy, along with the look you cast between him and a young man not any older than yourself. Again, just like all the others, you didn't recognize him. Montague's victims were fast, fleeting fixations for him, none worthy of names or an identity in his eyes. You suspected this guy was much the same.

Montague's bewilderment was swept away by a smile and laxing posture. He had settled back into his element. "You're home early today. I didn't expect to see you until much later. Not much to the scene, I assume?"

"It was pretty bad." A certain stiffness trailed on the end of your words, letting them echo through the hall and hang in the cool evening air. The young man was fast to perceive that tension: the tightness in your shoulders, fingers subtly wringing against the cracked wooden broom. Montague's anticipative smile climbed higher the longer he looked at you.

Would it be such a bad thing to turn around and pretend you had never seen him come home with that other man? You considered doing it, hiding upstairs and using your headphones until everything seeping through turned into an amalgamation of ambient noise that meant nothing to you, and you willed away the guilt like you'd always done.

In that moment, you thought about Meredith Nimu's apoplectic daughter, a woman so embittered by her own suffering that she was foul and relentless to anyone she crossed paths with. You thought about Shin Nakamura, a greedy, pitiless man who'd rather let coroners scrape up his tenant's remains rather than grant them mercy while they were alive and had been left in pieces because of it.

You thought of them and all their wickedness and edged your gaze towards the young man still standing in the doorway with his hand holding it ajar, clean fingernails picking at chipping paint, just steps from outside. "I think you should leave."

Run! Run! You'd better run away as fast as you can! Nothing would stop Montague from keeping his prey there, if that's what he chose to do. He did the opposite of that, and that was, simply, nothing at all. No pretty blandishments, nor a mouthful of teeth. Rather, now, he was particularly piqued by what you were trying to do.

To the young man, he had meddled into something rather egregious, probably convinced it was extramarital. You battled a surge of pride blooming inside you, shifting your chest a little higher, anchoring your spine back into your body.

"Don't come back here." You didn't need to say anything else. He was gone after pinching out a look of disgust towards Montague, tutting at him with his upper teeth showing through a curled lip.

Nothing happened for a while, not until the front door was secured after his departure. You were left to that responsibility, triple-checking the lock, while Montague ambled deeper into the house, but not too far away as you could follow the leisurely path by his heel strike. There was a rhythm in how he moved. It was deliberate, as though mimicking something.

It took you five paces to figure out he was miming your heartbeat, and he only stopped once it quickened in your chest. He appeared from around the corner, still taking his time reaching you, toying with some trinkets displayed on shelves built into alcoves throughout the lower floor.

You couldn't explain what you were feeling at that moment. Of the thousands—maybe millions—of victims Montague had taken in the previous times, you had just deprived him of one. That man would continue living, and he would tell his friends tomorrow about the weird night he had, and he would never have to be grateful that you saved him from a hellish death.

Yes, oh yes. Even as Montague approached you, carried by his deft gait with both halves of his gold compact open in his palm, you couldn't help but be in complete awe of yourself. A life continued outside of this mausoleum, and it was all because of you. You were entirely different from Meredith Nimu's daughter and Shin Nakamura, and, for once, your hands weren't sullied by bleach, blood, and body matter.

All that heaviness you had been carrying was suddenly so much lighter, and you felt like your chest could open up as wide as the room where you stood. The breaths you took were dry and cold in your throat, yet fresh as though you were walking outside in wintertime.

Montague must've seen something he didn't like on your face because he sucked down on his cigarette for a while, winding his wrist with it at his side once he was adequately calm.

"Did it feel good? I've only seen you this happy while I was fucking your brains out." It was jarring to hear him talk like that. He took another quick drag and let it out slowly as he rounded you. "Truthfully, darling, I didn't think you were the type to break the rules—on purpose, anyway. But I suppose we all get a little wound up every now and then, right? I've already forgiven you."

And then, you watched him drop the cigarette to the marble and snuff it underfoot until the weak ember was turned to soot. A black smear was left behind when he took his foot away. His stare into you was unwavering. "Clean it up."

You figured this was how a frightened animal felt when it wanted something within reach of an observant predator because you were trying to think of all the ways to get close without getting too close. It was a pitiful, humorous sight to him, seeing your steps forward so light and on the verge of bolting. But he showed no intention of doing anything more.

Still with the broom in hand, your knuckles turned stark around the handle while sweeping the remains towards you. It would take more elbow grease to get up that smudge, and he knew that just as well.

He reached for the broom and snapped it to a halt, making you jump, jaw clenching. A noiseless gasp lurched in your throat, his fingers wound tight into the hair at your crown as he yanked your head back to show all the fleshiness of your neck.

"What will you do about it, darling?" His lips were already cold and flush to the artery dancing in the curvature built of skin, muscle, and tendon. Your teeth chattered as the wetness of his tongue followed that intricate, breathtaking network inside of you as far as the neckline of your shirt would let him. "A man has to eat. Have you ever seen it? A man near starvation and the sorts of things he'll do to survive? Why, I've heard stories of desperate, little men eating their own lovers—their children—themselves just to claw around for a little longer. It's inspiring, I think."

He dragged you away then, up the stairs and through the hallway on the second floor to your bedroom, fingers still nested your hair until the moment you were shoved down onto fresh linens. There wasn't anywhere for you to go once he joined you on the mattress, feeling it bend towards his weight.

"Don't be afraid." he said this with all the fond familiarity of a lover, blunt fingernails digging crescents into your thigh through your clothes. In the waning moonlight that filtered through the dusty window over your bed, his pale eyeshine snared you like roots bursting from somewhere within your busy sheets to keep you there—keep you tame. "That's right. Come to me. Come to me."

There was a new drowsiness behind your eyes, one you couldn't stave by blinking. Montague's face was closer now, and you were struck with just how beautiful he actually was. The longer your gaze lasted, tips of your fingers exploring every shape and edge of his exquisite features, the less you were convinced he was a threat to you—that he couldn't have possibly been all that you'd feared up until now.

"I want you." His lips inched up like he expected you to say it. He felt your hands rest on the sides of his face, guiding him down into a soft kiss that he returned, that he kept clean and let you command until he was bored with it. You chased after him, lower lip pulled between both of yours and eventually out of reach. "Don't you want me too?"

"I wish you could understand just how much I do." He rummaged his pocket for the gold compact, losing it somewhere in the sheets, and then busied himself with stripping himself and you of clothes. Each piece discarded showed a greater expanse of your skin, a delight in his eyes because he could see that gorgeous webbing of arteries and veins throughout you, even in the darkness, through every defense your body created to protect you from every bacteria, virus, infection—from him.

He didn't need the breath, but he took one and held it anyway. You withered against his touch, those freezing, lithe fingertips traveling down all the areas where he wished his teeth could be, clear down to your groin. His smile stretched, feeling you search eagerly for a fistful of his hair with his lips smoothing across your inner thigh and then going higher.

There was warmth between your legs, a colorless glisten that leaked out onto the thin sheets, darkening a spot on them that tempted his tongue out for a taste. He came close to entertaining the notion of giving you that glimpse of heaven, allured by your hips leaping off the mattress and against his face.

"You really do think this is all about you." Montague kept you still by pressing down into your abdomen as he rose onto his knees, erection fitting tight between your bodies in the moments before he guided himself lower and hitched up into you. The sharp motion knocked a startled gasp out of your throat, where it quickly dissolved into a slew of filth and breathy panting. Your nails clawed into your palms, a sight he thought to make worse by digging himself deeper into you.

Montague had no issues biding his time this way, looming over the sprawl of your body beneath him, manipulating parts of you until he saw your face flinch and the first moans of discomfort shake all the way from your chest, up, and through your teeth. They matched the pace of his hard thrusts, smothered by sharp slaps of skin that carried in the inky air.

Indeed, I can wait. That thought of his unsatiated hunger melted in the back of his mind with the precedence of arranging the course of blood in your body. The drum of your heartbeat was deafening to him, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't loud enough. He wanted to be able to envision the arteries and veins bursting in his teeth, saturating the sheets and walls and both your bodies in hot red. He wanted it to paint his skin while he fucked you to absolution.

"It really, truly, is all about you in the end, isn't it?" He could still speak clearly, despite you being unable to utter noise beyond the air being forced out of your lungs. "You really are magnificent. How could I ever think to let you go? Not after everything you've done for me, how beautiful you look next to all of my things."

His hand shifted away from your abdomen at last, tracking across the soft span of your stomach and the muscles spasming there under his fingertips. All he would have to do is dig through you a little bit, and he could bury himself in those twitching fibers and insides. But he continued on his path to your pert nipples that he rolled against his palm a few times, higher still to fold his fingers together against your sternum where he felt your heart thundering there against your ribs.

"Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump," came his mocking chant that cracked into raspy moans as he lingered there. It had been a long time since something had made him feel this good. He had forgotten what bliss was truly like.

He reached your neck before long, trapping the underside of your jaw against his knuckles, forcing you to see him as his weight bore down on your throat. You both heard the cartilage and muscle in your neck shift, a subtle crack that sent your limbs flailing. You were thrown out of the rhythm of his thrusts in an attempt to grab at him.

"You really are despicable, aren't you?" He let out a gleeful laugh, letting your fingers turn ashen while you wrung his wrist. You weren't able to do much with your legs except use them to plant your heels into the mattress, vaulting your hips in the air to try to wrench yourself free. His cock slipped out of you, but he was hardly bothered by that. "Does it feel good that you chased off my guest? I could get him back, you know. You're aware of this. I know you are. But righteousness just feels so… rewarding, doesn't it? You couldn't resist. Desperation must've been eating you alive."

Strings of saliva glistened in your mouth, breaking apart the further your jaws spread. You were convinced, in that moment, that you would die like that in a silent scream. None of the words that Montague spoke truly reached you, not as your chest quivered and lungs burned as though swallowed in an inferno.

"Every misdeed in life vastly outweighs the good, you know? The scales have never been leaned in our favor—not I, and especially not for you. If that's the sort of thing you believe in. Isn't that what you're taught? Goodness for the sake of salvation at the end of a short life of inhibitions? How miserable." Montague took his hand off of you and let you breathe. You sucked in crisp air, gasping from your side through wet coughs and the sourness of vomit spat out on the floor.

Your respite was brief, weight on the mattress shifting as the hair on your scalp was used to lever you to your knees, body suspended upright only by his fingers tangled at your roots.

"This is all I can see." Montague loosened his hand from your head, moving south along your spine to your ass. He kneaded the bruised parts of your hips for a while after, lips ghosting their way along your neck up to the ear. "All I can see is what's right in front of me. And how it tastes. All that matters is that I have my fill—and that I feel good."

He smeared slick into the heel of his palm, rolling the head of his cock in that mess as he instructed you with every bit of lewdness how he wanted you to bend against the headboard, how far apart for you to spread your legs for him.

Every bit of it was humiliating for you, while he wished he could memorialize that moment of sinking back inside of you as your breaths broke into stifled sobs, face warped by anguish.

"Does it hurt? Tell me, I have to know, what does it feel like?" He enjoyed the suspense of not receiving an answer, listening as your fingernails dug tracks into the wood headboard and the dark room filled with obscene wetness that grew louder as his thrusts turned wild.

"Mmm—" He hinged forward, bracing his weight on top of your hands with his own. You shied from the surge of coolness that came with his cheek pressing yours. "You and I aren't so different. It makes me wonder if you actually like this. Isn't there something so freeing about it?"

"Mer—mercy, please." It was a coarse whisper from your dry throat, so much of your time having been spent with your mouth agape. The idea of having you that way was as tantalizing as all the others he thought up. "Montague, please—mercy."

Oh, now you were begging.

This was more than what he deserved. He managed a few more thrusts, spilling over into you by the third with a moan that he felt no shame to leave ringing in your ear. "Every part of you, every single part—I'll burn myself into your skin and your bones. You'll feel me in your veins, your blood. I'll make for certain that I'm all you remember—forever."

The vastness of your bedroom had grown warmer, permeated with the thickness of sweat and salt that left your palms slick against the headboard. You let your body slump against it, skin sticking to the wood. It didn't offer you the relief you wanted at that moment: a glass of ice water, all the tenderness of a soft bed to lull you into a blank dream—you just wanted to rest.

Montague knew this just as well, fishing his compact out from a muddled heap of linens and clothes. He checked inside to grab one of the two cigarettes left, making a mental note he'd need to replenish again tomorrow before lighting it and savoring it. At this rate, he anticipated he'd be empty before the end of the night.

For a while, he sat there cushioned on his haunches, admiring the way the smoke coiled towards the ceiling in dainty wisps and mingled with the stench of sex.

"It's not enough." he said, barely eliciting more than a glance from you. His current cigarette was already burnt to the filter, forcing him to pull the last and light that one too. "This is my last one. Such a shame."

You smelled the smoke strongly now, just seconds passing before you were yanked across the bed onto your back, the soreness in your scalp near excruciating as you yelped. Montague made a place for himself between your thighs again, leering down the length of his nose at you.

If he wanted to, he could trace the dread etched in your features with a finger, feeling all along your hot skin, into all the cavernous lines he wished he could preserve—right there, just like that. There had never been a more gorgeous visage than the one you wore right now. Only your gleaming, glowing, pink insides were more beautiful.

He watched your lips twitch while he teased a fistful of his hard cock against your sorest spot. You were swollen and bruised, and he could only imagine what it felt like when he bottomed out in you again.

The curve of your spine arched off the mattress, fingers frantically raking the air at him, reaching for any part you could sink into to get him out. Even your body seemed determined for the same, wonderfully stimulating walls squeezing around him.

It made a shiver roll all along his spine to his tailbone, eyes rolling up towards the ceiling, with his first thrusts feeling positively divine. Especially when you jolted, an almost exaggerated response amplified by jagged cries and wet gasps you couldn't seem to swallow back down into your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" You sputtered around the mucus piled in your throat. "Montague, I'm sorry. Please, stop."

He had burned away half of his last cigarette when he leaned over you, his body eclipsing what poor light had managed to illuminate the room for you. You could only follow the dainty mesmerizing glow that worked away from his mouth—his exhale barely masking a moan that he blew away with the smoke—and towards you.

"Keep doing it." His other hand was crawling up your neck, forcing you to suck in a hard breath. "Beg me again. Keep doing it."

All sound but the steady pulse of the headboard striking the wall had deadened, lasting well until the moment the cigarette touched your skin—and you screamed. Your throat vibrated, suddenly stopping when his palm closed around you again, silencing all your noise, his thrusts sloppy and rough while you thrashed under him.

This time, he kept you pinned by his chest, letting your feet dig for traction and slip and slide on the sheets. The bright smolder turned dark as he twisted it into your neck, taking all the remnants of restraint he had not to drill into you as far as it could go. He curled his tongue behind his jaws, keeping them tight.

Montague let go of your throat to allow you the grace of a stifled wail before that same hand sealed your lips. "Ah, ah. You know better than to scream. Shh, shhh, shhh. It's such an ugly sound."

He rubbed the cigarette into your skin until it crumpled, leaving him to lament for a moment once flicking it away to the floor. For him, it left behind a beautiful burn: raw, mad, red, and enticing. As his hand fell off of your mouth, daring you to do more than whimper and cry, his tongue was already flat against your wound.

"Oh, God," you wheezed, voice hoarse and jarring with the force of his hips knocking into you. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry! Stop, stop, stop! I swear I'll never do it again! I swear. I swear!"

Montague caught the wrist you swung at his head, giving the taste of your seared flesh time to settle on his palate before turning towards the pulse in your thumb. He tried to match how he was fucking you out to how it throbbed on his lips.

"Oh, I'm well aware that you won't do it again. That much is a given." His strokes into you were suddenly languid and intentional, so achingly deep that your eyes rolled back. "I've already said that you're forgiven, haven't I?"

You could barely speak over the depth he reached. It didn't feel right. "Th-then, why?"

A smile flourished across his face, but your eyes couldn't pierce that dark veil to see it. You could feel the damp path he left on your wrist, how the muscle writhed all around the sprawl of your veins, going as far as to wind your fingertips before it receded back behind his lips.

"Because I'm enjoying myself." There was a weight of finality to those words before his mouth engulfed the side of your wrist, away from your fragile network of bluish-purplish channels. And when he bit into you, it was the incisors that sank through.

You didn't know what it was. A clamp seized you by the neck like his fist, steeling itself there and robbing you of a scream. The pain was unlike anything else—paralyzing and deep, like a pair of sharpened, narrow skewers made of molten fire piercing you with such an agonizing ache that you could do nothing but lay there.

But you still felt everything he was doing. His thrusts had grown truly vicious, chasing a high that came as the warmth of your blood seeped from a pair of punctures he had created. The steady flow he fed from was something he lapped on at his leisure. Enough of it streaked the length of your arm and dripped onto your bedding, onto your naked, warm skin when he guided the fall over your neck and chest, south to your stomach and abdomen. He let it fill and pool the seams of his fingers while smearing it with the fluids between your bodies.

At last, breaking the trance to speak, feebly, in between intermittent pockets of pain and numbness rolling through you, you asked with some hopefulness, "Are you going to kill me?"

"You? Kill you?" Montague dropped your wrist. It felt like a limp, dead thing that didn't belong to you. He dove at your neck for those drops he teased himself with, nudging your chin high with his nose to reach it all. "Death would mean letting you go. You're all mine, darling. Whatever other existence waits beyond death will never have you."

His tongue wet a trail to your chin, collecting a watery essence of blood and spit that he pushed into your mouth. Your lips were sealed by his ravenous kiss, relenting to the thickness of his tongue swirling the taste into your cheeks and down your throat, a nauseating intermix of iron and stale smoke that lingered and made you pucker.

And then, you heard him back in your ear, craning his neck only as far as to aggravate the cigarette burn with his breath. It gave several angry throbs. The weight of his body was almost flush on you, spreading the blood around as though your skin together was a single canvas.

To his eyes, it bloomed breathtakingly, seeping into every crevice, pore, and scratch that made up your design, an impermanent stain that he could saturate you in again and again and again. The things he whispered in your ear were vile and wicked, all on unlabored breaths while his strokes turned sluggish and stayed seated deep inside you until the final hitch of his hips left you full of him.

"I don't think you should go to work today."

You were only scarcely coherent of him—or anything for that matter—eyes unmoving from the black void above and unfeeling of how he chose to manipulate your body, still, hours later. All you could think about was the flutter of your lashes weighing down heavily over your eyes and how this world only survived on suffering such as yours.

༺ ♰ ༻

A small pile of things was arranged fussily in a duffle bag Hoss had given the day you returned to work after an impromptu leave of absence. It had only lasted three days, just enough time to acclimate to the pain that seemed to synchronize to every part of your body, throbbing everywhere, all at once, and at times with sharpness so great it toppled you to the ground. You could only lay there—wherever you dropped, on whatever cold slab of marble or concrete until it dissipated, unfurling from your limbs and organs to a rapturous wave of relief that melted the tension out of you.

It had only happened once while at work on a scene amidst a balmy summer night and came out of nowhere like an electric shock surging to your fingertips and toes, a hammer landing on your bones and leveling you on the sidewalk leading back to the company van. And that was all it took to incur a ruinous sort of anger in the two hulking men.

"You're going to take this bag, pack some shit, and you're leaving. Tonight." Hoss had to shake out the dust on the old duffle bag he pulled from somewhere in his car. "You ain't gonna tell me the reason, but I know he did something to you. T.J.'s calling in a favor."

"No. Don't—don't do anything. Don't try to come to the house—" There was a bandage around your wrist that you couldn't stop fiddling with. "I don't know what'll happen if you do. Just fucking don't."

"Nah, not us." T.J. slapped his phone back into the clip on his belt loop, eyeing the motions of your fingers on your wrist uneasily. "One of my old buddies—name's Roscoe—said he wants to handle it. Apparently, he and your guy have a history of some kind. He says to be ready to go by three."

The meaning behind what he said was left nebulous and concerning to you, even after you returned home with the duffle bag and started pulling things from your closet. Some ways across your room, high up on the wall and out of your reach was a clock. Its monotonous ticking brought your eyes over to it.

It was just after one-thirty, still enough time to change your mind if you wanted to. There was something so effortlessly easy about following along to the whims of other people. It felt safe, reassuring—their confidence was infallible. Not once in four years had T.J. or Hoss given you a reason to doubt their intentions, but right now, it boiled over in your mind.

But where will I go? What am I going to do? He'll find me. He'll find me. Montague would find you, but he wouldn't stop you from leaving. You could see it with clarity—him perched on the armrest of a chair, watching you walk through the door. He'd give you a headstart, a few days, maybe a few weeks.

You weren't sure you knew what to do without him. There was nowhere else in the world you could go, no one you could confide in that wouldn't be destroyed. He would keep your heart beating all the while breaking you apart until he had his fill, reminding you that this was how it was meant to be. This was how he showed you how you belonged.

And you—silly little you with your consciousness floating on the fringes of inscrutable ecstasy and some personal purgatory built on agony in your bones and blood—would believe him.

"Going on a trip?" His voice drifted to you from the doorway, far sweeter than it usually was. "I wish you would've told me. I can't imagine what it'll be like without you here in this house. You breathe life into it."

He was lured over by your silence, fitting his fingers between your shoulder blades to push along your spine, easing away the discomfort that had settled there. It was hard not to lean into that relief, a misstep that shattered any lasting hold of willpower when he stooped his neck to sweep you into a kiss.

"Why don't you stay instead?" He knew you wouldn't be coming back, not without dragging you back himself. "Stay with me instead. Right here. In this bed."

"Montague, stop—" He pressed down harder on your lips so those words withered into guttural frustration in your throat.

The duffle bag was flung far away, opening space on your bed for him to lay you out and begin to unravel the bandages around your wrist. Once he had access, his mouth was already full against the two puncture sites.

"Stay." He wasn't playing coy now. "I'll take care of you. It wasn't enough before. I can see that now. What can I do? It'd be too easy to break your legs. What if I chained you to this bed? What if I locked you up in this room? I wouldn't mind keeping you downstairs with me, but it would be too cold for you, I think."

"I want to leave." you said, mustering your composure through tight lips while he teased the infected purple holes with his flatter teeth. "Let me go."

He smiled derisively. "I don't think you know what you want."

"I—" You balked at him, reiterating with a stumble, "I—I just want to leave. Get off."

"How will you ever survive without me?" You didn't know if you'd be able to. "You'll be all alone, all alone in a world that's just ready to tear you open and spit you back out. I've told you before: Society doesn't reward virtue over vice—only those who play along. You won't last, not after you've known and tasted me."

You couldn't bring yourself to say anything, whereas he swelled like a man who had salvaged a victory, lying himself down to kiss you again—

And then, the doorbell rang with an immense melancholic echo that you could feel vibrate up your arms and legs. Nearly a year later, you were hearing it for the first time and grasping onto the lapels of his suit vest, keeping him still when you remembered T.J.'s promise.

"Ignore it." you said.

"We have a guest—" Something in his tone made your stomach clench. "It's not polite to leave them waiting, especially at this hour."

Montague had untangled himself from you and was gone before you could stop him. Another wave of pain put you on the floor when you moved. Drool piled from your mouth. An ache so unreal pounded in the wrist he had played with. The crawl to your duffle bag was far, arduous in that every inch felt like carrying stones on your back.

I'm going to die. I might as well already be dead. You didn't have any more time to wait, so you slung the strap over your shoulder and used the wall to guide you along the quiet hallway, bumping into every pedestal and display where Montague's most treasured things had stayed undisturbed.

You were one of them, something he could keep on the second floor with the rest of his stuff, but unlike brittle porcelain and fraying embroidery—he could break you as much as he wanted, again and again and again, and fit you back whole. He could do it forever while you wasted, longing for an end he would never give you.

But as you crept along the bleak wallpaper and all of his curios, you were so gentle with them, steadying any wobbling base or piece as you went. The central staircase was close, voices at the bottom of it faint and unintelligible, drifting alongside you as though part of the house—

The air exploded. Just once. A single gunshot brought back all the alertness to your body, neck and shoulders at full length, pain dulled to where you could shuffle faster and look off the bannister at the landing below.

Montague was staring back up at you from the floor, entirely still and soundless. His jaw was unhinged, askew, frozen in a position that should've been impossible. A black hole gaped between his eyes, but didn't bleed.

"If you're not ready, that's going to be bad news." Another man stood nearby sheathing a gun, unfamiliar and yet with sameness in the way his gaze felt hollow and reached through you. "I'm repaying my debts. I'd like to make good on this one."

You were slow descending the stairs, even slower while you rounded Montague's body and denied yourself the chance to stop. Something invisible wanted to pull you to him, plow your knees into hard marble and weep over his chest. However, your insides bending in disgust and twinges in your bones kept you onward.

This man, Roscoe, was just as sickly-seeming and gray as the other, every slot of space on his arms and neck filled with images of religious iconography and portraits of saints—Mary being the only one you recognized with just a glance. It was tempting to touch him, something he noticed and stepped out of your reach.

"Is there another way out of here?" He made a weak motion towards the front door just ajar, but his eyes were stuck on the wrist wounded and unusable to you now. "We need to go. Now."

You were racking your brain for an answer, turning half-circles in place before pointing to the archway with a clock. "There's a backdoor, but the yard is fenced in and there's nothing but forest for three miles. There's also—"

Roscoe waited expectantly, ushering you to continue when he went for the gun in its holster. "Start moving, we'll figure it out." He unloaded another round into Montague's head, a near indecipherable twitch in the fingers made the hair on your neck shoot straight out. "Silver only keeps him down. It won't kill him. Go!"

"Th—there's, there's the basement." You smacked your lips, trying to swallow around a bulge in your throat. "There's an old door. He said there are tunnels, but I don't know where they go. I don't know if he was telling the truth. I don't—"

He threw a hand into your back, thrusting you forward at least three feet. You almost didn't catch your footing. "Then that's where we're going."

"Not a friend of yours then, I assume, darling?" Montague's voice from the floor was as much of a relief as it was terrible. The silent gaps of air all around were disturbed by sharp snaps and cracking bones as his jaw moved back into place and he sat upright over his thighs. You were transfixed by the silver bullets being sucked into his skull, holes shrinking until they closed completely. "I'm not surprised you're still fraternizing with the wrong crowds, Roscoe. You and that entire Society have always been a fucking eyesore."

Roscoe readied his aim. "Parasite."

Montague laughed all the way to his feet, tugging at the edge of his vest to make it neat again. He opened his mouth just enough to let his tongue roll out, shards of silver bullets tinkling as they hit marble underfoot. "You can't take what's mine."

He looked to you, stepping closer every time Roscoe moved you back with his arm. "Come here. Come back to me, darling. This is where you belong. This is your home. You belong here with me, here with everything that you know."

"He doesn't mean that." Another gunshot snapped you to attention, blinking out of a stupor you hadn't realized you were in. The bullet landed in Montague's forehead, teetering his balance in such a way that his back curved towards the floor, arms hanging like useless instruments, yet he still somehow kept his soles planted. "Time to go. Get to the basement."

Roscoe didn't fail to reach you this time, running tight on your heels through the house to the basement floor. He stopped partway to the old door to help you scour the duffle bag for a key—one attached to the chatelaine Montague had given you the day you accepted to move in.

Your breaths were ragged, heart ablaze and beating against your ribs. In that moment, as you flipped through the assortment of keys with an unsteady, slippery grip, you wondered if Montague heard your blood racing in your veins, if he could follow the suffocating drumbeat your heart made in your ears.

Just above, fast approaching the locked basement door, came a thunderous roar so inhuman and reverberating that it scared the clip of keys out of your hands into a clattering heap on the floor. Time was up.

"Move!" Roscoe shoved you aside, illuminated by the hectic flare of your phone as he fit his fingers through a gap in the door and ripped the entire thing off its hinges. He pulled you by the scruff of your shirt and heaved you inside the tunnel. "Go! Go! Go!"

The first thing to hit you was a putrid smell intimately known but always through protective equipment and a respirator. And as you went deeper into the tunnel, led by a single route and the light off your phone, the dirt packed under your feet turned soft, sinking to the tops of your shoes.

And then, you saw bodies.

Numerous—countless corpses in varying stages of decay with twisted faces reflected your terror and pain right back at you. Most were intact with missing limbs or dark red chasms in their abdomens that had been scraped hollow and dry under the white light. A few had been fully decapitated, briefly reminding you of the dead blonde woman from that night, but most of what lay stacked against the tunnel walls were emaciated figures with skin pulled so taut to their bones you could still make out their faces.

You were doubled over your knees, sucking in fetid mouthfuls of air and retching them back out on the ground. It burned in your throat, in your nostrils, and behind your eyes, but stifled your sobs as Roscoe dragged you alongside him.

"What did he do? What did he do?" You were crying, wheezing out those words on every shallow breath you took all the way to an end just ahead. The more you thought about it, the more you smelled the rot, tasted the bitterness of your own vomit, the more came out. "I don't want to die! I don't want to die!"

Roscoe had to let you rest in the grass once you both surfaced. One of the exits turned out to be near the house, less than half a mile. But the tunnels kept going and so did the bodies. You suspected that there wouldn't be any reach of that underground labyrinth that didn't have some form of decay along it.

The thought brought the tears back, but now you could relish the sticky summer night humidity and touch dewy tendrils of grass under your hands.

"Can you drive?" Roscoe had a pair of keys hanging from his index finger, giving you a long moment to take them. He saw confusion in your watery stare. "I'll tell you where to go, just drive."

That's how it had been for hours at this point. You kept your hands locked around the steering wheel, one stronger than the other, gnawing the inside of your cheek while ruminating everything—tonight, the night Montague had bitten you, every other night before that, and your decision to have ever trusted him.

"How long ago did he bite you?" Roscoe had the seat reclined, arms over his eyes to shield them from oncoming headlights. "It doesn't look good."

You tested your grip on the steering wheel, but you couldn't do much without a sharp sting in your wrist. "I don't know—a couple weeks ago? I've tried everything short of going to the emergency room."

"That won't help," he said. "Modern medicine can fix a dog bite, antibiotics can kill an infection, a vaccine can protect you from a virus. Those aren't going to do any good."

Solemnly, you asked, "Am I going to die?"

Roscoe didn't sit up but had your wrist in his hands, turning it in little ways that didn't aggravate you. Besides the occasional glare from passing vehicles, there was no light in the car, and the holes in your skin were hardly distinguishable, though they had gotten darker. You weren't able to move it with any ease now.

"What you need to know right now is that he's never going to stop following you." He put your hand back on the steering wheel, careful as he enclosed your fingers around it. "It doesn't matter how long it takes, what you do, where you go—a parasite finds a host, and it latches on. And it doesn't let go."

You glanced between him and the road several times, tongue wetting the dry parts of your lips. "He's a vampire—you're a vampire. There's got to be something—"

Roscoe finally sat up in his seat, now cramped sideways with his shoulders flat to the window. The car veered a bit into the other lane. "You need to understand something. What you're saying would imply he ever had any humanity. Vampires are created." He paused for a beat, waiting for the realization to strike you. "Montague was never created."

"What—what the hell is he, then?" A horn abruptly blared by, prompting you to yank the car back onto the correct side. "He drinks blood. He has teeth. He—he hunts. He doesn't like silver. His eyes are the same as yours."

Roscoe lowered his gaze, but remained in that uncomfortable position. "There's a story I heard about him once. I don't remember the details except for one: ‘If the devil exists, they're one in the same.’"

You kept your eyes on the road, counting every car that flitted on past. They were probably going to work at this hour—green numbers on the dashboard showed it just after four—and they'd be able to have a place to return to at the end of the day. Now, you didn't belong anywhere, and twenty-four hours from now you still wouldn't.

The town where you had lived with Montague for a year was long behind you, backtracking would take hours, and you wouldn't know how to get back from the direction that Roscoe had told you to go. Dim streetlamps and cozy houses with spruced yards had morphed into an endless network of concrete, signs, and off-ramps to places you'd never heard of.

It was scary how everything could change in one night, and how it did. The only semblance of normalcy to you right now were the aches throughout your body, which had returned the moment you fully comprehended that you had escaped that house.

"Why…" Roscoe looked up at you, seeing your lips shake and eyes turn red. "Why do I want to go back to him?"

He fixed himself right in the seat, tousling a hand through his hair while looking out through the windshield. "You shouldn't do that. But you'll never be able to stop running."

You never saw Roscoe again once the car ride ended several thousands of miles later, mentioning something about how he repaid his debt to T.J. and had disappeared from a restaurant you both walked into. When that happened, you sat paralyzed at your little table for most of the day with a soul-crushing realization that you were truly alone with nobody in the world—just like Montague said you would be. And, for the sake of others, you'd never be able to have anyone else in your world.

It stayed that way for close to two years. The hardest part hadn't been the homelessness or constant vigilance, not the door revolving each person to come into your life since, but the fact that you still yearned for what you once had. Everything so awful about what you experienced sometimes looked like heaven when you thought about it, like soft, cloudy nostalgia from a time where the throes of agony were all you had ever known.

You were capable of thinking soberly as well, and with that came the understanding that a part of you would always want that time back—want him back. He had left you with a permanent scar and neurological damage that could never be corrected. It was anticipated you'd lose that wrist at some point in the future, but for now, you could still hold a cup and brush your teeth with enough conscious effort.

The pain never went away either, but you refused to let it impede your work in the field. And your two roommates were a couple of engineering geniuses who'd managed to make the flat more accommodating to your needs. They'd been patient with you during every step of your transition into a new life, calling you an enigma because you had nothing to your name except a dusty duffle bag and a "strange-looking dog bite" on your wrist when you first met them.

Sometimes, especially on the weekends after clinking together enough shot glasses, they tried to probe your brain for some clue as to who you were, who you had been historically. You had decided it was better that they—that no one—knew about it or what actually existed out there in the world.

And when you returned home from the lab late that Saturday night, you were surprised to find the lights off and the flat immersed in the kind of soundlessness that made your ears feel clogged with cotton.

You were slow in lowering your backpack to the floor, keeping the front door slightly ajar so a slither of light from the residential corridor slipped inside. "Jordan? Felix?"

No answer. You didn't hear anything from their bedrooms upstairs either.

"Jordan?" The nearest light switch didn't work, neither did the one after that, or any others you hunted down with the diffused beam from your phone screen. "Jordan? Felix? Are you guys home?"

It was possible they had gone out somewhere for the night and just hadn't mentioned anything to you, as unsound as that logic actually was, considering it simply wasn't their personality. But as you wandered through different rooms checking the switches, you knew you were rationalizing to keep yourself in check.

The light from the hallway still piled inside like a narrow pillar, raising all the hairs on your neck and arms, knowing that it wasn't a building-wide outage. They had never left you in a situation like this before. Something was wrong.

"Jordan! Felix! Whe—" Your foot nearly shot out from under you when you slid through something slick on the laminate. After a moment to fix yourself, bracing the edge of the countertop with a clammy palm, you steadied the white glow of your phone at the floor.

There, glistening back at you, was the vast richness of blood in a tall puddle that spread like long winding tendrils through grout in the flooring. It looked almost black under your light at a certain angle, estimating it had been there for several hours—untouched.

You held in a breath and grit your jaws together as the more you moved, the more you saw. And when the top of a head came into view, silky hair shining like fine thread before clumping together at the base where the blood had pooled the most, it was everything you could to keep yourself from hitting the floor.

Both of them were there, perfectly out of sight of the front door and completely unrecognizable. Their bodies had been left in one piece, though where their faces had once been were cavernous holes with pale, pink ribbons of flesh and fat left behind. The roundness of their skulls let blood fill inside it like a vessel. What little pieces of brain matter remained had floated to the surface.

You staggered back from them, phone loosening from your weak hand and returning them to the maw of darkness, while groping the wall behind you as far as your arm could reach. This wasn't a result of crude knife work or even bludgeoning; no, it was a slow kill, one meant to steep someone in torment so immense that you prayed to whatever was out there that they succumbed immediately.

"Help…" Your voice was trapped in your throat, barely registering as a whisper even to yourself as you sidled along the wall. "Someone—anyone, please help."

The patter of your heartbeat was torturous. Your every step back to the entrance was leaden with fear. You couldn't get your legs to move fast enough, and the light reaching in through the gap seemed to stretch on forever—further, further, and further still.

You thought back to that day you met Montague and shook his hand, noting how unnaturally cold it had been despite it being a nice day in spring. You remembered the dead blonde woman with mascara tears, and the bodies he used to decorate the tunnels, and the young man who was able to walk away that night believing it was all some shallow quarrel—never knowing he had sealed your fate.

You regretted all of it.

The door was in your reach now, and you could get out, call for help, and go back to running. This time, you wouldn't be tricked into false satiety or let anyone too close. You would see mountains and forests and oceans a thousand times over before you stopped again.

Two years hadn't been enough time for you to accumulate many things, you thought. It wouldn't be hard to leave most of it behind, just like you had before. You would unpack that old duffle bag from the back of your closet, fill it to the brink, and that would be enough.

You had your hand over smooth metal, but that cold reached greater depths in you as the door was pushed shut from behind, light shrinking away through the slot until you were swallowed whole in the dark.

"Hello, darling. I've missed you." He sounded the same against your ear. For a split second, you felt relieved. "Don't worry about cleaning up. We're not staying long."

He clamped damp fingers over your mouth before you could scream.

[theelvishfiddler]

AN ARTIST'S GUIDE TO HANDS

No, sorry it's actually not an artist's guide to drawing hands. Those are just warmup studies (which I'll talk about in this post.)

This is a guide to Your Hands and how to take care of them when making art.

No one ever sits down and teaches artists how to take care of their hands. They didn’t even teach me this while I was in art college. This is just what I've learned myself through years of pain and scouring the internet for advice.

This is going to be a long one and geared towards illustrative traditional/digital/pen/pencil artists specifically, but artists of other mediums and crafts should take care of their hands too! Well, we all should take care of our bodies in general, but this is about hands.

(advice is below the read more)

First off I'm not a professional or anyone with actual medical advice. I'm just some guy with chronic hand pain who makes art. This advice is free for you to use or discard.

WARMUPS!

Ever sit down in the morning to draw and wonder why your art is so stiff and looks so much worse than what you were drawing last night? It's because you didn't warm up!

You know how for physical sports they all warmup and do stretches before getting into the actual sport. To prevent injuries and all that? Yeah, it's good to do that for art too.

One way to warmup is to just draw lines. Try to keep them as straight as you can. Going up and down and diagonal. Draw squares. Big squares. Small squares. Circles! You are warming up, keep it loose and relaxed! Basically just scribble away.

(examples. I usually keep going until there is no paper white left. This can double as practice for drawing straight lines without a ruler, which is a great skill to have when freehand city drawing.)

Before hopping right into drawing people you can try doing some quick gesture drawings. Line of Action has timed sessions with a large variety of clothed or nude models. I usually do the 30 min class as it has a nice balance of short and long timed poses. The point isn't to draw nice art, but to warm up. Try to get the basic form down, not the details. I find that doing a full class session can really help my drawings feel more loose and grounded in reality for the rest of the day.

Some examples I found in my folders. I suggest looking into what a line of action (not the site) is and giving it a try with some of the studies!

COOLDOWNS!

For sports it's to return your body back to your everyday baseline after a workout.

Example; you are working on a big project! A masterpiece! It's detailed and cool! You have been focusing on this for hours and drawing so intensely. But you need to stop working for the day.

A cooldown is for winding down out of the go go go mindset. Put away the big project and do a couple small doodles and sketches. You are relaxing your hand and letting it stretch out. Keep the sketches loose. Let the art happen slowly. Don't polish anything, that can happen another day. Just ease yourself out of drawing.

...

Cool! Now we get into the meat of this thing.

HAND PAIN

How to avoid it and how to manage it if you already have it.

I love you artists and creatives, I am begging you to please take care of your most important creative tools. I really don't want this to sound like scare tactics like "oooh you better do this or blah blah!" Nope. I just had to learn all this the hard way and I'm extremely passionate about it.

Take this advice or don’t ╮(ﾟ～ﾟ;)╭ I can't tell you what to do, I'm not your dad

Adjustments and Small Solutions

If you are feeling physical discomfort while drawing there are many different solutions to try! Here are some suggestions that may or may not work for you.

Hold your pencil more loosely. Stop gripping that thang so tightly!!! Relax that hand! They make these… squishy pen grip things... I think they are called Adaptive Pencil Grips or Adaptive Writing/Drawing Aids? They stop your hand from being all cramped up by making your drawing tool wider. It's going to take a bit of time to adjust to drawing with it, but it's worth it for those who hold pencils too tightly.

Don't press as heavily. For traditional art, if you find yourself pressing really hard to get darker lines try moving to a softer pencil. Most standard pencils are HB, the B pencils have softer graphite. Experiment until you find the right one for you. For Digital, adjust your pressure settings so you don't have to press as hard to get thicker lines. You should not be pressing so hard all the time, it wears out both your hand and your tablet! It takes a bit of time to adapt to pencil or pressure changes. Try doing some unimportant sketches, they don't have to be good. You are just training your hand and mind to adjust using less pressure.

Draw with your arm and not your wrist! It's small repetitive motions that cause the most strain. You probably hear this one a lot, what does it even mean? It means moving your arm with the motions of your line, and trying not to make too many tiny movements with your just your fingers or wrist. This one is hard! It takes time and conscious thought to change the habit. Tips? Work bigger. Zoom in more. Use bigger sheets of paper.

(Motions exaggerated for a clearer example)

Change the angle of your drawing surface. They make angled tablet holders, angled desks, angled desktop raisers. Experiment, find and angle that is comfortable and the one that causes the least pain. (It's also good to make sure you don't have to hold your head at an uncomfortable angle when drawing. Staring straight down or hunching over a paper flat on the table can cause pain!)

Compression Glove? Wrist brace/tensioners? Some folks use them and I've been thinking of getting one for years now. I can't give advice on this one, because I don't have experience with it. Look into it if you want!

Managing Pain

First things first.

IF YOUR HANDS START TO HURT WHILE YOU ARE DRAWING. STOP! Put the pencil/pen/paintbrush/whatever down. The art will still be there for you to continue tomorrow.

I know from experience that it's extremely hard to pull away when you are hyper focused on an art piece. It's hard to remember all sorts of basic needs like food or bathroom when hyper focused. But you Need to stop when you feel that pain. (Preferably even before the pain…)

Take Breaks! Let your hands rest when you can. Just like a machine, if you don't schedule maintenance, the machine will schedule maintenance for you. Often that means having to wait a few days for it to return to functional. Best to take a day off from heavy usage or take an occasional 30 min break throughout the day to let your hands rest.

Stretching is important! Full body stretches are good; your arms, shoulders, neck, and spine are all connected, but I'm specifically talking about HAND and wrist stretching. There are a lot of stretches and massages for carpal tunnel and arthritis out there. I find they work for hand pain in general. Move into and out of each stretch slowly. Do not push a stretch if it hurts!! Be gentle!!

I am not a qualified professional and I will not be giving out specific stretches (that is beyond my personal comfort level). There are other artists out there who have made helpful stretching info-graphics which are cool, but I will not be because i don't want to be responsible for someone accidentally hurting themself. Ask your doctor for stretches & advice or look some up on your own.

Don't feel bad about forgetting to stretch frequently! Of course it is good to do it regularly and frequently, but I would be a hypocrite if I said that I remember to stretch daily. Setting timers for stop and stretch sessions can work for some people, but also doing stretches whenever you remember is fine! If you are sitting on the toilet you can idly do some hand stretches. On the bus? Laying in bed? At the beach? Do a couple stretches! Even just once a week is better than… nonce a week.

Using Cold or Heat to treat pain. If you really overdid it, put your hands in some cold water or wrap a cloth around an ice pack and apply it to your hand. Cold works best for me, but warmth works for others. This is just pain reduction and reducing inflammation from overuse! This is not a permanent solution.

If your hand hurts a lot! Frequently! Talk to your doctor? Idk mine has never given real advice. Just gently poked my hand and told me there isn't much to be done about it :/ but there are really good doctors out there who will care and give helpful advice!

Again. IF IT HURTS TO CONTINUE DRAWING. STOP DRAWING! This is not a "no pain no gain" type situation. Drawing so much that you hurt yourself isn't noble, it's just… limiting yourself. You only get one set of hands. These things are very handy to have.

Other Advice

Things I couldn't figure out how to fit into the earlier sections.

Your other hand can't handle the strain! Lets say you hurt your drawing hand... the other hand is right there free to use for art. Right? Wrong. Your other hand can't keep up with the demand, it hasn't been trained to the same extent as your dominant hand, it does not have the built up muscle. If you want to use that hand for drawing you are going to have to use it s l o w l y and train it bit by bit over a long period of time. When I tore a tendon in my right hand I decided to just keep drawing with my left and I got Really Good at it. It only took like two months before my left hand hurt too much to move. Then I had 0 functioning hands to pull up my pants. Not fun!!

People who draw on phones. That is extremely impressive! I'm amazed by the things people can create on such a small space. But phone artists are the ones I see most frequently mentioning hand pain. please please please make sure you are taking breaks. Would a stylus work instead of using a finger?

Outside of Drawing. Sometimes it's things outside of drawing that are causing the pain. For me there are multiple sources, but I also have tiny baby hands. Holding a phone too long causes pain. The handheld mode for my Switch causes A Lot of pain. The way my hand rests while typing on my laptop hurts! Playing tense videogames for too long hurts! Find the source of your pain and make some changes. The same things will apply to most; take regular breaks, do some stretches, and find soft things to prop up or rest your arms on.

Change your Artstyle. This one is more of a last resort. You might have to change your art style if you are getting sharp pains every time you draw. I loved drawing tight clean lines and many small fancy details, but drawing like that left me in so much pain at the end of the day. In 2023 I had to take the better part of year off from illustrations just to learn how to sketch and draw more loosely. I had to learn how to be gentle. To stop gripping my pencil so tightly. Learn! Adapt! You might discover a new style that you love even more!

A lot of this stuff gets more complicated in a work setting where you have to draw fast and long in order to get paid. Things like reducing your workload can help, but that can be... financially rough. But outside of that, it’s ok to be a slow artist. Going full steam and hurting yourself is not worth it.

Aaaaaanyway, thats all folks. Today's rant brought to you by me! The guy with chronic hand pain who always forgets to stretch! The guy who got frustrated with a sketch yesterday and decided to push to keep drawing for just one more hour! The guy who woke up this morning and had to spend 2 hours massaging and stretching their hands. The guy who probably shouldn't have typed all of this out because ooww ow ouch

If your hands do hurt, it's going to be ok! You don't need to be a speed demon who draws all the time. It's ok to take your time and take frequent breaks. You are going to do great things! Just be gentle with yourself...

[mithrilhearts]

My takeaway from the past 24+ hours...

There are so many of us that rely on ao3, whether you're a reader or writer. It brings us joy, it gives us an escape from the real world, and it lets us come together as a community to share stories and scenarios about our favorite fandoms and characters. The amount of posts I have seen on multiple platforms lamenting over the DDoS attacks is overwhelming - but with most of them comes a delightful cheer to the volunteers working to resolve this issue.

I've seen so many statements of praise for those volunteers, which is exactly what they deserve, and more. Can you imagine working for over 24 hours straight, on a volunteer basis, against something like this? They're the real MVPs, and I think our appreciation for them gets lost until moments like this rise.

With that said, here is my first real takeaway...

Don't bitch when ao3 does a donation drive. They work hard to keep the archive up and running, and with that costs money. Every server, every new addition or feature you want to see added to help make the site better, it costs money. The legal team that is defending fanfic authors??? MONEY. SO! DON'T! COMPLAIN!

I'm not saying you have to go out and donate your paycheck to ao3 - but I will say that, especially with this situation, if you can donate even a little bit to show your support, it means more than you probably realize, and even if you can't donate (which is totally okay), be kind to those who work on the archive. Send them kind words of encouragement, rather than flaming the archive because it's under attack - because yeah, I've seen people bitching AT ao3 for not working fast enough, or for it still being down. STOP IT.

My second takeaway...

Don't believe everything you see on the internet. Ao3 themselves have advised that the group claiming to take credit for this attack is to be treated with skepticism. And not only that, let's NOT automatically make assumptions about who is responsible just because of an organization's name. It's just a NAME, it doesn't identify a person's origin, background, etc. But I'm not here to dive into that much further. Point: I better not see any Sudanese hatred on my dash, or I will bite you.

My third takeaway...

Treat your fanfic writers with respect. We all now see first hand how much we depend on these stories. As I said above, for some it's an escape, a creative release, and a way to communicate with other people through similar interests. It's a beautiful creation, neither above nor below any other kind of literature.

Consider commenting, reblogging, kudos, anything you can to let the authors know you enjoyed and appreciate their works. Everyone is free to communicate in the way that suits them best, but every little bit is appreciated - as a fanfic writer myself, I can tell you that even a little heart emoji has made my day. It's like receiving a second kudos, and tells me that someone appreciated my efforts enough to give me a double thumbs up.

Any form of communication with the authors is appreciated. It lets them know that people are genuinely interested. We live in a world where INSTANT GRATIFICATION is taking over, but creations such as this take time. Talk with the authors, ask them about their wips, tell them they're doing a great job. Do NOT pester about "when are you updating next?" or the dreaded AI option - again, I will BITE PEOPLE if I see you doing this. Just...have some respect, show your appreciation, it's more than JUST FANFIC.

At the end of the day I guess this post is about being kind. Not pointing fingers or slandering people due to a name. It's about appreciating the things we do have, and not taking them for granted. Whether it's the brave cyber warriors currently fighting these DDoS attacks on the frontline, or the authors writing for not only their enjoyment, but for others too. Let's all respect one another, and show our support when and where we can.

HUGE THANK YOU TO THE VOLUNTEERS AT AO3, YOU ARE THE REAL MVPS!!!

[arcanegifs]

On Gifmaking:

So season 2's coming soon, and I wanna reflect on making gifs ever since I came back to Tumblr. I can't believe it's been 2 years of making gifs for this show!!!!! Look at how large my folder is lmao

And those are JUST gifs lol

Anyways, over time, my style has changed, especially how I color edit Arcane gifs. I kind of strayed away from a stylized filter color into just something that looks a lot more "natural" and works with the original scene.

Initially, I thought I'd save time, but I ended up not using my old arcane preset PSDs and resulted to coloring almost every scene manually. So in the end, it takes even longer to make them HAHAHA. It takes around an hour and a half for me to make a 10 gif set, basically. It also helps that I have a photography background, so coloring/editing is a lot simpler for me.

Here's a lil before and after of a dark scene (hiiiii viiiiiii <3)

Arcane is a REALLY dark show, but it goes for most of TV shows. Many of them are darker and harder to bring up the lights to make stuff look nice as gifs. Some people don't like to color their gifs, and that's okay. I personally just like color edited gifs more.

I've started learning how to upscale scenes myself, so that I have a better resolution and leeway to make things look "HD" more.

If you're wondering why my stuff look so "crisp", it's a combination of the scene's lighting, my sharpening settings on Photoshop and knowing how to upscale everything into 4k resolution. Of course, doing this needs an extremely beefy pc, which I am very lucky to own one.

Here's another before and after of a nicely lit scene. These are much, MUCH easier to do than all the darkly lit scenes because of shadows and lighting (caitlyn kiramman truly the rizzler <3)

I've been very lucky to be able to essentially take a nice, long break for like a month doing nothing after being so damn busy for the last year and a half, so it's nice that I was able to make a ton of gifs and be chronically online for a short while LMAO.

It's been so fun! But it's time to go back to reality lmao. I closed reqs for a bit because I was just so swamped with them the last few days, and I wanted to gif scenes that I like this time. I've done like 2 weeks worth of gifs. And you will see Vi a lot bc she's on my mind a lot heehee 🥰what can I say, she's such a babe <3

Here's a lil sneak peek, just look at herrrrrrr 🥰🥰🥰 and yeah, 4k upscaled resolution really helps making these tight crops, it's why i never went back to 1080p lol. It's how I’m able to make zoomed in gifs look decent (like the kirammountains gifset lol)

Thank you so much for all the support, likes, reblogs, and the nice tags you guys give. Yes, I can see and read all of them (both the nice and nasty ones lmao). If you have nothing good to say about the characters or my editing style, or anything related to the edit, please I beg you, just write a separate text post about it <3 If you have nothing nice to say, don't say it in my edits.

Lastly, thank you to the people who share my stuff outside the site and credit the blog and link them back here. I see you and appreciate you <3 You guys don't know how much I appreciate shoutouts and link backs, because people stealing my gifs is something that I've dealt with after making them for like a decade.

Tumblr is sadly not what it used to be in the 2013-2015 era. There’s definitely less activity as time goes by, so I appreciate all the people who credit and link back to this sideblog. Unfortunately, there’s more people who just repost them and it gets wayyy much more traction in other soc med sites. Yeah, ofc I get a lil jealous, but eh what can you do 😞 can’t really stop em.

I also don’t like putting watermarks because it personally looks tacky to me, but I understand why other people do it.

Anyways, if you reached at the end of this lil rambling of mine, thank you! I sadly might be busy during November because that's usually busy season, but I'll try to make time for making gifs of Season 2! Thank you and enjoy your stay on this lil sideblog :)

[janisbuggybones]

Rent-a-yandere!....please, we're begging you take them off our hands.

Janis Foster (my oc) × gn!reader

Cw: yandere, rent a partner situation, trans girl yandere, poly relationship kinda, pretty short idk what else I could say, pretty boring tbh (only realizing this as I got to the elevator part :( )

Og idea is from @moyazaika on this post that I kinda spit balled off of and then got the motivation to write again.

You can't believe you found yourself coming to this. One too many late night browsing sessions led you to get overwhelmed with adverts about this new fad in the dating scene. Rent-a-yandere, the hottest site online where you could find a devoted lover for cheap.99 per hour. In all honesty, it did seem appealing when compared to the heartbreak and trauma you've expierienced prior, but you dare stoop so low?

"Hello darling, are you (y/n) (l/n)?" A tall girl said from behind you. She had beautiful pearly paper white skin and matching hair put in one long braid. She had piercing red eyes and dare you mention her height? She was at least nearly twice your height, but her body wasn't well built. She couldn't have been living very healthily If she was that skinny. She had a large chest, despite her skinny body, well in her description it had said she had some cosmetic surgery done before. It didn't look fake or anything and it's not like she showed it off. She wore a modest black turtle neck with small embroidered hearts on the cuffs and chest of the sweater. The sweater was paired with some baggy black jeans and simple black work boots.

Fuck yes

"Oh, yeah that's me...you're Janis Foster, right?" You found yourself asking after getting over the height difference. Shit, were you being rude? She's really pretty, come on, don't fuck it up.

"Yep, the one and only. Honestly I'd be surprised if anyone got me confused for someone else." She smiled softly, her soft pink lips looked tantalizing. "Well, let's be on our way then. I've arranged a breakfast date for us before a big day of fun" She said as she grabbed your hand with her own cold and large hand. Her nails lacked any polish and were neatly manicured.

You remembered you picked the option for her to come up with the itinerary. You hoped it wouldn't be too exhausting, the public can be a bit overwhelming. "A-ah okay!" You find yourself smiling slightly as you went along with her.

She took you to an animal themed Cafe nearby, themed after your favorite pet animal. "I thought you'd like this, darling" She giggled as she checked you both in, having made a reservation. You recall mentioning your favorite animal in the description of yourself they required you to give them.

"Nice and quiet, and they limit it to 10 customers in here at any given time, so I won't have to worry" She giggled innocently but you read between the lines. It made you blush at the thought of such an attractive woman getting jealous of you.

You two were taken to your seat, a seat in the back where one of the animals sat on the table. You promptly gave your order and she gave hers before you were left alone with her.

"Honestly I'm not much of an animal person..I feel like it's a good bit of upkeep that i couldn't keep up with. But I do have a little lavender bunny at home. His name is Geo" She said, starting a conversation as she looked around.

"Oh? Is he purple? I didn't know bunnies could be purple" you said, interested as you looked at the calm animal on the table before it left, instead taking the window sill beside your table as its resting place.

"Oh they do, it's a bit rarer than your average bunny so he cost a good bit, but he's Oh so adorable" She smiled, her bluish eyes landing on you. "I'd say nearly as much as you, cutie" She teased, which left you blushing slightly as you avoided her eye contact for a second.

"O-oh yeah?" You smiled slightly, you never were able to take compliments well.

"Mhm, oh look, food's here" She smiled as the waitress brought your orders. Janis had ordered a simple cup of juice, a bagel, and small bowl of a variety of fruits.

"Thank you for coming here today" the waitress said with a smile as she walked to serve another table.

Janis stared at her for a second with an unreadable expression before turning to you. "In my opinion, breakfast isn't that good. Lunch and dinner foods are far superior" She said with a sip of her juice.

That statement had ignited a conversation that then strayed to your favorite foods and then on to other topics as you ate and enjoyed her company. She wasn't too overwhelming and was sweet up until you two had been finished for a good bit and were asked to leave because her reservation had ended.

She pouted but complied, leaving with you to her next planned activity.

"You had mentioned you liked anime and movies, so I thought we could see that new studio ghibli movie together?" She said with a contagious smile. "You know the guy who writes them and all, Hayao Miyazaki? He keeps announcing his retirement but then goes back to the studio with a new script each time, it's pretty funny when in the interviews with employees they complain about that." She giggled.

"Oh? I can imagine the frustration they must feel" you smiled slightly as you two entered the theater. You then realized, shit, this place is gonna be crowded. Fuck, you hoped it wouldn't be too overwhelming. She then promptly paid for your tickets and some snacks to accompany your movie viewing.

You two passed the many movie posters on the halls as you walked to the movie screening. Dread hit you as you opened the door and you two went in, only to crumble away when the theater had been empty. Did she really book this entire theater room for you?

"Yeah I'm not too good in a crowd either, I'm a walking distraction" She smiled slightly as she led you two to a good pair of seats in the middle of the theater.

"U-uhm I don't know what to say-t-thank you, this is crazy. How did you get your company to pay for something like this?" You found yourself asking. "W-wait sorry I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry..." you apologize a second later after seeing how that could be offensive.

"Oh? They'd never pay for something this expensive. While their other services are much more profitable, my section doesn't get nearly as many sponsored activities like this. I paid out of pocket so you wouldn't feel wierd in the crowd, darling" She smiled. God that smile, how she acted, you swore you'd fall for her before she fell for you.

Her explanation left you blushing and wordless as adverts started rolling on the big projector screen. You unintentionally just ended up staying quiet and watching the movie with her. At around the halfway point of the movie, when you both finished your snacks, she had began holding your hand. It shocked you at first, before you relaxed, discretely returning the gesture.

The rest of the movie went along swimmingly. The plot was heart wrenching and hadn't made you cry, but did arise sadness in you.

As you two walked out the theater and you winced at the bright light, she prosed a question.

"So darling, my place or yours?" She asked "for our next little activity I have planned, a baking sesh" She added with a smile. "I had cute mochi and cookies in mind" She smiled "though mochi isn't baking, it's versatility as something you can shape into a cute thing is almost unmatched" She said

"O-oh-um" you said, taken aback by the idea. You had liked cooking to an extent and mentioned that, but wow. She really planned this out and it left you blushing again....wait...wasn't it in the terms and conditions that neither of you could go to the others house?.....maybe it was for their other service, rent-a-darling? You couldn’t recall and your place was a mess. "My place doesn't look the best...is yours okay?" You asked shyly

Janis giggled "of course! Anything you want is okay with me darling" She smiled as she held your hand and went with you in the direction of her apartment.

Surprisingly based on her ability to buy out a whole theater for you, her apartment was relatively average, though it ran a bit on the pricier side because of the economy lately. The inside looked clean and nice, and the elevator ride was relaxed as she started a conversation about her apartment complex.

"I dont mean to show off where i live, but i hope you like it. When I started living here, it was actually way cheaper than it is now, I'm glad they never raised the price for my rent though. I'm kind of friends with the owner. Not in a wierd way, but we hang out like once a month. They're in my friend group I've had since middle school" She said as she watched the numbers on the small screen above the door go up.

"Oh, that's interesting. I wish I had something like that with my landlord. I've recently been trying to save up for something I want, and it's not going too good in all honesty..... Damn gacha games, am I right?" You smiled, feeling comfortable, but then suddenly worrying you overshared.

"Oh don't get me started! I started playing this gacha game that recently came out and ahhh! The skins look so good, but two are locked behind a pay wall each update" She huffed slightly. "And all the characters have such diverse designs and tons of different ethnicities, how could I not pull for them all and be absoloutely broke in unilogs?" She laughed softly before the elevator stopped, the 6th floor. "Alright now to 603" She said as she held your hand and walked to her apartment.

Nothing was out of the ordinary about her apartment, it was pretty plain actually. Apart from the squishimallows instead of pillows on the couch of her living room. The kitchen was lightly messy, a bowl and cup in her sink with a few pieces of silverware and a stray rag just on the counter.

"It's not much, but it's comfortable for me" She said "well, settle in, I have to go check on geo real quick, I'm sorry darling" She said, excusing herself before leaving to the other room.

"It's fine" you find yourself saying quietly, overwhelmed by the events of today. This was all crazy....how were you now in a crazy hot girl's apartment?! The one chronically bitchless person of the high-school friend group, in this stunning woman's house? It was unbelievable...until you considered this was a paid date. Then reality sunk in. Shit...should you ask her out for real? Would that be okay? Would she be okay with that? She wasn't much of a yandere...it'd be okay, right?

"He was such a hungry little boy, he ate down all his celery in a minute" She giggled happily as she came back and saw you still had your bag with your outing necessities on.

"Oh want me to take that for you?" She offered and you obliged.

"Oh thank you...I feel like I haven't properly thanked you enough today" you said as you looked around.

"Oh don't worry, the pleasure is mine, darling" She smiled "now, shall we get cooking?" She smiled as she put on a pink frilly apron. Shit...you didn't know how to feel.

"Alright" you offered in response with a fake smile as you took the apron She handed you. It was your favorite color and had a lap pocket and chest pocket shaped in hearts of a slightly brighter color.

You two then spent the next couple hours baking cookies and making mochi, before settling down on her couch and watching the news, because nothing else was on, as you enjoyed the fruits of your labor.

"It's not too sweet is it darling? I heard cookies need some salty aspect to balance out all the flavors" She smiled softly as a missing persons report came on over the tv.

Geo Archviste, a 5'4" man with black and white naturally colored hair and blue freckles. Missing since this day 3 years ago, he would have been 21 by now.

That was terrible, his family must be haunted by their missing son...wait-

"Darling?" She asked, as you kinda ignored her prompt for conversation. "Everything okay?" She asked.

"Uhm yeah- that missing persons case...just seems sad." You found yourself saying as you swallowed the crumbly cookie.

"Oh...yeah...that boy was actually my ex...we broke up a year before he went missing but we were still on good terms" She said sadly. "I miss him...I named my little bunny after him" Janis said as she looked down.

"Oh I'm so sorry, I didn't know......I hope he gets found" was all you could find yourself saying, but something didn't seem right. Not that what she said had any contradictions, but you just had this uneasy feeling. "Um restroom?" You asked

"By the door with heart decals on the left down the hall, darling" She smiled sadly and you excused yourself.

You walked down the hall and found the room, but the heart decorated room piqued your interest. She wouldn't mind...right? You opened the door and were met with darkness until you cut on the light and saw a figure sitting on Janis' bed, restrained on his feet and hands heavily.

All you could really see was their perfectly trimmed black and white locks that hid their sleeping face...matching the picture of the man on the missing persons report.

Chills ran down your spine as you went to grab your phone but it wasn't in your pocket. Shit you must have left it behind....how could you sneak out with the missing boy?

You struggled with yourself over this until you heard Janis coming and ducked into a open closet after turning off the light, shutting it behind you.

"Geo darling, I'm back" She smiled as she cut the light on and walked up to him. He looked at her tiredly and sniffled quietly.

"Remember my side gig to try and find you a buddy we can both love?" She asked "I think I found the one, they're so cute! And we baked some things, you could probably smell it" She giggled "I'll give you some when they leave...if they get to. I haven't decided if I wanna reel them in or just go in all at once and kidnap them like I did you" She said happily

"I'd say just kidnap them, two minds are better than one" he sighed, implying you could help him escape her.

"Come on now, I love you...you love me, i know it" She huffed

"Yeah true..which is why I want you to get help instead of doing this to me...." he sighed

"Stop it, i don't need help" She mumbled

"Yes you do. I love you and want to be with you, but you did this and refuse to get therapy. I only broke up with you because you killed my friend, remember. Get your head out of the past and live with me now. I'll stay and all like I've said repeatedly- just come-" he said before she interrupted him.

"Shut up! I don't need help! I'm perfectly fine and you need to shut up. You're only still tied up because you tried to escape the other month!" She shouted, less sad and more angrily.

"That was last year! I've been good for you so I can do normal couple things with you and we could have found our third lover together!" He shouted back, making her tear up.

"Shut up! I'm going back to (y/n)....I promise you'll love them as much as I do" She said shakily before you backed up a bit too far and bumped against the wall.

She looked dead at the closet in shock before walking up to it and opening it.

"Darling?"

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home, Chapter 2 Part 1

First, Previous

Story Summary: Tim Drake and Danny Fenton meet online as precocious preteens with far too much internet freedom due to parents who are far too interested in their work to monitor what their kids are getting up to. They bond and don't bother keeping secrets from each other about their vigilante lives.

This chapter wasn't supposed to exist. I was supposed to end the first chapter with the last segment I shared then jump ahead to the point where Tim helps Danny escape. But I couldn't get the idea of Tim and the Young Justice team ending up in Amity. I mentioned the idea to @britcision who asked if I really couldn't find a way to fit it in. And that was followed up by a night of insomnia due to bad life decisions regarding caffeine. And thus I figured out how to make it work.

This is going to be a longer segment! I've been wanting to share something a bit longer for a week or two and then I hit the 250 follower mark, so now I have an excuse to do so! (I totally would've shared regardless of a notable follower milestone.)

Word Count: 4.8k

----------

Tim was in the pilot seat of the plane, but had it set with autopilot and was facing the back where Conner and Bart were arguing over what to have for dinner. He and Cassie exchanged grins and he pulled out his phone to text her and ask if she was up for sushi just to throw a third option out there and make the argument worse when the computers all started beeping as the plane wobbled.

Dropping his phone, he turned back to the controls. The computers had failed and the plane was losing altitude fast. Tim pulled up on the steering, trying to keep the plane from nosediving into the ground.

“What’s going on?” shouted Conner.

“I don’t know!” Tim grit his teeth. “Plane failure, we’re going down!” he warned. Examining the landscape before them—mostly open plains thankfully—he held the steering steady as he aimed for land empty of buildings and roads.

“I’ll break the door,” called Conner.

“Superboy, lock the steering in this position!” ordered Tim.

“Done!”

Tim abandoned his seat and ran to the door, reaching it just as Conner tore it open. Without hesitation, Tim jumped out, Conner’s arms around him a moment later holding him in the air.

Next to them, Cassie had hold of Bart who was grinning as he showed off the bags he’d rescued before their escape.

From their place in the air, they watched as the plane crashed in a fiery disaster.

“Do we check it out or do we run in the opposite direction?” asked Cassie.

Tim wanted to run without leaving any trace of who’d been flying the plane. But… “We have to make sure the fire doesn’t spread. And make sure there’s nothing incriminating in the crash. But I want you or Wonder Girl on recon and we’re out of there as soon as first responders get close.”

“You’ve got it,” said Conner in his ear.

And a few moments later, they were on the ground facing the wreckage that was their plane.

“You know,” said Bart, “We probably didn’t have to steal the plane when we left. Had anyone tried to use it to escape, they wouldn’t have gotten very far.” He tossed one of the bags their way and Conner caught it. “But look at what I saved!”

Tim leaned over to see as Conner opened the bag. Right on top was the cellphone he’d dropped when the plane started to fail. He laughed and grabbed it. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t turn on for some reason. Deciding to deal with it later, he looked at what else was in the bag: his and Conner’s civvies. “You’re the best, Impulse!”

Bart held out a second bag to him. “And this is as much of the evidence I could get to. The last bag has mine and Wonder Girl’s belongings.”

Tim pulled him into a hug. “I don’t know what we’d do without you.” Letting him go, he turned to the burning plane. “Now, let’s take care of this.”

Over the next hour, they managed to contain the wreckage and put out any fires. No local authorities ever came out to investigate the site.

“Where the hell even are we if there’s no one around?” asked Conner. “Even back at Ma and Pa’s someone would’ve been here in, like, ten minutes.”

Tim just shrugged. “I’ve no idea. Somewhere in Illinois. But I don’t like this. Let’s see if we can find the nearest town. Make sure everything’s okay. Wasn’t there a highway just south of here? Impulse, mind checking it out and seeing if you can see any signs pointing us to a local town or city?”

“You’ve got it, Rob!” said Bart with a salute before disappearing.

Tim had barely opened the last bag to see what else Bart had saved before he was back.

“You’re right about Illinois! Saw a sign. A town called Elmerton is east of us and a town called Amity Park west.”

Tim froze. “Amity?” he asked. His mind already spinning away. Danny had mentioned tech sometimes went wonky near Amity due to the interference of ectoplasm. Could that be what had happened to the plane? And Danny had mentioned their town was so small they didn’t have much of a police force. A large explosion would probably be assumed to be a ghost and be left to Phantom or the Fentons…

“Yeah. Do you know it?”

Tim laughed. “Yep! I’m friends with the local hero. He knows both of my identities. Let’s go pay him a visit. Civvies will be best. I’ve told him more about you as my friends than my teammates.”

The others exchanged hesitant glances. Cassie was the one to speak. “You talk about us to him? Why haven’t you mentioned him?”

Tim shrugged. “He and I don’t really keep secrets from each other. And I’m sure I’ve mentioned him. Remember when we were trying to settle on a movie last week? I suggested the reboot Star Trek movies because Danny had been going on about them for ages and I wanted to see what had him so worked up.”

“Okay, what the fuck, Rob,” said Conner. “You need to be more obvious with these things. We thought you meant someone from your school or something. Not a fellow hero!”

Bart nodded his agreement. “Also, won’t he be mad you’re just telling us his identity?”

“Danny’s an idiot,” Tim stated. “He’s worse at keeping a secret identity than Kon.”

“Hey!” protested Conner.

“Rob’s got a point,” said Cassie as she elbowed Conner with a grin. “But, Robin, if we’re going as civilians, how will we explain the lack of transportation?”

“Easy. According to Danny, tech acts weird around Amity. Probably why the plane went down and our phones don’t work. So we’ll just say our car broke down and ask if Danny can fix it. He’s good with machinery.”

“Why haven’t you brought him into the League if the two of you are such good friends?” asked Conner, arms crossed.

Tim just shrugged. “He doesn’t want to join. The local threats he takes care of are constant enough that he can’t leave for more than a day or two. Besides, his parents don’t know and he can’t explain absences that are longer than a single night where he pretends to be at one of his friends’ places.”

“His parents don’t know?” Cassie shook her head. “I couldn’t imagine doing this without Mom’s support.”

Tim nodded. “Yeah. I’m honestly kinda worried about his living situation. So the chance to go check on him in person is something I can’t bring myself to give up. You guys don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but Danny and I’ve known each other for four years and things have been rough for him this past year since he’s gotten his powers. I need to make sure he’s okay.”

“Wait, four years?” asked Conner.

“He predates Robin?” Bart’s mouth was all but hanging open.

“I did exist before the suit, you know.” Tim stood a little taller. Usually he liked being Robin more than Tim, but he did have a life outside of the suit.

Cassie rolled her eyes. “That’s not what he meant and you know it. It’s just… You don’t talk about your pre-Robin life very often.” She grinned and Tim suddenly felt uneasy. “We are so asking him all sorts of questions about what you were like.”

“I mean… I wasn’t all that different to the current me.”

“Oh, we’ll be the judge of that,” she promised with a wicked gleam in her eye. This was going to be a disaster, wasn’t it?

“So what’s got you so worried about Danny?” asked Bart.

Tim sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “So, the deal with Amity Park is that his parents built a portal to the Ghost Zone in his basement. In the process of getting it to work, there was a lab accident and Danny got ghost powers. Don’t ask him or his friends about it. Now ghosts come through and try to attack the town and Danny stops them. Bad enough, right? But the reason his parents were building the portal is because they’re ghost hunters. They see a ghost, they pull a weapon on it and try to, and I quote, ‘tear it apart molecule by molecule.’ I don’t like the idea of Danny living there when he has ghost powers but he’s refusing to leave and I don’t have any way of kidnapping him and keeping him away.”

“You know that’s a spot on your ‘how close is Robin to going supervillain on us’ bingo card, right?” asked Cassie.

Conner elbowed her. “Not the point right now, Wonder Girl.” Then, in a whisper just loud enough for Tim to hear, he added, “Though this gets me close!” Back in his normal voice, he said, “Robin we’ll absolutely go check on your friend with you. Is there anything else we need to know?”

Tim tilted his head but decided not to address the teasing. “Don’t eat any food cooked in his house or stored in the main fridge. And try to avoid mentioning the word ‘ghost’ around his parents. They apparently will take that as an excuse to literally talk for multiple hours on the topic. It should go without saying, but his hero identity must be kept secret from his parents at all costs. His best friends and sister are the only humans who know. Though all the other ghosts know.”

“So…” start Bart, “You’re telling us that his rogues all know his identity but his parents don’t. That’s a bit of a role reversal.”

Tim laughed. “Yeah. Weirded me out when he told me, too. But he’s not concerned about the ghosts knowing. Just human ghost hunters.”

“Like his parents,” Cassie said.

“Like his parents,” Tim confirmed.

“Well fuck.” As always, Conner knew how to sum up everyone’s thoughts.

“So, do you know his address?” asked Bart.

“Nope,” Tim said, popping the P. “But we won’t need it. His house is obvious from a mile away based on what Danny’s said.”

Cassie shook her head. “Every word out of your mouth makes me more concerned and more curious.”

Tim laughed. “That about sums him up. He’s got some stories that could rival ours for ridiculous and crazy. Now, Wonder Girl, Superboy, what do you say about flying us closer to town? Then we can change and walk the rest of the way in.”

“You’ve got it Boss-man!” Conner shouldered the bag of their belongings and hugged Tim close before launching them in the air.

Cassie did the same with Bart who pointed in the direction of Amity. It wasn’t long before they could see the town.

The group landed in a small grove of trees to change out of uniform before walking along the side of the highway towards Amity.

As they were walking, Bart asked, “So why shouldn’t we eat any of the food at Danny’s? I’m hungry.”

“We’ll go and get far too many burgers and snacks on B’s dime. The food at Danny’s house isn’t safe to eat or even be around, just trust me.”

“Hey, Tim,” said Conner, “What the fuck does that mean?”

Tim just shrugged. “Look, his parents would fit in at Arkham. The rest… well, we’ll see when we get there. I only have second hand information myself and I don’t know if I fully believe what Danny says.”

“You didn’t crash the plane on purpose, did you?” asked Bart who was now walking backwards in front of him.

“Yeah, Tim,” agreed Cassie, “Sounds like you’ve been wanting to come here for a while. Convenient, isn’t it? You could’ve just asked us if we were interested in a road trip!”

Tim flushed. “Are you guys seriously accusing me of deliberately destroying evidence in a plane crash? Me?”

“Don’t worry, Tim!” Conner slung an arm around his shoulders and leaned into him. “I believe you. If you wanted to concoct an excuse to get us here, it’d be much more subtle.”

Cassie and Bart laughed as Tim grumbled about traitorous friends. Louder, he said, “Oi, watch what you say. We’re in everyday clothes.”

“Of course. And you’re not just saying that because we’re right.” Bart stuck his tongue out at him.

Tim ducked under Conner’s arm and threw a punch which Bart easily dodged. “Remember I know where you sleep!” he called out.

“Right back atcha!” replied Bart. Cassie and Conner laughed at them.

It only took them about twenty minutes to come to the outermost buildings of the town and within forty, they were in the town proper.

“Now, seriously, Tim, where’re we going?” asked Cassie looking around.

The people who were around kept giving them odd looks and Tim had no idea what they were doing to stick out so obviously.

As if echoing his thoughts, Cassie muttered under her breath, “Is it just me or are we being stared at?”

Conner replied just as quietly. “I can hear them whisper; they know we’re outsiders. What sort of town is this, Tim?”

“Amity’s been through a lot the past few months. It might be a more active hot spot than Gotham, actually. I don’t think they trust strangers right now.”

“Worse than Gotham?” asked Cassie. “Timmy, bestie, you are totally keeping secrets from us again! Not cool.”

“I’m not!” Tim protested. “Look, we just need to find Danny’s house and hope there isn’t a ghost attack before we do.”

“How often do these ghost attacks happen?” asked Bart.

“From what Danny says, something usually happens most days. But they’re generally small. Big attacks… maybe once a week? But those can take a few days to fully resolve.”

“Dude, that is worse than Gotham,” said Bart, awe in his voice. “And the local hero just takes care of it all himself?”

“Yeah. Danny Phantom seems to be pretty competent. At least against ghosts.”

Cassie let out a low whistle but decided to change the subject. “So, if your friend’s house is so distinct, what are we looking for?”

Before Tim could reply, the roar of an engine drowned him out and a giant silver-and-green monstrosity turned the corner so fast only two wheels remained on the ground. A woman in a blue jumpsuit leaned out the window holding a gun bigger than herself as she screamed about ghosts.

Around them, people took one look and ran into any door they could, slamming them shut. Conner, Cassie, and Bart fell into defensive stances.

Tim just grinned and relaxed as he watched to see what street the GAV turned down. It really was as ridiculous as Danny had said.

As soon as the noise of the Fenton’s illegal tank died down, Tim answered Cassie’s question. “We go down the same street as that vehicle. Those were Danny’s parents.”

“Are we going to the lair of super villains?” asked Conner.

“Nah, just mad scientists.”

“Tim, is this really the best idea?” Cassie had pulled out her phone and was uselessly trying to turn it on.

“We’ll need to if you want your phone fixed.”

Around them, people were starting to cautiously open doors and look out to make sure it was safe. Tim pretended not to notice the looks his friends were exchanging.

“Come on, what happened to grilling Danny about what I was like before Bruce took me in?” He really hoped the potential for embarrassing stories, of which there obviously weren’t any, would get them to stop second guessing him.

Cassie did hum consideringly. “Well, it’s not like we haven’t faced weirder. And we can hold our own against mad scientists if needed. Even without any form of communication device. Which… Tim, on a scale of an elephant noticing an ant to about to start world war three, how likely is it that your family has noticed something happened and how totally normal will their reaction be?”

Tim groaned. “Look, I’ll see if Danny can fix my phone first before we get dinner. If it doesn’t take too long, it won’t be an issue. We probably have a few hours before B does anything irreversible.”

“I have no idea how you put up with someone always in your business like that,” commented Conner.

Tim shrugged as he finally got the others to start moving in the direction the tank took. “I mean, I keep track of you guys about as closely as Bruce follows me.”

Bart laughed. “Whelp, that’s another box checked on the ‘Tim is going to grow up to be a supervillain’ bingo card!

Tim stuck his tongue out at his friends and sped up so he was walking a few feet ahead of them. Around them, pedestrian traffic started picking up again as people decided it was safe to come out again.

Bart ran up until he was walking backwards in front of Tim. “Do you really think you can outrun me?”

“I’m not trying to out run you. Just walk ahead of you. I’m the one who knows what I’m looking for.” They reached the turn and Bart kept walking straight so Tim grabbed his arm. “Like, for example, the fact that we need to turn down this road.”

A quick glance down the street proved this had to be the right place. The giant Fenton Works sign hung off one of the buildings and the monstrosity Danny referred to as the Ops Center sat precariously on the roof.

“In fact, that building that’s probably breaking every building code ever imagined is our destination. Come on! The sooner we get there, the sooner Danny can fix my phone, and the sooner we can eat.”

“He’s totally taking us to the lair of some evil mad scientists, isn’t he?” Cassie muttered.

Tim pretended he couldn’t hear her. Or Conner’s reply of “Oh, definitely. One more square and I’ve got bingo.”

“I think we need to change the rules of the game. We have winners too often. First person to a full card wins, not the first person to connect a line.”

“I hate you guys. You’re fired as my best friends. It’ll just be me and Danny from now on. I’ll run away and move here and hide in his attic and never talk to any of you ever again.”

Bart hooked their arms together. “Then we’ll just come and drag you back. Evil scientists and ghosts and creepy town or not.”

Conner walked up until he could bump his shoulder against Tim’s and Cassie ruffled his hair.

“Yep. You’re stuck with us for life at this point. No firing allowed,” she said.

Tim hid a smile as they walked the last half block to Danny’s house. And then the group just stared at the building for a minute.

“You know, after seeing this place, I don’t think I needed the warning about the food,” commented Cassie. “I’m not going to trust a single thing they try to give us.”

“If it comes from Danny or his sister, it’ll be fine. From their parents? Decline.” Tim took a breath and walked up the steps and rang the doorbell.

Voices could be heard from inside and a moment later, the door opened to reveal the largest human Tim had ever seen. And the orange jumpsuit he was wearing was so bright even Tim, used as he was to Robin colors, had to hold back a wince. Jack Fenton was smiling broadly at them.

“Welcome to Fenton Works! Who might you lot be? Would you like some fudge?” And even though his hands had been empty a moment before, he managed to pull a tray of fudge from…somewhere.

Before Tim could reply, Maddie Fenton was there, too. “Jack, let the kids speak! Welcome. Are you here for Jazz or Danny?”

Tim put on his gala-smile. “Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Fenton. I’m Tim, Danny’s penpal from Gotham and these are some of my friends. We are on a road trip and were passing by and I decided I wanted to stop by to see Danny. Is he home?”

The words were barely out of Tim’s mouth before Jack was shouting with a voice loud enough to shake the windows. “Dan-o! Your friends are here!”

Maddie’s reaction was more interesting. Her brow furrowed and she seemed to mumble to herself, “Penpal? Has Danny mentioned a penpal before?” Louder, she said, “Please come on in. Danny will be right down.”

As his friends shuffled past him, they each poked or prodded Tim in some way to let him know how crazy they found the situation. Maddie shut the door behind them and the click of the door had no right to sound as ominous as a lock turning in a cell in a supervillain’s lair.

True to Maddie’s predictions, footsteps echoed on the floor above them and then down the stairs. Danny froze on the steps, though, as soon as he saw exactly who was in his living room.

Tim raised a hand and grinned. “Hey, Danny! Surprise?”

“Tim? What the—” Danny cut off the phrase with a glance at his parents. “Secrets! We’ve talked about surprises like this! What are you doing here?” And then he was running the rest of the way down the stairs and hugging Tim tightly.

Tim’s surprise lasted just a moment before he was hugging Danny back. “I don’t actually think we have had a conversation about the proper way for me to show up at your place when I ended up stranded in the area by accident with a non-working phone. I blame you, by the way.”

They pulled apart, but Danny stayed close enough that their arms brushed against each other at the slighted movement. “I can fix that for you. It’ll take about twenty minutes.” He glanced at Tim’s friends. “Each, I’m afraid.”

Cassie waved off his apology. “Fix Tim’s first. His family is the one that’ll freak out if he’s out of communication too long. It’s nice to meet you Danny, I’m—“

But Danny cut her off. “Cassie, right? Tim’s told me a lot about you. It’s great to finally meetcha! And you two must be Conner and Bart!” As he said their names, he correctly pointed at each boy.

“You’ve got it in one,” agreed Conner. “Though I’d like to open by saying anything Tim said is probably a lie.”

Danny laughed. “Even the part where he called you the coolest person he knows after Dick? Because I got that message just—”

Tim slammed his hand over Danny’s mouth. “No need to go into that right now.” He ignored the way he felt his face heating.

To his relief, Danny’s dad butted into the conversation. “Well we’re thrilled to have you kids here! Will you stay for dinner? My snoockums will be making the best chicken you’ve ever had!”

“Actually, Mr. Fenton,” said Tim before anyone else could, “Danny and I have this ongoing debate over which is better: Batburger or Nasty Burger. It’s been going on for years and I need to try Nasty Burger so he can’t use the excuse that I don’t know what I’m talking about when I insist Batburger is better.”

“Oh you are so going to eat your words,” Danny said shrugging out from under Tim’s arm. Looking to his friends, Danny asked, “Have all of you had batburger?”

Bart grinned. “Sure have! We’ll be sure to give our unbiased opinions!”

Danny laughed. “Great, because Tim sure won’t. He’ll refuse to admit how he’s completely wrong and Nasty Burger is the absolute best ever.”

Cassie shook her head. “Is it really called Nasty Burger? Why would they do that?”

“Oh someone vandalized the sign years ago and the restaurant decided to lean into it. Now, come on, I’ll fix Tim’s phone and then we can get dinner.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat here?” asked Maddie again.

“Yeah, mom, we’re sure.”

“How long’ll you kids be in town for?” asked Jack. “Do you have a place to stay?”

Tim shrugged. “My foster dad gave me a credit card for us to use for lodgings, food, and gas on the trip. We were just gonna find a hotel or something in town.”

“Now that just won’t do!” Maddie even covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide in disbelief. “Neither the hotel nor the motel has any ghost shields to speak of. What if there’s an attack? No. You must stay here. Our house is the safest place in town, dontcha know.”

“Exactly!” boomed Jack. “In fact, let me show you!” He reached over and flipped what looked like a light switch, but instead of a light turning on, a siren sounded and glowing-green metal slammed over the windows. At least five hidden compartments on every wall opened revealing lasers and guns. Each of which made their own noises.

Danny tensed next to him as about a third of the weapons pointed to him and a robotic voice said, “Ghost threat detected.”

Then a girl appeared on the stairs shouting at the adults. “I’m trying to study!” It was amazing how she was able to shout over the noise of the alarm systems. “Who activated the home defense system?” And that’s when she noticed Tim and his friends.

As soon as her daughter appeared, Maddie flipped the switch back off and the weapons disappeared back into the walls, the metal retreated from the windows, and the alarms fell quiet leaving behind a normal-looking living room once again.

Behind him, Tim heard Cassie mutter, “What the fuck?”

“Who are you?” Jazz asked as soon as it was quiet.

Jack answered for everyone. “These are Danny’s friends! Tim and… sorry, I don’t think I caught the rest of your names.”

“Dad!” Danny shook his head. “Come on down, Jazz. I’ve mentioned Tim a ton. He’s my online penpal Secrets. And these are his friends: Cassie, Bart, and Conner.”

“Oh! Secrets!” She ran the rest of the way down the stairs. “It’s so great to meet you. Danny didn’t mention you coming to visit.” She shook Tim’s hand with a friendly smile.

Tim couldn’t help but smile back. “Glad to meet you, too. Danny talks about you all the time.”

And his friends were done being quiet because Bart decided to take over explanations. “Our visit was unscheduled. We were in the area and our transport and phones stopped working. Saw the sign for Amity and Tim brought us here.”

Jazz nodded in understanding. “Yeah, that happens around here. But Danny can fix your phones and car so you won’t be stranded long.”

“Yep! That’s just what I was about to do. Fix Tim’s phone then take them to Nasty Burger. I’ll take care of everyone else’s after we eat.”

Jazz nodded. “Bring me back a milkshake? I have a bit more studying to do. But, Tim! I want to get to know you better. After all, you’ve been such a large part of Danny’s life these past few years. So I’ll pull out some board and card games and we can just hang out for a bit while Danny fixes your phones.”

Tim felt his face flush again. Did Danny really talk about him that much? “Uh, yeah. Sure. That sounds great.”

“Oh. My. God. Jazz! You’re not allowed to interrogate my friends.” Danny took Tim’s hand and dragged him towards the stairs. “Come on, let’s go up to my room where I can work on your phones.”

Tim heard snickering from at least one of his friends as they followed them. But really, most of his focus was on how Danny’s hand felt cool but solid in his own.

Jazz just rolled her eyes. “It’s not interrogating, Danny. It’s getting to know someone. That involves questions!”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Conner. “No one is worse at interrogation than Tim’s dad.”

“Not my dad!” protested Tim automatically.

“Foster Dad, whatever! You know who I mean.”

Danny didn’t let go of his hand until they were in his bedroom. And once everyone, except Jazz, was in the room, he shut the door.

“Great, now that we have some privacy, let’s have proper introductions! Glad to meet you all. Do you want anything? Jazz and I have water bottles and pop cans hidden up here that are safe. And I’ve got, like, seven flavors of pringles.”

“What flavors of pop?” asked Conner.

“Coke, ginger ale, sprite, and fanta,” replied Danny.

“Can I have a sprite?”

“I’ll take a coke if it’s okay,” said Cassie.

“Fanta for me!” called Bart.

“You guys got it. Tim?”

“I’ll just have water for now.”

Danny nodded. “Give me just a sec. The fridge is hidden in Jazz’s room.”

And then the Young Justice team was left alone.

Cassie hissed, “What the fuck, Tim!”

----------

Next

And there you have it! Tim and Danny's first in-person meeting. And the Young Justice's introduction to Amity and the Fentons.

If anyone has any fics, meta analyses, or whatever that focuses on the Young Justice characters, I'd love some recommendations! I've read less on them than the bats and they're shaping up to have a big part in this fic.

Tag List:

@gremlin-bot, @bonebrokebuddy, @britcision, @lady-time-lord-, @welcometosasakiworld, @akikkobara, @phoenixdemonqueen, @dolfay, @skulld3mort-1fan, @we-ezer, @markus209, @sjrose1216, @onyxlightdragon, @dragonsrequiem, @jesus-camp-the-sequel, @spidey29phangirl, @kyrianclawraith, @evilminji, @introvert-even-on-the-internet, @emergentpanda-blog, @lexdamo, @v-inari, @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit, @longlivethefallen, @undead-essence, @xye-chan, @liandrin, @seraphinedemort, @kisatamao, @schalensitzbucket, @caelestisdreamer, @runfromthemedic, @nutcase8691

[welldrawnfish]

Hey !! How are you ? Did anyone give you donations, could you afford your meds. I am really worried about you

Hello yes! I've gotten donations! Really its an outpour of help and im so grateful, ive been going through a rough time (not adhd related) and one adhd related the past few days sorry I've been quite! Ill make a comic on it, i really want too. but basically i just moved to ontario, but my adhd diagnosis is in manitoba. Ontario's Premiere (USA TRANSLATION: Governor) Doug Ford has stripped healthcare funding in order to push his agenda of privatized paid medical care like america. without proper funding, doctors leave for greener pastures. so stuff like ER wait times? 14 hours. Family doctors? Ive seen wait lists up to a year. He does this cause then he can point to the medical care and go, see how government healthcare doesnt work? We need to privatize it. So the only choice I have is using a walk in clinic. Where I literally see someone for abotu 10 minutes. Just enough for a specialist referral or med refill. But, Walk in clinics wont perscribe me adhd meds, only a family doctor can. And like I said, Wait times. And I wont even know if they are trans friendly and safe or if they will refuse my medication. Speaking with my pharmacist they told me about a site called Tia health. They ONLY perscribe adhd meds if they are the one who diagnosed you. And a diagnosis is 700$. But as of right now it might be my only option. I've gotten so much help, I'm almost there and able to afford that. And Im so so so grateful for everybodies help literally been crying about it. it shouldn't fuckin be this way, what that man is doing should be illegal. That shouldnt be a political tactic I hate it. Right now im rationing my last 4 pills, taking them only when I need to get work done. I'll prolly be quite for a bit longer since i dont want to allow myself anything that could become a hyperfocus loop without medication I have to work.

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

Too many missions

Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

A/N Firstly, this fic idea is from a request from @nicoline1998enilocin to reverse the roles of my fic office sex e.g. reader visits Bucky at work. Secondly, comments, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated and all mistakes are my own so feel free to comment below if you notice any. Also, this fic is gonna have a second part which is just aftercare.

18+ MINORS DNI, FUCK OFF YOU'RE NOT OLD ENOUGH (I WARNED YOU)

Summary Bucky is supposed to be doing his mission reports but ends up doing you instead (lmao that's so fucking cheesy)

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/SITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings Fluff , blowjob, unprotected sex (use protection you are not fictional)

Bucky was missing you to say the least. He had been jumping from mission to mission for the past month and hadn’t been able to properly spend time with you. However, he only had to wait one more hour and then he could give you all the attention you could ever need. 

He was filling in the last of the paperwork regarding his latest mission when he heard a knock on his office door. 

“Come in,” he shouted, not lifting his head and continuing to write more notes on the paper. Bucky still hadn’t grasped typing on a computer and still preferred to hand-write things.

You opened the door and slid in trying not to distract Bucky while he was working.

“Hey baby, I just wanted to ask you if you’re ok.” you sat down on the couch that Bucky had in his office.

Bucky turned his head quickly as soon as he heard your voice. His scowl turned into a smile at the sight of you. 

“Hey doll, I missed you.” he said while finishing a sentence before turning on his chair to face you.

You lifted the bag that was in your hand, “I brought some food for you since you’ve been working really hard lately.”

“You’re amazing, doll,” he said, taking the bag out of your hand. “I’m sorry for not being home much S.H.I.E.L.D really needed me recently.” He added with a sad look on his face. 

“It's ok baby, I know it’s not your fault. Anyways you tell me not to worry when the same thing happens to me so you shouldn’t be worrying either.” 

“I know doll, but I just feel bad for neglecting you for so long and I've missed you so much lately.” He took out the food you made him and dug in like a man starved. 

“It’s ok baby. Really. I know that you’re not intentionally going on missions. Also, I kindly spoke to Fury and he said he’s willing to give us both the next 2 months off.” 

“You know doll, I think you’re the only person I know that can intimidate THE Nick fury.” Bucky says smiling.

Bucky finished his food and you took the rubbish off him and threw it in the bin for him. Then, you got up from your seat and walked over to Bucky who was grinning like an idiot. 

“Come here doll, I need to hug you,” he said while holding his arms out to you.

You sat on his lap, facing him. Bucky wrapped one arm around your waist and placed the other at the back of your head, pressing you further into the crook of his neck. You took a deep breath and could smell the familiar scent of Bucky’s cologne. You wrapped your arms tightly around his waist and he hummed in content. 

After a few minutes, you started to get restless. You were getting aroused from being so close to Bucky especially since you hadn’t had sex with him in what felt like years. And masterbating wasn’t an option since Bucky’s skills had made you unable to cum unless it was him. 

You squirmed around a bit before stopping when you felt Bucky’s hardness beneath you. You looked up to see Bucky’s eyes almost black with lust. He let out a loud groan when you made eye contact with him.

“Doll, I-I-I need to finish the mission report and t-then we can do anything you want.”

“But daddy. I want you nowww,” you whined. 

“Stop whining like a whore,” Bucky said “I’ll fuck you after I finish the mission reports.” He pushed you off his lap and started to unbuckle his belt and open his jeans. “While i'm doing that, you can put that dirty fuckin’ mouth to use.” he pulled his cock out and started to lazily rub it up and down.

You dropped to your knees and crawled under the desk. Bucky rolled his chair under the desk, right in front of you. 

“All right doll, you know what to do.”

You shuffled closer and replaced Bucky’s hand with yours. You leaned closer and licked a stripe up the underside of his dick, repeating the action again before taking the rounded head into your mouth. This made Bucky let out a loud moan which made you suck harder. Then, you took his member deeper into your mouth until it hit the back of your throat which made you gag. 

“That’s it baby. Such a good girl,” Bucky groaned, stroking your head softly. 

Then, you hear a knock at the door. Bucky looks down at you with a grin on his face and then tells whoever it is to come in. He allows you to take one last deep breath before pushing you down.

 

Steve walked into the room and was oblivious to you with a mouthful of his best friend's cock. 

“Hey Buck, how much longer are you going to be because you need to hand in your mission reports today and it's already 10pm.” 

“I’ve got a f-few more notes to add and then I’m done, punk.” Bucky replied, clenching his fist. 

“Jerk,” Steve responded, as he exited the room. 

Bucky let out a groan as you took him all the way down now that you didn’t have an audience. 

“Doll, I need to be inside you right now,” Bucky said.

He grabbed your hair and pulled you off him before moving back on his chair so that he could pick you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist. He placed you on his desk and started to take his clothes off as you did the same.

 

When you were both naked, Bucky leaned forward to meet your lips in a kiss. It was all teeth and tongue since you haven't been able to be intimate with each other for way too long. You brought a hand up to Bucky’s face and cupped his cheek, a strangely sweet gesture for such a filthy kiss. 

“Daddy, please. I need you inside me. Please,” you begged.

“One second doll,”

Bucky grabbed your hips and pulled you to the edge of the desk. He grabbed his cock and rubbed it up and down your folds. 

“Please daddy! Fuck me!” you whined. 

Bucky just smirked before leaning forwards and pushing his dick inside you with one smooth thrust. He didn’t give you a chance to adjust before violently thrusting into you. All sense of self control had instantly dissipated the second he entered you. 

“Doll, you feel so good. So fuckin’ good” Bucky groaned. 

He put both your legs on his shoulders and leaned forwards. From this position he could reach the deepest parts of you. He reached his hand down and started to rub your swollen clit. 

“Gonna cum, m’ gonna cum,” you shouted, your legs starting to shake. 

“Cum for me doll, come on. Show daddy how good his fat cock is making you feel.” Bucky said.

Your legs had started to shake and Bucky’s thrusts were starting to become sloppy. Your vision had started to blur and you could feel your orgasm crash into you. You let out a pornographic moan and was trying to writhe away from Bucky’s hand which continued to rub your clit and extend your high. 

“Gonna cum in you baby, gonna pump you full of my cum,” Bucky let out a loud moan before stilling and filling you with his seed. 

Bucky leaned back to let your legs fall from his shoulders. He leaned forwards and rested his forehead against your breasts as you ran your fingers through his hair. A few minutes passed and then Bucky pulled away. You whined at the loss of contact. Bucky grabbed the hoodie he was wearing and helped you put it on…..

Taglist: @buckys-wintersoldier @nicoline1998enilocin

Also if you want to see posts I reblog just follow @sebastianstanisahotmf-reblogs

[chiconisroc]

Hi I just wanted to say I’m… much newer to the tf fandom and finding fics that hit the right criteria for my brain to be incredibly not normal about it is hard… HOWEVER! Your fic (trust me) is literally something I jump for joy whenever it’s updated because ITS SO GOOD !! I love the way you interconnect the past to give a detailed explanation and sense of dread for when thing are going to go wrong!! I love the dynamics between the Terrans and starscream!! The way you write everyone hesitant to have starscream around makes me grin bc YEAH!! YEAH!! Also as someone who is a huge fan of angst I get so excited whenever there’s just a bit of it between the fluff :D grinning and shaking your story around smiling and giggling… I literally check it every day to see if there’s a new chapter bc every single one of them is better than the last one!! I’m sending this here due to the fact I really… don’t know how ao3 works as a site other than knowing how to use the filters so I don’t know how I can comment so this is my second best option I think! I’m hoping you have a great day ! <- going back to re-read the fic

I'm sorry for not responding right away : c. Two nights ago, I only had around 10 mins of sleep so yesterday I was completely out of it. I did read your message, but I wanted to respond when I felt better. After sleeping for 11 hours, I'm good now and I gotta say I appreciate you so much for your kind words :'3 I'm so glad you're enjoying my transformers fic :3., And honestly, i'm so glad peeps are supporting it - it's helped me get as far as I am now and hopefully I get to finish the fic too. Honestly, your comment put a huge grin on my face yesterday and today :'D. I love angst too so I'm so glad you, as a fellow angst lover, can enjoy my angst writing, hahaha. And welcome to the tf fandom!! I just love when more peeps join the fandom so we can all enjoy it together <3 I will do my best to continue writing the next chapter today - I've been so busy lately v.v, thus why the long wait :'c Thank you again for taking the time to reach out to me, like, for reals, it makes me happy :'3. I also hope you have a great day <3

[eponymous-rose]

Monday!

It's been a while since I've done one of these week-in-the-life posts (and I LOVE reading them from others), and it's a particularly stressful week where I'm trying to stay off social media for Reasons, so hey, let's do this again!

It's a busy day, but it starts relatively late - I don't have to leave for the office until 10AM. So, you may ask, why on earth do I set my alarm for 8:30? Is it because I have an elaborate morning routine? Is it so I can hit the gym and go for a jog? No, no, no, it's because I have a little cat who takes the alarm as her cue to cuddle and I don't want to disappoint her, so I inevitably spend half an hour hugging her like a purring teddy bear first thing in the morning before I get up.

I respond to some e-mails as I get ready and on the bus ride over - mostly prep for our department's holiday party (I'm in the band and we're trying to get as much practice in as possible), but also a little work getting supercomputer access restored for an undergrad research assistant, offering to write a letter of recommendation so my colleague doesn't have to (we both know the student well and said colleague is traveling across the country for a funeral on a redeye flight tonight...), reworking some elements of the rubric for the faculty search committee I'm on, and confirming a meeting with my grad student.

10:45 - I get to the office and go to make my usual mug of tea... and realize in the moment I close my office door that the keys are still inside. I get the hot water from the lounge and meander by the office, but nobody's there. Just as I'm about to work up the nerve to go interrupt a more senior professor's meeting to borrow his keys, one of the office staff walks by and is happy to open the door for me, phew.

11:00 - My most senior grad student is doing an internship in Colorado this quarter (it's the location he most wants to do a postdoc at as well!), and we've set up a call to catch up after a few weeks without chatting. It's a bit of an awkward chat because he wants to go to his second conference in two months, and I had to bring out the "well, um, this is a side project you're doing with someone else's research group and you may want to check with them about where the $2000+ for conference costs is coming from". I possibly have an avenue - I might ask him to just attend for a couple of days instead of the whole time, so I can use some funding from a different grant, but I'm hoping we can get some cost-sharing going here, or possibly the other professor he's working with can present his poster for him if need be. Still, his work's going great and I'm hoping we can get him to this conference! He finishes his PhD this year, and I can attest to how helpful conferences are for landing postdocs.

12:00 - Speaking of grants, I had a successful grant come through late last summer to study wildfire smoke dynamics with novel instrumentation (something new to me!), and the whole team is meeting up for the first time to talk logistics! I also have to teach real soon, so I'm only on for the first chunk of the call, but we get some of the plan set up. Looks like we'll be meeting at a NASA facility early next year to do some siting stuff prior to the first controlled burn. I genuinely have no idea what I'm doing on this project, apart from being willing to write a big chunk of the proposal, but it's a good time!

12:30 - Class time! This is my domain-specific intro-to-python class that I developed 5 years ago and have been iterating on ever since. It's going a lot smoother this week than last, and the students are pretty responsive to my jokes (priority #1, lbr) and seem to be following along quite well, judging by the handful of questions I get after class. Not a ton of technical issues today, either, which is a HUGE win over last week.

1:30 - Forecasting time! I'm once again part of our university team in a giant forecasting contest. While I'm decidedly average at it (usually around 250th out of 1000 participants), my grad student was #1 for a while there. We chat in broad terms about the next week of weather in our targeted forecasting region.

2:30 - Meeting with another graduate student! We talk about some of the researchers he reached out to after his first conference a couple weeks ago, and we're starting to narrow down a possible author list for his first paper. He's working on writing up the methods and data for that paper while he incorporates a few new datasets into his preestablished workflow. He's been doing really well! Being a dual-major in CS means his code is a heckuva lot more organized than most second-year grad students I've had.

3:30 - ...nothing??? I've decided to skip my usual seminar and postpone one undergraduate student research meeting this afternoon (the one currently locked out of the supercomputer he needs for his project) since I have a couple of grant proposals due very shortly. I head out to grab some teriyaki to bring back to my office for lunch/dinner, but the restaurant just has a big sign out front saying "closed for FIRE" so I opt to go across the street for some chicken katsu and boba tea instead. I approve the final budget (coming up on a million dollars, no pressure) and keep plugging away at the statement of work (which is basically "what are you going to do, in detail, with one million dollars over the next three years? please tell us in exactly 15 pages, not counting your 3-page bibliography and 6 appendices"). I even find a perfect paper to reference to discuss one of our theories! We've made it through one round of reviews with our pre-proposal, and man, we'd love to do this project - it would be myself, a colleague, and a postdoc looking at some really novel stuff in severe storm predictability over the next three years. I also get a little work done on the invited talk I'm giving to a student journal club tomorrow, and work on some more e-mails (trying to set up a meeting with a friend's graduate student to help her out with some methods she's using from an older paper of mine).

5:15 - One of my colleagues has retired this year and has a farewell song he wants to sing at our holiday party, which happens to be mostly voice & piano, so we agree to meet up before the main practice and go over it a couple times before the rest of the band shows up and he has to head out to dinner. I'm really sorry to see him leaving (although I know he's delighted to get to spend more time with his kids and grandkids) - he and his wife were extremely welcoming when I started here, and were so kind and supportive when Mom died. Just very touched that he reached out to me to play piano on this one. Tragically, though, whoever was supposed to bring in the keyboard hasn't left it in the practice room, so we'll have to wait and run through it with the rest of the band on Thursday. Instead, it's back to the office to get caught up on e-mail and try to slog through more of the grant application (all today's research and work has netted me... 1 page of writing, blah).

6:00 - The rest of the band shows up! We run three songs of our eight-song setlist, and I'm somehow now playing on 4/8 of them, despite there being five people signed up for keys. It's a good time, though!

8:00 - I make it home and give Clara a bunch of new toys that have arrived with her prescription food (one of which she licks for 15 minutes straight). Luckily, tomorrow's work schedule is much more chill!

[aftgficrec]

hi besties! can i be a bit weird and ask for sick fics here? old/new/favorites, any will do! just some big ol’ hurt/ comfort, especially if combined with some emotional hurt/comfort 🥰

There’s nothing weird about this at all!  Apart from the fics below, there’s also our sickfic tag as well as our hurt/comfort tag for more (see our tag page under the heading ‘themes - injuries/illnesses/conditions’). - S

Previous recs:

cool andreil sick fics here

sick fics here

foxes with headaches/sick fics here

10k+ sick fics here

Andreil in hospital here

Neil with major injury here

Neil gets injured (post canon) here

Neil & car accidents here

accident-prone Neil here

Andreil with amnesia here

medical Andreil/Aaron & Neil here

Neil getting roofied here

Also see… 

‘we're one (there's nothing to be done)’ here

‘Just like that day’ here

‘head case (what to do with you)’ here

‘Such Stuff as Dreams are Made’ here

‘Neil Josten Is a Lucky Man’ here

‘Broken’ here

‘If Only I Were Enough’ (completed) here

‘I'll Come Back To You’ here

‘glass in the trees (objects in the rearview)’ here

‘Running Ragged’ here

‘To Love and Be Loved’ here

‘all that looking down’ here

‘next best thing’, keep telling me that it gets better (does it ever?)’ and ‘no matter when and where, we’ll be alright’ here

‘Can Nobody Hear Me (I cannot breathe)’, ‘I remeber tears streaming down your face (for me to wipe them away)’, ‘you crawled inside my head’, ‘living leaves so many holes in us’, ‘Ciggarette Smoke Cure’, ‘Breathless’, ‘i've done my time’ and ‘cats and close calls’ here

‘The Highs and Lows of Pre-med Majors' here (Aaron)

‘Hold My Hand?’ here

‘Echo’ here 

I’m More Than This Body of Mine by yall_send_help [Rated M, 88811 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The doctor took a pause, which Nathaniel was able to use to ask, “what about my leg?” The two pigs had the audacity to look surprised. The doctor looked over at them with a hint of confusion. “You didn’t tell him?” Towns shook his head as Browning said, “you told us not to.” Dr. Byrd nodded her head in approval and turned back to the bed. “Nathaniel…” she trailed off, reevaluating her words. “Would you mind if I sit?” and only after his own nod did she. “The damage done to your leg… it was unlike what most of the staff at this hospital had ever seen. The surgeons tried to save it, but…” She looked down at where his legs were and Nathaniel did too, only to feel himself pale at what he found. “The surgery took about three hours,” Dr. Byrd continued. “The only reason why it took so long was because the surgeons really did try to save your leg. They did. Amputations usually take only half that time. Eventually, Dr. McCoy called it. Because of the damage done to your leg, we couldn’t wake you up to ask. It had to go. I’m sorry.” or - the one where neil goes to baltimore and comes back missing a leg

tw: torture, tw: amputation, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: blood, tw: animal cruelty, tw: implied/referenced drug overdose

fireproof by mostly_maudlin [Rated T, 2097 words, complete, 2024]

Andrew gets his flu shot.

Things Always Gets Worse Before They Gets Better series by Renee_Walker_09 [Rated G, 40141 words, incomplete, 3 complete works, 2024]

Part 1: Beginnings & Endings (G, 1083 words)

It's 1:30 in the morning. The Foxes are celebrating their championship win against the Ravens the only way they know how to: booze, partying, and a little bit more booze. Nothing could possibly ruin this?

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury

Part 2: You Mean Everything To Me (G, 12767 words)

There are two crashed cars. There’s blood on the floor. Lights are flashing all around. Andrew is standing in the middle of the crash site with a blanket draped across his shoulders as he stares straight at Neil, lying on the floor.

tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: suicide attempt, tw: drug overdose, tw: blood, tw: self harm

Part 3: Hours, Days, Weeks (G, 26299 words)

Andrew is lying in a coma following the accident. His condition is critical. And Neil and Aaron have to find a way to cope.  Neil and Aaron’s POVs of the crash and the past 6 weeks

tw: car accident, tw: blood, tw: major character injury, tw: (temporary) major character death, tw: self harm, tw: panic attacks, tw: seizures

NB: find art for the fics by the author here as well as embedded in the fics

Even goalkeepers can’t block sickness by BlowingYourMind [Rated G, 12768 words, complete, 2024]

“Rabbit,” Andrew peered up at him with half lidded eyes, “Yes or no?” “Yes ‘Drew,” Neil clasped his hands at Andrew’s elbows, “it’s always a yes, you know that.” “No ‘s not,” Andrew weakly argued as he took hold of Neil’s chest pad, using it to leverage himself upwards. It was awkward work of walking half-delirious Andrew back to the locker room, shielding him from the crowd while keeping him on his feet, but they managed. Or Andrew becomes very sick at an away game, and Neil and the foxes take care of him.

tw: vomit

the upswing by missgivings [Not Rated, 45569 words, incomplete, last updated Jan 2024]

The next universe over, life has gone a bit easier on Andrew. He’s gainfully employed as a nurse of all things, working beside his best friend Renee, and living in relative harmony with his brother, the recently graduated Dr. Aaron Minyard. Everything’s fine. It’s fine that he hasn’t spoken to Kevin in person for three years. It’s fine if Aaron’s leaving him to marry his stupid doctor girlfriend. It’s fine until the boy with the box-dyed hair stumbles into the ER and passes out at his feet, bringing a world of secrets and trouble with him. And Neil? Neil’s looking for any port in a storm.

tw: major character injury, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced self harm

please (don't bite) by Major_816 [Rated M, 5478 words, complete, 2024]

Genioglossus. It’s a fan-shaped muscle and forms the bulk of the inferior part of the tongue. It stretches to the hyoid bone too. ~ Neil wakes up to a bad day and it just gets worse.

tw: blood, tw: self harm, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: nightmares, tw: flashbacks, tw: vomit

Will you love me for who I am, not for who I was? by something_boring [Rated T, 1580 words, complete, 2024]

Neil is sick on New Year's eve, wakes up to the fireworks, and continues to have a panic attack about his time on the run.

tw: nightmares, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced child abuse

Your Needs, My Needs by TogeMythia [Rated T, 1073 words, complete, 2023]

‘Neil.’ He whined, his face still buried under the blankets. ‘Hrmph?’ Neil responded with a confused noise from somewhere across the bed. ‘Do you feel as shit as you sound?’ - Or Neil and Andrew wake up sick on Christmas day.

tw: vomit

To be safe by HushedStars [Rated G, 2116 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is feeling unwell. He seeks comfort from Matt. It was late at night. Neil stood in the kitchen, deep in thought but still with one ear alert for any movement of his roommates. He shifted from foot to foot, hands digging into his sore neck

tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks

Safe with him by 1mNot4Hum4n [Not Rated, 2434 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick but doesn't want to admit it. He can't be sick. He can't be weak. Luckily Andrew is there to make sure his junkie is okay, and remind him that he has people around him who are willing to do anything to protect him.

'tis the season by moonix [Rated T, 5579 words, complete, 2023, locked]

Five holidays Andrew had to let Kevin take care of him and one time he got to return the favour.

i called your name ‘til the fever broke by cyanica [Rated T, 5632 words, incomplete, last updated Nov 2023]

Neil’s breath is hot and awful against Andrew’s thigh. “I can’t be sick on your birthday,” he says, like it’s that simple. “I can’t be sick on you on your birthday.” “How considerate,” Andrew’s voice is a bland murmur, and he is left watching Neil’s bloodless, wet lips, as he curls into Andrew’s lap. Neil gently pulls away after a moment, leaning back into Andrew’s hand on his neck. “Is me being sick still making you anxious?” he asks. Fever-stricken with dizzied-eyes and delirious thoughts, he knows Andrew without more than a moment beside him, a look into his eyes that makes Andrew feel undone, found. Or Neil is sick and Andrew isn’t coping well.

tw: vomit, tw: panic attacks, tw: dissociation, tw: anxiety

You Know I'm Good On My Own by sambutwithbooks [Rated G, 4568 words, complete, Aftg Then And Now 2023]

Andrew breaks his arm two games into the season and it feels a little bit like Neil’s world snaps with it. (A snapshot of Neil and Andrew between Andrew coming home from the hospital and going back home to Palmetto State.)

tw: major character injury

that's my line by sillyunicorn6154 [Rated G, 1291 words, complete, 2023]

Andrew is definitely not sick. But he is a little stubborn.

You're not fine, but you will be by karmenvi [Not Rated, 616 words, complete, 2023]

Neil is sick, so Andrew takes care of him. So it was supposed to be a sickfic, but it turned into 'Andrew stares at Neil and thinks his boyfriend is the prettiest boy in the world.' Anyway, enjoy some fluff.

I'll be okay if he's here by obsessivereader156 [Not Rated, 1673 words, complete, 2023]

“Thank you, Drew,” Neil says for the twentieth time, feeling so lucky to have someone take care of him. “Say it again and I will kill you.” “You’re just so nice to me,” Neil says a bit deliriously, “I’ve never had someone take care of me when I’m sick.”

If it means losing you, then no by LostMess_24 [Rated T, 6712 words, complete, 2023]

There was something against his hand, a pressure he knew too well, a hand that fit so perfectly against his, making Andrew’s presence known, making Neil’s entire body relax, slowing his breathing a bit. But before Neil could see the man at his side, it hit him. He was starting to feel it, all around him. Those white walls, the mattress he was in, the soft yet old sheets, the pressure on his arm. And finally, unmistakably, the regular and aggressive beeps, signs of a life that was his own. He was in a hospital bed. There’s an accident. Those idiots would do anything and everything to protect each other.

tw: major character injury, tw: car accidents

cause and effect by mistyrie [Rated M, 13107 words, complete, 2023]

"Andrew realized what he was seeing but he couldn’t comprehend it. He didn’t know how to help. There was no enemy to deal with – there was just Neil seizing on the floor and Andrew didn’t know what to do." Neil starts having seizures and Andrew tries to help.

tw: seizures (epilepsy)

how the foxes act when they're sick by @detectivebambam [tumblr, 2024]

headcanons on the foxes and illness

headcanons on Neil getting sick by @24-0z [tumblr, 2022]

Neil doesn't get sick very often, so when he finally catches the bug that had been going around campus, he's suddenly 8 years old again, sweating and trembling with fever

SICK!Neil for my soul. by @satan-in-a-v-neck [tumblr, 2021]

Neil is acting strange. Ask every fox and they'll tell you that for the past three days Neil Josten wasn't acting very Neil Josteny.

tw: vomit

illness/injuries as background event:

The Songs Around Us by doodlingstuff [Rated M, 80075 words, complete, 2022]

The mission was simple: Nathaniel would join Astral Foxes as Neil Josten and make them part of Moriyama Music. In reality, Neil became real, found a home, and fell in love despite his lies. When the Moriyamas send the Butcher to remind Neil of his mission and Andrew's life ends on the line, Neil will have to find a way to escape his fate and bring Andrew back. As he gets closer to losing the man he loves the most, Neil will realize that sometimes, music is the only answer, and others, truth is the only weapon he can use. Another Band!AU. This time extra angsty.

tw: torture, tw: car accident, tw: major character injury, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence

NB: find art for this fic by @doodlingstuff here

[sophieinwonderland]

i hope it's okay to come here, and i'm sorry in advance if this gets a little long. i'm not sure if this is a vent or not, but i'm on anon because i'm very shy (and still struggling to leave as i'll explain in a bit).

i used to be anti-endo and i just want to know i'm not going to be all alone when i finally make the leap away from it, and your blog has some of the largest plural reach i know of. if anyone reading this has the time to hear me out or offer advice, i'd appreciate it. no obligation, of course.

i wasn't acting in bad faith. i was acting in genuine concern for people who i was led to believe were damaging themselves by "not confronting their trauma" or damaging others by spreading misinfo about my disorder.

granted, all of that behavior was absolutely not okay and a massive overstep, but i was a kid who felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders. autistic strong sense of justice, yanno?

i know now that endos were never even claiming to have DID in the first place, and i also know that endos are plural - just in a different way than i am.

the anti-endo community i was in was an echo chamber of misinformation and disinformation. they made me feel like there was no way out and that i would lose my support network (what little i had), and as a cult survivor who was being stalked and threatened at that point of my life, that scared me enough into staying.

i was anti-endo for nearly four years if memory serves correctly. i couldn't find any other info than what they fed to me, so of course i believed them. of course i thought i was helping. i spent hours upon hours every day just telling people endos were wrong because i wanted to save them from manipulation that didn't even exist and i wanted to save others with DID from being fed misinformation that also didn't exist. i also was in such an environment that if i didn't partake, then i'd be next on their fakeclaiming/harassment list.

anti-endos as a whole are a community built on hating a problem that isn't even real. the problems that they pitched to me were baseless false accusations. endos don't make the claims that antis say they do. endos are just existing and trying to survive just like me. communities shouldn't be built on hate. they should be built on community and kindness.

and that's apparently a hot enough take to lose almost every friend i've ever made. i'm worried that i won't be able to find other systems who'd want to associate with me (which is entirely fair - i've been a harmful person and i'd never force them to be around me if they didn't want to), but i can't do this hatred and vitriol thing anymore. i just want to be kind. i just want to care about people and accept them for who they are. i don't want to be mean anymore.

- thunderstorm anon

Thanks for being open-minded and willing to change. Admitting that you're wrong and being open to change is incredibly brave!

In my experience, the pro-endo community has proven to be fairly forgiving. @SysmedsAreSexist was probably one of the most prolific anti-endos on the site for years. They had similar fears to you that when switching sides, they wouldn't be accepted, and wrote about it here:

But since then, I think they've been welcomed into the community by most pro-endos.

I think that when you make the leap, you won't find yourself as alone as you fear.

Best of luck to you! Sending my love best wishes your way! 💖💖💖

[day6source]

hello my loves <33333333 happy spring! i hope you've all been enjoying it so far, and especially enjoying it with the new album hehe!!🫶 so! first things first:

the welcome to the show concert is next week! as always i'll be recording, and i've since figured out recording with firefox, so there should be 0 to little stuttering this time in the VOD! i apologize heavily for that, and i actually have a gift to make up for it, but stay with me until the end! second: since kcon was...virtually unwatchable to most of us, i went on a little hunt for it! you may or may not be able to find the meet & greet here and the performance cut of the boys here. not sure. you might just have to check out the links to double check ;)

third: masterpost for 'fourever' is basically all updated! you can find it here! i was...unaware of the link limit, so if you want the shopping and streaming and performance links, those'll be in the first read more, watching things and articles are in the second one (which is the one linked for ease)! promo is basically over (i say cautiously) minus the concert, so feel free dive in if you missed anything! speaking of masterposts!

fourth: i got to thinking about it, and i found it a little unfair to only include jae in the pinned, so you can now find links/some updated info about what junhyeok is doing! i figured if i'm gonna have one former member, i should also have the other, even if he was there for only a short amount of time. so if you've been wondering what he's been up to, check him out on youtube and streaming! i'll be keeping it...semi-updated in the way i do jae's part, checking in every like, three months to see if anything's changed. on the flip side, if none of you care to know what those two are up to, i might just take their sections out entirely, but for now i thought it'd be courteous to have them there at the very least!

and last but not least: so, you guys know that watching old concert content is...entirely impossible really, and i thought...that was pretty wack, actually. so! the other day i went on a little deep dive on some sites, and i found some old concerts including the youth tour, the streams from pilmography, an old fanmeet, and the final every day6 concert. this site is uhhh basically impossible to see without a vpn and...well i also thought that was super wack, especially granted this content is...impossible to find elsewhere, and you can't even buy it. so i...took the liberty of gathering it and maybe...just maybe...you can find it here along with all of the other shows of recent, including a better stream of the christmas show for you guys. this is just me personally, but i think especially in comparison to other fandoms, ours is...a bit smaller and older, so gatekeeping content is just...not cool, and i wanna make sure that if you guys wanna see things, i can bring them to you to watch! it's not everything probably by a long shot, but if it's somewhere, i want you guys to be able to see it, even if those people don't think so, and especially if we can't just go out and buy it somewhere! so please enjoy! it should all be uploading as of me typing this post up, but should be up within a couple of hours, but there's some things in there like the kcon stuff and some other shows already, so that should keep you busy in the meantime.

okay, that's it! i love you guys, and i hope you're all staying so so so healthy and so so so so happy and enjoying fourever! we're actually almost at 300 followers which is INSANE, especially because the blog is almost a year old!!!!! what!!!!!!!! time truly flies, and i have loved every second with you all, i've got some potential things planned, so...stay tuned ;) stay happy and healthy, study well, take long breaks when you need, enjoy the weather! i love you guys so much <33333 tay💕💕💕🫶🫶🫶

[decarabiandivorce]

Am i the asshole for staying behind on an uncharted planet

I (23M) have been a new hire at this shipping company for around three months and it has been absolutely horrible. The company has us work outrageous hours and there is only one other employee. A month ago that employee (my mentor) went on a vacation and ever since then the president had me switch over from simply organizing packages to making full deliveries. On my first trip, I was attacked by a group of space bunnies and the company was sent into debt because of it. They told me the route was safe and secure, however, it was clearly not the case. The important cargo was destroyed and the remaining debt is now more than a hundred years' worth of salary. The company is going under and the president is even accusing ME of doing something. I have no clue what he is talking about and am very frightened by the experience.

Now then my mentor (38?M idk) comes back and talks about how he was hit by a meteor and crashed. It took him a whole month to recover his parts and just barely made it back. Before he could even see his family the company's appraisal AI scanned a memento he yoinked from the crash site and now the president thinks its a great idea to send two deliverymen to search for treasures to sell. Why do we even have an appraisal AI I don't even know. So now me and this captain i've know for about two months is being sent towards an uncharted planet.

Then we crash. There was a blizzard and I am sent flying into the snow. I am tired, hungry, and lay down on the ground as I contemplate my life. A long story short we reconvened and it turns out this planet is FULL of hostile life! Creatures as tall as me just waiting to eat us. Holy fuck. My mentor is taking this as a normal occurrence???? He spent a month on this planet??? The hell????

So after fighting off creature after creature-some as tall as space pups while others as tall as buildings, we somehow get enough pokos to pay back the COMPANY'S DEBT. We weren't even paid overtime and I think my mentor GOT A PROMOTION? We barely had enough supplies for one person so I started taking back some of the local creatures to eat. (DM me if you want some of my recipes!) . We wake up as soon as dawn breaks and this planet's day and night system are so unlike my own planet. By the time it's 10 PM its Nighttime! Dawn is around 6 AM!

My mentor has been relatively nice. He gets my silence and for that, I am grateful he doesn't have me talk a lot. Cons: He forgets about me really easily. Usually, he has me just follow him while we explore and at some points, I feel as if I could have just stayed at the ship and slept and would accomplish the same amount of work. It is aggravating to be woken up so early and told to just follow him around.

After another long expedition I am about 10 seconds away from passing out our ship's appraisal AI (who has been so snippy with both of us) blares out that we should return home now. The thing is, after so long of being on this planet I realized that I prefer this planet more than slaving away at that delivery service. The same service that would send me straight first toward a hive of space rabbits for my very first mission. So I lagged behind a bit.

In my lagging behind, my mentor starts up the ship and leaves. At first, I am shocked. He actually did that. Holy fuck he left me on this planet. Sure our suits were upgrades to filter out the oxygen just before we left and I could last for months if not years....it was still shocking to me. I could not help but watch the sky as he blasted away. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise!

I walked for a long time, resting in safe areas to conserve my stamina and eating the creatures I knew were edible. There was a lot of experimentation here and there and I missed the spices of back home. I just knew that a certain creature would taste way better if I added in a couple more condiments! (Remember! DM me for my recipes!)

While exploring one of the caves, a giant spiderlike foe kidnapped me and placed me on it's head. It was so cute! Like riding a weird dog.

It was nice being with the big spider. It gathered some ancient technologies that were perfect for my survival. None of the other creatures seemed to bother the two of us and it was nice to know that there was someone else on this planet that understood us. Still, I was tired and after what felt like days, my suit's forced sleep mode kicked in. I have no clue what happened afterward nor how many days I was asleep but the next thing I knew was that my mentor was right in front of me making sure I was okay.

He says that he came back for me with the help of our boss, but I could see the poko in the president's eyes as the ship went over finances with him.

They killed the spider to 'save' me. The spider went on full attack while I was asleep on it and the appraisal AI thinks I was in control of it despite being unconscious. At least the captain think's I didn't do it...

They then told me that there was no third seat on the ship and that I will be sleeping in the cargo hold until they got every single treasure on this planet. I am pretty sure that's a space OSHA violation but at this point, I have been in so many life-threatening dangers that I gave up counting. At least they don't expect me to help out because I am 'recovering'. They are content to let me stay by the ship and I have been using this time to perfect my recipes with the supplies they got from back home.